you grew up with the berzattos, but despite his charisma—and being best friends with his baby brother—you were never too close to the big bear. all grown up, you decide to take your first step advancing into adulthood, asking for help in an unlikely place.
pt. 2 is now up! ❤︎ find it here!
warnings!!: PLEASE 18+ MINORS DNI my first fanfic/smutty fic like ever hahah so pls bear with me (no pun intended). short one + first part to what could be a bigger fanfic with more chapters and stufff so feedback would be greatly appreciated! tumblr noobie too lol ;; also written in first person, lmk if thats something ygs would like changed!!
content warnings. smut, age gap, PLEASE 18+ MINORS DNI, oral sex f!receiving, fingering, petnames: princess (reader’s canonical nickname is “princess”), pretty girl, sweetheart, baby
I couldn’t believe what was happening. My chest heaved as my back laid atop my messy sheets, my eyes never leaving his. I mean, this was Mikey bear— Mikey, like Carmy and Nat’s brother, Mikey. I sorta grew up with this guy, and now here we are. In my bed, under the sheets, clothes carefully removed just moments earlier. Our bodies were exposed to each other, and while the way he carried himself was understandably confident, I was nothing. I concealed my chest with my forearms, and crossed my legs, slightly holding my breath.
He brought his face closer to mine.
“Listen, Princess, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to—“ he whispered in his reassuring tone.
“No! No. I want to, I do—“ I immediately interrupted, shaking my head.
“Are you sure, becau—“
“Mikey! Okay, I just…” I cleared my throat.
His eyes focused softly on mine, still listening intently, as he carefully maneuvered to hover over my body.
“No one’s seen me like this, alright?” I admitted, looking away from him.
“And, I don’t know. I’ve just.. known you a while- and, and..” as I rambled, his fingers brushed over my cheek softly.
“You wanna back out?” Mikey continued to softly brush his thumb just on the apple of my cheek, tilting his head slightly as he asked.
A moment of silence passed until I closed my eyes, breathing out.
I softly shook my head. “No, I don’t. And frankly, I think it’s best that I’m getting this over with, with y’know, somebody I know— and trust.”
I opened my eyes to see him looking at me in almost complete passion and adoration, his eyes getting all crinkled on the outer folds.
“Okay, okay,” he said gently, bringing his face to the side of mine, softly and sensually caressing his nose on my skin. It was torture.
I gulped at the sensation, feeling his fingertips begin to slowly walk their way down my arm.
“You tell me if you wanna stop at any time— alright, Princess?”
I nodded, letting out a meek “yeah”.
I felt his lips begin to move on my cheekbone, peppering small, slow kisses down my face, before deciding to reach my lips. Before his lips could touch mine, I immediately put my palms to his chest, stopping him.
“What’s wrong? Did-Did I— Was it too much, too fast?” he asked apologetically.
I shook my head, letting out a sigh. “No, I just..” I cleared my throat.
“I think it’d be best if we didn’t.. uh, kiss. Just to keep things simple, like just keep it all uncomplicated.” I nodded slightly, as he let out a small chuckle.
I furrowed my eyebrows together, as he continued to smile down at me anyway.
“Alright, sweetheart— that it?”
“Mhm..” I hummed, but before I could even finish responding, Mikey began to move down my face below my lips. He kissed every crevice as he headed down, causing me to gasp as the cold air hit the wet spots he was leaving behind. As he got closer to the spot between my legs, I furrowed my eyebrows, my hands moving the back of his head.
“Wait, wait—“ I sat up.
Mikey paused once more, looking up at me with his big brown eyes. He softly caressed the side of my thighs with his fingers, as he waited for me to continue. I gulped, looking down at him in his compromising position. Mikey lightly kissed my inner thigh, my breath hitching.
“Are.. Are you gonna..” I muttered under my breath, still focused on him peppering sweet kisses onto my thighs.
“Gonna what?” he chuckled, resting the side of his face on my inner thigh while looking up at me.
“I just don’t want you to feel like you- you have to, or.. or if I’m not all pretty down—“ I stammered.
Mikey looked at me concerningly, and a bit in disbelief. “Hey, hey, hey, sh, sh.. Sweetheart, what are you sayin’?”
“Y’know, uh,” I began to try to explain naively.
“No, I know what you’re talkin’ about—but baby, have I been doing anything that’s been, like, givin’ ya the notion that I don’t wanna be here?” he murmured against my skin, pecking my thigh again.
I shook my head hesitantly. It’s true, he hadn’t. But Mikey was just so much more.. experienced. And that’s to be expected of a guy his age, but especially his charisma and ways. I’d just been worried he wouldn’t enjoy this as much as I hopefully would. And I especially didn’t want to drive him away.
