#the nordics are cheering | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

oldfashioned-lovergirl · 5 months ago

Note

Kimi seb and fem reader threesome?

☽ LOVERS ROCK — sebastian vettel x fem!reader x kimi räikkönen

tags: rated E, threesome, smut, fluff, age gap, photographer!reader

note: i am probably months late but idk inspiration just struck me suddenly. this is set like around 2016.

masterlist

✧༺ ☽ ༻∞　　∞༺ ☽ ༻✧

Qualifying went better than expected for the Ferrari team. You watched the two drivers end in 4th and 3rd position from the garage, in which, thanks to your ‘close friend of Sebastian’ privilege, you were allowed. You still weren’t officially Scuderia Ferrari’s photographer, but who knows, maybe considered all the pictures you took for them, one day they’ll hire you. Keep dreaming.

As soon as Seb took off his helmet, you ran to congratulate him and wish him luck for the race. You hugged him tight and he discreetly pushed you in an isolated corner behind the motorhome. He kissed you eagerly. Alright, maybe you were more than close friends. At least, you once were, until he finally found a way to romance you and take you in his bed. Nothing serious, just casual sex. That was how you discovered that your chemistry was unmatched.

As Sebastian had to go back to debrief with the engineers, your eye was caught by the monitor showing the post quali interviews. There was his teammate, Kimi Räikkönen, talking about his performance. He seemed unbothered, as always. His forehead was damp with sweat and the red suit made his broad shoulders look even wider. His composed and silent aura exuded masculinity. Sebastian was indeed a passionate lover and great friend, but sometimes, when you observed the two of them standing next to each other, your gaze lingered a bit too much on his teammate. He fascinated you. You never exchanged more than a few words with Kimi, but you wondered what he was like under that superficial layer of cold stares and reserved personality. You wondered what it would be like to pass a hand through that light blond hair and across that imperfect pale skin. Kimi was everything Sebastian wasn't: cold and mysterious, with a body that could have been sculpted from ice and sharp, nordic features.

Sometimes you found yourself staring at him. And some other times, you caught him staring back.

When you saw the man walk out of the frame, you hurried outside with your camera hanging on your neck. You took a picture of him striding in front of an enthusiastic red crowd pushing on the other side of the fence. Another one: a close up of his face. He looked handsome. These would go viral, if you hadn’t already decided to keep them to yourself.

The day after, the two Ferrari drivers were celebrating on the podium. Kimi in second place and Sebastian soon behind, a grin that lightened up the whole mass of Tifosi. It was almost scary how the fans cheered and screamed at them. The track burned red as they overran it, only interspersed by the team yellow symbol sparkling everywhere.

The two patted and complimented each other in the cool down room. “What a race! A big celebration awaits us tonight.” Happiness was written all over Sebastian’s face. After a few unsuccessful results, he could finally breathe.

Kimi smiled back at him.

“Wanna come over? I’ll be with Y/n.” The german suggested, lowering his tone.

The other shook his head. “Wouldn’t dare to interrupt anything.”

“Actually, I was offering you to join us.”

Kimi raised his thin eyebrow, thinking for some seconds to have misunderstood.

Seeing his unphased expression, Sebastian put an arm across his shoulder and pulled him closer. “Kimi, she’s basically been eating you with her eyes since the beginning of the season. And I bet you don’t feel any different. I mean I don’t blame you, have you seen her?” He chuckled.

The Finn remained in silence, pondering the suggestion for a moment. “Sure you don’t mind?”

“Not at all. You know I’d share anything with you.”

You threw your arms around Sebastian’s neck and kissed his cheek when you saw him approach you. “You were amazing out there!”

Seb held you tight, unable to stop smiling. You ruffled his curls.

“Can’t wait to celebrate” you smirked at him mischievously.

Sebastian reciprocated the look. “Listen, I was thinking,” he paused, almost unsure of his own words. “Kimi could come too if you’d like.”

You frowned, confused by his words. Maybe you misheard, you thought. “What?”

“Come on, Y/n, I’m not blind, I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

Oh, so he means… You lowered your gaze, taken aback by Sebastian’s realization, your cheeks red with embarrassment. “I–”

“It’s okay. I’m not jealous of Kimi.” He lifted your chin with his fingers and smiled softly. “I want it. You just make sure to be at my hotel tonight.”

You usually didn’t wear anything particular for your encounters with Sebastian. He knows you well and he doesn’t care how you dress. Besides, usually the clothes were off before he could even look at them. This time was different though. You chose a short dress and put a little bit of makeup on. You drove to Sebastian’s hotel, and in the elevator you were almost trembling with anticipation, your heart was beating fast. You still couldn’t believe it was reality, to have the two blond Ferrari drivers at your own sole disposal.

You walked up to the door and knocked. No one answered. What if he was joking?, you thought. No, he would never make fun of you like that. You knocked again and this time the door opened instantly.

Kimi Räikkönen was standing in front of you, in jeans and t-shirt, with a passionless face and piercing ice blue eyes. You fool, expecting to see Sebastian at the door of his own room.

He slowly eyed you up and down, without a word. Your face heated up. You weren’t that much shorter than him, but in that moment he seemed to tower over you. You suddenly felt so small and young under his gaze. If with Sebastian the age difference was already noticeable, with him the gap was even larger. You were just a simple girl, standing in front of a grown handsome man. And not just any handsome man. He was the last Ferrari champion.

“Delete those pictures” he demanded in a firm tone, bringing you back into reality.

How did he noticed?

You smiled amused and crossed your arms. “No.”

Kimi kept his scrutinizing look on you. You tried to hold eye contact but ended up looking away. Damn, his eyes. “Then give them to me.”

“Not for free.” You successfully managed to speak firmly too.

He grinned and leaned on the doorframe. You blushed again, against your will. “Whatever” he commented.

“Can I come in now?”

“Pictures first.”

You were starting to lose your patience. You didn’t come here to argue over photographs, why was he acting so rude?

A voice coming from inside the room interrupted your bickering. “Kimii, stop playing with her, let her in.” You recognize it as Sebastian’s. A wave of relief washed over you as you heard his familiar voice.

Kimi finally moved to the side, allowing you to sneak inside, brushing against his arm. The German was sitting on the bed, a glass of champagne in one hand. “We were just starting the celebration. Want some?” he offered.

You shook your head. It wasn’t exactly the case to get drunk.

He got up and put the glass on a table. The room was wide and elegant, the bed sheets were of a beautiful bordeaux. Your gaze scanned the room and curiously lingered on the bouquet of vivid red roses placed on the bed. Seb picked it up and handed it to you. “For you.”

Your expression softened and your lips curved in a smile, your mood changed completely. The atmosphere shifted from cold and awkward to romantic and familiar. You smelled the roses and held them close to your chest. “Thank you.”

“It’s Kimi you should thank,” he pointed at the older man. You turned and met his shy stance. He looked back at you with hands in his pockets. Well, that was unexpected. “Truce?” you suggested.

“Truce it is,” he replied. “Don’t forget to put them in the water when you get back.”

“Oh, so you want me here after all.”

He shrugged and made some steps closer. “Yeah, I guess. Still need the pictures though.”

“Sure, right” you couldn’t help but smirk at his attempts to break the tension, “so how do you wish to pay?” you teased.

He took the bouquet from your hands and put it aside. “How about we find out?” He took one of your hands and brought it to his lips, lightly kissing your palm. “One thing at a time.”

Your heart skipped a beat. So he does speak, huh. And with a heart melting accent. “Deal.” Your hand lingered on his cheek, and before you could realize what was happening, he pulled you in a kiss. A soft kiss, at first, that gradually became more and more bold. His mouth tasted like lemon and champagne. You may have dreamed of this.

While you were lost in the feeling of Kimi’s tongue dancing with yours, a pair of long lean hands overlined your hips, settling right next to Kimi’s. With a possessive grip, Sebastian spinned you around and claimed your lips, taking the air out of your lungs. They were so different in the way they kissed, yet somehow so similar. Both driven by a prevailing urge. You fought for dominance for a moment, but soon you were forced to give up. When you were alone with Sebastian it was a working technique, but it couldn’t be with the two of them.

Kimi had started to nibble at your shoulder,moving up to needily suck the skin of your neck, his gnarled big fingers roaming over your body. You melted into his embrace, feeling his strong, toned physique against yours, his hands exploring your body with a confidence that sent shivers down your spine.

As the kiss grew more intense, you found yourself sandwiched between them. You could feel their arousal pressing into you. They were like two magnets, pulling you into their orbit.

Seb started unzipping your dress. He made it slide off your shoulders, revealing your cleavage. He stroked your nipples with his thumbs through the thin fabric of your bra. Kimi’s hands traveled downwards, caressing your waist and making the rest of your dress fall on the ground. He grabbed your hips and pressed them hard against himself. The mix of their touches, so precise and coordinated, made you moan with pleasure.

When Sebastian broke the kiss, he raised his hand to cup Kimi’s jaw and captured his lips. To your surprise, they kissed fiercely and passionately, savoring each other and your taste in their mouths. That was the hottest thing you had ever seen.

In the meantime, the Finn ably untied your bra and soon after your panties were gone too. The both of them took a long sight at your naked body. You flushed, feeling exposed and observed, so you pulled Kimi’s shirt as a sign for them to get rid of their clothes too. They took off their shirts at the same time and closed even more the gap between your bodies, trapping your bare pelvis. They started to grind against you and you really felt the need to get them both out of their jeans.

Kimi's gaze was intense, his touch was surprisingly gentle. Sebastian, on the other hand, was a whirlwind of passion, his hands eager and explorative, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses along your collarbone.

Sebastian led you to the king-sized bed, the sheets a rich, velvety crimson that matched the desire in your eyes. As you lay there, exposed and vulnerable, a wave of excitement washed over you. The anticipation was almost too much to bear, your breaths coming in shallow gasps as you felt the weight of both men on the bed. Sebastian kissed his way down your body, his mouth moving to your breasts, tongue gently tugging at your nipples as he continued to drive you wild with pleasure, before moving lower. “Seb…” you called, urging him. You couldn’t take it anymore, you needed them to touch you more.

The moment was charged with an electric current, the air thick with lust. Sebastian's tongue continued its descent, teasing and licking until you were writhing beneath them. Kimi's hand reached out to stroke Sebastian's hair, a silent gesture of approval and affection that sent a jolt of arousal through you. You felt the bed shift as Kimi positioned himself above you, his icy eyes searching yours for consent, a softness in them that you hadn't seen before. You nodded, unable to find the words, and he took possession of your lips once again, bolder than before.

Sebastian's hands slid down to your thighs, spreading your legs open as he settled himself between them. His eyes were filled with adoration as he stared up at you, the tip of his tongue tracing the seam of your sex. You gasped into Kimi's mouth as Sebastian's tongue delved deep, the sensation overwhelming. Kimi's kiss grew rougher, more possessive, as if he wanted to claim every part of you, not just the ones that Sebastian was worshiping. The tension between the two men was palpable. As Sebastian's tongue flicked, you could feel Kimi's fingers tighten around your hip, his own need growing against your side with every moan you released into his mouth.

Kimi broke the kiss, his breath ragged and his eyes smoldering with desire. He whispered something in Finnish, a language that only he and Seb could understand. The younger man raised his chin from you and smirked at him, the heat in his gaze told you it was something filthy and delicious. You felt a thrill at being the center of their attention, the object of their shared desire.

You let out a sound of complaint as Sebastian left your inside and straightened up to sit. He caressed your leg in a reassuring gesture and kissed it. “Not yet, mein schatz.”

With a final, lingering kiss, Kimi positioned himself at your entrance, shoulder to shoulder with Sebastian. Oh… You shivered with anticipation at the thought of what was about to come. The wait was eating you inside. “Kimi, please,”

You felt the head of his cock nudge against you, the coldness of him surprising against your hot, slick flesh. “Say it.” His gaze fixed on your desperate, pleading, semi-closed eyes, while he teased you with his member.

