#richie jerimovich imagine

[tropes-and-tales]

Don't Gloat

(From the "Shut Up" kiss starter prompts, found here)

CW:  Richie being Richie, swearing, mild violence (a misunderstanding), smut (PiV, protected). 18+ only.

Word Count:  7289

AN:  Requested by an anonymous person, place, or thing!

AN2: Drabble? I don't know her, apparently.

Your first real fight is over chicken.

You squabble, pretty much from day one.  Carmy hires you to help in the kitchen, and Richie immediately takes an intense dislike to you.  Adding you upsets the delicate ecosystem of The Beef.  You are unnecessary.  Richie makes it known on your first day.

“Don’t get comfortable,” he warns an hour into service.  “Cousin doesn’t run things.”

“Seems like he does,” you shoot back.

“I’m the manager here.”

Here is where the dislike really starts.  Richie is rude and sarcastic, but you’re a chameleon.  You can shift and change your demeanor to match what someone is giving you, so when Richie is rude and sarcastic to you, you respond in kind.

You call him “Mister Manager” in a tone dripping with sarcasm, and by the end of that first shift, Richie completely hates you.

The feeling is mutual by the end of your second shift.

At first, you just squabble.  You trade barbs and insults.  When Richie throws a temper tantrum over Carmy’s organization of the spices, you pout and turn to Ibra and posit that Richie is grumpy because he needs a juice box and a nap.  Which makes Ibra cock his head at you.  He speaks English impeccably, but sometimes he misses the finer nuances of language like sarcasm. 

“I do not think we have juice boxes here,” Ibra says, and Tina swats him as she walks past.

“She’s being sarcastic, you old bitch,” she tells him.

The allusion to Richie being a toddler isn’t far off.  He acts childish all the time.  He flings cookware around when he’s having a tantrum.  He swears, he throws out middle fingers like an angry pre-teen. 

He hides your expensive Henckles knives.  He turns the heat up or down when your back is turned.  Once, he parks you in behind The Beef, and when you go to leave, he’s nowhere to be found—you end up doing a thirty-six point turn, a fraction at a time, before you can properly pull out and drive away.

But your first real fight is over chicken.

The meat delivery is wrong one day.  You’re short on beef, but there’s five whole chickens, and Carmy throws up his hands and tells you to come up with something.

So you do. 

You roast them low and slow so they stay tender, and you’re putting the finishing touches on the sauce—an adobo-based barbeque that’s the perfect blend of tangy and smoky—when Richie strolls in.  He’s in his stupid leather jacket and ridiculous blue track pants, and he announces himself with his usual grinning, “what’s up, you fucking lizards?”

Sweeps and Manny call out their hellos, but Richie ignores them.  He’s already super-focused on you…and the sauce you’re stirring over a low heat.

“What the fuck is that?” he asks.  He stands too close to you, dips his head close to the pot, and takes a loud sniff of it.  Then rears back with a grimace, like you’re simmering a pot of shit and not a finely balanced sauce for your roasting chickens.

“It’s barbeque sauce.  For the chicken.”

“What fucking chicken?”

“Meat delivery was fucked up,” Carmy calls across the kitchen. 

Richie scoffs and turns to Carmy, and he gestures at you and your sauce.  “No offence, Cousin, but the place is called ‘The Beef.’”

“No offence, Cousin, but fuck off,” Carmy replies.

“Heaven forbid we try something new,” you add.  You snap the heat off and settle a lid over the pot to allow the flavors time to mellow together.  Once the chicken is done, you’ll shred it and mix it in.  You have a red cabbage slaw planned for it, and thin slices of sharp cheddar to round it out.  You turn towards the refrigerator, but Richie blocks your path.

“Nothing Italian about whatever the fuck that is.”  He glares down at you; he’s half a head taller than you, but he has a way of puffing out his chest like a bantam rooster spoiling for a fight.

Maybe other people are cowed by his posturing, but you’re unimpressed and not scared at all.

“It’s about as Italian as ‘Jerimovich.’”

His chest puffs out more, and he takes a half step closer to you.  This close, you can smell the cigarette smoke that clings to him, the old man cologne he splashes on with a heavy hand, the subtler scent of laundry detergent. 

“People come here every day and get the same thing,” he says.  “Same order every fuckin’ day.  No one is gonna order whatever fancy Noma bullshit you’re trying to pull out of your ass.”

You take a half step up to him and puff out your chest, and it makes Richie falter for a moment.  He leans back, just a fraction, but you note the movement and smirk up at him.  You reach out and poke him in the sternum with a forefinger, driving home each point.

“One, this isn’t Noma bullshit.  It’s literally slow-roasted chicken.  Two, it’s a pretty simple sauce.  Maybe it seems fancy to you because it’s more challenging to your palate than chicken nuggets.  Three, some customers might appreciate a change in their usual lunch order.  Not everyone is so resistant to change, Cousin.”

Your use of the familiar nickname makes his nostrils flare and his eyes widen in anger.  “I’m not your fucking Cousin.”

“Sure you are, Cousin.”

“Stop it.”

“I’ll save you a sandwich, Cousin.”  The thought occurs to you that you’re being childish now, that Richie has brought out some immature part of you, and you think it’s kinda fun, being a juvenile brat at work and leaning into the fight.

“Fucking stop it.”

“Stop what, Cousin?”

He turns away from you so quick, it makes you blink in surprise.  “Fucking bitch,” he mutters to himself, but he’s striding across the kitchen towards the office, and he’s calling for Carmy, so you follow at his heels and call for Carmy too.

“Yo, Cousin, can you fucking fire her already?  Jesus fucking Christ, I—” he starts, but you cut him off, mimic his growling voice and Chicago accent.

“Yo, Carmy, when are we gonna fire Richie already?  I mean, the place is changing—”

It makes Richie go fully nuclear.  The mention of change makes him apoplectic.  He turns and crowds you against the door jamb, and he gets right in your face:  so close that you can see his eyes aren’t completely blue—they are flecked with grey, like bits of mica in pavement.  You’re startled for a moment, surprised to find that his eyes are beautiful, but you obviously don’t say anything because he’s snarling in your face.

“Fuck you!” he spits out, and he points a finger inches from your face.  “Fuck you!  Nothin’ is changin’ here!  Nothin’ needs to change!”

And then he gives you his patented Richie double-chin flick, and he mutters some Italian insult you don’t know, and he’s marching through the kitchen to leave.

Not before he sweeps your mise en place off the counter, sending thin-sliced cabbage and vinegar flying.

Carmy stares at you with a look that is purely beleaguered.  He sighs, he scrubs his face with his hands, and he runs them through his hair before he sighs again.

“Whatever you and Richie have going on?  Squash that shit, Chef.”

You nod, embarrassed at rising—or sinking—to Richie’s childishness.  “Yes, Chef,” you reply.

-----

“Squashing it” mostly means that you and Richie only fight when Carmy isn’t within earshot.

Your fighting still entails getting in each other’s faces.  It still means you insult each other, albeit more quietly.  You hiss insults at him, he grumbles them back.  You part when Carmy shows up, and you each stew in your separate corners and wait for the next round.

You start to suss out where the limits are.  You insult him as a father one single time, and the flash of hurt on his face makes you hold up your hands in a truce and apologize. 

He insults you once as a woman with daddy issues, and the words hit you like a punch to the gut.  You did grow up without a father—he died when you were six, and your only memories of him are full of pain from the stomach cancer that slowly killed him.  But you must show the hurt on your face too because Richie takes a step backwards away from you, stammers out an apology too.

All told, once you know each other’s hard limits, you actually fight pretty nicely, and if anyone notices it, no one says anything.

-----

Sunday nights are a good time to come in to The Beef and set yourself up for the week.  You work it out with Carmy because it gives him a break and gives you a few more hours.  You enjoy the time there with the restaurant being closed—you blast your music, you sing along at the top of your lungs as you rotate stock, make detailed shopping lists for Carmy, and make sure everything is clean.

If one thing infuriates you, it’s the way certain national media outlets focus on Chicago as a cesspool of violence.  But it is a large city, and violence does happen, so when you’re in the basement of The Beef and hear the beep of the alarm system as it is deactivated, you immediately feel ice cold all over.  The alarm system, Ibra told you once, is easily overcome, and The Beef has been robbed before.

You glance around and see that you’re trapped, unless you want to rush up the steps (not advisable) or shimmy out a tiny window at street level (also not advisable).  There’s nothing in the way of weapons in the basement either, so you arm yourself with a half-burnt cookie sheet and tremble as you listen to the heavy tread above you.

Maybe they’ll just trash the place and leave.  There’s nothing worth stealing, unless they want to wheel out the massive, ancient Hobart.  Maybe they’ll get into Marcus’s stash of good vanilla.  Maybe they’ll—

Maybe they’ll make their way to the top of the stairs.  Maybe they’ll pause there and start walking down to where you wait.  You try not to breathe too loud, but your heart is hammering in your chest, your pulse is in your ears, and you’re flooded with adrenaline as the shoes of your would-be assailant come into view.

You don’t hear Richie’s voice when he calls out your name.  You’re too panicked.  You don’t hear him, and you don’t even register him when he rounds the corner—he’s in his usual track pants and leather jacket—because you’re fully in fight-or-flight mode…and independent of your will, your body chooses fight.

“Fuck you!” you scream, and you swing the cookie sheet directly at his head with all the force you can muster.  Your assailant stumbles backwards with a cry of pain, and you drop the pan and try to scramble past him, but you trip over his foot in your panic and fall hard, cracking your shinbone against the lowest step.

If you ever idly wondered how you’d react in a real life-or-death scenario, here is your answer:  you scream and scream, and you clutch one hand to your throbbing shin but flail your other hand at the person reaching for you, and it’s not until you smell him—the familiar cigarette/old man cologne smell—that your panic ebbs a little.

And then you see those blue eyes flecked with grey, and even if Richie is your enemy at work, he’s never really been an enemy in the true sense of the word.  The relief that you aren’t about to be raped or murdered floods you so suddenly that you burst into tears. 

And then you hug him, your arms so tight around his middle that he breathes out a sharp oof, but then he wraps one arm around your trembling form while the other clutches his bleeding nose in an attempt to staunch the blood.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you?” he asks.  His voice is thick and nasally, but there’s a hint of amusement to it.

“Thought you were an intruder.”  You release him from your hold, and you will yourself to stop shaking. 

“Carmy.”  He shakes his head.  “Guess Food and Wine’s Best New Asshole didn’t tell you I was coming by.”

“He did not.”

Richie reaches into his pocket and pulls out a wrinkled napkin.  He presses it to his nose and winces, and your panic is replaced by shame.  You’ll never live this down, you realize.  Richie is going to tell everyone first thing tomorrow, and he’ll add his usual Richie flourishes to make your screams more shrill, your flailing more erratic in the retelling.

His nose stops bleeding, and he checks it tentatively.  He prods at the swollen skin, red that is going to bruise by morning.  He fixes you with a curious look.

“You hit harder than I would have thought.”

“I play softball.”

“Where?”

“Lincoln Park.  At the North Avenue fields.”

He huffs at that.  Clears his throat.  “Yeah, my daughter has t-ball there.”

Your panic is gone now, and you feel more like yourself.  Your leg throbs at where you banged it, and it will be bruised by morning like Richie’s face.  You limp over to the big table and gather up your coat and purse.

