When Men Roll Up Their Sleeves. Ok Whore

“Ayo forever”

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Lucy Dacus about the Bear and Ayo Edebiri

I can relate

📰 | richie jerimovich x reader ; “Princess.”

🎧 -> untitled 07, kendrick lamar

info: Richie Jerimovich x Reader, no use of (y/n), reader’s nickname is princess because duh it’s cute, mention of drugs, arguing, brief mention of Mikey, brief mention of a sexual relationship, Richie just wants what’s best for you.

summary: Richie is your dealer, and also a pretty good lay. But recently he’s changed his priorities, and tries to change yours, too.

gigantic bear brainrot right now, and i was thinking about that little glimpse of dealer richie annnndd that’s sorta it! don’t like, don’t read, but the overall consensus is about recovering and breaking old habits.

i also happen to have such a soft spot for this man!!!!!! sue me!!!!!!!!!!!!! i literally wrote this in less than an hour i’m insane

Hey. You working?

Richie’s phone goes off, ironically, right when he’s on his break. Every day, he goes outside for a cigarette at the exact same time. And you know that. He knows you know that, and he also knows what you want. Of course he does. It’s always the same thing. He stopped doing this shit for a reason, but you? He’s weak. And probably stupid.

Neither of you even discuss the plan: it’s protocol at this point. Not even seconds pass, and he’s already punched in a response.

Nah. Come see me.

Minutes later, and there are footsteps approaching down the back alley, towards the door Richie lingers near. He turns to see your form approaching, watching the way you tug at the sleeves of your sweater, likely much too thin to truly combat the cold. With how hasty you’d been, Richie suspects you’d already been nearby. Likely around the corner, just waiting for the go ahead.

It’s been a few weeks since he last saw you, though Richie knew why. Because he didn’t do this shit anymore. To reach out again, you must’ve been desperate. He could work with that.

“Princess.” He greets, nursing a lit cigarette between sharp teeth.

You’re sighing, a look of exasperation on that pretty little face. A mix of relief, and discomfort, at being out in this weather. “You’re my saviour, you know that, right?”

Richie scoffs, already approaching. Closing the gap between you two. “Find that one hard to believe.” He mutters.

As usual, you move in to intrude on Richie’s space, tucking yourself against his side. The biting Chicago winter urges you closer, as he’s somehow warm, though Richie is always warm. One hand ashes his cigarette onto the concrete, and the ofher arm wraps around you, hand cupping the ass of your jeans, thumb tracing the pocket seam.

Laying there is a wad of cash, he can feel the outline faintly under the thick fabric. But he doesn’t take it. Nor does he replace it with anything, despite what you’d been expecting, what he’d agreed to. This routine you’d built up, an unspoken process.

You shift away slightly, looking up at the taller man with furrowed brows. His hand shifts higher, finding its place against your side, holding onto your hip.

“What gives?” You ask, trying to decipher that unreadable look on Richie’s face. For a man so expressive, you were lost on an interpretation in this moment. He wouldn’t even look at you, squinting at some unknown spot in the alley.

Then his head starts shaking, a disapproving look forming, before the words follow. “Sure you don’t want some dope instead?”

“If I wanted dope, I would have asked for it.” You retort. The words were sharp with intent, slightly irritated.

Richie tries harder to convince you, finding that would be easier than outright admitting his concern. “Come on. You haven’t thought about making the switch?” He muses as if it were obvious, taking a long drag from his cigarette. That hand is still on your side.

You roll your eyes. “To what? Being miserable and a fucking downer?”

“No.” Richie rolls his eyes. “To going, I dunno.. natural, or whatever.”

This gets no response, and Richie finally glances down at you. You look confused, but mostly pissed. Definitely some form of agitated.

“Weed and shrooms.” He clarifies with a shrug.

“Are you serious?” You’re snapping at him, finally stepping back a little, out of his hold. “As if you even have shrooms.”

“I could get them if you wanted. Gotta be better than that other shit.”

“Fuck! You’ve gotta be the world’s worst dealer.” You utter, running a hand through your hair and looking off into the distance.

Before he can get a word in, you begin venting, letting that frustration bubble up. “Y’know, if I wanted a lecture, I’d call my parents. But you, Richie?”

So, he snaps back. Like he always does. After all, fighting is miles easier than having an actual discussion. “I dunno, princess, this ain’t fuckin’ right! I can’t do this shit to you.”