“I need you” you couldn’t find the force to resist him, not even for a little bit.

Pleased by the way your answer was delivered, he pushed in slowly, filling you inch by inch as you gasped for air.

Sebastian's mouth found your clit again, his tongue swirling in perfect harmony with Kimi's movements. You moaned, the sensation of being stretched and pleasured by two men at once overwhelming and incredible.

Sebastian's more deep blue eyes locked onto yours, the intensity of them making you feel like you were the most important person in the world. His hand reached up to stroke Kimi's shoulder in a display of camaraderie that was as erotic as it was surprising. You wrapped your legs around Kimi's waist, urging him deeper, feeling the fullness of him inside you.

Kimi's hands found yours, his grip firm and reassuring. The mix of his coolness and Sebastian's warmth was intoxicating, a heady cocktail that sent you spiraling towards climax.

The room was filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin, muffled gasps, as Kimi began to thrust into you with a steady rhythm.

Kimi's strokes grew deeper, his pace increasing, and you could feel the tension coiling tightly within you. Sebastian's mouth returned to yours, sharing your gasps and moans as he kissed you with a ferocity that matched his friend's. And you realized with a thrill that this wasn't just about you - it was about the bond between the two men as well.

Their eyes met, and a silent understanding passed between them. Sebastian slid down the bed, taking Kimi's place between your legs.

"Mein engel," he murmured, his German endearment sending a warm shiver through you. His touch was kind, his fingers deftly preparing you for what was to come. You felt him line up with Kimi. The older mani withdrew, allowing Sebastian to fill you completely. You moaned, the sensation of being filled by both men now a reality, as Sebastian pushed in.

Kimi didn't move far, his body hovering over yours, his eyes never leaving yours. He leaned down, placing feather-light kisses along your jawline as Sebastian began to move inside you. The contrast between their touches was exquisite - one gentle, the other demanding. You felt like you were being worshiped by two gods.

Their breaths mingled with yours, the sound of their bodies moving together was sweet music to your ears. You could feel the love and friendship between them, the unspoken communication that allowed them to share you so intimately. It was a moment of pure, unbridled passion, a moment where you were the center of their universe.

And then, as if reading your mind, they switched again. Kimi slid back into you, his coldness now a welcome relief after Sebastian's warmth, his movements rougher.

Your eyes rolled back as Kimi hit that perfect spot, the one that made your back arch. Sebastian's hand found your clit, his thumb flicking it mercilessly as he kissed along your collarbone. You could feel the tension in their bodies, the need to release building as they pushed and pulled, filling you completely.

You could feel yourself getting closer to the edge as they both moved in unison, their combined efforts pushing you over the edge. You screamed out their names as you came, your body convulsing with pleasure, the sound echoing off the walls of the hotel room. They didn't stop, though, not even for a moment, continuing to move inside you, pushing you further. You could feel yourself tightening around them, the waves of pleasure crashing over you. And when you finally came down, panting and trembling, you knew that this night would be one you'd never forget.

With a final, deep thrust and a soft groan, Kimi roared out his climax, his entire body shaking as he emptied himself inside you. His grip on your hips tightened, his eyes never leaving yours, as if the connection was the only thing keeping him anchored. Sebastian watched with a mix of awe and lust, his own arousal clear in the way he pumped into you, his eyes glazed over with desire.

And then, it was Sebastian's turn. Despite your exhaustion, you wrapped your legs around him, pulling him deeper, eager to feel him come apart as you had. With a final, guttural cry, he reached his climax, finally filling you too with his warmth, his body shuddering.

You lay there, feeling more alive than you ever had before, as they both stilled, their breathing ragged and their bodies slick with sweat. You felt cherished and loved, the lines between friendship and desire blurred into a beautiful tapestry of intimacy.

Sebastian pulled out of you gently, a look of pure adoration on his face as he collapsed beside you, his arm draped over your waist. Their release dripped out of you, sliding down your thigh. Kimi leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead before rolling to your other side, his hand finding yours. The three of you lay there in silence, hearts racing, bodies entwined. You’d do anything to not let this be the last time with the two teammates, even if it meant for you to hide those pictures from Kimi forever.

#formula 1 #f1 #fanfic #sebastian vettel x reader #kimi raikkonen x reader #sebastian vettel x kimi raikkonen #simi #sebastian vettel x kimi raikkonen x reader #fanfiction #f1 fics

293 notes · View notes

radfemfessing · 10 days ago

Note

I find it annoying when women feel the need to defend/explain themselves for having a male partner. First of all because outside of some terminally online spaces, that's literally exactly what society wants from you. So if you just log off, the entire world agrees with you having a male partner. But second of all, who cares? Why are you trying to defend this to a comparably small number of female separatists and lesbians online who you will probably never meet, who hold no power over you and who can't harm you in any way. That doesn't make any sense to me at all. If you are so incredibly happy and your Nigel is such an angel, then that's cool. Enjoy it? But why the intense need to justify it. Are you trying to pitch to women who don't want to date men (for various reasons) that they should try it after all? Do you feel intimidated by tumblr users? Or do you not feel 100% happy in your relationship and need to justify it to yourself? Either way, I couldn't care less. I have a lot of female friends irl, most of them are straight or bi but in a relationship with a man. Everytime it becomes clear that I choose to only date women as a bi woman, het partnered women react in one of two ways. Either they laugh and say I can always change my mind. Or they start over explaining to me how amazing their penis person is. I am now at a point where I just stop them and tell them I don't think less of them for dating a man. I truly don't. I have to say though, I know exactly one straight relationship in which the woman seems like she can fullfill not only her dreams and wishes and happiness within the relationship, but the relationship also makes all of these things better. And still, her husband doesn't understand her in several aspects because he is a man. That's the only straight couple I am truly happy for but as a woman who can be attracted to men, that still doesn't seem like something I want for myself. Literally all other women in relationships with men I know diminish their light in one or many ways. And most of them don't see it. If you tell me about your amazing Nigel I will say "thats nice" and I will not try to break you two up or force you into a separatist womyns land against your will. But when the moment happens in which he turns out to be horrible in some aspect, I won't act surprised. I have seen too many decades long dreamy straight relationships fall apart because Mr Wonderful cheated after all. The sweet teddy bear of a man who made his wife a pussy hat for the womans march somehow still found the time to fuck another woman. The one unicorn guy who yapped about how awful the porn industry is and who supports the nordic model was watching porn after all, ten years into a relationship with him. That's why I don't want to hear about your justifications please. Just be happy with what you have. The entire world cheers you own, except for some women on a fringe website.

🎃

#feminism #radblr #radical feminism #radical feminist safe #terfsafe #radical feminists do interact #radical feminists do touch #radical feminist community #terfblr #terfism

78 notes · View notes

ninibeingdelulu · 9 months ago

Text

His biggest fan ✧

Plot: You’re Michael’s girlfriend, cheering him at one of his games.

A/N: It’s so bad I hate it😓

The roar of thunderous cheers flooded the stadium as Michael unleashed another stupefying display of lethal precision and brute physicality that defied mortal comprehension.

You watched with breathless awe seated front row as that signature blue mohawk wove a hypnotic cyclone of calculated ferocity carving apart the helpless defense trailing hopelessly in his wake.

Each savage yet eerily choreographed burst from Michael's heavyweight strides reverberated across the pitch warping the boundaries of space and time itself directly proportional to his gravitational soccer supremacy.

Until the entire cosmos distilled into that infinite singularity split-second with just your striker boyfriend, the ball and the yawning maw of the goal awaiting its inevitable oblation.

You bit down hard stifling the visceral shudder trying to escape as Michael's rocket-powered thunderbolt smashed past the defenseless keeper and ignited the back of the net in a blaze of cosmic glory.

Celebrating with that bone-chilling sovereign roar staking his unchallengeable dominion once more before this mortal realm of sporting conquest still so far beneath his transcendent plane of greatness.

Even after the final whistle sounded you remained spellbound observing Michael bask in those rapturous post-coital moments savoring his ineffable feat.

Utterly transfixed upon the hyper-masculine sculpture of your man still slicked with the spoils of carnal supremacy while casting that chiseled nordic profile against the floodlit heavens he reigned sovereign over.

Until his peripheral laser focus abruptly snapped in your direction lancing directly through your aura with a telepathic tractor beam manifesting into actual physics-warping forces.

Almost like each molecule surrounding Michael compressed and bent inward before being shunted aside clearing his path towards you with terrifying inevitability.

You barely had a chance to brace yourself as the unstoppable tsunami slammed into your front row section without mercy or resistance.

The concussive shockwave blasting through your senses while those titanium bulwarks materialized around you scooping your diminutive frame against Michael's furnace-stoked musculature with crushing intensity.

"My sweet empress…I could only hear your voice back there. It motivated me, thank you.”

His rough-hewn bassline resonated against every nerve ending vibrating at some untapped primordial stratum while you strained to surface through the endless whitenoise overloading your synapses.

Only Michael's low gravitic pulses penetrating the oblivion flooding your faculties from that unholy cosmic union now peeling away every layer keeping you distinct individualities during submersion into this event horizon state of indistinguishable polarities collapsed together.

Until finally resurfacing from that singularity after an eternity compressed into nanoseconds - though still deliriously consumed by the aftershocks rippling across your intertwined vessels smoldering in the embers of rapturous conflagration yet still ravenous for more extreme escalations eternally rebirthing from the expended remains!

Only the roaring crescendos from those frenzied supporters still filling the stadium slowly penetrated the vacuous void reverberating between you both savoring that suspended infinitesimal post-orgasmic bliss together.

You felt Michael's stern facade gradually reassemble while withdrawing from your interiors just fractionally enough to restore individuation-yet sense his alpha dominion expanding throughout your reconstituted synaptic matrices cementing his reign over your fused polarities once more.

Then with a subtle shift his smokey granite stare cleaved directly through the veil drawing your reawakened senses under that spellbinding trance spellbinding instantly.

A hushed imperious rasp now caressing your essence from that primal domain where all worldly laws bent to his sovereign decrees:

"Why don’t I reward you tonight, huh, meine liebe ?”

Just experiencing the infinitesimal microcosm of his supreme essence bleeding into your rematerialized corporeal vessel already whiplashed your senses through multiple clinical deaths and resurrections beyond this plane's dimensional limits.

His seismic vibrational frequencies triggered endorphin avalanches detonating every neurotransmitter into frenzied paroxysms anticipating the ineffable escalations still awaiting together...

242 notes · View notes

perseephoneee · 3 months ago

Text

mistletoe [ficmas day 4] [loki laufeyson x afab!reader]

↳ masterlist ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist ↳ ficmas 2024

author's note: okay so despite the fact that literally nothing about y/n is like this fic, while writing this i was thinking of "a job a million prs would die for" which is an excellent loki fic although i frequently hate it bc i want an even happier ending lol but what can you do

playlist:

princess leia's theme -- john williams

only when it snows -- nova miller

'tis the damn season -- taylor swift

Stark’s holiday parties were legendary in a catastrophic way. An evening that would normally start with typical merriment would end with some disaster. Never a life-threatening one, just one that caused the cleaning crew to have to pull a late shift.

Loki was unsure why he was being invited to go.

Was Thor convinced he was ‘rehabilitated’? Yes. Does that mean anyone liked him? No. He preferred solitude, away from Midgardians. Just because he decided he wasn’t going to conquer the planet didn’t mean he was good.

Loki was forced to share a suite with his oaf of a brother. It was one of the worst punishments Stark could’ve mustered. Only one of them, though.

You were the other one.

You and your obnoxious Christmas cheer and determination to make him enjoy humanity. It was exhausting being around you. He would’ve killed you if he thought he could get away with it.

“How’s this look?” you asked Loki, holding up a snowflake you had just cut out. He was in the common area enjoying a cup of tea in solitude. Until you came bounding in with your blasted crafts.

He gave you a look.