“Don’t do that,” you tell Richie.

“Do what?”

“Don’t…whatever.  Talk to me nice.  Tell me about your daughter.  Don’t do that.”

He snorts and says, “why the fuck not?”

“Because we’re not friends, and you scared the shit out of me, and now I’m all keyed up and just want to get home instead of having an impromptu bonding session with the one guy at The Beef who truly, honesty hates me.”

“Alright, fine.  You’re a fucking head-case to freak out the way you did, and I think you broke my fucking nose.  Better?”

It startles a laugh out of you, and your laughter makes Richie grin.  It’s shy, and he ducks his head, but you catch it all the same.

He clears his throat again, then asks if you drove there.  You tell him no—you had a premium parking spot on your street, so you took the L.  He nods at that, and he seems to be thinking through something, so you pull on your coat and sling your bag over your shoulder and wait for him to say something.

“Let me drive you home, at least, “he finally offers.  “You’re all sorts of fucked up.”

“I’m fine.”

“The hell you are.  Someone looks at you wrong on the train, gonna catch an assault charge.”

“You’d love to see me in prison,” you reply.  “Out of your way.  No one left to defiantly make a delicious chicken sandwich special and destroy the system here.”

“Asshole.”  He shakes his head, then gestures for you to take the stairs ahead of him.  “I’m driving you home.  Let’s go.”

You can’t admit that a ride sounds fantastic.  You do feel keyed up, anxious and twitchy, and even if it’s Richie, you’re grateful for the offer.

Even so, as you limp upstairs, the pain in your leg makes it easier to admit to him.  You turn as he resets the alarm, and you thank him, softly.

“Yeah, fine.  Whatever.”  He points at his car, then grumbles, “c’mon already.”

-----

Somehow, it becomes a thing.

Sunday evenings become yours and Richie’s thing.  The work should go twice as fast, but Richie doesn’t work so much as… not work.  He leans in the doorway of the walk-in as you take inventory, he perches on the counter as you make giardiniera for the next day.  He sits in the office as you write out the order list for Carmy, and he gripes about how long you’re taking, how he has better things to do.

If that were true, why does he spend every Sunday with you?  You doubt Food and Wine’s Best New Asshole told him to, yet he shows up every week and complains the entire time.  He complains the entire drive to your place, and when you thank him for the ride, he either flips you off or makes a jacking-off motion with his hand before he peels away from your curb.

“You almost done?” he asks now.  “Got shit to do.”

“You don’t have shit to do.”  You check the takings from last week, do a quick calculation in the margin of the print-out.  “If you did, you wouldn’t be here.”

“Someone’s gotta keep an eye on you.”

“Why, you afraid I might introduce a dish that isn’t entirely Italian-American approved?”

He grumbles, “nothin’ needs to change.  Menu’s fine the way it is.”

“You really don’t have to stay, Richie.  I can handle myself.”

“Bullshit you can.”  He leans forward, taps the side of his nose.  “You handle yourself so well, you dislocated my fucking nose.”

“And it gave your face some character,” you retort.

“What’s wrong with my face?”

You glance at him, roll your eyes.  “Aside from the fact it’s always in my face, glaring or stirring up shit?  Nothing.”

He leans back in his chair again and sighs.  “I don’t stir up shit.”

“You do.”

“Don’t.”

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I fucking don’t.”

“You talk way too much, Richard.”

“Don’t call me fucking Richard.  You sound like my asshole mother-in-law.”  He pauses, then amends it to, “my former asshole mother-in-law.”

A long beat of silence passes.  You calculate the meat order, the vegetables, the shelf stable stuff.  You balance out the order against where there’s already overdue bills—Carmy is juggling the vendors as best he can, and you try to give him relief where you can—

“Done yet?”

“Nope.”  You cross out the one line for the produce vendor, split it between two vendors.  “What are you in such a hurry for?”

“Told you.  I got stuff to do.”

You glance over at him.  He does seem more keyed up.  His leg bounces up and down, and he wrings his hands in his lap. 

“What sort of stuff?” you ask.

He mumbles his answer, and you miss it at first.  When you arch an eyebrow at him, he repeats it.  An embarrassed, “got a date.”

You pause in your writing and turn to face him.  Fak told you once about Richie’s imploded marriage, and he had heavily implied that Richie was still pining for his ex-wife.  “A date?” 

He shrugs.  “Kind of a date.”

“What’s kind of a date?”

Another shrug, and he fixes his gaze to the dirty tile floor.  “We went out last week, and we talked about grabbing a drink tonight.  I was gonna text her after I drop you off.”

“Sounds like a regular date to me.”

He lifts his hands in a gesture of helplessness, then lets them fall again.  “I dunno.  Wasn’t really feeling it, you know?”

You turn completely to face him, your list forgotten.  “Then why agree to a second date?”

Another shrug, a sheepish lift and fall of his shoulders.  The two of you are toeing the line of near-friendship, your usual squabbling turning into an honest-to-god friendly chat, but maybe Richie doesn’t have any confidants in his life, because he sighs, then mutters about how she seemed cold, how she wasn’t charmed by his Bill Murray voicemail greeting story, but how he thought he should try anyway—

“Richie, I’m not your gal pal in a rom-com, but if you aren’t feeling it, don’t do it.  Jesus, that’s just common sense.”

He fixes you with a glare.  “Oh, I’m sorry.  I didn’t realize you were a goddamned relationship expert.”

“It’s common sense.”

“When was the last time you went on a date?”

You bristle at the question.  Your love life is about as dead as The Beef’s commercial credit, but Richie doesn’t need to know that.  But you hesitate long enough that he can guess, and he laughs at you, and you bristle more.

“I knew it!”  He points at you, and you swat at his hand until he lowers it.  “You give off this whole ‘hasn’t been laid in a long time’ vibe.”

You turn away from him and bend your head back to your ordering list.  “Shut up,” you mumble.

“All those prissy little dishes you add to the menu.  You’re all wound up.  It makes sense.”

“My culinary excellence has nothing to do with my love life or lack thereof.”  You hope your tone is even and nonchalant, but you fear it comes out as defensive.  Which it must, because Richie holds up his hands again.

“No judgement.  It’s tough out there.  I get it.”

You groan and turn away from him, twisting yourself to get his smirking face out of your peripheral.  “You should leave.  Go get ready for your kind-of date.”

“Nah.”

“Seriously, you can go.”

“Nah.”  You hear his deep breath, then a beat later, he continues.

“If you ever want to blow off some steam, we could…”  He trails off, but his intent is clear, and you feel a prickly heat break out across your skin. 

“…shut up, Richie.”

You turn a little and he reappears in your peripherals.  He presses his hands together in a prayer position, then presses his fingertips near his mouth in an expression of thoughtfulness. 

“Shut up, Richie isn’t no, Richie.”

“It’s most certainly no, Richie.”

“Look at me.”

“I gotta finish this list and send it to Carmy—”

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

You can’t.  You stare at your handwriting—the 50 pounds of cake flour Marcus needs—and you feel yourself heating up at the sudden image of you and Richie—no, you shove the mental image away, shake your head to clear it, and the man notices all of it.

“Why can’t you look at me?” he asks, and his voice is soft, low.  A graveled rumble, roughened by the cigarettes he chain-smokes when he’s not inside, and you don’t know if it really has been that long, but it’s a step-progression of reactions in your body.  The prickle of heat along your skin, the way your skin feels too tight.  The way your mouth feels too dry all of a sudden.

The strong, traitorous pulse of desire between your legs.  Fuck.

“Wouldn’t have to mean anything,” he continues with that low voice.  “No one would have to know.”

“Shut up, Richie.”

“Still not hearing a no, sweetheart.”

You breathe in deeply through your nose, then turn to face him squarely.  You look him right in his eyes—those bright blue eyes, flecked with grey, beautiful—and say, “No, Richie.”

He stares back at you, and a smile slowly unfurls across his face.  A real smile, not his usual shit-eating grin or smarmy smirk.  A real smile that, paired with his gorgeous eyes, makes his face transform into something beautiful.  It’s like he’s lifted his mask for a moment and is showing you who he really is.

“You’re tempted.”  He sounds in awe of the revelation, and he leans back against the wall.  “Holy shit, you’re really tempted by it.”

“No, I’m—”

“Bullshit,” he cuts you off.  “You are.”  His smile stays fixed on his face, and he shakes his head.  “Holy shit, sweetheart.”

You grumble out the weakest rebuttal, but he only laughs and shakes his head again, and the last half hour is passed in uncomfortable silence:  you as you email the shopping list to Carmy with hands you will into steadiness, and Richie as he grins at you and chuckles to himself.

Of course he drives you home, just as he always does.

And of course he parks his car and comes up to your apartment when you invite him up, which is a first.

*****

A therapist would have a lifetime of secure business if Richie ever decided to pursue therapy for himself.  Not that he would—feelings are bullshit, and life is tough all over—but if he did…there’d be a lot of deep shit to mine.

At the core of him, Richie is desperately insecure.  He had a dicey childhood, and he glommed on the Berzatto family to make up for his own family’s shortcomings.  He had Tiff, for a glorious while, then lost her.  He has his daughter, but only part-time.  He lost Mikey, the nearest thing to a brother, and now he’s slowly losing The Beef as it becomes something more than a sandwich shop.

No wonder he feels lost all the time.  No wonder he lashes out and hurts those closest to him.

No wonder he’s been riding your ass for months, trying to get you to quit even as his initial dislike has mellowed out to acceptance and then to…something else he won’t name.

He can’t lie to himself:  that night in the basement shifted things.  Maybe you concussed him along with the dislocated nose.  Maybe he has slight brain damage.  He can’t account for it any other way, how seeing you so terrified caused a sea-change in him.  How feeling your arms around him, clinging to him and trembling so hard, softened him towards you.

He won’t name it.  He won’t even think it.  The most he’ll admit is, “maybe I don’t completely hate her.”

Which somehow turns into this moment.  The two of you awkwardly standing in your entryway, unsure if the other is bluffing, unsure if the other is serious.  There’s too much bad blood in your shared past, and you each are expecting the other to say “sike!,” to turn it into a humiliating story to share in the morning with the crew.

You’re both wrong. 

“So, uh, nice place.”  He looks around your apartment and rubs the back of his neck.  “You got a lot of books.”

“I like to read.”

“Yeah.  Nice.”  He takes a few steps deeper into your place, and he studies the titles on the nearest bookshelf.  “Stephen King.  Clive Barker.  You like the spooky shit, huh?”

“Nothing as scary as being ambushed in the basement at night by you.”

He snorts, shakes his head.  As he’s softened towards you, your teasing has gotten gentler too.  You’ve always rose to meet his energy, and now that he’s not actively despising you (he won’t name it, he will not), you aren’t actively despising him.

“Nothing as scary as seeing a giant fucking sheet pan flying at your face—”

You cut him off.  “Okay, Richie.  Enough.”

“I’m just saying—”

“Enough words.  More action.”  You face him and lift your eyebrows challengingly.  “Unless this was all a ruse.”

He shakes his head.

“Unless this is just a prank to embarrass me later.”