“‘Kay, good. I wanna be here for ya, okay? You’re beautiful, and I wanna make you feel good.” he said softly, nodding up at me slowly, reassuring me.
I let out a quiet, “okay”, nodding too.
“Okay. Now, I want ya to relax your cute ass down. I’ll make it feel real good, yeah? This’ll make everything easier for ya, pretty girl.” He continued to kiss my thigh between words.
I never laid back down, instead just remained sitting up, just looking down at him, my fingers running through his pretty dark locks.
Mikey moved closer to my core, his eyes still locked up on mine. He takes it upon himself to spread my lips, pressing a light kiss to my clit. I gasp at the sensation, sitting up even more as he continues. He puts all his attention on the sight in front of him, licking and sucking gently on my clit, going almost painfully slow. I close my eyes at the feeling of his lips moving on my wetness, still gripping onto the strands on his head. My hips begin to move involuntarily towards his mouth, signaling for him to go a bit faster, causing him to chuckle.
“Eager, huh?”
I open my eyes as he talks, until I let out a surprising moan as I feel him dive back in, this time harder, the slow laps of his tongue accelerating. This causes me to slowly move my body back down to the mattress, slowly walking my fingers to my side, while my head finally hits the cold sheets. I close my eyes at the ecstasy, while he spreads my lips even more, continuing to suck and lick up and down. He moves down closer to my leaking wet hole, focusing his tongue on teasing it. The sounds I let out are sinful, the pleasure of his tongue on my hole complementing what I felt as his nose bumps my clit.
“M.. Mikey..” I exhale, my breath shuddering, my fingertips just ghosting his arms.
Hearing me call out his name gave him a shudder, the taste of my juices causing him to go lovedrunk. There was a growing soreness between his own legs, not even realizing he’d been grinding his hips against the sheets the entire time.
I let out an intense moan when a sudden finger pumps into my pussy. My back arches up off the mattress, feeling another enter me. He goes back to focusing his mouth on my clit, the stimulation of his fingers pumping in and out combined sending me into a spiral.
When he curls his fingers upward to hit my sensitive spot, it isn’t long before my hips begin to stutter up into his lips.
“Mikey… wait.. I- I’m gonna..” my eyebrows crinkle while my eyes shut closed, as I grab the sheets beside me. My knee bends fully up, as my heel finds a new place on his shoulder.
“I know, baby. Can ya do this f’me?” he continues to relentlessly pump his fingers as he lifts his body up from off his stomach.
My eyes are still shut closed, my body just focused on reaching that high, close to coming apart. Mikey hovers over me, now positioned his body on top of mine, his head coming to rest in the crevice of my neck, his hand between our bodies, still wanting to push me off the edge. I feel his chest make contact with my sensitive skin, my nipples hardening at each movement. He sucks on the skin on my neck, his breaths also intensifying.
“P…Please..” I whimper, his hand now soaked in my juices.
“Please what, pretty girl? C’mon, you can do it, go on.” he whispers next to my ear.
“I’m gonna.. oh— oh god..” I let out one last moan while my hips stutter up into his, his hand catching my hips to keep me down.
I finally come apart underneath him, my eyes still closed, chest heaving. Mikey rests the side of his face on my chest, just looking up and watching my expressions as I finally let out a sweet release. He can’t deny, the sight just makes the growing pain in between his own legs even more painful.
He smiled, kissing the outer line of my jaw, caressing his nose against my skin once again. I’m still catching my breath, looking down to see the mess I made on the sheets, but more so on his hand. He traces his finger tips up my stomach, moving to rest on the side of my waist.
richie has a younger sister. her and mikey can’t tell the difference between being in love and being best friends that are way happier in each other’s company than any other time.
wow what a big surprise i’m writing friends to lovers again!
Your brother is annoying as fuck. Everybody knows that — every single resident in the city of Chicago, Illinois knows that Richard Jerimovich is really fucking annoying. So, obviously, by proxy his best friend must be pretty annoying too. And he is, Mikey is his own brand of irritating.
…But there’s just something about him. He’s got that smile, and he looks at you and asks questions like there is nothing in the world he’d rather be doing than talking to you. Mikey’s obnoxious, yeah, but in a way that makes you want to be obnoxious with him. That’s probably half of Rich’s problem, honestly, how much time he’s spent with Mikey throughout the years.
Thanks to that, though, you’ve also spent a lot of time with Mikey — with all of the Berzatto’s, really. You’re closest in age to Sug, so in your younger years you spent most of the family (plus you and richie and all the rest of the stragglers) gatherings trying to make conversation. You’re both…very different people.
