#richie jerimovich fanfic

[donatellawritings]

Rich to me is always the friends to lovers (everybody sees it but you two) it’s him yelling “behind” at everyone but sliding behind you with a hand on your hip “behind sweetheart” it’s you walking into the group of boys smoking outside & u bypass everyone to grab a smoke straight from his lips “thanks babe” it’s family having no empty chairs at the table so you sit on his lap while Syd & carm just stare. I think you’d bring my wish to life beautifully written. I need all the build up to the smut

can i just say that richie is definitely the type to be a jagoff to everyone, but never to you - everyone else knew how to work his last nerve, but you and your cutesy smile and bright eyes would make him all warm and fuzzy for sure

explicit sexual content ahead

it was no secret to anyone who worked at the restaurant (or had eyes) that you and richie had a ‘special’ kind of relationship. for starters, it wasn’t common for a hotheaded man, like richie jerimovich, to be so touchy and lovey-dovey with anyone. i mean, not even his ex-wife got to see that side of him often, and they shared a child. however there was something about you that just made richie feel as though he needed to be around you, protect you, handle you tenderly.

maybe it was because you were younger than him - fuck if he knew, all richie knew in his heart of hearts was that he had it bad for you.

things between you two started off gradually, “gotta get past you, sweetheart,” the older man rasped, the warm and calloused palm of his hand gently cradling the small of your lower back as he made his way past you, his tall frame easily reaching over you to grab ahold of a pot from the top cabinet.

you’d simply nod wordlessly, keeping your eyes trained forward in an effort to conceal the blush that rose to your cheeks.

after weeks of comfortability that increased between the two of you, you decided you’d test the waters. you’d watched carefully as he made his way out of the back door that led behind the building of the beef. quickly scanning over the not-so-busy environment of the restaurant, you walked away from the cash register, towards the back exit of the beef.

“i’ll be back in ten!” you called out, earning a mumble of approval from carmy and sydney who were entirely too engrossed in a conversation about expanding the menu.

the moment you’d exited the restaurant, the unforgiving cold winter chicago air bit at you, causing you to hiss as you quickly folded your arms tightly over your chest, your fitted ‘the beef’ t-shirt lifting a bit as you turned to find richie leaned against the brick wall.

he was so rugged and laid back, it drove you insane. his hoodie remained open, revealing the matching t-shirt that clung to his slim abdomen, one of his hands shoved in the pocket of his adidas track pants, while the other held a cigarette to his lips. richie didn’t notice your presence yet, too involved in a conversation with sweeps and marcus.

you’d decided it would be the perfect time to push the envelope, walking directly past marcus and sweeps as you approached richie, a flutter now swirling in your stomach as he raised his eyebrows at you, cigarette loosely held between his sharp teeth.

you two held eye contact for a beat, before you gently grabbed the cigarette from his mouth, before raising it to sit sit between the swell of your lips, taking a quick pull from the cigarette, “thanks babe,” you exhaled with a sweet close-mouthed smile.

all richie could do was swallow thickly, nodding to himself before he returned his attention back to the conversation at hand, softly swatting the side of your thigh when he decided that it was time for you to return the cigarette.

it was then, that things started to reach a whole new level of touchiness and couple-like actions between you and richie.

today was family. your second-most favorite day of the week, aside from payday. you were a bit late to the function, courtesy of your hair appointment, walking into the main room of the restaurant, instantly being greeted with a chorus of differing ‘hello’s’.

“hi, m’sorry for being late, my hair girl was late!” you rushed to explain, shrugging off richie’s your zip-up hoodie as you glanced around the room, seeing that all seats were occupied, “oh.”

sydney’s eyes widened as she shared the same realization, “fuck, uh, maybe we can get you an extra seat from the office, i-” she began, taking a bit too long, leaving richie no choice, but to come up with a solution of his own.

“s’nothing syd, she can sit with me,” richie spoke with a careless shrug, his mouth full of pasta as he looked up at you, swallowing his food before continuing, “c’mon, sweetheart.”

you obliged, your lips suddenly running dry as you walked towards richie’s seat, softly grabbing his outstretched hand as he gently guided your hips to sit comfortably against his.

you slightly shifted your hips, sending a shock to your clit as his bulge deliciously sat flush against your ass, “thanks, richie,” you muttered, focusing your gaze on the pasta dish that sat before you.

richie leaned back into his seat, the suddenly awkward silence of the dining room now becoming a bit too apparent to him. shaking his head, richie kept one of his arms loosely hung around you, before clearing his throat.

“yo, i don’t know why the fuck everyone is being fuckin’ quiet,” he huffed, his eyes now landing on carmy and sydney, before he sighed, “cousin, just say what the fuck you’re grateful for already!”

it wasn’t long before everyone returned to their normal conversations, about twenty minutes passing, before richie decided to lean in close to you, bringing his lips to your ear.

“m’ready to get the fuck outta here.”

and that’s how you ended up in the driver’s seat of richie’s car, his seat fully reclined back, one hand gripping the back of your neck, while the other guided your hips to bounce hard against his.

“ah, fuck - y’gonna make me cum in you if you keep fuckin’ me like that, sweetheart,” richie groaned, moving the hand that guided your hips to your back, pushing you further into his chest as he fucked up into you.

your face was in his neck, throaty moans and gasps leaving your lips as you sloppily kissed and sucked at the skin of his neck, the sound of your hips slapping into each other mixed with the squelch and slurp of your wet pussy taking his length leaving you a needy mess.

you were so close to reaching your peak, your pulsing hole clenching around richie’s dick as his thrust remained forceful and rough, “i can fuckin’ feel you around me, baby, y’want me to make you cum, yeah,” he chuckled, leaning his head against the headrest as he brought his hand to your hip, grinding your hips flush against his in circular motions.

“fuck, richie,” was all you could mewl through your gritted teeth, your stomach tight as your clit rubbed against the wet skin of his pelvis.

“keep ridin’ me, sweetheart,” he whispered, pecking your flexed temple as he forced your hips deeps against his, “just keep fuckin’ ridin’ me.”

yeah, your relationship with your coworker was far from orthodox, but neither of you seemed to get enough of it. nor, did you want to.

[eufezco]

Richie with wife reader. Soft!Richie only for his girls!! Anything at all. Fluff and a little suggestive. Tag me later!! Thanks!! :))

Richie asked you if you could stay with his daughter when Carmen called him from the restaurant to ask him for help. There was only a week left before the opening and even though Richie was on his day off, he could not ignore Carmen when he needed him.

It had been a couple of hours since he had left and little Eva was busy watching TV while you cooked dinner. She had asked a few times where her dad was but she felt comfortable enough with you to forget that Richie had been gone all afternoon. You both had watched a movie, made some drawings for Richie and Tiffany while you listened to Taylor Swift, you had prepared a snack for her when she woke up from her nap and now she was sitting on your couch in her pajamas, peacefully waiting for her daddy.

Richie opened the door of the house. —I'm sorry. I'm sorry. How are my sweetest girls? Oh, you missed me? —He asked his daughter when she stood from the couch and ran to him. Richie picked up the girl and hugged her while he walked towards you to give a quick kiss on your lips.

You hummed when Richie kissed you, glad that he was finally home and just in time for dinner. —We've really missed you —You were focused on mixing the pasta well with the sauce. —Do you wanna tell him why, Eva?

—We took a nap —. The little girl confessed and Richie acted hurt.

—You took a nap? Without me? — Richie asked and Eva laughed He smiled. —Was it good at least? —He asked and the girl nodded. Richie gave her another tight hug and devoured the little girl's face with kisses before putting her down on the floor and telling her to go and wait for him on the couch.

Once Eva was focused on the TV, Richie put his arms around your body, hugging you from behind and resting his head on your shoulder while you continued cooking.—I'm sorry, baby. I should've called to tell you that it was going to take longer.

—It's fine, Richie. You know I don't mind looking after her. We've had fun.

He hugged you tighter, you had always been so sweet to his daughter and Eva loved spending time with you. Tiffany had played a big part in it, you both had a lot of respect for each other and she had helped to bring her daughter's relationship with you closer.

—You're gonna be the best mom in the world.

You hummed again. Richie, with his head tucked on your neck, tickled you with his beard. You closed your eyes, feeling Richie's hands caressing your belly over your clothes. You wanted nothing more than to be a mother to his kids, but with all the chaos after the wedding and the opening of the restaurant, you had been too busy to stop and think about it.

—Why don't we start now? —He murmured in your ear. Richie's hands started slowly moving from your belly to the elastic of your pajama pants. His face on your neck started kissing your skin there. You bit your lower lip and stopped mixing the pasta to give him a gentle slap on his hands to get him to behave.

—Richie, Eva's here —. You whispered.

He huffed and let his forehead fall on your shoulder. You giggled at his reaction and put one of your hands on his head to caress his hair. He closed his eyes and enjoyed your touch. Richie didn't want to show you how overwhelmed he was with everything related to the restaurant opening, but he didn't have to because you already knew. You both worked there, you knew how it worked. The only thing that made you relax these days was coming home together and realizing that you had each other. Marrying you was the best decision he had ever made in his life, there wasn't a day that went by that he didn't think about how lucky he was.

—Dinner's almost ready. Why don't you go and take a shower?

Richie nodded and let his arms go from around your body. You turned around and kissed his lips. He showed you a satisfied little smile and went in for another kiss. Then, Richie walked over to the couch and planted a kiss on the top of Eva's head, who was too distracted by the TV.

—Wait —. You said before he went into the bathroom. Richie turned and saw you walking to where he was. His blue eyes lit up.

—Want to join me? —He asked excited. You nodded and his excitement grew. Richie's great imagination was already working and he couldn't have liked more all the images that went through his mind.

—We won't take long.

—We won't?

You shook your head and laughed. His daughter was there and the dinner was ready but food could wait and if Eva needed anything she could knock on the door or just call you, your apartment was not that big, and you would hear her just fine. By the time you finished thinking about it, the bathroom door was already closed and Richie's lips were on yours while he pulled on the hem of your pajama shirt.

@pear-1206 <333

[softly-sirius]

Would you love me if I was a worm? (gn)

Currently on Shift: Carmen, Richie, Sydney, Marcus, Fak, Sweeps, Tina, Luca

Carmen

“...What?”

Would check your temperature

Make you drink a whole glass of water and sit you on the sofa

When he’s confirmed that you are not ill or dehydrated he’d be concerned

Wonders all night if he isn’t showing you enough love

Brings you flowers the next day and gummy worms too 

Richie

“Fuck No!”

Asks if you would love him as a worm

When you say yes he calls you gross

Why’s he smiling though

Sydney

“I can’t kiss a worm though?”

She probably ate a worm as a kid on a dare once

Now cannot stand them

Hates the texture, but would try to get over it for you

Marcus

“Of course I’d love you, I’d take good care of you,”

Would make you a little home

Keep you in the nicest tank

Decorate it seasonally

Would take you on walks sitting on his shoulder

Would knit you a blanket :’)

Fak

“Fuck yes, can I be a worm too?”

He’s whipped,

As long as you two can be together? He’s down

Besides, the life of a worm, coiling himself around your matching worm body? 

Sounds pretty good to him

Sweeps

“What’s the scenario here?”

Asks you so many questions

Why you were turned into a worm?

When did you meet?

Is it a Princess and the Frog scenario?

Can he turn you back?

Comes up with a whole story of how he would save you from your worm curse

Tina

“What is wrong with you?

Will not even entertain the thought

Even if you ask again she’s not answering

Starts mumbling under her breath in Spanish

Not caring if you can understand her or not

Continues her prep to ignore you

Luca

“You’d be a cute worm”

Would kiss your forehead (kinda condescendingly)

You notice he’s avoiding the question

You open your mouth to ask him again

He puts a pastry in your mouth 

His distraction is a success this time

Still Hungry? Here is Our Menu:

Wiping off their kisses

Take me to the Barbie movie?

Will you peel my orange?