He shakes his head again, and he flexes his hands along his sides.  He’s itching to reach out and touch you—he remembers the feel of you in his arms, the way you tucked so perfectly against him when you were scared.  You had been relieved to see it had been him; you had felt safe enough to reach for him, and he’s been chasing that high ever since.  A therapist would make short work of this moment, but Richie wants to feel important to you again.  He wants to feel like you need him to protect you, to shelter you.  He wants to feel like a man, needed, necessary—

You’re talking but he doesn’t register the words.  Instead, he reaches for you, pulls you to him, and when you look up at him in surprise, he dips his head and kisses you.

It’s brutal at first.  He’s out of practice.  He’s certainly never kissed someone like you—someone so infuriatingly challenging—and he mashes his lips too hard against yours, can feel your wince as you struggle to kiss him back.  So he breaks the kiss and tries again, much more carefully, and it’s so much better:  the softness of your lips, the quiet moan you give as you kiss him back.

Maybe you need it bad, but he needs it just as bad, and when he considers why he does, he pushes the thought away completely.  Because if he thinks on it too much in this moment, if he thinks on how good it feels, the way you tug at his clothes—eager but shy, your hands steady but your eyes unable to meet his—he’d have to face an uncomfortable truth.

Still, he needs to see you.  Needs to look you in the eye.  He grasps your chin and tilts your face until you’re looking at him.

“You okay with this?”  He says it softly.  He says it as kindly as he can.

“Yeah.”  You nod, then add, “no one needs to know, right?”

“Right.”

“No one needs to know.”

“Exactly.”

You offer him a smile, and it’s genuine.  It’s not your normal smart-ass smirk, the way one corner of your mouth lifts higher than the other.  It’s a real smile, and he has to push that uncomfortable truth away again because if you’re cute when you smirk, you’re beautiful when you smile, and Richie can’t dwell on the fact.

“C’mon then, Richard.  Bedroom’s this way.”

“Asshole,” he huffs out, but you push his jacket off of his shoulders and let it fall to the ground, and you tug him down your hallway. 

You alternate and he lets you strip him and yourself—a piece of his clothing, a piece of yours.  You leave a trail so that you’re both nearly naked once you’re in the bedroom.  He stands in front of you, his boxers tented, and he takes in the sight of you.  In standard, everyday lingerie—dark grey bra and panties—but the everyday shit makes his mouth run dry.  Elaborate lingerie is not really his thing, but seeing a woman in her everyday shit, the comfortable cotton shit…that feels more special, somehow.  Like you woke up that morning and put on the functional stuff, but now here you are, nearly naked for him.

You always rise to meet his energy.  He’s openly ogling you now, and you gaze back at him, openly staring back.  He has a moment of doubt—maybe he should lift more, cut back on beers after work—but your eyes are blown dark with desire, and it makes his cock twitch to see it.

You seem to want him as much as he wants you. 

“C’mere, you fucking pain in the ass,” he growls, and you roll your eyes but bridge the distance between you.  You press the length of your near-naked body against his, and the sudden touch makes him bite back a groan.  He puts his hands on your waist, and you lay your palms against his chest, and you kiss again.

The kiss grows and grows.  He bullies his way into your mouth, sweeps his tongue and licks against your mouth, and you answer in kind.  You kiss him back, and your hands stroke his chest, his shoulders, his arms.  One snakes lower and grasps him through his boxers, and he swears against your lips at the feel of your palm stoking him.

He pushes you backwards towards the bed.  He pushes you until you hit the bed, and then he pushes you down, but you reach out and grasp him golden chain and tug him down to join you. 

You always rise to meet him.  He takes charge and slots himself between your legs, but you move eagerly.  When he lowers himself onto you, still partially dressed, you lift yourself up and press against him.  Your clothed breasts against his chest, and he dips his head and tugs the cups of your bra down until you’re exposed to him.  He lowers his head and kisses you, works his mouth against you.  He sucks a mark on each curve of your breast, right where your bra will cover.  He wants you to see them and think of him, a pair of mementos to this moment.

“Fuck, Richie.”  You breathe it out, and your hand cups the back of his head.  You hold him against you, and he’s too happy to stay here for a while:  sucking against your nipples, biting lightly until you squirm.  Laving your tender buds with the flat of his tongue, pinching and tugging until you shove him away with a groan.

“Too much,” you whine, but you tangle in his chain again and tug his mouth to yours.  He kisses you, relishes how flushed your skin feels under his lips as he kisses his way across your face, down your neck, across your bare shoulders.  He pauses long enough to undo your bra in earnest, tosses it aside.  Then he kisses his way down your chest again, traces his tongue further down to your soft belly until his chin is perched right on the waistband of your panties.

“Can I?” he asks.  He traces a finger under the lace edging, and he watches your face.  You gaze back at him, your eyes still dark and pupils blown.  Your lips are swollen, and your chest rises and falls with how hard you’re breathing.

You nod.  “You can take them off.”

“Is that it?  Nothing else?”

You laugh, breathless.  “Some other time.  Really want you to fuck me instead.”

Some other time.  The thought makes Richie’s dick twitch at the idea of doing this another time.

You feel him twitch against you.  You laugh again to feel it, and you lift a leg to hook it clumsily along the waistband of his boxers.  You try to push them down, and then you’re chanting “come on, come on, come on” as he scrambles to shuck off the rest of his clothing, scrambles to hook his fingers under your panties as he draws them down your legs. 

“Condoms in the bedside stand,” you tell him, and he opens the drawer, snags one.  He notes the bright pink vibrator there but doesn’t remark on it.  He’ll tuck the image away and revisit it days later in the shower:  a rich bit of fantasy where he pictures you masturbating to the thought of him.

He tears the foil with his teeth, and he watches you as he rolls the condom on himself.  You’re absolutely fucking gorgeous, better than he ever imagined, and a galling little voice in the back of his head asks, “so you’ve been imagining her, huh, asshole?”

He ignores the voice and what it might say next.  He stands over you and asks instead, “how do you want me, sweetheart?”

Another smile.  A genuine one.  “However you want it.”

“Anal, then.”

It startles a laugh out of you, and Richie thinks he might love that—the way he surprises you into laughing.  You prop yourself up on your elbows and look at him.  You kick out a bare foot and press your toes low against his belly, centimeters away from touching the tip of his cock where it stands at attention.

“Not that,” you chide.  “That requires prep.”

“Not a no, sweetheart.”

“It’s a no for this moment.”

“Hmm.  Interesting.”  He grips your ankle and circles it with his hand, and he bends your leg.  Pushes it away from him, pushes it closer to you, and it reveals your gorgeous pussy to him:  the neat-trimmed curls, the slick arousal, the swollen bud of your clit.

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart,” he groans to see you.  “Gotta tell me how you want me, and fucking quick.”

“Missionary works for me,” you reply.  “Old reliable.”

So he climbs onto you.  He kneels between your legs, then pushes them apart obscenely wide.  You stay propped up on your elbows, watching him, but when he settles between your thighs, you fall back against your pillow.

“Good?” he asks.

“You haven’t done much,” you point out. 

“Smart-ass.”  He reaches down and grasps his cock at the base, and he drags the tip of himself through your folds.  He coats himself in your arousal, feels the heat of your pussy even through the latex, then notches himself at your entrance.  He looks down and pushes just the tip in, and the sight of it—barely inside you, the promise of burying himself inside you—makes his vision go fuzzy around the edges.

“Richie.”  You reach up with one hand to cup his face, and you peer up into his eyes.  “Fuck me, please.”

Your other hand finds the small of his back.  You can’t quite reach his ass, so you lay your palm against the small of his back and urge him forward, and he pushes into you.  He goes slow but steady, and he hears your small gasp as your tight cunt makes room for him.  He feels the stretch of it, the smooth muscles twitching at him, and he studies your face for any pain but finds none.

“Pussy’s gripping at me,” he grits out once he’s seated in you.  “Guess you needed it bad after all.”

“Don’t gloat.”  You bear down on him, squeeze him like a fist, and it makes him choke out a curse.  “You needed it bad too, I think.”

“Not complaining here, sweetheart.”

You take his chain in your hand and tug him down to you again.  You kiss him, then mumble against his mouth, “so fuck me then, Richard.  Move.”

He does as you ask.  You’re a pain in the ass, and you’re a representative of all the change occurring in his life without his permission, but he wants to make it good for you.  He remembers the way you clung to him that night in the basement, and he wants to capture that feeling again…even as he shoves the memory aside and begins to fuck you in earnest.

He doesn’t thrust in and out so much as up and down; he learned this move a long time ago and knows it feels better for his partner.  His thrusts hit every part—each reseating brushes the tip of him against the end of you, and it makes you whine each time.  The slide in and out, at this angle, draws along the firm bud of your clit.  And each time he pushes himself home, the base of him grinds along your clit too, and it makes him feel like a million bucks when you gasp out his name, warn him that you’re close—

“Fuck, fuck.  God, Richie, I’m c-close.  Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t—"

And then it tears out of you:  the hard snap of your hips as you lift them to meet his most punishing thrust, the way you tremble under him, your legs shaking, your eyes rolled back in your head.  The way your cunt grips him, ripples against him until it feels like he’s being pulled into your body, and the thought takes hold of him.  He wants to crawl inside you, wants to fill you with himself, wants to merge with you, and the thoughts are so rapid-fire he feels insane for a moment before he settles.

You open your eyes and blink up at him, surprised.  “Holy shit.”

“Told you.”

“Don’t gloat.”  You lift your head and kiss the side of his neck, and he adjusts himself and keeps fucking you.

He’s hit his rhythm now; he deals you hard thrusts and you take them.  You beg for more.  His arms burn as he arches over you.  His calves burn as he drives his cock into you, and sweat beads along his hairline.  He’s covered in a sheen of it, but he doesn’t stop.  He fucks you hard, and his gold necklace swings in time to his thrusts.  It hits you in your face until you hook it with a finger and put the fucking thing in your mouth, and he doesn’t know why it's so hot—maybe it makes him think of your mouth on parts of him instead of just his necklace. 

He makes you come a second time, and it breaks around you again, leaves you trembling and incoherent, but after you recover, you push him over.  It’s easy for you to do—he’s winded as fuck from all his smoking—and Richie finds himself underneath you as you ride him.

He’s happy for the break, but he’s happy to see this side of you.  Any shyness from earlier is long gone.  You sit astride him and bounce on his cock, and it makes your tits bounce too, and he can look down at where he disappears into your tight, wet pussy.

He’s not going to last much longer, and he tells you so.

“S’fine,” you pant out.  “Want you to come too, Richie.”

Then you reach down and take his hands in yours, you place his hands on your tits, and he sort of loves how you take charge at the end.  You push your chest into his hands and ride him, and once he’s touching you there—pinching at your nipples until you arch your back—you reach down and touch yourself.  He watches, transfixed, as you rub a tight circle against your clit, and he can feel you getting close now.  Two orgasms down, he can feel the warning signs.

“Try to come with me,” you order him.  “Want to feel it.”

He’s close.  He’s been close for a while, has been forestalling his own pleasure by listing out White Sox statistics in his head.  But now he wants to come with you as you’ve asked (he wants to do everything for you, anything you ask, he wants all of it, and he struggles to push the thoughts away this time).  He breathes in time with your riding, and he feels his balls tighten as his orgasm approaches.

“I’m close,” he warns.  “Fuck, sweetheart, are you close?”

“Y-y-yes.”  You close your eyes and drop your head, focusing on whatever you’re feeling.

