#mikey berzatto x reader
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Fly Away
Michael Berzatto x Reader
You're a family friend of the Berzattos and you're invited to have fun at their annual Christmas dinner. You think you still harbor feelings for Carmy, but as the evening progresses, you feel something for his brother.
Genre: friends to lovers, former crush on carm, really everything w carm is mostly platonic, unrequited stuff, insecurities, age gaps (reader and carm are 25, Michael is 38), takes place in 2017, takes place in S2E6, lots of angst, anxiety, some fluff, no use of y/n (you have a nickname: Birdie)
Word count: 11k
There’s a bauble and trinket everywhere you look. Festive, Christmas spirit seems to ebb from the very walls of the Berzatto household– and you would be remiss not to compliment it vocally in some way.
Donna is clearly waiting, teetering on a response from you as you take everything in from the front door. And you know how she reacts if you don’t say things in that perfect, supportive tone that she so desperately thrives off of.
“Wow, Mrs. Berzatto!” You clasp your hands, trying not to seem too cloying or ironic. “I love what you’ve done with the house. Such an eye for details.”
“Oh, stop.” She giggles, and lightly taps your shoulder as she takes your coat and hangs it up in the closet.
“No, really. I wish my house was so… Christmassy this time of year.” You shrug, knowing that your dad isn’t the festive type after divorcing your mother.
“Aw. Well, we have love to spread here.” It’s a strange unseen sympathy coming from Donna, and she pulls you inside, and you take off your shoes, shuffling around in your socks and your comfy, hopefully chic, green loose turtleneck sweater. “Except you might have to wait a bit, because some of these fuckers are late.”
There’s that bitter tone you remember from Donna. You don’t really care for that– you tend to have an avoidant personality especially with how your own mother acts sometimes– and she yells out for Carmy and Mikey to greet you.
“Boys! Birdie’s here!” She calls from the stairs, and you suddenly feel self conscious.
Ever since your dad, a former co-worker and friend of Cicero’s, starting taking you as a teenager to these Berzatto hangouts, you have always had a eye for Carmen. It was hard not to be, seeing this bashful, slightly angry, awkward boy, around the same age as you, with dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes. You felt like sometimes, he really, really listened to you, and that was all you needed.
You wish you could be there for him too.
It’s something you’ve never acted on, never bothered to actually approach him about– he always seemed so absorbed by his own thing.
You relished in the fact that he never had a girlfriend. You felt secure in that, because he just seemed safe. And it’s not like he would’ve been mean about rejecting you if he knew– you were always close to the Berzatto siblings. You were Bear and Birdie, ready to head out on a walk together, while the adults gossiped and drank.
Of course, you haven’t seen him in about… two years now. Around after he left to his apartment, and did his chef-education-training (you’re a bit vague on the details, honestly), and ever since then, as far as you know he’s slowly been doing what he loves. He does text you from time to time, but you’d be overstating those texts’ importance if you pretended it really quantified a relationship.
Mikey clambers down the stairs, wearing what looks to be pajamas, or very chill homebody clothes, and he raises his arm in a big, Italian gesture.
“Oh! Is that little Bird I see?” He exclaims, and pulls you into an eager hug. Maybe a little too eager– you think it’s almost as if you’re comforting him as you hug him back, his face coming down onto your shoulder, as he encapsulates you– and he pulls away, grinning.
He actually looks really good. You don’t know when you started thinking that Mikey was good looking, but it’s true– he has a certain, rough around the edges appeal that you find yourself drawn to.
“Merry Christmas. You’ve been keeping away from us.” Mikey points as you, intended as a stern remark, but you snort.
“Yeah, Merry Christmas. I’ve been busy with work and law school, Michael. I’m not a kid anymore.” You resist the urge to comment on his beard, and then do it anyways. “Are you sure I’ve been keeping away? You’re the one with a hermit-ass beard.”
“Oh… they grow up and just start taking shots at you, don’t they, Ma?” Mikey places his hand over his heart, as if he’s wounded, and Donna shakes her head in agreement, before heading back to the kitchen, already seeming annoyed about something. “Beards are fashionable in 2017, Bird. Maybe come back to our current time– no reason for you to start dressing like a grandma already.”
You scoff at that, pointing at your sweater. “It’s semi-formal, c’mon! It looks nice. Respect the gathering’s rules.”
“It’s my house, babe.” Mikey leans in with maybe a little too much comfort, his eyes shining with some warmth, mirth even, and you don’t exactly pull away– the guy is like thirteen years older than you, and even if he does kid around, play up an older brother thing, you’ve started feeling like he’s restraining something more as of late, maybe some primal level of attraction that he knows better than to mess around with. You know that the feeling is kind of mutual– but you really don’t know how to quantify it. “I’m man of the house, and I say you should wear something that maybe, uh, shows off the pretty twenty-five year old that you are.”
The last part of this sentence has you swallowing a little, and you feel your face turning warm, and Mikey himself looks embarrassed that he’s said it, that he’s given a bit of evidence to your theories– he seems to brush something off, inside himself.
You have never thought you were all that. You’ve always been pretty sure you should be glad that you’ve gotten by without having to worry about your looks. The idea of wearing a nice, somewhat revealing dress to the Berzattos’ house has you cringing, because you know it would just be… bad.
“I’m not–” Mikey scowls at himself and you can visibly see himself fighting something, looking a little anxious, and you tentatively grasp his forearm.
“I know what you mean. I’m not offended.” You smile slightly, making the effort to calm him down a little, because you would never want Michael to beat himself up over you (he really seems to do that as of late and you know you’re not worth the trouble), and he nods and inhales. “You look good, too.”
“Right. Right on, Birdie. You can do what you want, anyways. Not up to me.” He seems to really dial back some of what he said, and before you can respond, Carmy walks downstairs.
“Hi. Hey, Birdie. Merry Christmas.” He says, kind of quietly, and you find yourself somewhat happy to hear him say your nickname again. Carmy looks especially nice– deep blue has always been his colour, it brightens up his eyes– and he has slightly longer hair than you remember.
He leans in for a brief but firm hug, and glances at your eyes once, before looking towards the floor again.
Mikey nods and proceeds to exit to the kitchen, and you’re left with Carmy grappling with what to say.
“How have you–”
“How’s law sch–”
Carmy coughs awkwardly, and you find your face turning warm as he looks towards you.
“Sorry, Bear.” You let him speak, hoping not to scare him away. “How’s everything? You okay?”
“Yeah. Uh… well, I’ve been training at Copenhagen?” He furrows his brows, runs his hand through his hair. “Just learning as much as I can.”
“Oh. Uh-huh.” Your curiosity is piqued– you didn’t know he was in Denmark, much to your disappointment– but you want to pry more of an answer out of him. He doesn’t seem interested in talking about it more than that.
“Sorry. Sorry. Stupid answer, there’s just not much to say.” Carmy shrugs, and then realizes suddenly that you’ve been standing at the foyer of the house for quite some time now, which isn’t very polite or inviting of him. “Wait, hold on. Let’s go sit inside and talk.”
Carmy makes some offhand comment about how you need to speak up sometimes and stop being so nice and accommodating to idiots like him, and you snicker, knowing that this is the Carmy you remember– snarky, ready to fight people on sometimes, even if he is a little weird and bashful. Although he’s short– he makes up for it with his resilience.
Carmy leads you through golden-lit hallways, a certain pepperminty, pine tree scent seeming to overlay the entire house, and there’s bushels and wreathes and mistletoe everywhere, and somehow even more baubles, ornaments, trinkets, knickknacks, all gold and red and warm tones that do make you feel a little fuzzy.
Carmy sits you down in the living room, on the sofa, and you’re next to him, and you place a foot under your knee, trying to feel casual. Not freaking out about him sitting right next to you. Weirdly enough… you don’t think you feel anything anxiety inducing.
Perhaps you’re just getting more reassured of yourself with age.
“So? How is Copenhagen, otherwise? I know Denmark is really interesting, but you’re probably busy with chef stuff, huh?” You prod just a little further. Just out of your own personal curiosity to see how far Carmy will go for you, and he nods. “Any friends?”
“Ah…” Carmy winces a little. “Can’t say if he’s a friend yet, but there is this guy that’s out of this world with pastries. I don’t know if I can meet his standard on that.”
“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes. “Bear, you make my dad cookies all the time. Or, well, you used to. You can’t be that bad at it, considering that he always eats all of them.”
“Oh, really? Fuck, man.” Carmy looks at you in disbelief, settling more into his corner of the couch, closer to the tree, but looking more openly at you. You feel yourself cower a little under his watchful gaze. “I didn’t know your dad enjoyed them that much… I would’ve made more. Did you ever try them?”
“Hm?” You were getting lost in the details around Carmy– the dark blue shirt, the little bits of stubble around his jaw, the tattoos peeping out from under his long sleeves– and you nod. “Ah, I tried a batch around the last time you gave him some. I think it was… macadamia, matcha, white chocolate? Really good.”
Carmy is unreadable, his eyes flickering from the ground to your eyes– you think maybe you’ve embarrassed him a little– but he thanks you. “Where is your dad, anyways?”
“Ah. He’s got the flu, and he was kind enough to not want to infect you guys.” You admit. “Even though he was trying his best to walk over here from our house.”
Carmy remembers that you live in the neighbourhood over. You two used to hang out a lot during elementary and high school. He kind of missed you– something he’d never say out loud, but Carmy knows friends are few with him, and you were always a good friend to him growing up. You were always a comforting presence for him– you never asked him for too much, and he could tell you were being careful to do so. No pressure.
You just became really busy with law school, and he became really busy with chef stuff, and now you’re both… you both just lost touch. He feels bad about it– bad like he always does, with former friends and acquaintances from high school that he’s accidentally ghosted and lost– but at least you don’t seem to be annoyed about it.
He thinks it’s probably because in this case, you pulled away just as much as he had to.
“How’s law school, anyways?” Carmy counts the years in his head. “You’ve either just finished or you’re in your final year?”
“I’m in my final year.” You stretch out your arms, looking eager. “It’s a lot of work– I’m only here because I’m lucky enough to have a bit of a break in the winter months, and I’m ahead on my courses. But, uh… I don’t know. It’s fun.”
“Fun? Wow.” Carmy grins a little.
“What?”
“I don’t know, Birdie. Fun is more… fucking, I don’t know, fireworks or something? Drugs, maybe, yeah.” Carmy watches as you laugh, and laugh, at what he’s said, and again he’s never really sure what’s so funny about what he’s said, but he likes to hear you laugh.
“Clearly you don’t know either.” You snort, and lightly punch his arm. “When did we become workaholics?”
“Probably when we became, uh, adults and entered the workforce.” Carmy states, and you wrinkle your brows.
“We’re not really in the workforce yet, but–”
“What, really? C’mon. You’re a fucking receptionist or some shit, right?”
“Business administration specialist.”
“Yeah, there you go. That’s work, especially with all the school you have to do.” Carmy shrugs. “But what do you really want to be, then?”
“Oh, we getting into dreams, then?” You cock an eyebrow at him. “I didn’t think you cared that much, Bear.”
Carmy, for some reason he can’t detect, turns a little red. “No, of course I do. We’re still friends, right?”
“Acquaintances.”
“For real?” Carmy looks back at you, affronted, but you have a little smile and he knows you’re teasing. “Oh fuck you. Stop it.”
“Sorry, sorry.” You shake your head, giggling a little, glad to have so easily fallen back into a comfortable, friendly banter. “Of course we’re friends, it’s just that… I always thought very highly of you, Carmen, and I can’t always be sure that feeling was returned. You know? I assumed that you’d be out doing sophisticated cooking in big, upscale restaurants, and the rest of us would just be reading about it. Forgive me for feeling a little behind it all.”
“No, no, no. You got it all wrong, Birdie.” Carmy half-laughs at how you put him on such a pedestal. “You were always the one doing real work, as Mom would call it. You’re the one who’s actually smart and good at arguing, debating– that’s a real skill coming from me, because I just yell fuck at everyone and hope it works. I always thought you were the impressive one out of all of us.”
You snicker, but you’re actually quite pleased with that, and you feel your heart warm at his praise. “Ah, that’s so sweet. Thank you. If it makes you feel better, I’ve been surviving off of ramen and convenience store food for the last month. I can hardly make the time to cook efficiently.”
“...” Carmy shakes his head. “That doesn’t make me feel better. You’re gonna eat good food today then, I hope.”
Almost as if on cue, Donna calls for Carmy to come help her with something– and you’re left sitting as he tells you that he’s going to hear about your dream job when he gets back.
/
Fifteen minutes later– Carmy is still MIA, and you’re starting to get a little hungry.
You know it’s rude, but luckily Michael comes by and asks if you want a snack.
“Yeah, how’d you know?” You ask, and Michael snickers.
“You’re the same girl that can eat a whole number four combo at the Beef. I’m pretty sure you were hungry before you got here.” Michael jokes, and you blush in embarrassment.
“Oh my god, stop it.” You shake your head. “Anyways, yeah. A snack would be nice.”
Michael gives you a wink that strangely has you a little twitterpated, before you shake that off. He comes back a few minutes later, chewing on something himself– and he hands you a bowl full of Italian sausage stirfry.
“Thanks, Michael.” You smile up at him, and he nods, trying not to smile too much back at your gratitude, but he likes how you take a bite and look super relieved, happy with the food. He’s always loved giving food to people– taking care of them. Especially you, for some reason.
Michael heads back to the kitchen, and Natalie comes by and takes his place.
“Birdie!” She hugs you tightly, and you hug her back, equally happy. “Oh my gosh, if I knew you were down here I would’ve come by ages ago!”
“Aw.” You beam at her. “That’s okay, Nat. I’m happy to see you too.”
She’s off ranting about how Pete, her husband, is late, and how she can barely manage everything going on, and you’re sympathetic. You know Nat gets more of a harsh treatment from Donna, and you tell her that you’re there if she needs a person on her side.
“Oh, Birdie. I couldn’t do that to you. Even if you are amazing at talking, Miss Lawyer-to-be.” She lets you continue to sit down in your corner of the living room, as she heads off to check on her mom– maybe pour out some alcohol.
Carmy comes back in, slightly powdered with flour on his forehead– and he sits back down, sighing, as he drinks a glass of water.
There’s the slightest air of awkward tension still– even if you and Carmy have fallen back into your old ways, he still keeps a slight distance, one that he’s grown into, and you feel that you have to break the silence. You don’t know if he’s just tired or if there’s some level of irritation of having to deal with all the holiday bullshit, but you take a guess it has to do with Donna.
“That bad?” You grimace, and Carmy matches your expression.
“That bad.” He shakes his head. “She always gets a little woo-woo around these fucking events. Like, I never wanted her to do all of this– but she insists and insists and doesn’t know how to let go of the, uh…”
“Hubris.”
“Yes. Hubris.” Carmy sighs, glad you still have the perfect word for everything. “Whatever. Anyways, haven’t forgotten. Hit me with your dream.”
“Okay, it’s going to sound a little weird, but, um… I’m really interested in becoming a labour relations lawyer?” You feel almost too much glee at the fact that Carmy remembered, and you see Carmy bite his lip, a little confused, so you continue, hoping you don’t sound like too much of a fucking nerd. “Meaning to help employees get out of their shitty situations with wages, working hours, benefits and fight for their rights. Union stuff. I don’t know, just feels like everyone is struggling with this nowadays… might as well push forward and try to help them out.”