[buzzcutlip]

Obsession Richie Jerimovich x Fem!Reader Explicit 400+ words A/N: This is not very happy tbh. It somehow reflects a strange mental place that I'm currently in. But - read it as lightly as you need - that's why it's so short :)

“I can only think about you. It’s fucking annoying.”

Richie’s breath is hot on your cheek, on the sensitive skin of your neck. He has you pinned against the stainless steel counter, right opposite the stove. Everything smells of cleaning products, and you’re worried about the fingerprints you’re leaving on the surface, marring the crew’s hard work. No one loves the evening cleanup. Or—maybe Carmen does.

The weight of the world lies upon your shoulders, and you’re crumbling. Your life seems like a departing train that you can’t jump on. Even your friends know something’s up, and you’d rather not see them than lie to them.

But Richie’s right here; he’s not leaving. At least not this minute. Your fingers scramble to grip his biceps, his shoulders. The cotton of his raglan t-shirt is soft and washed out. You like this piece on him. It makes his shoulders look extra wide, hips more narrow in comparison.

Richie’s hands find their way under your shirt, rough pads scratching the soft skin of your torso, adding to your want.

“Not—not here,” you say hurriedly. Someone’s gonna fucking touch something and set the place on fire or something.

You quickly dismiss fucking in the bathroom, thank you very much. Just. Gross. The place where you end up is by the lockers.

After getting your jeans out of the way, Richie takes his cock and presses the head against the seam of your pussy, where the wetness gathers. Then he slides it gently through the slick, watching it with wordless rapture, unblinking. He rubs against your clit too, making you twitch. Weird. You always thought that the moment Richie got access to a pussy, he would slam in right away. But he doesn’t. He kisses you some more, less dirty than before—slowly and thoroughly, a large hand holding your jaw in place.

You squeeze your eyes shut and hold on tight. The position is uncomfortable, Richie’s snappy thrusts jolting you against the metal lock that keeps digging into your back. You could have invited him to your place, but you’re embarrassed about the mess there. Tidying up has been at the bottom of your to-do list for weeks.

“You don’t even know what you’re doing to me,” Richie mumbles brokenly into your hairline while helping you stay upright. The words strike you like lightning—sudden, strong, and electrifying. A broken sob tears out of your throat, and Richie must feel how your pussy clenches. You don’t know what you’re doing to him, so you turn your face into his arm, biting on his clothed bicep to ground yourself, to silence yourself, leaving a wet ring on the fabric.

“I’m obsessed with you.” Should it unsettle you?

[thefanficmonster]

Hi can you do hc's for a relationship/situation ship with Richie from The Bear? He's a hot mess but I love garbage. Thanks 💛

Hi love! 💕

I think 'He's a hot mess but I love garbage' sums up all the crushes I've ever had, thank you 😂

Hope you enjoy the headcanons hun 💌

Unprofessional Relationships - Headcanons

Richie Jerimovich x Reader (Gender Neutral) [The Bear]

Warnings: References to Sexual Themes, Spoilers for S1 & S2 of The Bear (I haven't yet seen S3 so the events described are not S3 compliant), Swearing

Genre: Fluff, Romance, Mild Angst

You two butt heads 11/10 times

Think of the way Syd and Richie argue but amplify it

Because it isn't limited to just the restaurant

It extends to the drive home - to either your place or his

It lingers all throughout dinner or the show you've sat down to watch

It seeps into the tension between the two of you in the bedroom

Rinse and repeat

Neither of you are one to stand down from an argument

Or take the occasional comment lying down

But when it comes down to it - you two make a great team

The barked orders turn into pointed and clear instructions neither of you object to

The chemistry that's everpresent between you two turns into the perfect rhythm as you match each other beat-for-beat throughout the whole process

And on these days when you're both on the same wavelength, the harmony is transferred over to the sheets as well

Those are the moments when the situationship you've built feels like an actual relationship

Or at least something with potential

A bumpy ride with lots of turns and dead ends

That you'll always ride out and come back from in the end

All in favor of meeting each other halfway sooner or later

There's an ongoing bet among the staff that you and Richie will never outright date or call one another each other's partner

At least not until on a random Thursday, in the middle of one of your casual bicker sessions, Richie blurts out the fateful question

Asking you to marry him

And there's no chance in hell you'd let it slide and let him get off easy

So, of course you'd say yes

[madwomansapologist]

hiii can we get the “mean/cold to everyone but you” trope w Richie like him only getting you coffee among the bear crew, always sitting next to you during family, etc and everyone noticing esp Tina and making fun of him lmao

being richie jerimovich exception

Masterlist | Rules | Taglist | Library | More Richie Jerimovich | AO3

synopsis: It's hard to deal with Richie. He can be rude, mean and extremely irritating. But not to you. Never to you.

warnings: none.

note: it's funny how this fandom agress that whatever richie does in a romantic situation will be content for a tina's roast session. thanks for your request dear, hope you enjoy it!

• Subtle people would say that Richie is a difficult person. Honest people would say he's an asshole. Truth is relative, because you would say Richie is your honey bun. Dear in public, handsome in private. Pookie when you want to annoy him.

•It turns out that unlike most other people, whether subtle or sincere, you have one thing that sets you apart: Richie loves you. So much it hurts him. And while Richie's natural reaction to grief is to take it out on the culprit, but he wouldn't do that to you. Because that pain is different than anything he ever felt.

• It's a ache. It's a burning that dominates his body. Richie suffers for you, cries for you, spends sleepless nights thinking of you: it's still love. That's how love works. People get tired of spending the night wondering what will happen. Cry in fear of being rejected. Feel their heart break after a fight. But people also exhaust yourself by talking all night instead of sleeping. Feel their stomach flutter from laughing so hard. Cry with emotion.

• Richie doesn't care if he's not normally like this. If normally he doesn't behave so meekly. He loves you, and he knows he needs to show it. Richie has already lost so much, he won't lose you too because of his own pride.

• Richie will spend minutes yelling at Carmy, but as soon as you appear, his face changes. It doesn't matter if he scolded Marcus for having already explained how to do something, if you ask him he'll answer you with a smile on his face. Your tiredness is answered with a cup of coffee. He knows how you prefer it.

• Whether it's you hugging him at the end of the shift, sitting next to him during meetings, Richie's hand stroking your hair: he makes sure to be always as close as he can. It's nice to feel your body heat. And to feel that you want to be close to him too.

• Tina is the first to try to mock him. He always rolls his eyes and turns away without arguing. Richie won't act like it's embarrassing him to show you he loves you. He would never make you think that loving you is a humiliating task.

• After all, everyone needs to have a soft spot. And Richie found his.

GENERAL TAGLIST: @suakemi @notanalienindisguiseblink

THE BEAR TAGLIST: @flowercrowns-goodvibes @notanalienindisguiseblink @vyctorya

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[yeschefchallenge]

The first round of the seasonal The Bear writing challenge is here! And we are starting with the Fall Challenge.

You will find all neccessary information and rules here. Please read it carefully to avoid any confusion. The asks are always open to any questions, suggestions or comments in general 😊

🍂The running time/posting period for the Fall Challenge is October 18th to November 8th.(You can post your work anytime within these dates, and it will be re-blogged directly to Yes, Chef Challenge)

And the prompts for fall Yes, Chef challenge are:🍂the dialogue prompt: "Don't lie to me!"

🍂the trope prompt: Characters who are not together are mistaken for a couple.(the characters don't have to end up together or be involved romantically at all)

🍂 the very seasonal prompt: Preparing a meal containing pumpkin or apples.

🍂 the picture prompt:

[harmshake]

Summary: Even on the worst days, clarity has a way of salvaging the things that matter most. Pairing: Richie Jerimovich x Black fem oc Word Count: 3.7k Warnings: 18+, language, mention of dv (none happens), Richie being down on himself before he remembers what hope feels like. This was inspired by and takes place in the "Forks" episode. This is outta left field from what I usually write, but something about my baby Richie finding his purpose really spoke to me. 🥲

Happy reading! Read my other fics here, if you'd like. ✨

Ever could kiss his ass. Frank could kiss his ass. Matter of fact, Tiff, Garrett, and anyone else who had another shitty thing to tell him today could kiss his entire ass. Forever. How about that? 

Richie pulled at his cigarette, sucking down the smoke with the deep breath he desperately needed to relax his nerves before he exhaled, a long sigh tumbling out with the small, gray plume. His other hand still held his phone that he didn't realize he was gripping until his palm began to ache with the dull numbness to mask the pain. He shoved it into his back pants pocket and shoved the cigarette between his lips again. Inhale...exhale. Iiiiinaaaale...eeeexhaaaale.

His two, long fingers holding the stick shook a little less now. He didn't mean those thoughts. He didn't hate Ever or Frank or Garrett or Tiff. Okay, maybe Frank. Inhale...exhale. No, Frank didn't do anything wrong. He treated Tiff with respect and Eva with compassion, two things Richie tried his very best to do but for some reason it always felt less than, never quite reaching the standards Tiff seemed to set and reset. Maybe she did that because it was Richie. Maybe Frank was just a better man than him. Maybe that's why she was going to marry him and never consider rekindling their love ever again. 

Yet she had the nerve to tell him she loved him right before she hung up. The words burned in his ear still like she just whispered them against his skin, warm breath that made him squeeze his eyes shut and try not to cry. But the lack of sight and inky black behind his lids began to paint a picture in his head, one where Tiff would kiss his tears if they fell and brush her soft thumb along his bearded cheek. 

"Fuck," Richie gurgled under his breath and blinked back the hot tears. It was really over. The gold wedding band on his left ring finger started to burn, too, but he couldn't bring himself to yank it off just then. Instead, he let it burn like the red cherry at the end of his cigarette before he took another huff. 

It was too early for this shit. The sun had just reached that part of the sky that wiped the streets of their shadows and shone the day for what it truly was. Glaring, ugly, stinking, loud ass city. Not loud enough, though, to drown out his thoughts, that noisy racket would probably drive a sane man crazy. Richie was already crazy, at least a little bit, he believed, and he had to be if he thought Tiff was going to stay. If he thought Taylor Swift tickets would save this ugly ass day. Fuck that lady, too, he only tolerated her shit music because his daughter Eva was her biggest fan. 

Inhale…exhale…

It wasn't Taylor's fault. It wasn't anyone's fault but his own. And no one wanted to deal with him. Not even his family wanted him, Cousin shipped him off to this restaurant to get him the fuck away from everyone, he was sure it. 

There was a distinct sound of crying then, sniffles and sobs, so close that Richie touched his cheeks with his knuckles to check if he'd burst out crying and didn't realize it, too absorbed in the cacophony of his thoughts that swallowed every other sound, including the train scorching by overhead on the bridge. But it wasn't him, it was that woman five feet away from him. Richie almost jumped out of his skin, he didn't even see her walking up to him until she was right in front of him. He held himself together with a roll of his shoulders in his white chef coat that they told him not to stain as he straightened his posture and looked her in the eye with a sniff that sounded like a snort. 

“Can I help you?”

He wasn't trying to be rude, quite the opposite. He was trying to put on a pleasant tone to disguise his voice that was trying to be thick with emotions like hers was when she spoke.

“Yeah, uh, can I please bum one of those? Please?”

The woman had a round, kind face yet it was crumpled like she wanted to stop crying but couldn't, and she had rounder, brown cheeks that were wet with the stubborn tears that she hastily smudged with her black sweater sleeve as she choked out a whispery “thank you” when Richie fished in his other back pocket for his pack to offer her one. He noticed her fingers were trembling like his were as she struggled to pick a stick so he dug one out for her and held his lighter to it when she put the filtered end in the middle of two plump lips that glistened but not from lip gloss. He hoped it wasn't snot.

He expected her to walk off after she got what she needed from him, but she lingered awkwardly, repeatedly tucking her hand under her pit and untucking it to swipe at her cheeks and nose with that damp sleeve. Her big, deep brown eyes were round, too, and she didn't peep at him again with them until he said just as awkwardly yet softly, “You, um. You alright?”

