pairings: michael berzatto x fem! reader
synopsis: michael never thought about the consequences of his actions. when you walked into his life, you soon understood that when he was going down, he would take you with him.
word count: 3k
warnings: drug use, toxic relationship, age gap, mentions of sex, swearing, alcohol consumption, very angsty
a/n: mikey is one of my favorite characters jon has played and i absolutely love the bear sooo here we are. not proofread
“Baby?”
“Yeah, Bear?”
You two were lying side by side in his bed, bodies bare and still cooling down. One of his large hands reached out between you two. A rough finger found the love bite he left on your shoulder. You knew you shouldn’t have been here. But yet your clothes were strewn around the room and you smelled like his cologne and cigarettes. Your perfume hung, worn in and dull but clogging up his nose.
Mikey watched as his finger traced the red spot on your delicate skin like it was a piece of art. When he looked back at your eyes like some lovesick puppy, it reminded you why you kept coming back. “I love you, you know that, right?”
Those words that you had been told a million times before. Ones that you loved to hear and forced yourself to feel.
You gave a tiny smile and a nod.
He was satisfied enough and moved his finger from your shoulder to your chest to your cheek. He gently ran his knuckle over the soft skin, a look of awe entering those eyes. Michael couldn’t hold onto a good thing even if his life depended on it. Now that he had you, innocent and sweet, how could he ever let you go?
His hand cupped your cheek fully, just about the size of your head, and ran a thumb over your kiss swollen lips. “My pretty girl,” he murmured.
You closed your eyes. He always knew what to say to keep you close. Through tears or smiles. And no matter what, you stayed every single time. He was your Mikey. That had to count for something. To get to see him in a way nobody else did. In these quiet moments beneath the sheets with the blue glow of the moon and Mikey’s sweet nothings, it was how you wished for it to be all the time…
You were already running late to Tiffany’s baby shower, running around your small apartment looking for your missing shoe. It was a mess—Michael’s mess. When Donna had one of her usual fits and kicked him out, he came to you high as a kite. As he broke down in your arms, you had the bright idea of letting him stay with you. Why wouldn’t you want to live with your boyfriend?
But as you looked under the couch and behind floor decorations, you kept knocking over empty beer bottles and fully smoked cigarette packs.
Just one more thing to put you in a bad mood.
No. You weren’t going to be the one to upset Tiffany at her own baby shower. She and Richie didn’t want anything big or extravagant, just a few close friends and family. Ever since Natalie introduced you to Mikey, you got the privilege of getting to be a part of the chaotic and dysfunctional Berzatto family.
At first it was good. After around the first month or so you had gotten used to the excessive foul language. How they were just naturally loud people. Then the warnings started. A casual little check in from Natalie when Mikey seemed off. You brushed it off. Richie was next. He’s pulled you aside when Mikey hadn’t shown up for your Halloween party. Again, not a big deal. Mikey made it up to you the next day.
You just didn’t expect Mikey to drag his chaos here.
“Damn it,” you grunted as your toe collided with the corner of the wall. You wanted to scream. Not because of the pain but because today just happened to suck.
Michael was already waiting in the car. You hated yourself for it but leaving him alone like that worried you.
He reminded you of a child with how he shoved harmful things into his mouth when no one was watching. He was already loud and boisterous as it was and those stupid white tablets only amplified it.
But he’d collapse without you there. You’d seen it happen.
It just couldn’t happen today.
Once you finally found your shoe, you swiped your coat and purse, taking the elevator to the parking garage where Mikey sat in a beat up white car. When you slid into the passenger seat, he was already on you. “What the fuck took you so long?”
Michael had the patience the size of a penny and you quite frankly did not want to put up with it. How he managed to keep his own business was a mystery to be solved. You sighed and buckled your seatbelt. “Couldn’t find my shoe.”
He just about rolled his eyes and started the car. His arm reached over the console, his hand finding your thigh like it was second nature. “You look pretty though,” he murmured, thumb grazing your inner thigh.