“Gonna come with me?”

“Mmm-hmm.”  You take a sharp breath, then moan as you come a third time, and if he doesn’t quite come with you at exactly the same time, it’s close enough:  the way your pussy grasps at him, draws him in deeper is enough to push him over the edge, and he shifts his hands to your waist.  He pulls you down onto him and stills, feels the pulse of his orgasm as he spills in the condom.

It takes him a long while to recover.  He feels weightless.  Boneless.  He feels like he’s melting into the covers of your bed.  Like he could sleep for a hundred years.  Like he could give up cigarettes and Xanax if he could just stay here and fuck  you whenever his anxiety or insomnia are too much….

You dismount on shaky legs, and you disappear.  When you return, you’re in an oversized t-shirt that skims the top of your thighs, and you hand him a warm washcloth.

“You can take your time,” you tell him.  “No rush.”

Richie reaches down and pulls the condom off.  He ties it off and looks around until he sees a waste bin.  He tosses it, then flops back down on your bed.

“Just need a minute,” he says, but his voice is already thick with sleep, and he doesn’t remember anything else until morning when he wakes up to the smell of strong coffee and sizzling bacon.

He doesn’t remember you standing over him, bemused as you watch him snore.  He doesn’t remember you lying down beside him, covering both of you with a blanket.

And he certainly doesn’t remember reaching for you in his sleep.  He doesn’t remember how you wrap your arms around him, just like that night in the basement of The Beef, and how he sighs at the feeling of you tucked against him again.

[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.

[buggybambi]

imagine richie shamelessly flirting with the new waitress at the bear as a 'joke '

he's being charming, flirting with her every chance he gets and she's oblivious to his antics but is still nice to him

after a while, the lines for richie becomes blurred and he starts to develop real feelings

so, while he's having this internal crisis, tiff drops eva at the bear and everyone's really busy, including richie

and the waitress takes care of eva & she's just so sweet to her, and when richie sees the two girls he loves having fun with each other, he knows he's far gone

(i need that old man so bad it's not even funny anymore-)

-🪷

my lotus. i'm obsessed.

okay.

richie and you had first met when you began working for the bear. being trained by him, it meant you two were spending a lot of time together. late nights, early mornings. you two would talk over coffee when you could sneak in a break during kitchen prep, you'd talk when marcus had you two try his newest pastries.

the first time he flirted with you, it was an accident. just slipped. but then it became your 'thing'. it was that teasing flirting, you know? pet names for each other, the whole shabang.

over the months you and him spend together, richie begins feeling the lines blurred. what's real and what's not between you two? it's the age old question. are you calling him honey as a joke or is that real? is his contact name 'R HONEY' to fit that joke or whatever?

he can feel himself falling in love with you. and before he can catch himself, he dives into it when he sees you and eva interacting.

tiff had rushed to the bear one afternoon when she was called into work. it was unexpected and in the middle of the lunch rush, and you'd been at the front when eva was dropped off, backpack in hand.

you guided her away from the chaos and into the back office. you and her talked about how excited she was for weekend plans with richie, what she learned in school. by the time richie found you two, you were talking her through her math homework. your voice was soft, you were patient with her.

he's in love.

by the time he realizes, he's so far gone. he knows it's the kind of love that could metaphorically kill him. you and him watch over eva together, and you help him load her into the car.

when he and eva are driving back to tiff's house, it's silent until eva's small voice speaks up. "are you in love with y/n, daddy?"

well, shit. if the kid can figure it out, maybe you have, too.

he returns to the bear where he knows you'll be, cleaning up with syd. he finds you in the front, sweeping the floors. before you can greet him, he's blurting it out. "i'm in love with you."

it's a blur. his ears are filled with the sound of his heartbeat and he knows you're talking, he can see your perfect lips moving but he can't hear you. it isn't until you're in front of him he can hear you clearly.

"i love you, too."

one of my favorite movie quotes is from the princess bride, where they say that since the invention of the kiss, there have been five kisses that were the most passionate, the most pure.

the one you and richie share buries them all in a fucking grave.

[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

[angelcakestarlet]

salvatore

richie jerimovich x reader - richie makes carmy regret hiring the cute young waitress

wrote dis quick, messy, nd did not look over it but enjoy! :>

"so um look, natalie is going to be training you this week alright" carmy informs you as he sifts through a pile of papers scattering his desk. "you ever serve before?", "for a few months yeah, it's been getting me through college so" you twiddle your thumbs nervously. the restaurant was certainly... intimidating? going to school in chicago you had stopped by a couple times for lunch or drunk off your ass after the club. even while slurring your words you could remember how fucking good that sandwich was. even if most of it was puked up in the bushes out front.

"yo, cousin!" an abrasive voice comes stumbling through carmy's office door without warning, "sugar is out here telling me some bullshit about you hiring servers? look we don't need that shit. a sandwich comes out i fucking hand it to them, boom. why are you gonna pay some dipshit to do it for me?". you turn around to face the loud voice, being met with a tall, tan, buzzcut typical line cook with a deep accent. "jesus fucking christ, one of these 'dipshits' is standing in front of you richie." carmy yells back, obviously pained to have you witness that. "ah shit-" richie steps back to get a full length view of you, taking you in. his gaze felt like an intrusion. "i'm sorry, doll, richie jerimovich." he envelopes your hand in his calloused and rough one, introducing himself. "you know what i'm sorry, cousin, anyone with a set of eyes would hire her too" he snickers, with his hand still atop yours he takes his eyes away from you to acknowledge carmen. "cousin, get the fuck out, you fucking creep!" signaling for the door. "oh my god" richie sighs dramatically, "i'm stating the fucking obvious alright, you need marcus to come in here to tell you the same thing? yo, marcus!" carmen rushes to shove richie out the door, "i'm sorry, i couldn't help myself! look, you're beautiful, sweetheart!" he lets out one last compliment. you giggle to yourself and the man making a spectacle of himself.

carmen shuts the office door and sighs, rubbing his forehead with his tired hand. "i'm sorry, he's... he's a fucking jagoff." you appreciate the apology, but having worked in a restaurant has you accustomed to the snickers and comments from line cooks and customers alike. most of the girls usually brush it off, leaving them disgusted and a distaste for the job for the next few hours. but, your guilty pleasure has become using it to your benefit. free food from cooks, more money from tips, etc. you're sure you could work richie to your benefit just the same. "don't worry about it, he seems... nice" your ease settles carmy and he snickers, "you could say that i guess".

you follow natalie around the restaurant for the next few hours as she takes you through the front of the house and back, introducing you to everyone and all the standards. when five o clock hits, she lets you go, handing you an apron, a t-shirt. and a name tag. thanking her and setting out to find the back alley for a quick ciggy. you find richie lighting a cigarette in the dimly lit alley, "can i bum a cigarette?" you sit down beside him, smelling the smoke clinging to his shirt. "its your first day and you're asking me for shit?" he looks over at you and you notice his evident wrinkles, veins in his neck, and tired eyes. "pretty please?" you look up at him, turning your whole body to face him with a sweet smile on your face. he rolls his eyes playfully, "you know what you're doing huh?" he says as he pulls one more cigarette from its box. "open." you scrunch your eyebrows, confused at his request. his eyes shift to your lips, taking two fingers and tapping your cheek signaling for you to open your mouth. "come on," you separate your lips and he places a cigarette between them, lighting it swiftly. you feel your cheeks get warm, from the cigarette or from his words you don't know (yes you do). "thank you" you say quietly, still stunned a bit. "you know you're gonna ruin that sweet face smoking" he coughs through the lit cigarette. "oh are you telling me what to do now, richie?" you lean back, eyes entranced by the way his hands make the cigarette almost look like a lollipop stick. "a girl like you is probably looking for someone to tell her what to do, sweetheart". as you're trying to figure out whether that just pissed you off or turned you on, carmy bursts through the back door. "cousin, what the fuck are you doing?! we need you in the kitchen, now please! and leave the new girl alone, jesus" carmy yells as richie stomps on what's left of his cigarette and puts his hands up in defense. "i'm coming, fuck off. it was a pleasure, babe" he shakes your hand and makes his way inside. you peer at the closed door, listening to the muffled argument carmy and richie have in front of it. great first day.

[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

[thecapricunt1616]

Nutmeg (Richie Jerimovich one-shot)

𝒮𝓃𝒾𝓅𝓅𝑒𝓉 (𝑀𝑜𝓇𝑒 𝐵𝒯𝒞!): “Good girl” he praised as you closed your lips around his fingers, watching him as you swirled your tongue around them and bobbed your head making his cock twitch in his pants. “Such a little whore. Creamin’ in y’panties all day thinkin’ about me coming home and fucking you” he took his fingers and spread your lower lips, spitting on your clit and watching as it dripped down to the swell of your ass and disappeared.

♡ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Richie comes home after a long day at the beef & takes care of you! ♡ 𝐖/𝐂: 2.2K+ ♡ 𝐀/𝐍: I thought this was a request but either I already answered it & cant find it but this is Daddy!Kink with Richie I hope we all enjoy! ♡ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐁𝐓𝐂: D!Word (main kink in this fic!), Smut, Swearing, Spanking, Agegap!Relationship,The Beef!Richie, Not edited (we die like men here)

♡ 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐞-𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 ♡ ➵ 𝐓𝐁&𝐇𝐇 𝐋𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐏𝐚𝐠𝐞 ♡ ➵ 𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 / 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘵 ♡ ➵ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 ♡

You and Richie had been seeing eachother for a good 7 months now. He was a good 12 years older then you, but you always loved dating men that were a bit older. They usually had it much more together and knew what they wanted, and they also loved taking care of their girls which was a must for any of your relationships.

He had given you the keys to his apartment, because he found out pretty early on he very much enjoyed coming home to see you on his couch watching one of your desperate housewives or dateline shows while you sipped on a glass of wine or two, or three depending how pink your cheeks were by the time he got in the door. 

Tonight was no different. Around 7:30 he called it quits and told Mikey goodnight, and when you heard his key in the door you were on the balls of your feet practically hopping to the door like a bunny. “Hey pretty girl” he said, dropping his keys on the hall table and wrapping his lean arms around you tightly, kissing your neck gently and giving you a loving squeeze. “How was y’day” he gives you a firm pat on the ass as he pulls away. 

“It was good. You smell like beef sandwiches” you teased, gently cupping the back of his head and pulling him in for a kiss. It was deep, and loving, and tasted like mint gum and cigarettes. He smoothed his palm up the small of your back 

“Mmhmm that’s why I need a shower” he said before pecking your lips one more time for good measure. You pouted a bit 

“No I didn’t say you smelt bad. Come snuggle stinky beef boy” you teased and he chuckled as you drag him by the hand over to the couch. 

“You know if I sit down you can’t get me back up unless it’s to bed so my stinky beef ass is gonna be all over you all night” he told you as you push him to sit and get settled comfy on his thighs, taking his chain out of his t’shirt and playing with it. 

“Who said I didn’t want that?” You rubbed your palm over his spiky short hair, kissing his forehead lovingly. “Did you have a good day?” You asked and he rested his head back on your hand, putting his hands over your ass and squeezing. 