“It’s coke, Richie! Not heroin. I’ll be fine.” You urge.

He shakes his head, voice only rising with his temper, a tone most are accustomed to. “You know that’s not the fucking point.” The words have anger in them, laced with bite, intent.

And for some reason.. some, god forsaken reason, you let up.

Maybe you knew this would happen. Maybe you had the smallest, tiniest inkling that coming to Richie, of all people, was a bad idea. You knew he’d stopped dealing, for the most part. But you couldn’t blame him, not after everything that happened with Mikey. It’s not like you didn’t know him, too, but it was different.

So, you relent, pressing a hand over the crease of your brows. “Okay, okay. Just..” You can’t get out a full sentence, mind reeling with about twenty thoughts at once. The most prominent notion: you certainly weren’t getting your coke today. Not from Richie. And, frankly, you didn’t trust anyone else.

He looks down at your dejected form, jaw clenched with tension. Richie didn’t like being the bearer of bad news, by any means, and felt a pang of sympathy. In an ideal world, he’d give you anything and everything you wanted.

In an ideal world, you wouldn’t be asking.

“What’ya need it for, anyway?” He ends up inquiring, tone a tad softer, now that the hostility has simmered.

You shrug, kicking around a rock. “House party.”

Richie nods, getting a vague idea of what was happening. It was for later. That was good.

“Then how ‘bout.. you come over to mine,” He suggested, “We smoke up instead.”

It wasn’t an unfamiliar request, but any means. You’d spent many nights in his apartment. It was lonely and derelict, as most days, he didn’t have his daughter around. Sometimes things escalated. By all means, Richie was certainly a good fuck, if anything. But you were messy, complicated, not someone that stuck around for long. Richie understood that, as he wasn’t looking to settle down, either. Not with someone like you. At least, that’s what he told himself.

“Already bought the beer, Rich.” You justify, giving a minor resistance towards the idea.

Of course, he has a solution for everything. “Bring it.”

You nod along, the slightest of smirks appearing on those plump lips. It was clear as day, a physical indicator that you were fucking weak for anything he suggested. “So you’re denying me product, and you’re gonna drink my beer?”

“Yeah, but the weed is free.” Richie offered, a grin beginning to form, purely because he was getting what he wanted.

There’s a low whistle, sucking the air from between your teeth. It’s cold out, and you’d rather get home, given this was supposed to be a quick pick-up. The thought of spending a night over at a Richie’s place was incredibly tempting, given you hadn’t seen him much lately. He’d been pulling away, which was understandable. You weren’t exactly the healthiest to be around.

“M’kay, weirdo.” You agree, looking away to avoid spotting how purely happy that makes Richie. Deep down, you know he’s genuinely pleased with himself, not just for getting you to come over, but to abandon the drug altogether, even if just for a night. He’s fixing you, making you a better person, which you really fucking hate.

He throws the cigarette to the ground, stomping on its ashy remains. “See? What a good fuckin’ girl you can be. Just gotta use that pretty little head more.”

To emphasise his point, Richie cups the top of your head, fingers disrupting the part of your hair. His hands are huge, for the most part, covering the expanse of your skull. It prompts you to swat it away with a displeased grunt.

“Don’t push it, asshole.” You warn, already trying to fix your hair. Before he can cause any more damage, you’re turning on your heel, eager to escape the cold.

“10pm. Don’t be late, princess.” Richie calls out to your retreating form, watching the semi-enthusiastic thumbs up you flash him in return.

Feeling pretty goddamn successful, he gets back to work.

renting crisis, part one. richie jerimovich x reader.

summary: in a last ditch attempt to save you both from the rising cost of rent and the loneliness you feel following mikey’s death, richie asks you to move in with him. a complicated relationship between you ensues.

a/n. first post ever. hopefully more to come soon 💌

slow burn, but not that slow.

————————————————————————

the beef - may, 2022

————————————————————————

you’re sitting at a table, counting tips, looking exhausted. richie leans against the counter, watching you. he’s trying to play it cool, but it’s obvious he’s been thinking about something.

“yo.”

“what, rich?” you respond, without looking up.

he kisses his teeth. “you still getting fucked on rent?”

you scoff, rubbing your eyes. “what do you think?”

richie’s silent for a moment before he speaks up. “i think… i got a couch,” you finally look up at him, squinting, trying to figure out if he’s serious.