You had put on tights and a white long sleeve dress with your hair curled. You liked dressing up even if it was for simple occasions like this. “Thanks.”
You were glad he didn’t press further as he drove, occasionally squeezing your thigh to remind you that you were there with him.
When you got to Jerimovich house, you got out of the car first, sick of listening to Michael’s obnoxious choice in music. You walked around the car to the sidewalk. Why was he taking so long?
You glanced back just in time to see him sliding something back into the glovebox. Your body immediately went rigid. But of course he was popping pills before attending a family event that didn’t even have anything to do with him. That was just Michael. And you? You didn’t want to give him the time of day if he was going to be so selfish.
You didn’t even look at him as he stepped out of the vehicle. When you went to walk up the path to the house, rough fingers closed around your wrist.
Reluctantly, you turned to look at him.
His hair was somewhat messy but oily, hanging over his forehead. The dark facial hair had grown out a bit and if only for a second did he really remind you of a bear.
Then he leaned in, voice lowering. “Why’re you being like this, baby?” He asked, his head tilting slightly.
You bit the inside of your cheek and looked down at the broken concrete. You couldn’t tell him why or else he’d just get mad and you really didn’t want to ruin this for Tiffany.
“It’s just not my day,” you answered instead.
Michael stepped back, fingers sliding through yours and gripping a little too tight. “Don’t be selfish. ‘S not a good look on you.”
You said nothing as you went to the front door. Instead of knocking, Michael just walked right in like he owned the place. Instantly, a big grin broke out across his face as he greeted Richie and Natalie’s fiancée. You hung back, scanning the room for Tiffany or anyone else that wasn’t your boyfriend.
Richie clapped a hand on his cousin’s shoulder and led him to the kitchen to probably get a drink. As if Michael even needed it. He didn’t even spare you a glance as he disappeared behind the corner.
“You’re here!” Exclaimed Natalie as she walked out of the living room.
You managed a smile. Ever since Natalie had introduced you to her brother, you knew she blamed herself for the pain he caused you. But you reassured her time and time again that you stayed because he needed you. And deep down? You needed him too.
“Of course I am, Sugar,” you replied sweetly as she wrapped her comforting arms around you. “Now where’s the mommy?”
“Right this way.”
Natalie led you to the living room where Tiffany was sprawled on the sofa in a Taylor Swift shirt, her stomach rounder than the last time you’d seen her.
Her eyes lit up when she saw you. The woman next to her went quiet. “You came,” Tiffany said with a genuine smile, struggling to her feet until her friend assisted her. “And you look beautiful.”
“Hi,” you said softly as she embraced you with a side hug. “And thank you.”
When she pulled back, she gave you a once over before her brows creased with a maternal sort of worry.
You knew how out of place you looked among the older adults. You were in your mid-twenties, giving you the advantage of no wrinkles and a youthful appearance. The way you dressed was also a stark contrast to everyone else but it was your only attempt at feeling as pretty as everyone said you were.
“Did Mikey come?” Tiffany asked, her voice a hushed whisper now.
Clearly she hadn’t wanted him to be invited and honestly? You couldn’t blame her. But her husband obviously wasn’t going to not invite his best friend.
“He did,” you answered simply, adjusting your dress out of nervous habit.
Natalie put a hand on your shoulder and you pulled your eyes to her. She raised a brows in a silent question of did he take any?
Your silence was answer enough.
Then, as if on cue, Mikey’s booming voice sounded, coming closer as he walked into the room. Richie trailed him, laughing at some ridiculous story Mikey probably came up with.
The entire room seemed to perk up as his energy filled the space. His eyes landed on Tiffany’s round stomach and lit up. He walked over, hands outstretched like he’d never seen a pregnant woman before. “Look at that,” he breathed out in astonishment and Tiffany let out a playful scoff.
You hated what the sight did to you. It put the image of having that with him. A part of you believed that if you could love the addiction out of him, he’d want it to.
