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#jewish reader
by-ego · 9 months
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Call me evil but everyone talks about Asher in away where he doesn’t seem confrontational at all and that (from posts I’ve seen) isn’t protective of Baabe at all and that Baabe is more protective even though he’s a werewolf and they aren’t! So sweet soft werewolf boy flips a switch and turns scary deadly.
Also I really do feel like people sleep on Baabe!
AHH I love this request!! And I agree, Asher doesn't really seem protective of them in peoples posts, but in several of his adios, he actually is. For example the date-night-in where he chooses to stay in becuase of Quinn so Babe isn't put in any sort of danger. I littrely love him so much. So in my mind he is protective, just not possesive or jelous. And you're so right, people do sleep on Babe so much, like they are so underrated.
This is the first time I really write something like this, and english is not my first languge so excuse any mistakes.
I hope you enjoy!!
TW for this one; stalking, fighting, violance, blood, SA (very vauge) and it's kinda long
<3
It started with that guy just standing outside of their work when they ended and walked to their car. And then, he was there in the morning when Babe came in for work. Babe was telling Asher that they were a bit creeped out by it, but for all they knew, he could have been waiting for someone, but even Ash thought that was a bit far-fetched.
Then it escalated, he started following them through the parking lot. Then, he got in his own car, parked oddly close to theirs, and followed them. When they got closer to their apartment complex, the car still following them, they realised how odd it was. A gut feeling told them he was up to no good, so they called Ash. 
"Hey babe, what's up?" His cheery voice called through the phone. He was at David's place, planning some stuff for a pack meeting. They could hear the sound of glass against wood and an immediate curse following from the Alpha from the other side of the line, showing that David was there. Babe took a deep breath, one hand on the wheel, one hand holding the phone to their ear. "By the way, you're on speaker, just so you know" Asher adds before they could tell him the situation. But it didn’t matter, Babe trusted David a lot. "I think I'm being followed, you know the creepy guy I told you about from work, I think he is following me. I don't really know what to do. I don't want to drive home", their voice was shaky, scared due to the situation. "Drive to us," they could hear David's deeper voice, followed by "yeah, we'll wait for you here and you and we'll drive home later together” Asher's voice sent a feeling of relief through their body, and they turned their car around. 
Asher wasn’t as big or gloomy as David, but he was sure as hell not small. His attitude made him seem cheery and welcoming, but when he was standing on David's poarch, waiting to get his mate, his demeanour had changed drastically. Babe barely recognized their mate. On the other hand, he did work security, they just hadn’t seen him like this. Sure they had seen him punch some guy in the jaw once when he was drunk for slapping Babes ass, but he was drunk and still didn’t give off that overly protective aura. They knew he was protective, but Babe was a careful person, and for as long as they had been with Asher, they had successfully managed to stay out of danger or trouble of pretty much any sort. So by them never really needing to be protected, he didn’t really have to protect them. And he definitely wasn’t the jealous type, if someone flirted with his mate that was not his problem. Babe was smart, and witty, and always shut down the person with sassy comments. Unless they made Babe uncomfortable, then, he was more than willing to beat the shit out of them. 
Now that Babe was pulling up in the driveway of David and Angels house, Asher's usual inviting and comforting vibe was washed away. As soon as their car had stopped moving he walked up to the car and opened the door, offering them his hand, pulling them out of the car and close to his body. A harsh kiss crashed onto Babe's lips. The car that had followed them all the way here, crept along the street, but sped off when David started walking towards it. Babe let out a deep sigh of relief and rested their head against Asher's chest. His significantly bigger size used to piss them off since he would tease them about it by holding stuff over their head making them unable to reach it or easily picking them up when they were doing something and Asher wanted to cuddle. But now, right here, with his strong arms around them, it just felt safe. They looked up, and Asher smiled warmly. There the sweetness they knew him for was. They smiled tiredly, back at him, and then turned to thank David, and Asher. “You’re part of my pack, my family. We protected each other” David stated, offering them a comforting smile. “Look at me Babe” Asher said, and they looked up at him, “you are my mate. I would do anything for you, this was the least I could do. In reality I wanted to shift and rip that guy out of his car and give him a good beating. But my main priority is keeping you safe”. The statement shocked Babe  a little bit, but in all honesty, they even found it a bit attractive.   
Little did Babe know, this would just be the start.
For Babes and Asher's anniversary a year or so back, Ash had given Babe a pocket knife. He knew that Babe had a pocket knife that their grandpa had given them in their home country, but when they had moved to the US they had gotten it confiscated, and Asher knew that they always wanted a new one. So for their anniversary he had gotten them a new one. Asher had asked David, who also carries one, to help him pick one for them. After the incident with the man following them, they started carrying it daily. Plus, when they turned on their location, Asher got a notification. Just in case, they said, hoping that it wouldn’t be needed. It would.  
Maybe a week after, the incident was still lingering in the far back of their mind, but they didn’t really pay it much mind. The man hadn’t been seen since they had driven to Davids. No creeping around corners or anything, but Babe still felt a bit uneasy. Work flowed on like normal though, and life with Asher was nothing but great. He had very quickly gone back to being his cheery and easy self. They had mentioned it to a coworker, but they had never noticed the man, now or before. That gave Babe some comfort and soon their guard was back down, or at least not on high alert. Big mistake. 
Babes' phone vibrated, and they saw Asher's name on the display. Babe picked up and put the phone on speaker, alone in their office, no one would hear anything. Not that it mattered much, Asher had just called to ask when they would be coming home and what kind of take out they wanted. As they looked out of the mountains of paperwork on their desk, they informed him that they would be home late and to just order anything that was kosher and could be reheated later for when they came home. He huffed, but didn’t argue with them. As much as they wanted to just go home to their fiance and cuddle and eat something, they had to finish this. Ash knew that, and he was proud of his mate and how hardworking they are, even though he was also worried for them and scared that they would burn themself out. Little did Asher nor Babe know, that was not the reason Ash would have to worry for his mate today. 
When they, much later, and exhausted, start getting ready to go home, it was already dark outside. A gut feeling hit them, something felt incredibly wrong. Babes hand went down to their pocket, to the knife and their phone. Their hand wrapped around the handle of the knife. Babe tried taking deep breaths, hoping to not get themself worked up over a gut feeling. But they stepped out of their office boulding and onto the parking lot with a tight grip of the pocket knife, the blade ready to be pushed out if needed. Thoughts and anxiety were racing in their mind, faster than they could process. They wished Asher was here with them, they hated being alone late like this. Babe used to like the dark, they really did, but right now it was just adding to the fear and anxiety factor. But, they took a deep breath and started the walk to the other side of the parking lot where they had parked their car. “Why did I park my car so far away?” Babe thought, mentally scolding themself. They knew that was not going to help their situation one bit, but that was not going to stop their overactive mind. Then they heard footsteps behind them, following them. They whipped around, body burning with fear at who they saw.  
*Ping* Asher's eyes turned from the screen where Star trek was playing, and when he saw the notification his heart dropped. Babe had turned on their location. He knew they used it as a safety measure, but he wanted to make sure his mate was safe. Quicker than ever before he dialled their number, his fingers knowing the pattern even if he had it saved and could just call them through his contact list. One dial, two, three. “Ash, help” his fiance whimpered out his name, breath catching in their throat. He let out a growl, he knew what was happening. “Coming” he breathed out. The wolf inside him wanted out, wanted to protect his mate, he ran. Out of the apartment complex and right before his wolf ripped out he looked at Babes location. Still in the parking lot. He shifted, rage dripping in his blood and the need to protect his mate spurring him to run faster. Hate of anyone who dared to hurt his mate poisoned his bones. He had forgotten to lock their apartment, but that was currently the last thing on his mind. The only coherent thought in his brain was protecting his mate. 