“Oh c’mon, gimme something to work with. I’m really putting in my all,” you sighed, returning to your snowflake extravaganza. Loki ignored you, sipping his tea instead. It wasn’t as good as most Asgardian teas, but it was good enough. One of the few luxuries he could enjoy on Earth. The sound of snipping scissors filled the room. Loki imagined taking the scissors and slitting your throat with it. “Are you going to the holiday party?”

“The what?” Loki questioned, brows furrowed. You put your scissors down.

“The holiday party. For Christmas. That Tony is throwing.”

Loki had a vague idea of what Christmas was, although he preferred the classical version that included Krampus and coal. Of course, there were Nordic holidays, but none that anyone here (besides Thor) would celebrate. Loki also, most definitely, did not get an invite.

“I refuse to attend anything that imbecile hosts,” Loki murmured. You chuckled knowingly.

“In other words, you didn’t get an invite.” Loki glared at you. “You could come with me.”

“I most certainly will not,” Loki snapped. You raised up your hands in a ‘surrender’ pose. You went back to your crafts, ignoring him. He spoke after a few moments. “Why would you ask me?”

“You seem lonely,” you shrugged. Loki opened and closed his mouth, information and surprise coating his features. “And I want to crack you like an egg.” You imitated cracking an egg, and Loki narrowed his eyes further. He stood up, done with the conversation, and wanted peace and quiet. He could likely find it shortly before Thor returned from working out. You waved goodbye as he was heading out.

Loki was still aggravated when he got back to his room and was upset to see Thor was back early. His brother was sprawled on the living room couch watching Midgardian TV. Loki had little hope of getting to his bedroom without being forced to engage in conversation.

“Brother! Where have you been?” Thor called out, arms crossed behind his head.

“Out,” Loki sighed. He stared at one of the paintings hanging on the wall, something Stark chose, which was why it was abhorrent. Loki tapped his foot, his brother’s attention still on the TV. I heard that there will be a soiree. I assume you’re attending?” Loki asked, keeping his voice light. Thor looked over at him.

“One of Stark’s parties for the Midgardian holiday of Christmas,” Thor paused his show, peering at Loki. “Do you want to attend?”

“Why? So I can watch your ridiculous Avengers preen around like peacocks?” Loki scoffed. “I’d rather stay here.”

“Invites open if you decide to attend,” Thor turned back on his show. “I would be happy to see you there.”

Loki left for his room after that, closing the door behind him. The room wasn’t to his liking, but decorating it the way he might’ve would mean that he intended to stay. Which he didn’t. Someday, he would go far, far away from this Hel. This was a temporary stepping stone. Nothing here was of substance.

He glanced at the nice clothes in his dresser anyway, even if he didn’t intend to stay.

This is insanity, Loki thought to himself as he stood inside his room. He was wearing a suit, and there was not one pop of green evident anywhere. He didn’t know why he bothered. You and his brother only invited him to be nice, not because he belonged there. He didn’t belong anywhere.

A knock at the front door broke him out of his thoughts.

Loki walked over to the front of his suite and opened the door. To his surprise, you were the one knocking. He blinked as he took in your appearance. You were dressed in cocktail attire, the dress hugging your figure, lips painted in a color he’d never seen on you. You looked him up and down like you were also noticing him for the first time.

“I was coming here to convince you to come,” you said, a slight smirk on your lips. “But it appears you’re ready to go.”

“I was still deciding.”

“Totally,” you chuckled. “Are we going or what? I’m already behind three whole drinks.” You stepped aside to let Loki out. His arm brushed against yours as he closed the door, sparks shooting up his spine that he elected to ignore. You walked right next to him as you went the two flights to the ballroom. Of course, Stark spared no expense in decorations. There was a live orchestra, several decorated trees, strings of lights and ornaments, and plenty of booze to spare.

Loki rolled his eyes at Thor, chatting with several women and proving that not much had changed since their time on Asgard. Loki looked over to see you grabbing two flutes of champagne from a waiter. Before he could assume one was for him, you downed both of them and quickly found another waiter to return the glasses to. He looked at you in fascination.

“What?” you said, wiping your mouth. “I get nervous in social situations.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Loki sneered. “You’re always a thorn in my side.”

“You’re very easy to annoy,” you grinned, and part of Loki enjoyed that he was the reason you were grinning. Your eyes scanned the crowd, searching for something and perking up when you found it. “Now that I’ve located the bar, I am going to get myself something with hard liquor. Care to join?”

Loki had nothing better to do. Especially as people continued to give him a wide breadth. It wasn’t unknown that he had been staying at the tower, but it was still considered a hindrance to most. Not that it ever seemed to bother you.

Loki stayed by your side most of the night because it was either that or spending time with his brother. At some point, you had gotten Loki to talk about things he was interested in. Nothing deep, but you both delved into a heavy discussion on certain books as well as made ill-placed bets on some of the other inhabitants of Avengers Tower. Loki resented the fact that he found himself having actual fun, especially as hours into the party; Thor decided it would be funny to have people try to lift Mjinior. Everyone with a Midgardian alcohol tolerance was on their way to not remembering the night, but a delightful buzz filled the air. You dragged Loki closer to the action, taking his jacket sleeve in the process. You still stayed close to him even when you reached your destination, and Loki could smell your perfume from your proximity.

He continued to have fun, especially as he watched Stark struggle to move the hammer. Romanoff and Barton didn’t even try. Rogers got it a little bit, which led to a look of concern on Thor’s face that Loki would be enjoying for months. Other party guests participated, and at some point, Barton noticed you and Loki.

“How about Y/N and Horns try their hand?” Barton called out, cheers piling on. Loki sent one glare to get most to shut up, refusing to embarrass himself with such frivolous things. You just shrugged, not as inebriated as most humans there but still feeling the effects. Loki worried you’d trip in your heels as you made your way to the hammer, cracking your knuckles as you waved at the small crowd. They cheered as you wrapped your hands around the leather handle, took a deep breath in, and lifted.

Everyone, including Loki’s, jaw dropped as you easily lifted the hammer. You faltered back a step, obviously expecting some adversity. You twirled it in your hands, looking shocked yet proud. You spun on your heel towards Thor, throwing the hammer at him. He managed to catch it, still looking at you in shock.

“Does this mean I’m the new god of thunder?” you questioned, hiding a smile.

“Oh, I hope so, I need more eye candy,” Stark drawled. You, Romanoff, and Loki all glared at him. “Kidding, as long as Bruce is here, I’m happy.”

“Thanks, Tony,” Banner muttered, one of the only attendees to abstain from drinking and, therefore, one of the few sober onlookers.

Stark was still relentlessly teasing Rogers for not being as ‘pure’ as you walked back to Loki. You had to reassure Thor that you did not want his title or his hammer. You stumbled a little, and the several whiskey sours you downed caught up to you. Loki grabbed your arms to study you, and you smiled at him gratefully.

“Can we sit down? My feet are killing me,” you grumbled, and Loki obliged. He didn’t like being surrounded by that many people anyway. You found a quiet corner away from the main room, a little dimmer but with the same twinkling lights and Christmas decorations as the rest of the party. You sat down on a red settee and started removing your heels, sighing in the process. Loki stayed focused on the different ornaments on the tree rather than your exposed calf.

“Are you still going to be friends with me?” you questioned. Loki turned to you in surprise. “You know, because I lifted the hammer and all.”

“I’m not jealous if that’s what you’re inferring,” Loki raised a brow, hands in his pockets. You stood up and joined him, so much smaller now that you were just in your dress. “I’m not surprised, though,” Loki murmured.

“Well, I’m surprised,” you shook your head. “Not sure what about me is worthy.”

“You’re kind, even to people like me.” He said the last part as an afterthought, but you heard. You seemed to always hear what he was saying. You glanced up, smiling. He looked up to see dozens of hanging stars and mistletoe hanging above you.

“Mistletoe,” you murmured, the lights reflected in your eyes.

“I don’t understand why Stark would hang up something poisonous when any of these drunken idiots could ingest it.”

“It’s tradition,” you responded. He still didn’t know why you were smiling.

“Tradition?”

“If you’re under the mistletoe with someone, you have to kiss them,” you shrugged. “Christmas tradition.”

“Humans are appalling creatures.”

“You’re the one standing under the mistletoe, buddy,” you laughed. Loki noticed you scrunched your nose when you laughed.

“I would never force myself on someone because of a stupid tradition,” Loki scoffed, but you still weren’t perturbed. In fact, you seemed thoughtful.

“It wouldn’t be force,” you said. “Not for me.” You basically whispered the last part, but Loki was no fool. He understood what you were saying. But because you were kind, you didn’t push. Instead, you looked as if you might walk back to the party, away from him. Loki stepped closer to you instead. You looked up, alarmed. “What are you doing?” you stammered.

“Tradition,” he smirked, leaning in and kissing you. It was short, it was calm, and it was one of the best things Loki had experienced in his existence. Being with you under the lights and mistletoe, surrounded by warmth and laughter. It made him long for more. When he pulled away, he saw stars and longing in your eyes. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered, stepping back. He expected nothing more from this; he would just have this one moment to cherish.

You pulled him back, kissing him again. Much firmer, and Loki swore he could taste the whiskey you drank on your lips. When you broke away this time, you were grinning like a Cheshire cat.

“Merry Christmas, Loki,” you grinned, grabbing his hands. “C’mon, let’s rejoin the party.”

Loki was thankful he let you talk him into attending, even if it was for something as simple as a holiday party.

loki taglist : @eleniblue @iwrite-things @youneedanap @huntress-artemiss @linaax @pisces-celeste @marygoddessofmischief @gruftiela @saay-karani @foxherder @lover-of-books-and-tea @lilaclaufeyson @gardasngan @evasmlp @swampespresso @awnmaknees

#loki laufeyson x reader #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #loki fic #marvel #marvel fic #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #my writing #ficmas #ficmas 2024

127 notes · View notes

buzzcutlip · 3 months ago

Text

Cracks and Gaps - The Cat Shrine (part III) Carmen Berzatto x Fem!Reader Explicit 8539 words

A/N: This chapter is a bit longer than I expected but it's also packed with stuff that needs to be said and done. Plus! I believe this part offers all we've been waiting for iykwim

THE CAT SHRINE "Carmen!" You snap your fingers next to his ear.

"Yeah," he replies, blue eyes melting into yours like ice daggers.

"You're not concentrating," you accuse, huffing.

"I am!"

"You're so not."

Shaking your head, you put your phone down, tired of trying to show the chef the progress The Bear has made in its social media presence. You don’t think it’s important for him to know all the details, but he should be fully informed.

"You haven’t even downloaded Instagram, have you?" you ask, already knowing the answer.

"Uhm…" Carmen shifts uncomfortably, guilt written all over his face.

"I knew it!" you exclaim. Although you want to be strict, wanting him to know you take your work seriously and wanting him to acknowledge it, you start laughing when you see the long face he’s pulling. He looks like a dog caught peeing on the rug.

"What’re you laughing at?" Carmen asks sullenly.

You shake your head. "Nothin'," but you still snicker. You like teasing him a little.

When you calm down, you take a sip of your soda from the funky Superdawg cup and take a deep breath. The parking lot offers no shade, and there’s sweat gathering at your hairline. You watch the two mascots—Laurie and Flaurie, sausages perched on the roof of the drive-in. Thousands of people must have done the exact same thing since this spot opened in the '50s.

"Do you think Nat really wants me at Pete’s birthday?" you ask, your face serious. From Carmen's expression, you can tell he appreciates the change.

"I think so," he affirms. "She wouldn’t have asked otherwise."

"She’s too nice. She knows I would find out about it eventually," you muse aloud. "Like, that would be awkward… I hope it’s not only 'cause of the interview and stuff."

Carmen lights a cigarette, shaking his head. "Bullshit." He always waits to smoke until no one around is eating.

You shrug, faking nonchalance, but the idea of Natalie inviting you out of obligation makes you feel sick to your stomach. You don’t need favors or fawning over.