“Wow, now that you’ve said that, it makes a lot of sense.” Carmy blinks. “I mean, uh, it’s not just that you’re good at arguing– you always go for the justice part of things. Remember when Michael and Sugar were arguing about cleaning the basement?”
You do remember that. You suggested dividing up either equally or by who owned what, and they eventually came to an agreement based on that. Michael wanted to dip because he was older, and Sugar thought it was demeaning to ask a girl to clean.
“Or when Lee said that women can’t think analytically, or what was it… mathematically?” Carmy laughs as he watches your face turn angry again.
“Yeah. I especially remember that. I told him to think about Ada Lovelace and to shut up.” You wince. “Maybe not the most mature thing I’ve ever said. I don’t think that’s such a great thing… sometimes I don’t know when to let go of arguments.”
“It’s alright, it was funny.” Carmy plays with his fingers. “That being said, I think you’ll be good if you choose to be that. A labour relations lawyer. You’re smart, and god fucking knows we all need the help. You should check out how many chefs get fucked over because they work at places for the prestige of doing so.”
“Damn.” You make a mental note of that, feeling embarrassed over how much praise Carmy has freely given you. “Is that going to be you?”
“Doesn’t matter if it is. Sometimes you gotta do what you can.” Carmy doesn’t really give you a clear answer, and you feel bad for him. Bad that he’s still stuck in that mindset.
/
You can hear people hooting and jeering near the stairs, as you walk around the house, exploring a little. Tiff was grateful that you visited her for a brief moment– she told you being pregnant was not all it was cracked up to be– and now you’re just on the upper floor, near the stair railing, on your phone.
You’re not really one to eavesdrop, but you hear– you believe it’s Mikey and Richie– they’re chanting “Claire! Claire Bear!”
Your stomach drops, as you hear them hoot about how hot she is, whoever this Claire girl is– how stacked she is, apparently, the banging body she has, the glasses no longer ruining her appearance– and although you know it’s gross men talk, there’s a small, sad part of you that wants to be perceived as attractive, too.
Still, even as you find yourself frowning and turning away in disgust, you can’t stop yourself from listening.
You remember her. Claire, one of the neighbours down the street. Went to the same high school as you and Carmy. She was really something, someone of note if you remember the popular kid cliques correctly, but she had largely gone unnoticed by you, and it wasn’t for any reason in particular. You can’t be close with every person in high school.
But still– you feel jealous. Just a teeny bit. What was so different about her?
Sure, she was a nice girl. But weren’t you? You arguably had more history with the Berzattos, and yet… it’s as if you’ve simply blended into the wallpaper, their assortment of home decor and furniture. You’ve always been here, and so you don’t stand out.
You might never stand out.
You can hear Carmy trying his best to argue against them, asking them what they did, telling them to fuck off with their teasing– but he sounds sheepish, embarrassed, righteously mortified in the telltale way one would be when they have a crush, and you feel sick.
They’re heaping compliments on her. You know what they mean when they talk about her like this– she’s the clear, obvious choice, probably closer to the family, more interesting, more affectionate, a genius. You don’t really know Claire that well, but apparently, she’s perfect. And you know you, in your silly frumpy sweater, in your attempts to dress up– you are not. You feel humiliated that you even believed Mikey when he said you were pretty– he was clearly complimenting you just to be nice.
You weren’t even an idea in their minds, not for Carmy, anyways. You don’t even think Carmy is capable of seeing you like that now, and it’s with a crushing blow that you realize you were holding out hope. Mistaking familiarity for affection.
It’s a rookie mistake. One that you thought you were self aware enough not to make, because you’ve always known Carmen Berzatto was just out of reach for you.
You wait for them to leave, and come down the stairs, running into Carmy as he groans in annoyance.
/
Carmy says he needs to wipe some of the flour out of his hair, and you let him go upstairs, not really wanting to look at him, doing everything you can to make your way back to the living room unnoticed. In the meanwhile, Michael comes back and flops into Carmy’s seat on the sofa, next to where you sit, sullen.
“Hey, Birdie.” Michael starts, and you can’t read his tone, and you’re a little annoyed with his fake-nice attention. “Why not sit with me, the Faks, Michelle and Stevie? They’re really good people, I promise.”
“How do you know I’m avoiding people?” You snap back, maybe a little too aggrieved.
“It’s written all over your face, little Birdie.” He touches his knee to yours, and you bite your lip, swallowing your confusion, and Mikey enjoys the fact that you’ve chosen to wear a deep, brick-red Christmas lip colour. It’s hot– he doesn’t get how you don’t seem to be aware that you’re attractive.
He wants to kiss you. Maybe mess up that fancy lipstick and that sweet, annoyingly justice oriented, always-right character of yours. But he keeps it to himself.
“Don’t be antisocial. You of all people shouldn’t be alone during the holidays.”
“I’m not trying to be antisocial. I promise.” You shrug, trying to keep your emotions, that sinking feeling in your gut at bay– the last thing you want is for Michael to see you upset. “I was keeping Bear company, but I can come sit with you guys.”
“That’s my girl.” Michael pulls you up by the arm, and you can feel your face warming at his choice of words– you like being in Michael’s good graces, even if you feel less than great right now.
Michelle, cousin of the Berzattos, has always been sweet to you. She’s impressive in her own right, and as you sit down in front of her and Stevie– she gushes about New York.
“Ah, that’s not to say Chicago isn’t impressive. Right, Birdie?” She smiles at you, not unkindly, and you feel happy to be included.
“Right.” You shrug, knowing that the law firm you work at isn’t all that crazy. You can’t shake the feeling that you’re nothing special, not after what transpired just a few minutes ago, and you voice it. “It’s just okay.”
“No, c’mon. You work at one of the top fucking law firms in the city– you’re gonna make it.” Michael admonishes you. “Out of us Chicagoans, I mean, Michelle, before you take offense.”
“Yeah, Mish.” Richie echoes, popping up out of nowhere.
“None taken.” Michelle fixes her eyes between you and Michael– perhaps reading on something that you’re not even really sure how to understand, let alone explain– and she laughs. “Anyways, what was I saying? Right.”
She launches into a story about hating a woman who didn’t understand the Berzatto name. It’s quite funny– you find yourself laughing every now and then, the dull ache in your heart less noticeable, especially with how good Michelle is at telling stories, and somewhere along the story, Michael’s hand has stayed intertwined with yours, without you really noticing. You only notice when he lets go, and again– a pitfall in your stomach, wondering if Michael just feels familiar around you because there’s nothing to be attracted to and thus respectful of– and it’s such a stupid thought, but you still just know you want to feel wanted. You want to get a hold on yourself– remind yourself you’re not owed attraction and there’s nothing wrong with Mikey or Carmy seeing you as just a friend.
You realize with a start that you’re feeling confused about Michael, too. Was it just a weird quirk of his, calling every single girl pretty just for laughs? Could you even trust what he said? Why does Michael’s opinion of you feel way more pertinent and important than Carmy’s does?
You find yourself mulling over these thoughts, not sure of what’s going on around you, and you hear Michael tell the Fak bros, Ned and Ted, to shut up about California, which they do.
Donna starts screaming in the background, which causes you to turn abruptly. “Oh, fuck me!”
Michael turns and looks at you with some caution– he’s used to his mother’s outbursts, but he never ever wants you to face them. You don’t deserve that, you’ve probably never done anything to deserve it. Not like him.
Stevie gets up, much to the surprise of everyone around him. “Looks like Auntie D needs help, huh?”
“No, no, no.” Everyone tries to stop him, including you.
“What?”
Michelle pushes him back down, but he gets back up, resilient.
Lee decides to comment in. “Let him, why not?”
“I’m sure she could use a few extra hands. I’m going.” He goes, and you stand up to follow, not willing to let an innocent person get dragged into Donna’s insanity.
“Wait, Birdie. Where are you going?” Michael holds your hand again, and you turn red at his action– a little angry, a little glum that he seems to care for you, and you can’t even be grateful for it. “Don’t throw yourself to the wolves. It’s not fucking worth it.”
“Not throwing myself– just want to make sure Stevie is protected.” You move forward, your face stony, and Michael lets go of you, sighing as he wraps his blanket around himself, wondering when you got all pissed off, but glad that you’re not so upset that you wouldn’t act all lawyer-y for Stevie.
Lee is glancing at him, while Michelle looks pleased as punch.
“What? What the fuck are these expressions?” Michael looks around questioningly, and Richie gives him a side glance.
“When’d you get all sweet on her, bro?” Richie gags a little. “Not that she’s not your type, but, uh–”
“I’m just being friendly.” Michael dismisses him, leaning back in his seat. “It’s the holidays, she shouldn’t be lonely.”
“Bullshit you are.” Richie sniggers, and Michael lightly shoves him.
“Yeah, I call bullshit too.” Michelle grins. “I can see it– you’re blushing.”
Michael groans, hating to be so obviously vulnerable in front of everyone.
“Well I, for one, think it’s a huge, fucking catastrophic mistake.” Lee starts, and Michael feels himself blanch under the judgement of this guy. “You’re going to ruin that young woman’s potential if you go around messing with her.”
“Lee, she’s not that young–” Neil starts. “I think she can decide that herself?”
“Whatever. This one knows he isn’t right for her– always wants what he can’t have.” Lee mutters, and Michael feels that white-hot rage– the anger he feels bubbling inside of him as of late.
He does his best to swallow it down, but a part of him knows that it’s true. As much as Michael enjoys your random visits over the past two years, he knows– you’re too good for someone like him. Too young, too selfless, too honest and good and pretty, and he feels an overwhelming wave of shame that he came so close. It’s like he just… doesn’t know how to be a good, responsible person, and it kills him on the inside that he could be so shameful, be so abhorrent and take advantage of you like that, and even if there is a tiny part of him screaming that it’s not so black and white– that you could be just as interested, of your own volition, in him as he is in you– he feels guilt.
Michael is ashamed of who he is. Over, and over, there’s that feeling again– kill yourself– that he doesn’t know how to suppress, and he ignores it as he starts up a new story.
/
Natalie is tearing up as Stevie hugs her.
You came towards them in the midst of Donna yelling for Stevie to get the fuck out of the kitchen, and Sugar shushing him and shoving him away, and you now place a hand on her shoulder– clearly Stevie has it handled, somewhat.
When he lets go, she sniffles and you smile encouragingly, albeit a little sadly, and Natalie wipes away a tear.
“It’s okay. It’s fine, it’s nothing. You don’t need to talk to her.” She starts, and you shake your head.
“I’m not going to. I can see that would make things worse.” You squeeze her shoulders, and Stevie nods.
“Yeah, Natalie. But we’re here. We’ll always be here if you want to talk.” He tries, and you smile at her– but something about Nat’s slightly upset, off putting expression, and Donna’s grumbling in the background– you feel your heart seizing a little at the tense emotions, so similar to your own, and you excuse yourself.
You walk until you reach the pantry, hot tears already working their way down your face. Every single negative emotion have come to a head, and you’re in terrible danger of having to explain things if you don’t get it together in under ten minutes or so.
You sit on the high table in the pantry, trying not to cry anymore than you already have, your head between your knees– but something about today has all your nerves on edge, and you know it’s because you put in some effort to come here, to see your dear friends, to look appealing enough, to be someone worth talking to, and now you feel as if they never really cared about you at all.
You know these are lousy, immature feelings. You know you can be above them if you really, truly tried, but you let yourself sink into them further, because something about this environment is terrible and you just can’t let it go.
Even worse, no one has really done anything wrong. If this was a court case, you wouldn’t even have any evidence to make a claim. You’re simply confused, perhaps looking at things from the wrong angles– but the fact that you can’t look at this rationally makes you feel worse. As if you’re not as smart as you believed.
You don’t know how long you’ve been in here, when you hear someone shuffle into the pantry, next to you– it’s Michael.
He’s quick on his feet– you try to move away, let him grab whatever household ingredient he needed– but his full attention is on you as his eyes narrow, scanning your tear stained face and your hunched over body.
“Birdie?”
You can’t quite look at him, and you desperately try to wipe your tears, burying your face more between your knees.
“Hey, no. Birdie.” He shakes his head, grabs your arms. He thinks it’s a little strange he’s had to cheer up two different people in the pantry, but he chalks it up to how his house always is. “What happened? Was it Ma?”
“No.” You sight and swallow down the sobs in your throat.
“Then what was it?” Michael’s eyes turn steely. “Fucking ‘Uncle’ Lee? Asshole. Told me I can’t finish any fucking businesses.”
“But… you run the Beef, don’t you?” You say, amid sniffles, entirely honest about it, and Michael’s eyes soften. “That has to count for something.”
“Yeah, little Bird.” He’s glad to have you here– he doesn’t care if it’s fucked up, not when you’re the only person on his side at this moment. “But why don’t you tell me what’s up?”
“I–” You shake your head, and feel your head hang heavy as you slouch over the table, and Michael leans over you, pressing your head to his chest, and you feel yourself crying silently into his shirt, as he shushes you and combs back your hair, his other arm caressing your back.
Michael’s not the best person– not the most comforting to be around– but he knows, by being an older brother, by being someone people want to be around, he knows how to make it count when he does give in to comfort.
He just wishes he didn’t feel so goddamned depressed himself, so he would know the right things to say. He doesn’t want to be so useless all the time.
“Mikey?” You voice is timid. Small.
He feels both elated that you would trust him with this, and devastated that he’ll never be good enough to deserve your trust.
“Yeah, Birdie?”
“It’s so juvenile, but I…" You shake your head and decide to commit to it. "I wish I was pretty."
“Is that it?” Michael’s arm wraps around your shoulder as he squishes onto the seat of the table, next to you. “You think you’re ugly, huh?”
“I don’t think I’m–” You inhale deeply, and wipe away your tears again. “It’s not about being ugly. It’s more like an objective reality that I have to accept. I’m just not… I’m not anything special to look at.”
“Wow, kid.” Michael tuts and shakes his head. “Ever heard that beauty is in the eye of the beholder? That stupid fucking mantra, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, it’s true.” Michael almost starts laughing, but you look so solemn and serious, he resists the urge. “You’re not ugly. You might not think you’re all that, but you don’t see what I see.”
Michael tenses, and you watch as he falters over how to explain.
Michael thinks you're so damn annoying with that ardent, sweet expression– even if your tears are staining your face, you still look so grateful to hear him say those words– and it just crushes him. It crushes him to know that you look for his approval so much, when he knows you're worth so much more than that.
He doesn't want to let you down. You and Carmen– he will never be enough for the two of you.
"I don't– I'm fucking stupid, Birdie, don't listen to me." He swallows, but you're hanging onto his words and your face falls again.
"But I can listen to you get all poetic about Claire, right?" You mutter, angry, and you get up to leave– but Michael grabs your forearm, and he's quite a bit stronger than you are.
“Hey. That’s different.” Michael tries, but you shake your head, and you’re left sitting on the table again. “I was only teasing Bear. It has nothing to do with you.”
“I know.” You turn even more glum, and Michael is left feeling terrible, wondering what was so wrong with what he said.
You’re silent for a moment– you know that you like Carmy, but something about telling Michael about it feels weird, like you’re pre-emptively rejecting him rather than Carmy by confessing feelings that are slowly disappearing– and you just don’t want to.
But you know you need to. You need to accept that Carmy would never see you that way.
“I just… for a really long time, I thought that I…” You fall to silence, again, and Michael is staring at you, hanging onto every word, watching your side profile shake as you try to gather your thoughts. “I really liked him, you know? I don’t even know why– maybe he was just the clearly available, safe option, and now that’s not even true and I feel like I’m mourning something that was never even real. How stupid and childish can I get?”