The lady grinned at him or tried to, anyhow, her lips doing a sort of wiggle like the longish, dark coils on her head when the wind picked up, but her hair stayed put mostly, the top of her fro would reach the tip of Richie’s nose if she stood any closer. She wasn't that close, though, she seemed to be putting what she thought was a respectful distance between two strangers. 

Her eyes kind of held that distance, too, and he knew right away she wouldn't tell him the truth to his question. Probably would just say she was fine and that was fine because why would she tell him anything? Wasn't his business, he didn't really care to know, and she'd dip as soon as she finished her cigarette that she was smoking god awfully. Weak pulls like she didn't really want to inhale the smoke, like she didn't really smoke at all but this was a special occasion.

Richie wondered if her occasion was similar to his, some relationship bullshit that was eating at her this morning, and then he realized he kind of did care because what if it was bad like he or she or whoever she was with put hands on her and she was on the run or something? He couldn't see any marks on her as she was covered in her sweater, skinny jeans, and pink, high top Chucks. But he didn't like the thought of what she might have been hiding underneath it, didn't like that shit one bit. He'd been mad at Tiff plenty of times, mad enough that he'd break shit, his own shit, but he would never put his hands on her or any woman, it never crossed his mind. Hell, Sydney stabbed him in the ass with a fucking knife once and he didn't think to do anything but get Fak to sow his ass up. 

He’d only been away from Syd, Fak, The Bear, and his “family” who shoved him away to here, to Ever, for three days and he didn't normally see people walking through the back alley when he stepped out for a cigarette. Too close to the train where people could catch a ride if they needed to get somewhere. Made him suddenly nervous for her if she was so distressed that she thought the best transportation was on foot, and he blinked a couple of times before he said, “Y’need me to call someone for you? I, uh, I got my phone here—”

He pulled it out from his pocket but she was already shaking her head. “No thanks. I actually left my phone in my car a few blocks away. It broke down. My car. Not my phone.”

“Is it dead? Yer phone, I mean. Y’can use mine if—”

“No, I…don't wanna talk to anyone right now. I just…I just need some space. Thanks again, by the way.” Her voice was a bit raspy and deeper than he expected, even after she cleared her throat. But it still had a kindness to it, like her entire face, that sounded nice to him, especially when she added quickly, “I just said I didn't want to talk to anyone but I'm talkin’ to you. Ha. I appreciate you. And the smoke. I don't mean to bother you, I'm sorry.”

She held up the cigarette that she hadn't even burned halfway as Richie was already grinding the butt of his cigarette into the asphalt with the toe of his shoe. He flashed her a weary half-smile when she did first and he shrugged, stuffing his hands into his front pants pockets.

“Yer not. Sorry you’re havin’ a rough day before it even started.” Richie glanced around the alley, not certain how to ask again if she needed help because he wasn't sure she even wanted or needed it, feeling stupid for making up a problem for her that he thought he could solve. Then he felt stupid again because how the fuck could someone like him who couldn't even solve his own problems be of use to anyone else? He was useless, that was a painful reality he was waking up to every day and today was rough for him, too. And yet he still opened his stupid mouth to offer her words that he hoped were kind or hopeful and not stupid as he muttered, “If it makes ya feel any better, I’m not a big-time chef here at this fancy, schmancy joint. I’m in there with a fuckin’ rag and a neverendin’ pile of silverware that god forbid there’re any streaks on. That’s my entire day, can y’believe that shit?”

She slightly winced at him, she tried not to because she was nice, he could tell, and he realized just then he should just go back inside and the get the fuck out of her face, but fuck, he didn’t want to go back inside, either, not yet. Polishing forks for nine hours was, shockingly, the most boring and inane shit he’d ever had to do on a job, and at this point Richie would prefer to eat with a plastic spoon for the rest of his life if it meant never seeing another goddamn fork ever again.

Inhale. Exhale. He let it out as a sigh and shook his head with a remorseful smirk. “You didn’t ask to hear my bullshit, my bad.”

“You’re good. I actually rather hear about yours than think about mine.” She took a pull at her cigarette that she pinched between two, light blue painted and short fingernails. She held it like she was inspecting it and it made Richie’s smirk grow a tiny bit as she smoked it wrong and held it wrong, but then his lips turned down at the thought of what the hell was going on with her.

“That bad, huh?”

The woman shrugged her little shoulders, all of her sort of little as he towered over her like a parent gazing down at their kid who was sulking and needed a heart-to-heart. But she was no kid, Richie guessed she was maybe around thirty. Still too young to be having what looked like a public breakdown, he thought, especially one that led her to ditch her car and talk to strangers at eight in the morning. At this age, she was supposed to be resourceful, resilient, and hell, he didn’t know, responsible. That sounded about right. Because that’s what he was trying to be like at thirty. A grown man with his shit together and when that shit got shitty, he had the wits about himself to fix the problem and cry about it later. 

But that had actually never been the case with Richie and he felt embarrassed to project that onto her and to pretend that he could project it onto himself. He was forty-five with no wife, expensive child support payments, and shining forks at a restaurant his twenty-six-year-old celebrity chef cousin cast him away to work at and only work because he could never afford to dine here. Who was he to judge this woman?

He wasn’t even trying to judge her. The thought had crept into his mind, mercifully quieting the other clamorous thoughts he didn’t want to think about, either. Instead, he thought about how and why he was still talking to this woman. He realized it was simple: He wanted to know if she would be okay. She’d finally stopped crying but her eyes were red and puffy and she still hadn’t answered his question as she sucked poorly on that cigarette he regretted giving her now because she was too young and pretty with better solutions to her problems than smoking.

“Yeah. That bad.” The words left her strained but she smiled a bit at him before it swiftly faded around her cigarette and hid behind a puff of smoke. Richie tried to smile back but against his will he coughed up more words in an attempt to make her feel okay.

“Damn. I’m sorry. Is it just yer car? Somethin’ else? Aw, shit, my bad. You just said you don’t wanna get into it.” She was wincing at him again. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“Maybe you should be a counselor instead of a, uh, whatever your job title is. You seem like you like to be helpful.”

Richie sucked his teeth with a laugh or a wry snarl, the sound escaping him before he crossed his arms over his chest and rocked back and forth on his feet. “Yeah, uh, I’m no good at that, clearly. Not sure what the hell I am good at.”

Jesus, could he sound anymore pathetic? The woman stared at her cigarette like she was ashamed to look at him and he didn’t blame her, watching her hand as it dropped the thing to the ground where she stepped on it a few times when the cherry didn’t turn into ash the first couple of times. Yet when she did look at him after she folded her arms over her chest, too, her wince turned into more of a squint like she was trying to figure him out. Richie wanted to feel the intrusion of it but he was doing the same thing to her, more or less.

“I’m sure you’re good at something,” she said. “Ooh. I bet you know the best place to get coffee around here.”

“You think that’s my undiscovered talent? Namin’ coffee joints? Gee, thanks.” Richie rumbled with a quick, dark chuckle.

“Oh my god, no. I mean, uh, I can tell you know this area pretty well. Your accent tells me you’ve lived here a while.”

“Yeah? Where are you from?” Richie had to ask because he noticed she had an accent, too. It wasn’t obvious and only hitched on words he himself pronounced differently, a subtle, southern twang to it that he couldn’t quite place.

“Texas.”

“Texas. And what, you broke down in Chicago on a road trip?” There he went getting nosey again. If it wasn’t an abusive lover, and thank god for that, but it was something bad enough that she didn’t want to speak about it, Richie couldn’t help but be curious. He didn’t mean to pry. “Gah. Don’t answer that. None of my business. Sorry about yer car. I know a guy who can take a look at that, actually.”

And there he went again trying to be helpful. He did know a guy but the way the woman looked at him with her arched eyebrows coming together made him feel like he was talking too much. But he talked some more, his mouth was moving before he could shut it. “Anyway, uh, the best coffee yer gonna get is at Big Shoulders. It’s about a ten minute drive from here, though, and yer on foot so I don’t know. Probably be better if you just grab somethin’ from the Dunkin’ in the CTA. That’s right there.”

He pointed to the bridge and train station where the next one would be taking off shortly as he saw it parked as passengers filed in. The woman looked over her shoulder at it, too, and back at him as she nodded, her fingers curling around the long strap of her white purse with tassels that dangled on her hip. “Okay, thanks. Hmph. So y’all don’t serve coffee in there?”

“Oh, we do. I think. I haven’t been here long enough to see anyone order it but I’m sure you don’t wanna pay twenty dollars for a coffee you gotta calculate and divide by x to find out how to drink because they’re in there doin’ weird shit to the food…no, not like that. They’re all about the complexities of ‘fine dining’ and shit and even the simplest food looks ridiculously complicated to eat.”

God, Richie wanted to slap himself for rambling and being annoying with his inflections and air quotes. But her features dissolved into a laugh, a hardy one that made her round cheeks rounder and her dark eyes brighter, and that made him pipe up with a laugh, too. 

“Wow. I’ll take your word for it…and the number of that guy you know who’s good with cars. If you don’t mind, please.” The woman went to open the flap on her purse but then pouted her lips before she blew a raspberry. “Ah. My phone. Still in my car.”

“I have a suggestion, and I swear ta god I’m not hittin’ on you, but maybe I could take yer number and text you my guy’s number so you have it,” Richie offered instead of asking why she would leave her phone in her car if she was alone and in need of assistance. More questions that he didn’t want to pester her with since it was evident she meant it when she said earlier she didn’t even want to think about her issues. Issues that Richie only hoped would be resolved with something as, fingers crossed, easy as fixing her car so she could get back on the road.

He was grateful she didn’t wince at his suggestion, a small grin tugging at her lips, instead, as she nodded her head. She sounded out each digit of her number as Richie punched it into his phone and sent her a message with Todd’s number and a blurb that read: Tell him Richie sent you for a discount.

“Done,” he said with a soft smile and the woman returned it as she thanked him just as the door behind them swung open. Garrett’s head appeared before his face scrunched up in aggravation or awe or disappointment or all three as his wrist appeared next to tap the watch on it while staring at him.

“Hey, man, we need you back inside. Now,” Garrett said, his tone yielding to none of the emotions but his eyes on Richie mumbled a severity that let him know those forks weren’t going to polish themselves. Those eyes glimpsed at the woman, too, but reserved their scorn for Richie being distracted instead of blaming her.

Richie tried not to audibly groan as he twisted around to look at the man and give him a shit-eating grin and thumbs up. “You got it,” he said and Garrett rolled his eyes but didn’t leave them, waiting like a dad who just reprimanded his son. The groan slipped out then as Richie’s head fell back and saw the cheerful, blue, free sky mocking him far away from the misery he was stuck in on the ground. 

Inhale. Exhale. 

“Alright, alright. I’m comin’.”

He turned to look at the woman with a smile and shrug that he hoped didn’t look pitiful as it was demeaning enough to be yanked back into work by a kid boss half his age. She smiled back, something tender and understanding in it when Richie was looking hard for the judgment and secondhand embarrassment. 

“Thank you again. For all your help. You’re really good at that.”

Richie parted his lips to retort that he didn’t do anything out of the ordinary, but the way her eyes held his in that moment made him feel strange, a good kind of strange, one that made him keep his big mouth closed to hear her add quietly, “It’s pretty early still…still time to seize the day, right?”

Her tiny giggle at her own quip made him sniff with an airy chuckle before he nodded once, not to necessarily agree with her words but to see her off as she switched around and headed down the alley towards the sidewalk that led to the main road. Yet as he headed back inside behind Garrett and into the kitchen where that bucket of fucking forks was waiting on him, his fingers crawled beneath his shirt collar in his chef coat to grab at his chain necklace, stealing a small kiss from the Star of David embedded on the tiny, gold plate before he tucked it back to rest against his heart.

He wasn’t sure if he would ever hear from or see that woman again, hell, he didn’t even catch her name, but his thoughts swirled with a little prayer for her that whatever she was going through and wherever she went that she’d be okay. That she’d find a little clarity with a cup of coffee. That she’d find a solution. Call his guy, get her car fixed. That she would seize this crappy day. Make it better, make it beautiful for herself in some way. 