You have the same ‘obnoxious by proxy’ issue. It seems to spread from Richie like a fucking virus, and given that he’s the closest thing you’ve ever had to a father figure, God help you, you were its first victim. Grandma did not have it easy between the two of you. So, yeah, conversations with Sug were kind of awkward. Natalie, she’s always been like the mother her’s should have been while you’re more of the straggle on little sister clinging to whatever attention anyone will give you. You love her, of course, just like you love Carm, too, but the older you got the more you gravitated towards your brother and Mikey’s company. Eventually, Rich and Bear turned into Rich and Bear and lil’ Bird.
That’s what grandma had always called you. Her little bird, always tweeting and fluttering around the house. Donna had caught onto it and had thought it was the funniest thing considering you’d blown through five different jobs that month.
“Oh,” She’d thrown her head back with laughter, clapping. “Isn’t that true? Like a bird, flying from place to place with no care.”
That’d been a long time ago now. You don’t get to see the Berzatto’s, or even Rich for that matter, very much anymore. Rich and Tiff are married with a baby on the way, Mikey’s running The Beef, Sug’s got her fancy schmanschy boyfriend Pete and her fancy schmanschy bank job, and Carm disappeared to wherever the fuck he went for his equally as fancy schmanschy chef shit. Leaving you just kind of…there. Still fluttering around from stupid job to stupid job like the little stupid bird you are. You did have a stable job for a pretty long minute there — a waitress at this little 24/7 diner. The hours sucked, your co-workers sucked, the food kind of sucked, but the pay was pretty good.
You quit two days ago.
It feels like a relief, if you’re being honest, not having to be tied back down to a place again. You can go back to your usual Birdie ways. Plus, now you can surprise everyone at Donna’s Fourth of July Party you were supposed to work through.
Mikey’s the first one to notice you walking into the backyard from the side gate — he stands from the patio table and points your way with that big grin of his.
“Look who flew in! Hey, lil’ Birdie girl!” He meets you halfway across the lawn with Richie in tow while everyone else waves and greets you from the deck. There’s even something about the way he walks that’s just so Mikey, swaggering and tall, fast and bulky but never in the way.
You laugh, cheeks warm and already achey. Mikey’s always been able to cheer you up like that, like stepping outside on a warm, sunny day after months of rain and sleet, but it’s amplified when he hugs you tight and groans, lifting you onto your tippy toes so your face lands in his shoulder.
“Hey, Bear,” You give him a big squeeze right back, your palms running over his back. “Missed you.”
“Missed you too, my Birdie,” He mutters into your ear while he sets you back down and presses a sloppy kiss to your cheek when Richie starts bitching about sharing and having a turn.
“Wassup, baby Bird?” Rich pulls you into his side to press his lips to your forehead. His stubble scratches over the side of your face, arm tugging around your neck. “Thought you’re ’posed to be working all day.”
“Eh,” You pat Richie’s chest and he takes it as a signal to loosen his grip and start walking back to the deck everyone else still sits on. “Damn the man, it’s a fucking holiday.”
“Did you quit? That’s the type of shit you say when you quit, Birdie.” Mikey snickers from the other side of Rich, who looks down at you with his eyebrows raised expectantly.
“That’s the type of shit I say when the man deserves to be damned,” You make a stupid face up at him, pointing a finger into the side of his jaw hard enough to make his face shift the other way.
“Yeah, you totally fuckin’ quit!” Mikey pitches in, his deep laughter ringing through the whole street.
Richie yells your name, your real name, and pulls you into the softest headlock in existence.
“I was just fucking telling Tiff how good you were doing, you little piece of shit!” He pulls at you just a little harder to make you stumble and shriek against his chest. “Six months you made it — y’know how many times you’ve done that? Two!”
“Help me for christ sake, Bear!” Mikey is laughing his ass off, and you believe he takes pity for a moment when he peels you out of Richie’s grip, but five seconds later you’re back to screeching and now thrown over Mikes shoulder while he jogs up the deck’s stairs.
“Hey Sug, Pete, hi Tiff!” You greet who you can see through the hair curtaining your upside down view against Mikey’s back. “Don’t mind me, y’know, just hanging — around!” Before you can finish your stupid, overused joke Mikey throws you back upright. Dizzy from all the fast movements, you stumble into his chest. He throws his big arm back around your shoulder and guides you the few last steps to the table of food laid out that everyone else had already gotten to.
“Watchu want, lil’ Bird?” His thick fingers give him a hard time separating the fancy, stars and striped paper plates Donna got for the occasion but he refuses to let you help or get your own food — just gives your hip a shove, and tells you to go say hi to everyone else while he fixes you something up.