“Same shit different day baby. I like these little shorts, mm? You should wear em’ more f’me when you come over” he plays with the glitter on the back of your ass where it read ‘PINK’ 

“Yeah?” You smiled a bit, gently tugging his chain. “I think you like anything so short it’s basically panties. That’s why I only wear em in the house” you joked and he hummed, reaching his hand under you and cupping your heat 

“You miss me today?” He asked in that quiet way that made your stomach flip and your heartbeat extend all the way down to your cunt. 

“I did. And I was sad when you told me you had no time for me this morning. Left me so wet. All day long. And I had work so I couldn’t even play with myself” you said and kiss just below his pulse point, he tuts, gently pressing down and rubbing back and forth over your clothed pussy. 

“I did that to my sweet girl? How rude is that mm? I should make it up to you, why don’t you lay down f’me princess” he said and you smiled as you did as he asked, lifting your hips so it was easier for him to slip your shorts and little cheeky panties off. The apartment was mostly dark, other then the glow of the TV and the light you always kept on above the stove- but neither of you could miss the dripping arousal. Just as he’d left you this morning, achingly wet and needy. 

You’d had a wet dream and by the time you woke up he was already in the shower for the day, and using your own fingers just made you more desperate. “Jesus - these are fuckin soaked babe, look at this” he scraped some of the creamy white arousal off of the fabric of your panties. “Open” he said and you did so, sticking your tongue out obediently. 

“Good girl” he praised as you closed your lips around his fingers, watching him as you swirled your tongue around them and bobbed your head making his cock twitch in his pants. “Such a little whore. Creamin’ in y’panties all day thinkin’ about me coming home and fucking you” he took his fingers and spread your lower lips, spitting on your clit and watching as it dripped down to the swell of your ass and disappeared. 

“Mhmm. Making a mess in my panties all day f’you daddy” you pull him to you, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him in for a kiss. “Are you gonna stretch me out with your big cock? Please daddy?” You asked in a sultry voice and he nearly groaned. Before he’d met you, he had no idea he had such a kink. But the first time it slipped out of your mouth he couldn’t stop himself from spilling inside of you within a few minutes. 

“So fuckin filthy” he pushed your hair back off your forehead in that gentle soft way that gave you chills, tucking it behind your ear and cupping your cheeks. “Get on y’knees. Wanna fuck your face a little first.” He said and you giggled in delight, getting on your knees in front of him and looking up at him with sparkly bedroom eyes. 

“I love sucking you, daddy” you said and stuck your nose in the fabric of his tented track pants, inhaling the heady scent of precum and a tinge of sweat from his long day in the kitchen. “Mm” you hum, eyes closing as you kiss his tip through the fabric 

“I can tell, practically droolin’ already hmm?” He took pulled himself out for you, tugging you back by your hair in his fist to look at him. “Open that pretty mouth” he said and you grinned, opening wide and sticking your tongue out, eyes closing. He took his cock and slapped your tongue a few times with it, brushing your cheekbone with his thumb as he thrusted into your mouth. You moaned at the taste of him, slightly salty and a tinge of sweet. 

“Dreamin’a’this fuckin mouth all day” he eases your head down inch by inch, relishing in the gagging and slurping noises you made when your nose brushed his pelvis, cock jammed nearly half down your throat. “Swallow-“ he pushed your head down further and you squeeze your eyes shut, swallowing around him best you could and he pulled you off by your hair so you could breathe for a moment, gagging and coughing as his cock is pulled from your throat and strings of saliva connecting the two of you for a moment. 

“That’s my good girl, so messy, such a good whore f’daddy aren’t you” he said as you looked up at him while jerking his cock over your face with watery eyes and a drooly chin. 

“Yes daddy- only yours- wan’more” you said and opened your mouth, pushing yourself down and resting your hands on his thighs as you shut your eyes and tried to force yourself down how he did but gagging and pulling yourself back “I need help” you pout adorably 

“Aw, You need help baby? Here let daddy help you” he said in a nearly mocking tone and eased your head down, gripping your hair when your nose brushed the curly dark patch of hair at the base of his cock and letting out a grunt. “So fuckin warm and perfect - god. Second best to your cunt. Best fuckin feeling in the world” his head drops back as he essentially uses your throat as a fucktoy by pushing and pulling you off of his cock by your hair tightly pulled back in a ponytail in his fist. 

Filthy salacious noises were pulled from your throat, spit dripping out of the corners of your mouth and down your chin as he was surely bruising your esophagus but any time you eat and drink over the next 3 days you’ll be sweetly reminded of being on your knees for your favorite man. He realizes one of your hands missing and slows his movements of your head that he was still controlling as he follows it down. “Are you fuckin touchin’ y’self? Holy shit.” He pulls you off his cock 

“Have you cum yet?” He demands and you quickly shake your head 

“Just touching- promise. I stopped when it felt too good I swear” you said, hoping he wasn’t too upset. 

“Get up” he ordered and with the help of the couch due to your wobbly knees you stood, looking up at him. “Y’r a fuckin mess. You know that?” He pats your cheek “bend over” he ordered and you smiled, happily bending yourself over the arm of the couch and resting your stomach so your legs wouldn’t have to do all the work. “Tryna fuckin take orders at work and all I can think about is how you look on your knees chokin and droolin’ on my cock” he said as he lined himself up, thrusting into you. 

You whined hotly, gripping the couch cushion while he gripped your hips with a bruising pressure, again, instead of thrusting himself- using his arms to slam you back onto his cock, the wet loud sound of your skin clapping together filling the room, that and your porn-like whining. “F-feels so good daddy. Missed you- ah! - Missed you so much!” You cry out when his tip ruts into that spongey yummy spot inside, gushing white cream around his cock. 

He spread your cheeks in awe, watching as his cock pumped in and out of you surrounded by pretty white sticky cream “y’make such a mess mm? Such a nasty little girl” he spanks you hard enough to leave a handprint and you yelp, biting down on your lip to deal with the sting, your walls clenching around him on impact. 

“S-sorry daddy- just feels so good- you make me feel so good can’t help it” you gasp as he forces your legs apart further and starts to rub your clit, alternating between slow and quick circles that matched the force of his thrusts and the mix of that was causing you to see stars and drool on the couch cushion you were leaning on due to the fact that you were so slack jawed your tongue was nearly falling out of your mouth. 

“Look at that- fucked you stupid already and I’ve barely gotten through with you huh? Who else can fuck you this good baby tell me” he spanks you for your attention and you whimper, your orgasm not far behind 

“You- you - only you daddy, no one else I swear!! Please- please fill me up- cum in my pussy pretty please daddy” you whine out and you felt his cock twitch inside of you. He groaned, leaning over you and wrapping his arms around your front, holding your tits steady as he starts to snap his hips faster 

“Yeah- that’s fuckin right I own this pussy- gonna fill you up princess don’t worry, I always fill up my favorite girl hmm?” He said against the shell of your ear, before giving a kiss to your temple. “You close Angel? I wanna feel you milking my cock when I fill up this tight fuckin pussy mm? Give you every last drop” he said and you felt your legs start to quiver, your toes curling into the carpet. 

Your thighs were painted with your white creamy arousal, neck was wet with saliva and spit. Every thrust was drawing a soft uh uh uh uh from your throat as he drilled you into the cushion of the couch, using one hand to play with a peaked nipple under one of his the beef shirts you stole from his laundry pile, and the other to rub your clit messily as he was so close to his own high. “C-cumming” you warn and within a few thrusts your walls were spasming around him, your eyes rolling back behind your lids and biting the pillow as you nearly scream ‘fuck’ 

“God- pussys fuckin suckin me in baby- shit-“ Richie breathes as he finishes inside of you, warmth filling your belly and core, a small smile filming on your lips. 

“So good- so good. Love you daddy feel so good” you ramble, completely fucked out.  “Love you babydoll, now I think we both smell like Italian sandwiches” he teased

Fin

[aestheticaltcow]

How do you do it?

Richie's at his wits end with Carmy. Some advice may make it a little better.

The Bear Masterlist

“How do you do it, sunshine?” Richie asked as he sat on the edge of the bed that night; the long nights at The Bear were starting to get to him. Over the past few days, you'd noticed Richie had worn thin. He was exhausted, emotionally and physically. You looked up from the book you’d been reading and saw the long look on his face. “Was it that bad?” you questioned, putting your book on the nightstand beside your shared bed. Richie groaned as he leaned over to remove his shoes. 

“Carmy is fuckin’ insane. He’s changin’ the menu every fuckin’ night. He wrote this list of ‘non-negotiable’ bull shit and sounded like a damn mad man… just lookin’ at him pisses me off.” he groaned as he swung his legs up onto the bed and leaned back against his pillows with a slight wince. His back was sore, his knee was acting up, and he was drained physically and emotionally. “How do you… how are you so-so peaceful?” 

You laughed and scooted closer to him, “Well, you love him, right?” Richie nodded. You rested your head on his shoulder and felt his arm snake around your waist before pulling you closer to him, “Have you told him that? From my perspective, and by that, I mean what I’ve been told by you, Natalie, and the Carmy-less group chat, he’s scared that he’s gonna ruin this. Opening a restaurant with Mikey was his dream, and now that he’s living it, I think he’s experiencing some imposter syndrome. The kid is grieving his brother, and I think this is how he’s coping with it.” you began to explain. 

Richie scoffed, “The kid is a fuckin’ mess.” 

You nodded, “He is, but he’s gonna pull his head out of his ass and get his shit together. It’ll probably take a minute, but he’s a good kid, and I’m sure it’ll work out.”

“But what if he doesn’t? I don’t… I don’t wanna lose him too, Sunshine.” Richie swallowed and leaned back in his pillows as he stared at the ceiling. You nodded and kissed his shoulder, “Just don’t give up on him, Richie. He’ll be okay.”

[richiejerimovichsblueeyes]

Thighs! Richie Jerimovich x female reader. 18+ MDI

Warnings- P in V, face sitting, oral (female receiving), dirty talk, light biting. I probably forgot something, anyway...minors you are warned.

Author Note- I just know Richie loves thighs. He would be so obsessed, and grabby. So, naturally I had to write out my little idea. Enjoy!

Friendly PSA-Reblogs, hearts, and comments make me do a little happy dance 💕

Request are open!!

Richie just loves your thighs…

•The way his big rough hands grip your upper thighs while you ride his cock.

“So good, babe. So wet, so tight. You ride me so well.

•He loves to nip the soft flesh with his teeth while he eats you out. His fingers work inside you to bring you to the height of pleasure. He loves the little noises and gasps you make when his teeth kiss your skin make him feel like he's a god.

“You taste so good, sweetheart. Your skin, and your sweet little cunt.” He whispers against your core. The vibrations of his voice causing the walls of your cunt to clench. 

•Those tight blue jeans always drive him wild. The way they sculpt your legs, thighs and ass. It makes him just crazy. Stirring his cock as you bend down to pick up something that he dropped on purpose….cheeky minx. 

“Gotta see you bent over for me” He grins while he enjoys the view of you bent over. Beautiful thighs, and a round ass.

•Whenever you wear a dress you pick one that hits mid-thigh. Because you know he won't be able to handle it. He'll have you pulled away in a restroom, the top of the counter at the bear, or a dimly lit corner. He'll be touching your thighs, his thick fingers sliding between them to find your soaked folds. Plus, a dress is easy access…and he goes absolutely feral when he realizes your not wearing panties. 

“Fuckin, hell baby. Such a dirty girl for me” He praises while his fingers glide over your swollen clit.