“yeah, so do i. what’s your point?”

shrugging, real casual, he continues. “i dunno. just saying. i got space. spare room. wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if you, you know, crashed there for a while.”

you raise an eyebrow. “and why would i do that?”

richie mocks offence, hand over his heart like he’s just been shot. “jesus christ, i make one nice offer and you act like i just asked you to fucking marry me.”

“you’re not nice.”

“i can be.” he retorts, grinning.

you study him for a long beat. he won’t look at you and continues to pretend to wipe down the counter, like it’s no big deal. but it is. and you know it.

you nod softly. “okay.”

richie glances up, surprised you actually said yes. he covers it with a shrug.

“yeah?”

smiling back, you bite your bottom lip. “yeah. but if you piss me off, i’m keying your fuckin’ car.”

he grins, clapping his hands together. “ahhh, there she is!”

you both smirk at each other. it’s not sentimental, it’s not dramatic—it’s just two people who work in a shit hole finding a way to make it a little easier.

————————————————————————

richie’s apartment - a week later

————————————————————————

the apartment is small but decent. lived-in. you lean on the couch, folding laundry that definitely isn’t yours. richie walks in, stops, and frowns.

“uh, what the fuck is this?”

you don’t bother looking up. “your clean underwear. you’re welcome.”

he groans like you just kicked him in the balls. “i don’t need you touching my fucking boxers.”

“trust me, i don’t want to. but if i didn’t do it, you’d be freeballin’ at work in two days.” you deadpan.

grumbling, he sits next to you on the arm of the couch. “not the worst thing in the world.”

“you are disgusting.”

richie, now grinning, kicks his feet up. “yeah, yeah. you done hogging the tv? i wanna put the game on.”

quickly, you snatch up the remote, hugging it close to your chest. “i’m watching the vampire diaries.”

“are you fucking serious?” he groans.

“yup.”

the two of you bicker for another minute, but it’s easy, it’s comfortable. neither of you say it, but it’s nice not being alone.

————————————————————————

the apartment - june, 2022

————————————————————————

you walk into the kitchen, still half-asleep, wearing sweatpants and a hoodie that is definitely not yours—it’s one of richie’s old bulls hoodies. richie is at the counter, eating straight out of a cereal box. je does a double take when he sees you

“yo, is that my hoodie?”

you grab a mug, yawning. “might be.”

richie throws his arms in the air. “you can’t just steal my shit, dude.”

“i absolutely can.” you retort as you pour your coffee.

he snorts. “nah, see, this is why roommates don’t work out. this is how wars start.”

you take a sip of your beverage, then flip him off without looking. richie sighs, throwing a handful of cereal at you. you dodge it.

“you’re a fucking child.” your insult doesn’t land and the man in front of you just rolls his eyes.

“yeah, and?”

beat. you eye the cereal box in his hand.

“that better not be my fucking cocoa puffs.”

richie lets out a laugh, his mouth full. “it’s our cocoa puffs now.”

you glare at him, then lunge for the box. you wrestle for it like literal children until richie finally lets go, sending you stumbling back. you hold the box triumphantly, out of breath.

“that’s what i fucking thought.”

he shakes his head, shaking with laughter. “you’re the fuckin’ worst.”

you shake your head back, mockingly. “nah, you are.”

you share a grin. it’s dumb, but it’s fun.

————————————————————————

the apartment - july, 2022

————————————————————————

more comfortable in your new living situation, you sit at the kitchen table, scribbling furiously on a piece of paper. richie walks in, downing a beer, eyebrows raised.

“oh no. what the fuck is this?”

once again, you don’t look up. “house rules.”

he snorts. “what is this, fuckin’ summer camp?”

ignoring him, you read out loud. “rule #1: if you leave dishes in the sink, i will kill you.”

dramatic.

“rule #2: no watching porn in the living room.”

richie furrows his eyebrows, the crease between them becoming more apparent by the second. “woah, woah. i don’t—,”

pointing at him, you avoid eye contact. “i don’t want to know.”

he rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, raising his other hand in surrender.

fair.

you clear your throat, continuing.

“rule #3: If you eat my food, you replace my food.”