You listen, because Mikey makes it hard not to when all of his instructions are said in that sweet, light voice and he looks at you with those big brown eyes like you’ve never done anything wrong in this world. Mikey guides you to where he’d been sitting next to Richie at the table and stands behind you with a hand on the back of your chair. He grabbed you a water, too, which is already cracked open when he sets it next to your plate on the table.
It’s easy to fall right back into the system of the Berzatto household, especially on a holiday like this, where the only cooking Donna had to do was already prepared side dishes and Mikey could man the grill while she drinks too much for the rest of the night. It’s nice, all things considered, to get to be with your people. To laugh obnoxiously, and listen to all of Mike and Richie’s stupid stories, and drink a little bit more than what would be considered okay if it wasn’t the fourth of July. Mikey keeps bringing you a beer back every time he grabs himself a new one, and who are you to say no to that.
Richie, for the first time in all of his existence, and Tiff are the firsts to leave and considering the woman can’t drink, nobody blames them. Sug and Pete follow shortly after, as well all of the other random gaggles of aunts and uncles and family friends and whoever the fuck. Donna went inside to get another drink, and never came back out. It’s just you and Mikey, now.
You can hear the radio he’d set up on the deck still murmuring something about America and freedom from all the way around the house on the front patio. You walked around the front the house to sit and watch the fireworks the people across the street always fire off. They’ve been done for a while and way too many mosquitoes are starting come out, but Mikey is next to you on the porch swing, calloused, warm hands going up and down over your legs in his lap, so you don’t really care.
“You ever,” You start, staring off into space. When you’re drunk, you let all the stupid shit your mind lets you think leave your mouth, and you haven’t drank in a while, so it’s probably worse. “Bear, do you ever have dreams about The Beef?”
You tilt your head against the back of the cushioned, wooden bench to find him already staring at you. There’s amusement in his eyes, followed by a little bit of confusion as to where you’re going with this.
“No, not really, Birdie,” He shakes his head just a little bit, but it’s enough for his outgrown hair to move over his forehead. You want to reach out and touch it, comb your fingers through it, pull at it and kiss him hard, or maybe sweet and slow instead. Woah. When the fuck did that happen?
“Why?” Mikey asks like he’s a little afraid, but definitely more curious. His hand stops moving, and instead, his fingers tap above your ankle.
“I get—I get these dreams where ‘m at work,” You squirm around to face him better, knees bending as you move to lay back against the stiff arm of the bench that rocks back and forth from all your movement. “They’re not even bad dreams, i’m just doin’ work shit, but that’s what makes them so bad. Like…like it’s so boring and slow and then yknow, I wake up the next day and have to do actually go do it.”
Mikey isn’t really sure what to say about that, but you can tell he’s listening. Mikey always listens, he always nods with your sentences and makes expressions at all the little plot tangents.
“That’s what happens,” You look down to his fingers tapping against your leg. One of his fingernails still has a white line from when you asked him to come help hang a painting after you’d inherited grandmas house. You’d been laughing so hard at something incredibly stupid and couldn’t stop, so he decided to try to nail the thing up with blurry eyes and shaking shoulders. You want to grab his hand and push it up higher or kiss that white line away or maybe hold it in yours and squeeze three times and never let him go. “That’s when I quit, when I get the dreams.”
Your head falls back with a harsh bonk onto the hard wood, arms crossing over your chest when a gust of wind blows through. You wish Mikey had a jacket to give you because he would, he always does, and you could keep it for a couple days to smell him.
“Fuckin’ stupid, isn’t it?” You mumble, looking over and into the stars. His fingers stop tapping, and instead wrap around your ankle with a squeeze, drawing your gaze back to him. His hand is warm, and so is his thigh under his jeans.
“Don’t say that,” He criticizes you, but it’s so soft it hardly counts. The furrow in his eyebrow looks less like confusion and more like concern and sympathy, now. Those eyes of his will kill you someday — all bright and shiny and dark and wet and just so fucking Mikey Bear like. “Don’t let anybody tell you you’re stupid. Nothin’ about you is stupid.”
When he says stuff like that, and looks like that, big and strong and sweet and loving and so content to be with you and just so Bear, who’s been there your whole life and never said you were stupid, or naive, and calls you Birdie for no other reason than because you are simply his lil’ Bird, you want to fall into his lap. You want to wrap around him and smell his cologne and let his hands touch all over you and feel his voice rumble in his chest under you. You want to curl up over his scratchy jeans and seep into his stupid Miller Lite t-shirt and laugh and smile and never have to be apart for months on end because you both have stupid, busy, boring, chaotic, jobs.