“Wait, Birdie–”
“And I just… I know I’m not like Claire. I don’t know what I got myself into. I don’t even really like him anymore– it’s just that the situation makes it so damn apparent that I am just average.” You huff out your words with an air of finality that even has Michael flinching a little, and he runs his hands through his hair, unbelieving of what you’ve said. “You can’t even say I’m not, Mikey, because I know how you talked about her and it was just so different to how anyone here has ever thought about me.”
“Birdie, shut the fuck up.” Michael breathes out really heavily, pinching his brows, thinking that he regrets everything he said and he wishes he could take it back. “I didn’t really– I was trying to tease Carmy, you know? It didn’t mean the shit you think it does. Hell, I would be way more serious if I was talking about you.”
He takes a beat of silence– should he read your reaction to that, or keep going? And he decides to keep going.
“You can’t just act like you can read everyone’s minds because you’re a lawyer, Birdie.” Michael says it with a slightly lighter tone, and his hand traces the small of your back as you lean against your knees, staring up at him. “Didn’t you learn about intent or whatever the fuck it was? In school?”
“Yeah, I guess.” You admit despite yourself, and Michael smiles but continues seriously.
“I don’t think that about Claire, okay? If anything, I’m fucking embarrassed you heard me talk all of that shit– that was just meant to be, uh, guy talk. I swear.” Michael swallows, feeling guilty that he still had to be so low about it. “I don’t– I care so much about him, I just went too far in working him up. I think it would be a good thing for him, right?”
Hurt flashes across your face– you still don’t think you like Carmy anymore, you just don’t know how to feel about someone else being portrayed as a “good thing.” But you inhale– you know part of getting over it is having to accept this, and you let yourself think and then nod.
“Yeah. Yeah, I could see that.” You agree, and it doesn’t hurt as much since Michael is looking at you sympathetically. “I just… I want to be a good thing, too. Not for Carmy, just…”
“For someone?” Michael answers as you trail off.
“Yeah.”
“Listen, Birdie. I’m gonna tell you something you gotta hear.” Michael has that determined look where you know he’s going to say something smart– he has his fleeting moments of wisdom even if he doesn’t believe in himself– and he goes for it. “I can’t believe no one has ever told you just to, I don’t know, fucking love yourself a little? Like, c’mon, you should be able to like yourself! You’re an incredible person and you deserve– you have the right to be insanely fucking confident and it’s so fucking annoying that you don’t see it.”
In the heat of his argument, Michael’s come too close again, and he can feel your breath on somewhere near his jaw or neck, and he has to remind himself to pull away again.
“I’m sorry.” You whisper, and Michael combs back a strand of your hair.
“Don’t be sorry. Just listen to what I’m saying.” Michael inhales, thinks over why he can’t do this himself– Tina always tells him to be a little easier on himself, but he just struggles– and he thinks that you look terribly cute so it’s just a lot easier to root for you. “Don’t do it for some idiot guy who will never really appreciate you, little Birdie.”
You can feel the conclusion of that sentence, even if Michael doesn’t quite say it: do it for yourself. Be there for yourself. Listen to the good part of yourself, rather than him.
“Oh. I guess that’s…” You swallow, taking it in, knowing the value of his words. “It’s true.”
“See? You know it.” Michael leans in a little too close again, his face a mere breadth away from your own.
“I think you’d actually make a fantastic lawyer.” You slyly comment amid wiping your face, and Michael blinks and then laughs.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Then you’d get to see me and hear my advice all the time.” Michael mumbles a little over his words but to his surprise, you nod.
“Yeah, then I’d get to see some idiot who really does appreciate me.” You murmur even more quietly, and Michael, feeling stupid, has a wistful smile on his face that he maybe has not felt in a decade. It’s so sweet– he thinks his heart is bursting with something.
Maybe love. Maybe that jovial, Christmas spirit that seems to emanate as the food smells closer to ready, maybe what Carmen gave him as a kind gift, most likely the closeness he feels with you– not just being close in familiarity, more like– he can make out the little spots and freckles adorning your face, every single eyelash your still watery eyes have, the faint lines in your still-red lips, and it occurs to him that he’s too close. Somewhere during this talk, his hand has stayed around your back, and you have been tentatively tracing his right hand’s knuckles with your own thumb.
Michael knows how it looks. If anyone was to walk in right now (and he’s sure Michelle or Richie have already put it together that the two of you have been gone for a while) they would assume you two are a couple.
He has a sudden air of regret– it’s not because he wants to reject you, he just… he struggles a lot with feeling wanted. He struggles with the standards that people seem to put on him. Michael has always known he’s not a good guy– he doesn’t know how to be the person that everyone seems to think he is. Carmen, Natalie, Richie, you– you all seem to think the best of him, and he doesn’t know how to deal with it. He nearly had a breakdown watching Carmen look up to him so lovingly.
Before he can pull away– with another responsible refusal, telling you that he’s too old and washed up, and that you deserve the whole world and he is not enough to offer that to you– you gently but firmly grab his face, tracing his cheek, and he thinks it could be wrong– what if you’re just feeling all confused and willy-nilly about feelings because you’re displacing what you felt about Carmen, what if you don’t actually like him and you’re assuming that you do because of his clear attraction to you, what if you’re just feeling the moment and the sweet guidance he’s given you?
Tons of questions seem to flow from his mind, things that he wants to ask you, but Michael thinks fuck it, because you’re leaning in first and pulling him in and it’s something he would’ve never expected in a million years, that you could be just as attracted to him.
He kisses you maybe a little too hard– maybe it should’ve been softer, more gentle since you’ve opened up to him so much, but you kiss him just as eagerly back, and he doesn’t fucking care to be gentle anymore. He’s leaning over you and Michael knows he’s quite a bit taller, so he has to pull you upwards to really reach your lips, and the table the two of you are sitting on is quite small– it shakes a little and there’s not much room for Michael to really feel you.
Until you climb into his lap, because of course you do, and now you’re just tangling your fingers in his hair, and he thinks he can feel whatever migraine that the day’s events have spurred on him slipping away, and his hands wrap around the smallest part of your waist as he pulls you in, pressing his chest against yours.
You feel like Michael’s beard tickles a little– but you don’t mind that. You weren’t sure until you did it that you’ve wanted to kiss him for a while. You feel like maybe you’ve actually been more attracted to him than you ever were with Carmy, maybe even just going for Carmy due to his aforementioned security.
Michael groans, and he slips his tongue into your mouth, and you sharply inhale as his tongue roams around your own, and he knows he likes hearing you gasp when his hands come up under your sweater, just to feel your bare skin, and you pull away.
Michael comes in too close again, placing a soft yet firm kiss on the corner of your mouth, and you laugh at him, and it’s one of the best sounds he could hear. No longer are you all gloomy and sullen in the corner of the room– but there’s still an air of heat around you two, and he knows he should let you go before things go too far.
“Consider that a Christmas present.” You murmur softly, tapping his face, genuinely smiling despite the smeared lipstick, and you clamber off his lap, and peek out the pantry. “I think you’re good to go eat dinner– let me just…”
You wipe the red lipstick from his mouth using the corner of your sweater sleeve, so not to leave evidence, and it’s an intimate moment that has Michael staring at your hand, to your eyes, and there’s something in his eyes– maybe sorrow, maybe appreciation, but most of all, tenderness, and he takes a silly, soft moment to just kiss your hand. You beam at him.
“How long have you wanted to do that?” You tease him, because you know that Michael has always had that look, and he stiffens for a moment.
“Ah… maybe around when you came back from graduating college.” Michael admits, feeling weirdly high and low all at the same time, but he questions you too. “What about you? Don’t tell me you just decided to kiss me right now. That would fucking… that would be too much.”
His heart falls for a split second– thinking about how again you could’ve just been having a little fling– why would you ever like him? He struggles to think how you could, even after having kissed you.
“No, no. I swear it’s not like that.” You turn a little red and play with your hands. “Um. You’re not like a rebound, Mikey, I just… I think I liked you ever since I started coming around more, maybe around last year? I probably just didn’t notice because I thought I was into Carmy. You know? Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that.”
“Yeah, I know.” Michael tries not to let the relief show through his face too much. “I thought maybe I was… reading too much into it. Putting pressure on you.”
“No, you’re good.” You shake off his concerns. “I don’t think that at all. I really do like you… might’ve just been obsessed with the idea of a childhood friend turning into a lover.”
Michael grins. “Well, who’s to say that didn’t fucking happen, Birdie? Are we not childhood friends?”
“Eh… kind of. You’re a bit old.” You give him a so-so motion, and Michael jokingly pushes you a little. “I’m kidding! This is more like– your friend’s hot older brother gives you a chance and it’s crazy and exciting and you just want to know more.”
You were half kidding, but you’re so honest about it, and Michael loves it, but there’s still that undercurrent of agony– he wants to just openly like you, too, but he doesn’t want to be such a fucking failure about it.
“I’m gonna just head to the dining table, I think.” You check your watch. “Gotta go think about this a little more– is that okay? Not in a bad way, I’m just overwhelmed with everything that’s happened today…”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. It’s okay, Birdie.” Michael presses a kiss into your hairline. He knows it is a lot for anyone to handle– getting over a crush you thought you had, realizing that you like someone else– he gets it. “Take all the time you need.”
“Okay.” You smile eagerly at him and then walk outside through the hallway, wiping your mouth so it looks less kiss-stained, and peek around so no one is looking at you.
Michael feels a million emotions hit him at once, and he knows he has to cool himself down before explaining to everyone where you’ve gone, what’s happened– or he’s certain to implicate himself, and he can’t have that.
/
It all goes to shit not even twenty minutes later.
You’re sitting pretty between Richie and Tiff, who seem to be a little bit… awkward, maybe arguing mentally about something you don’t completely understand. No one has really commented on your disappearance, but you’re sure it’s obvious based on how Michelle and Stevie are whispering and smiling at you.
Michael gets a massive, depressive episode right after you’ve left him. He can’t exactly pinpoint why– he feels like a creep even if he isn’t one. Hell, he only actually met you when you were nineteen– he was in a different state when you started visiting the Berzattos. But even if Michael ignores his potential, old-man creepiness… he also feels like you’re headed for so much more than he ever was, and he knows he’s holding you back if he does this.
For once in his life, he just wanted to be happy. He just wanted to be wanted without the stigma of not being good enough.
You, Carmy, and Nat. He knows you guys are on your way. Michael feels a pit in his stomach as he imagines why you guys all have to look up to him so much– he just happened to be in the right place, at the right time.
He can’t ignore the feeling that he is just a major fucking loser.
That’s why Michael goes and gets high. He knows he’s making a mistake, and he doesn’t want to do something so disappointing– but he figures he’s already a disappointment anyways. He’s grateful you’re not here outside to see how pathetic he really is– how much he craves a hit just to feel a little less shitty. And yes, it calms him down as he feels the high of the painkillers exacerbate positive memories, like with you, Carmy, Natalie– but it still makes his anger, his depressive tendencies strong, too.
When he sits down at the dining table– he’s not that intoxicated, but he knows it’s a little apparent on his face, based on the mild alarm on your own. You’re sitting just far enough from him for there to be plausible deniability, but still– you are worried about him.
“You good?” You mouth, and he waves away your question with an air of fake nonchalance.
You don’t look convinced. You can see the red in Michael’s eyes, the general tension in his shoulders, the unnerving sense of resentment in his expression. You wonder what could have happened in the last ten minutes that you’ve been sitting at the table, why Michael decided to go and get intoxicated just minutes after kissing you.
Were you too much for him? Maybe.
You know Michael gets high. In fact, last Easter, you’re pretty sure he spent the entire time high on something– but you only vaguely know about his anger flare ups. About his negative emotions, the supposed depressive periods he goes through. You’ve seen him argue a bit with Richie, you know he’s gotten a bit harsh with Carmy, but you know he’s a bit more troubled than that. The whole family seems a bit troubled. Natalie has told you that much, and you have your experience with that– your mother and father’s fights are ones that still make you quiver to think about. But with Michael?
You don’t know how much you believed it, until now, because Michael always seemed kind of… like he always had the right thing to say. You almost feel like he’s in the right to get upset, because he’s had a hard time, with his family, some of his luck surrounding his career– especially with how Lee continually riles him up.
The table is formal and nice for a bit. Michael and Tiff converse about something, Carmy asks if you’re okay and you mostly are. Michelle asks Mikey to say grace, and he sounds resentful, again, of Lee cutting him off so often.
Cicero, being the responsible uncle that he is, tries to push off grace to Stevie, who promptly rejects it, and Michelle decides to ease the tension by asking what the hell the seven fishes are all about. Lee, of course, gleefully answers, about the dutch potatoes and the bible.
Michael glares at him and throws a fork. A real, honest-to-god, heavy piece of silverware. It clatters on the carpeted floor– you feel yourself flinch, and you watch Natalie and Pete’s expressions crumble into the realization that Michael is not okay, and everyone seems to look towards him in fear.
“You see what you did, right? You already did that. You already bitched about the dutch oven.” Michael retorts at him, not completely coherent, and you can feel the lights glazing over– the Christmas tree, the wreaths and baubles, everything seems to lose focus in comparison to the red-hot anger that Michael is bubbling over with.
Cicero and Carmy try to call him off, but Michael isn’t listening, and you can tell– he’s in a place to be upset. It’s like a slowly proceeding car crash– as much as you don’t want him to do it, you understand why he’s going to. You feel like there is a bit of a double standard in place here– Cicero seems to want him to respect his elders, and Michael is being kind of childish, but you can’t say you don’t understand why.
Michael asks for Fak’s fork, in direct opposition to Lee’s attempts to play the father in this house. Despite Fak’s insistent refusals, Michael successfully takes it. Everyone speaks with the intent to stop him, and he’s too focused on Lee to stop.
You know you hate Lee too. But such a severe reaction, coming from Michael? It has you wincing a little. You want to pull him away– tell him to be the nice older brother you’ve always known him to be– but you know it takes time. You know it’s probably going to get worse. You try to catch his eye– and he can't quite look at you.
You have faith in him. You know Michael can do better than this– you just hope he can see it, too.
Michael throws the second fork, and you feel regret in trusting him, again, because he’s making things bad but it’s almost as if he can’t help it. You catch Natalie’s eyes– she’s clearly disappointed, too.
Michael feels a sick sense of pleasure, as he often does when it comes to acting out his worst desires. But he feels a flash of anger with himself– is that what he did with you? Is he really this guy? He thinks that he is, he is a bad dude and he can commit to that role if that’s what’s needed.
“Cousin, you’re scaring the normals.” Richie tries, looking at Tiff and you, but you’re still yearning to catch his glance– and Michael can only respond that it’s nothing, everything is fine, and you’re suddenly reminded of when your parents used to fight and how you used to have to be the middle man and convince them that things were alright.
Michael looks towards you this time– but you’re not looking at him. You have your hands neatly clasped in your lap, your eyes are focused on the set of candles in the middle of the table, and you look horribly upset, with your neck all tense as you wait for things to blow over, and he can tell– he’s fucking up big time. Stevie, Carmy, everyone is looking pained, and Michael can only think that he doesn’t give a shit. He wants to make Lee feel just as terrible as he does.
"You see– I can throw forks because this is our father’s house." Michael scoffs back, and there's real agony in his tone. “My father’s house.”
Michelle inhales. “We have lift-off.”