“you’re never gonna let the cocoa puffs thing go, huh?” he quips.

sneering, you tilt your head in a sarcastic manner. “not in this lifetime, asshole.”

richie snatches the paper from her, looking it over. you roll your eyes, snatching it back. he sits across from you, menacingly.

“you know, i kinda dig this.”

immediate confusion.

“the rules?”

shrugging, he picked at the label on his beer bottle. “nah, just… this. you here. dunno.”

you peer up at him through your lashes. it’s the closest thing to sincere richie’s ever been. you just nod, hiding a small smile.

“yeah.”

you don’t say anything else. he just sips his drink. you wring your hands together.

————————————————————————

the beef - august, 2022

————————————————————————

this time, you’re behind the counter, dealing with a customer who is very much testing your patience.

the horrible man grumbles, pointing at the menu behind you with a waggly finger.

“i don't get why you don't have more options.”

you force a smile, feeling yourself beginning to slowly die on the inside. “because it's a sandwich shop.”

the cunt across from you doesn’t miss a beat. “yeah, well, that’s stupid.”

dryly, you lean forward on your elbows. “i'll let corporate know.”

he scoffs at you. the nerve. “you got a real attitude problem, you know that?”

fuck you. you think, but you don’t have to say it because before you can, richie appears beside you. he grins, but there’s nothing friendly about it.

“you got a problem with her?”

the customer blinks, taken aback. “i didn't say that.”

"i-i didn't say that.” richie mocks. “shut the fuck up. you don't like the menu? go somewhere else.”

the man splutters. turning red.

“excuse me-,”

your coworker-turned-roommate drops his smile, eyes dangerous. “no, excuse me. get the fuck outta here.”

the customer glares, but ultimately backs off, mumbling something under his breath as he leaves. richie watches him go, then turns back to you, who's just staring at him.

you blink slowly. “jesus, rich.”

but he only shrugs, walking off. “what?”

“fuckin’ psycho.” you say to yourself, shaking your head. you turn back to the register, biting back a small smile as you move on to the next customer.

————————————————————————

the apartment - september, 2022

————————————————————————

the apartment is dimly lit, mostly by the glow of the tv. richie is on the couch, flipping through channels with another beer in hand. you’re is in the kitchen, rinsing out a glass, moving slower than usual. you’ve been quiet all night. though richie doesn’t think much of it—until he hears a quiet sniffle. he barely turns his head.

he’s casual, not even looking away from the screen. “yo, you sick or some shit?”

silence. then, another sniffle. he frowns, finally turning to look at you. you’re standing at the sink, hands gripping the edge of the counter, your shoulders tense. he sees the slight shake in your back.

fuck. she’s crying. he thinks.

richie sits up, his voice softer now. “hey.”

you quickly wipes her eyes and turn your back more, like you’re trying to hide. you let out a breath, trying to play it off.

“it’s nothing.”

he throws his arm down the side of the couch, searching for the remote. “yeah, alright. you’re just standing there crying ‘cause of nothing.”

you exhale through your nose, frustrated, but your voice betrays you, wobbling.

“i don’t fuckin’ cry.”

richie tilts his head, tone dry as he finally pauses the tv. “yeah? what’s that, then?”

you huff a laugh, but it’s weak. you shake your head, rubbing at your face aggressively like you’re trying to scrub the emotion off. he watches you for a second, then gets up, walking over.

leaning against the counter next to you, close but not too close, he breaks the silence again.

“it’s fine, y’know.”

you mutter out a small “no, it’s fuckin’ not.”

“yeah, it is. you live here, don’t you?”

you sniff again, looking down at the counter. richie reaches past you and grabs the roll of paper towels, tearing one off and handing it to you. you take it, still not looking at him, dabbing your face.

the man next to you clears his throat. “you wanna talk about it or what?”

you swallow, staring at the sink. your voice is small when you speak.

“…don’t know.”

richie nods, like that’s a perfectly fine answer. he doesn’t push. instead, he nudges your arm lightly, pulling a shitty little joke out of his pocket.

“just don’t go getting snot all over my counter, alright? i keep this place immaculate.”

an actual laugh escapes you—quiet, but real. you shake your head again, eyes still wet, but there’s something lighter in your face. he smirks, nudging you again. “that’s better.”

you both stand there in silence for a few seconds. then, richie pushes off the counter and grabs another beer from the fridge.

he holds it up toward you in question.