But you knew that logically Michael Berzatto could never be a good father. He could barely take care of himself and his appearance was evidence enough.
Then he looked over at you with a glint that told you everything.
He moved over to you, wrapping a strong arm around your shoulder and kissing your head. You could smell the alcohol on his breath, his clothes smelling like cigarettes that he tried to drown with cologne. It should’ve made you wrinkle your nose but it was a scent you’d grown to find comfort in.
“You look so fuckin’ good, baby,” he murmured against your hair, a hand sliding over your belly. “Can’t believe you’re my girl.”
You hated how easy it was for him to make you stop being mad at him. Over one simple compliment, too.
As Richie went off on a tangent, Mikey sat down on the love seat, hands automatically reaching for your waist and pulling you back on his lap. He even helped adjust your dress so that it kept you comfortable.
This wasn’t anything new. Not even when he started playing with your hair and pressing his face to your neck, leaving small kisses in his wake.
As the “party” progressed and Tiffany opened her gifts for the baby, Mikey ended up with another beer in his hands.
Halfway through presents, you could feel the alcohol take hold of him. That hand he’d had on your thigh started to wander, gripping like you’d get up and go.
Then, because you couldn’t help yourself, you whispered to him, “I think you’ve had enough.”
His hand stopped. He stiffened.
Your little warning wasn’t even spoken rudely. You’d always kept your tone polite and patient with him. When he got like this, you knew better than to say anything. But he was being inappropriate and at a baby shower of all places.
Surprisingly, he didn’t freak out. Yet.
Afterwards, Richie and Tiffany headed upstairs because she needed a minute to relax. Everyone fell into lively conversation.
You leaned back against Mikey, arms around his neck as you sat there like a princess on her throne. Ever since you arrived you weren’t feeling very social, letting your thoughts drift. His voice was loud in your ear as he told his stories, making it difficult to doze off since he had no regard to how you were currently feeling.
That was until a man named Brad just had to open his mouth. “Yo, Mikey, is she even legal?”
Michael went still beneath you.
Brad had poked the bear.
“Mikey,” you murmured, getting up to stand but he yanked you right back down.
“Of course she’s legal you sick fuck,” Michael snapped, his words just about slurring together. “Pssh, is she legal? Fuck kinda question’s that?”
Brad shrugged, raising his hands in defense. Natalie was already sitting up straighter and you two shared a look that said he needs to leave right now. “Bear,” you tried again. “It’s stuffy in here. I want to go outside,” you said, tugging on his sleeve as if that would break his intoxicated state.
“No, baby,” he dismissed you as if you were merely an inconvenience. “‘F this guy’s got somethin’ to say he can say it to my face.”
Dread crept over you and curled into your chest. This wasn’t about you anymore. It was Michael trying to prove he could have someone like you. His possessive tendencies weren’t too bad outside of his intoxicated state but this?
There was no stopping it.
“Just saying,” Brad said nonchalantly, gesturing towards you. “Any young boy would love to—”
Mikey’s beer can clattered to the floor and he was standing up so quickly you barely had time to find your balance. It happened to fast as the others jumped up, putting themselves in front of Brad.
That’s when Richie came down the stairs, hurrying over and shoving Michael back by his shoulders. But Mikey was livid, intoxicated, and too high to function. With a hard shove, Richie pointed a finger in his chest. You drowned out whatever he was saying, tears stinging your eyes and before Sugar could get to you, Richie grabbed your shoulders.
“Get him home,” Richie said firmly. It was weird since he was usually just as loud and obnoxious as his best friend but not when it came to his wife.
You gave a curt nod but not before he continued, “be careful, okay? You need anything, call.”
Then you were scurrying off after Mikey as he vanished out the front door. He was already lighting a cigarette, pushing a hand through his already messy hair. It made your heart clench.
“Mikey?” You called out weakly.
He looked over at you before scoffing. “I don’t need your shit right now. I was defendin’ you and you go off and treat me like I’m a fuckin’ piece of shit. It’s fucking pathetic, baby.”