“Okay, you got everyone's attention, so go ahead, tell us a story we've all heard a million times already.” Lee spits out, barely holding back his own contempt for Michael, and Michael starts laughing as if everything’s alright. “Tell a story about how you're living with your mom and you're borrowing money off of her and any other sucker who'll listen to your bullshit.”
Everyone looks towards the table, feeling terribly awkward about Lee’s accusations– it’s not that it’s necessarily untrue, but there’s a hefty amount of his own assumptions, his own bias thrown in there, and you want to speak up.
“Lee, shut the fuck up.” Cicero looks absolutely pissed off at him, and you’re grateful someone has taken some of the heat off of Michael. It’s Lee’s fault, too.
“I’m sorry. I told you not to be a sucker, Jimmy.” Lee comments, and Cicero exhales, exasperated.
“Lee. That’s not really fair– you’re being too hard on him.” You utter through gritted teeth, and Lee’s eyes narrow on you. It's the first time you've spoken, and Michael glances at you– his eyes are bright and he genuinely looks sorry. Sorry he had to go this far.
“Oh, am I? Really, Birdie? I would suggest I’m not being hard enough.” Lee raises his hands, invites you to speak more, and you know that it’s not really your place to do so, especially because Lee and Michael seem to have a lot of history.
But you have your almost-lawyer tendencies, and of course you’re not exactly unbiased either, because you want to see the best in Michael– you want to like him.
"Please, Lee… Michael's working on himself. You don't need to lie to him." You stare at him, and Lee’s face seems to turn darker with that. “I’m sure we all have our issues… it feels like a lot.”
"Is that what he's told you, Birdie?" Lee sneers at you, and you suddenly feel small. "He's a sick, fucking twisted man, and you would trust him, wouldn't you?"
He doesn’t go further than that– but it’s enough that you feel humiliated for being read so thoroughly. It’s obvious what he’s implying– you’re a silly little girl who doesn’t know any better.
“It's fine. It's fine. Because this guy's nothing and he's nobody.” Lee points at Michael again, and his expression sours so much. You watch as Michael seems to zero in on what Lee’s rambling on about.
Natalie shakes her head in little no-no motions.
“Hey… Petey… I just need to, uh… I need to borrow this for one second.” Michael’s got that nonchalant expression again, but there’s pain in his eyes, and there’s a clamour of everyone again telling Michael to stop, calling his name, trying to distract him.
"Michael. Michael. Please don’t do this. Hey. Hey. Hey!" Natalie calls at him, and you know she's just begging for him to leave it alone. “I love you. Okay?”
You watch as Michael, holding the fork, just holding it, clear malicious intent in his eyes, tension building in the air and you feel a little sick, but his eyes are watering and he clearly doesn’t want to do what he thinks he has to.
“I love you too, Sug.” Michael says honestly.
Stevie giggles, Cicero de-escalates things further, and you think you see the light at the end of the tunnel, if not for the fact that Michael is still holding the fork. Still standing up, taunting him, acting like a big old child as Carmy rebukes him– and it’s really just two grown men beginning to get all macho and toxic about who’s tougher, who’s really the man of the house, and they start screeching at each other and you watch as Michael’s eyes glaze over with something, with Lee’s final insult that “he’s nothing.”
You watch as Michael takes his seat. He seems ambivalent, hard to read– he’s not meeting anyone’s eyes and you feel terrible about it.
Donna comes in and takes her seat– she seems rather drunk, too, and the last thing you need is more evidence that substance abuse is a bad thing– and Stevie starts the most wonderful prayer that still isn’t enough to dissuade Michael. You catch his gaze– he’s mulling over something, his eyes are watery, and you want to go over there and talk him down, even if that idea is unwise.
Donna cries over the prayer, and Natalie commits the most cardinal sin that she could at this moment: she asks if she’s okay.
You flinch with recognition as Donna starts screaming at her, about how she is okay and could a person who isn’t okay make such a gorgeous meal, and she exits the room in visible anger, and Natalie begins to hyperventilate, while Michelle tries to calm everyone down.
Donna throws a plate down on the floor, and exits the room continuing to scream– and there’s a beat of tense silence, full of angst and what-nows, and Lee decides to take initiative breaking that silence with a silly joke– almost in a paternal role, again, a hot topic between him and Mikey– and you watch Michael’s eyes start narrowing as he leans against his hand.
Michael throws the third fork.
It’s like every single nerve you felt, every bit of tension that was already in place, comes to a head as Michael starts going batshit, trying his best to attack Lee, while the Fak brothers and Richie are between them, and you can barely think straight as everyone starts screaming at each other.
Tiff almost gets dragged into the chaos, and you're left shielding and comforting her from the fight. Pete and Richie hold Michael off and you're thankful– the last thing you want is to go up in there and get caught in the crossfire yourself. It’s genuinely a blur– you have no idea how bad things are getting until Cicero starts telling them to get the fuck out.
Suddenly, the wall of the living room bursts inwards, the Christmas tree getting dragged in the crossfire, and you realize with shock that someone’s driven a car inside.
Not just any car– that’s Donna in there, driving, and you think for a moment she’s dead. You can’t believe what’s happening– you can feel your heart hammering through your chest.
Michael runs towards the car, tries to open the front door, yelling and asking her what she did, asking her to open the door. She stirs a little.
Everyone else is standing there, in shock, not focusing properly on what to do, and you pull yourself away from the crowd of people, as they stare on in horror. You don’t want to be a part of this, but you are, and you know what a responsible adult would do.
You go outside, into the December night’s cold air, and call 911. Specify for the firefighters and ambulances, because Cicero has a big thing against narcs and cops and you’re not getting into that right now.
Even though you’re freezing, and that’s what you should be focusing on? You’re in an incredible amount of despair because of what’s taken place. You hang up the call and feel exhausted by everything that’s happened, and you wonder if Michael really knows better. If he can be more than this. It’s not something you’re judging him for– but you feel terrible about his circumstances and you want him to get out of there.
Worse, you can’t help but feel a little upset with him. Because you know that Michael didn’t have to stoop that low– he chose to, and that’s what bothers you the most. He let his emotional responses dictate how he was going to act, and you know it’s hard to not be so provoked in this environment, but still: you are concerned and upset with him, and you know you need to take a step back. As much as it hurts you to stay away, you feel like it’s going to hurt even more if you intentionally stay around.
You wait for the ambulance and fire trucks to show up– you take a minute to direct them through the house, and then you trust that someone else has got it from there. Carmy, Natalie, Michelle, Stevie– they’ve got each other, they’re whispering about something, and you know where you’re not needed.
You grab your coat and leave, leave as silently as you can without interrupting everything that’s going on. It’s an strange walk home– ten minutes of you thinking about everything.
You hope next Christmas will be better.
/
Michael comes down from his high hard. Someone’s wrapped a blanket around him, and he’s sitting on the front porch’s staircase, wondering what the hell is going on. Donna’s apparently been taken to the hospital– and there’s a makeshift tarp where the wall has been crashed in. Everyone has gone home.
Where did you go? He has a moment of panic. Are you okay? Did he fuck it up that badly? That you would leave without saying goodbye? Michael can picture the disappointment on your face, and he wishes– he really wishes he was someone else.
He’s stressing really hard, his eyes are beginning to tear up. God, he knew he wasn’t really worthy of your attention– you’re young still, you have the whole world ahead of you– and he wonders if he can apologize. He wonders what he could possibly say to make it right. After such an insane situation, he can’t even blame you for taking off.
Natalie tells him, kind sister that she is, that you were the one to call emergency services. Of course you were– you have a strong head on your shoulders and Michael feels strongly that his family is in debt to you. And then you headed home, but Natalie doesn’t know why.
He does have your number. But he’s not going to call you, not right now– he’s not going to make a bigger mistake and fuck things up further.
Michael sighs, and leans back. He doesn’t deserve to be happy.
#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
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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
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youtube
Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared
The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!
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The absolute devastation of looking for fics of your fav character from a show you js watched only to find NONE😭
#Juan Ruiz x reader#the imperfects#Juan Ruiz#Moe Doodle#the doodlebops#moe doodle x reader#shanks x reader#shanks#one piece#one piece live action#Usopp x reader#Usopp#mikey berzatto#Mikey berzatto x reader#the bear#Pope Heyward x reader#pope heyward#outerbanks#fanfic
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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
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♡ 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
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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
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Behind the Red in My Eyes
Mikey Berzatto x Reader
Summary: Mikey comes home, yet again, exhausted after a long shift at The Beef. You offer him some encouraging words and his favorite touch to unwind.
Warnings: cursing
Author's Note: This is my first entry for @bernthirst-events's Beardthal Bash! I had this idea for a while, but I ended up writing way more plot than was needed oops! I still hope there was enough mention of the beard to count!
Word Count: 2.9k+
Mikey Berzatto took pride in his work. It may not be the most glamorous job, but he put countless hours into the family restaurant that he tries so hard to keep afloat. It’s one of your favorite things about him—how much heart he puts into everything he does.
The only downside is how often you’re stuck missing him while the apartment grows too quiet as the hours pass. You have the schedule of The Beef’s hours ingrained in your mind, tacking on the extra time it takes to close up at night. But all the counting does little to stop the frequent checking of the clock on your phone’s lockscreen.
You were thankful when he worked up the deal with Carmy to split some of the necessary management time at the sandwich shop—if you could call it management time. It would be more truthful to call it “babysitting”, taking into consideration the hotheadedness of the staff. And let's be honest, leaving the restaurant in the hands of Richie Jerimovich? Absolutely not.
But, as much as the Berzatto brothers meant well, this plan didn’t last. It worked for a while, Mikey taking the mornings and helping with opening the store so that around the time that the menu changed, Carmy could come in and work until close. They figured it would be the best way to not overwork themselves but still put a healthy amount of time into their family business.
And then one day it was too busy for Mike to come home. Since then, there hasn’t really been a fix to the original plan. You miss him a lot and definitely wish you could see him more, but you feel so much pride swelling in your chest each time you think of how hard he works for that little brick building. No amount of missing him could outweigh that feeling—or how your face feels as if it might split in two when you sneak into the restaurant and see how happy he is to be there.
Nine times out of ten, you walk in and see his smile brightening the whole room as his infectious laugh fills the air. His eyes would be squinted into thin lines as his head falls back and he clutches his chest for a breath. He always cared about the people and wanted everyone to feel welcome there no matter their background or history. You loved seeing him like this and kept these memories at the front of your mind whenever it got harder to be patient on the long nights alone.
Your phone is in your hand before you can even register it. A habit I need to break, you remind yourself, but your screen shows the time anyway. Quarter after midnight. You place the phone down on the coffee table with a sigh, exchanging it for the book that your friend swore you had to read.
Tucking your finger between the pages and your bookmark, you open up the book and scan the printed words until you can jog your memory of the last thing you read. Once you find your place, you tuck your legs to your chest and lazily tug the blanket down from the back of the couch to cover yourself. It doesn’t take long before your surroundings begin to fade and the words paint a picture in your mind.
You look up from your book at the sound of keys jingling inside the metal deadbolt on your apartment door. What time is it? A second later the door is opening and there stands Mikey. He sighs as he holds onto the doorframe before pressing the toes of one foot to the heel of the other, taking his shoes off before bending down to place them beside the entrance.
When he stands back up you finally get a good look at him in the lamplight. His shoulders are slouched, his whole body a portrait of exhaustion. He’s rubbing his knuckles sleepily at his eyes, setting the keys down on the small table beside him.
“Hey, sweetheart,” you call to him as his footsteps gently sound out on the wooden floors. He finally glances over to the couch once he notices you and the smile that stretches over his face is tired, yet genuine.
“Hey, baby,” he whispers back to you. His voice is hoarse, mostly likely due to all the yelling in the chaotic kitchen he’s spent the whole day inside of. It’s almost as if his words are caught in his chest, sounding out deep and warm when he speaks. He makes his way to the couch, leaning over the back of it, and placing a quick peck of his lips on your forehead.
As soon as you feel it, he’s gone, making his way to the kitchen in the next room over. You can immediately tell something is off; Mikey gets quiet after a long day of being the loudest guy in the room, but he’s not usually reserved in his affection towards you.
The blanket you were wrapped up in slowly slides down your chest and onto your lap as you sit up against the arm of the couch. You question whether you should push it, but something in your gut wouldn’t leave it be.
“Mikey? You okay?” you call out towards the kitchen. The sound of him closing cupboards echoes through the space next. He makes his way to the fridge, opening it before leaning inside and scanning the leftovers from the meals you make while he’s out.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” he responds monotonously, pulling away with a glass container in his hand. The slightly blue lighting shines across his face, illuminating his features in a cold hue. It looks almost intentional, as if to reflect his mood. “What is this?”
“Baked ziti from last night. I’m here for you, Bear, you know that right?” You don’t miss a beat, purposefully choosing not to fall for his distraction of mentioning the food. You watch as he pauses for a moment, setting the food down on the counter and closing the fridge before walking back towards you. You never want to push him or demand he open up to you, but you also want him to know he can lean on you if need be.
A heavy sigh leaves him as he sinks down onto the cushion beside you, one arm resting along the length of the couch, the other propping his head up in his palm. You can see all the evidence of his tiring day of work now that he’s closer to you: the dark grease stains along the bottom of his blue shirt, the marks under his eyes indicating he didn’t sleep enough, the new bandage wrapped around his thumb. All signs point to a draining, most likely not rewarding, day.
Gently reaching out for his wrist, you pull his larger hand into yours. “What happened here?” He moves with you, turning his palm face up as you let your index finger gently trace over his skin. The bandage is uneven, and you can see the faint maroon marking under the tan color.
“Was a uh,” he begins, sighing as he rubs at his eyes with the knuckles of his free hand. “Was an accident. Cousin called me while I was choppin’ onions and, well,” he gestures to his injured thumb. You feel your features change as he speaks, the words painting a clear picture in your head of him in the kitchen as he gets hurt.
“I’m so sorry, Mikey,” you whisper in the small space between the two of you. Your own fingers drag down the inside of his arm, trailing over scars from accidental fryer burns and playing rough outside with Carmy when he was younger. All the little markings on his skin have little stories behind them, and you cherish the boisterous laughter that comes from him when he tells the tales.
“S’alright, baby, happens all the time,” he attempts to reassure you. The tone surrounding his words falls flat and leaves you with the same weariness in your mind. Glancing up at his face, you see the tired lines under his eyes and the way he stares out at nothing while his mind wanders.
Curling your fingers around him tighter, you bring his hand up to your face and place a gentle kiss right under the bandage. It takes him another moment to react due to the other thoughts trailing around in his mind. When he finally glances over, his eyes are fixed on your lips pressing against him, the small peck sending a wave of warmth through him. You continue staring up at him from under your eyelashes; the sigh that leaves him makes his chest deflate when his gaze locks with yours.
“Thank you,” he murmurs softly, a sad smile on his face.
“Is there anything else I can do to help?” you ask, wanting to try and improve his mood. He twists his back and adjusts himself against the couch.
“Nah, nah, baby, it’s okay. It’ll heal up,” he answers dismissively. It’s clear he didn’t pick up on the other meaning of your question, so you try wording it another way.
“No I didn’t mean the cut, Mikey.” His eyebrows pull together, confusion painted all over his features. “I can see how tired you are,” you continue, watching him sigh again and prepare to defend himself. “I just want to take some of the weight off your shoulders, is all. I’m not gonna say to cut your hours back, I know you can’t do that but…” you find your words trailing off when he reaches up to drag his palm down his face.