“beer?”

you exhales and nod.

“yeah.”

he tosses it to you. you catch it, finally looking at him. he just shrugs, like this never happened. you pop the cap and take a sip.

then you go back to the couch, richie flipping the channels like normal. like it’s just another night.

————————————————————————

the apartment - november, 2022

————————————————————————

it starts small. at first, it’s just convenience. you’re on your laptop in the living room, but richie’s watching something loud and stupid on tv. so you roll your eyes, pick up your laptop, and disappear into your room.

no big deal, right?

then, one night, richie’s door is open, and he’s lying on his bed, scrolling through his phone. you pass by, stop, and lean in the doorway.

“what are you doing?”

he doesn’t bother looking up. “bein’ fucking awesome, obviously.”

“mm. looks like you’re laying there like a loser.”

he scoffs, still not looking up. he scoots over slightly, making just enough space on the bed without actually saying anything. you don’t hesitate—you flop down next to him, on your stomach, scrolling through your own phone.

you don’t talk, just sit there in comfortable silence. blue light bouncing off your faves.

a few days later, richie’s walking past your room, and your door is cracked open. you’re lying on your side, curled up, watching something on your computer.

he stops. “what’s this?”

“a fucking movie, richard.”

he grumbles at your reaction. “no shit. what’s it about?”

“it’s french. you wouldn’t get it.”

richie pretends to be offended, letting his jaw drop. “‘scuse the fuck outta me?”

you smile, but then—you scoots over a little, thinking of when he did the same before. just a little. an unspoken offer. your roommate leans against the doorframe for a second, then shrugs and walks in, falling onto the bed next to you.

“alright, let’s see what kinda pretentious shit you’re into.”

then it just becomes a thing. you don’t say anything about it, but richie’s room stops being just richie’s room. yours stops being just yours. there’s no boundaries anymore—not in a weird way, just in a roommate way. in a ‘we live together and we’re comfortable way.’

you’ll be half-asleep in your bed, and richie’ll walk in and steal one of your hoodies off the chair like it belongs to him.

richie’ll be laying in his bed and you’ll wander in, sit on the floor, and scroll through your phone without saying anything.

neither of you question it anymore.

one night in particular, richie’s lying in bed, doing god knows what, and you walk in without knocking. you’ve got a beer in your hand and toss it to him without looking.

he catches it and cracks it open.

“you’re gettin’ real comfortable in my room, lady.”

not knowing what to say, you shrug, flopping down next to him. “yeah, well. It’s better than mine.”

he gives you a look, taking a sip of his beer. “your room is the exact same as this one.”

“yours has better vibes.”

he snorts. “oh, fuck off.”

you laugh, nudging him with your knee. richie rolls his eyes but smirks. you sit there, drinking in silence, the radio playing some dumb late-night talk-show in the background. and it’s fine.

neither of you say it, but—it’s kinda nice, not feeling alone all the time.

————————————————————————

the beef - february, 2023

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it’s a slow part of the day, that weird in-between where nothing really happens. you’re leaning against the lockers, sipping a coke, and richie’s bullshitting about something stupid.

sugar enters from the office, she had been around a lot lately because carmy was trying to convince her to renovate ‘the beef’ into… you didn’t even want to know.

her eyes eventually land on the two of you as she greets you both with a smile. “wow. you two are really attached at the hip these days, huh?”

you snorts, taking another sip of your coke.

richie just raises an eyebrow. “what the fuck does that mean?”

sugar sends you a knowing look.

“it means every time i come in here, you two are either flirting, arguing, or just—existing in the same place. it’s kinda strange.”

you angle your head away from richie to hide the growing blush on your cheeks. “thank you, natalie.

she eyes you both, unimpressed. then, she crosses her arms and tilts her head slightly.

“i’m just saying. it’s kinda funny. you guys live together, you work together—.”

richie interjects. “oh my god, is there a point to this?”

sugar only laughs.

i mean, it’s cute guys. like a little old married couple. mikey would prob—,”

you and richie both react at the same time.

“what the fuck—,”

“shut the fuck up.”

tina laughs from somewhere in the kitchen, obviously enjoying the show. sugar just smiles, like she’s oblivious to what she’s doing.

