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shebunie · 5 months

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Can you do Mizu x British fem reader? So what happens is that mizu and reader got together (romantically) when they were back at London but whens mizu done with her quest she's goes back to Japan but with the reader. Reader and mizu goes to see everyone/friends that they know and their shocked (or you can choose depending on the person/character) that Mizu brought the reader also Mizu is very protective of reader and you continue off that if you want! Also can you do some lime to? 🤭

𝐒𝐜𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐒𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝗠𝗶𝘇𝘂 𝘅 𝗕𝗿𝗶𝘁𝗶𝘀𝗵!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝗧𝗮𝗶𝗴𝗲𝗻. 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁'𝘀 𝗶𝘁, 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝘀𝘂𝗴𝗴𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝘃𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗲𝘀 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟮.𝟳𝗸 𝐀/𝐍: 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗾𝘂𝗶𝘁𝗲 𝗹𝗲𝗻𝗴𝘁𝗵𝘆, 𝗜 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝗜 𝘄𝗮𝘀 𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗲𝗻𝘃𝗶𝘀𝗶𝗼𝗻 𝗶𝘁. 𝗥𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗼 𝗺𝘆 𝗯𝗼𝘆 𝘀𝗼 𝗰𝘂𝘁𝗲

"Spring is nearly at its bloom," Mizu remarked, her voice carrying a hint of nostalgia as both of you strolled through the bustling streets of Kyoto. The cherry blossoms were in full bloom, casting a delicate pink hue over the city.

"The beauty of Kyoto in spring is truly something special," The sword wielder continued, her fingers lightly tracing the petals of cherry blossom as you passed by. "Each year, it feels like a renewal, a fresh start."

“You’ve always told me stories about its beauty but witnessing it in person, truly you did not give this sight justice with your words.” you teased the swordswoman, The air was filled with the sweet fragrance of the blossoms, and the distant sound of a shakuhachi flute added a melodic touch to the atmosphere.

Mizu giggled, her eyes sparkling with a mix of amusement and affection. "Perhaps, some things are better experienced than described." She glanced at you, her hand finding yours as she led you through the vibrant streets.

As you continued your leisurely walk through the streets, the blue-eyed warrior’s thoughts seemed to drift momentarily, a subtle melancholy shadow passing across her face. The journey she had embarked on, seeking vengeance for the discrimination she had to endure, had been long and arduous. But now, with the vendetta behind her, a new chapter awaited.

"There's a place I want to take you," she said mysteriously, her eyes regaining their usual determination. As you continued your stroll, the two of you reached the outskirts of Kyoto, heading towards Kohama. Mizu's steps became more deliberate, a mixture of anticipation and a tinge of hesitation in her demeanour.

Sandals shifted on the dirt path, eyes as vibrant as the morning sky after early morning passed and looked down to that small little house. A sense of warmth, comfort, and familiarity washed through her as both of you slowly walked down the steep hill, Mizu gently lending a hand for your safety. Eventually, you arrived at the cabin, Mizu exhaled deeply as she approached the home with her hand tightly wrapped around the strings of her hat.

“I’m sure they’d be delighted to see you back alive, Mizu” you assured her, fingers tracing along the lines of her calloused hand. She nodded, a mixture of gratitude and apprehension in her gaze. The memories of this place were both tender and bittersweet.

She need not have to practice her words. Swordfather consistently extended a warm welcome, contrary to the doubts that lingered in the recesses of her mind. Nevertheless, she couldn't shake off a peculiar sense of obligation to Ringo.

The door to the cabin opened hastily, revealing a tall yet chubby man, head wrapped with white fabric their eyes widened in surprise and then quickly filled with joy as they saw Mizu standing there.

“Mizu!” The large man, who unexpectedly embraced her and hoisted her off the ground, exclaimed with joy, "You're back! A-And alive!" Ringo squeezed Mizu so tightly that the pain from her healing bones and wounds shot through her, though she was relieved not to feel indebted to him anymore. She grunted in response.

“If… you don't put me down, n- neither of us will be," she warned, gritting her teeth. Ringo chuckled heartily, finally setting Mizu down but kept his stubs on her shoulders, as if making sure she was real and not just a figment of his imagination. Mizu couldn't help but grin at his exuberance, appreciating the genuine warmth that emanated from him.

Ringo’s eyes wandered to the figure beside his master, there you stood, with a soft smile on your painted lips, eyes emitting a gentle glimmer. “You brought a girl! - A pretty girl.”