Richie wasn’t completely sold that the same was possible for himself as he picked up a long, silver fork in one hand and a blue cloth in the other…but something told him that even if today was crap, maybe tomorrow wouldn’t be. 

The sun would rise and maybe the day would look a little less ugly and a little more beautiful for him, too. He would get through today, wash it off with a hot shower when he got home, get some sleep, and wake up to find out for himself in the morning.

. . .

Every Second Counts

Thanks for reading! 💙

[garbinge]

Thanksgiving

Richie Jerimovich x Platonic!Reader mention of Carmy Berzatto x Platonic!Reader

30 Day Fic Challenge (15/30)

A/N: Patiently waiting for June 27th lololol

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Light angst, shit talking, cursing (lots), family problems, daddy issues. Mentions of someone losing their life from alcoholism, homelessness, hitting rock bottom.

The Bear Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @quixscentsposts @dadbodfanatic-x @adorable-punk-superheroes @lodeddiperrodrick @isalver @captainweasleybarnes @musicwithteeth @fancyvoidtragedy @shinebright2000 @knight4xmas @gills-lounge @navs-bhat @cosmicak @kmc1989 Other fics from this universe

The knock on your door wasn’t what you were expecting at 11:30 on Thanksgiving night. You weren’t exactly dressed for company in your pajamas, but the knocking was insistent so there wasn’t a way to ignore it or have time to change. 

“Jesus Christ, I’m coming!” You called out as you made your way to the entrance and opened the door. 

“You don’t look through the peephole before answering the door? I coulda been a murderer.” Richie was standing at the door of your apartment in one of his few nice sweaters with a tote bag in his hand. 

“You here to murder me, Rich?” You stepped back and welcomed him in with a sway of your arm. 

“I’m here to feed you, you weren’t at Thanksgiving.” He didn’t waste any time from when you invited him in and was already in the kitchen placing the bag down. “Why weren’t you at Thanksgiving?” 

You took a deep breath and let out a harsh exhale, this wasn’t something you were expecting to talk about at this moment. 

“Um, I’ve had my fair share of unstable parents lately.” You brought your hand up to your head as the past few conversations with your father flashed through your mind quickly. 

Richie stopped pulling things out of the tote bag and looked up at you. “Your dad call you again? What was he lookin’ for before? Baseball cards right? You should hook ‘em up with the Faks, they got that baseball card scheme runnin’, the stupid fucks.” He let out a laugh and continued to pull stuff out of the bag. 

Any other day, you’d join him in the banter. Any other day you’d enjoy it, but today wasn’t any other day. 

“Richie.” You said his name so solemnly and he looked up at you immediately. It broke you seeing his face drop from a smile to a straight mouthed expression but you didn’t have much left in you to take it back. The next best thing you could do was explain. “Uh, Thanksgiving is just–” you paused for a minute as your brain searched for the right word. “It’s a day for me, alright.” You felt yourself get tense, the emotions that you didn’t want to think about, feel, or simply acknowledge were rising to the surface and it was making you angry. Your eyes closed out of instinct, an exercise to push the rage back down, and after taking a deep breath you re-opened them and stared at Richie. 

Richie’s face didn’t change, it was still as heartbreaking as before even though it would have been described as neutral. 

“How was Donna tonight?” You changed the topic quick and moved over to look at what Richie had in the tupperware containers. 

“How do you think?” It was said like the conversation prior didn’t even happen. 

“Yea, I figured.” You let out a snort. “She make the cannolis?” Your eyes were scanning around the containers looking for them. 

“They’re somewhere in here, let me start putting this shit away and I’ll find ‘em.” He was turning around to face your fridge now. As the door to the cooler swung open, he froze. It went unnoticed by you as you continued to bury your emotions down so you didn’t start a misguided fight. 

“What the fuck is this?” Richie was pointing inside the fridge and then at the container on the stovetop. Despite the cursing, he didn’t seem mad or pointed, just confused. 

As your eyebrows raised and you turned around to see what he was talking about, you answered quickly. 

“Oh, Carmy dropped off food for me last night.” 

“Carmy knew you weren’t coming to Thanksgiving?” Now that statement held a little hurt in it, but you acted like you couldn’t tell. 

“Carmy knows I never come to Thanksgiving.” You added a shrug to the statement to help make it seem nonchalant. 

“I didn’t know you never come to Thanksgiving.” It was mumbled, like he was embarrassed. 

“Why would you?” Another shrug left your shoulders and you moved to help him move a couple things in the fridge. 

“Because I notice when you’re around.” It was such a soft statement that any other time it would have melted you to your core. But you could tell for him it was also like he was defending himself behind this sweet statement. 

The bantering part of you wanted to retort that statement with a ‘clearly not.’ since you hadn’t been at a Berzatto Thanksgiving in over a decade, but with how Richie was talking and where you were at mentally tonight, you knew it wasn’t going to be good for either of you. 

“It’s the first year that we’re–,” you stopped yourself at that statement because you didn’t know what you were and this was not the night you wanted to take the time to define it. “It’s the first year you’d actually notice, it’s not a big deal.” 

“I guess I just missed you, and feel like something important is happening and everyone knows but me.” 

Shocked would have been an understatement. Did Richie Jerimovich just express how he was feeling? 

“You been reading that book?” You frowned, a smile forming slightly on your face as you stared up him. 

“Fuck you, yea I been reading that book.” The self-consciousness flooding his senses at your look. 

“Everyone doesn’t know. Just Carmy.” If you knew the weight the last two words would leave on him, you probably wouldn’t have said them but it was too late, the words were already hanging in the air. 

“And the reason Carmy knows is because he’s known since 10 years or whatever ago.” You hoped that would offer up enough explanation to hold him over a bit. 

“So what did Carmy bring you?” Richie was moving past you to look into the fridge again. 

“Not cannolis.” Moving in the opposite direction you started searching in the bag. 

“I brought too much shit, your fridge is stocked, shit’s gonna go bad.” 

“What did Pete bring this time?” The clicking of the to-go container muffled your question but it was worth it as you pulled out one of 5 cannolis. 

“A fuckin’ pie.” Annoyance was dripping off his tone. He leaned against the counter with his arms crossed. 

Your head snapped at him, your mouth full of pistachio cannoli, surprise written all over your face. 

“That sounds good.” 

“It was fuckin’ rhubarb.” Richie spit out, his arms still crossed and eyebrows frowning as he remembered the pie. 

“God, who the fuck likes rhubarb.” Your face twisted in disgust, the shock fully faded now as the realization that Pete didn’t succeed yet again in his gracious hosting gifts this holiday. 

“That’s what I fuckin’ said. It’s a god damn vegetable.” 

You let out a laugh at that as you took another bite of the cannoli. 

“I don’t know why it’s so hard for him.” Now you were just making conversation. 

“Never was for you.” Richie shrugged as he recalled what rotation of items you’d bring to different Berzatto gatherings. “Hot chocolate, olive oil, those toffee chocolate things, one year you brought those stuffed olives.” 

The shock came back and became very apparent on your face again as you turned to look at him for an answer.

“I told you I notice.” His hands lifted in innocence. “Plus your hot chocolate is the fuckin’ best, hard to forget.” 

“There’s some in the pot.” You pointed to the stove but then went to grab two mugs. 

The two of you melted into a comfortable silence, the tapping of your wooden spoon as it stirred in the pot of hot chocolate, the metal spoons clinking in the mugs as the liquid poured into them. The TV was at a lulled volume in the background, the slight sounds of Steve Harvey’s voice as family feud reruns ran. 

As the two of you were on the last legs of your hot chocolate, Richie spoke up. 

“You watchin’ The Game Show Network?” There was humor behind the question mixed with true curiosity as he heard the old school game show mumbling in the background.

“It’s relaxing.” There was no defense in your voice as you said it, mug close to your face. “And it makes me laugh.” 

“Relaxing and laughing on Thanksgiving. Not sure I’ve seen that combination in a while.” He was opening your dishwasher to drop the empty mug into it. 

You raised your eyebrows at that knowing exactly what he meant and knowing it was 100% true. 

“Hey, you wanna go with me somewhere?” Your eyes were looking at the time and seeing it was just a little past 12. 

“Where? Everywhere’s closed?” 

You had already moved to the other side of oyur kitchen island and were grabbing your coat off the back of the bar chair. 

“Can you pack up like 6 containers from Carmy and like 3 of the containers you brought?” It took Richie a minute to understand what you said since you had been bent down slipping into your shoes. 

Although confused, Richie did what you said, making sure the cannolis weren’t any of the containers he packed in the tote he had brought over. As you re-entered the kitchen, you peaked in the bag and nodded. Quickly you pulled out a ziploc and took one of the cannolis out and dropped it into the plastic before carefully placing it in the tote. 

As the two of you hit the Chicago streets, there were a couple flurries of snow falling, nothing substantial that would stick, but it set a tone. Your one arm was holding onto the the tote back as your hand hid from the cold in your jacket pocket but your other hand moved to wrap around Richie’s arm. 

The gesture made him get out of his head and turn to look down at you. 

“You wanna tell me where we’re going?” He brought his arm in tighter against yours. 

“You’ll see.” 

It was all you were willing to give up as you began walking towards Millenium Park. 

“Millenium Park after 12AM, sounds like a great time.” Richie was taking his free hand and reaching to grab his pack of cigarettes. 

“It actually is.” You spoke with such conviction that it actually shocked Richie. You were so upset earlier and now you were speaking with a hint of hope in your voice. 

The music you started to hear as you approached the infamous Chicago Bean filled your face with a smile. You lived in Chicago most of your life so hitting tourist spots like this wasn’t exactly a common occurrence but this was a tradition you kept for yourself and now were bringing Richie into it. 

There was a street performer about 20 feet from them, the violin was loud and the acoustics were incredible as it echoed off the landmarks around them. The smile on the man’s face as he played was enough to tell a million stories. He was having fun, despite the cold, the snow, the fact it was a holiday and he was here performing, he was genuinely enjoying this. 

“That’s Morgan.” You whispered to Richie like it was a high class secret. “He’s incredible.” You brought your other hand up to rest on his arm that was still holding your other one. 

“He brings a crowd.” He was looking around at all the people that were standing around him. 

“There’s more people every year.” You said it like a proud parent. 

“Every year?” Richie asked, not taking his eyes off the performance. 

There were a few minutes of silence as you debated how you were going to answer his question. 

“I come here every year. One thanksgiving, I was out here looking for something and ended up coming across Morgan. I come here every year now. The crowd used to be like 5 people and look now.” 

“That what the food is for?” Richie was smiling now understanding what the girl was up to. 

Just as he spoke the words, the violin sound was cut and the crowd began clapping loudly. “I’m going to take a short break, be back in 5 minutes.” He waved and placed his violin down to take a sip of the water jug he had next to his stuff. 

You approached the man and before you could even say anything, he was bellowing a deep hello to you. Following his hug he looked down at the food and shook his head. “You’re always over feeding me, kid.” 

“Who doesn’t like leftovers?” You crossed your arms and stepped back slightly bumping into Richie. “Oh, Morgan this is Richie.” You grabbed Richie’s arm and stepped behind him slightly to introduce him. 

“Nice to meet you, Richie.” Morgan spoke curiously.

‘Back at you man, you got a real talent, truly incredible.” He turned on that typical Richie charm.

“You humble me, dude. I’m just a Chicago kid tryna enjoy the holiday.” He waved him off. 

“Did you get to see Sandra this year?” You spoke with hope in your tone. 

“She had me over earlier today.” Morgan was grinning. 

“Morgan, that's incredible! From just coffee last year, to thanksgiving this year!” You leaned forward and tapped his arm. “Guess you don’t need my food.” You teased him and went to jokingly grab the bag back but not before he leaned down and blocked you from it. 

“Hey now, this is top of the line fine dining food you give me.” 

“And I packed a homemade cannoli in there for you.” Richie was smirking at the whole interaction. 

“See the man packed little ol me a homemade cannoli, don’t strip a man of a thanksgiving cannoli, now.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” With a step back you wrapped your arm around Richie’s. 