“You have to at least take care of yourself,” you whisper the final words as his hand drops to his lap. There’s a silence that lingers over the room and you’re worried you’ve overstepped in suggesting the restaurant being the source of a good portion of his stress.
“You’re right,” he speaks up, and you feel the tension leaving your body almost instantly. “You’re right, I just don’t… think about it?” his tone rises at the end, twisting the sentence into more of a question. His eyes find yours again and you give him a slight nod, wordlessly encouraging him to continue.
“It just… It’s always been the restaurant first, y’know? Like if that goes under then I’ve got nothing left. And then all the things everybody says about me are true.” He finishes the last sentences with an exasperated breath. Your heart sinks at his words, especially after spending one too many family dinners at his mother’s house and hearing how they treat him and his impulsivity. You want to defend him, but choose not to interrupt his venting.
“And nobody in my family knows how to slow down. I mean, shit, look at Carm,” he chuckles dryly as he shakes his head. “Nearly fuckin’ killed himself out in New York. Mom doesn’t have her head screwed on straight, doesn’t know what’s going on half the fuckin’ time. It just—.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees, his head hanging low in his hands.
There’s a quick sniffle before he’s raking his fingers through his hair roughly. He sits up and stares down at his fingers, anxiously picking at the skin around his nails. Every fiber in your being screams to reach out to him and comfort him, and this time you listen to your instincts.
“Mikey,” you start, gently placing your hand on his forearm and pulling him towards you. His body falls and you feel his weight instantly pressing into your shoulder. Slumped against you like this, his body heat instantly warms up your side and you melt in turn.
“I know you might not know how to take those breaks, but we can work through it together,” you attempt to calm him. “It might not be easy at first but we can just take it one day at a time, yeah?” You glance down at your shoulder to see him staring up at you with half closed eyes. He slowly blinks before finally registering that you asked him a question.
“I like that plan,” he says eventually. His lips part as a yawn takes over and you smile as his eyes scrunch up while his jaw drops open.
“Oh, poor baby…” you chuckle under your breath. His face rests back in his natural position, but his eyes remain shut. He looks so peaceful like this that it makes your heart warm. Admittedly, it’s been too long since you’ve seen him truly relaxed like this. The last few times must’ve been when you were waking up in the night and happened to catch him asleep.
Stolen glances in the middle of the night aren’t enough, you decide. Adjusting your body on the couch, you angle yourself so your back is against the arm of the couch and your legs extend down the length of the cushions. You pull his body between your legs, guiding his head down to rest on your chest.
“You know none of that shit they say is true… right?” you ask softly as you let your fingers trail down his neck and smoothe down his back. He may not look like it, but Mike is one of the biggest suckers for physical touch—specifically cuddling.
He only hums in response, but still you continue. “The restaurant wasn’t a bad idea, baby. I think it’s sweet you kept something in the family name.” You drag your nails down his broad back softly and feel him sigh deeply, the leftover tension finally leaving his body.
“‘M pretty sure you’re the only one who thinks that,” he mumbles out, not bothering to lift his head from you.
“I swear to god the next time Uncle Lee, or whoever, opens their god damn mouth I’m gonna be the one to throw a fork.” The next thing you feel is Mikey’s laughter shaking you, his rumbly chuckle sounding out in the quiet room. You let yourself smile at the pleasant sound, pressing your fingers into the junction where his neck meets his shoulders. With each push of your fingertips, you try to get rid of those pesky knots of stress that his body is unconsciously clinging on to.
“Seriously though,” you start again, wrapping your arms around his head this time, “we’ll figure it all out. I just want you to rest for now.” You tilt your head down and press your lips to the top of his head. You shut your eyes and try to focus on this moment: the feeling of his body weighing on your torso, his hot breath gently fanning over your arm, his scent relaxing you with each inhale you take.
You let your fingers wander, scratching your nails around his scalp under his hair. There’s a raspy groan that leaves him next and the sound has butterflies suddenly coming to life in your stomach. A giggle slips out from between your lips as you ask, “Feels that good?”
Something bumps the side of your palm as you continue to play with his hair and you reach for it blindly. You try your hardest not to let disappointment wash over you as you stare at the cigarette between your fingers.
“I thought we weren’t doing this anymore, Mikey bear,” you speak in a whisper. A little less than a week ago, Mike decided to stop smoking and using drugs. You knew he could do it but you also knew how big of a step he was taking, so you tried giving as much support as you could offer. He tilts his head up at your voice and looks at you with confusedly. He glances down at the tightly rolled paper in your grasp before shaking his head gently.
“That’s from this morning, baby. Cousin offered it when he clocked in and I didn’t want to say no and have him asking a bunch of fuckin’ questions,” he explains exasperatedly. “But no, I-I didn’t smoke today.” His words are bathed with sincerity even through the tired rasp of his tone.
Your face lights up instantly, pride swelling in your chest once you realize that he kept his promise to you—his promise to himself. You can’t even imagine how difficult it must be to cut everything out like that, but you know he’s going to feel better in the long run because of it.
“I’m so, so proud of you,” you whisper as your fingers brush down his sideburns and begin to smooth out over his beard. “You’re doing so much and I see it.” You worry your words fall flat, but you also know how sometimes all you want is for someone to say that they notice the work you’re doing.
“Thank you.” You believe for a second that you imagined the words due to the barely audible breath that surrounds them. He reaches up to hold your wrist before turning his head to kiss the back of your hand. Sweet moments like this make your heart melt for him and how gentle he can be. There’s not much else to say so the both of you sit in silence, comforted by the presence of the other.
Your nails drag along the short hair that decorates his jaw and you watch his eyes flutter close for the last time. As you wrap your other arm across his chest and pull him closer, you smile at the sound of his soft snores filling the air. The ends of his facial hair tickle your fingertips but you continue gently scratching, wanting to give him a comforting touch to fall into an even deeper sleep.
“Rest up, baby boy,” you whisper as you kiss his head one final time.
#mikey berzatto#mikey berzatto x reader#the bear fanfiction#jon bernthal fanfiction#BeardthalBash#beardthal bash 2023#chelsea writes
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CW: dub-con incest, age gap, minor mention of drug abuse and being high
Minors DNI 18+
A/N: happy birthday to me! hope y’all enjoy :)
~~~
You stuff your hand over your mouth, hot tears burning tracks down your cheeks as a strangled sob rips from your throat. Christmas dinner at the Berzatto’s has always been a stressful time but your mom is really on a warpath tonight, scrutinizing everything you do to try to help.
“Baby Bear? Where’d you disappear to?”
Your eyes fly open at Mikey’s gravelly voice just beyond the closed door of the pantry and you clear your throat, roughly scrubbing your sleeve over your eyes as you call out, “in here, Mikey!” The handle rattles as he pulls the door open and you shoot him a weak half-smile, stretching up to reach a box of crackers on the top shelf. “Mama wanted me to get some crackers for Tiff.” Mikey cocks an eyebrow at your weak excuse, easily reaching up to grab the box for you.
“I don’t think grabbing some fuckin’ crackers takes ten minutes, what’s really going on?” His voice is soft as he hands you the box and your face falls at the question, fresh tears burning your eyes. He sighs and pulls you against his chest, trapping your arms between your bodies.
“I can’t do anything right, Bear. Mama- she just keeps screaming at me and it-it feels like everyone else doesn’t want me here.” You sob, the cardboard box collapsing underneath your tightening grip.
Mikey rests his cheek on the top of your head, running a soothing hand down your back, “Now you know that ain’t true, baby, you’re such a good girl all the time, it'd be a crime not to want to be around you.” You let out a quiet hiccuping laugh and his lips curl into a smile, turning his head to press a kiss to your hair.
You pull your face away from his chest to wipe your eyes and he grins, cupping your cheek to pull your forehead against his. “There’s my girl.” He says quietly with a grin, “don’t let mom ruin Christmas for you, yeah? Keep being good and once everyone’s gone, I’ll give you your present.”
You let your eyes flutter shut, a small smile sneaking onto your face. “Okay, I promise.” You grin at him, “do I get a hint on what you got me?”
Mikey laughs and pecks your cheek, brushing his lips over the corner of your mouth, “Cheeky girl, where’s the fun if you’re not surprised, huh?” You giggle and wind your arms around his waist, squeezing him tightly.
“Never hurts to ask, right?” You tease, eyes sliding shut as you linger in his warm embrace, “Thank you, Bear.”
He hums, bending down to press a kiss to the top of your head, “It’s nothin’, Baby Bear, I’m always gonna be here for you.”
More tears threaten to spill and you squeeze your eyes shut, taking in a deep breath to let the smell of his cologne calm you before stepping away. “I should really get these to Tiff.” You say, shaking the half crushed box, “you promise they don’t hate me?”
“If they do, they’ll answer to me, yeah? Don’t let them get in that pretty head of yours.” Mikey shares a reassuring smile with you, dropping down to kiss your head one last time before heading back to the gathering. You press your lips together as he returns to being his boisterous self, loud voice spilling through the rest of the house.
After dropping off the crackers with Tiffany and fussing over her when another wave of nausea ran through her, you drag your feet back to the living room, loitering in the doorway as your heart pounds at the constant chatter between guests.
You force a smile when Mikey notices you, curling in on yourself as he gestures you over to him. Without a stutter in his words he wraps an arm around your waist and guides you onto his lap, smoothing a reassuring hand down your back as he talks. You curl into him, tucking your face into his neck to hide from the eyes of everyone, perfectly content to just listen as Mikey commands the room.
“And I thought incest was a southern thing! Who’d have thought we’d see it from my own son and daughter!”
Mikey stiffens under you and your body burns with mortification, pulling away from your hiding place in Mikey’s neck to look at your mom, “Mama!”
“What?” She laughs, nearly choking on her last sip of wine, “I’m just saying what everyone else is thinking, Baby Bear, what kinda siblings sit like that?”
Mikey glares at Donna, opening his mouth to defend himself when you slide off his lap, curling in on yourself. He resigns to glaring at her and touches your back gently, leaning down to whisper, “Don’t listen to her, she’s just trying to start shit.” You just nod, shifting away from his touch as tears burn your eyes.
An awkward air fills the room as the conversation tries to move away from Donna’s outburst and you take your chance to slip away, busying yourself with readying the table for dinner. The heavy thud of boots makes you glance up, your stomach twisting at the sheepish look on Mikey’s face. “Baby Bear, you know I’d never-”
“So this is where you ran off to!”
A cold trickle runs down your spine as Lee wraps an arm low around your waist, fingers just barely brushing against your hip bone through your jeans. Lee shot Mikey a shit-eating glare and tugs you against his side, “what are you doing, hiding away in here with him?” He spits the last word like an insult and Mikey bares his teeth in a snarl, stepping forward to pull you away from him.
“I-I just wanted to make sure the table was set, I know Mama’s almost done cooking.” You answer nervously, eyes flickering between the two men. “I should actually… see if she needs help, please excuse me.” You extract yourself from Lee’s grasp, shuddering as his hand glides over the globe of your ass. You hurry to the kitchen, plastering a smile on your face as Donna turns to you with a dish full of food.
“Put this down and go tell everyone it’s time to eat. Go, hurry!”
You nod frantically and carefully balance the hot dish as you move as quickly as you dart back into the dining room, barely sparing a glance at the two men still locked in a standoff before dipping your head into the living room to call out, “foods up!”
You go back to the kitchen to help your mom and by the time you get into the dining room with the final platter, the only seat available is between Mikey and Lee. You take a deep breath, slowly letting it out as you move to sit down. You stiffen in your seat as Lee’s hand drops to your lap to squeeze your knee. Mikey lets out a deep growl and glares at Lee, reaching over to force his hand off your leg, “how about you keep your fucking hands to yourself, huh?”
Lee laughs, “Yeah like you could follow that rule! You think I don’t know what you and Baby Bear have been up to? Maybe if you stopped dreaming about your dick in her mouth maybe tonight wouldn’t have been so stressful for your mom.”
Your eyes widen, nails digging into your palms as Mikey scoffs, slamming his hand against the table before pointing accusingly at Lee, “Don’t you dare say shit like that in front of her! You know damn well you could’ve gotten your head out of your ass and helped too!”
You gently touch Mikey’s arm, sharing a pleading look with him, “Hey. Just leave him, Bear, okay?” You shake your head as you speak softly, “This isn’t worth it, please.” His face softens and you give him a small smile.
“Don’t act like I didn’t catch you in her bedroom the other day! Your poor mother’s at her wit’s end because you’re just some sick junkie pervert that can’t keep his hands off his own sister!” Lee yells, “How long has it been going on, huh? Did you get addicted to the pills first or was the guilt of fucking your little sister too much to handle sober?”
The room falls silent, everyone exchanging silent glances, trying to decide who to believe. No one could believe Mikey would ever hurt you but… the Mikey they saw in front of them, the one high on pills, who knows what he could do. You stand abruptly, knocking your chair over as you look around the room for a moment, almost pleading with them to come to your defense. Tears of humiliation burn your eyes as you rush from the room, finding solace in your bedroom as the first sob rips from your chest.
You’re curled up on your bed when someone knocks lightly on your door. Sniffling, you sit up, calling out for them to open the door. Michelle pokes her head in and you manage a small smile, wiping your face with your sleeve, “What a shitshow, huh? Sorry for just running out like that.” Your voice cracks and she shoots you a sad smile, moving to sit next to you.
“None of that was your fault, honey. What they were saying about you and Mikey, I…” She trails off into a deep breath, “I was talking to Carmy earlier and I invited him to come stay in New York with me for a couple weeks.”
You nod, picking at your nails, “He’d love that, I know things have been stressful for him recently.”
“For you, too.” You look up at her questioningly and she sighs, turning to face you, “Baby Bear, I think you should come with us.” She begins, placing her hand on your knee, “with everything going on, I think you need some space from M- from everything… you could spend some time with Carmy and maybe find a good school to go to out there.”
You press your lips together in a firm line to stop them from wobbling as a fresh wave of tears builds in your eyes, “from Mikey, you mean? You want me to just leave Mikey like that?” A look of betrayal washes over your face, “who would he have if I’m gone? No. No, I can't go with you.” You finish with a shake of your head, pushing her hand off your leg.
“Honey, don’t say no yet, okay? I’m not leaving until next week, you’ve got time.” Desperation laces her voice as she stands up from your bed. “Just… think about it?” You turn your head to avoid her gaze and she sighs, lingering for a moment before leaving.
You take a shuddering breath and flop back down onto your bed, letting your comforter muffle your quiet sobs. Another knock causes you to jump, scrubbing your eyes furiously to hide the evidence as you croak, “D-doors open!” You steel yourself for more nosy relatives, pressing your lips together as you will back your tears.
“Baby Bear?”
Your facade breaks when Mikey’s face comes into view and you jump off your bed to crush him into a hug. “I’m sorry for leaving you down there alone I just- I just couldn’t-'' Your voice cracks as the words of your Uncle Lee replay in your mind, pressing your face hard against his chest “You’re not what he says! You’re my big brother, you'd never hurt me, why can’t people see that!”
His laugh vibrates through your body as his arms come up to wrap around your shoulders, “People see what they wanna see, Baby Bear, you know that.” His voice is laced with hurt and you look up at him, heart twisting painfully at the defeated look on his face.
You tighten your arms around him, “Well they’re wrong, you’re the only one that really cares ‘bout me.”
Your words bring a smile to his face and he leans down to kiss your forehead, “I’ll always care about you, you’re my baby bear.”