The blade pushed out of the knife in Babe's hand. They know how to use it, a perk of growing up with older brothers. But even with the knowledge that Asher was on his way, and with the knife in their hand, they were scared and they knew the man could see that. He was more than double their size, the light of a streetlight behind him illuminating him with a ghostly light, cold eyes, calloused and rough hands and a sinister smile playing on his lips. After what felt like an eternity they turned around and ran, they dropped their bag on the grass, hoping to dampen the fall for their computer and valuables. Then they reprimanded themself for even caring about something like that in this situation. Their life was in danger, getting chased by some crazy stalker and they care about their bag. Babe wanted to laugh at themself. It was ridiculous. But, it kept their mind from collapsing into the lingering panic attack. They felt the atmosphere heat up, seemingly without a reason, it confused Babe considering the cool summer night. 
A howl, Asher. The sound ringed their ears. Relief spread through their body and in combination with the unexplainable heat, they slowed down, which turned out to be a mistake. The man had of course not paid much mind to the sound and grabbed them from behind, gripping their wrist preventing them from stabbing him with the knife. Babe struggles and in their struggle, they manage to graze the man with their knife causing him to rage at them. He grabbed the knife and threw it over the parking lot, ripping their blouse from their body, leaving them exposed. His hand clasped around Babes throat, cutting off their air flow. As they gasped for air, clawing with their nails on the man's wrist, he laughed. Now, that was his mistake. The sound of sadistic laughter and the chipping of air filled Asher's ears. His mate. Their scent, filled with fear and panic guided him to them. Lunging at the man, ripping him away from Babe, who landed on the hard concrete gasping for air. 
The man wasn’t small, but when he was pinned down by Ash's wolf he was no match. A deep, animalistic, guttural, terrifying growl escaped the shifter's mouth. He was decimeters away from sinking his teeth into this man's skull and ripping it from his body, but a tang of morality overrode his protective anger. Just as he was gonna shift back and punch the guys face in instead, fire erupted around them. “A fire elemental” he thought. Asher growled again and snapped his jaws close to the man's face, hoping to intimidate him, but when the fires got bigger he could hear his mate scream in pain as the flames grazed them and they scrambled away from the fires. The man took the moment and tried to flee, but the wolf's claws ripped the mans back bloody. The fire elemental screamed and fell, but not before setting Asher's fur on fire. The man, writhing in pain, was unable to control the fires that couldn't burn on concrete alone without the man, started dying down. Asher let out another howl, this one in pain and anger. But he shifted back to human form, ripping his burning sweatshirt from his body. Ash slowly stepped closer to the man, who had gotten up to his knees. Both of the empowered men stared at each other, rage in their eyes. The man tried getting up, but was immediately kicked to the ground by Asher's boot. “Don’t you fucking dare” he hissed between gritted teeth. His fist met with the man's face, over and over again. His jeans ripped as Ash's knees made contact with the concrete as he sat over the man, landing blow after blow to the man, knocking him out. The man had gotten in a few blows at first, trying to fight back, but the fire elemental had nothing on the raged shifter. 
“ASHER” his mate screeched. They ran up to him, trying to rip him from their attacker. “You’re gonna kill him” they cried, and he wanted to, God knows Asher wanted to kill the man. Right before Asher had gotten to the man he had seen how he ripped his mate's blouse off and how he had lifted them off the ground by their neck. How his Babe had gasped for air, scared, exposed and alone. But his hands rested at his side, taking a deep breath before he got up. And when he got a good look at Babe he wanted to take the knife they had picked up again, he wanted to rip it from their hands and carve the man's heart out. Their hair was a mess, bruises on their throat and almost fully bare upper body, burn marks on their legs and arms, their back, shoulder and cheek scraped up from landing on the concrete. Their eyes were glossy, and some tears had already left salty traces on their face. Babes chest was taking fast and shallow breaths, still clearly scared and now also worried for their mate. Asher quickly pulled his t-shirt off and put it on his fiance, letting them have a little bit of dignity back even though no one was there. Then the water works came, sulking and crying into his chest as he wrapped his arms around them. They winched in pain and closed their fists even harder. “Shhh, baby it’s okay, I’ve got you. No one will hurt you as long as I am here” he whispered. He patted over their tailored trousers to find that their phone was miraculously still there and he called Tank from their phone. A sigh of relief came from him when they told him Sam and they were home. “See you soon,” Asher said without further explanation and hung up. He picked his mate up, letting their head rest on his shoulder. Babe whimpered his name. “We’re gonna get you healed okay? You’re gonna be okay” he comforted. “It’s you I’m worried about” they mumbled into his neck. His heart sank, even in this state, they were worried about him. “I’ll be okay, I promise” he sighed. He was in pain sure, he had gotten some bad burnes and some punches, but nowhere near in how bad of a state they were. “Where are your car keys?” he asked, hoping he would not have to carry them to Sams, even though he definitely would if it came to that. “Bag, on the grass close to my car.” He just nodded and followed their scent trail. And sure enough, there Babe’s stuff was, safe and sound. He admired his mate's cleverness. He threw the bag over his shoulder and unlocked the car. Placing them in the passenger seat without hurting them was tricky, considering basically their whole body was scraped, some worse than others, but eventually he managed decently. Sitting down in the driver's seat he breathed out a deep sigh. He tried to stretch out his legs, but failed, considering he was bigger than babe and they had been the one driving the car before him. He let out a small laugh. “What?” babe asked as Asher chuckled. “After a fight like this, something so mundane as having to push back the seat so my legs fit can feel weird, I guess” Babe laughed too.  He loved hearing them laugh. His entire chest filled with warmth and he leaned over to place a gentle kiss on their lips, basically the only part that wasn’t hurt on them. Other than their beautiful eyes.        
Babe woke up in Asher's hoodie, the one with the Shaw security logo. In their own bed, with Asher's arms around them. Babe didn’t remember much after they fell asleep in the car, exhausted and finally feeling safe. Fragments of Sam's magic flowing through their body, body stitching itself back up. Moments of Tanks worried voice basically interrogating Asher about what happened. 
“You awake?” Asher's soft voice gently led them back to reality. “Mhm” they let out. His strong arms brought them closer to him. “I love you so fucking much Babe, I’m so damn sorry I didn’t get to you faster. I’m sorry this happened” his voice was steady, strong. Strong for them. But his eyes showed worry. And fear. Fear that they were scared of him, after what he did. But they just balled their fists up in his shirt and whispered, “I love you, you saved me.” Babe's voice showed true gratitude and their eyes glittered with love. He smiled. “Anything for my mate” “I was so scared” they said it like they just realised it. Asher nodded, his eyes sad, “and I was scared that man was going to hurt you” they continued. Asher's hand rested on their cheek, thumb moving over their lips. “You’re safe now, I’m never letting anyone hurt you again” he didn’t want to show how angry he still was. He pressed a gentle kiss to their lips. Babes' arms moved around his neck and deepened the kiss, desperate to feel him. His other hand found their hip and rested it there. He rested his forehead on theirs, eyes locked. Their lower lip trembled, like they wanted to cry again. “Let it out, cry if you want to,” he comforted, but they shook their head no. “I’m just happy we’re okay,” they mumbled. 
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romanarose · 4 months
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Lights
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Jackson!Joel Miller x Jewish!OFC (second person)
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Summary: Two holiday lighting traditions warm Jackson's town square and Joel's grumpy heart.
Warnings: It's mostly just fluff lmfaooo at most theres a scene where Esther is thinking about the outbreak, she mentions the holocaust and other antisemetic violence in the real world and antisemitism i just kinda made up in TLOU. It just seemed realistic.
Immersability: Labled as OFC but told in second person. This is my take on "Esther" who Tommy tries to set Joel up with between TLOU 1 and 2. No description other than name, fem, and Jewish.