You chuckled at Ringo's enthusiastic remark, recognizing the jovial tone in his voice. Mizu shot him a playful glare, but he seemed oblivious, still beaming with joy at Mizu's return, as her hand found its way to the side of your hip, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“It seems Mizu didn’t lie about your cheerful attitude, you’re too harsh for calling him annoying.” you voiced.

Ringo's expression shifted from joy to curiosity as he shook your hand vigorously. "Well, Mizu has never been one to bring just anyone around. You must be special," he declared, his eyes gleaming with mischief. Mizu rolled her eyes, used to Ringo's playful banter.

"Special or not, just don't let him talk your ear off with his stories. You'll be begging for silence within minutes," Mizu teased, earning a mock offended gasp from Ringo.

"Hey now, my stories are legendary! People travel far and wide just to hear them," Ringo defended himself, placing a hand dramatically over his heart. Mizu and you exchanged amused glances.

"Legendary for their length, maybe," Mizu retorted, earning a laugh from Ringo. As the three of you walked together, Ringo couldn't help but throw in another comment. "So, Mizu, spill the details! Where have you two been? Any epic battles? Dramatic rescues?" he asked with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Mizu sighed, but there was a fondness in her eyes. "We've had our fair share of adventures, but not every tale is meant to be shared, Ringo. Some things are better left unsaid."

Ringo nodded solemnly, then grinned. "Of course, a samurai never reveals its secrets.” You chuckled, realizing that Ringo's friendly personality added a lively touch to the atmosphere. Sounds of something thudding against the ground interrupted the reunion, as your gaze settled on an old man.

“Swordfather.” Mizu greeted with a sudden stiffness.

Swordfather looked at her his brows furrowed and his lips thinned. He hummed as he simply stared for a few tense moments. Mizu blinked softly, she nodded and he exhaled deeply. “This house is getting too crowded…” He muttered in slight annoyance and Mizu couldn’t help the relief she felt as she smiled at him.

You observed the interaction, noting the subtle dynamics between Mizu and Swordfather. Despite his initial gruff demeanour, there was an undeniable connection between them, an unspoken understanding.

Bowing respectfully, acknowledging Swordfather's presence despite his blindness. His acute hearing allowed him to perceive your gesture, and he responded with a nod in your direction. "A new face, what brings you here?" he inquired, his voice calm but carrying a certain weight that hinted at his years of experience.

Despite being blind, his movements were sure and deliberate. He relied on the sounds around him, the rustling of leaves, the distant hum of the village, and the footsteps of those around him.

You introduced yourself, explaining the circumstances that led you to Mizu during her travels in London. Swordfather listened intently, his head tilting slightly as if to better focus on the sound of your voice. "Hmmm," he mused, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "In these troubled times, it is not uncommon for destinies to intertwine. Mizu has a habit of attracting interesting companions."

Ringo laughed, "You have no idea, Swordfather. Our friend here is not only interesting but quite skilled, too."

Swordfather's blind eyes seemed to fixate on you, or perhaps it was a mere coincidence. "Skills are valuable, but character is what truly matters. Mizu has a keen sense for both." His words carried a weight that hinted at years of wisdom and experience.

As you approached the entrance of the house, the aroma of incense and the soft murmur of the wind chimes welcomed you. Swordfather navigated the familiar surroundings with ease, relying on the sounds and textures to guide him. Mizu led him to his usual spot, a serene corner where he could listen to the world around him.

Once seated, Swordfather leaned back, exhaling slowly. "Mizu, my ears tell me you've brought more than just stories back with you. There is something else in the air, a shift in the wind."

Mizu hesitated for a moment, exchanging a knowing glance with you, as if silently communicating something that went beyond words. She smiled, a subtle yet genuine expression that betrayed the unspoken connection between you two.

"Yes, Swordfather," she replied, her voice carrying a warmth that echoed her feelings. "I've encountered more than just tales during my travels. Fate has intertwined our paths in unexpected ways." She gestured toward you, introducing you in a manner that went beyond a mere recounting of events.

Swordfather's sightless gaze seemed to linger in your direction, as if trying to perceive something beyond the physical. "The dance of destinies," he murmured, "A connection that goes beyond the surface. Tell me, what is it that draws you to Mizu? In the realm of the heart, there are melodies that even the blind can hear."

There was a moment of vulnerability, a shared recognition of the emotions that had blossomed during your journey together. You took a breath, choosing your words carefully.