“Come cuddle with me,” You demand and tug at him, sending him stumbling against you as you walk backward toward your bed.
He lets out a shocked laugh, grabbing your shoulders to steady himself before he’s sent sprawling on top of you across the bed, “Careful, Baby Bear! Nearly made me crush you.”
A pout forms on your lips and you tug at him again, pulling him down nearly on top of you on the bed, “I’m not that fragile!”
Mikey snorts but lets you maneuver him to your liking before curling up against his chest. He grabs the hand you slung over his chest, pressing a gentle kiss to your fingers, “no, you’re not. You’re a big, strong bear like me, huh?”
You giggle and lace your fingers with his, marveling as his hand engulfs yours, “Yeah! That way we can take care of each other.”
“That’s right, baby.” He smiles and leans his head back against your pillows, running his thumb over your shoulder as a comfortable silence falls over the room. He looks out of place against the frills of your bedding, the same sheets you’ve had your whole childhood.
You trace invisible shapes into his chest, letting the slow movement of his breathing calm you. “Michelle came to talk to me after the fight.” You whisper, not wanting to disturb the peacefulness, “She wants me to go back to New York with her for a while. Says it would be good for me.”
“Oh yeah?”
You nod against his chest, “I don’t know… maybe it’s a good idea with everything that… that Mama is accusing you of.”
His breathing stutters and you look up at him questioningly. “You’d leave me, just like that?” He asks, speaking over you as you open your mouth to reply, “You’re all I got Baby Bear, if you leave there’d be nothing left for me here.”
Grief fills your face and you shake your head furiously, sitting up farther to pepper his face with kisses. “Don’t say things like that, Mikey! You’ll always have me, ‘m not going anywhere!” You exclaim, wrapping yourself around him in a tight hug.
Mikey nods and leans up to catch your lips with his, missing his mark and catching your cheek instead. His hands glide over your sides, gripping your waist tightly as he twists to pin you underneath his weight. “I love you, Baby Bear.” He whispers as he finally finds your mouth, forcing his tongue past your lips in a sloppy kiss. You gasp and grip his shirt, too shocked to respond as he kisses you slowly.
He’s breathing heavily when he pulls away, resting his forehead against yours. “M-Mikey, I think you need to go to your room.” You say hesitantly, pushing against his chest, “What if Mama catches us, you could go to jail.”
He shakes his head and dips down for another kiss, hand slipping down your body to grab a handful of your ass. A reluctant moan slips from your throat as he drags your core over his hardening bulge and he groans in response, grinding harder against you.
“You’re always so worried about everyone else, just think of us for once.” He murmurs, trailing hot kisses down your neck, “Everyone already thinks we’re having sex, why fight it?” You shake your head, letting out a gasp as he nibbles your pulse point. He dips his fingers between your thighs, humming quietly as he finds your panties soaked with your wetness.
You throw your head back with a whine as Mikey pushes his fingers past the barrier of your panties and sinks his fingers into your core. He slowly thrusts them into your cunt, groaning at each quiet whimper slipping past your lips. “M-Mikey stop! They’re going to hear us!”
He shakes his head, curling his against your sweet spot, “Don’t worry, Baby Bear, they’re too shit-faced to care what we’re up to.” Mikey presses his lips against yours as he coaxes a third finger into you, drinking in your moans. Your hips stutter, torn between arching towards the pleasure and away from it.
Mikey hums, other hand dropping down to free his cock from his jeans, “tha’s it baby, ready for my cock?” You shake your head, a gasp catching in your throat as he grinds his cock against the softness of your inner thigh. He curls his fingers inside your cunt, forcing a loud moan out of you and grins, “Yeah you are, don’t worry baby, I’ll make you feel good.”
He pulls his fingers out, chuckling softly at your whine, and blindly wraps his hand around his cock. You squirm underneath him, pressing your palms against his chest as he glides the tip through your folds, “I-I don’t think we should be doing thi-” you lose your words on a choked gasp as his cock sinks into your cunt.
Mikey lets out a shaky breath, resting his forehead against yours as he rolls his hips, slowly pushing deeper with each thrust, “been wanting this for so long, Baby Bear, feel so good around me.” He growls, gritting his teeth as he bottoms out inside you. Your breath comes out in short pants, cunt clenching around his thick length.
“Mikey…” You whine as he grinds against you, a hot shock of pleasure jolting through your spine, “We should s-stop.” He shakes his head, forcing his mouth over yours in a heated kiss. His hands grip your thighs, using the leverage to drive his hips harder into you. The room fills with quiet squeaking, your bed frame thunking gently against the wall with each thrust.
You throw your head back against your pillows with a loud moan as his cock angles perfectly against your sweet spot. Mikey slaps his hand over your mouth and shushes you, leaning close to your ear. “Y’need to stay quiet, princess, want Ma to hear? Or Uncle Lee? I saw how he was touchin’ you tonight, I think he’d try to join. Don’t want that, do you?”
You shake your head frantically, biting down hard on your lip as another moan bubbles from your chest. Mikey gives you a mock pout, thrusts speeding up as he murmurs, “I know, I know Baby Bear, it feels too good, huh? Love your big brother's cock in your little pussy.” Mikey loses his rhythm as he looks down at you, nearly angelic with your eyes half-lidded with pleasure, your hair sprawled across the princess pink of your pillows like a halo.
Mikey grinds his fingers against your clit and the taste of blood fills your mouth as your teeth break through the skin of your lip in your attempt to stifle your noises. You clench around him as his fingers push you closer to the edge and he grins, thrusting harder into you. “I can feel how close you are, Baby Bear. C’mon, you can let go.” His fingers move against you faster and your body arches against him, muscles tightening as you teeter on the edge. “Yeah jus’ like that, cum on your brother’s cock.”
Tears burn your eyes as your orgasm rips through you, shaking beneath him as overwhelming pleasure frays your nerves. Mikey lets out a choked grunt, hands moving to pull your hips flush against his as you clench around him, drawing his orgasm from him.
Mikey carefully shifts onto his side, his frame dwarfing the small bed as he pulls you tightly against his chest to keep you from falling off. He presses a gentle kiss to your lips, mouth curving into a smile as you kiss back. “Merry Christmas, Baby Bear.”
#mikey berzatto#mikey berzatto the bear#mikey berzatto x reader#mikey berzatto smut#mikey the bear#the bear#the bear hulu#the bear fx#jon bernthal x reader#jon bernthal#jon bernthal smut#smut#writing
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saturn | michael berzatto
You taught me the courage of stars before you left How light carries on endlessly, even after death
Michael Berzatto
A loving husband and devoted father
November 15, 1979 — February 22, 2022
Ten year old Mia Berzatto read over her fathers memorial card. Her mother’s side of the family had a memorial service for Michael in her grandmother’s home. She couldn’t wait to get out of her black clothing and go back to wearing her father’s large shirts. She sat on her grandma’s sofa rereading over the card. After she was tired of looking at the same words, she got up to look for her mother, who was somewhere around her grandmother’s house that was filled with people.
“Mia? You okay, sweetheart?” Her mother’s Uncle Matt asked when he found her wandering the living room.
Mia nodded. Ever since the funeral, Mia hadn’t said much only to her mother and Aunt Natalie. “Where’s my mom, Uncle?”
Uncle Matt sighed. Y/n Berzatto was currently trying to keep calm in the hallway bathroom. “Have you eaten? Want me to make you a sandwich? Do you want a juice box?”
Mia shook her head. “I want my mom.”
Uncle Matt sighed once again. “She’ll be out in a minute, she’s in the restroom. I’ll let her know you’re looking for her. Why don’t you wait in grandma’s library?”
Mia’s grandma had made one of the unoccupied bedrooms into a little library so her granddaughter could enjoy it. Mia wasn’t the only one that loved being in that room, Michael loved it just as much. He would buy her many books and read them to her. Mia was learning about planets and galaxies so Michael practically bough every book about space, stars, planets, etc.
Mia walked to the library and saw an opened book on the floor. She approached it and saw that it was her favorite book that Michael would always read to her. It was a Dr. Seuss book called ‘There’s no place like space’ and every time Michael would read it to her, he would do a silly voice to match with the rhymes.
One thing Mia noticed right away was that the book was on the page talking about Saturn, her favorite planet. She tried to remember when was the last time she opened the book. Then it hit her. Michael was the last one to open the book, days before his death. She remembers the conversation they had that day about Saturn.
“It’s so pretty! And it has the rings! What’s your favorite planet, daddy?” Mia asked Michael as they layed on the floor looking at the illustrations.
“Well I think Saturn is my favorite too. If it’s yours then it’s mine.”
Saturn was theirs.
Mia couldn’t bring herself to close the book, not when her father’s hands had left it open on the page that talked about their favorite planet. She just couldn’t do it.
“Mia?” She heard her mother’s voice call out. “Uncle Matt said you wanted me? You want to go home?” Y/n approached her daughter, wiping away a few tears she still had left on her cheeks.
“Daddy left it on Saturn.” Mia said as she continued to stare at the book.
Y/n knew about their love for the planet and their book. She was just like Mia, she didn’t want it to be closed.
“Hmmm . . . I think it’s daddy’s way of being with us. You remember what he told you about stars?” Y/n asked.
Mia nodded. “That if I want to talk to him and he’s not here, I can talk to the stars because they listen.”
“Yeah, and guess what? Daddy’s with the stars now so he’ll always be listening to you.”
#the bear#carmen berzatto#mikey berzatto#mikey berzatto x reader#the bear imagine#fx the bear#Mikey berzatto imagine#michael berzatto
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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
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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.
#jon bernthal fic#mikey berzatto x reader#angst with no happy ending#michael berzatto x reader#the bear#the bear fics#mikey berzatto#distortionbobble's fics#reader insert#angst
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BROKEN STEP
CHAPTER ONE IN THE BROTHER BEAR SERIES
Micheal/ Mikey Berzatto x fem!reader (feel free to ignore any gender mentions if you are uncomfortable<3)
Carmy Berzatto x platonic!reader
Richie Jerimovich x platonic!reader
WORD COUNT: 1.3k
WARNINGS: fluff, poor writing, mentions of Richie(yes some of y'all need a warning), and mentions of readers' parents
February 22nd, 2015
It had been two days since the handsome stranger had come to my parent's home.
He had come over to fix the broken porch step my father had been too busy to fix.
Normally my mother would have found the best person she could for the job to guarantee that the step would never step out of line again. But that was normally, she had stopped at an acquaintance's house to drop by a dish of food -that she definitely didn't cook- because she was worried because the lady had recently fallen ill with a cold. She had sworn up and down that she cared but I had a feeling it was just to keep up with appearances, but when she got there she was met with her eldest son. Micheal Berzatto.
He had listened to her loudly complain about how her ‘perfect’ home is falling apart and she has to wait an extra week before they get a repairman to come to fix her front step, even though she had tipped the company double than what was required for their services.
When he and Richie were walking into the kitchen to grab a beer, his mother offered his services. Not that he minded much, it was a few extra bucks in his pocket.
When he showed up at the overly large home, he was met with you. I mean sure he had seen you around, but he had never been alone with you.
Your mother had forgotten the Berzatto boy was supposed to come that afternoon so she and your father had made plans to go on vacation, leaving you at the house to drown yourself in tv and snacks.
You were a few seasons deep on ‘The Walking Dead’ before you heard the loud knock on the door, it was just then that you realized the light tapping you had heard was actually knocking.
When you had pulled the large door open you were not expecting to see him.
The hot son of Donna Berzatto. Even when you were younger and would see him around town you would always think that he was the most beautiful man. Even in your teens.
There was something about his dark hair and brown eyes.
There wasn't a large age gap between you. His 35 to your 24 wasn't a big deal, but when you expressed it with your close friend she had seen it as immature on your part to have a ‘child-like’ crush on someone with a significant gap in age.
Safe to say you ignored her advice even when it made you feel a bit guilty, but you knew it would never go anywhere, it was harmless and it's not like it didn't boost guys’ egos when girls had crushes on them.
He was never really on the market for long after yet another break up with one of his short term girlfriends, before another woman would snatch him up.
He had his head down when you had opened the door before it shot up as soon as he heard the click. His eyes slowly ranked up your body from toe to head, before slowly zeroing in on my face, his eyes twinkling as a smile pulled at his face.
And that was history. You stood outside when he fixed the front step, -definitely ogling his biceps as he worked- and when he finally finished you invited him inside for something to drink.
You guys had talked for what felt like forever. He had this vibrant circle of care around him and when he looked at you it made you feel like you were the most important thing in the world. Like he was actually interested in what you were saying.
It was rare for you to actually feel seen and understood but when you and Mikey started your relationship there was never really a time when you didn’t, even when you guys were fighting and at each other's throats he still treated you like the world's most prized possession.
It was then he asked you out on a date in the most dude way, but as a gentleman nonetheless.
“So hunny, what do you say? You wanna go out sometime?” And because this was the most out-of-character thing he could say; you and Richie would always make fun of him, which resulted in Mikey jokingly telling Carmy to stay single which of course you made him pay for.
After the dinner at the diner and the kiss on the cheek at the doorstep, you and Mikey had been thick as thieves, definitely giving Richie and Mikey a run for their money.
Sure Richie was a little jealous that his best friends focus had shifted from their hangouts to hanging out with the girlfriend, but over time, he had even planned nights where you would all hang out. It was then he realized what Mikey saw in you.
Your calmness and beautiful aura was surrounding you. And it was like you didn’t even notice it. Your humour related to his and you both would often have a battle of who was funnier.
Mikey always swore that it was you but you had a feeling there were some biases there but it’s not like you would ever point that out. A win is a win.
You had a certain bond with everyone in his family.
With Sugar, you knew what it was like to be the mother of everyone around her. Making it her job to check on everyone around her and look after them. Often taking their load of sadness and pain and adding it to her pile to make it just a bit easier for everyone else. Or that she wasn’t everyone’s first thought, even if she deserved to be.
Then there’s Richie, always seen as the bad guy and troublemaker even if he has good intentions at heart, he always seems to have the worst execution no matter how many times he tries to be better. It was a feeling you related to too much, as you constantly felt that way in your parent's eyes. Like you were a burden. Anything you did screwed up their perfect family image even if it was just existing.
And Carm, sweet Carm. He had a stutter and was totally awkward but in a cute way. He had a heart of gold but was a little too shy to show it. He had gone through a lot at a young age, with such a dysfunctional family, sure he didn’t deal with it in the best way but the most common. Most of his family had held it against him for how he handled what they all went through, but everyone deals with their trauma differently.
Mikey ignores the pain and pushes it down, Sugar uses it to fuel her will to be good, Donna dealt with it by taking control and Richie even though he isn't technically related to them; he became irresponsible and started to act out.
I had seen their relationship with the family bloom throughout the years, I had been with Mikey. I had seen the fights, the laughs, Carms graduation, The beef get traction, the hard times and the promising.
And you had never felt prouder to be included in their crazy but lovable family.
When you and Mikey first started your relationship, he mostly decided to keep you away from his family, and at first you just assumed that he didn't think that the relationship would last. But after staying together you realized that it was a way to protect you from his family. As if he didn't want to scare you away.
“As if” you remembered telling him, “Nothing like that could scare me away from you.” and he held on to that as tight as he could. Knowing that you loved him no matter what his baggage was, and that you were in it for the long hall.
[Y'all I'm probably going to be making the Christmas in the next day or two cause I am one episode away, and I plan on making it a long one. So would you guys rather have one long chapter or two?]