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*****************
“This is stupid” Joel muttered to himself. He was too old for this. Nearing 60 was an insane age to be asking a woman on a date. Joel knew Tommy had been trying to push them together and at first, Joel was not at all interested… but it was hard not to fall for you. Whatever, it couldn’t hurt, right?
Your front door opened, and you were clearly startled to see Joel there, but not disappointed at least. “Oh! Joel? What are you doing here?”
“Shit, sorry, didn’t mean to scare yuh, was justa ‘bout to knock.”
“It’s okay.” You relax. “Can I help you with something?”
You were so sweet. “Well, yeah I actually wanted to ask yuh…” Joel hesitated. This was so stupid. Why was he so fucking nervous? “Well the town’s christmas tree light’n ceremony is in a few days and um, well, I was hope’n maybe you’d wanna go?” He paused. “With me, I mean.”
Softly, you smiled at him, but you were taking way too long to answer. He prepared himself for rejection, because anything other than an enthusiastic yes was bound to be a disaster. “That’s very sweet of you, but, I’m Jewish, actually.”
Oh. That was new. He didn’t know tha. Joel realized he operated under the assumption that everyone was either christian by practice or by culture. Not that he didn’t think other religions still existed but he was just a small town southern man at heart. Not exactly a think outside the box type of man, and Jackson only had the one preacher after all, a vague non-denominational type. Act normal. “Well, uh, that’s great” Dumbass. He watched your lip quirk up a little. “Well, the ceremony isn’t really a religious thing.”
Relaxing, you lean up against your dorm frame. You cross your arms but not unwelcomingly. “You’re tell’n me the old preacher man ain’t gonna say a few ords about the miracle of the birth of a Messiah I don’t believe in?”
Joel felt a little stupid, and worried he’d offended you. Looking down, he scoffed his boot a bit and started his apology tour. “No, no yer right, miss, I wasn’t think’n. I apoligize, I didn’t mean to- well, I didn’t wanna be rude about yer religion and… and all that.” All that? Get it fucking together, Joel. “I’m sorry, miss, I’ll be going-”
“Joel.” You stop him, a teasing smile on your face remaining kind. “It’s alright, you didn’t offend me, honey.” You sigh, then stand up. “Listen, normally I’d just go. I like town stuff and lights are pretty, and it’d just ignore the preach’n like I did when I was in high school. But, the day of the ceremony is the first night of Hanukkah, and I ain't even got a menorah to light, ain’t for decades. Would feel wrong to light up someone else’s religion when I can’t even celebrate mine, you know?”
Joel couldn’t say he quite got it. He was raised southern baptist of course but hasn’t really kept up outside of obligatory holidays. He had Sarah baptized, but didn’t pray for years since she died, save for the moment he had the gun to his head, praying God would take him to where she was… He’d prayed a few times here and there, sometimes when Ellie or Tommy were in danger, and last winter when his nephew, Jack was deathly sick as a newborn. Yeah, he’d bow his head during services but he really only went because Tommy asked him to make an appearance sometimes, said it was good for Jack to see his family at church. Ellie didn’t go, churches and prayers making her uncomfortable now.
Still, just because he wasn’t religious doesn’t mean it wasn’t important. It clearly was to Tommy. “I get it, I’ll leave yuh be then.” He turned to leave.
“Hey Joel?”
“Yes ma’am?”
“I’d love to take you up on your offer to another event.”
*
Joel had promised to make good on that, but already he was formulating a plan in his head. It hadn’t really occurred to him how down bad he was for you, how much wanted you, to hold you, to kiss you, to- He shook his head. 
“Maria?” Joel called as he let himself in.
She rounded the corner holding his almost 3 year old godson. “Sure Joel, come on in.” Maria said sarcastically, but smiled.
“Gimmie” Joel made grabby hands to Jack.
Maria continued her sarcasm. “Hi Joel, I’m great, thank you for asking.”
“Sorry.” He didn’t look too sorry as he lit up when Jack dove out of his moms arms to him.
“Unca Jojo!!!” He squealed.
“Heya buddy!” He cringed when he got a whiff of him. “Jesus, Jack Jack, you stink!”
Maria nudged Joel to the bathroom. “You can change him, since you’re so excited to see him. And watch you language, you know how Tommy feels about that.”
Maria and Joel side eye each other a look. The pair had found common ground over the years. They both cared about Jackson, both loved Tommy and would do anything for Jack. However, recently, him and Maria had come to more than just an understanding, they’d actually begun to like each other, bonding over Tommy’s “come to Jesus” episode. Maria was decidedly not religious, but not athiest. Joel often found himself searching for Maria’s eyes when Tommy did or said something, and he often found them already smiling at him. Tommy had a rule against swearing and using the lord's name in vain around Jack, which Joel tried to respect.
“Where’s Tommy?” Joel asked.
“Oh, I see you remember your dear brother all of a sudden.” She teased him. “He’s upstairs, I’ll go gab him-”
“Actually, I came to see you.”
“Oh. Everything alright?”
“Can’t I see my dear sister-in-law without something being wrong?”
She simply cocked an eyebrow at him. 
“Fine, fine. But no, noth’n’s wrong. I just wanted to ask you, since you were a big city woman and all that. More knowledgeable than this small town hick.” Joel referenced himself. 
“Hick!” Jack repeated excitedly as Joel tugged on a new pull up. “Hickie! Hickie! Hickie!”
Maria laughed. “You’re explaining Jack’s new word to Tommy.”
Joel smiled, pulling up his pants. “That’s what uncles are for.”
“Whaddya wanna ask?” They exited the bathroom.
“Do you know anything about judaism?”
Maria burst into an uncharacteristically loud laugh, then called up the stairs. “Tom! You win! I owe you a foot rub!”
“Ew.” Joel grimances. “What could you possibly put on the line to touch his nasty feet. You know he got athletes food so bad he permanently lost two two nails right?”
“Yes Joel, we’re married. I’ve seen his feet. Believe it or not, I’ve even seen him naked.”
Joel gagged. “What the bet? Or do I not wanna know.”
“Tommy was insistent he could get you and Esther today if he played his cards right.”
“How do you know this is about Esther?”
“How many Jewish people do you know in Jackson?”
“Until an hour ago, none.”
“You though a woman named Esther was a gentile?”
“My named Joel, that Hebrew.”
“Fair enough.”
Tommy skipped down the stairs, not as fast as he might have been years ago but still that spring in his step Joel hoped he’d never lose. “Heya Joel! You finally ask Esther out?” He smiled broadly, that shit eating grin he always had when he thought he was right. Tommy reached out his arms for Jack, but Jack stayed with Joel.
“Yeah, and I looked like a fucking idiot.”
“Nothing out of the ordinary their! What did you do, bring up slaughtering an entire hospit-” Maria smacked Tommy and he stopped.
“No.” Joel emphacized, glaring at Tommy. “I asked her to go to the christmas tree lighting, and she told me she was Jewish and it was hanukkah, and now I look like a fucking backwards hick and she probably hates me and-”
Maria pinched the bridge of her nose. “She doesn’t hate you.”
He shrugged. “Maybe not. She did say she’d like to go out another time but that was probably to get me off her porch.”
“You anxiety ridden idiot.”
“I don’t have anxiety!”
“Sure, your goddamn panic attacks are for fun-”
Tommy snatched his son out of Joel’s arms. “Hey! Language!”
Joel and Maria apologized, and Tommy took Jack to the kitchen table to feed him a snack.
“What did you need help with, Joel” Maria asked him, bringing Joel back to the original purpose of his visit.
“What the fuck is a menorah.”
“JOEL!” Tommy glared at him, and Jack started muttering fuck, fuck, fuck as Maria and Joel tried to stiffle a laugh, glancing at each other.