So you do. You pull your legs from over top of him and crawl into his lap. He lets out a huff of air, but doesn’t stop you.
“Thank you, Bear,” You squeeze around his shoulders tight, like you had all those hours ago when he pulled you up off the lawn and into his chest. “I have dreams about you too, sometimes.”
“Oh, yeah?” He grins down at you, a palm landing steady against your back to keep you in place. The other smooths over your hair when the wind blows it over your face. “You wanna quit me too, or what?”
“No,” It falls from your lips instantly and hushed, like even just saying it shouldn’t have happened. “Never, Bear. Never ever. Always get em’ when I miss you.”
“Really?” He says it like he would have never thought that to be possible, that someone would ever miss him that much. His hand smooths over your hair again, and his grin widens. “You’re in my dreams all the time, pretty girl.”
Your own grin grows to match his. You’re not sure why — if it’s the pet name, his hands keeping you secure and touching you so delicately, the admission of you being in his dreams, or it’s just because he’s Mikey, and when he smiles you can’t help but smile too. You haven’t smiled this much in a long, long time. Probably since the last time you’ve gotten to spend a full day with Mike and Rich.
“What do we do in your dreams?” You whisper, leaning your forehead to his.
“Lots of stuff,” His head shakes back and forth just once. This time you only notice because you feel him moving against you. “Back to bein’ kids doin’ stupid shit in my bedroom. Our trip to Lake Michigan, when you stole Rich’s sunglasses in the car, remember that? When the waves were so big, y’know,” You nod in unison. “Was takin’ over the fuckin’ boardwalk and we just kept on goin’, got back to the truck soakin’ fuckin’ wet.”
“His sunglasses blew off my face when the wave almost took me,” You murmur, toying with the neck of his shirt. “But you saved me.”
“Yeah, Birdie,” He nods, once. “Those are my good dreams. What d’your dreams with me look like?”
You lean further into him with a pleasant hum, taking the last tiny bit of distance away to lay back against this chest and play with the little hairs over the back of his neck.
“They aren’t with you. You’re not just apart of it, or a memory or somethin’. It’s just you.” Your hand travels down, scratching his neck gently then thumbing at the indentation the tag of his worn, soft shirt leaves over his skin. “You’re just there, that’s all. Just you and me — me and my Bear.”
Mikey’s hand follows the slope of your spine to sit at your waist with a squeeze. His other one pets over your hair one last time before he uses it to push your head away from the crevice of his muscled shoulder and presses a lingering, soft press of a kiss to to your temple.
“Me and my Birdie. You wanna hit the hay, baby, or what?”
In the morning, Richie will show up for his stupid tracksuit jacket he forgot. He’ll find the two of you, Bear and lil’ Bird, sprawled over top of each other on the Twin XL that Mikey barely fit on by himself for the long time he endured it. Thank fuck he got out of there.
Richie will think nothing of it, because you’re Bear and lil’ Bird, and do something obnoxious like start yelling and clapping or throw whatever not too hard object he sees at Mikey’s back while the big man crowds you against the wall in his sleep.
The three of you will go out for breakfast after you throw on a new shirt you stole out of Mikey’s old closet full of his high school years’ clothing and the jean shorts you wore on the fourth. Mikey will sit next to you, throwing his arm across the booth behind you and Richie will complain about sitting on his lonesome. You will not talk about your time on the porch then, nor ever. You won’t talk about the dreams or the pet names or the forehead kiss.
Richie will ask how you plan on getting another job while you drink a milkshake at 9 in the morning. When you roll your eyes and groan against the straw, Mikey will look across the booth and tell your brother he hired you and that you’re starting at The Beef on Monday. You will choke on your milkshake, Richie will yell something expletive, and Mikey will just shrug.
⚠︎ — 18+. fem!reader. bunny!reader. fauxcest. piv. daddy kink. age play. size kink. drool. finger sucking. mikey films them. dead dove do not eat. ✎𓂃 — follow up to this, but it can be read as a standalone.
“Sh, sh, sh. I know, baby, I know,” Michael soothes you, brushing your hair out of your eyes as you get used to his size penetrating you. After putting you on a sex ban for poor behavior, a few weeks had passed since the last time he was inside you. Whenever there was a lapse in sex, you always had to readjust to the size of him the next time it happened. He might never say it out loud, but the both of you know that is part of the consequence of a ban. Not only are you sexually frustrated, but then you have to get used to the adjustment period. Lying beneath him, your legs pinned to your chest while in missionary, Mikey coos at your pitiful whines. “You doin’ okay?”