TAG LIST: @gloryekaterina @secretjeon @frogjumps-world
#mikey berzatto x reader#mikey berzatto#carmy berzatto x reader#the bear x reader#sugar the bear#the bear hulu#jon bernthal x reader
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My request could also work with carmy and Michael too btw 👀🤭 whatever tickles your muse
There Goes That Dream.
carmy berzatto x female reader, michael berzatto x female reader
warnings - pure angst. sorry about this. happy valentines day!
masterlist. inbox. valentines masterlist.
“What’s on your mind, Bear?”
Michael has been watching his little brother carefully for the last thirty minutes. Carmy’s deep in thought, lip bitten between his teeth, eyes unfocused and dissociated.
“Nothin.”
“Right.”
Michael doesn’t say anything else, just allows Carmy to sit in the silence for a minute. He knows he’ll have to fill it eventually.
“Just thinking about Valentine’s.”
“Uh oh,” Mikey laughs, shoving his brother’s shoulder. “You having big feelings, bud?”
“Shut up,” Carmy grumbles, leaning back against the kitchen counter. “I’m thinking about asking someone out, but I’ve left it too late. It’s literally tomorrow.”
“Dude. That means it isn’t too late. You’ve still got loads of time.”
Carmy looks over to where you’re laughing with Natalie, both of you giggling over something she’s showing you on her phone. It’s always been like this, for as long as he can remember. You slotted right into the Berzatto family as if it was your last name too.
Carmen fell in love with you that day. He’s loved you every day since.
It’s been ten years, give or take. He’s learned to live with the fact that he loves you, the way people adjust to new climates, or life altering injuries. He knows he has no choice but to carry on.
For the first time in what feels like forever, you’re both single. Unattached to anyone, ready for a new connection. And if that isn’t a sign from the universe, Carmy doesn’t know what is. He’s sick of waiting, sick of pretending like he wouldn’t take a bullet for you at any given moment. He figures it’s now or never. He’s waited long enough.
“Carmen,” Michael says firmly, shaking him back to reality. “Whoever it is - she’s a lucky girl. The worst thing that can happen is that she says no. You’ll be okay.”
Carmy nods, knowing that his brother doesn’t understand, not really - but he’s trying to. You’re not just some girl. You’re the girl.
“Yeah, okay. I’m gonna do it. Later tonight, I think.”
“Good man.”
Mikey leaves him alone, smacking him on the back as he goes. Carmy’s buzzing with anticipation, ready to finally commit to the one thing he’s thought about doing every single day for the better part of a decade.
He stands in the kitchen for a while, trying to concoct the perfect plan. Eventually, he figures that it is literally now or never… and he has to choose now. He makes his way out to the living room and over to Natalie.
“Sugar, have you seen-”
“She’s outside. Out front.”
She already knows who he’s looking for. Because he’s only ever looking for you.
Carmy swings open the front door, ready to yell your name, when he sees you.
You’re sat on the curb, with Mikey next to you. You look like you’re deep in conversation, your eyes never leaving the older man’s face. Carmy figures you’ll be done soon, so he waits on the front step for you.
You laugh, and Mikey gets closer to you, so your thighs are pressed together on the cold sidewalk. Your eyes are still on his, and there’s this look that Carmy can’t quite place. He’s never seen it before, but it’s intense - focused, grounded, warm. There’s a feeling in the pit of his stomach, suddenly. He doesn’t like it.
Michael cups your face in his hands, and Carmy knows exactly what’s about to happen. He can’t look away, no matter how badly he wants to.
You meet him halfway, leaning in to kiss him with a passion that can only be created by time. Yearning, pining, waiting - that’s what this kiss is. It’s an amalgamation of patience.
You separate, lungs heaving, beaming grin on both of your faces.
“I’ve been waiting for you to do that for so long,” Carmy hears you say. “Years, Mikey.”
You’re both laughing, blissfully unaware of Carmen’s heart shattering into a thousand pieces mere feet away.
Michael was wrong, earlier. The worst thing that could happen is this.
#be murphy’s valentine#carmen berzatto x female reader#carmen berzatto x you#carmen berzatto fic#carmen berzatto imagine#carmen berzatto fluff#carmen berzatto angst#Carmen berzatto x reader angst#mikey berzatto x reader fluff#mikey berzatto fluff#mikey berzatto imagine#mikey berzatto x reader#the bear x you#the bear fluff#the bear angst#the bear x reader#carmy berzatto imagine#carmy berzatto x reader#carmy berzatto angst#carmy berzatto fluff
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break me (then help me find the pieces) -- Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader
I wrote this on my phone last year (in August) and I finally decided to finish it and post it.
Tags/Warnings: Smut (18+ only! Fingering, dirty talk, protected p in v/the reader is on birth control, Mikey uses the pet name(s) “angel/baby/sweetheart”, blowjobs, light choking/spanking, rough/after care). Brief mentions of alcoholism/addiction (it’s implied the reader struggles with addiction). Explicit language. Light angst if you squint. No use of Y/N.
wc: 2k
🍝🍝🍝 (Read on Ao3) 🍝🍝🍝
The clock ticks well past midnight. You’re not expecting anyone at this hour and you didn’t receive a suggestive text beforehand. But when he knocks on your door, you let him in, because it’s Mikey. You never could refuse him.
You taste bourbon on his tongue – smoky and dark – something of a metaphor for your not-quite relationship. You and Michael were too fucked up in your own ways to seriously date. For starters, you were never sober at the same time. And you carry enough secrets between one another to put Area 51 to shame.
He cradles your face between his warm, rough hands and shoves you backward into the entryway wall. You trip over your discarded piles of shoes. But, his arm on your waist is firm, and he stops you from falling.
Another metaphor—Mikey never let you get close enough to fall for him. In a different life, you could see yourself with him—waking up early to help out at the restaurant, being an emotional buffer against his unstable mother, dealing with all the bullshit of two messy lives instead of one. For him, you’d do it.
(It was a pipe dream and you knew it. A comforting lie you told yourself whenever you got drunk and lonely. You and Mikey were matches and matches can’t build a house. Matches only exist to burn).
You push your hands up his shirt and explore the rippled, raw strength of his chest. Your fingernails graze against his nipples. Mikey releases a low, quiet hiss and nips your lower lip.
He shoves his hand between your legs, cupping the front of your pussy, and you shudder against him.
“What’re you doing, huh?” He asks, the question rhetorical, “you’re making me crazy, you know that? You drive me fuckin’ crazy.” He rubs the clothed front of your cunt, using the heel of his palm to grind into your clit, and the friction makes you whine. In the other room, the TV switches to commercial and it drones through your sparse apartment.
“I haven’t even started yet.” You tease with a pointed tug of his belt.
“It’s enough.” His grin is quick and it momentarily disarms you. Sometimes, you think all you need is Mikey’s smile and you’ll be sober forever. As long as you can be on the receiving end of that damn charming smile. You shake your head, rolling your eyes, and pushing your thoughts to the side. Mikey nuzzles his face into your neck and leaves a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck.
“How fast you gonna come for me tonight, angel?” He whispers to the shell of your ear, his breath hot as if fans over your delicate skin. Your skin prickles with goosebumps and you shiver involuntarily.
His belt clatters to the floor, “Depends on you, Mikey. You gonna take care of me?”
“’course.” He scoffs. He reclaims your mouth with his own, his tongue coaxing and warm, prying your lips open and lapping the sweet sounds you give him. His large hand yanks your sleep shorts to the side and his seeking fingers find your wet, aching cunt. Your hips buckle with the first touch of his index and middle finger against your folds.
“Mhmph.” He hums with pleasure, “soaked already, huh? Were you waiting for me, angel? Touching yourself on the couch and hopin’ I’d come over?” You groan in tandem as Mikey sinks two fingers into your warmth and you babble nonsense against his scratchy, bearded chin.
“Tell me what you imagined, sweetheart.” He goads, curling his fingers into you, and his other hand comes to encircle your throat. He doesn’t squeeze or restrain your airflow (he has in the past, but apparently that’s not what he’s in the mood for tonight). Rather, Mikey keeps his hand on your throat with a soft, gentle pressure as if to remind you that he’s here—he’s got you pinned against the wall and he’s not going anywhere and neither are you.
You gasp, “Kitchen.” Your fingers twist into his dark, silky hair. “Bent over—mph! Ah! Hard. Fast.” You’re surprised you can manage a sentence while Mikey’s fingers thrust in and out of you. You feel him smile against your cheek.
“Come for me, angel, and I’ll give you that.”
Your head thumps into the wall. Your hips grind into Mikey’s hand. The wet, squelching noises coming from below your waist are almost embarrassing—but you know Mikey gets off on making you moan and squirm for him. You kiss him and moan wantonly into his mouth. Your fingers fumble around the zipper of his jeans and Mikey squeezes your throat.
He tsks, “this ain’t about me.”
“I want--” You palm the front of his boxes, his cock twitches in response to your touch, “to touch you.”
He nibbles your lower lip, “be patient, baby.”
You let your hand fall away. There have been other nights when you’ve ignored him just for the sake of riling him up. Tonight, however, you’re willing to play nice. Mikey rhythmically squeezes your throat in tandem with your bucking, wild hips. He kisses you. He whispers in your ear “that’s right, angel” and “you’re so good for me,” and “I know you can come like this, I want you to come for me, nice and loud so the neighbors hear us.”
Mikey curls his fingers, deep and angled, moving in concentric motions against your G-spot.
“Fuck!” You exclaim, your teeth clacking together. “Fuck! F-fuck!”
His mouth explores the tops of your breasts, kissing the exposed skin and pulling away your t-shirt with his teeth. You dig your fingers into his scalp when your orgasm hits you. You shatter, your body twitches, as the heat and tension explodes across your limbs.
He grunts and slowly withdraws his hand. It takes several long seconds for you to return to planet earth.
Mikey pulls his shirt over his head, “You said kitchen, right?”
“Y-yeah.”
You both leave your clothes in the entryway.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Before Mikey can bend you over the counter, you stop him with a gentle hand to his chest.
“You said my patience would pay off.” You tease, biting your lower lip and looking down.
“Did I say that?”
You drop to your knees and hold the base of his thick, hard cock in your hand.
“You did.”
“Fuck.” Mikey braces his hands behind him on the counter. He stares down at you with dark, lust-filled eyes, his hair falling in front of his forehead. You’ve always thought Michael was beautiful. But he is especially beautiful when he’s naked and framed by the golden, warm-yellow light of your kitchen.
“Mhm.” You slowly kiss your way along his cock from the base to the tip. Mikey groans, his knuckles whitening at the edge of the counter. He deserves a little teasing after what he put you through in the entryway. You flatten your tongue along him, tasting his salt-sweat and skin, before you envelope the engorged tip of his cock with your lips.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” Mikey repeats as if in prayer. “I swear to God, your mouth was made for me.”
You hum in agreement, feeling the vibration traveling thorough your throat and buzzing your lips. You work your mouth over his cock, pushing as deep as you can go, your saliva collecting at the corners of your lips. Mikey moans, loud, unabashed, unashamed. You follow the movement of your mouth with your hand, squeezing him, your fingers and palm drenched in spit. His hips jerk, his muscled thighs quivering, and you wish you could smile. You peer up at him, admiring the beauty and tragedy of this man before you. His large hand comes to cup the nape of your neck.
“Can I fuck your mouth, angel?” He asks. He’s always been good about asking that. He never assumes.
You press your thighs together, feeling a fresh tingle of arousal at his question.
You pull away, saliva trailing after your mouth, and dripping onto your neck and breasts.
“Yes, Mikey.”
You open your mouth and Mikey holds his cock at the base and guides it into you. You brace your hands on his muscled thighs and Mikey holds your head steady. Your eyes flutter shut as Mikey uses you—his thrusts shallow, but quick. You’d never admit it out loud (to him or anyone) but there is a deep, primal satisfaction brewing inside you. You might be the one on your knees, but Mikey is the one who’s weak for you. He growls, the sound deep within his chest, punctuating each thrust with praise.
“So good, so good for me. That’s right. You love it when I use you like this, huh? Use that pretty little mouth of yours. Fuck! Fuckin’ Christ. Feels so good.”
Mikey withdraws and you half expect his cum to spurt onto your tits. But, he doesn’t.
“Get up on the counter, angel.” He says firmly. You rub your jaw, your smile slow and sweet and tempting. The tile counter is cold against your bare, flushed skin. You bend over and have to arch on your tiptoes for the angle to work—but you know it works. This isn’t your first time in this position.
“Please, I need your cock, Mikey.” You say, wiggling your ass in an attempt to get his attention.
Mikey grins, giving your ass a playful swat, as he lines up the tip of his cock at your entrance.
“Yeah, sweetheart? You gonna beg for me?” He rubs his tip against your folds, “you know I’m the only one who can make you feel this good, hm?”
“Yes, Mikey, yes.” You arch your back, “please fuck me, Mikey. Please.”
He presses one hand into the middle of your back, pinning you into the counter, before his cock slides into your cunt in one swift, hard thrust. You gasp.
A surprised “Yes!” escapes your parted lips. Mikey feels incredible. He always does. His thick cock fills you, stretches you, erases all coherent thought from your mind. He holds your hips with one hand while the other remains pressed into your back. Your fingers scramble for purchase on the slick counter as Mikey drives into you, his pace pounding and relentless, the slick sound of your skin slapping together with every hard thrust.
“Fuck!” He moans, “Made for me. Fuck. So good. Yes, yes, like that.”
He adjusts his grip, holding you by the hips, and dragging your cunt back over his cock when he pulls back. Your calves tremble with the effort to remain in this position, but it feels too good to stop. Mikey’s hand comes down against the swell of your ass—sharp and biting. You yelp and your inner walls clench at the painful yet pleasurable sensation. He soothes the slap with his hand before delivering another. Nothing matters but the delightful sensation of his cock pounding into you and the space between every strike of his hand. Your eyes prickle with tears. Something tight inside of you starts to unwind.
With Mikey, you are allowed to unravel. You’re allowed to be A Mess. A fuck-up. You can empty yourself out and he’ll be there. He can’t put you back together again, but he can help you find the right pieces.
You sob, your body tightening with anticipation, and Mikey’s calloused fingers find your sensitive and swollen clit. You want to beg him to stop. You want to beg him to never leave you.
Mikey says “Can feel you getting close, angel.”
“Don’t stop, Mikey. Don’t ever stop.”
Your orgasm hits you—a brilliant, echoing release. You wail, pleasure rocketing through you, firing off neurons in your brain and skittering down your spine. Your ears start to ring and you vaguely hear Mikey follow you, grunting, his thrusts erratic before they slow to a stop. He pulls out and you feel his cum dripping down your inner thighs. Your forehead flops down onto your arms and you try to regulate your breathing. The faucet turns on behind you.
You jump in surprise as a warm washcloth wipes between your legs. Your brow furrows. This is new. Mikey isn’t a callous sexual partner—but he isn’t the ‘cuddle afterwards’ type either. You both used sex as a release. You fucked each other’s brains out. You experimented. You came so hard you thought you stopped breathing. Sometimes he stayed over to watch a movie. But, he rarely slept over (or if he did—then he slept on the couch).
His large hands splay across your shoulder blades before his fingertips start digging gently into your muscles.
A back massage? You crane your neck to look over your shoulder. Mikey’s face is fraught with concentration.
He notices you looking, “You want me to stop?” His eyes dart away from yours.
“N-no, it feels nice...it would just feel better...on the bed?”