Morgan looked down at it and back at the both of you with a wider smile now. “Hope y’all had a lovely Thanksgiving.” 

“Think it just got a lot better.” Richie nodded at him and then looked down at you. 

“We’ll let you finish your break, but I’m so happy about Sandra, seriously Morgan, that’s great news.” You went to give him one last hug. 

“Happy to see you out here with someone this year, seems like you finally found what you were looking for.” He was talking at a volume only you could hear as he hugged you. 

“Funny enough, Morgan. I wasn’t looking for it at all. Just happened.” You whispered back.

“The best things do.” He was clearly talking about your friendship, how it came to be out of a time where you weren’t expecting or looking for it all. “Happy Thanksgiving, kid.” 

As you moved back into the crowd with Richie, he took the opportunity to link your arms back together as he asked you a question. 

“Whose Sandra?”

“The woman who has his wife’s heart.” 

The sentence was so heavy, the more thought you put into it, every scenario that it could have been felt more heartbreaking than the last. 

His head snapped to you and you nodded. “His wife died from liver disease and she was an organ donor, so her heart went to Sandra. He’d been trying to find her for a while, finally did, at first they wrote letters, last year she met him for coffee, and this year she had him over.” 

“That’s incredible.” Richie was in shock. “Why Thanksgiving? Or just because?” He was genuinely invested in the story now. 

“Thanksgiving is the night his wife lost her life, but the night Sandra kept hers.” You explained the situation to Richie. 

“Holy shit.” He brought his hand up to his face and wiped it down as the weight of it all sunk in. 

“What’s he doing out here?” Richie frowned trying to piece that part of it together. 

“He kind of lost everything when he lost his wife, his place, his job, his will to live I’d even go far enough to say.” You thought back on the earlier years of meeting Morgan, he was your father’s age, and clearly had experienced loss in his life. That was what bonded you, because while you were going through the biggest loss of your short teenage life at that time, you came across someone who knew what losing someone to alcohol felt like. 

“That’s rough.” Richie nodded and before the conversation could really continue, the sound of the music filled the space again and the crowd moved in tighter. Richie and you stayed near the back and despite everything being fine between you two, you felt the tension from earlier coming back. 

It was hard for you to talk about it, but Morgan’s words about finding what you were looking for were in your head and it made you realize, maybe you could open up a bit about it all. 

One thanksgiving, I was out here looking for something and ended up coming across Morgan. I come here every year now. 

That one thanksgiving, you were out here looking for your Dad, your drunken dad, you later found him at the bus stop across from The Beef. He didn’t see you, but you saw him, fully packed, despite his inebriated state, he had thought through leaving enough that he packed bags. 

With a sigh, your arm squeezed tighter around Richie’s and you said 5 words that you hoped would be enough to explain to Richie why today was so hard for you without having to dive into so much detail. 

“My dad left on Thanksgiving.” 

[neonovember]

So I currently have food poisoning and I can’t help but it think how mad Carmy would be if a restaurant gave his gf/wife food poisoning

Also Carmy come take care of me and make me soup plz 🙇‍♀️😫

Plus he would give the best snuggles 😭

firstly, sending lots of love and recovery, i've never actually had fp lmao so a lot of time on webmd will be spent. get ur fluids in! secondly, carmen might have to go underground for setting the restaurant on fire. we love him for it

summary: You were hungry and had just finished work and you didn't think about inspecting the goddamn Michelin star restaurant, maybe you should have.

warnings; cursing, food poisoning, richie (he's a warning), hipsters, talks of future arsony, possessive carmen, cracked fic ngl,

divider by @firefly-graphics

i'm slipping back into the unsafe territory of wanting fictional characters. (and i don't care)

You could roll your eyes in annoyance if you weren't hunched over the ceramic bowl of the toilet heaving out the contents of your stomach while Carmen held you hair back.

The one time, the one goddamn time you decide to try a new place without Carmen's input, without his meticulous standards and in depth research behind every night out.

It wasn't like you hadn't tried to vet the new braised beef spot that opened up on west Avenue. In fact, you had heard all but stellar reviews from friends and family, meeting you with suprise hearing that Carmen hadn't taken you. You decided to bring home a small plate, their signature braised meat with plums, red onions and atrichocke hearts.

You had meant to share it with Carmen, and you were going to, but a botched catering order had him staying back another hour than what had been planned. And well..you say you tried to save some for Carmen, but despite its bacteria laced beef and vomit inducing sides it was pretty fuckin' good.

Was this God's wrath coming down upon you? Punishing you for your gluttony? Food poisoning did feel awfully close to perpetual hellfire.

The TV was blaring some indescriptive show, the kind with dramatic introductions and soap opera worthy screams. It helped fill the space of absence when Carmen worked long nights, and you felt quite comfortable wrapped up in a blanket with a full stomach and a warm sofa.

Your phone had pinged with the sound of Carmen's text, letting you know he was on the way when it started. At first you had written it off as mere indigestion, probably from shoveling the cursed meal into your mouth too quickly.

Then, around the time the show's main character had found out her boyfriend got her mother pregnant, the nausea set in. Swirling aches that felt like a whirlpool in your stomach had taken over, sloshing and swirling and never leaving. You couldn't mistake it, as you tried to swallow past a dry throat and the creeping sweats of a headache inducing fever began to ravage your body.

You hated sitting in discomfort, it wasn't as though you were afraid of vomiting no, you just could not bare to feel the way your stomach skipped and jumped with every wave of nausea that took over.

You thought of making yourself sick, but shook your head when the alarming disapproval of Carmen's voice loomed over.

"It's just gonna make it worse, you gotta sit with it till it passes"

Fuck him and his medical knowledge. What did he know?

You had ripped off the blanket that had once felt comforting, peeling of layers of clothing that stuck to your body like a second skin. You just felt hot, so hot, is anyone else feeling this heat? You try to move from the couch to reach your phone, but the sudden movement has nausea bubbling up your throat.

You fall to the ground in a heap, hand clasped around your mouth to stop the possibility of projectile vomiting on the rug you had just bought and shoot your hand up to reach for your phone.

You press Carmen's number, begging him to answer you in genuine crisis rather than when you were drunk with friends and missed him. You feel the urge to heave and crawl quickly to the bathroom, phone clasped in hand and suddenly desperately needed his medical knowledge.

Carmen phone rings from the behind the stack of documents in the office, and he hastily wipes his hands across his apron before trying to reach it before it rings out.

Guilt fills his stomach at the thought of you, he was meant to be home hours ago. The catering order needed a few extra hands to help, and once Carmen began he got lost in it, and now you had spent nearly the entire night alone.

"Fuck- Hey baby, I know I said I was comin' but I had to finish a couple things-" Carmen quickly responds as he swipes the call button.

The groan of pain that responds has Carmen freezing in the middle of the kitchen.

"Baby? What-, are you okay?" Carmen replies quickly, his voice going short as his mind turns every possible scenario that had you whining in pain over the receiver.

"Please come quickly, Carmen I think I might-" You gulp and make a retching sound "I think I got sick from that place I was telling you about" You plead out, breathing heavily into the speaker.

The guilt that had filled Carmen seems to morph into an anger that rushes up his chest as he shakes his head.

"The new place? The one with the fuckin' smoke meat? They did this?"

"Mhm" You mumble "I should've just listened to you" You groan out in sadness.

"Fucking idiots. How the fuck did they even? Okay, okay honey just gimme a second yeah?"

How did he let this happen? Carmen has half the mind to stop at the restaurant that more of a Instagram attraction that a respected place of business. You were so eager and excited t try it, Carmen had his own thoughts but would glue his mouth shut if it meant making you happy.

He'll make sure they get shut down, or at least black listed from Chicago as long as he's concerned. His hands shake with the eager want for the fight, to smash someones jaw for resorting you to a heap of tears and sick. He would, he knows he will, but at this moment he needed to take care of your first.

He mumbles out a rushed reply, phone between his shoulder and ear as he slips out of his work shoes and into his sneakers. He thinks for a moment to grab his things but immediately shut that thought out when he hears you groaning into the phone.

"Just stay on the phone okay? I'm coming now, I need to get you some things alright?"

You let out what you hope is a reply, hunched over the toilet.

Carmen rushes to the store fridge, grabbing containers of soup Tina had prepared for family as the Chicago winter was getting close.

"You alright kid?" Richie mumbles, walking into the kitchen entry way, scratching his stomach as he watched Carmen's erratic movements around the store.

"Fuckin-, she's sick. And I'm here chopping up tomatoes for fucking Guy while she was in pain for god knows how long-"

"Woah, Bugs sick? We talking COVID or.."

"I'm such a fucking idiot. No it's not COVID Rich, Jesus Christ. Some rookie new spot trying something outside of their abilities gave her food poisoning. Fuckin' hipsters"

"Oh that's bad. You know when I got food poisoning the one time I took Tiff to this romantic getaway. Had me projectile vomiting in the AirBnb bathroom. Couldn't even get a deposit back, had to pay some dumb ass cleaning fee-"

Carmen wipes a hand across his face shaking his head. He was already pent up, he might throw a pan at Richie if he doesn't stop talking.

"Richie, I don't have time for this, I need to get her some Sprite or"

Richie shuffles across to the cupboard near the back of the house, grabbing bottles of Gatorade and a pack of saltine crackers.

"How do you even have this stuff lying around"

"You're the one with the inhuman alcohol tolerance Carmy, someone of us actually have hangovers you freak" Richie retorts

"Yeah yeah, thanks. Fuck- I gotta" Carmen replies, to which Richie nods.

"Go. I'll wrap up anything here" Richie replies, understanding in his voice. You took precedence over pretty much everything in Carmen's life.

"And Carm?"

"Yeah?" Carmen calls out, slipping on his jacket as he turns to Richie

"Tell me when we're going to sort out those bearded wearing flannel ass wipes"

Carmen shakes his head with a smile, before nodding and pushing past the kitchen doors. The traffic lights better be green green fuckin' green tonight.

You were stripped to a singlet and sleeping shorts as you knelt over the toilet, blinking back exhausted tears at the state of you.

You suppose you have no one else to blame but yourself, but the indignation righteousness burns almost as bright as the acid reflux crawling up your throat.

You hear the faint opening and loud clang of the apartment door opening and closing and you sigh in relief as you hear the familiar footfalls of Carmen down the hall.

It had felt damn near torturous suffering without him, and as he calls out to you following the trail of loose clothing he spots your figure in the bathroom sprawled.

"Oh honey, I'm sorry" Carmen says

And it was as if your body needed to finally feel safe in Carmen's presence before you felt the nausea spill out of you and splash offensively into the toilet.

You feel Carmen crouch above you, dragging your hair that had gone loose from it's wrapped up do away from your face. Gently rubbing your back, his large hands softly dipping up and down your spine.

"That's it, 'atta girl. Let it all out" Carmen coo's softly

You purged the insides of your stomach into the toilet bowl, retching loudly with every heave as Carmen comforted you. After what seemed like hours, and the nausea had subsided Carmen carefully wrapped his arms up under your armpits picking you up of the floor.

"Slowly, yeah? You damn near emptied out you're entire water content" Carmen murmurs, flushing the toilet and helping you walk to the basin and wash out the taste of bile from your mouth.

"I probably look insane" You cry out, blinking back exhaustion from your eyes as Carmen shakes his head furiously.

"Never, my pretty girl. Need you to go easy okay? Gonna take you to bed and let you sleep through it. Can't have you collapsing on me" Carmen murmurs, wiping at the edge of your mouth, patting the sweat that stuck to your forehead.

You let Carmen carefully maneuver your body, one arm under your legs and the other supporting your back walking to the bedroom. Your wring dry and can barely keep your eyes open as Carmen placed you on the cool sheets you immediately moan at.

You hear the faint rustle of movement as Carmen brings in a paper bag. The clunk of bottles placed on the bedside table as you sing praise for the very short bit of relief you have before the next bout of nausea rolls in.