“Mmm,” you nod in response, unable to form a coherent word as you focus on the feeling of his shaft spreading you open. It feels good and familiar, but there’s so much pressure in your pelvic area as he slowly moves himself in and out of your wet core. Despite the adjustment, it doesn’t take long to warm up to Mikey’s length. Your warm, wet walls welcome him home with a squelch as he picks up his rhythm, finding your g-spot with the tip.
Eyes rolled back, lips parted, a bit of drool seeping from the corner of your mouth, you look like you’re coming undone beneath him. He’ll never get used to the sight of you like this, begging and whining, mumbling nonsense as he works you over. “Dadadada,” you begin to mutter, trying to tell him how good it feels. How much you missed this.
“Oh, baby…” Michael smiles down at you, pausing his movements while he listens to you murmur ‘dada’ over and over again. “Yeah, honey, that’s me. I’m your dada. Just hold on a second.”
Mikey reaches for his phone on the bedside table, flicking it open to the camera app where he hits ‘record.’ Angling the camera over your blissed out expression, he clears his throat before speaking, “My girl’s learning how to say ‘dada.’ So precious… Ope, sweetheart, let me wipe that drool.” He clicks the video off, discarding his phone to the side once he’s got enough footage of you muttering for him on repeat while he burrows himself in and out of you. With his length still tucked inside of you, he uses his thumb to wipe the outer corner of your lips before popping his thumb against your tongue in an effort to shush you. You always love sucking on dad’s thumb. “M’gonna show that video to Richie. He’s gonna be so proud of his niece learning how to say ‘dada.’”
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.
summary: mornings at the original beef of chicagoland
contains: implied age gap, he's only soft with you type bullshit aka jamie's bread n butter
a/n: in honor of the surprise ep of the bear which i haven't seen yet so no spoilers plz. and plus also however i have had this specific pairing cooking in my head for months so plz be nice ily <3 | beautiful buttons divider from @strangergraphics
You're almost never in a good mood first thing in the morning. How could you be? It's seven a.m, and you're dragging feet behind you that are still leaden from mopping the night before.
Coffee helps infinitesimally, churning the gears in your brain that remain stagnant until the bitterly smooth liquid rolls down your throat. The sputtering, once-white Mr. Coffee machine that's been sitting in the corner behind the register since aroundabout 2004 —if you had to guess— is your only friend until about eight a.m.
That includes Michael.
He slugs in not long after you. He does surprisingly well before prep work begins, as chipper as he can be, much to your disdain.
"Mornin', beautiful," he sneaks up behind you, beard tickling your skin as he plants a kiss to the dead-center apple of your cheek.
You grumble something incoherent in response.
"Still hate the world, huh?" Michael slides his beefy (no pun intended) hands along your arms until you turn to face him. You give a slow, heavy nod.
"Poor baby, can't muster a poor smile for her old man till she finishes her coffee, huh?" He dips his chin so his brown eyes are level with yours, narrowing them slightly. He shakes you by the shoulders like a rag doll, earning a dramatic roll of your eyes that gives way to the slightest uptick of your mouth.
"That-a-girl," he snickers, then tucks a runaway hair behind your ear.
"I hate you," you respond flatly.
"You didn't seem to hate me last night," he palms the countertop behind you, locking you in place at an angle.
"We have a restaurant to open, Michael," you deadpan. His beard scrubs over your skin as he trails kisses down your neck.
"Michael?" He taunts, sliding his palms over your hips and hoisting you up onto the counter in one fell swoop. Your legs fall open the second he so much as nudges them with his knees. Your hands fly around his neck. "You only call me that when I'm in trouble."
He presses his thumbs into your hip bones, bent at the waist to pepper your neck in kisses. You open your mouth to grumble something else pragmatic, about how Tina or Marcus will be here any second, but the mere presence of his warm, large frame over yours melts your brain into mush.
He's an expert when it comes to drawing you out of a bad mood. Something so intimate about his attention solely focused on you, even if it's only for a few minutes before someone inevitably barges in.
The man whose brain tugs him in a thousand different directions, working multiple schemes and angles at once, dedicating all his precious attention on you.
His touch tugs the slightest little whine from your lips. You scoot forward to the edge of the counter, clambering for any piece of him. Mikey's lips finally slot over yours in a long, dominating kiss.
He drags his tongue torturously along your bottom teeth, one hand shooting up to cradle the nape of your neck, holding you steady and purposefully angled. You love kisses like this, before the day's grabbed a hold of him, before he's smoked a cigarette and he tastes only of cheap toothpaste and black coffee.
The erratic, impulsive, reckless man who kisses you in measured, deliberate strokes. Effectively lapping up all the logic and thought from your overworked brain. Something so poetic about all that.