Carmen blows the blue smoke in the opposite direction from you. "She likes you."

The car hood is hot under your butt, and your cutoff denim shorts aren’t doing much to protect your skin. You shimmy uncomfortably, hissing.

Next to you, Carmen looks down at you, eyebrows raised questioningly.

"It’s hot," you whine, trying to tug the shorts lower.

"You okay?" Carmen checks.

"I’m fine," you sigh. "I’m glad to be baking my ass on metal, actually," you say, picking the last bits of caramelized onion from the paper tray. "I watched The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo yesterday. Listened to way too much of Ethel Cain…"

Carmen keeps looking at you, clearly not following.

"'s dark stuff," you sigh again, being pretty dramatic just for effect. You definitely don’t feel too affected by Nordic crime books or songs about escaping a cult and cannibalism. It takes you somewhere else, mentally. Not a bad place, necessarily.

"Uhm—hopefully the hot dog’s cheered you up?" Carmen asks, popping a fry into his mouth, then wiping his hand with the back of his tattooed fingers. They’re long and graceful, the nail beds clean with minimal hangnails. You want to lick them clean.

You give him a smile. A genuine one. "Yep."

Not just the hot dog.

Carmen’s brows furrow a bit as he glances at you, a small smile playing on his lips despite himself. "You’re hard to read sometimes. Like—hm—I don’t know if you’re joking or not."

"You say that like it’s a bad thing," you tease, giving him a playful nudge. His hand steadies itself on the hood as the sun glints off it, the Chicago heat thick in the air around you.

"It’s not," Carmen says, his tone softer now. "It feels more genuine. Authentic. It’s kinda... nice."

You raise an eyebrow, amused by his awkward sincerity. "Kinda?"

Carmen chuckles, shaking his head as if embarrassed by the admission. "Fine. It’s nice."

You smirk, pleased with yourself for drawing him out of his usual seriousness.

"Nat wouldn’t have invited you if she didn’t want you there, you know," Carmen says, circling back to your earlier worry.

"I guess," you reply, still a bit skeptical. "Just don’t wanna be somewhere I don’t really belong."

Carmen’s gaze hardens a little, a quiet determination settling in his voice. "You do belong."

You meet his eyes, surprised at the firmness in his words. For all his hesitation and self-doubt, Carmen has a way of saying the simplest things with absolute certainty when he means it.

"Okay," you reply quietly.

—

In the late afternoon, you arrive at Pete and Natalie’s house. The sunlight’s casting a warm glow over the tree-lined streets, and you’re grateful that the heat’s eased off and you aren’t sweaty and gross before you get in. The house is beautifully maintained, with a fresh coat of paint, a well-kept yard, and soft music spilling out through the open windows. Pete’s job clearly allows them a bit of comfort. For the first time since you were here, all those months ago, you notice these little details.

As you make your way up the walkway, you notice a stroller parked just inside the entryway, along with a soft baby blanket draped over the arm of a chair near the door—the quiet reminders of Natalie and Pete’s new life as parents. You hear soft baby coos over the sound of conversation, which makes you smile. Yet, it’s a reminder that maybe you yourself should start thinking of this kind of life. A life with a serious partner you might start a family with. Someone you will spend the rest of your life with. Probably. Hopefully.

Inside, the party is subdued yet lively. Guests drift through the kitchen and living room, chatting and laughing. You greet a few familiar faces, but you’re not really that close with most of them. The place is clean and pretty, the opposite of the mess you experienced in May. You quickly spit out your gum into a tissue you find in your pocket.

Richie finds you first, thrusting a glass of mimosa in your hand. You didn’t plan on drinking, but this could help with your nerves. You’re not great in new settings, around people you don’t know very well. Luckily, you’re pretty good with kids and you really like Natalie, so when she spots you, you spend about 30 minutes chatting while a few people gather around you. She gives you the baby to hold, and the little boy dozes off in your arms. When Nat takes him back to put him down in the crib, you excuse yourself from Jimmy’s wife and another older lady to go find water and maybe something small to eat.

The kitchen is quiet compared to the rest of the house, and you’re not surprised to find Carmen there, cutting carrots into precise sticks, his knife moving with calm precision. He doesn’t notice you at first, so you have a moment to take in his wide, muscled back under a thin sweater. It’s a very, very nice back that you would really, really like to see without any clothes.

You shake your head, pulling yourself together.

You clear your throat. “Hi.”

The sound startles him, and he jumps, the knife slipping from his fingers onto the cutting board with a loud clatter. “Fuck!” he mutters, spinning around to see you.

“Sorry!” you hurry to apologize, walking all the way to him. “Did you cut yourself?”

“No, it’s fine,” Carmen reassures you, taking a deep breath. “Hey,” he greets you back, a bit calmer now. He seems a bit surprised to see you.

“So, I find you in the kitchen, of all places,” you say with a smile, leaning on the wall. Under your arm is a thick paper envelope with the fresh magazine issue inside.

“I thought maybe you wouldn’t come.” His expression shifts to something warm, less guarded than what you’re used to. You almost blush at his words, unsure of what to take away from them.

Your fingers tighten around the envelope for a moment before you gather the courage to hand it over to him. “I wanted to show you this today.”

Carmen’s gaze drops to the big envelope, and he takes it from you. When he opens it, he sees himself on the cover, and there’s a pause. The main title reads, "Chef Carmen: The Story That Matters."

You feel a slight flutter of nerves. “I wanted to give you a chance to see it before anyone else. We just received a couple of copies yesterday. It’s not on newsstands for another week.”

Carmen nods but stays quiet, just flipping through the pages. You made sure Nat went over the final images with him, confirming he’s okay with the selection, and with the cover that features him wearing a pair of smart black pants and a white t-shirt revealing his tattoos. You see him skimming the article, glancing at the photos of himself in the kitchen and on the set. There are a couple with the whole team at The Bear.

“It’s… weird,” he says finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “Seeing myself like this.”

You tilt your head curiously. “You’ve been in magazines. Even on the cover.”

“Yeah—just—” he glances back at the pages. “Not with a project that’s as personal as The Bear.”

You nod, understanding. It is revealing. While transcribing the interview and writing the whole feature, you finally had a chance to see through the cracks and gaps and get a glimpse of the real Carmen. The one hiding behind his unapproachable facade.

Carmen shakes his head, chuckling softly. “It’s… a lot. But it’s good,” he admits, his voice soft. He looks back at you, and you can feel the gratitude there, unspoken but genuine. “Thank you. You put a lot of work into this.”

You give a small shrug, trying to keep your own emotions in check.

“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like I doubted you.” The reference to the bumpy start stings, and you almost grimace. “It’s… it’s everything you’ve done to get us here. I don’t think anyone’s ever believed in me like that.”

You want to say something silly, like, “Oh, I knew you’d be the top chef in Copenhagen already,” but you can’t get the words out. You don’t frequent The Bear as often as you used to. After the incident with Carmen, and even after all the apologies, you agreed they would find a proper social media manager, and you would help occasionally. But now you’ve started meeting Carmen outside the kitchen much more, venturing further into the restaurant world with a top chef as your guide. He’s changed, you think. Maybe both of you have.

Finally, Carmen breaks the silence, letting out a small, almost bashful laugh. “Guess I should, uh, keep this somewhere safe?”

You smile, relieved to feel the tension ease, and nod. “Yeah, please. Maybe show it to them when you’re back at work tomorrow? I’m sure Sydney and the others would get a kick out of seeing it.”

You watch Carmen tuck the magazine back into the envelope, and you feel the moment slipping past you. You clear your throat, gathering yourself before you speak.

“Actually, there’s… this event next week,” you start, fidgeting slightly. “It’s a charity cocktail—kind of formal, for a nonprofit that supports community kitchens. I wanted to ask if you’d come with me.”

Carmen raises an eyebrow, caught between curiosity and amusement. “Me?”

“Yeah,” you say with a shrug that you hope comes off casual. “I mean, you’re on the cover of Taste now, and people will hear about it soon. Thought it’d be nice to… y’know, show you off a little.”

He looks down, an almost shy grin tugging at his mouth. “Didn’t think I was the ‘show-off’ type.”

“Oh, you totally are,” you reply, grinning. “Besides, Nat mentioned you might need to make an appearance or two—good publicity for The Bear and all that.”

Carmen nods, as if he’s already half-resigned. “She has been dropping hints,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was going to ask if you’d come with me to it, too. Got the invite a few weeks back.”

“Oh,” you say, raising your eyebrows. “I thought we’re friends now. You should've asked sooner,” and you hope the word “friends” sounds as casual as you intended.

“Okay—then yes,” Carmen says, and there’s a challenge in his voice, his face serious. It’s clear he doesn’t want to seem like someone afraid of public events and social gatherings in general. You do know the truth, which makes you chuckle.

“How fancy is the event, you think?” he checks, sounding slightly discouraged now.

“Not that fancy, don’t worry.” You grin, leaning a bit closer. “Nothing that calls for a tux, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“Oh, I can wear a tux,” he juts out his chin, and it’s such a sudden change to his normal demeanor that you feel a bit weak in the knees for a second. Confidence suits him, as you know. And not only while he’s being the Chef.

“No doubt,” you agree with a smile, taking a tray with homemade hummus and carrot sticks from him.

“Oh—I’ve been meaning to ask you,” you remember as you’re both exiting the kitchen with more prepared food in your hands. “How did you survive the photo shoot and interview without any smoke breaks?”

He looks up at you and stays quiet for a moment.

“Nicotine patches. I had to put on three at the same time.”

And you laugh.

—

Carmen picks you up on Thursday at six-thirty. You chew through half a packet of gum while getting ready. A mix of feelings is swirling around in your stomach—excitement, nervousness, and an utter disbelief that you’re so worked up about a professional evening with Carmen.

When he buzzes the intercom, you jump, giving yourself an unnecessary scare, then roll your eyes at yourself. Grabbing a small black purse, you lock up behind yourself and make your way down the four flights of stairs. The air outside is slightly cool from the late afternoon rain, the fresh smell hitting your nose and making you nostalgic.

“Oh my god,” your heart drops to your stomach the second you look at Carmen, who is blankly staring with the most perplexed expression you’ve ever seen. “Have I messed up? Is this inappropriate?” Trying to read more from Carmen’s face, you lift your trembling hands to your mouth. What have you done? Why do you always have to have your way?

You look down at your draped top, barely covering your shoulders, and wide, pleated pants you opted for instead of a more traditional skirt or dress. You’re also wearing high-heeled Mary Janes that bring you to the same height level as Carmen. You hoped he’d get the fashion statement.

“I’m—I can change,” you stammer, turning halfway back to the door, already thinking about what you could swap this for.

As Carmen starts saying, “No, no,” you say, “It said semi-formal.” Carmen reaches for your hand and gently pulls it from your mouth. You’re still confused and freaking out, not understanding anything.

“I just meant—I just wanted to say,” Carmen swallows, “that you look lovely.”

“Oh god,” you sigh heavily with relief, and you both laugh—Carmen a bit awkwardly, and you breathlessly. “Screw you.” You’re pretty sure you feel two stones lighter suddenly.

It’s only later, when you’re both sitting in the back of a taxi taking you to The Field Museum, that you realize what Carmen said. He said you looked pretty. Oh.

—

“This is going to be so awkward,” Carmen says, his eyes never leaving the big, open door with a stream of nicely dressed people heading in through it. The large, Neoclassical building is imposing with its massive Corinthian columns, giving off an air of true greatness.

“Oh, c’mon,” you whine. “I’m actually really excited to see it from the inside without the usual visitors. It’s gonna be fine. You can even get drunk, if you want to.”

“Uh—I don’t really drink,” Carmen says as he finishes off his cigarette, stubbing the end and flicking the butt into the ashtray.

“Maybe tonight you will.” You smile sweetly. Of course, you would never even think of pressuring Carmen—or anyone— into drinking alcohol, but the faded image of the two of you in his houseboat in Copenhagen pops into your head.