•His hands will slap and kneed your upper thighs as you sit on his face while you grind against his mouth. His hands, and tongue working in tandem to send you to the edge. He leaves no place left untouched. From the junction of your hips and legs to your ass. His hands slow and deliberate. 

“Just like that. Ride my face, babe.” Richie declares while your climax builds quickly.

•Richie just has to cum on all parts of you and your beautiful thighs being one his favorites. His release is painted on your thighs. After he cums he spreads around his cum with the tips of his fingers, taking a bit and placing two fingers between your lips for you to lick off the remains greedily.

“My good fuckin girl, takin my cum so good” He growls while he pushes his thick fingers in your greedy mouth. 

•You hate the way you look in this pair of shorts. Richie notices your standing at the full length mirror. He notices your frustration. His blue eyes meeting yours. 

“You look so hot” he says in a low growl as his tall frame stands behind you. His hands find your hips, rubbing them in slow sensual circles. 

“So sexy.” He says as he kisses a trail down your neck while he toys with the hem of your shorts.

“So beautiful.” He growls between kisses. “I think you're so fuckin’ gorgeous. I wish you could see what I see. I am absolutely in love with everything, and every part of you.” He whispers while he unbuttons your shorts. 

Soon enough you watch as he has your back pressed against his chest while he rocks his thick cock in and out of you. 

“Mine.” He grunts as you whimper and moan while he fucks you so good. “My beautiful girl.” You lean your head back against his shoulder. In these moments none of the noise in your head matters, just you and Richie. 

His breath comes out in labored gasp as he nears his orgasm. You feel his nails dig into your thighs as he pulls you back so he's as deep in your pussy as he can get. There will be marks tomorrow on your thighs reminding you how much he craves you, and how much he loves to show you that you are everything to him. 

[tropes-and-tales]

You Talk Too Much

(From the "Shut Up" kiss starter prompts, found here)

CW:  Richie being Richie, swearing.

Word Count:  1740

AN:  Requested by @winchestershiresauce

You don’t smoke, but it doesn’t stop you from escaping out the back door of The Beef near the end of shift to catch your breath and relax.  There’s only a few lingering customers out front, and  you are exhausted and frazzled.

It’s quiet out back.  You love your job—really, you do—but it can be a lot.  A lot.  It’s loud and hectic and a million things happen at once.  Sometimes the chaos of the day is just limited to the customers flowing through for classic Chicago fare.  Sometimes the chaos is more, well, chaotic:  a burst pipe, a failed health inspection, an impromptu Ball-Breaker tournament to help breakeven for the week.

You love your job.  You love The Beef, and you love your coworkers, but sometimes you need quiet.

The neighborhood mellows out at night, at least in the little nook behind the restaurant.  The noise of the city—the traffic, the sirens, the wind off the river and lake—falls away to a murmur, background noise that builds and then breaks over you in gentle waves.  You sit on an overturned milk crate and pull your knees up, wrap your arms around your knees.  You lean back against the brick wall and shut your eyes.  You breathe deep, steadying breaths and feel your heartbeat calm.  Hours and hours of chaos, and now you can throttle down a bit.

It lasts all of a minute.

You hear the door squeal open on its hinges, then hear it slam shut a moment later.  You don’t bother to open your eyes; you can guess who it is.

A beat later, someone settles onto another milk crate beside you with a grunt.  You hear the ritual sounds of a veteran smoker:  the shaking of a soft pack, the quiet snick of the lighter, the first harsh inhale, the pleased sigh as the nicotine hits the bloodstream.

Richie.  The Beef’s resident asshole.  The utter bane of your existence when you started months ago.  He had bullied you relentlessly, a hazing that extended beyond gentle workplace pranking.  Richie, you came to find out, hates change, and you came into his life in the midst of immense change.

The loss of his best friend who was more like a brother.

The loss of his family when his wife divorced him.

The loss of his restaurant, his beloved dysfunctional sandwich shop as Carmy slowly started to change the system.

But as the months passed, Richie softened towards you.  You proved too stubborn to give in to his bullying, and at some point, you became part of the landscape of The Beef.  You became part of the family, and Richie eased off the bullying. 

His teasing turned sweeter, almost:  he calls you sweetheart now, sometimes babe, and when he needs to get past you in the tight quarters of the restaurant, he lays a light hand on your shoulder or your back as he squeezes past you.

Then came the stories.  When it’s quiet, when the doors aren’t open yet and you’re just prepping for the day, Richie regales you with stories.  So many stories.  Stories about his time at West Lawrence Avenue.  Stories about tearing up the town with Mikey.  Stories about the Goddess of Agriculture and Bill Murray.  Richie always leans in close and tells you these stories, often repeating tales you’ve already heard, but just as you never confronted him about the bullying, you never confront him about his repetitious storytelling.

Richie, you guess, is a complicated man.  A man with a lot of feelings who perhaps doesn’t know how to express them.  From the caustic bully sneering at you about disrupting the “delicate ecosystem” of The Beef… to the smiling charmer as he regales you with his Bill Murray story.

You open your eyes enough to squint and confirm that it’s Richie sitting beside you, as if the scent of his cologne isn’t confirmation enough.  But it’s him.  Visual confirmation obtained.  You take in his lanky form neatly folded to fit on the milk crate, one leg kicked out straight and the other folded up near his chest.  His profile illuminated by the flickering light near the dumpsters. 

The man isn’t entirely unappealing.  Once you get past the crusty layers of asshole behavior, the sarcasm and inferiority complex and refusal to feel his feelings, he’s actually a good man.  Loyal to a fault.  Loving father.  The sort of man to assemble his own family of friends and misfits, who then defends that family to the death.

But too chatty sometimes.  Like now.

Because after the first deep drag of his cigarette, he starts talking.  “I ever tell you about the time me and Mikey were at Ceres?”

You bite the inside of your mouth to stop from smiling.  “Yeah, you did.”

“Place was packed with Blackhawk fans—”

“Because Denis Savard just got inducted into the hockey hall of fame,” you fill in for him.

“Chelios was there,” he continues, like he hasn’t even heard you.  “I mean, the place was fucking packed—”

On he goes.  On and on and on.  The quiet lull of the city noise falls away and all you can focus on is Richie’s voice, the cigarette husky quality of it, and you like his voice, you love his stories because he loves telling them, but you just want quiet right now.

“Richie—”

“And I feel this tap on my shoulder—”

“Rich—”

“And it’s Bill fucking Murray!  And he’s like—”

“Richie, c’mon—”

“He’s like, ‘what are you doing?’  And I tell him, I say—”

You don’t know why you snap.  The man literally made your life a living hell when you started at the restaurant, but you never once snapped.  Never fought back, only shrugged and let the insults roll of your back.  You don’t know why you snap now, and you don’t know quite why you snap the way you do.

Because you don’t yell at him or smack him.  Richie goes on and on with his story, his face lit up at the happy memory he shared with Mikey, and he’s gesturing with his hands, his half-burnt cigarette forgotten as he talks and glances at you to see if you’re listening, if you’re impressed with his story, and maybe that’s what makes you snap.  Maybe you have a sudden revelation, like a lightning bolt out of the sky.

Maybe Richie keeps telling you these stories because he wants to impress you.  Maybe his close-talking, his mild pet names for you, his light touches as he walks past you…maybe you understand it all in a split second.  Maybe it took a mild Chicago night, a quiet moment out back broken by this man who glances at you shyly to see how his story is landing.

So you snap.  You reach out one hand and gather a fistful of his navy blue t-shirt, and you haul him halfway to you.  You meet him the rest of the way, and the man is still talking when you kiss him.  It happens that fast.

Which makes the kiss awkward for a split second.  You’ve caught him unawares, mid-sentence, and your mouth stills his words.  He freezes for the split second it takes him to catch up to what’s happening, but then he kisses you back.  He tastes like cigarettes, and beneath that you can taste vanilla, and you smile because you can guess that he’d been sneaking into Marcus’s area and helping himself to the cakes Marcus had been working on all day.

But it’s quiet again.  You’ve stoppered Richie’s words, and the earlier calm would fall over you if your heart wasn’t hammering in your chest at what you’ve done.

It’s Richie who breaks the kiss.  After a long beat of silence, a long moment of your mouth on his, the shyest bit of deepening the kiss—opening your mouth against his, breathing him in, but not any further than that.  He breaks the kiss but doesn’t move very far from you, and when you look at him, you can see his bright blue eyes staring at you.

“What, uh…”  He clears his throat in that embarrassed way he has.  “What was that for?”

“You talk too much,” you tell him.

“Thought you liked my stories.”

“I do.  Ninety percent of the time, I love your stories.”

“And the other ten percent?”

“I just wanted a bit of quiet.  It was a long day.”

You release your grip on his shirt, and you see where you’ve stretched the fabric.  You try to smooth it out, run your hand over his upper chest where you grabbed him, and the gesture makes him huff out a heavy breath.  The realization of what you’ve done washes over you, and suddenly you feel horrified.  It would have been less embarrassing to have snapped at him all those months ago, slapped him or yelled in his face.  Instead, you kissed him, and now he’s staring at you with those blue eyes…

“Sorry,” you mutter.  “I shouldn’t have—”

He’s gentler when he stills your words with his mouth.  He doesn’t haul you to him by your shirt; instead, he wraps a gentle hand around the back of your neck and steadies you as he leans in.  As he kisses you.  His lips are soft against yours—it’s the softest kiss you’ve ever received in your life, and from someone like Richie Jerimovich who stumbles through his own life like a bull in a china shop.  Who knew he could be so careful? 

You break the second kiss, and you try to find some words—to finish your apology to him, to say something cool or funny to break the spell of the moment—but Richie hushes you.  He doesn’t let you get any more words out, and he pulls you closer to him.  He wraps an arm around your shoulders and pulls you against him, and then you feel him press a kiss against the top of your head as he tucks you against him.

“Don’t say anything,” he tells you in his low voice.  “Let’s just have a bit of quiet, then.”

The two of you sit in silence, letting the sounds of the city fill in the quiet between you.  Except for your own heart, hammering in your ears.  And except for Richie’s heart, beating right under your ear in the same, excited cadence.

[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!

[buggybambi]

Imagining Richie x reader where they’re on a date one night and it’s cold, so Richie lets reader borrow that leather jacket of his… and naturally she keeps it, because it smells like him and it’s so oversized on her that it feels like a hug…

She shows up at The Bear one day to see him at work, and she’s wearing his jacket. Of course it’s a staple for Richie so everyone recognizes it, and tease her until Richie yells at them all for making his girl embarrassed 😩

-🐻

let me just say, seeing this after i just got done writing a small draft for an upcoming angst richie fic where reader keeps his jacket after their breakup, nearly made me cry.

but anyway! awe, it'd be so cute! richie is 100% the type of guy who loves seeing you wear his clothes. his tee shirts that smell like you when he wears them next, his hoodies, and his signature leather jacket. i imagine he's very protective of that jacket (in my mind it was a gift from mikey, i know thats never really been confirmed anywhere but consider it one of my headcanons) and when you get to wear it?? it's like a trophy or something lmao.

but yes, you come into the bear with a letter for richie that seemed pretty important. you've gotten good at knowing when the bear is busiest and when it's usually calmer, so richie can sneak away. you walk in, and immediately fak (who already knows you're dating richie) notices the jacket. "is- is that richie's jacket?!"