"So?" He asks, peeling his face away from yours. He leaves you reeling and desperate for breath. Your heart thrums between your legs as you tentatively run your index finger along the bump of his nose.
"So, what?" You blink up at him, clueless to whatever deeper meaning he hints at.
"Am I in trouble?" Michael squeezes your hips. The crinkles by his eyes betray he's only playing.
You squirm, your elbow bumping the ancient coffee maker. It takes everything in you not to drag him by the wrist into the walk-in to violate a few health codes.
"No, Bear, you’re not in trouble," you heave a sigh, glancing at the clock on the water-stained wall behind him. Nearly a quarter after seven. Tina really will be here any minute. "But we do need to get started."
He hangs his head. You can practically read his mind, anticipating the rest of the staff.
It’s the same old song and dance. Soon Tina will arrive, then Marcus, Ebra, Angel, Manny. Richie won’t be here till after nine because he’s gotta take Eva to school on Tuesdays. But the voices will suck out all the air in the place, and Mikey will claw to be the loudest because it’s all he’s ever known.
You see it every morning, as the first rays of sun filter through the windows that are in desperate need of a scrub down. The anticipation to start the day slowly eats away at Michael, at your Bear. There are onions to slice and tables to clean, beef to braise and books to balance so all these lovely people can take a paycheck home.
Once he gets going, once he finds order among the chaos, he’s fine.
He’s better than fine. In fact, he thrives in it.
It’s finding the strength each morning to actually do it that's eating away at him.
"You're the only reason I brave this fucking hellhole anymore, birdy," he palms your thigh once before peeling his body away from yours.
"That's just not true," you hop up off the counter, then wrap your arm around his bicep in a quick, comforting squeeze. "You love it here."
"I love you here," he corrects as you swing the door open into the kitchen.
Like a puppy, or maybe just a man whose heart is inextricably tied to yours, he follows.
The Pitt x The Bear Crossover — past!Mikey x reader x Jack.
Growing up with the Berzattos mean chaos, a welcomed chaos after an upbringing with two parents that feel more hypothetical than real. Natalie had been a twin sister you've always wished for and Carmy had been a baby brother you loved doting upon.
Mikey had went from childish heroship, first puppy crush, to the love of your life.
While he left Carmen the Beef, Natalie and Uncle Jimmy his financial hardship, he left you with Lily (or Peanut — the Berzattos love their nicknames), the daughter he'll never meet. In a desperate attempt for a fresh start, Uncle Jimmy lets you stay in his condo in Pittsburgh where you meet Jack Abbot, the ER physician that helps you through a terrifying ordeal of Peanut's ... peanut allergic reaction.
ꕥ = blurb/drabble . 𐙚 = oneshot .
all headcanons.
ꕥ — sneak peek snippet. : your first meeting with dr. jack abbot.
ꕥ — the origins of honeybee. : mikey's first time calling you honeybee.
ꕥ — two different aspects. : jack sees how you are with your extended family.
ꕥ the 'sane' part of chicago ; jack meets uncle jimmy, nat, and pete.
One big perk of dating Mikey; he’s willing to fix whatever breaks in your apartment, with or without you asking him to.
Mikey would do just about anything you asked, get you anything you needed— the second you needed it. So it’s no surprise that, even before he moves in, he becomes your personal handyman for all your crappy-and-busted-apartment needs.
The first time, the two of you were lying on your couch, Mikey dozing off while you laid your head on his chest and watched the Netflix drama he picked (even though he clearly didn’t like his choice very much.) You muttered, “It’s so stupid cold in this place.”
Your boyfriend grumbled as he roused, the sound vibrates in his firm chest and against your cheek. “I’ll go turn up the thermostat.” His calloused hands moved to your upper arms, beginning to gently move you off of him.
“S’busted,” you shake your head, lifting it off him and meeting his eye. Mikey’s brows draw, he nods a little.
“How long’s it been broken?” He huffs. You shrug. Maybe a month. But it was March, you knew the city was just about to warm up anyway. Springtime in Chicago, you joked. He didn’t sound convinced.
He came back the next day with a toolbox, a shirt he didn’t mind getting dirtier than it already was, and got to work. You cooed a million thank-you’s, but he shrugged them all off. He did ask for an espresso, though, which you happily made as payment for the repair.
Well, the repair and the view both— Mikey looked pretty damn good kneeling on the floor in front of your radiator, his brow perpetually furrowed and his lips parted in focus. Not to mention the way his biceps popped from cranking the wrench he was using to unscrew bolts and loosen whatever the issue was. After a few hours (with a lunch break,) he stands up, his hands on his hips, dark eyes moving twixt the radiator, the vents, and the thermostat critically, like he’s intimidating them into functioning. “All right. Try now.”