Carmen pads to the adjacent bathroom, the door opened so you can see the stream of light that illuminates him. Hes running a cloth under water, squeezing the excess and looking up to check on you every so often.

He looked so...domestic, like he hadn't come back from working at one of the most decorated restaurants in Chicago. Stripped of his shirt so he stood bare chested, golden curls pushed behind his ears, sweatpants hung low on his hips and the furrow of his eyebrows in concentration and worry.

Your eyes flutter shut as you thank the midnight sky for bringing him to you, for keeping him for you, this one good thing that was yours.

The skies answer by the sound of his voice listing off all the things you will not be doing in this stage of recovery. Sitting on the edge of the bed as he places the cool rag against your forehead, lips between teeth as he feels your temperature under his skin.

"Just bone broth, Gatorade and bread sticks for you, doll. And no, before you even think it, its not the garlic ones." Carmen tsks.

You were thinking it. He knew you too well, but when he kisses your eyelids and measures out careful tips of the Gatorade bottle, you don't mind it.

[donatellawritings]

cherry - subtle body - r. jerimovich

pairing(s): richie jerimovich x f!reader

warning(s): language, age-gap

song: baby boy by childish gambino

4:15AM. Richie was the first to wake up, following the fast-paced events that had taken place the night prior - and he would be lying, if he said that he didn’t love it. The shrill of his alarm was enough to cause you to stir, but not enough to wake you as he carefully reached over you, silencing the alarm before taking a moment to soak it all in, to soak you all in. He gently pulled his arm out from under you, pressing a kiss to the top of your hair, before standing from the bed. Richie didn’t want to leave you, but he had to - he’d promised his daughter, the absolute apple of his eye, that he would take her to school, before he had to leave for work.

Running his calloused hand over his face with a huff, Richie collected his slacks from the floor, sliding them up his legs, without buttoning them. Picking up his dress-shirt that laid beside your vanity, Richie looked over to you, watching the soft rise and fall of your chest as you peacefully slept. It took everything in Richie to not crawl back into your bed and hold you in his arms, yet he remained resilient as he buttoned the cuffs of the shirt, proceeding to button up the shirt.

Smoothing a hand down against his short hair, Richie scanned the environment of your room, should he write you a note? Deciding against it, Richie walked towards the bed, leaning down to kiss the side of your head, before grabbing his phone.

Now making his way to your bathroom, Richie opened the cabinet underneath the sink, searching for a spare toothbrush, toothpaste, anything he could use to freshen his breath. Coming up unsuccessful, Richie pulled at the mirror that was mounted on your wall, the prescribed-pill bottle that sat on one of the shelves catching his eye. Sure, he was prescribed medication for the demons that dwelled in his mind, but knowing that they plagued your mind too caused an ache in his chest. Shaking away the thoughts, Richie’s eyes fell on the travel-sized bottle of mouth wash that sat on the center shelf.

Thank fuckin’ god.

Using over half of the bottle, Richie poured the blue liquid into his mouth, throwing his head back with a gargle, before spitting into the sink, briefly allowing a quick stream of water to wash away the remaining mouthwash that lingered against the porcelain bowl of the sink. Closing the mirror, Richie took a quick glance over of himself.

Craning his neck to the side, Richie exhaled through his nose as he looked at the three scratches that tainted his skin, courtesy of your nails, “fuck,” he groaned, running his hand over the wounds before exiting the bathroom.

Making his way to the living room, Richie snatched his leather jacket off of the arm of your sofa, sliding his arms through in a fluid motion, before he exited your apartment, making sure to shut your front door softly, not wanting to wake you.

Once in the hallway, Richie unlocked his phone, typing a quick text message to you as he awaited the elevator.

taking the kid 2 school. call me when ur awake

dinner on me tonight

-

Richie loved spending time with his little girl, the mere two hours they’d spend together whenever he’d take her to school, never truly fulfilling him. It always seemed as though he’d have little Eva singing her heart out one minute, then, pulling up alone to the back parking lot of The Bear. It was now 7:32AM as Richie’s phone rang.

The sight of your name flashing across his phone screen caused Richie to clear his throat, before accepting the call and bringing the phone to his ear, “Hi, sweetheart,” he speaks, a hint of excitement now apparent in his usually stoic voice.

You turnover, the sound of your shuffling now heard over the other side of the phone, “Hi,” you rasped, your voice laced with sleep, “I miss you,” you added.

Fuck, Richie leaned his head back against the headrest of his driver’s seat as his eyes closed for a second, he was so fucking into you, it hurt.

“I know, pretty girl, I, uh,” he forced out a breathy chuckle, “I miss you too.”

“You owe me dinner,”you teased playfully, your laughing echoing through the phone, “and a proper sleepover.”

Richie rubbed his fingers over his eyebrows, a goofy grin playing on his lips, “I owe you a new mouthwash too,” he chuckled.

“Oh,” you questioned, “then I’ll have to get an extra toothbrush for when you stay the night,” you commented, more so to yourself than to Richie.

Richie stilled, a silence falling over his car as he took a breath. You made him nervous - I mean, fuck, it usually took months, for some even years, to witness Richie’s softer side, yet here you were, knowing him for not even a fraction of that, making him blush and plan cutesy sleepover dates. Shit, the last time Richie had his own toothbrush for overnight stays was at his ex-wife’s house.

Richie remained caught up in his trailing thoughts, until your voice cut in, “You still there?” You asked, your voice now pitched higher with worry.

“Shit, sorry baby, uh yeah,” Richie blinked, “yeah, we should definitely have an extra toothbrush - I’ll have to get you one at my place,” he breathed out.

Noticing your silence, Richie decided to take hold of the conversation, “Listen, m’gonna come get you around six? I got us a table at this fuckin’ place downtown, it’s uh, real fancy.”

The sound of the faucet running can be heard on your end, followed by soft brushing, “Y’brushing your teeth over there?” Richie asked.

“Yes, I have class at eleven,” you answered, your words muffled from the toothbrush that sat between your teeth.

“Shit, which class is that?” Richie asked.

Water can be heard hitting the sink, “Film, thankfully,” you sighed, “it’s my favorite.”

Richie knew you were a film major, you wanted to write scripts. If you weren’t on the phone with him, or doing assignments, you were usually studying watching a movie. You’d watched movies intently, paying attention to every minor detail, always anxious to see if it would be referenced in the future.

It made Richie proud, knowing that his girl was going for her education, and was excited to use it. You’d be graduating from college in a few months, Richie grew excited at the thought of you donning your degree, looking beautiful as ever in a cap and gown.

“I know, baby,” he muttered, “you’re so fuckin’ smart.”

“Thank you, Richie,” you blushed, “um, I really enjoyed last night, by the way,” you added, the screech of the faucet stopping filling Richie’s ears.

The scratches on Richie’s neck grew warm, a smirk tugging at his lips as he recalled the feeling of your nails digging into his skin, “So did I- I got the scratches on my neck to prove it,” he teased, chuckling as you gasped.

“Fuck, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know-” you began to panic.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” he spoke, “it’ll give the guys something to talk about at work.”

Richie was being a cocky fuck. He loved that he could indirectly show you off with the scratches on his neck, wanting to hold off on introducing you to his family coworkers, until things were steady between you two.

“Alright, well I gotta start heading in, okay?” He sighed.

“Okay, have a good day at work, Richie,” you beamed.

“Thank you, sweetheart - I’ll see you at six.”

“See you at six.”

-

Richie made his way through the main dining room and kitchen, mentally taking note of any upstanding flaws that needed to be corrected prior to opening. This usually took him anywhere around one to two hours, depending on how meticulous he’d decided he needed to be that day.

“Richie, good morning, papa!” Tina greeted, her signature wide grin on full display as she approached Richie.

“What’s goin’ on, T?” He responded, pulling the woman in for a kiss to her cheek.

Tina cocked her head to the side, “Woah, what the fuck happened to you,” she questioned, reached her hand towards the scratches that peeked out from beneath the collar of Richie’s dress-shirt.

Richie smiled, softly pulling away from Tina, “S’nothing, uh, how was the drive here this morning,” he attempted to deflect, refusing to make eye contact with the woman in front of him.

Tina scoffed, “I’ll tell you all about my drive in, when you tell me about those marks on your neck.”

Richie shoved his hands into his pockets, with a huff. Richie considered Tina to be a confidant of his, the older woman being one of the closes people to him, due to their years of friendship and history.

So, naturally, he caved, “Just a girl I’ve been seeing recently, y’know?”

Tina nodded, her eyebrows raised, “Ah, and what is this “girl” like?”

“She’s beautiful, I mean, T, she’s a fuckin’ knockout,” Richie rambled, “she’s Puerto Rican-”

Tina gasped, nudging Richie’s arm, “A latina? Look at you, Richie.”

“Yeah, she’s got a good head on her shoulders, she’s good, y’know?” Richie praised, shyly bringing his gaze to Tina as she cradled the side of his face.

“I’m happy for you.”

-

The hours of the day came and went as Richie found himself leaned against the hood of his car as he waited for you to come downstairs. He was thankful to have gotten out of work early enough to make a quick pit stop at his apartment to shower and brush his teeth, not wanting to take you out without being the most pristine and prepared version of himself. He’d even made sure to bring a small bag of clothes and toiletries in the backseat of his car as a ‘just in-case’.

There was a part of Richie that ached to know how you did, to know how you’d manage to seem as though you had it all together, despite being in the same boat as him. Richie wouldn’t be the one to bring up your inner workings, he’d figured that hed let you come to him, that is, if you ever wanted to even tell him about your internal battles.

The hum of his phone vibrating in his pocket jolted Richie out of his thoughts, “shit,” he muttered.

sorry for taking so long … wanna come up?

Richie nodded to himself, a sigh leaving himelf as he opened the door to the backseat of his car, grabbing ahold of the drawstring bag that sat neatly on the seat. Closing the car door with a huff, Richie add his way into your apartment building, his stomach churning with concern - something was off with you.

You’d been beaming about this date, since Richie first brought it up. Shit, it had been the last thing you’d spoken about, before you fell asleep on his chest last night. I mean, yeah, Richie shared the same sentiment, he’d felt like a teenager going on his first date, again, but it brought a warmth to his chest knowing and seeing first-hand how excited you were.

Now in the main lobby of the building, Richie impatiently slapped the elevator button, blankly staring at the elevator door that had yet to open.

Richie got lost in his own mind as he wracked through what changed within you. Was the age-difference too much for you? Were you having cold feet? Were you going to end things? Did you not want to be seen with him? Fuck, it had only been about two minutes since Richie read your text and he was already driving himself insane with assumptions and differing conclusions. So much so, that Richie didn’t even realize that he’d subconsciously already made his way into the elevator and to the fourth floor.

Richie rushed to your door, softly knocking his knuckles against the heavy door, “S’me, sweetheart!” He called out sweetly.

You were quick to open the door, Richie’s heart sinking to his ankles as you answered the door with tear-soaked eyes, “hi Richie,” you squeaked, your voice broken.

“Hey, hey -what’s going on?” He asked, following you inside your apartment.

You were dressed for tonight’s occasion: a skintight black dress that barely reached your mid-thigh, black pantyhose concealing the skin of your legs. Your hair was curled, flowing down your back loosely as you stood barefoot, turning to face Richie.

You let out a shaky breath of frustration as you walked into Richie’s chest, wrapping your arms around his waist.

Richie knew that he sucked when it came to situations like this. You see, he’d become accustomed to letting his frustrations out with a string of profanities, and a cigarette, and maybe even a fistfight. So, he settled with doing the one thing that he knew he couldn’t manage to fuck up: hold you in his arms and simply listen to what you had to say.

You tried to speak, your words jumbled as you spoke directly into Richie’s chest. Slightly leaning away from you, Richie craned his neck down to get a good look at you, “I can’t hear you when you’re talking straight into me, baby.”

You pulled yourself out of Richie’s arms with a roll of your eyes, you hated letting your guard down, “I just don’t know what I am fucking doing, I mean,” you laughed, “you are a fucking father, y-you were married, and me? I have no idea what the fuck I am doing.”