“We can just check out Ancient Egypt and go,” you suggest as you watch Carmen fidget nervously from the corner of your eye.

He gives you a tight smile, one that doesn't reach his eyes, then offers you his arm, and together you go in.

The East Atrium is lit up and arranged with round tables and smaller, tall bar tables. It’s a modern addition to the museum designed to blend with the historic architecture. Through the large windows facing the lake, you can see the sun starting to set. There are fresh flowers—hydrangeas, peonies, and tuberose—in the vases decorating the space, and you can’t help but touch the soft petals as you stand by one of the arrangements.

Carmen’s gaze shifts around the room. His arm tenses slightly under your hand, and you can tell he's trying to look relaxed, even as his fingers keep flexing in his pocket. “See? It’s nice in here, right?” you whisper, trying to catch his eye, hoping for a little reassurance that he’s not hating every second. So far, you’ve only met two people you know—clients who regularly advertise in Taste and who did recognize Carmen, pulling him into an intense conversation about cooking stoves. When he spoke to the clients, you noticed his voice was polite but guarded, the rhythm clipped, almost rehearsed. Different from when he talks to you.

Carmen gives a reluctant nod. “Yeah, it’s…not bad.” He scans the room again, and you feel for him, guessing he’s probably trying to uncover any other potential danger. Then he notices the flowers you’ve gravitated toward, and his mouth quirks up—just a bit. “You really like flowers, huh?” he says quietly, watching you brush your fingers over the soft petals.

You grin and shrug. The scent of tuberose mingles with the warmth of the evening, and you get the best idea. “Want to skip the mingling and find the mummies?” you offer, lowering your voice conspiratorially. “I mean, what’s a night at the Field Museum without a little ancient history?”

Carmen lets out a soft chuckle, a rare sound that feels like a victory. “Yeah,” he says, sounding almost relieved. “Let’s do that.” As you make your way across the Atrium, Carmen keeps close by your side, your arms brushing. When he opens the door for you, his hand hovers just above the small of your back, the warmth radiating from his palm seeping into your spine through your clothes. The murmured “thanks” is the most you can do without embarrassing yourself.

—

“My dad is obsessed with mummies. He used to take me here at least twice a year when I was a kid,” you say as you aim your phone camera to capture the sleeping artifact. “I’ve never been here after the closing hours though.”

You send a quick, funny message to the chat group you have with your parents, and put the phone back into your purse. Although the narrow corridors and the displays are the same as they were years ago, it never gets old to you.

“I don’t think my parents took me places,” Carmen says next to you, studying the plaque next to the mummy and its decorated sarcophagus. “To cultural institutes and shit. We spent a lot of time at home, or running around our block.”

You feel a pang in your chest for little-boy Carmy. On the other hand, you know that you can’t judge other people’s experiences and the quality of their childhoods and lives based on yours.

“You’re here now. And you can ask anything. I can pretend to be a qualified guide,” you half-joke.

Carmen chuckles softly, though his gaze stays fixed on the ancient figure in its case. His eyes trace over the faded bandages, the meticulous, centuries-old work of preservation.

“It’s just an illusion. Most of the exhibits we see in museums have been stolen from the original countries as part of colonialism or wars,” you sigh, studying the gold jewelry in a display behind the thick glass. “It shouldn’t be like that.”

“Yeah, it’s kind of messed up.”

Next, you check the Book of the Dead and the reconstruction of the ancient marketplace. Here and there, you bump into other people drifting in from the atrium, taking the opportunity to experience the free exhibition too.

“I think I need a drink after the cat shrine,” Carmen points out once you make it back to the lively space of the Atrium. The glass ceiling reveals that the evening’s turned into night. “It was kinda creepy,” he says with a certain hint of unease. You chuckle, patting him lightly on the back. “I think that’s the point. Cats are guardians of the afterlife, gazing into your soul. Maybe they picked you out for judgment, Carmen.” He shudders slightly, pulling a face. “I’d rather stick to cooking for the living.”

More people approach you as you wait at the bar—old colleagues of Carmen from Ever, hospitality people you’ve interviewed, and Regina, the head of sales from Taste.

Carmen holds the two drinks as you find a table off to the side, both of you grateful for the secluded spot. He slides your drink over to you. The tired look on his face proves he’s not too thrilled about the impromptu reunion with old colleagues.

“Looks like you’ve got a fan club,” you point out. The way Regina was looking at Carmen sticks with you—the way she talked to him. Like she wanted to eat him alive. Or fuck him.

Carmen rolls his eyes. “Didn’t realize it’d be a whole industry meetup. Thought I was off-duty tonight.”

“You couldn't have possibly thought that.”

You mirror Carmen and take a sip of the drink to find out what he’s ordered for you.

“That’s—that’s licorice vodka,” you stammer out.

Carmen nods. “Yeah, can you believe they have it here?” A small, secretive smile plays around his eyes. “Did I hit the target, Copenhagen?” Your eyes widen slightly, caught off guard by the unexpected nostalgia that hits you as you recognize the drink. It’s simple, unassuming, yet oddly perfect—a reminder of countless late nights and blurry memories from Denmark. You can’t believe he’s remembered. “Yeah,” you say, recovering. “You hit the target.”

Instead of pondering more about the reasons, or the lack of them, behind Carmen’s gesture, you look down at your feet, hissing. “Do your feet hurt?”

“Fuck yes. Like hell!” You can’t help but grimace as you shift your weight, feeling the pinch of your shoes.

Carmen watches you shuffle uncomfortably, and he hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. “You, uh…you sure you’re okay?” he asks.

“It’s fine. I was expecting this.”

You take a sip of your drink again, thinking of what you want to say next.

“Do you do all this because of what happened?” you ask, looking at the floor behind his shoulder.

“What do you mean?”

“The—what happened in the restaurant office,” you add in a small voice, hating to talk about the incident.

Carmen reaches out to lightly touch your hand on the table. “I should've never behaved that way. I was a real dick.”

“That mean yes or no?” you inquire, your heart picking up speed. You don’t know why you’re getting nervous again. “You’ve been super nice to me. And a—a good, uhm, friend.” You say the word ‘friend’ so tentatively it’s almost inaudible in the room. Maybe you hope Carmen’s gonna overhear. It’s such a fragile label of what’s between you.

Carmen actually huffs out a small laugh before he says: “Be nice to nice,” and you lift your head up to glance at him, finding him smiling, so you smile back. You just smile back and don’t say anything else. This is all you need.

—

The next morning, the sun feels harsher than it should. It streams through the blinds, making everything feel just a little too bright, a little too real after last night. You had expected to wake up tired, but what you didn’t expect was the quiet echo of Carmen’s smile and his casual, soft touches lingering in your chest and beneath your skin. Fuck, you think self-deprecatingly. You try to shake it off as you rush to work, but it’s impossible.

During the morning briefing, you keep checking your phone for new messages, but there are none from Carmen. It’s hard not to hope for a follow-up after last night. As innocent and friendly as the whole evening had been, ignoring your growing affection for the chef is impossible now.

When your phone buzzes during your lunch break, a quick glance at the screen tells you it’s Natalie, texting in her usual efficient bursts: Nat: New special menu to be launched tomorrow. Can you stop by The Bear tonight? Nat: Just to check how we wanna communicate it on SoMe. Nothing major! You barely finish reading before the familiar flutter sets in. Nothing major for Natalie usually means chaos in the making. But it’s not her message that has you rushing home after work—it’s the possibility of seeing Carmen again. By the time you’ve touched up your makeup and slipped into a new outfit, your nerves are buzzing. Carmen’s commented on your dresses a couple of times, so you feel like that’s definitely the right choice. You put together a dark blue button-through summer dress with tiny white dots, and a pair of cowboy boots, giving you a look that’s casually cool.

As you get ready, you wonder how Carmen feels about seeing you again so soon after last night. You wonder if he thought about the drink he picked for you, or the way he laughed—so much that his dimples, which you had almost forgotten about, kept appearing by his mouth.

The service is in full swing when you arrive, so you automatically use the back door, heading to the office as quickly as possible through the intensity of the kitchen. You don’t even try to catch a glimpse of blond hair or that familiar white chef’s jacket, even though you terribly want to.

“Looks like it’s already a madhouse,” you say, sliding into the chair next to Natalie in the office. “When isn’t it?” Nat quips, finally looking up with a wry smile. She nods toward the kitchen. “Carmy’s back there somewhere. I told him you’d swing by.” Your stomach does a little flip at the mention of his name, but you nod casually, as if it doesn’t affect you at all. “Okay, let’s see this menu then.”

Natalie starts explaining the dishes, her words efficient but animated, as she describes the seasonal ingredients and the thought behind the pairings. It’s funny how similar the siblings are. Maybe not at first glance, but as you’ve gotten to know them better, you notice the resemblance more often than not.

As if summoned by your thoughts, the door swings open, and Carmen steps out. His brows are furrowed in that intense, focused way that somehow makes him look even more attractive. Your breath catches, and you quickly look down at the paper in front of you, pretending to study the menu notes.

“Hey,” he says, his voice low and quiet, as he approaches the table. He nods at Natalie, then turns his attention to you. His gaze flickers briefly to your dress. “Hi,” you reply, trying not to sound too breathless. “Thanks for coming,” Carmen says, his eyes lingering on you for just a moment longer than necessary before shifting back to Natalie. “So, what’s the plan?”

As Natalie launches into the logistics, you can’t help but steal glances at Carmen. He’s close enough that you catch the faint scent of his cologne, and when his fingers brush yours as he passes a page of notes, it feels electric, sending a spark up your arm. If you’d struggled to concentrate earlier, it’s almost impossible now. And you’re the one who’s supposed to share ideas and opinions.

The whole thing stretches into a menu tasting in the only calmer spot in the kitchen—you taking photos just in case, brainstorming about the introduction wording. Then Carmen and Natalie get into a fight—unsurprisingly—before making up. It’s like being on a swing with them, and the whole environment of the kitchen—hot, fast, frantic—makes it even more intense.

—

Absolutely on purpose, you finish fiddling with Instagram just before 11:30 p.m. in the empty kitchen, getting up when you hear what must be Carmen taking out his civvies from his locker. You take your bomber jacket and a handbag, walking over there.

“Hi,” you say, and Carmen’s head pops up through the hole of his crewneck sweater.

“Hey,” he says back. “You’re still here?”

You nod. “Thank you again for yesterday. For taking me with you.”

Carmen looks up at you from where he’s changing his Birkenstocks for white sneakers. “Didn’t you take me with you?” he jokes.

“It was nice either way,” you say, putting on your jacket and hoping Carmen doesn’t hear the hope in your voice. It’s hard to keep the softness you feel for him out of your words.

Carmen hoists his backpack onto his shoulder. “You leaving too?”

“Yep.”

He holds the back door for you, touching your lower back lightly the way he had yesterday. You bite your lip at the slightest contact, resisting the urge to reach back and touch his hand.

You lean against the wall by the door as Carmen locks up and then lights up a cigarette. You haven’t talked much for the rest of the dinner service, but he seems more relaxed, smiles more often. It has you smiling too.

“What?” he checks when he looks over at you.

You shake your head but the smile persists. “Nothin’... I’m glad it all has worked out,” you sigh with relief and content.

Carm blows the smoke above his head, watching it disappear. “Thanks to you,” he says seriously.

“No. No, we talked about this yesterday. I don’t need any credit in this,” you’re shaking your head in resolution, a frown forming on your face. “I don’t want it.”

He steps closer, crowding you against the wall, intention flashing in his eyes, and you can't breathe. Can't imagine that the timid chef would want - that he would want you in a way you've been wanting him.

Carmen gets into your space, and your hands land on his waist, finding purchase on the waistband of his jeans. “Carmy,” you breath out quietly, head tilted down. You don't know what's going to happen but the close proximity to the chef makes you breathless. His hands cradle your face. You only feel the gentle touch, scared to face Carmen fully. But you can smell him again - his deodorant and hair product. Cigarettes.