You felt your heart sting again. He always knew how to cut straight to the bone.
He took a long drag, the smoke curling into the cold air.
You swallowed down your emotions. “Let me drive us home. It’s cold out here.”
Surprisingly, he didn’t put up a fight.
But the second you got back to the apartment? He was grumbling and finding everything to blame on you.
“This place is a damn dump,” he said, kicking aside a beer can. “Can’t even fuckin’ walk.”
Now you were getting fed up. This was his mess that he made in your space.
“Then clean it up,” you said, kicking the can back to him. His eyes immediately snapped to yours, lacking any warmth you’d seen the other night.
“What’d you say?”
You swallowed hard. “I said, clean. it. up.”
Mikey stepped closer. “And why should I?”
“Because you live here,” you answered, trying not to be intimidated. “You don’t even pay half the rent, Bear. It’s not fair to me.”
“You wanna talk about fair?” He raised his brows before gripping your chin in a tight hold. “I’m a forty year old man who can’t run his family’s restaurant without slacking on bills and I can’t be sober because my head spins and nothing can make it stop unless I’m with you. Even then your body only works for a little while.”
Your heart nearly split in half. You quickly shoved him off which didn’t take much before locking yourself in your bedroom. You knew he’d panic. And you were right.
He banged his fist against the door like a feral animal. “Baby, don’t do this. You know I love you. C’mon on, open the door.”
But you didn’t want to.
You cried into your hands. Why did he have to be like this? Why did he have to make it hurt so bad? And why did you keep letting him?
“Baby, please,” he practically whined. “You know I didn’t mean it. I love you. You like… you don’t even know how much. I need you. I need you so bad. And I’m fuckin’ trying, baby. You gotta understand that.”
But that was the thing. You didn’t understand. He carried around that pill bottle like a tin of mints, swallowing one whenever he needed the pain gone. Not you. Just those tiny killers. Otherwise, the only time he was ever truly sober was when he was inside you, whispering things that he would never have the courage to elsewhere.
He was getting impatient now, banging his fists harder. “Open the door! You’re being ridiculous. Damn dramatic, baby.”
You knew he wouldn’t hurt you in that way but he was still not fun to face when he was this intoxicated. Hopefully the cold air sobered him up at least a tiny bit.
But still, you kept crying, messing up your makeup that you had worked so hard on.
Then he went to his last resort.
“Fine,” he said, voice clipped. “Be that way. You want to throw this away? Me away? Then be my fucking guest.”
You felt lightheaded as you heard his heavy footsteps retreat and the sound of his keys jingling. He was going to leave. He needed to go. You knew that. But he was drunk and high and angry and wasn’t thinking straight. This wasn’t the first time he threatened to leave. And it ended the same way every time.
He loved you and when he was sober, he’d come to his senses. Right? Everyone saw it. How much of a mess he was without you.
If he left right now, he’d call you while sobbing from his car, telling you that he messed up and that he couldn’t live with himself if you weren’t in his life anymore. His favorite was telling you that you were it for him. That no one could ever make him feel the way you did. Funny thing was, you believed him. Every single time.
You couldn’t stop yourself. The bedroom door quickly flung open, tears still tracking down your pink cheeks. “Bear,” you said weakly, voice breaking.
This was usually the other way around. Michael would follow you around the apartment like a kicked puppy as you packed a bag. He’d plead with you to stay like he’d never see the light of day again. By the end of it his knees were bruised. But you were already out the door.
Michael was not.
He stood by the door, shoulders hunched like he was bracing for a hit. His weary eyes flicked to you. When he saw your shiny cheeks and red eyes, he broke.
“Baby,” it came out half-sob, half-relief as his long strides carried him to your side. You closed your eyes, lashes wet and mascara running. In the past you would’ve been strong enough to push him away. That’s what you’d done to men before. Yet Michael was different. You two fed off each other, going through every difficult emotion to prove the need was still there.