*
It was a few days later as you watched the sun setting from your back window. You couldn’t do much, but you had managed to make a few traditional treats, latkes and friend donuts. Hanukkah didn’t need fancy meals, but oily food, traditionally. Still, you wished you could do more. Over the last 20 years, survival had been the primary thing on your mind. There wasn’t time to celebrate holidays when you were barely alive. How do you observe Shabbat when every single day requires hard work just to make it through? When you settled into Jackson this year, you slowly began begging able to observe more and more, but it wasn’t like the small Wyoming town had a Jewish population. You were the only Jew you knew, but it wasn’t like you were super obvious about it.
You didn’t really hide it, but it wasn’t something you shouted from the rooftops. When everything fell apart, you quickly learned that conspiracies in the QZ’s spread that the outbreak was a Jewish conspiracy, that the governments were ran by Jews, so on and so forth. You learned to keep that part of you quiet after your window got shot out for having a Star of David displayed. Jackson seemed safe, but you couldn’t be so sure. 
Still, your people’s story was one of survival in the most extreme of circumstances, and the outbreak was no exception. You endured and survived, just like Jew’s had through the holocaust, through a myriad of attempted genocides, including the survival of one you are celebrating now, menorah or not. As you fry a few more latkes, you hear a knock on the door. Strange, considering you didn’t get visitors much and you figured everyone would be at the town square.
 Last person over had been Joel, actually, and your heart fluttered at the memory. You desperately hoped he’d ask you out again. From the moment he walked into Jackson you fell for him. The obvious love he had for his brother, the way he protected a child that wasn’t his own… adoption was a great mitzvah, something you admired strongly about him. He was a good man, hard working, cared for his community and his family. And insanely hot. You doubted he’d have much interest in you, considering the amount of women who wanted him… the fact he wanted to ask you out verses someone younger just sealed to you the kind of man he was.
When you opened the door, you were thrilled to see that same man at your door again. 
“Hey Joel, what’s up?” You ask, wishing you didn’t sound so fucking stupid. He had something behind his back you couldn’t quite see. 
“Hi.” Joel smiled, nervous. “I um… well I wanted to say Happy Hanukkah and um… bring you this. I hope I ain’t over stepping but Maria said it would be fine but, what does she know, right?” He laughed nervously, still not showing you what he brought and still not meeting you’re eye. “So, if it’s inappropriate just tell me and I’ll fuck right off-”
“What is it?”
He took a deep breath, then held out the hand he had been hiding.
“Joel…” Your heart sores, touched beyond belief. He made you a menorah.
“I um, I welded it… Maria told me the basics. Brought candles too, I dunno if its supposed to be blessed by a rabbi or made from a certain metal or-”
You nearly tackle him in a hug. “Joel! That’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me!”
It took him a moment to react, but soon Joel was hugging you back. You invite him inside, and he doesn’t want to intrude, but you tell him you’d love the company for the holiday.
*
Years and years ago, a cousin of Joel and Tommy got married to a catholic woman. Some of his family was weird about it, but Tommy and Joel thought that was stupid, so they drove the 10 hours as teenagers to go to the wedding to make a point. It was different to be sure, but something that stood out to Joel was the use of latin. Although he couldn’t understand a lick of it outside of hallelujah, 19 year old Joel thought there was something so beautiful in its use.
He felt that was as he watched you light the first candle on the menorah, saying the prayers in Hebrew. The fact you still could was vastly impressive to him. There were years where sometimes he swore he’d forgotten English, avoiding talking as much as possible. You looked so beautiful he could kiss you right there.
You shared so much with him that evening. Little pieces of your life, the story of Hanukkah, these yummy potato pancakes things… he was absolutely enthralled.
“Oh!” You gasp, looking outside. “The tree lighting! You don’t wanna miss it!”
“I’d rather be here with you, if that’s alright.”
You smile sweetly. “Won’t Ellie miss you?”
Joel rolls his eyes a little and waves his hand. “Nah, she’s got her own friend group now. Attached at the hip to that Dina girl. She don’t need this old man anymore.”
“That’s not true.” He was joking, but you wanted him to know. “She’s always gonna need her dad.”
“I ain’t her dad.” But it didn’t sound like he believed it. He held his hot chocolate in hand, looking down at it
You reach out, gently touching where his hand warmed at the base of the mug. “You are in every way that counts. You love her, and you take care of her. Blood don’t matter when you put up a shelf in her room or cook her dinner or make her eat her vegetables. You’re her dad.”
Joel smiled, looking up at you again. “It’s nice be’n here. With you.”
“I like have’n you here.”
“Maybe after Hanukkah I can make good on my promise to take you out? Jackson ain’t exactly known for its downtown restaurant scene, but I can take you dance’n, if that’s something you’d like.”
Your feel the heart palpitations, making you giddy as a young girl with a crush again. Joel made you feel like a teenager, like all the age, all the trauma, all the horrors washed away.
“I’d like that a lot.”
********************
I know this one isnt gonna go anywhere bc anything with readersreligion being specified isn't super popular, and theres no smut, but its okay <3 it's special to meeeeee
if you are looking for more jewish content, check out Seattle series on my marc spector masterlist for a emotional but sweet marc story of finding love, his religion and his family again <3
@fandxmslxt69 @runa-falls @k-ra @whatthefishh @ahookedheroespureheart @mikaelak @littlenosoul @stevenandmarcslove @pikapuff-316 @del-ightfulling @faretheeoscar @harriedandharassed @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @campingwiththecharmings @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @milly-louise @neverwheremoonchild @winniethewife @casa-boiardi @joeldjarin
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Red String of Fate
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Synopsis: In a world where your soulmate is picked for you with a name tattooed, you are born with the rare trait of not seeing colors until you meet yours. You never expected the universe to foresee the divided mind of your other half.
Pair: Jake Lockley x Jewish!fem!reader, Steven Grant x Jewish!Fem!reader, Marc Spector.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: none (as of right now)
Word Count: 1709
Notes: This was brought on by either @softlyspector​ or @starryeyedstories​ talking about liking soulmate AUs and the idea in Judaism of the red string. And the idea that when you were a red string bracelet, it doesn’t just protect you from evil but can fall off when you have met your soulmate.
------------------------------------
-Twenty Years Ago-
“And remember never take it off.” I looked at my mother as she tied the thin red string around my left wrist. “It will fall off when you have found the one.”  
I looked at the string. It was red, my mother had said as much but it just looked dark grey to me. “But won’t I see color.” I looked at her. It was a rare way of finding your soulmate, not seeing colors. From what I had overheard, no one in my family had ever been born this way.
She smiled and stroked my curls back. “Then wear it for protection from evil.” She kissed my forehead before getting up and going back to her craft room.
I looked at the string again and played with the small charms on it. One a Hamsa and the other a crescent moon. I looked at the knot and noticed it was made to grow with me but not slip off.
-Fifteen Years Ago-
It’s for protection from evil.  
I sat in the hospital playing with the charms. The doctors said I was fine. A few bruises from the seatbelt and a few scraps but nothing major. But no one wanted to tell me that my mom was gone, having suffered the blunt of the pick-up ramming into the side of our car.  
Drunk Driver
Dead before EMS
I sniffled and curled up hoping my dad would get here soon.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
-Present Day-
I twisted the charms on my bracelet as I waved down a taxi. I quickly climbed in before a familiar scent caught my attention.
“Now how is it you always find your way into my taxi, carino?”  Jake’s accent was a mix of the Spanish language he cursed in and the side-effect of growing up in New York.
“I wouldn’t know Jake, maybe just luck.” I smiled sitting back. “Home please.”  
He nodded his head, and I caught a glimpse of the green in his shirt. I chewed on my lower lip. Since meeting Jake, I could make out things people had told me were green and blue. Like the trees, the grass, my favorite dress apparently was a  mix between the two called teal.  
After first meeting Jake, I stood in front of my apartment and just stared at the sky. It was a clear light blue. I found myself grabbing anything I could tell the color of and putting it at the top of my drawers; in the side of the closest I opened the most.
I called my father in tears because it was the first time, I could see the true color of my own eyes. The colors everyone complimented.