Richie remained silent, he could tell that this was something that weighed heavy on your conscience. So, he decided to take it all in, only jump in when he felt he had to.

And you continued.

“I’m twenty-three years old, Richie, a-and what if this is fun for you in the beginning, but then you realize that you should be with someone who has it together?” You questioned aloud.

Richie remained silent.

And you continued.

“For fuck’s sake, I can’t even go one day without taking these fucking pills, isn’t that so fucked?” You shake your head with a smile of disbelief.

Richie remained silent - this was killing him.

And so, you continued.

“I just- you should go home, okay? Y-you can go home and forget about me, forget about this, and you can be with someone who can give you what you need-”

Richie could no longer remain silent, so he laughed.

“You don’t even know what the fuck you’re talkin’ about,” he spat with a shrug of his shoulders.

Richie could feel the frustration quickly boiling into anger, a frustrated anger that burned in his chest. He’d thought he made it clear just how much he fuckin’ liked you, yet here he was, feeling as though he was being backed into a corner - forced to defend himself.

”Let me just tell you somethin’, sweetheart,” he began, “If I didn’t want this, I wouldn’t be fuckin’ standing here, listening to you say shit that makes no fuckin’ sense.”

The blue-eyed man decided that he wasn’t done, “You’re not the only fuckin’ person going through shit, I just don’t take the fuckin’ easy way out and run away when shit gets scary, but hey, maybe you’ll learn that when you grow up.”

You froze in place, letting out a scoff.

In the deep part of Richie’s psyche, he knew that he shouldn’t have brought up your age against you, but fuck, everything you were saying was so far from the truth. He was hurt that you’d questioned his motives, so he resorted to his cutting words to try and get through to you.

Wordlessly, you walked away from Richie, in the direction of your bedroom.

“Fuck,” Richie cursed himself as he watched you disappear into the hallway.

-

You left your bedroom door open, grabbing the oversized graphic tee that rested on your vanity, before slipping it over the tight dress that uncomfortably clung to your body, tugging it down your legs by the hem. Kicking the dress to the side, you took hold of the headphones that laid on your bed, placing them on your head, potentially blocking out the noise of Richie leaving your apartment.

But, he never left.

In fact, Richie locked the front door of your apartment, making sure to turn off the lights in your living room, before he made his way towards your bedroom, drawstring bag in hand. Fuck the reservation, fuck the fancy outfits, all Richie could focus on was the fact that he’d hurt his girl.

Richie found you on your bed, seated with your legs crossed, larger headphones on your head as you forced yourself to keep your eyes trained forward.

Standing beside your bed, Richie dropped his bag onto the floor as he gently reached for your headphones, carefully removing them from your head, “Can y’look at me, pretty girl?” He questioned softly, taking a seat at the edge of your bed, his hands folded over his lap.

Your eyes met his, god, he absolutely hated seeing you cry, let alone bring the reason for your tears.

“C’mere,” he beckoned.

You were hesitant, but nevertheless, you had somehow found yourself straddling Richie’s hips, there was no sexual urges behind your decision and Richie loved it. You had every right to be upset with him, yet you sat on him, solely for the sake of needing to be as close to him as possible.

Richie’s hand softly held your face, “Didn’t want to make you cry, baby, I just-” he sighed, trying to find the right words, “I just - you’ve got this shit all wrong.”

You nodded, wanting him to explain - you needed the reassurance.

Richie’s lips softly pecked yours, before he continued, “I don’t give a fuck if you got your shit together or not - I mean, fuck, baby, I don’t even have my shit in order,” he chuckled.

“But what if you get bored of me?” You mumbled, earning an exaggerated eye roll, coupled with an obnoxious scoff from Richie.

“Not gonna happen, I’d have to be the world’s biggest jagoff if that ever happened,” He dismissed politely, pulling one of your hands that laid interlocked with the other, replacing that hand with his own.

“You don’t think I’m too young? You said that I have to grow u-”

“I was being a fuckin’ asshole, alright?” Richie countered, “Yeah, you’re younger, a lot younger, but you are doing good for yourself, yeah? You’re finishing college, I didn’t even make it in to fuckin’ college.”

Richie’s hands softly grab your face as he leans his forehead against yours, “M’not that great at this, sweetheart, but I want to try, for you,” he coaxed.

“I’m just scared, Richie.” you confessed.

“I’m scared too, just let me- let me take care of you,okay? I promise, m’not going to hurt you, just give me a chance, okay?”

You nodded, “okay.”

The two of you were terrified. This was uncharted territory for the both of you - but you both wanted this to work, you both needed it to work. So, you both sat, Richie holding you closely to his chest as you steadied your breathing to match his.

“I owe you a dinner,” you whispered.

Richie exhaled a short laugh, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. He was falling for you, fast, and what scared him the most was knowing that he’d go to pretty deep lengths, just to make sure that you always knew that.

-

and that’s it for part 4 of cherry, so sorry if this is too long, I really just wanted a part that focus on Richie’s inner-workings and his thoughts, I hope you all enjoyed!

[wildfloweretbarley]

Tuesday Rush — C.B.

Wherein Carmy defends your honour

fem!cashier!reader x carmen berzatto

warnings: substances, violence, sexual harassment swearing (its the Bear so obviously)

AN: first fic!! im so nervous please be nice i will take any and all constructive feedback i love you

A bunch of jackasses.

That’s who enters the Beef of Chicago this sunny Tuesday morning.

You can smell the remnants of booze and blunts on their grimy shirts over the hot greasy smell emanating from the kitchen to your left. Their obnoxious whooping and shouting pierces through the previously quiet front of house.

Working at register in this part of Chicago, you’ve met your fair share of… characters. So, these four clowns aren’t an anomaly for you.

“Good Morning,” you say through gritted teeth, feigning cheer, “Welcome to the Beef of Chicago; what can I getcha?”

“Hey, sweetheart.” one of the men says, stretching and slurring his syllables. Leaning over the counter, his face is so close to yours you can practically taste last night’s partying (and repercussions). His eyes conspicuously drag over your face and to your chest.

Slimy.

You purse your lips, shuffling back.

“Let me get two Original Beefs, and, uh, two garlic fries for the trimmer gents with me” The two heavier set men erupt in cacophonous laughter. The other three men seem to have noticed the real-live woman taking their orders at the counter, and begin to make eyes at each other while you ring up their buddy’s order.

You clench your jaw, “Coming right up.”

As you turn to give the orders to the kitchen, you hear wolf whistles and boisterous laughter behind your back.

“Man I’m telling you, females who look like that are just begging for some dick.”

Laughter.

“I’d love to smash that ass.”

“Whether she want to or not!” All four of them laugh with their chest. The hairs on the back of your neck stand tall. You pretend to not hear them as you wait for their sandwiches in the doorway of the kitchen.

Looking around, you admire the efficiency Carmy has achieved in there.

You see him in the back corner, poring over some notebook, deep in conversation with Sydney.

You must’ve been looking too long, as his eyes lock onto yours. You give him a swift smile and he returns it to you. He’s softer with you, since you’re not kitchen staff.

“Cash, let’s go, here’s your fuckin’ order,” Richie shouts—although, that seems to just be his regular volume—“Hey, cousin! Stop eye-fucking our cashier and get to fuckin’ work!”

Carmy’s cheeks rouge as he argues with Richie. Rolling your eyes, you take the tray of sandwiches to the men at the counter. You’re dealing with enough egomaniacal jackasses out front; you don’t need to hear them in the back, too.

You place the tray at the pickup station and ring the little bell to indicate their order is up. The men take the food outside to eat so they can smoke, too. After watching them leave, you pull out your phone to kill time before the lunchtime hustle.

“Princess,” you look up, raising an eyebrow. The man who ordered the food has returned and scans over your frame, licking his lips (ew.) “Yeah, you, babe. What do you say you and me go to dinner. I’ll treat you good, baby, and you know… we could get up to something.” He winks. You almost gag.

He’s big, though; and probably less than sober. You feel uneasy as the only person out front.

He goes to touch your arm, saying some other degrading and disgusting “pick up”.

You take a startled step back.

“Listen, dude, I don’t want to get dinner, man. I don’t want problems,” you find yourself saying.

He raises his voice “There ain’t problems, baby. Now if you’d stop being a bitch and—“

The kitchen door swings and out through it comes Carmy.

He runs his hands through his hair. You can’t help but take note of his biceps in his less-than-loose t-shirt. He begins, “Hey, Cash. Don’t listen to Richie, he’s… an idiot. I wasn-“

“Hey asshole!” Oh right. Romeo over here is still trying to get some. “Can you fuck off and let me talk to my fucking bitch!?”

Carmy’s eyes widen as his lips press into a thin line. He places his hands on his hips, “Cash, you know this clown?”

“No. He just starte-“

“Fuck you, bitch! You fuckin’ know me. Dressing like a fucking slut wanting any corner of the street man to fuck you—“

The last syllables of whatever offences he was spewing are lost as Carmy’s fist drives into the man’s teeth.

You barely process it as it happens. Your phone clatters onto the counter from the slack caused by the shaking of your hands.

What the fuck is going on?

Carmy has circled around the counter and is beating the tar out of the man.

You hear both men grunting as they struggle against each other. It’s clear the man is all bite, no bark. Carmy, however, seems to be bite, bark, scratch, rabies, everything.

“Don’t—” punch, “fuckin’—“ liver shot, “talk—“ ouch, got him in the teeth, “to—“ and with one final shove, “my fuckin’ staff that way.”

Spluttering, gripping his mouth, the man stumbles out of The Beef, lurching as he gets through the door.

Carmy turns to you, eyebrows knit and face laced with concern.

“Carm…” you whisper, “What the fuck was that?”

He exhales through his nose as wipes his bloodied knuckles on the end of his navy apron. His eyebrows knit together.

“I’m sorry—“ he starts, walking towards you”—that was… aggressive, and unprofessional, and wholly inappro-“

You cut him off by wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Thank you.”

Nervously, his hand trails up your spine, up between your shoulder blades.

“For you, Cash? Anything.”

Fin

[softly-sirius]

Richie accidentally spoils his surprise

An hour ago your boyfriend had called you to come and celebrate. Celebrate what? That he didn’t make clear, but you never turned down a chance to be tucked into Richie's side and spend time with your favourite chefs. 

Richie is swaying on his feet, rocking from side to side. The only thing holding him up is his forearms, pressed into the bartop. You wince, knowing from experience just how sticky it is and make a mental note to get him in a shower as soon as you get home. 

Tina is at his side, a glass of water in front of her, filled with half-melted ice. It's nudged close enough to Riche that you know it was intended for him. You also know Richie well enough to know the effort is in vain. 

After this many drinks, you usually need to force yourself onto his lap and hold a water bottle to his lips, making promises you won’t keep until he gets it all down. 

Everyone else seems to be long gone, Marcus had texted you not long before Richie called. When Richie had called Ibra had been yelling for you to come and bring your man home, only audible because Richie had been slurring sweet sentiments meant only for your ears. 

You approach Richie on his opposite side, hoping to catch him off guard so you can see the cheesy smile on his face when he realises it’s you. He claims he isn’t whipped. He needs to start telling his face that rather than everyone else. 

You sink into the side of the bar, ignoring the stickiness. You look up at Richie, a sickening sweet grin on your face that quickly diminishes when he only gives you a fleeting glance. 

“Aren’t you gonna buy me a drink?” You rest your hand on his shoulder, but he shrugs it off. 

You wonder if he can’t hear you over the noise and move closer, palm resting over his first. He glares at you and shoves his hand away, outraged. “Not interested,” His voice is sharp and for a moment your face crumples.

It isn’t often his anger is directed at you. 

The you smile, he must be drunk if he can’t even remember your face. “Babe?” You question, hand smoothing up his arm. 

He recoils from your touch, pushing up from the bar on wobbly legs, you urge to hold him steady, but from the look on his face, you think he might push you to the floor if you did. 