"um, yeah.." you give him a puzzled look before you shake your head. "is he in the back? i wanted to drop this off and-"

it's not long before fak is calling for someone else to come see this. pretty soon, carmen is even standing in the doorway from the dining area to the kitchen, his arms crossed as he smirks. "he gave you his jacket?"

richie walks in, clapping his hands. "aye! fuckers! don't you all have work to be doing!?" he walks over, cupping your face in his hands. "hi. i love you." he gives you numerous pecks before you manage to hand him the letter. "i'm gonna go before that starts back up again." you give him another kiss before you're slipping out the door, and when richie turns back around, the bear staff knows they're in trouble.

"which one of you started it?"

[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.

[angelcakestarlet]

white mustang

dbf! richie jerimovich x reader

after your estranged father, mikey berzatto, passes away, who else is there to lean one but his best friend richie?

mike never had to say it out loud, but it was pretty evident that you weren't meant to 'happen'. you were just a reminder that his lifestyle would catch up to him eventually, as it had already done once with you. he tried to be there, bringing you down to the beef on days he could convince your mom to let him see you. he'd keep you in the office with some sandwich wraps to color on and crayons, showing you off to tina and everyone else in the kitchen who had convinced themselves that maybe, just maybe, you would be bear's saving grace. when richie found out mikey had knocked some broad up, he was conflicted. upset because he believed a kid would put a stop to the fun waiting for them in the rest of their twenties and yet to come thirties, slightly relieved because he finally had something worth pushing for. and for a while, you were just that. the staff saw it, richie saw it, you were keeping him just that more sane, just enough. yeah he was a father now but that didn't stop him from joining richie on deal runs, you in the car seat he bought from baby's r us last minute. and until the age of 15, he was (mostly) there, as much as his mind allowed him to be. he had outbursts, your mom didn't want you near him or "that piece of shit restaurant", you and everyone else could tell it was going from okay to bad. and bad quickly became scary, when you wouldn't see him for months. you'd be forced to text richie asking where the fuck your dad was, if he was okay. but richie never had an answer and mike didn't either. but you could see it in his eyes when you would finally stumble upon him after every other month, he had been somewhere inside him that was dark. the longest you went without hearing from him was six months, half a year. your 17th birthday had passed and tina, sugar, pete, ebraheim, cicero, and the rest of the family celebrated with you in the restaurant trying to distract you and themselves from the fact no one, not even richie, could seem to find mike. you saw him one last time, right before he died, after not hearing from him for months he invited you over. it was your second year of college and you were just trying to make it by when you got a call from a number you didn't recognize. you immediately recognized his voice, he was asking you to come over. you reluctantly agreed, being greeted to a messy house with papers everywhere and pill bottles littering little crevices in failed attempts to hide them from himself. that night, he cooked for you one last time. a part of you convinced yourself there was hope left behind his eyes, watching his back profile moving around the kitchen and whipping up a dish like he used to. how he used to sit you on the counter top, made you taste everything with your small hands while richie laughed his ass off at how huge his chain was on you calling you "a fucking g". two months later he shot himself. at the bottom of your stomach behind the sadness and guilt, you almost felt, cathartic? not because he was dead, no. but because you'd never have to wait months to hear from him again, or look down alleyways in hopes of seeing him, or have to look in his eyes and see the glimpse of someone he could have been. you start hanging around the restaurant more despite sugars protests. you never did well coping with your addict father when he was alive, when he'd leave you'd seek that nausea and sinking feeling he brought you elsewhere. it was easy to stumble upon all kinds of trouble, you were young, you were beautiful, and worst of all you were chasing the feeling you knew mike would and could never bring you.

a few months after his death, carmy's recent resurgence, and multiple trips to the bar downtown you decided the comfort of vodka seltzers and the pervy bartender was no longer enough. you were leaving the beef one night, passing by carmy's office to steal his carton of sapphires when you met richie outside for a smoke. "you finally ditch the marbolo red's, kid?" it was a cool spring evening in chicago, you wore your white sundress over warm socks. "you wish, richard" you let out a small laugh, "i'm just saying those are for pansies or hookers no in between, sweetheart." you looked at him baffled by whatever led him to that conclusion. "so what you're saying is the last hooker you had to hire to suck you off smoked malboro's?" you looked at him, reaching into him jean pocket and stealing his lighter. he scoffed, "you know i miss when you didn't have that fucking mouth on ya." he jabbed his cigarette in your direction, clenching his teeth. you chuckled at how easily he got riled up, he just loved arguing. "okay, old man. i'm going down to the bar, you coming or not?" you took a short drag of the cigarette, not used to the taste of carmy's choice in smokes. "why so i can watch you flirt with some jagoff for drinks all night?" he grimaced, "key word is, free, drinks, richie." he stepped on what was left of his cigarette at the word 'free', nodded, and began walking to his car.

richie shamelessly watched your dress hike up the back of your soft thighs as you leaned over the bar to get closer to the bartender. you had that berzatto gift (curse?) of being so fucked up it was hot. richie always felt a tinge of guilt when he perked up at the sight of your legs beneath a skirt, or your cleavage being hugged by your low shirts and dresses. but he told himself it was always okay to look if he wasn't going to do anything about it. and even if he wanted to, he knew mike would've killed him, or carmen, or tina. you sauntered your way back to the table with a round of shots and two beers. "do you have no shame, sweetheart?" he jokingly asked taking his beer into his own hand. "you tell me" you let out before throwing back a shot. he let out a chuckle, you were really something. as you threw your head back with the shot glass he made out the skin and freckles adorning on your neck beneath the dim light. he noticed how quickly you went back for seconds, and a third, until you were leaning over the table speaking to him in a hushed voice. he had downed the same amount as you had, but he was a 45 year old man who towered over you. "richie?" you spoke in a combination of a whisper and giggle, "how much do you wanna bet i can get that guy over there to get us another free round?". richie wouldn't bet a dollar that the guy wouldn't, seeing as he had his eyes glued to your ass the entire night. maybe it was the alcohol, but the guy's looming gaze felt like a god damn bee buzzing in richie's ear. and you entertaining dick's like him made it ten times worse. "god, i never took you as such a slut." he looked at you, eyebrows raised almost mockingly. your tipsy smile fell, "what the fuck, richie". you got up out of the bar stool, making a squeak against the floor and sped your way out the bar. richie took one last swing off his beer before making his way after you. he found you in back of the bar, only illuminated by the yellowish street lamp a few feet away. you were sniffling, crying in between small hiccups. richie kneeled down in front of you and brought his hand to cup your cheek, "you're lost, sweetie, look at you. getting drunk on weekdays and doing god knows what for a free round of drinks. it's not your fault," your tears stopped falling, entranced with how bright his eyes contrasted against the darkness surrounding you as he grabs the hem of your dress toying with it, "you've got no one to guide you, take care of you. you just need someone to take care you, huh?" his voice dripped with a condescension that made something bubble in the depths of your stomach. you nodded your head against his hand, looking at him through wet lashes, "let me help you, doll" he wiped past your tears with his rough thumb. he knew it was wrong, dirty, but he'd rather it be him than some 20 year old schmuck who would pretend to know you. richie knew you, the darkest parts of you. "can you help me, richie? please" you let out quietly. richie smiled, sickeningly sweet, as he brought his thumb down to swipe past your shiny bottom lip that was sticky with lip gloss. you felt your mouth drop open as if his finger took control of you, "poor thing, you've got no clue what to do with yourself. acting like a slut for anybody when you know who you'll come running to." his thumb entered your parted lips, you closed around him swirling your tongue around and humming against him. he let out a groan, "i'm the only one who can take care of you, okay?". you felt like you were floating, between the alcohol and richie's presence consuming you. you stared at his lips with hazy eyes and let go of his thumb with a 'pop', "kiss me" you barely whispered, "don't be rude, doll." he brought his hand down, holding you by the crevice of your neck, "richie, i need you". he roughly brought his mouth down to yours, letting it devour you. you whined into his mouth as he bit down on your lip. he detached himself, a string of saliva connecting you. he brought his hand down his face, staring at your puffy lips. he knew he was fucked.

pt 2?

[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

[thecapricunt1616]

Cherry (Richie Jerimovich one-shot)

♡ One-Shot Inspo: Cherry juice is considered an elixir of immortality most often associated with the feminine aspects of beauty, sexuality and procreation. ♡ Summary: Richie has a hard time telling Tiff about his new GF ♡ W/C: 3.0k ♡ A/N: EEEEK I hope you all like Pt. 2 of Pink Pony Club!! Sorry there's no smut but if y'all really want a pt. 3 LMK!!! heheh, hope you enjoy! ♡ Warnings for BTC: Agegap!Relationship, Angst, Swearing, Smoking Read Part 1 ♡Here♡

♡ 𝐌𝐲 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐬 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭 ♡ ➵ 𝐂𝐚𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐲 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐩𝐚𝐠𝐞 ♡ ➵ 𝘊𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘬 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 / 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘵 ♡ ➵ 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬 ♡

Richie still hadn’t told Tiffany about you. It wasn’t that he was avoiding her, as he was picking Eva up at school on Friday evening and dropping her back off on his weekends on Monday morning. Alright, maybe he was avoiding her. That was because, on his time off, you were glued to his side, he wasn’t complaining, he loved having you around. He actually was the one who assured you stayed glued to his side whenever he got out of work, he made his way to the Pink Pony and picked you up - then headed back to his.

You had met Eva at the beginning of the month, easy to say that she fell in love with you at first sight. Your jingly dangly jewelry, the pink streaks in your hair, the colorful and whimsical tattoos you had, she told Richie “Daddy, she reminds me of a carebear!” the first time you’d met which earned a giggle and an honest thank you out of you. She was such a bright, funny little girl. She was also very sweet, and knew how to get what she wanted out of her dad which you highly respected. 

He had told you about Thanksgiving friends and family night at The Bear about 2 weeks prior to when it would happen. If he was being honest with himself he thought it would be a shot in the dark that you would even say yes and want to go, but to his earnest surprise - you were over the moon excited and told him you were honored that he’d asked, and gushed about picking an outfit and how you would do your hair. This made him both excited and fucking nervous because this meant he would need to really figure out what he was going to say to Tiff when you show up.

He knew that Eva probably had said something to her, considering how she couldn’t stop asking you questions when she was in your presence and complimenting your accessories and makeup - which probably meant she was gushing about you to her mom since if the girl had one hobby it was excessive talking. She probably got that from him, that was what you always teased. But now that the day had finally arrived, he was nervous that everything would truthfully go to shit, and that he would be left with yet another huge mess that he has to clean up by himself. 

When he woke though, to hearing giggles in the kitchen and the smell of coffee, he couldn’t help but smile to himself. He had never had the pleasure of waking up in an apartment that felt like home, but since you came around you had made that a reality for him and it was one of the things that he loved most about you. He sat up, rubbing his face before standing to stretch his tight back, and pads out to the kitchen to see you demonstrating to Eva how you stain your lips and cheeks with cherry juice. She was sat on the counter and you were stood in front of her showing her how.

“See so you bite, these ones are nice and juicy so they give great lipstick” you bite the tip of the cherry “Then you rub it where you want it, but don't forget to dab it in or you’ll look like Bobo the clown” you joke and she giggled, copying you and rubbing the juice on her lips and cheeks. “Beeautiful darling!” you said in an exaggerated french accent causing her to laugh even more.