But then it came crashing down when I realized Jake had to be my soulmate. But something was wrong. I could only see blue/green colors. I couldn’t see the other 80% of the rainbow. And the thin red bracelet my mother had placed on my wrist all those years ago was still snuggly set against my skin.
“What has you thinking so hard back there?” I shook my head and looked over to see him looking at me in the rearview mirror.
I chewed on my lower lip. “Have you ever heard of someone with the color blindness, only getting part of it back when they meet their soulmate?”  
Jake blinked at me before turning his sight back on the road. “Guess that explains why you don’t have marks on you.”  
I nodded. Jake didn’t talk about what marked him for his soulmate from what I had seen of his skin, I couldn’t see a name or symbol or even a phrase for first meetings.  
Having your soulmate’s name on you was the most common. Color blindness was the rarest, so rare there was little anyone who could teach me to help me find mine.
“You know you never told me what your mark is.” I said watching as his jaw ticked.
“You’ve never asked before.” His fingers twitched and I could tell he wanted to reach for a cigarette you usually smoke.  
“Well, I’m asking now.”  
Jake shook his head and sighed, “Color blindness.”  
“So, you couldn’t tell what color the dress was the day we meet?”  
He shook his head, “And to answer your first question; no, I don’t know what it means if you only get some color back.”  
I looked back out the window. “Maybe I have more than one soulmate.” Or maybe I’m messed up from the car crash. I squeezed my eyes shut at that thought.  
“It’s a possibility.” I felt the car slow as Jake stopped in front of my building.  
“Maybe.” I went to pull out the money to pay him before he put his hand over mine.
“Don’t worry about it Carino.” The corner of his mouth ticked up.
I smiled and kissed his cheek. “You are such a mensch.” I felt his eyes on me as I got out of the car and walked up the steps.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“No Jake, there’s no possible way.” Marc said in the mindscape as Jake parked the taxi.
“Hey, how else do you want to explain us seeing green and blue shades, Spector?” Jake got out and walked towards the apartment building.  
After a few strings between contacts, Steven was able to get a research job which meant Marc and Jake got to pick home base.
Jake’s choice of New York had won.  And within the first month, he had met her.  
Curly hair and smooth skin. A smile that brought the stars for a day. And she brought him latkes over the holiday season, clocking him much easier than he clocked her.  
Steven wanted to meet her, but Jake’s protectiveness prevented it. He just didn’t know if it was to protect the system or her.  
“I think it would be quite nice to have a soulmate.” Steven mused.
Jake had to hand it to Steven, he made it seem like a dream come true. And even though Jake wasn’t as terrified or reserved as Marc, he was worried about putting her in danger.  
“No, it’s not nice. It’s a danger.” Even Jake could hear the self-doubt in Marc’s tone.  
“Doesn’t matter.” Jake said as he walked into the apartment. “No one but me, sees her.”  
Jake sighed as he took in all the green around the apartment. He truly never realized how many plants Steven had.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I walked down the street. Photo day was always interesting. It always amazed me how many people would pay for historical photos from New York. As I looked over the last few photos I had taken, I bumped shoulders with someone.  
“Oh, I’m so...” I looked at the person. “Sorry. Jake?”  
He looked like Jake, but he didn’t wear a flat cap or facial hair. His shoulders also seemed to curve a little.  
“oh uh...” He began to stumble over his words before looking around and pulling me away from the crowd.
“Jake, what is it?” I blinked a few times and realized the brink wall behind him was now something other than grey. When I placed my hand on his chest, I could see the red string exactly as it should be seen. “Jake?” I looked at him but found his attention had moved to the space around us.
“Bloody hell.” I stepped back from the man who looked like Jake.
“W-who are you?”  
He looked back at me and quickly took my hand. “It’s okay, I’m not gonna hurt you.” The British accent threw me but his thumb rubbed against my hand in soothing circles.
I took a deep breath and looked at him. “Please explain.”
He nodded and gulped. “My name is Steven Grant. Jake Lockley, the man you’ve been meeting is an alter.”
I blinked at him, “You have DID.”
He tilted his head, “How..?”
“I took psychology in college, stuck with it for a while. Didn’t understand why it interested me so much.” My voice got quiet as I took in the deep red of his shirt before setting my hand against his chest. “Guess I know why now.”  
Steven set his hands over mine. “Jake is very protective, he wouldn’t let... me meet you when I first asked.”  
I could tell the ‘me’ was supposed to be plural but for now I would let it go. I smiled lightly and nodded my head. “Yea I get that vibe from him.” I giggled a little as his thumb brushed against my red thread.  
“Could I buy you tea,” Steven smiled. “Or coffee. I know American’s prefer coffee; Jake certainly makes sure I remember.”  
I couldn’t help laughing. “I would like that very much.”  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Steven was completely different from Jake. He had thrown himself into being around me. He even took me on dates. Though Jake had started to loosen up, having me sit up front when he drove me places. Keeping his hand on my knee as he drove.  
Though I felt they were both still keeping something from me. Or someone. There were still colors I couldn’t make out, some were dull.  
It was when Jake finally invited me to their apartment that I realized there was someone else.
“So it’s not just you and Steven?” I asked looking over a notebook that had writing in it that didn’t match Steven’s clean script or Jake’s messy quick writing.  
“How long have you known?” I felt Jake behind me before his arms encircled my waist.
“Since I met Steven. He was hesitant on the ‘me’ part when he explained you didn’t want them to meet me.” I ran my finger over the writing. “He must be military. The way he writes.”
“He was, didn’t last long.” Jake’s grip tightened around me holding me against him.
“I can imagine.” I closed the journal and turned in Jake’s arms. “I would really like to meet him.”
“That last little bit of color bothering you as well?”  
I nodded my head and buried my face into his chest. “It’s so annoying.”
Jake chuckled and kissed my head. “Steven and I will talk with him later and see if we can convince him.”
“Okay.” I looked up at him, “Can I know his name?”
“Marc. Marc Spector.”
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milkymoon2483 · 8 months
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Eyes On Me
Push & Pull - Episode 5 Frank Castle X Plus Size Jewish OFC
Previous episode | Series Masterlist
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OH MY GOD. This took forever and drained my soul and was promptly nicknamed “the cursed porn”, and now it’s done. You have been warned. 
Summary: You’re invited to dinner at Dobora’s to give you a proper send off to your last semester in college. Frank will not look at you, he has gone cold and distant in fear that someone might figure out what’s going on between the two of you, causing you to have doubts of your own.
Rating: Very much E.18+. MINORS DNI.
Warnings: Alternating POV, age gap (legal), SMUT WITH ALL CAPS THIS IS THE CORNIEST CORN I HAVE EVER WRITTEN MAAM, P in V, Finger in ass, blowjob, and a whole bunch of angst and abandonment issues.
WC: ~4800 cuz of all the smutses
Thank you my lovelies.
@romanarose @hbc8 @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @boysddontcry @imaswellkid @theonewheresheindulges @midnightswithdearkatytspb
Eyes on me
There was a quick change in your expression as you were walking towards Frank's truck. He anticipated it, but it did not prevent the sting of it. 
You stepped out of your front door with a sweet excited smile, and he watched as the corners of your berry coloured mouth dropped and eyes widened with surprise the moment you realized your cousins were sitting in the car with him. He had sent you a text to warn you but you seemed to have missed it. Now he had to witness your disappointment first hand.
Deborah invited you both to dinner with her and the boys before you were due to return to school, a proper send off and a reason to get together under happier circumstances. She asked Frank if he could give Jacob and his younger brother Adam a ride back to her place, and he happily agreed before realizing that your private drive would not be so private anymore. 
Frank was a simple man, and the moment he allowed himself to look at you the way he wanted to, he was unable to stop. The cleavage of your dress underneath your coat, and the deep berry of your lips drew his attention instantly. 