He surprises you though. “Why do you always smell like cinnamon?” he mumbles, his breath tickling the baby hair around your ear, his mouth an inch from it.

“It's the - the gum,” you answer, trying to stay calm despite your heart beating like crazy. Only now you do realize you called him Carmy. It felt right.

You're not sure for how much longer you can stay still, but Carmen seems to have no trouble dragging the situation out. You are restless, though, you just have to do something.

So you tilt your face up and you lean up on your tiptoes to kiss him. Just to press your lips against Carmy’s, nothing else. It’s actually more of an act to break the tension than an actual kiss. You feel absolutely stupid a mere second after you are back on your feet fully, Carmen right in front of you, unmoving.

“Am I reading this all wrong?” you ask when the chef remains silent, avoiding eye contact with you.

He shakes his curly head, putting space between you two—unwittingly or not, you don’t want to think about it now—and runs a palm over his face, scratching the back of his neck. His body leaning away, the stupid crewneck pulling tight across his shoulders with the stretch of Carmen’s muscles.

“You’re not,” he says, and you almost feel giddy. You bite your lip to stop smiling. Carmen looks pained and worried, and you don’t want to be smiling.

“Then what’s going on?” you ask, reaching for his wrist and stroking the protruding bones there lightly.

“Just—I just feel like I’m going to fuck everything up.”

Slowly, you sway back closer to him, putting all your own nervousness behind. You lay one of your palms against his chest, hoping it could comfort him, the other one back on his waist.

“You know you are hot—” you say quietly, not quite looking him in the eye, “—attractive.” You correct yourself quickly.

“What?” Carmen says, and you can feel him relax a tiny bit, twisting his hand so it’s holding the one that had been on his wrist.

“You work out. You must know that you look good.” You slide your palm a little lower to the abs hiding under his cotton shirt.

It sounds awfully a lot like flirting, but you don’t even know how to flirt. You are honestly so bad at it. And this is only the truth, anyway.

Carmy’s definitely wearing a blush that’s matching yours. It’s spreading down his neck and lower, where you want to put your mouth.

“I just run. Sometimes. After work,” Carmen stammers a little incoherently, probably feeling like you are expecting an answer, or an explanation. And you know he runs every day, and does push-ups and God knows what. It’s a known fact in the kitchen. That’s how he puts space between “work” and “life.” A divider. Even just so small. You understand it. The need to know where your job ends and you start. You can also imagine that it’s something very difficult to distinguish for Carmen.

“I hate running,” you note, your honest mind is too quick to think twice. “But still—I would really like to kiss you. Properly.”

A car wheezes around you, way past the speed limit, and Carmen stares after it. He takes a visible, deep breath, looking into the street on the right, where the street lamps turn into small yellow, glowing balls. It bares the side of his neck to you, thick and vulnerable, and you can’t not look. A shiver runs through you from the evening chill, or maybe something else, too.

“Can we—would you maybe like to come over to my place?” you ask, probably the bravest you’ve ever been.

Carmen clearly thinks about the situation for a couple of seconds before he says: “Ok. Let’s go.”

You blink once, say nothing, and head toward the L with him by your side.

—

On the staircase, Carmen takes your hand into his, long fingers sliding along the top of your hand. While you're unlocking the door, you wonder if Mikaela left potato peels and apricot stones and orange rinds on the kitchen counter in her so-called open compost.

“Come in,” you say over your shoulder. The old, brass hanger is by the main door and you hang your jacket there, then take Carmen's to put away there too. “Would you like something to drink?” you ask politely, stalling on purpose. “We have - “ in all honesty, you are almost scared to open the fridge but Carmen is still standing where you left him, by the door. “We have tonic - “ without his friend gin that disappeared on Saturday - “ - or tap water.”

Carmen's wearing his gray crewneck and in combination with his mussed hair, he looks incredibly soft. “'m fine,” he says, looking at you with his big eyes, looking nervous but somewhat calm. Like he doesn't want to run away, which instantly comes to you as a huge relief.

You go to switch on the two small lamps placed around the room that you call the living room, which is obviously part kitchen and dining room too. The light makes everything even softer, a gentle sort of atmosphere. Suddenly it's easy to find each other in the middle of the room, right where the sofa with patchwork cushions are. WIthout a moment of hesitation, you kinda meet in the middle, and finally, you get to taste Carmen Berzatto.

It takes a few slow, lingering kisses to get bolder, and to your surprise, it's Carmen who gently slips his tongue into your mouth first, and you briefly wonder if he can taste the cinnamon from your gum now. Slowly reaching up to put your hand on the nape of Carmy's neck, you feel the delicate golden chain lying against his vertebra. How long will it take to see him wearing only that?

You push him softly in the general direction of the sofa. It's old and too soft, but you love the faded gray upholstery and how homey the simple piece of furniture is. Soon Carmen´s sitting on it with you on his lap. You’re wearing the dark blue cotton dress and your boots that are digging in the sofa by Carmen's thighs.

Carmen´s not shy, kissing you fully, tilting your head to his liking, stroking your bare arms up and down. You’re breathless on top of him, fingers running through the dark blond curls, giving back as much as receiving. The two of you kiss for long minutes, and you love it. You love how he tastes and how he's touching you, but it's clear that he's holding back. Or maybe it’s just you who is completely overwhelmed with want and need.

“Are you - are you a virgin?” you dare to ask into his ear, kissing his neck, hiding your face in the crook of his shoulder.

“What? No,” Carmen says, letting out a breathless laugh.

“It's fine if you are.”

“No,” he repeats.

“Ok.”

You lean back and take his hand to intertwine your fingers together. You can feel how warm your face is, the rushing of your heart.

“I just - just haven’t done anything. In a while,” Carmen says while looking at you, and he´s blushing, the apples of his cheeks darker than seconds ago.

“Me neither,” you reply in the same hushed voice caused by the dark room around you.

“You can touch me,” you invite him, bringing your joint hands to the apex of your thighs where the hem of your dress has rucked up. There´s nothing to be seen, the dress still covering your underwear, and you remember incidentally, that you are wearing a very plain pair of white knickers. Before he has a chance to react to your bold move, you duck down to kiss him, and everything drowns out the buzz of paralyzing excitement.

First you feel the soft touch of the back of his knuckles to press against your throbbing groin, too light to do anything than tease you. Carmen doesn't stop kissing you but it's slower, less measured, while he concentrates on the movement of his hand between your legs. He presses a bit harder, starts rubbing you in circles.

You shudder out a breath, tensing, fingers digging into his shoulders. “‘s nice,” you mutter into his mouth, face hot, too worried that if you don't encourage him, he might stop.

Carmen shortly hums in response and doesn’t stop. He presses open mouthed kisses against the side of your neck and down to the low neckline of your dress. You bite down on your lower lip, overwhelmed. It’s still hard to believe that you have Carmen here on your sofa, between your legs, his unruly curls between your fingers. Only now do you start to realize that you feel so much for him. That this is not just messing around. That you could actually fall in love with him. That you have been falling for him.

With a touch to his sharp jaw, you bring his face back to yours to kiss him deeply again, taking his free hand in yours to guide him, this time up to your breast. You squeeze the heavy weight of it and moan against the side of Carmy’s neck.

“I like it when it hurts a bit,” you whisper bashfully, too aware of how your hair sticks to your sweaty nape, the baby hairs by your ears probably curling with the humidity coming off your own burning skin.

Carmen nods and squeezes, a bit harder than you showed him, and you let out a surprised gasp that turns into a moan, head tilting back in pleasure. His thumb finds your nipple through two layers of clothing and he rubs against it, then pinches. Your eyes fly to his, wide and searching. Surprised by his obvious willingness to please you, you watch Carm’s actions almost breathlessly - how his eyebrows knot in concentration upon every measured touch, the way the tendons in his hand strain when he sneaks his fingers behind the elastic of your underwear. But you need to see more.

“Take this off,” you rasp out, grasping the material of Carmen’s jumper and tugging. “Off,” you mutter again, trying to help Carm out while he gets the garment over his head and off, chuckling breathlessly. You catch his smile and have to grin back, shyly but surely, and you kiss again, Carmen going back where he had stopped.

When you can open your eyes again, you enjoy the sight of Carmen’s muscles straining as he fingers you, looking down at where his fingers are disappearing into you, the elastic waistband digging into his wrist. He’s as concentrated and serious as he gets in the kitchen, plus turned on, if you can judge by the way he worries his bottom lip and the flush that’s spreading down his face to his long neck. Maybe he does get turned on when he’s in the kitchen, you muse, you just never noticed.

The never-ending string of your thoughts, even in this situation, unfortunately, is interrupted by Carm’s palm moving from your bare thigh up to your ass, his fingertips digging into the meat. His other hand speeds up, causing you to mutter, “Fuck,” into his ear.

“Can you come like this?” Carmen asks, and you can feel his wide eyes on you, even though you’re not looking.

“Give me a sec,” you answer in a breathy, raw voice, already mostly there. Your hand travels down into your underwear to touch your aching, swollen clit, while Carmy resumes, rubbing your walls inside. When he curls his fingers, the tips drag over your g-spot. That stirs all sorts of feelings in you, and you moan, then start grinding against his hand, his fingers. Those fingers that you watched chop and stir so many times in secret with quiet rapture, are now in you, bringing you to an orgasm.

Afraid that he could read too much from your face, you drag him into another kiss, dirtier and more desperate than the previous ones. As you near the peak, getting more and more desperate, unable to kiss Carm properly, he mouths at your collarbones, your chest, the top of your breasts. When he uses his teeth, you know he’s testing how far he can go, and you let out an encouraging sound.

Squeezing your eyes shut, your head tips back again, baring your throat to Carmen, as you come. You can feel your thighs tremble and your fingers squeeze Carmy’s shoulders momentarily. Once it washes over you, you slide off sideways from Carmen’s lap, breathing heavily and still biting your lip. You think you didn’t let out a single sound. You didn’t want to.

Carmen gives you a side glance, eyes glassy. He seems to be a bit breathless himself. You notice his eyes going to your breasts, where you can still feel wetness from his mouth, wondering if there are any actual marks left. Judging by the look on Carmen’s face, there might be.

Without thinking, you reach out and tug on the waistband of his Dickies.

“Yeah?” he says, looking at you.

“Yeah,” you nod.

With clumsy fingers, you open the button on Carmy’s pants together. You can’t help yourself — you push up the material of his t-shirt, revealing extra skin.

Your eyes widen as you scan his toned torso. “Running, huh?” you mutter teasingly, stroking your hand down his warm abdomen.

“Huh?” Carmen’s caught off guard, eyes following your hand. “Oh I — I do push-ups — erm — press-ups — sometimes. When I can't sleep.”

God, why is he sheepish? “And how much do you actually sleep?”

“Couple of hours,” he says, but the second word ends up cut off by a gasp as you touch Carmen’s dick, tugging it out from his underwear. He hisses, hips lifting up with the sensation, and you can see his tummy muscles contracting. You start stroking him slowly, as much as the angle allows you, trying out a firmer grip and then loosening up.

Not wanting to make Carmen uncomfortable with shameless staring, you press your face into the outer side of his arm, watching him from under his shoulder wordlessly. Based purely on his facial expressions, you adjust your fingers on his dick, and the rhythm. As expected, Carmy is utterly quiet, his strong jaw clenching. Only here and there, he lets out a harsh breath that you count as a victory. The t-shirt you have your nose buried in smells of generic laundry detergent, cigarettes, and caramelized onion. It also smells like Carmen — like a guy and antiperspirant.

It’s not long before Carmy squirms — “I’m not gonna last long,” he says, fists balling, and it’s so obvious he’s been holding himself back from fucking up into your hand that you feel almost sorry for him. On the other hand, this small thing between you is so fragile, and you are so anxious that you are going to fuck up, so you just bite your tongue and don’t comment on it.