“i think it’s sweet, you guys! you take care of each other.”

richie scoffs, but he doesn’t have a real comeback. he just shifts on his feet and mutters “yeah, well, fuck off.”

she raises her hands in surrender, still smiling innocently, and walks off. you shake your head, downing the last of your drink before setting the can down with a clink. you look over at richie, who’s still scowling like he’s been personally insulted.

“you’re being so weird right now.”

“you’re being so weird right now.” he retorts, like a six-year old.

you roll your eyes, but there’s something in richie’s face—just for a second, something small and unspoken. neither of you acknowledge it.

instead, you nudge him with your elbow and walk off, and he watches you go for half a second longer than he should.

————————————————————————

the apartment - march, 2023

————————————————————————

the soft glow of the lamp lights the room, casting a warm, intimate glow. you’re lying on your back, the blankets scattered around you. richie is beside you, propped up on one arm, his other hand resting casually on the bed.

you two of you talk, but your words are light, almost nonsensical—just enjoying the simplicity of the conversation.

your faces are close, so close that it feels natural to hear each other’s breath and feel the warmth between them.

you laugh softly, pulling a drag from your cigarette and handing it back over.

“do you think… if we had an actual pet, we’d be good at taking care of it?”

richie chuckles, amused by the randomness of the question. “like a goldfish?”

“yeah, like a goldfish. what if we killed it by accident? i feel like we’d be those people who forget to feed it and then, like, find it floating in the tank.”

he laughs, his eyes sparkling with humour. “i dunno, i think we’d be fine. i mean, i could always blame you. you’re the one who’d forget.”

you playfully swat at him, but you’re smiling, your eyes soft and full of affection.

“right, blame me, huh? we both know i’m probably the responsible one between the two of us.”

richie pulls a very serious face, his lips fighting the urge to curve into a smile. “oh yeah? well, last time i checked, i was the one who made sure we had food last night.”

“pizza doesn’t count as ‘responsibility,’ rich.”

he smirks, and just then you realise how his face is only inches from yours.

“hey, that was a survival tactic. you’re welcome, sweetheart.”

you’re quiet for a moment, the air between you comfortable.

turning your head just slightly, you meet his eyes with a softness that says more than words ever could. richie’s face softens, too. there’s a brief beat of complete silence before he leans in, his nose brushing against yours lightly.

“is this the part where we get all deep and talk about our feelings or…?”

you laugh nervously at his words.

————————————————————————

💌

Verified Lover

Track 1 - Blue Check Heart

Carmen "Carmy" Berzatto x Orginal Character

Carmy gets his blue checkmark on Instagram and immediately breaks Natalie's 'rules'.

The Bear MasterList

Directory

Carmy was in the office, absent-mindedly scrolling through his email when he saw confirmation from Instagram. After an initial wave of confusion, he read it to see his account had been ‘verified’ - whatever that meant. His eyes skimmed the body of the email before going back into the kitchen to see Natalie on her laptop at one of the free stations.

“Hey, Bear.” she smiled when she noticed Carmy approaching her.

“Yo. What does being verified on Instagram mean?” Carmy asked as he pushed his hands into his pocket, peering over her shoulder to look at the spreadsheet Natalie had been working on.

Natalie laughed, “How is it that a 26-year-old doesn’t know what being verified on Instagram means?”

Carmy rolled his eyes, “Sugar. What does it mean?” 

“It just means you are who you say you are and that your account has some perks. I verified your, Syd's, and The Bear’s official accounts. In theory, having The Bear verified means it’ll be easier to get bigger names to come to The Bear.” Natalie explained without looking up from her screen.

“Got it.” Carmy nodded and began to walk away.

“Also, be careful with what you like. We don’t want our head chef looking like a pervert or overly politically charged—just be normal. People can see what you like and comment on,” Natalie warned. Carmy waved off the comment. He only followed 20 accounts, and most of them were fellow chefs. 

~

Later in the day, Carmy couldn’t help but notice two of the college-age bartenders doing some synchronized dance behind the bar. Carmy watched for a moment before one of them noticed and immediately stopped before shyly looking away. The other noticed her stop, looked over, and saw Carmy standing by the kitchen door watching them. “Sorry, Chef Carmen…” she said, taking her phone from where it had been propped and shoving it in her back pocket.

“Why is my staff dancin’?” he asked as he approached the bar.