His calloused hand was on your face, using a rough thumb to brush away your tears. He was crying now, too. You could feel the tension in that simple touch alone. One that betrayed how much he was resisting grabbing you and reminding you that he hadn’t really left. That he was trying because he was staying.
“My pretty baby,” he murmured, thumb stroking beneath your eye to collect each salty tear. “You’re so pretty when you cry.” As if to prove his point, his other hand came up to gently brush his digits against your swollen lips. They parted softly on a sharp, wet breath and you could taste the salt on your tongue.
Michael cupped your head, whispering his apologies that were never the words I’m sorry. You accepted them anyway. When your wet eyes opened, he tangled his fingers in your hair and pressed a sloppy kiss to your forehead.
Maybe he liked watching you cry. Maybe you liked watching him beg. In your head it didn’t matter. High or not you believed it was real.
Quiet mornings don't come round often. There's always something, forgotten homework, arguments over the TV remote, spilt cereal.
But when your eyes flutter open, dust dancing in the light through the blinds, all you hear is silence. Silence and the sound of Dean breathing softly next to you. His arms are wrapped around you, his body pressed against your own.
You shift closer to him, your body still exhausted, desperate for a few more minutes under the warm sheets. He feels you moving, dragging you into him, his lips immediately on your shoulder.
"Morning, darlin'-" he murmurs, kissing you lightly.
You let out a soft sigh, relaxing back against the mattress.
"Look so pretty in the morning-"
You turn your head, catching his lips for a moment- he leans into you, then you turn away again, head back against the pillow, "You think we've got time?"
You feel him grin, but he plays coy, "Time?"
"You know-" you grind against him, he's already hard, "-time."
"Oh sweetheart, I've always got time for you." He chuckles, kissing you again.
You feel his hand on your hip immediately, moving quickly over your stomach and down between your legs. It's like a dance, after all these years, he knows you better than yourself, it's just about how he chooses to get there. This morning is clearly about efficiency, both of you keeping an eye on the inevitable count down before a crisis.
His fingers find your clit, circling slowly as you arch into him, grinding against his cock. He lets out a hungry groan against your ear, nipping at the skin on your neck, hoping he can get a small mark to appear without anyone else noticing.
"Fuck- I've missed morning sex-" he laughs, moving his hand lower, pushing two fingers into you quickly. You feel his wedding ring against your entrance, a familiar but welcome feeling. His palm rests against your clit, still moving against it, working you up.
You let out a quiet gasp, still grinding against him, his fingers filling you, his cock against your ass. You move one hand behind your head, tugging at his hair, pulling him into you, his face buried into the crook of your neck.
"That's it, pretty girl-" he groans, his voice strained.
"De- honey- stop teasing-"
"I'll tease my wife as much as I want." He chuckles, kissing your neck.
"We don't-" you pull in a shaky breath, "-we don't have time for teasing-"
He smiles against you, pulling his fingers out, and dragging them back up your body. You hear as he sucks them into his mouth, tasting you, "God- this pussy's still just as sweet as when I married it-"
He shifts slightly, spreading your legs as he moves up against you. You finally feel his cock at your entrance, the tip pressing against you, so close-
"Mommm!" The sound comes from across the house, followed by the clatter of falling furniture.
You both sigh, rolling away from each other, sinking back against the mattress. You glance over at him and he lets out a small laugh, rolling his eyes.
You go to move and he shifts, pushing you back against the bed and planting a kiss on your cheek.
"It's fine- daddy's got it-" he pulls away, moving to stand as he pulls on a pair of boxers and grabs his ancient robe off the floor, "Just wait there- I'll be right back-"
☾𖤓☾𖤓☾𖤓☾𖤓☾𖤓
Part of the tarot series - 22 unrelated short stories exploring different Dean x Reader archetypes.
Just comment/message to let me know if you'd like a tag. Asked to tag: @pieolsen @bitchinwallaby
☀️ As always- I'd love to know your thoughts ❤️ Comments are very much appreciated ☀️
yousharknotpass
romaincrisis
2087
stormborns
titsay