His breath hitched for a second when you climbed into his truck, trying your best to act 'normal' as you sat next to Adam in the back. Frank wished you could sit next to him. Your scent was fresh and sweet, hair still damp from the shower, bringing back memories that caused his cock to twitch with interest.
The drive was mostly silent, He made a point to keep his eyes strictly on the road, only glancing in the back mirror once…or twice. 
You pulled your phone out of your purse and that’s when you saw it.
You understood why he would not look at you, why he barely returned your quick "hey" as you entered the car and hasn't said a word to you since. You both knew you'd have to be careful around your family, and there was no need to talk about it as the silent agreement seemed obvious. You wondered if anyone would see something nonetheless. 
18:06 Frank
Deb asked me to pick up Jacob and Adam too.
Straight to the point. Not even a sad little emoji.
This thing between the two of you was still fragile and undefined, so just for that night you'd have to put it aside and let it be. You were surprised that the dull ache that was always present when you were around him was still there. There was still something intangible about him, not for you to discover. 
He sat across the table from you but his eyes avoided you, as if looking at you would turn him into stone.
Was he afraid that what you shared would be written all over his face as soon as he did?
You were afraid of it too, but found it harder to control yourself, sneaking cautious looks, only to find his eyes pointing elsewhere.
The air of uncertainty hovered heavily above you, raising question mark after question mark. Your thoughts raced, worrying that his doubts were far from doused. Whatever stopped him all those times must've still haunted him. Everything changed since then, but the basic facts remained the same. You still needed to hide this from everyone else.
You wished you could talk to him, although you weren’t sure what you’d say. He didn’t owe you anything, no explanations, no excuses. You couldn’t help but ask yourself which version of him will you encounter the next time you're alone.
Frank did his best to keep his face neutral and disinterested, but he was amazed again, at how sharp and motivated you are. You spoke with confidence, poise, like you had everything figured out. When he tried to remember himself at that age, he had no idea what he was doing, not even a clue. 
Most of dinner was spent in pleasant conversation. Deborah was somehow able to lighten everyone's mood, set aside the passing of your father to talk about future plans and hopes. 
You spoke about college and your plans for after. You were hoping that your GPA would allow you to continue to a masters in psychology, which would eventually allow you to practice. 
You've recited this 'speech' many times during the shiva, repeating it to every nosy relative and family friend, but this time Frank was listening. You secretly hoped he'd be impressed, that you sounded mature and goal driven and responsible.
She's so young He was reminded again.
*********
He was constantly acutely aware of you, willing his eyes to focus on anything else, training his features, controlling his movements. It felt like a never-ending game of poker he was bound to lose. 
You were making it impossible. Licking that spoon, tossing your hair to the side, exposing your neck, taunting him with each move you made. It would have been considered cruel if you were doing it on purpose. 
Closing the bathroom door behind yourself, you let out a breathy sigh of relief, finally not having to school your expression and be hyper aware of your every word. Is this what family dinners are going to look like from now on, always having to navigate the minefield that is Frank Castle? 
You missed his smile, his genuine softness that peeked through his exterior when he was playful and relaxed, the creases around his eyes and the warmth he radiated when he knew you were the only one able to see him.
"You got a little bit of 'shmutz' there" you remarked playfully as you were eating french toast in your dad's kitchen, still not fully clothed after fucking on the table.
You gingerly wiped the maple syrup with your finger and put it in your mouth. 
"That's some Jewish flirtin' " he said and chuckled warmly.
Was that just a small glimpse you got before he was inevitably going to take it all away?
You wondered if that memory will turn sour, like many others before it, like a word you keep repeating in your head until it loses its meaning.
You took a deep breath before heading back outside, back to his avoidant eyes and blank expression. 
You stepped out into the corridor, about to head back into the living room, when you almost collided with his broad frame. Startled, you gasped, laying a hand on his chest. He was warm and solid.
“Sorry” you muttered.
********
Frank's features softened, as his gaze lingered from your eyes to your lips.
“S’ok” he replied, with the faintest little smirk, before going into the bathroom and closing the door behind himself. 
Dinner was finally over, pleasantries all exchanged, and the evening was drawing to a much anticipated end.
Relief and doubt mixed in your belly as you climbed into Frank’s truck at the end of the night. He began the silent drive back and you opted to look out of the window, your vision blurred, mesmerized by the fleeting light of each lamp post you passed. You allowed the rhythm to hypnotize you, to deflect your consciousness away from his gravitational pull. 
“You ok?” the grave voice asked, drawing you right back.
“Mhm” you smiled back faintly, fighting the need to turn your head towards him.
The both of you remained quiet, and you wondered if fucking him will always be easier than talking to him. Somehow being naked in front of him seemed less vulnerable than asking him the questions you wanted to. You dreaded his reply, it was scarier than not knowing.
You wished your brain would stop, for one fucking moment. But the volume of your insistent internal dialogue only seemed to increase.
Will he touch me?
Will he invite me back to his place?
Will he say it was all a mistake and never speak to me about it again?
SHUT UP.
And then his heavy palm rested on your thigh. It’s warmth soothing and quieting the noise.
“Thanks for the ride, have a good night” you said sheepishly as you stood next to him in his driveway. 
The quick realization of just how much trouble you're in with this man came soon after.
Yes you’ve fucked, but you were still just as desperate for him.
Fuck, I wish he would sto..
“And where do you think you’re goin'?” He asked, tilting his head in curiosity
“I…um…Did you want me to come in?” Your voice was even quieter than before.
“Only if you wanna.." He sounded almost surprised that it wasn’t obvious.
“I do” you bit back a smile of relief.
You sat on the couch next to him, keeping your hands in your lap, your mouth open as if you wanted to speak, but no words were coming out, mouth dry and pulse thumping. 
"You nervous Han?"
The question took you by surprise, was it really that obvious? 
"Yeah" you nodded, heat rising to your cheeks.
"I'm makin' you nervous?" he tilted his head. Raising his brows in surprise.
"All the time" you chuckled, taken aback by your own honesty.
His hand came to rest on your cheek, thumb gently grazing your mouth. You averted your gaze to the floor, unable to meet his eyes.
“Don’t be nervous, s’ok baby” 
He leaned closer now, so close you could feel his breath on your face, and warmth spread like wildfire from your chest to your abdomen and settled between your thighs.
“Can I kiss you?” He asked, almost whispering.
You nodded, fluttering your eyes shut.
He was almost as gentle as the first time you kissed, careful strokes, deepening slowly. You whimpered with relief, allowing his tongue access into your mouth.
Your arms wrapped around the nape of his neck as he grabbed your waist and pulled you closer, flush against his big solid frame.
It overwhelmed you, the immediate effect of his proximity, his kiss.
Your body responded instantaneously, effortlessly, arousal gathering between your thighs, heat crawling under your skin. 
This time you didn’t fight the urge to straddle his hips. You settled in his lap and you both let out a soft moan when you rubbed against his clothed cock, the seam of his jeans pressing exquisitely onto your core. You deepened the kiss, moaning into his mouth, as his palms caressed your legs, skimming past the edge of your dress and sliding towards your center.
His thumbs grazed the crease of your belly, gently stroking the sensitive flesh of your inner thighs through the sheer fabric of your tights. 
“waited all fucking night for this baby” he rasped, cascading open mouthed kisses down your neck.
The contrast between your adorable shyness and the ease with which you melted against him the moment he’d touch you never failed to make him hard.
I’ve waited for fuckign years.
You pulled your dress over your head, anxious to feel his skin on yours. He did not resist when you bunched his sweater in your hands and began pulling it off as well, taking the t-shirt off with it. 
Your fingers skimmed the broadness of his shoulders and chest as he pulled back to look at you. Sliding his palms from your neck down the soft slope of your shoulders, gently pulling down the straps of your bra. He unclasped it with one motion, letting your breast spill out before tossing it into the pile on the floor with the rest of your clothes.