“It’s fine,” you say low, lips moving against the t-shirt again, pretending you have not been watching his every expression, reading deep into every blink of his eyes, every time he wets his lips, jerks his pelvis up a bare inch with pleasure. The tip of his dick is as cherry pink as his lips are, you notice desperately, and you know this image is going to haunt you forever.

“It’s fine,” you repeat sweetly, speeding up your movements, and then Carmen is coming, thick ropes of it landing on your fingers and your wrist and his t-shirt that’s fallen back down over his stomach. He shakes with the force of his orgasm, and you watch his body in awe as it goes through it, still touching him, feeling the hot, slippery skin of his dick in your hand.

The rush of emotions is so strong that you almost panic. Then you look left and up at Carmen—he’s trying to catch his breath, his big eyes are glassy, and his lips are shiny with his own spit, and in that very moment, you believe that he can see right into the core of your own being.

You want to cradle his jaw and kiss him. Instead, you look away faster than he can. Miraculously, a box of Kleenex sits on the coffee table by the sofa, and you reach over to hand it to Carmen.

Next to you, you hear, more than see, Carmen wipe down the mess, pulling his t-shirt back down.

There are two options—either you get up quickly and this is all over for now, or you acknowledge what just happened and try to be all mature about it. To your own surprise, you go with the latter, turning to Carmen, reaching out to touch his forearm lightly.

He looks over at you and smiles, small and gentle.Then he leans in and kisses you on the lips before standing up.

“Can I smoke in here?” he asks, already searching his pockets.

“Yeah. From the kitchen window,” you point in the general direction of the window. There’s a chopped tomato can serving as an ashtray on the outside windowsill. Without a second look, you disappear into the bathroom to fix your damp underwear.

The night stretches, and Carmy never leaves. After his smoke break, you expect things to be awkward. But they aren’t. You split the two-day-old dinner leftovers—vegan spaghetti bolognese from Mikaela—and you eat it on the same sofa where you had been touching and kissing twenty minutes ago, while watching Modern Family, just to have something to fill in the silence that could become uncomfortable.

Carmen changes into your old baggy t-shirt. No denying that you would prefer him without it, but he asks for it himself. When he comes out of the bathroom and lies next to you, he smells of mint, and you hope he didn’t use your toothbrush without asking—because, “bleh”—and he reads your mind, because he says, “I brushed with toothpaste on my finger,” and brings the blanket all the way up to his chin.

You don’t know how, but you both fall asleep.

The stirring in the bed next to you is what wakes you up. Used to sleeping in your double bed by yourself, it takes your hazy brain a moment to remember that it’s not the case tonight. The light from the streetlamp filtering through the window blinds falls on the man next to you. You watch him wriggle under the sheet, sleepy and unguarded. He looks like an innocent boy—with his puffy eyes and messy hair falling over his forehead.

Meanwhile, Carmen’s eyes open and find yours. You’re unsure of what he sees on your face, but he outstretches his arm to touch your bare shoulder, and shuffles closer. Your stomach twists at the nearness.

“You okay?” you whisper groggily. “Aren’t you cold?”

He only shakes his head.

“Okay,” you nod into the pillow, daring to run the pads of your fingers along his forearm, stroking. Carmen’s skin here is baby soft, with no hairs on the inner side. You enjoy his quiet hum as you use your nails lightly. He closes his eyes momentarily, and you would say he shivers, but you can’t be sure.

You’re surrounded by the quiet of the night; even the neighbors above must be asleep because you can’t hear their annoying heavy steps. Tomorrow, you won’t be sure if you dreamt this moment.

“Sleep,” you whisper again, something primal overtaking you as you reach further into Carmy’s hair, smoothing down the tangled curls and continuing over the shell of his ear. Carmen watches you for a little longer until he relaxes completely, his blinks getting longer. You’re so caught up in the rare moment of stillness that you don’t realize at first that he’s falling asleep, until his heavy breathing indicates that he’s gone.

#the bear #carmy berzatto #my fic #carmen berzato #carmen berzatto fanfic #carmen berzatto fanfiction #the bear fic #the bear fanfiction #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto smut #jeremy allen white #carmy x fem!reader #carmy the bear #carmy x you #carmy x reader #carmen x reader #cracks and gaps

72 notes · View notes

willtheweaver · 1 year ago

Text

Details below:

Mari Lwyd- Likely a holdover from Wales’s Celtic past, Mari Lwyd is a skeletal horse who goes door to door, challenging people to a duel of verses. Should the homeowner run out of poetry, they must let Mari Lwyd in and treat the specter to the best booze.

Yule Goat- This lone wanderer of Nordic origins takes the form of a goat and travels from house to house, telling rude stories, and hard truths about the people inside. The Yule goat and their ill words can be removed from the house with an offering of food and drink. Today most people will only encounter straw goat effigies, such as the Gavlebocken( which will likely not burn this year, but it is currently being devoured by birds)

Mummers- Masked vagabonds, Mummers communicate either with mumbles, or in song and rhyme. They would ‘entertain’ homeowners with music, or by playing rigged games (gambling with loaded dice is a popular option). These shadowy characters can be placated with food and drink.

Wren hunters- seeing a pattern here? Many of these figures associated with Christmas have their roots in Europe’s pagan traditions. These figures often are associated with death and darkness-two things in abundance in winter. Offerings are made in hope that they and all bad things will go away, and that brighter times will come .The wren hunters are no exception. Coming from Ireland, this would be a group of people who go out hunting for the ‘king of birds’. Afterwards, they go door to door singing and begging for a penny, and (you guessed it), food and drink.

Lord of Misrule- Enough with all the dark thoughts; this last Christmas figure is much more cheerful. Medieval and Tudor England had the tradition of appointing one individual to be in charge of the celebrations. Everyone, from the royal court to the humblest village would have a Lord of Misrule, and being appointed was a great honor (not to mention naughtily subversive in a time where the social hierarchy was strictly enforced)

#poll #christmas season #mari lwyd #yule goat #gavlebocken #Mummers #wren hunters #lord of misrule

267 notes · View notes

mellifluouaamor · 2 months ago

Text

⍣ | QUERENCIA: INTRO

Synopsis. ( one-shot collection ) It has been a little over a decade since you left the Hetalia fandom to focus on your life. One day, YouTube recommends an old Hetalia song that you used to obsess over, and after listening to it, you decide to step back into the fandom to reminisce about your Hetalian era. However, you didn't expect to literally return to Hetalia when two strange yet familiar men kidnap you from your world and bring you to theirs.

Pairing. Various ( separate ) x Fem!Reader

Author's note. Inspired by Nightsevera's fic on deviantART. This is going to be a VERY big project that I will hopefully finish before 2026 ends… I will try to cover all of the characters on this list. Hopefully Himaruya doesn't officially debut more characters before this is finished or else I'm cooked

Heaving a weary sigh, you quietly unlocked the door to your apartment and stepped inside, the usual silence greeting you. As you pulled the door shut behind you with one hand, the other reached down to your raised leg and slipped your boot off your foot before doing the same with your other boot. Nudging your boots off to the side, you then walked over to the couch and flopped down on your stomach, your backpack sliding off your shoulder to land on the floor with a soft thud. With your face squished against the cushion, you let out another sigh.

How did your life end up like this? You had moved out of your home country to continue your studies, hoping to build a better future for yourself; you flew out of your nest to find thrill and adventure of living in a foreign country; you left everything behind to turn over a new leaf and become a daughter your parents could be proud of, but what awaited you on the other side was a lonely, uneventful life. You didn't have many friends, believing that your social life wasn't as important as your studies (oh, how wrong you were), and were constantly studying to stay at the top of your class. It was exhausting, and with each passing day, you were gradually losing your momentum.

You were tired.

You decided to take a short nap before taking a shower and doing your nightly routine. You didn't even bother to position yourself properly on the couch as your mind succumbed to sleep, your eyelids fluttering shut. With your breaths slowing into a calm, steady rhythm, you drifted into the world of your dreams, where you were much, much happier.

You didn't know how much time had passed when you awoke. Slowly lifting your eyelids, you pushed yourself to sit on your knees. You then turned your head to the clock on the wall, seeing that it was already half past nine at night - you had passed out for a solid three hours. Scratching the back of your head, you slid off the couch and dragged yourself to the computer, thinking that you might as well tire yourself out by watching random videos on YouTube.

"Thank goodness it's the weekend tomorrow," you mumbled to nobody in particular, repeatedly pressing the spacebar to turn on the screen. As soon as you went on YouTube, you noticed that the videos recommended to you were what you would have watched religiously back in 2010. Your eyes widened, your eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

Ah, yes. The years 2010 until 2014 were the time of Hetalia and One Direction - the happiest years of your life.

A breathy chuckle slipped past your lips as you hovered your mouse over the Nordic 5 song, Always With You. Bringing an elbow atop the desk, you propped your chin on the palm of your left hand as the nostalgic melody played, the song opening with Denmark's obnoxious yet cheerful voice. Memories of the past flashed through your mind, though some you internally cringed at since... you were quite young when you became a Hetalian (let's not remember those times too vividly...). Regardless, the era in which you spent fangirling over personified countries was filled with smiles and laughter, and above all, it was free of worry as you didn't have to constantly think about maintaining your GPA and paying bills. You pressed a hand against your mouth to suppress the emotions bubbling up in your throat as you listened to Italy's Marukaite Chikyuu, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

Suddenly, it's 2010 and everything was alright.

Your chest felt tight; there was an inexplicable longing for something you couldn't identify. The nostalgia was so powerful that you kept listening to another Hetalia song after the previous one ended, and found out that Denmark finally has his own character song, Let's Enjoy! Let's Get Excited! Cheers! Then you listened to one of England's character songs that you figured was released sometime after you left the fandom, Let's Enjoy Today. The melody and lyrics hit home, and that's when a few tears escaped. You wept for what could no longer be, for what you had let go to continue moving forward.

Why did you leave the Hetalia fandom back then? What even made you leave?

You regretted abandoning the fandom - but what could you have done? You were growing up and starting to live in the real world. The fact that you'd eventually grow out of Hetalia was inevitable, though you were glad that there's a resurgence of the fandom when you checked Tumblr.

"No way... Scotland, Wales, Northern Ireland and Ireland have official designs now?" you mumbled, admiring the official art of the UK brothers and Ireland, "There's even a new British micronation!"

Eventually, midnight fell. Noticing the time, you decided to call it a day and continue your nostalgia trip when the sun was up later. Standing up from your chair, you were about to head to the bathroom to wash up when you heard a suspicious clatter from your room. It was followed by the faint shuffling of feet, striking you with paranoia.

Something's not right. Last time you checked, you were the only one living in this small apartment...

Inching towards your storage closet, you blindly reached inside and grabbed a golf stick. Keeping your gaze on the door to your room, you stealthily slinked towards it. You pressed your back again the wall beside the door, hand on the doorknob as you listened for further movements inside the room. Counting to three, you then flung the door open and rushed in with the golf stick pulled behind your head, ready to strike the intruder.

"GET OUT OF MY-" you shouted only to falter upon meeting a pair of baby blue eyes. The owner's light blond hair almost looked transparent underneath the light, his white royal military uniform that was embellished with medals exuding an air of British regality. You took a step back with your jaw going slack, unable to believe what - or rather, who - you were seeing in your room. "Y-you're-" You were cut off by his mock disappointed sigh.

"Dearie me," he began, smiling at you in a way that unsettled you, "it appears that my princess has discovered us." Your brows furrowed in confusion. Us? "Allen!" He clapped, and on cue, the heavy thud of boots sounded behind you. Before you could turn around, the side of someone's palm struck the back of your neck, effectively knocking you out.

The last thing you heard as a pair of arms captured your body was, "Now, let us go home, pet."