“M’not your babe,” He spits, his shot sloshing in his hand, “and m’not interest,” His speech is slightly slurred, but he’s surprisingly coherent considering you don’t think he’ll be able to walk on his own. “I got a girl,” 

His hand goes to his pocket and for a moment you fear he might be reaching for his gun, but he pulls out his wallet instead. He takes a moment, fingers flickering through its contents before he pulls out a photo and waves it in your face. 

It takes you a moment to realise what it is, it moves from side to side in his shaking hands. Then you recognise it as a photo from the booth in the mall. Eva had encouraged the three of you in there, Richie groaning at first, but folding quickly when both his girls gave him the same look. 

To think he was keeping it in his wallet his whole time. 

“She looks really pretty,” You humm, trying to pluck the photo from his fingers but he lifts it up out of reach. He looks at the photo reverently, thumb smoothing along the plastic paper. 

“She’s beautiful,” 

Tina smiles at you conspiringly from the other side of Richie. 

“What are you two celebrating?” You ask.

Richie's grin splits open his whole face. He doesn’t even clock that he hadn’t mentioned celebrating anything to the stranger at the bar, and his hand goes to his pocket. Tina’s eyes widen in shock and she tries to talk over Richie’s answer, but there's no disguising it as he puts down a velvet box on the bar. 

“Gonna make that beautiful girl my wife,”

[buzzcutlip]

Hiiii... For your dialogue prompts could you do 'can't sleep?' or 'don't look at me like that' please?

You choose the character, whoever you think fits best.

Much love <3

Hi Amy, thank you for sending the prompt, here's one for you :) It exist in the Obsession universe (because I'm obsessed with it).

Prompt: "Don't look at me like that" Richie Jerimovich x Fem!Reader 1000+ words (happens in this universe, and after this - but I don't think you need to read it, however, it can be a bit vague)

Through the gaps between the guests' bodies, their shoulders and arms, you spot Richie. He’s shoving canapés into his mouth, the delicate, bite-sized bruschettas and caviar blini looking especially small in his long, thick fingers. It’s obvious he hasn’t eaten, which is typical Richie—he’s the “only coffee and cigarettes until midday, at least” guy, then grabs something quick, just to stuff himself with greasy fast food later in the evening.

You hate how well you know him, how hard it is not to notice his presence in Nat and Pete’s living room, crowded with close and extended family members, Pete’s co-workers, and of course, The Bear crew. Richie’s dressed in an unusual outfit—not a suit, but not his typical sweatsuit either. He’s wearing washed Levi’s and a dark gray henley.

You’d be lying if you said he doesn’t look good. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t still a little heartbroken over what he told you two weeks ago. This can’t happen again.

Petulantly, you don’t go over to greet him. Instead, you talk to Marcus, then catch Pete to congratulate him on the baby, handing him a card in a nice, expensive envelope. In the kitchen, you pour some fresh orange juice, bypass the alcohol, and cram as many ice cubes as you can into the glass. You don’t watch Richie directly, but you’re aware of his every movement.

Donna’s trying to shush everyone because Natalie’s putting the baby down in the nursery, which strikes you as funny—funny and ironic. You have little patience for parents who messed up their kids’ lives, whether it’s your own parents, Donna Berzatto, or the countless irresponsible people who should never have had children.

By the large window overlooking the garden, Richie finally approaches you. Small victories.

“What’re you doing?” His voice, once soothing, now grates on you.

That catches you off guard—it’s not what you were expecting.

“Celebrating the baby,” you reply, raising your half-empty glass of juice.

Richie scoffs, glancing up at the ceiling. It takes you a moment to catch up. He’s so simple, yet so complicated.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Richie warns, and you realize he’s noticed your constant awareness of him.

“Like what?” you play dumb.

“Like it’s all my fault,” Richie snaps, his voice rising slightly. One of the uncles turns to look.

Shaking your head in disbelief, you decide not to react. With so many people around, you don’t want to cause a scene. Under Richie’s heavy gaze, you leave the room and head upstairs in search of a bathroom.

Once you’ve freshened up, wiping the black mascara marks from under your eyes and reapplying your lipstick, you feel a bit better. But as soon as you open the door, Richie is right there, hooking his arm through yours and leading you into the nearest room—a guest room, from the look of it.

“What?” you snap, shaking him off and turning to face him.

“I wanna know what’s going on with you,” Richie growls, leaning down until your faces are mere inches apart.

The tension between you is thick, a mix of unresolved emotions and an undeniable physical pull. You both stand there, breathing heavily, caught between the chaos of the party downstairs and the storm brewing in this quiet room.

You can’t believe him. “What’s going on with me? You said things couldn’t happen again, but they did—once, twice. And it was you who initiated it.”

The weight of unspoken words and unsaid truths hangs heavily between you.

Richie steps back, half-turning as he groans loudly, covering his eyes with his large palm.

“Now you wanna pretend nothing ever happened?” you accuse, your voice sounding weaker than you intended.

Richie looks at you with an intensity that both excites and terrifies you. “Because it has to be that way. Fuck—I could be your dad. Jesus.” His hand flexes at his side, like he’s trying to hold himself back.

“But you’re not!” you shout. Richie steps back into your space, gripping your bare arm with one hand while covering your mouth with the other.

“There are people,” Richie hisses, his gaze flicking between your lips and your eyes.

For a second, you freeze, then you shake him off and step away. You don’t know this side of him—serious, cold, holding on to his façade as tightly as he can.

“I’m tired of never talking about it,” you say, shaking your head, glowering. You still call it “it,” avoiding the truth.

Richie frowns at you, his deep blue eyes searching for something. The noise from downstairs is loud—laughter, clinking glasses, doors opening and closing. It’s a wild new baby celebration, Berzatto-style. Better laughter than screaming.

A hollow feeling grows in your chest with each passing second. You’re afraid to speak up, so you wait for Richie to make a move.

“What if I said I wanted it?”

“Wanted what?” you ask, trying to mask the tremble in your voice, scared to hope that he means what you think he does. Would a man like Richie really give in? It’s never simple with him—his demons, his baggage, all the walls he’s built.

“If I wanted—this,” Richie waves between the two of you, avoiding your eyes.

Your stomach tightens. It’s not what you’d hoped for deep down, and a pang of disappointment hits you, but you knew this was coming. You step closer to him, your chest brushing against his. The magnetic pull between you is undeniable, and you know if you give in, it’ll consume you both. Maybe that’s exactly what you want. Friends with benefits never ends happily.

In the end, it’s Richie who reaches for you, kissing you with Earth-shattering force. His fingers, smelling faintly of olives, chives, and cigarettes, cradle your face, and you weakly cup his cheeks, feeling his beard under your palms.

You hear yourself whimper as your tongues meet, your eyebrows knitting together as your face crumples. You’re on the verge of tears. Maybe you are crying—Richie doesn’t understand anything, he’s so fucking stupid, and you can’t tell him, because then he’ll leave you and never come back.

The thoughts spur you on. You lead the kiss, desperately pressing closer, standing on your tiptoes, licking into his mouth, biting his lip. He grabs your wrists, as if he wants to say something, but you don’t let him.

Then a loud cracking noise from downstairs jolts you both, and you pull apart, fear of getting caught overtaking the need within you.

Your eyes are heavy with want, arousal pulsing through your body. Richie doesn’t look any better.

“Okay,” you say, though your heart flutters with a mix of anticipation and caution. “But if we’re doing this, it has to be clear—no more mixed signals. No denial.”

Richie’s eyes darken as he steps closer again, his hand trailing down your arm. “Deal,” he says, his voice low, filled with that familiar, irresistible edge. He leans in, his breath brushing against your lips. “We stick to what we know.”

[thefanficmonster]

Richie x reader relationship hcs pleaseeee

Certainly, darling! Hope you enjoy 💕

Pairing: Richie Jerimovich x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Swearing, SPOILERS for The Bear

Genre: FLUFF, Humor

It takes a lot of patience having to put up with this man

Or it used to

He's put together now

He wears suits

And he can do way more than just respect

So you start way more than just tolerating him

By now that's all just semantics

All is null and void when you see how far your relationship has come

From barely being able to be in the same room without bickering

To being a couple head over heels for one another

His love language is quality time well spent and gifts given at random

Yours is acts of service and words of affirmation

The latter you've adapted due to his inherent need to be told what he pretends he already knows

That he's doing well, that he's doing enough

That he's an exceptional employee of The Bear, carrying on his best friend's legacy

That he's an amazing father whose daughter loves very much

Speaking of Eva

She had her reservations about you, but not for the reasons you may think

She's just got her dad's protective attitude and all thorns she exhibited toward you were all in favor of letting you know that if you hurt Richie...

You'll be reprimanded accordingly

But that too is history now

You and Eva have become inseparable

The three of you would sit around the dining room table, working on the homework Eva needed help with

Truthfully though, you'd spend most of the time doing nothing more than singing along to Taylor Swift songs

The singer's discography has become the official soundtrack to your and Richie's relationship

Her songs are blasting through the apartment and in the car practically 24/7

It took you so long to come to terms with the fact that you and Richie have so much in common

Now that you've accepted it, it's made you an unstoppable power couple

It's insane how you went from tolerance, to acceptance, to respect, to a crush in denial to a movie worthy love story

A very low budget rom-com at best

But still a movie none the less

[madwomansapologist]

hello! i saw you would like to write for the bear! would you consider writing yandere stuff for richie? tysm!

richie jerimovich being obsessed would include

Masterlist | Rules | Taglist | Library | More Richie Jerimovich | AO3

synopsis: You deserve better than him. Richie knows that. You deserve so much better, but the heart wants what it wants.

warnings: yandere themes. kinda tsundere, but still. actually unrequited hate.

note: please I need people to make icons of richie!!! i can only find the same two pics and they're not even that good. also thanks to your request my dear, hope you like it!

• Richie tried to ignore you. He really did. Richie tried so hard to not think about you. To not look at you. To not get lost on your eyes. To not burn his hand instead of cooking because he got distracted watching you working. Richie tried so hard, but he never was strong.

• Maybe he would be able to ignore you, if it wasn't for The Beef. If you didn't work there, if you wasn't part of his life, maybe Richie could've stayed away. Maybe he could've convinced himself that you weren't that important.

• So, unable to ignore you, Richie tried to push you away. Bossy, rude, impolite: he uses his face like a new clothe. If you didn't want to be around him, then you would free him from... From you.

• No one realized that he loved you. But he did love you. Deeply. Richie ache for you. No one realized that, and it included you. Richie expect you to back away, but he couldn't control your reaction: since the moment you understood he was an asshole, you decided to make his life a hell.

• He hates you, so what a better way to hurt Richie than to be constantly bothering him? Always cooking beside him, talking without thinking first, making sure to overstep so he can be uncomfortable. You really thought you were making something.

• Some way you really were torturing Richie, but not how you expected.

• Richie couldn't help but fall in love with the way you love cooking. How you can do it as a second nature, without even thinking about it. He loves to watch your hands, and you are always so close to him. Always arguing, screaming, fighting with Carmy because you are so sure of what you're doing. Richie don't even know the amount of times he got to redo everything because he got distracted on you.

• And he loves to hear you jabbering. To hear anything that passes your head. All Richie want is to know exactly what you're thinking, all the damn time. Your voice could put him to sleep, but he makes an effort to be concentrated on you.

• You didn't even noticed when he stopped being an asshole. Richie just understood that the universe couldn't help him. That the universe wouldn't have mercy on him. Because you deserve better. You deserve so much better. But if nothing can make you ignore him, then how could Richie ignore you?

• He didn't act. Richie didn't told you anything. He just accepted that nothing could stop him from loving you. Still wearing that angry facade, he took care of you. Complaining about how foolish you are, Richie makes sure you don't forget your coat on the way home. Bad mouthing his performance, he makes you take breaks to rest. Yelling at you, he made you start heading home on a safer path.

• And, for now, Richie won't act. Not while he don't deserve you. But he's working on that.

GENERAL TAGLIST: @suakemi @notanalienindisguiseblink

THE BEAR TAGLIST: @flowercrowns-goodvibes @notanalienindisguiseblink @vyctorya

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

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