"Swordfather, in Mizu, I've found a kindred spirit," you began, your voice steady. "Our journey has been more than just an adventure. It's been a discovery of shared dreams, a dance of two souls finding harmony. There's a connection that transcends the ordinary, a bond that defies explanation."

Swordfather listened intently, his expression unchanged but a subtle nod indicating his understanding.

"In this life, sometimes the heart knows paths the mind cannot fathom," Swordfather spoke, his words resonating with a deep understanding. "Cherish this connection. For in the echoes of your hearts, you may find the strength to face the challenges ahead."

As the conversation shifted, the atmosphere in the room carried a new depth, a sense of shared understanding that went beyond the spoken word.

Just as the poignant moment settled, the shoji doors slid open with a sudden force. The ambient peace shattered as Taigen, stood in the doorway. His eyes scanned the room until they locked onto Mizu, who had been standing quietly beside you.

"Mizu!" Taigen exclaimed, his voice cutting through the hushed atmosphere. "We have unfinished business, you and I. A duel was promised, and I've come to collect."

"You again?"

Taigen's eyes narrowed, his focus unwavering on Mizu. "Forgive me, Swordfather. But a promise demands satisfaction. Mizu, do not deny me what is rightfully mine."

Mizu stepped forward, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. "I have not forgotten, Taigen. But do you have to be such a pain in the ass?” Taigen scoffed, unsheathing his blade with a sharp metallic ring.

Taigen smirked, his eyes glinting with a mixture of determination and amusement. "A promise is a promise, and I intend to keep it. Are you ready to face the consequences of your words?"

You could feel the tension in the room rising, the air thick with anticipation. Mizu's lips curled into a sly grin. "Consequences? You make it sound like I'm about to face the wrath of the gods. It's just a friendly duel, isn't it?" Taigen chuckled, a low, throaty sound that echoed in the room.

"Perhaps you've forgotten the sting of defeat. I'm here to remind you."

As the two wielders squared off, you couldn't help but sense the undercurrent of rivalry that went beyond the boundaries of a simple duel. Mizu and Taigen circled each other like predators in a dance, their blades gleaming in the soft light filtering through the shoji doors.

Unbeknownst to you, Mizu's usually composed demeanour was cracking under the pressure of Taigen's persistent comments, about you. Her eyes darted between him and you, an unreadable emotion flickering in their depths. It was then that Taigen, with a mischievous glint in his eye, decided to turn the tables.

"Ah," he said with a smirk, "I can't help but wonder if your heart is in this duel or if it's distracted by other matters." He shot a quick glance in your direction, his eyes locking onto yours for a moment too long. Mizu's face betrayed a hint of annoyance, her jaw clenched.

"Focus on the duel, Taigen. I have no time for your theatrics."

But Taigen was relentless. As the clash of steel filled the room, he continued his banter. "I gotta admit, I didn't expect to find such captivating company here. Maybe there's more to this journey than meets the eye."

You could see Mizu's grip on her sword tighten, a flash of irritation crossing her features. It seemed Taigen's words were getting under her skin. The duel became not only a test of skill but also a battleground for unspoken emotions.

Finally, with a swift move, Mizu disarmed Taigen and held her sword at his throat. The room fell into an uneasy silence, broken only by the heavy breaths of the combatants.

"Poor technique, easily learned," Mizu declared, her gaze cold. "Easily defeated."

As Mizu withdrew, she shot you a glance that carried a mix of frustration and something else— that lingered in the air. As Taigen retreated, she turned her attention back to you. The tension in the room lingered, thick like the scent of cherry blossoms on a cool breeze. The air crackled with unspoken words, and you could almost taste the lingering traces of the duel's emotional undertones.

As the shoji doors slid open, revealing the tranquil garden outside, Mizu stepped into the moonlit night. You followed suit, the night embraced them like a cloak, shadows dancing on their faces as they exchanged a few terse words.

"You're always so serious, Mizu," You teased, tone light as your hand reached to grasp her shoulder, tracing light patterns.

She turned to face you, her gaze softening under the moonlight. "I have to be serious. The world is not always forgiving." A hint of vulnerability peeked through the facade she usually wore. The tension from the duel seemed to linger, but now it was a different kind of tension—an electric charge that pulsed between you.

"Maybe," you said, stepping into the small distance between you, fingers gently tracing the line of her jaw, "but there's more to life than just battles and strife. Sometimes, it's about the moments we allow ourselves to savour."