“Lola Lousie put out a new song, and the dance is fun.” one of the girls explained. Based on Carmy’s face, the other jumped in, explaining that it was the ‘hot-girl summer I publicly dumped my lying cheating ass hole boyfriend’ anthem. Carmy nodded, still confused about the entire thing.

“Prep work done?” he questioned. 

“Yes, Chef Carmen,” they answered in unison. Carmy nodded and walked back to the kitchen. As the shift passed, Carmy kept hearing the name ‘Lola Louise’ and how ‘iconic’ her new song and video were. Carmy ignored the chatter and focused on cooking. 

~

Lola Lousie, the topic the waitstaff couldn’t drop. Carmy could ignore it until one of the waitresses held up Richie, talking about her new Instagram post. He threatened to ban the topic if it continued to be distracting. 

Curiosity killed the cat. That night, in bed, Carmy found himself scrolling through Instagram when he finally tapped the search button and found himself on Lola Lousie’s account. Carmy inhaled deeply. She was gorgeous. She had long, silky brown hair with dazzling emerald green eyes. Her soft, pillowy, plump lips were sculpted in the most endearing, playful pout. He swiped through her feed and became more intrigued by this woman. He scrolled through selfies and magazine covers. He chuckled when he saw a picture of a German Shepard with lopsided ears ‘wearing’ a pair of Prada sunglasses captioned ‘I thought boys didn’t steal their mom’s clothes... I stand corrected.’

When Carmy got to the original dance video, his bartenders had been trying to copy he couldn’t help but feel like a bit of a creep. He understood how the song was a ‘hot girl summer I publicly dumped my lying cheating asshole boyfriend’ anthem but watching Lola Lousie move the way she did made his pants feel a little tighter. Pop music wasn’t his thing but the girls were right. He could see how a song like that could be considered ‘iconic’. He liked a couple posts before tossing his phone to the side and calling it a night. 

~

“Oh my god! Oh my god! Oh my god!” Natalie scolded as she entered the office that morning. She hit Carmy’s shoulder with each ‘oh my god’. Carmy removed a headphone and blocked her hits.

“Sugar- what the fuck?!” he exclaimed as he pushed back from his desk and rolled back to create some space between him and his sister. 

“Carmen Anothny Berzatto. I told you to be normal on Instagram, and what do you do the first day after being verified? Like six posts from some pop star that she posted over a year ago! Now you’re on a fuckin’ gossip page!” Natalie scolded, reaching over to hit his bicep. Carmy grabbed her wrists and scowled at her.

“Will you stop fuckin’ hittin’ me?! What the hell are you even talkin’ about?” Carmy challenged as he dropped her wrists, pushing her back gently. Natalie rolled her eyes and dug for her phone.

“Michelin star chef Carmen “Carmy” Berzatto, LoLou’s next boy toy? Screenshots below.” she read from her phone before flipping it to show Carmy. “Carmy. I do not need you going around Instagram liking girls’ thirst taps- EVERYONE can see what you’re doing!” Natalie huffed before stomping out of the office, muttering something about Claire.

Carmy rolled his eyes at Claire's mention and leaned back in his chair, pushing his hands through his hair before pulling his phone from his pocket. “You never even liked your damn girlfriend’s posts, Carmen!” Natalie yelled from the kitchen, still frustrated with him.

Carmy sighed before he yelled back, “She wasn’t my girlfriend.” he got up from his chair and frustratedly closed the door to the office. “She wasn’t my fuckin’ girlfriend… just my friend who happened to be a girl…” he muttered as he sat down in his chair again. He unlocked his phone and saw an influx of notifications on Instagram. None of them were particularly interesting. All he’d done was like a few Instagram pictures, but it had turned into this mess. He rolled his eyes as he cleared the notifications, but one stuck out.  @ LoLou sent you a message request

“Any open tables tonight, handsome? I’d love to taste your food… or something like that.”

“Oh shit…” Carmy mumbled to himself, what did he get himself into?

you know I had to do one for richie

It’s always the most insufferably shallow men who harp on about the “male loneliness epidemic” u could never understand the depth of loneliness experienced by traumatized mentally ill young women who are late bloomers watching all their friends grow up and move on while they rot alone trying to make sense of the fact that they’re still alive

"what a nerd lol" i said with barely controlled lust

hardcore porn: massaging his scalp until he falls asleep in my arms

Chelsy Sun & Iwia

i was born to be a lesbian’s housewife