When you turn the heat on, the radiator finally churns and buzzes to life. Mikey gives you an only-a-little-smug, downturned smile, lifting his shoulders as if to say, no biggie. You give him a shower of kisses, Y’know, just in the minor, tiny case that it is a big deal; and the absolute tiny, less-than-zero chance your boyfriend is very proud of being able to do something for you.
And it’s definitely an upside, having a man who’ll look at any home project you present and shrug, narrowing his eyes and looking the thing up and down, grumbling that, “I can get it done, yeah. Don’t worry.”
When you call him, stress lilting your words, it’s like a radar goes off somewhere in his brain. “Michael,” that’s where he knows something’s gotta be wrong, “my sink’s leaking, I put down towels, turned off the tap but it’s still— it’s still fucking leaking, I don’t know what to do. Can you—“
“Yeah. ‘Course. Getting in the car now, sweetheart, calm down.” Mikey in fact was not getting in the car just then, he was standing behind the counter at The Beef, clapping Richie on the shoulder and announcing that he had to head out. He waved off his guffawing. His restaurant, anyway. Wasn’t like they’d die if he wasn’t in the building. You probably would, on the other hand, so he doesn’t feel so bad about cutting a few people off on the way to your apartment.
The next few hours are spent holding a flashlight for him while he grimaces at the pipes under your sink, his toolbox ajar and out of the way of the soaked towels he’s kneeling on. Occasionally he asks for a different type of wrench, and you feel very helpful fetching each one for him, or turning on and off the water when he asks; even though your man is the one stooped over, practically tearing apart the piping and starting over. He gets sprayed now and then with water, and it doesn’t get any less funny to you. He scoffs after maybe the second time his shirt gets wet, wiping off his neck with the backs of his fingers, “You crack yourself up, huh?”
When Mikey stands, stretching his back a little, he grunts, “All right. You, sweetheart, have a working sink again.” You sigh in relief, lifting onto your tiptoes and pressing a kiss onto his scratchy cheek.
“You’re a saint,” you grin at him in a way that makes him forget the fact his pants are wet from the knees down and his shirt is spattered with water. He hums indifferently, shrugging his shoulders and giving you a shy, humble smile.
Mikey once noticed that the door into your bedroom was creaking. You didn’t even complain about it, or mention it at all, but maybe he just needed to do something with his hands. You got home from work late to find the door leaning against the wall beside the frame, your boyfriend unscrewing each hinge with an electric drill and replacing them with shiny new ones. “Mikey?” A soft laugh parts your lips, you kick off your kitten heels. He throws his head over his shoulder while you walk closer and brush a hand along his shoulder, up his nape and through his dark hair.
“Fixing the door,” he explains, as if you can’t see him sitting crisscrossed on the floor, surrounded by screws and hinges, old and new. He grins at you like proudly, this forty year old man with a stubbled jaw oddly reminding you of a little boy showing you a mud pie he’s made. You quirk a brow and he shrugs. “It’s.. noisy.”
“Uh-huh.” You look over your shoulder at the door propped against the wall, crossing your arms. “Do you want help? Or are you too macho?”
Mikey huffs a laugh, a smile creasing his eyes endearingly. “I’m the perfect amount of macho, baby. And no. Go get comfy.” He tilts his chin to your office clothes, a pencil skirt and neat button up. You hum, step around the mess of screws, nuts and hinges, and into the bedroom.
“Well I don’t have a door anymore. Where’s my privacy?” You huff, grinning at Mikey eyeing you through his brows as the drill whirs to life and he screws in a hinge.
“You want me to close my eyes handling heavy machinery?” You shake your head at him. Heavy machinery being an electric hand drill.
If he was annoying (not really!), atleast he was stupid handsome. His arms are defined by the strain, the muscles of his broad chest perfectly hugged by his gray shirt. With the way you’re staring, you’re not much better than a man. You go about unbuttoning your top, shrugging it off your arms and letting it fall crumpled on the floor.
“Y’know…” You pull one of his big shirts he left in your apartment, absolutely never to be returned to the original owner, over your head. “I was wondering if you could install this new ceiling fan I got.”
Mikey sits back a bit, straightening his back and cocking a brow in your direction. “You’re really puttin’ me to work.” But you give him a sugar-sweet smile, turning your cheek just so, and his lips turn downward in a why not? expression.
“Don’t you worry ‘bout it, sweetheart. I got it.” Definitely one of the perks of dating Mikey; you had a particularly handsome, personal handyman on speed dial.