“Lipstick huh?” Richie comes up and hugs you from behind, taking the cherry from between your fingers and rubbing some on his lips “how does daddy look mm?” He makes a kissy face 

“Beautiful daddy!” Eva tried her best to copy your previous accent “pixie promised she’d let me wear real lipgloss to dinner, right pixie stick?” She said and you gasp playfully, poking her belly 

“No! I said if daddy says that it’s ok, I will let you wear my clear lipgloss.” You told her and gave Richie a sweet peck before turning and grabbing one of the old mugs from The Beef and pour some steaming black coffee in it before handing it over to him. 

“Well if it’s clear then I guess It should be ok, thank you sweets” he took the cup gratefully and kissed the top of your head before sitting at the table with one of his little old man sighs. “She eat?” He asks and you nod. 

“Of course- she had toast and eggs. I didn’t wanna wake you she was up around 5, she’s an early bird. Hey Eva, how about we go get your shower all done so you can play until it’s time to get ready, do you want me to help you get it set up?” You asked and she nods 

“Can I use your pretty soap?” She asked and you giggle a bit, lifting her off the counter on to your hip and carrying her to the bathroom 

“Of course little princess, you can even use my special sugar scrub that matches mm?” You set her down on the floor carefully and started the shower for her, grabbing her a towel from the linen closet, and play clothes from her bedroom and setting it down on the bathroom counter. You made sure to check the temperature for her to assure it wasn’t too hot before ruffling her hair playfully “call daddy if you need help ok?” You remind her and she agrees with a hum as you shut the door behind you. 

“Y’good at the whole step mom thing” Richie says from the couch where he was now watching the news. You smiled a bit, walking over and taking his cup, setting it on the coffee table before straddling his lap and wrapping your arms loosely around the back of his neck. 

“Am I?” You gently rubbed the spiky short hair at the back of his neck and he rested his face in the crook of your neck, kissing the skin there gently. 

“Y’good for er’, really good.” He mumbled, wrapping his arms around your back and hands trailing down to squeeze your ass in your little black sofee shorts he loved so much. 

“You’re a sweetheart. Makes sense how she’s such a sweet little girl” you kiss his temple gently. “Is her mom still coming?” You asked. You weren’t nervous, you’d had boyfriends before where their ex wives didn’t like you, although this was your first rodeo with an ex-babymom so it would you assume be a bit different. 

“She is…” he said softly, in the way that let you know his mind was definitely somewhere else. Richie wasn’t soft, he wasn’t gentle. He if anything navigated his life something akin to how a bull would navigate a fine china shop. 

“You’re nervous baby, why.” You rub his shoulder gently and he shrugs a bit. 

“Eva’s been happy lately and Tiff…she has a tendency to freak out. I just…our custody agreement. I worry that she would use it against me if she doesn’t like who I’m dating and you’re the first girl I’ve gone steady with since the divorce.” He tugged your hips closer to his and you settled comfortably over him. 

“And you aren’t on drugs, you’re mentally stable, you have a nice apartment, you have a car. You are in a loving relationship, anyone around us can contest to how much we love eachother right baby?” You gently kiss over his face in the way that made him smile and blush, his pretty eyes fluttering shut. He always reminded you of a teenager when he did that. 

“Yeah, yeah. But guys aren’t favored as highly in the family court and all that bullshit. I know we’re both providing a fuckin stable loving home er whatever they call it. An’ she loves you, and you love her, and we’re one big fuckin happy family - but tiff can go and rip that up and just say- just-“ he sighed as you kiss the sweet spot on his neck, losing his train of thought. 

“What. That I’m a whore? I can show them my real estate portfolio. I own half of the club, they can’t prove I dance, baby.” You cup his cheek and plant a gentle kiss on his lips as you heard the water cut. “Eva is almost 10, baby. Shes gonna legally have her opinion soon enough on who she can live with. We just have to stick it through, yeah?” You kiss his forehead and he sighed, nuzzling his face between your breasts and breathing in your perfume. 

“Promise” he hummed into your skin and planted a sweet kiss on the skin as Eva loudly calls 

“DADDY!!! PIXIE FORGOT MY PANTIES I NEED PANTIES CLOSE YOUR EYES!!” At the top of her little lungs, causing you both to laugh. You got up, padding to her bedroom and grabbing a pair with Bluey on them and going back, knocking on the door gently 

“Sorry! Sorry pipsqueak! My eyes are closed daddy’s eyes are closed I got your panties can I chuck em’ to ya?” You giggled amusedly, covering your eyes with your hand and Richie does the same, chuckling to himself as he blindly sips his coffee. 

“Pixie! I can’t believe you forgot my PANTIES!” She squeaks dramatically, quickly opening the door, ripping the panties out of your hand and shutting the door quickly once again, clicking the lock which makes you giggle even harder at the thought a 7 year old needed ‘privacy’ 

“I know! Worst best friend ever EJ” you teased, a name only you gave her and she loved it. She said other girls in her grade didn’t have ‘letter names’ but the boys did, so she liked that she had a letter nickname. 

You sat back on the couch, shaking your head as you sip your morning smoothie “that one is a little you, a little girl Richard” you teased with a smirk and he nudged you with his knee jokingly. 

“Y’know she uh…” he rubs his nose “she asked t’be called EJ at school. Her ma was askin’ why. Another reason why I’m uh…nervous I guess” he admits, staring into his cup of black now lukewarm coffee as the weatherman goes on about todays high would be 42 and raining all day long. 

“She did” you look into your cup of ice coffee, the dribbles of condensation running down the glass. You swallowed thickly her mother likely didn’t approve. To which he confirmed that theory by explaining 

“Tiff asked if i was uh…” he chuckled “with all that woke non-binary shit. And that I was turning her into a tomboy and that it’s uh..not what it was when we were young. And that girls have to be girls, now. So..she got all pissed and said we gotta get her outta that.” He said and you swallow thickly. You had trans and nonbinary friends, so the thought of his ex wife not being accepting was a stab to the gut. And you knew her biases were strong if she was simply hounding on a name? You knew that she was not an accepting person. 

“Wow…uh…no she can have any name she wants, honey. I know you believe that cause’a’how your dad controlled you. Tell me you won’t force her to be who her mom wants her to be” you look him square in the eye. He swallows thickly, nodding simply and taking your hand, squeezing it gently as Eva comes out of the bathroom. 

“Nice to have panties pixie stick!” She chides, causing you to giggle. 

“A tiny Richard” you said gently and poked his cheek gently. It was a day of playing, and giggling, and reading books- until it was finally time to get ready for the night out. Richie put on his black work suit per usual, a handsome tie that you knew he’d be using to tie your wrists behind your back later when Tiff took Eva for her week long stint. 

You wore a babydoll, long sleeve dress, it was cream colored. It was also adorned with sage green floral patterns, and had puffy sleeves. You wore a beautiful sage bow, tying back your hair and simple makeup. Eva and you were wearing matching lipgloss, which by her attitude gave her all the attitude and confidence in the world. “Let’s do our affirmations, EJ” you told her, gently stroking her little arms and meeting her gaze in the mirror. She smiled proudly and nodded 

“I am beautiful, I am smart, I am strong, I am worthy, I am capable, I am able to do hard things, I am creative, and I lead my life with love and kindness” she repeats your mantra, while looking herself in the eyes and you smile proudly.  

“That’s right pretty girl, my pretty capable smart worthy kind girl” you kiss the top of her head proudly. “Now, do you want…” you dig around your purse and pull out the travel size Marc Jacob’s perfume you got for her with a kind smile “a fancy girl perfume?” You ask her and she gasped like you’d hung the moon on a string, taking it from you and looking at it closely. 

“Pixie!!” She said excitedly, spritzing it on her wrist and neck like she’d seen you do so many times before and dabbing her wrist to her neck to dry them down. “I smell like a lady! A real fancy lady!!” She said excitedly and jumps up and down in her little Mary Jane heels she had begged Richie to buy her. You laughed a bit, nodding happily and adjusting the little curls you’d made in her hair with a hot curing iron. 

“A real fancy lady” you repeated happily. “Go show dad!” You urged as you finished putting your earrings on and she clopped off. You hear Richie gasp and her squeal as she was picked up and kissed all over her face 

“Who’s this prettiest girl? Mm?” He joked, holding her like a koala as he went back to the bathroom and stood behind you. 

“Pixie is prettiest” she said and patted your hair, causing your cheeks to rush with heat. When you got to the restaurant, you were ushered to your table with you on one side and Eva next to you, and an empty seat sitting directly across from you. You assumed that was Eva’s moms seat, you ended up being right. 

“So this is uh… my girl, Tiff.” Your head popped up, standing and extending your hand 

“Nice to meet you! Tiffany, right? You have a beautiful girl, and so smart!” You gush, hoping to land a good impression. She looked you up and down judgmentally, eying the shortness of your skirt and the low bejewled cut of your shirt, before grabbing your hand carefully like you had some kind of sickness, dropping it before turning back to Richie with a unreadable look on her face. 

“Back porch!” She ordered and walked off with her glass of wine, the back door closing behind her with a slam that made you wince. He apologizes to you with his eyes, patting your bum as he headed out behind her. 

By the time he came back with her at his side, everyone had been sat for dinner, and your and Eva’s head popped up, staring at them. “All set honey” Richie said cooly, kissing the top of your head as he made his way back to the host’s stand, cracking his knuckles nervously and standing straight ahead. 

“Mommy, Did you see Pixie sticks pretty Carebear tattoo?” she asked hopefully with a big smile, and you nudged your foot with hers gently, giving her a warning look and she looked back into her kids order of mac and cheese without another word.

“Carebear, Hmm? How old are you?” She snips

“Old enough!” you snap back with an all too polite smile. “Plenty old enough, actually. I appreciate the concern, though honey” the rest of the meal was done so in silence, until it was time for dessert, when Eva asked

“Whats tir- tira-” 

“Tiramisu?” you smiled kindly, “it’s a coffee flavored italian dessert, do you like coffee?” you asked and Tiff scoffs

“Shes seven, should she like coffee?” she asked in an annoyed tone. You held back from rolling your eyes and shrugged,

“She likes, what she likes” you gave a poker face like smile and continue eying the menu even though you knew exactly what you wanted. By the end of the night, Eva was nearly falling asleep in her seat on your shoulder, cuddling your arm. Tiffany was more then happy to scoop her up in her arms when it was time to go home, giving you a glare. She didn’t even say goodbye to Richie, he had to chase her down when she was buckling Eva into her seat. 

“Tiff- Tiffany!” He jogged up to her car and she scoffed in a disgusted tone. 

“What. What?! do you fuckin want-“ she snaps, closing Eva’s door a little too hard that caused her to wake a bit startled and pay attention to what they were saying. 

“What?” He asked, holding Eva’s backpack that she forgot on his arm and she frowned, snatching it from him and throwing it in the passenger side of the car

“Go sleep with your new high schooler. You fucking perv” she hissed, shoving past him to get to the drivers side and slamming the drivers door. You had come out just as he watched her peel away, fists clenching and unclenching at his sides, unsure what to do other than just watch. 

“Hey sweetheart” you hug him from behind, kissing the back of his neck. 

“W’never gonna get along.” He muttered

Fin