❀

A pair of emerald green eyes cast a look at the sky when a raindrop plopped on top of the owner's mop of blond locks. Knitting his thick eyebrows together, Arthur cursed under his breath and fished through his bag for the umbrella he thought he had brought with him before he left for the world meeting being held in London. His three older brothers - Alasdair, Connor and Dylan - stood behind him as they too gazed at the darkening sky, the heralds of rain blocking out the sun.

"Aye, any of you got a brolly?" Connor asked.

"England bach was supposed to bring one," Dylan chirped.

Whirling his head around, the Englishman narrowed his eyes at the two. "You lot could have brought your own umbrellas instead of expecting me to prepare everything!" As the three brothers began to bicker back and forth, Alasdair chose to avert his attention to the alleyway across the road, where he spotted subtle movements in the darkness. He strained his ears, picking up on the sounds of struggle; it was only when he heard a high-pitched shriek that was abruptly cut off did he reach inside his navy blue coat to grasp his revolver. The other three men paused, having also heard the sound of someone in distress.

"... Did any of you catch that?" Connor quietly asked, looking between his brothers nervously.

"It came from there," Alasdair murmured, undoing the safety lock with a soft click. The UK brothers all had their eyes on the alleyway across the road and carefully observed with bated breaths.

Suddenly, your form burst forth from the shadows, causing them to tense up and the Scotsman to almost draw his revolver. With disheveled clothes and hair, you panted as if you had ran a mile and scanned your surroundings frantically; the pitiful state you were in made Connor and Dylan relax slightly, but Alasdair and Arthur remained on guard. Before you could notice the UK brothers watching you with wide eyes, a gloved hand reached for you from the alleyway and grasped your hair painfully, forcing you backwards with a harsh tug. Wincing, you instinctively reached behind your head to claw at the offending hand.

"You bitch!" Allen growled, eyes flaring. He was clutching his abdomen with his free hand and was having a hard time breathing thanks to the precise punch you had thrown at his solar plexus. The American tugged your hair again as the blond he intruded into your home with appeared beside the two of you, arms folded behind his back.

"Now, now, that is no way to speak to or treat a lady," he said, clasping Allen's wrist with mirth dancing in his blue hues, "And with that foul mouth of yours, I daresay that punch was very much deserved."

"Shut up, Mordred! This is all your fault!" Allen hissed, but loosening his grip just enough for it to not hurt as much when Mordred squeezed his wrist painfully, "If you hadn't screwed up, we wouldn't have to take this fucking detour!"

"My apologies. You know that I'm not well-versed in magic compared to my- Oh... speak of the devil." Grinning, Mordred waved at the UK brothers a few ways in front of them. "Good afternoon, gentlemen!"

Arthur's left eyebrow twitched at the sight of his and Alfred's Second Players holding you captive; he didn't need to know all of the details to figure out that you needed his help. "Let that woman go!"

Mordred put a hand on his chest with a dramatic gasp. "And lose this rare chance of reuniting with my princess?" A shadow then fell over his eyes, and the air suddenly felt heavy, sending a chill down your spine. "Over my dead body."

The way he uttered those words frightened you. As the Second Player of England, Mordred was a lot more cheerful and open, but that also meant he was far more honest than the original. What he wants, he gets - and he'll get whatever it is that he desires, one way or another.

Arthur chewed his bottom lip. Things usually get more complicated when Mordred is serious, and he contemplated using his wand against his own Second Player. However, before he could actually go through with that thought, Alasdair pulled out his revolver that he had kept hidden in his coat the entire time and fired a warning shot at Allen. The latter was taken by surprise and couldn't react in time, resulting in the bullet grazing the side of his face. He clenched his jaw, feeling the slight sting on his cheek. All the while, you glued your gaze on the group of men across the road, unsure of what to do during this tense exchange.

"My brother won't repeat himself," the Scotsman uttered calmly, ready to shoot again if needed.

Mordred narrowed his eyes at Alasdair as all signs of playfulness disappeared from them. A moment or two then passed before he reluctantly motioned for Allen to release you. "Let her go."

Grunting, the American untangled his painful grip your hair and shoved you onto the road. You subconsciously stumbled towards the UK brothers, knowing that you would be safe in their company. Dylan immediately took you into his arms as Arthur and Connor stepped in front of the two of you protectively. The Welshman looked down at your trembling form, his eyes softening with sympathy; you were no doubt shaken up by whatever the Second Players had put you through. He wordlessly rubbed your back in an attempt to soothe your nerves.

"Please take care good care of my princess," Mordred said with a mock bow, "because we will come back for her."

"As if I'll let you anywhere near her!" Arthur exclaimed, glaring at him. His Second Player merely let out a joyful laugh whilst flicking his wrist, causing a portal to materialise behind him. With a swish of his red cape, he disappeared through the portal, Allen following suit. Sighing in relief, Alasdair hid his revolver inside his coat again as Arthur continued to stare at the spot where they previously stood, his mind a whirlwind of questions that only the Second Players would have answers to.

"England bach!" Dylan called, snapping him back to reality, "The poor blodwyn won't stop shaking. I think she's still scared." Arthur glanced at you, seeing you clinging to his older brother as if he was a lifeline. He felt a pang of guilt, feeling somewhat responsible for Mordred's actions. "You should take her with you to the meeting. It'll be much safer with the other nations around."

When Arthur nodded at his suggestion, Dylan softly spoke to you, "Hey blodwyn... My younger brother will bring you somewhere safe now. Can you go with him?" You didn't respond, but when he tried to pass you to Arthur, you immediately dug your fingers into his light apricot cardigan and expressed your refusal by pressing your face against his shoulder. For some reason, you felt safer with Dylan, whom you recognised as the personification of Wales. You then subtly looked at the other men around you; there was Scotland, Northern Ireland and the great England himself, all in the flesh. If it wasn't for Allen terrorising you earlier, you would have fangirled on the spot. It wasn't everyday that you got to be in the presence of the fictional characters you could only dream of and read about in fanfictions when you were younger, and here you were, in the protective embrace of one of the dashing UK brothers.

Dylan's cheeks flushed with embarrassment when you refused to let go of him, and his eyes flickered over to Arthur somewhat bashfully. "Uh... Maybe I could accompany you to the meeting, just this once?"

Arthur heaved a sigh. It didn't look like there were any other options; you seemed to only trust the Welshman at the moment. "Come along now. We can't afford to waste anymore time, we're already running late."

As the UK brothers started making their way towards the building where the world meeting was being held, Dylan wrapped an arm around your shoulders, walking you with him. When you felt a sudden weight on your shoulders, you turned your head to see Connor's smiling face.

"It's quite chilly today," he said whilst Dylan adjusted his brother's coat on you. Murmuring a small "thanks", you wrapped the Irishman's coat around yourself and snuggled into it.

Questioning looks were thrown your way when Arthur entered the meeting room with you and Dylan in tow (Alasdair and Connor had gone to wait in another room with the other countries' states acting as their secretary for the month). Arthur went up to the front to explain the situation to Ludwig as you and Dylan took a seat in a corner on the back row, behind a group of nations that you recognised were part of the ASEAN. Juan and Tuah were excitedly looking at a sales campaign on Shopee, Prasert was summarising it in a Google docs for them, Lien was trying to get them to pay attention, while Raditya was browsing through a selection of motorcycles on sale on his cracked iPhone. You stared at Raditya's phone, wondering why he doesn't just get it replaced - despite having read on the Hetalia wiki that he's the type to use something until it's completely broken.

Feeling your gaze on him, the Indonesian turned his head to lock eyes with you. The polite smile he sent your way made you look away quickly with blood rushing to your cheeks, embarrassed at having been caught staring.

"I've never seen you around before, mbak. What's your name?" he asked, the smile ever so present on his face, "I'm Indonesia, but you can call me Raditya or Dirga."

Dylan eyed you curiously, only realising now that he hadn't caught your name either.

"(Y/n)," you quietly answered, still not meeting his eyes.

You couldn't believe it. You're actually attending a Hetalia world meeting. The situation you're in was a lot to digest, and you hoped this wasn't a long and realistic dream you'd soon wake up from. You pinched your thigh to make sure and winced at the sharp pain you felt.

Yep, this was all real.

"Your friend is a shy one isn't she, mas Wales?" Raditya said, chuckling. He didn't seem outwardly bothered by the fact that there's a human in a room full of nations, though he did internally question your presence here.

As if on cue, Ludwig yelled for everyone's attention, causing the buzz of the chattering nations to die down immediately while Arthur went to take a seat on one of the front rows.

"Today's meeting will be different than the previous ones as an urgent matter has been brought up by England," Ludwig solemnly began, "Two of our Second Players were sighted near this building earlier." The room broke out into worried murmurs. Strict regulations have been set for crossing between the worlds of the First and the Second Players, so the fact that they had intruded into their world was concerning. The German cleared his throat loudly, silencing the nations again. "England and his brothers rescued a woman who had been kidnapped by them." He then scanned the room, his eyes landing on you sitting next to Dylan stiffly. Some of the nations followed his gaze and spotted you behind the ASEAN group. "We have yet to know their reasons for taking her. However, if they were that desperate to bring her to their world, then she must be an important... asset to them."

You felt as if you should divulge the fact that you're actually from neither of their worlds, and that where you're from, the world they knew is fictional. Dylan could sense that you wanted to say something, and quickly waved his arm in the air to get Ludwig's attention before the German could continue.

"Yes, Wales?"

"(Y/n) has something to say!" The Welshman then turned to you with an encouraging a smile.

"So your name is (y/n)? At least we've got a name now. What is it that you'd like to tell us?" Ludwig asked, keeping his eyes on you.

"I..." You took a deep breath braced yourself for their reactions. "I'm actually not from your world... Or the Second Players'."

There was a moment of silence before the room erupted.

"Hold the phone- You're telling me that there are other worlds besides ours and our Second Players'?!"

"The universe is bigger than you think, you dolt! Just like how America isn't the only continent on Earth!"

"So (y/n)-san got isekai'd into our world? Interesting..."

"Ve~ I wonder if the pasta in her world is tasty!"

"Is pasta all you're ever concerned about?"

"Buset," Raditya said, staring at you wide-eyed, "But... that means our kind doesn't exist in your world. You seem strangely calm about us."

"Well, that's because in my world, you're all part of an anime called Hetalia. In other words, this world and everything in it is fictional to me... until today." You let out an awkward chuckle.

Ludwig gazed pensively at you as he tried to comprehend the nonsensical thought of being a fictional character in your world - but there was no other way to explain why you're not freaking out about their existence. "I see. But that still doesn't explain why the Second Players are after you." He then cupped his chin, trying to come up with a temporary arrangement that would allow them some time to figure things out. "England told me that Mordred claimed they'll be back for you. For your own safety, I strongly suggest you stay with one of us until England is able to create a spell that can return you to your home world. Wales, Norway, Romania, Indonesia, I expect you four to assist him-" The German was rudely interrupted by a certain Dane, who sprung up from his seat with his fists clenched in front of his chest.

"The King of Northern Europe shall protect the maiden until the spell is completed!"

"No way! She'll be much safer with the hero, which is me of course!"

"She'll go insane if she stays with you! My brothers and I can watch over her."

"As if a weirdo like you can do any better," Sean remarked offhandedly, earning a sharp glare from the Englishman.

Your eyes wandered around the meeting room as the nations began to argue amongst themselves, some using the point-evidence-explain method to further justify why you should be under their protection.

"ORDER!" Ludwig bellowed, slamming his hands on the table, "You all don't get to decide for her unless she's unable to make a decision herself. In which case, I will randomly assign her to a nation." He shifted his attention to you, prompting you with his next words. "(Y/n), feel free to choose who you wish to stay with."

Choose your nation ( none yet; Wales WIP )

Translations

(Javanese) Mba - older sister

(Javanese) Mas - older brother

(Indonesian) Buset - it can be translated to "heck" in English. You say it when you're surprised or amazed by something (can be both positive or negative)

#loveletters—!#hetalia #axis powers hetalia #hetalia world stars #aph #hws #hetalia x reader #female reader #querencia

27 notes · View notes