The garden around you seemed to hold its breath, the only sound being the gentle rustle of leaves and the distant chirping of crickets. Mizu's gaze dropped for a moment before rising again, a hint of something more profound in her eyes.

"Sometimes, though, I wonder if there's room for a different kind of seriousness in my life," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

The air became charged with an unexpected intimacy, and you found yourself drawn closer to Mizu. The scent of cherry blossoms intensified, wrapping around both of you like a delicate perfume. The moon illuminated her features, casting a soft glow that accentuated the vulnerability she rarely revealed.

"Perhaps there is," you murmured, your fingers gently tracing a strand of her hair. The tension in the air shifted from the remnants of the duel to an unspoken connection, an energy that pulsed between you.

Mizu's gaze locked onto yours, and in that moment, the world outside the garden seemed to fade away. The boundaries between, and the night became a canvas for something more profound. Without another word, she leaned in, and the touch of her lips against yours carried the weight of a thousand unspoken feelings.

Your lips, soft and familiar, sent a surge of warmth through her entire being. With every passing second, her breath grew more strained, muscles tensing in anticipation of your touch. Yielding to the magnetic pull between you, you allowed yourself to sink deeper into her embrace, the world outside fading away.

As her hands flattened against your spine, an electric current seemed to dance along her skin. Your hand, like a gentle breeze, found the curve of Mizu's neck, fingers starting a sensuous dance, caressing the delicate contours beneath. With each tender touch, a sigh of pleasure escaped her lips, intermingling with the shared breath of the moment.

Kissing her back, your lips traced a path of desire, leaving an indelible mark on the canvas of passion. The sensation of your fingers on her neck sent shivers down her spine, and a subtle smile played upon her lips, a silent acknowledgement of the intimate connection forged in that tender embrace.

A momentary pause lingered as the kiss continued, a shared symphony of desire. As you pulled away slightly, her gaze, infused with a delicate lightness, met yours. The air between you crackled with the unspoken, silent language of longing. Her breath, a soft melody, hung in the air, a testament to the lingering sensuality that bound you together.

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answer2jeff · 9 months

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narrow thoughts // carmen berzatto

part one: sprite

finally done with part 1! somewhat happy ending in part 2 btw, since i don't totally hate you guys or want you to suffer for once

synopsis: you and carmen were good friends turned strangers — the trauma bond from Noma still keeping you closer. you've noticed Carmen's hard work, and you worry terribly for him and his wellbeing. keeping quiet has never been so hard; being "friends" has never been so hard.

pairings: platonic!richie x reader – romantic!carmy x reader

english isn't my first language — expect some mistakes. feedback is always appreciated.

WARNINGS: friends - strangers - lovers, angst, fluff, NOT an established relationship, pre-existing history, ZERO use of y/n, reader is implied female, mention of the nickname "Pico," short for "Piccola" ; small (young), or even baby, in italian.

wc: 2.1k

You twisted the silver key at an angle, locking the glass door shut — the 'CLOSED' sign taunting you. You and your pre-existing staff expected to open in just 6 weeks, and you still felt like so much time lingered. The emptiness of the sidewalk made your stomach drop to your feet, the same way it did every night. You waited so impatiently for the opening day of your coffee shop to inch closer and closer; but you were uncertain, unsettled, and lacking confidence in your craft. Was simplicity really the answer? Should you have just stayed in New York? Were you just another, "Eleven Madison Park Dickhead?" Did you even want answers to these looming questions? No. No you didn't — not yet. All you wanted that night was a glass of homemade sprite, and maybe a real conversation with an old friend.

Maybe he'd know what to say, if anything at all.

So, you walked. And you walked, and you walked, and you kept walking — your dark blue crewneck sweater that went just past the belt line of your baggy jeans, a pair of pantyhose, white socks, and Doc Martens keeping you clothed in the Chicago cold. Your bracelets clanged against each other, harmonizing with the sound of the keychains jingling against your purse, clutched close to your sides. You finally reached the The Beef, the florescent glow casting a blueish green shine against your face. Another 'CLOSED' sign pointed a childish finger at you.

"Richieeee!" You wined, gently knocking on the glass window to grasp his attention — his back turned to you as he was telling Tina and Marcus yet another story about Carmen's childhood. You almost regretted being nice to him, but it gave you leeway; visiting after hours, special treatment, and even the nickname 'Pico' was coined after you.

"Richie, I know you can hear me!"