Messy hair, hooded eyes and parted lips. Beautiful and soft and pliant in his arms, Frank's eyes raked you, a gaze so intense it felt as if he was making up for all the moments he couldn’t look at you. 
“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous” He rasped, running hungry palms from your neck down to your breasts, before latching on with his mouth. 
A desperate want began building in your core, a need to taste him, to please him. You took his left hand and drew it closer to your lips. He watched through hooded lids as you slid his index and middle fingers into your mouth, sucking and swirling your slippery tongue around them. You bobbed your head, locking eyes with him and pumping the fingers in and out. He understood your silent request but wanted to hear you say it.
“Tell me what you need baby” 
You squirmed, drawing his fingers deeper. He smirked and released them from your lips with a pop.
“I…I..want you in my mouth” you mumbled quickly, averting your eyes down.
“Use your words” He commanded, albeit gently.
He could see you hesitating, shyness coloring your cheeks red. 
You were precious, so fucking sweet, and it made him impossibly harder.
“Come on now baby, whatta you need?”
There was a pause of silence, and you couldn't decipher the look in his eyes before he spoke.
”Get on your knees honey”
“Hands”. He commanded
You gulped and settled on the floor in front of him, knees on the throw pillow, heart pounding faster as you noticed a shift in Frank. A dominance flashed across his features, asking you to submit.
He stood tall above you and began slowly unclasping the buckle of his belt, pulling it out of the loops in one smooth motion that made your mouth water and your pussy throb.
It was barely tight enough, but you nodded.
You lifted your hands towards him and he carefully held both in one palm, wrapping the belt around them with the other. He gave you a reassuring look, pulling through the loop and tightening the brown leather around your wrists.
“You tell me if it’s too tight”
“If you say stop, we stop right away. Ok baby?” 
Watching him take control put you at ease, you trusted him to take you apart and put you back together again, gently and meticulously.
“OK” you replied eagerly.
You have decided, long before he ever touched you, that you will let him do anything to you, that you’d surrender fully and completely. 
"You done this before, baby?" He asked, eyes glazed with hunger.
Frank moved slowly, hiding the urgency that pulsed under his skin with the thought of your sweet mouth wrapped around his cock. He wanted to see you squirm with anticipation, maybe he wanted to hear you beg for it.
He opened the zipper of his jeans, leisurely pulling them down his legs. You gulped at the sight of his muscular thighs flexing. The outline of his hard cock pressed tightly against the thin fabric his boxer briefs, making your core clench. 
His palm came up to gently stroke your hair, as if giving you permission, and you instinctively nuzzled your cheek onto the thick length of him, testing Frank’s patience. You pressed your lips against him, through the thin fabric, following the outline of his perfect curve, drunk on him before even having a taste. He was warm and solid, pulsating with heat and want, and it made your mouth water.
You have, but it seemed that none of the other times even mattered, or counted. You bit your bottom lip and shook your head in mock innocence. 
"Fuck" he muttred, voice breathy and low, and you knew that's what he wanted to hear. As he pulled down his boxers, allowing his heavy length to spring free.
Quiet moans and gasps escaped his lips, and you listened intently to every strangled breath.
Frank carefully cupped the back of your head, letting his fingers entangle in your hair before gently pulling it back, exposing your delicate neck. He met no resistance and relished in your compliance, so eager to please him. He held the base of his cock with his other hand, slowly sliding the fat tip into your mouth, as the salty taste of precum hit your tongue. You let him in until he hit the back of your throat before wrapping your lips around him and gently sucking the heavy shaft.
Frank shuddered above you, exhaling sharply. 
He began to move slowly, eyes rolling back in pleasure, pushing his length deeper with each thrust. You bobbed your head to meet his movements, letting him set the pace.
״Eyes on me” he ordered, and you obeyed, looking at him through your lashes. His nostrils flared and jaw clenched as he watched his cock slide between your plush lips. 
“Atta girl, just like that..” he praised you in a soft voice, making you clench over nothing.
You could feel your arousal drip and pool in your center, soaking the fabric of your panties and tights, making you squeeze your thighs together. It was almost embarrassing, the way your body was set ablaze by the words of adoration spilling from his lips.
“Sweet girl" He caressed your face, rubbing his thumb on your aching jaw in soothing motions, while slowly fucking his cock into your mouth.
It was tender, and filthy, and you welcomed the pain of it all. The throb in your core that was getting unbearable, the ache in your legs folded beneath you, the strain on your jaw, the gag reflex that made tears sting the corners of your eyes, every bit of you that hurt with the effort. 
"Such a good girl..fuck..m’gonna cum in your pretty mouth" His voice was strained as his tempo intensified, eyes never leaving you. 
Frank's gaze was trained on your mouth, how his cock glistened with your spit, the wet streaks on your cheeks. Your little moans and gagging noises that he thought would make him slow down or stop, they were spurring him on, turning him almost cruel. 
You hollowed out your cheeks, making him stifle a loud moan. "Just like that..fuck just like that baby..fuh..shit..." he sensed the pressure build rapidly, each thrust bringing him closer to his release. Your mouth was sweet and warm and soft and the mere thought of being the first one to fuck it sent him over the edge. 
You could feel him twitch before he growled, spilling onto your tongue. The salty bitterness made you gag around him as his thrusts slowed down. 
He pulled out slowly, still half hard, dripping a mixture of cum and spit onto your bare tits. 
“You ok baby?” he asked, furrowing his brows in genuine concern. He reached out his hand, helping you stand back up on shaky legs.
"Swallow honey" he ordered again, his voice hoarse and wrecked.
He hummed in approval when you obeyed, still on your knees for him. 
“Yeah” you returned a dazed smile, pulling him back into your game.
“You did so good” His voice was lower now.
He swiped his pointer finger through a drop of cum on your chest, and you opened eagerly, sucking it dry.
“Now,” he continued, kissing your cheek tenderly and trailing his lips down your jaw
“You wanna stop or go on? Hm?” his voice dropped lower still, as he continued peppering kisses on your neck.
Frank knew how he wanted to play with you, what he wanted to pull out of you.
“Go on…I wanna go on” You replied ,as if you had any choice, as if you could ignore the painful throbbing of your cunt, the mess in your panties.
“C’mere” He took your tied hands, leading you to the side of the couch, carefully bending you over the armrest.
“That feel ok?” 
You managed only to reply with a breathless “mhm” 
He chuckled at your desperate wiggles, continuing his unhurried strokes.
He took a moment to admire you, your bare top bent over on the sofa where he laid a cushion for you, sheer black tights stretching over your ass, revealing a pair of lace panties.
He stood behind you, finger gently tracing the lace beneath the nylon, leaving fire in its trail. Your breaths were heavier now, and a small whine escaped you as it torturously dragged between your asscheeks towards your pussy.
“Please, Frank” your voice shook. 
“Please what baby?” He taunted
“Touch me, please” You begged now, desperate to ease the ache between your thighs.
He cupped you through the fabric, running his thumb on your clothed core, you were soaked.
“Like that? hm?”
Your breath was ragged, small whines escaped your mouth as you tried to rock your hips against his hand.
A string of little moans were your only response. 
“More..” you finally added. His touch was deliberate, slow circles that did nothing more than drive you mad.
Gliding both palms towards your waist, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your tights, wiggling and dragging them down with your panties. 
When the fabric slid past the curve of your ass he stopped, admiring the exposed skin, smooth and supple, the way that the elastic dug into the meat of your upper thighs, accentuating the plumpness.
Two thick digits slid between your thighs, you were dripping, and Frank relished at the squelching sound when he gently parted your folds and spread your juices. His touch was precise, feather light, and painfully slow. 
His cock began to stir again.
His fingers glided over the expanse of the soft flesh, before repeating the slow, agonizing trail from your tailbone to your core, making you tremble. 