“Right,” he laughs dryly, “good idea.” Without prompting, Michael scoops you into his arms as if you weight little more than a stuffed teddy bear. He deposits you onto the bed, on your stomach, and resumes his careful and clumsy massaging. His large, strong hands work their way down your lower back and to your sore, strained calves.
You yawn, “This is...mhm...thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
The lull of sleep is too strong. It’s dragging you under its waves with every passing motion of Mikey’s capable hands.
“You can stay over.” You mumble, although you’re uncertain if any of the words come out coherently. The world fades, hazy and warm, your bones are liquid and heavy. You think Mikey’s lips press into your temple. But...that might’ve been a dream.
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I can read it in your eyes
Mikey Berzatto x F!Reader
Summary: Hanging out with your boyfriend at your apartment, you sense he needs something special from you, tonight. Something to lighten the load on his shoulders... so you provide.
Or: the one where Mikey has a praise k!nk 🥰
Warnings: 18+, SMUT, praise k!nk, Oral (m receiving), BJ, dom/sub undertones, light dom/sub dynamics, light soft!dom, established relationship, PWP, p*rn with feelings, aftercare, c!m eating (blink-and-you-miss-it). Minors DNI.
Word count: 2.7k
Notes: I'm sorry in advance, this is pure filth that I needed to purge out of my system.
Read below the cut OR on AO3
‘Sweetheart, what the hell are you doing over there?’
You peeked at him from the kitchen doorframe to the couch, where he was slumping. You grinned. ‘Is that early onset dementia, babe? I told you I was getting us some popcorn.’
‘Yeah, and it’s been a thousand years. Come here already’. He patted the cushion next to him and made a face that reminded you of a small, abandoned puppy being kicked to the curb.
You stared right back with cold, narrowed eyes. ‘Michael. Are you fucking pouting at me?’
He tilted his head. ‘Is it working?’
‘Nope’, you said sweetly, blowing him a kiss and returning to the microwave, where the sporadic sounds of corn popping inside the bag let you know it was almost done.
A half-hearted grumble could be heard from the living room. You smiled. To be honest, you’d been spending most days anticipating these moments. Getting home after work, taking a shower, cooking some quick dinner, and eating it lazily whilst watching random stuff on TV… until the text notification came through. Be there in 10. The rush of excitement you got after that never got old.
You returned to the living room, triumphantly holding a giant bowl full of popcorn, and giving your boyfriend the most doe-eyed look you could muster. ‘Are you proud of me?’
He laughed at your attempt to be sexy – which if Mike was being honest… was kind of working. He loved seeing you like this, relaxed in your lounge wear – especially if that lounge wear consisted of tiny shorts and even tinier tops. He knew for a fact you weren’t wearing any underwear. You never did when he came around the house. And that was more than fine by him.
‘No offense, baby’, he reached over to the bowl, took it, and settled it on the floor, gently holding your hands in his big, rough ones. ‘But right now, I just need you to bring your beautiful ass over here’. He pointed to his lap and wiggled his eyebrows suggestively.
‘Wow. So subtle, Mikey.’ You laughed, making no move to resist his pull. You sat across his lap with your arms around his shoulders. ‘You’re lucky you’re cute. And sweet. And funny. And hot. And caring. And oh my god, so perceptive. And…’. With each compliment you feel an irresistible urge to kiss his nose, so you do.
He smiled weakly. ‘You’re too much. I ain’t none of t…’.
You shushed him with a finger on his lips and a hard stare. ‘Mike, honey’, your voice was sweet, but lower than usual, ‘you need to shut up and listen more. I was talking to you, saying all these nice things, and you go and interrupt me like that?’. With a feigned hurt look down at his chest, where your hands started softly rubbing, you tsk-tsk, disapprovingly.
‘You know I…’, he begins, but stops as soon as you lift your eyes, staring hardly at him, and your previously soothing hand suddenly rests still on top of his heart. He holds his breath for a bit, caught in your gaze like a deer in headlights. Oh. It’s going to be one of those nights, then, you think, with a mix of trepidation and excitement deep in your belly.
Finally, he closes his eyes and releases a deep sigh. You feel his entire upper body go limp beneath your hands – shoulders slump forward, the hands gripping your waist drop to the couch, and his forehead slams between the valley of your breasts. It’s like the whole week is melting off him. In nights like these, he needs you to take care of him, but seldom has the courage to ask for it. You gotta work it out of him.
‘That’s right, sweetheart. God, that’s okay. I know you’re tired. But you are so good. So good for me. So good for everyone.’ You coo at him, holding his face close to your chest, fingers threading between his thick locks of raven hair and lips slowly kissing all over his nose, cheeks, beard, temples...
‘Babe…’ he whispers meekly, looking at you through half-lidded eyes.
You halt your caresses, concerned. ‘Sorry, honey. Is this okay? Do you need to stop?’
‘No, please. Absolutely not. Please… don’t stop.’
‘Okay, then.’ You smile, stroking his cheek gently with one hand while the other moves tentatively lower, moving through his chest, reaching his belly. ‘… Mikey?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Are you gonna shut your beautiful mouth and let me take care of you tonight?’, you whisper against his lips.
He scoffs, defeated, looking at you like you hung the moon and all the stars in the sky. Like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. ‘Yeah, I guess I am.’
The pillow is soft against your skin. Mike never lets you kneel directly on the floor – even in nights such as this, when he’s so pent up with desire and longing that he turns speechless and melts into the couch, vulnerable to your every whim. Even though you’ve told him several times before that you like it – the stark contrast between the cold, hard floor and the warmness that seeps out of him, where he holds your cheek so softly. As if you were going to break.
His cock always feels really nice, too. Heavy against your tongue, a slightly tangy taste, a perfect girth stretching your lips. Right now, you’re looking up from under fluttering eyelashes, to check on him (sometimes, when his hand tightens in your hair, you notice he’s frowning with tightly shut eyes – something pulled him out of the moment and plunged him right back into the world, outside of the little bubble of love and bliss you created for him).
Thankfully, he looks fine. More than. He is staring right back at you, mouth agape, hair disheveled, chest heaving. It’s embarrassing how wet that sight leaves you.
You release his cock with a wet pop, giving the tip a kitten lick as you continue to stroke him, slowly. ‘Okay, baby?’
‘Yeah, honey… very okay. God, your mouth… can I fuck it? Please’, he pleads.
You smile sweetly, suddenly becoming aware of the silence that permeates the flat, and how both of you seem to be in tandem with it. You’ve been quietly delighting in each other’s touch for almost an hour now, speaking only once or twice, in whispers.
‘Of course you can, Bear. Can you be a good boy for me and hold my hair up, please?’
‘Fuck, yeah, baby, I can... Thank you, so much’. He sounds out of it, in the best of ways. Like he’s on autopilot, waiting for your instructions, the script of your dance engraved on the tip of his tongue, completely surrendered to the pleasure you allow him to take from you. It takes all your self-control not to lose it and pounce on him. But tonight isn’t about you – so you take a breath and recenter. Mike. Mikey. Michael.
Ever so helpful, he moves his hands to smoothly hold your lose hair in a makeshift ponytail. He never stops looking at you through glazed, fucked out eyes. ‘Too tight?’, his voice raspy.
‘No, Mikey, it’s perfect. Thank you’. You close your eyes and allow yourself a moment to revel in the grounding feel of his hands. You know he likes seeing you are enjoying this as well. When you lazily reopen your eyes, you realize both of you are smiling stupidly at each other.
‘You’re being so good for me, tonight… you know that, right?’. You rub his thick, trembling thighs, up and down. ‘So good at following instructions… trusting me to take care of you… Do you know what I’m thinking, baby?’. You can’t resist punctuating your speech by licking all around his shaft, red and throbbing and drooling with pre-cum at this point. A low moan rips out of him when you suddenly envelop almost the entirety of his cock with your mouth, lightly sucking…
His grip on your hair tightens and inadvertently lifts your mouth away from him, startling you. He gives you a regretful look. ‘Sorry, sweetheart… you gotta give me a few seconds, or I’m gonna shoot my load all over your face, like… now’. He chuckles dejectedly.
You pause to consider this. ‘Hm… okay, baby. But you didn’t let me finish what I was saying…’ You tilt your head to the side, a suggestive smile dancing on your face.
He frowns suspiciously, and you want to grab his face and cover it in smooches. ‘What?’
Slowly, never looking away from him, you slide your body between his legs, your arms gliding over the sculpted planes of his belly and chest, covering them in kisses, until you reach his neck, and with your arms around it, stroking his hair, your forehead against his, you sigh into his mouth.
‘I think… good, well-behaved, and polite boys should get rewarded’. You look up at him. ‘I think they should be allowed to cum wherever they want… as a treat.’
He sits there, immobile, lips parted – suspended in the exhilarating expectation of what he knew you were going to say.
‘Mikey… I want you to fuck my mouth and cum on my face… now. Can you do that, baby?’, you whisper against his lips.
You think you hear ‘fuck’ right before he roughly grabs the back of your head and smashes your mouths together in a searing kiss. You whimper, surprised, but allow yourself to relish this loss of control. After all, you did say he deserved a reward.
For a few seconds, you let him maneuver your head freely, fucking your mouth with his tongue – like he’s saying ‘here, sweetheart, take this appetizer, the main course will fucking reck you’. His hands paw at your breasts, thighs, waist, and ass, like he’s a starving man presented with a seven-course meal, not knowing where to start or finish. You desperately press your thighs together for some relief to your neglected core.
When he starts thrusting up his pelvis, unconsciously trying to fuck your tits, you decide it’s time to take back control. With a bite to his lower lip, you steal a startled noise out of him and push him firmly back against the couch.
You school your face into a stern, disappointed expression. ‘That’s enough, honey’. You are proud of how smooth your voice sounds, considering how horny you are.
He looks absolutely defeated – his hair all messed up from your hands, chest heaving, panting for air. You want to eat him whole.
‘God, baby… that must hurt’. You say in mock pity, looking sadly down at his fully hard cock, an angry red, shiny from spit and semen. You look back up at him. ‘Are you gonna be a good boy, and do what I told you to do, Mikey?’
‘Fuck, yes, please, sweetheart, please, just… fuck, I can’t take it anymore. I need your mouth, please…’. He’s babbling, overwhelmed, his eyes watery with unshed tears. By this point, you know the teasing is over – he needs release, and you need to give it to him.
You cup his face gently. ‘It’s alright, baby… you’re alright. Okay? Hm?’ he nods frantically. You kiss his nose sweetly and get back down on your knees, never taking your eyes away from his.
‘I’m gonna take care of you now, baby… my big, soft, sweet Bear’, you whisper, sliding down his chest until you reach his cock. His hands are immediately back to their native place, holding the hair away from your face.
You open your mouth and begin enveloping his cock, slowly. He watches you intently, thighs trembling and mouth quivering, new tears ready to burst from his eyes. Waiting for permission.
A slow blink and small nod of your head are enough for him. Go ahead, Mikey. Take what’s yours. He releases a broken moan, a dam of want bursting open with his first thrust into your mouth. He bottoms out, because he knows you can take it. He knows that, right now, all you want is for him to let go.
You never stop looking at him. Even as his thrusts lose rhythm, and his hands start slipping from your hair down to grip your jaw, and his cock his constantly hitting the back of your throat, cutting off the air supply.
Your eyes water and tears run down your cheeks with abandon, as your mind enters that stage of pure bliss. No thoughts but a loop of keep mouth open, tongue out, breathe out of nose in time with thrusts, check if he’s OK, keep mouth open, tongue out, …
‘Baby, baby, baby, I can’t, I can’t anymore… I’m gonna cum, please, g – fuck’. Shaking, he takes his length in hand for the first time tonight, pulling it out and stroking it with abandon over your face.
You nod frantically, closing your eyes and crying out as soon as his cock is out of your mouth, a desperate string of yes, yes, yes, yes, baby, please –. Tongue out and mouth wide open, you feel a smile forming on your face as the first strings of cum hit your chin and cheeks. You lap up every drop that falls near your mouth.
Everything goes very still, suddenly – like time stops. Your body is frozen, but so is your mind. Light as a feather. A hand swiping your cheek gently brings you back to the present – you look up, fucked out of your mind, to see Mikey looking down at you, equally exhausted, but smiling so sincerely, he reminds you of a prophet. Maybe it’s the beard. That makes you laugh.
‘What’s so funny, lady?’ he asks softly, joining you on the floor, your face between both his giant hands, kissing it all over, taking his time to wipe off the cum with his tongue, then bringing it to your mouth in a long, languid kiss. Griping his strong arms, you try to pull him in as close to you as possible, eager for his touch. He chuckles.
Then, one of his hands cups your entire pussy roughly through your soaked shorts.
You moan into his mouth and, like a lightning bolt, you’re coming so hard it knocks the air out of your lungs. You’re shocked, but Mike doesn’t stop the kiss for a fraction of a second, managing to blabber out a string of filth at the same time.
‘Oh, fuck yeah, baby, that’s it, let go… holy shit, you can come just from getting your mouth fucked and a little kiss? Jesus Christ… go ahead, sweetheart. What the hell did I do to deserve such a sweet, beautiful thing in my life…’
‘God, Mikey, shut the fuck up’. You don’t know when you started crying, or why you are also laughing like a maniac – nothing makes sense, and yet everything is so right.
‘How do you feel, baby?’, you ask, sniffling and stroking his face.
He laughs. ‘I feel so good, sweetheart. You took care of me, and I didn’t even know how bad I needed it. But you always do. And you put me in my place… fuck… you break me into pieces and put me back together. Thank you’. He whispers that last part, his mouth hovering over yours as his fingers wipe away the tears from your barely open, reddened eyes.
You smile, contented. ‘You are a good boy, Mikey’.
‘And you are an amazing girl, who needs to go to bed now’.
You let him lift you up like a sack of potatoes and throw you over his shoulder, barely complaining. ‘You’re lucky I’m exhausted, or you would regret this’, you mumble.
He slaps your ass, and you yelp. ‘Wanna square it up in the morning?'
‘I’ll kick your ass in 30 minutes, asshole’.
He arrives in your bedroom and puts you down on the bed with a chuckle, following right after. ‘I’m sure you would, sweetheart’.
After he cleans you up with a warm, wet towel, you snuggle against him beneath the sheets. You feel yourself drifting off, but before that, you pull yourself up, grab his face, and kiss him sweetly.
‘I love you, Mikey’.
He smiles. ‘I love you, baby’.
#the bear#the bear fx#michael berzatto#mikey berzatto#michael berzatto x reader#mikey berzatto x reader#mike berzatto#mike berzatto x reader#fic#smut
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The Bear Masterlist
*- Fluff
⨀ - Angst
Full-length Fics:
Just how fast life changes (Mikey Berzatto x Reader, Carmen Berzatto x Reader) ⨀
Jealousy (Carmen Berzatto x Reader) *
Too Much, Too Late (Michael Berzatto x Reader) ⨀*
Happenstance (Carmen Berzatto x Reader) *
Headcanons:
Carmy x s/o with an ED ⨀*
Relationship dynamic (Carmy x reader) *
Carmy x reader - jealousy headcanons *
Carmen Berzatto relationship headcanons *
#the bear#the bear fx#carmen berzatto#carmen berzatto x reader#carmen berzatto x you#mikey berzatto#mikey berzatto x reader#richie jerimovich#richie jerimovich x reader#richie jerimovich x you#sydney adamu#sydney adamu x reader#sydrichie#sydney x richie#fic#fanfic#fanfiction#reader#x reader#request
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