"Yeah, and he goes—" Richie reluctantly paused, hearing a familiar voice from behind the glass. His hands, frozen in the air, fell to his sides as he dramatically walked over to the door. "Shit, hold on. Pico's here." He groaned, slowly unlocking and cracking the door open, moving out of your way to let you in.

"Thanks." You breathed, crossing your arms as you took a step into the restaurant — immediately met with smiles and good night's from Marcus and Tina. Your eyes darted around the cramped space of the counter, not quite being able to see into the kitchen as you stepped closer to take a seat in a red barstool.

"What're you doin' here? You alright, sweetheart?" Richie asked, his tone only slightly annoyed from the interruption of his attempt to humiliate Carmen. He waltzed behind the counter, supporting his weight by pressing his palms against the metal as he stood across from you. He furrowed his eyebrows, wondering — completely disregarding Tina and Marcus clocking out and leaving for the night.

"Yeah, just uh — my stomach hurts. Like, bad." You sighed, sticking your elbows up onto the counter and resting your face in your hands, the stool next to you occupied by your purse. Richie only nodded his head, noticing your mouth slightly gaped open like you had more to say. Even if he was a childish asshole, he wasn't evil. He'd never interrupt someone who was clearly in need.

"And–and i'm just... payin' a visit, I guess." You tried justifying your reasoning for coming all this way. It was 9:47, and you hardly ever came around this late. Typically, you'd lock up by 9:15, come over and stick around till 9:30, and be home by 10:45. You must've needed something, he thought, but he chose not to pester you tonight.

Please don't ask.

"Alright.. Yeah, 'ya look a little green. You wanna sprite?" Richie gently placed the back of his hand against your forehead, just reassuring you didn't have a fever. You nodded your head in approval. He walked into the kitchen, shouting "COUSIN! Pico wants a sprite! Make it for 'er, will 'ya?"

Carmen shut his locker as he nodded his head to Richie, mumbling, "be right there." He bit the inside of his cheek, his lips curling into a smile when he saw you through the tiny peak between the counter and the kitchen that you were too far from to experience. Admittedly, Carmen liked seeing you come in — bringing coffee for everyone in the mornings, and wishing everyone goodnight in the evenings. It gave him something to look foreword to. He liked the consistency; and hell, he fucking loved the blonde espresso macchiato you conjured up for him, the foam just a tad bit flat from having to travel on foot from the cafe to the restaurant with it.

You scrolled on your Instagram timeline as you heard Carmen mumbling to himself as he made your sprite, noting the clinking of ice against a glass cup and the crisp sound of the homemade soda pouring in. You gave Richie an air-kiss on the cheek goodbye as he walked out of The Beef, his lanky frame covered by his leather jacket. You smiled again at the sight of Carmen politely delivering your drink, putting your phone away in the pocket of your jeans.

"Why thank you!" You cooed, looking into his big, blue eyes that didn't really know what to focus on. You took in every feature: his curly dirty-blonde locks in need of trimming, his big and arched nose, the round shape of his chin. You were staring, your stare never leaving his figure as he set the glass down on the counter, and he couldn't help but smile back.

He was perfect — it was almost scary.

"Pleasure." Carmen chuckled, placing a warm hand on the back of his neck as he thought of what else to say. He couldn't remember the last time you two were alone. The closest thing was him coming over to your apartment in broad daylight to help you get rid of the green, god awful futon in your living room that was covered in weird stains.

"You've got a weird definition of pleasure." You sighed, raising your glass to your lips and feeling the sprite ease your stomach. Your eyes rolled when you heard his obnoxiously attractive laugh; breathy and nervous.

"Yeah, yeah. I know." Carmen nodded his head, essentially saying "you're right, but respectfully — fuck off" without actually saying it. He picked his head up, watching your throat contract with each sip — the neon lights all around the restaurant displaying a purple glow against your skin. It was childish, but knowing he could make your night just a little bit better with a glass of sprite made him proud of himself.

"You feelin' alright? As best as you can, I mean." You set your glass down, resting your face in your palms as you blinked at Carmen, your eyebrows knitted in concern. You worried for him, no matter how much your brain reassured you that they grey crescents under his eyes were none of your concern. It was normal to never get more than 5 or 6 hours of sleep every night as an overworked 34 year old, right? It's a Carmy problem, right?

No. Fuck no.

"Uh... yeah, I—" Carmen's hands gripped tightly against the cold, metal counter, his foot tapping against the tile floor. He bit the inside of his cheek, diverting his gaze away from you and back towards the walkway into the kitchen. He was lying, and you knew it. He felt his chest heave at the question as he forced himself to look at you again; your face still expressing a sense of panic for him.

"You..?" You finished his empty sentence for him, getting a little impatient. Your manicured nails clicked against the counter, waiting for him to tell at least some fragments of the truth.

"No, not alright. Not really. I, um—" He paused again, his eyes finally locking with yours, completely unable to pull away now. You looked beautiful to him — elegant, even. With your hair messier than the way you styled it this morning, with your chipped and grown out manicure, and especially with your lack of knowledge that Carmen was analyzing every inch of you. He felt guilty for looking - more than he usually did.

"I've been having those weird fuckin' dreams again. A-and these panic attacks, I think?" Carmens voice went softer, a whine of fear in his speech; he finally let his guard down just a bit. It was like just looking at you calmed him down enough so he could choke out another sentence.

"Shit. Still?" You asked, your nails pausing their annoying clack and tap so you could focus all of your attention onto Carmen. You remembered Natalie mentioning Carmen's recent manifestations of his stress, often asking if you'd just check up on him every once in a while, just in case she couldn't reach him.

"Yeah." Carmen replied, his voice airy and unsupported. His eyes were blue and desperate, and fixated on every part of your face. It made his thoughts narrow down to you; your weird sense of humor, your artful hands that illustrated your frustration when you complained about your day, even the perfume you wore every day that lingered around the jacket you left at his apartment (which he still hasn't given back to you.) Why would he? How could Carmen not keep a piece of you in his home?

You finally caught Carmen's gaze as you grazed the condensation on your glass of sprite — and you could see it in his face; the exhaustion, the anxiety, the need for stability in his eyes. You saw what this place did to him; what fixing this hellhole turned him into for a second time. It felt silly, controlling, nagging even, for you to assume that Carmen couldn't handle himself. But maybe that wasn't too unfair of an assumption; even if Sydney tried to condition you to believe that not every Carmy problem had to be a you problem.

"Jesus. I'm sorry." You clenched your teeth as you thought about his nausea spells he'd get every morning, remembering the dozens of empty bottles of pepto bismol littered around the kitchen counter of his apartment in New York. It was like you could still feel the sting of stomach acid your throat when you ended up puking every night after dinner rush; your digestive system completely empty from the lack of time you even had to keep your body intact. And yet, it was fucking everything. Your calloused fingers from the knives and the rasp in your throat from crying felt like a trophy; a mark on your person that forever reminded you of how great you once were.

What were you even doing here? Opening another thrift shop? But this time, it had a built in cafe; a cafe you dreamed of serving the best coffee in Chicago? Wow! What an original, realistic and inspiring concept. Like Richie warned the two of you: neither of you had any idea what you were doing back in Chicago.

Is it too late for me to understand you?

"Is this even.. I don't know — fun, for you anymore? Was it ever?" You croaked, tracing the tip of your middle finger along the rim of the glass — watching the little bubbles in the drink rise and pop. The question almost struck a nerve in Carmen, it forced him to think; really think.

"I mean... 'fun' isn't the word I'd use." He shrugged his shoulders, his face contorting into that typical confused look he always gave you. It made your heart ache.

"I don't like what it does to you."

"I'm– I'm trying to... to do somethin' here, Pico." His eyebrows knitted as his hands gripped just a little tighter against the counter.

"I know, Carmy. A-and you're doing great I just– I miss you." You barely whispered, crossing your arms almost trying to defend yourself as Carmen's face softened. His stomach dropped to his feet, his adams apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.

You two hadn't had a real conversation since the night you decided to quit, leaving Carmen to chase his success and even become Food & Wine's best chef without you. You hadn't cried in front of him since the day after Mikey's funeral: which neither of you could bring yourself to attend to. You'd been back home much longer than Carmen had; him coming home was so bittersweet. You needed him here. You needed him in the warm glow of your apartment, on your vintage couch as you shared the leftover pasta carbonara you made the night before. You forgot what his arms felt like around you, trying so hard to remember as you glanced at his tattoos.

"I miss you too."

TO BE CONTINUED BITCHESSSSSS!!!!!!

#AHHHH #i hope you guys like this!!!#sorry it took a while!#writers block ugh #anyway I'm so happy with how this turned out #carmen berzatto #carmen x reader #fic series #richie jerimovich #sydney adamu #the bear #carmy the bear #i love this show so much #reposts are appreciated #pls don't flop #i'll kms if this flops #istg im gonna cry #Spotify

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