“You hear that honey, how wet you are for me?” 
You whimpered, as he moved at a snail’s pace, sliding from your entrance to your clit and back. The pressure increased slightly but the pace was just as slow.
“Fuhhh..fuck…me.” your attempt to speak nearly failed.
“You need to be fucked?” his voice was almost sympathetic.
“Ye..hh” you quivered.
“Like this honey?” He pumped one finger in and out, slowly, with an obscene squelch.  
“Fuck..Please!” You sobbed softly
“Shhh..I know baby, I know…just a lil' more” He replied.
You mewled as he drew his fingers back and parted your cheeks, sliding his heavy length in between your thighs, rubbing against the slick puffy folds, making you drip and bringing you both to the brink. 
You shook, tip-toes barely gripping the carpet, holding on for dear life. 
You shuddered as he dipped his cock into your core,carefully stretching and filling you to the brim. 
Fuckmefuckmefuckmefuckme…
Tears stung your eyes as the throbbing in your cunt became unbearable. Every nerve ending screaming and begging for the emptiness to be filled. Your quiet little sobs filled the room and Frank finally decided to show you mercy.
The sting of it made you battle between the need to adjust to him and need to be fucked within the edge of your life. 
He tutted “Don’t you move, you hear me?” 
"Fuckin' tight" he cursed under his breath.
He set an unhurried pace and you moved your hips to meet his deep thrusts, once, twice, before a sharp swat landed on your right buttcheek.
“Uhu..” You would obey any instructions just to keep him going 
He was tainting you, ruining you. He did not find it in himself to regret that. So he thrust deeper, fingers digging into the plush expanse of your ass, fucking himself into your dripping cunt. 
“You gonna be good now. Take it like a good girl.”
He felt you clench at the words and he smirked to himself, thrusting deeper, addicted to the flutter of your pussy around him.
Shame trickled into his bloodstream again, it always did when it came to you. He let it flow, let it mix with his desire and need, let himself get drunk on it. 
"You like it when I call you that? Hm? Like it when I fuck your little pussy and tell you what a good girl youre bein'?" 
Your response was only a little whimper, but you clenched even harder, squeezing him tightly 
"Answer me baby" 
"I..fucking..love it"
Your climax built rapidly, the familiar coil in your belly growing tighter and tighter. Waves of pleasure coursed through your abdomen, shattering against your core, pushing you off the edge of the cliff. You wailed, walls fluttering around his girth, gripping him like a vice.
"There y'go baby..just like that.." Frank praised you through your high, pulling the remnants of your orgasm out of you as the waves gently subsided.
Your head was heavy and limbs numb, body melting until you couldn’t tell which part of you was solid and which was liquid.
“Shh…shhh s’ok babygirl” He stroked you, laying a gentle kiss on your back as the sound of your heavy breaths filled the room. He slowed down, barely moving his hips, before pulling out his length, still dripping with your arousal. 
“Frank, I've never…umm” your voice is hoarse and breathy
Knowing you’d still be too sensitive, he dipped a cautious finger in, gathering your slick and smearing it up towards the cleft of your ass, massaging it into the tight rim. The sensation was foreign but pleasurable, as he spread your wetness, applying a little more pressure with every slick slide of his digit.
Entranced, still pulsating with your release, you began bucking your hips against his hand.
“S'ok baby, I’ll be nice n’ slow, just my finger” 
Ever so slowly he began pushing the tip of his index past the tight ring, and the slight sting of it made you hiss.
“You wanna stop honey?”
“Uh-uh..no” you muttered. Slowly getting accustomed to the intrusion, rutting against him as he sank his digit down to it’s base. 
When he was fully sheathed in, he lined his cock against your entrance, and pushed in with one smooth motion.
“uhh..fuuuuccckk” you moaned, impossibly full. 
Frank was quiet now, entranced by the way your bodies were connected, the sounds of skin slapping on skin, the little whines and whimpers that came with every thrust into your tight heat.
He moved his cock and his finger in tandem, pacing himself as much as he could, cursing under his breath.
“Good girl… baby… lettin’ me fuck both your pretty holes” He slurred
The overstimulation subsided in moments, and you could feel the shot of arousal, sharp and unforgiving, travel from your ears to your core.
It burned, but only made you want more, willing to be fully used, consumed by him. You were reduced into a quivering mess, crying for him to go harder. He didn't stop you from moving this time, as you instinctively matched his pace, encouraging him deeper.
You were slumped on the pillow, breathless and boneless. He pulled out carefully, watching his release spill onto the bunched up fabric of your panties and tights, etching the depraved sight into his mind. It made him wish he could fuck you all over again.
His impeccable control was rapidly wavering and he began to speed up, his movements becoming rougher and sloppier, crashing his hips into your ass at a brutal pace. Your second orgasm came abruptly and tore an animalistic sound from your chest, pushing Frank over the edge. He spilled inside of you with a guttural moan, long and lowd. The waves of pleasure washing over him again and again as he pulsed inside of you, flooding you with warmth.
**********************
The moans and pleas were replaced by silence, it was a soft, almost pleasant one. Endorphins still buzzed in your bloodstream, and you tried to focus on them instead of the demons that lurked around the peripherals of your mind, awaiting their turn.
Frank’s chest rose and fell beneath you, his breaths deep and steady as sleep was claiming him. You tried closing your eyes, tried matching your breaths with his, but the weight of everything unsaid felt heavy on your chest, threatening to burst. 
More questions, always more fucking questions, ones you felt would be so hard to answer even if you could ask them. You knew you’d be gone by morning, for months, and they’d be left unanswered.
When you finally decided to speak you hoped he’d already be asleep, as if whispering your confessions to yourself would help…
"I don't know what this is, what we are, but I'm gonna miss you" you mumbled, as quietly as possible, hoping to god he didn’t actually hear you.
"Gon' miss you too, baby” He replied in a hushed tone. 
Shit.
Hours later, your eyes stung with lack of sleep. You kept drifting in and out of slumber throughout the night, unable to let yourself relax fully in his presence. You finally gave up as the dim light of dawn crept through the windows and carefully peeled back the comforter, climbing out of the warm bed.
Frank was snoring softly, laying on his belly, face smushed into the pillow he was grabbing. You laid a cautious hand on his back, running your fingers on the smooth expanse of his shoulder blades, the exposed skin cool to the touch.
FIN. 
“Goodbye Frank” you whispered, closing the door behind you.
41 notes · View notes
unhonest-iago · 6 months
Text
Shanah Tovah
Corpse had the dates for all the Jewish holidays circled on his paper calendar, remembering that they changed every year. It was something y/n had mentioned once or twice in casual conversation. Corpse had picked up bread making as a new hobby, needing something to do when he couldn't come up with any new songs or music video concepts. Y/n could hear the clatter from their apartment next door, the walls unfortunately thin. And the kitchens even tinier to the point you could barely call them kitchens. Joking through the walls as y/n laughed at his one sided fights with tin foil.
Corpse decided to go with a three strand braid, not wanting to overdo it with his fibromyalgia. Already feeling a pins and needles sensation in a few of his fingers. The risen dough sat on his counter top, divided into three pieces. Rolling them into more a tube shape like you would clay for a coil pot. Corpse double checked the measurements, wanting to be sure it'd fit in his pan. Hands lightly shaking, quickly lacing the strands together. Still neat enough for his liking.
Sitting on the counter as he waited for the timer to ding, not having the energy to do much else. Y/n, picking up the smell of freshly baked bread assumed Corpse was trying a new recipe that he'd ultimately fuck up and curse up a storm about. Confused when they heard a knock on the door. Looking in the peep hole, seeing Corpse stood at their door. 'Hey Corpse, what this all about?'
'Heard it was a holiday for you and figured I'd surprise you. Swear on my life I didn't mess it up, tried it a dozen times just to make sure.' Rambling a little before handing it to them. Looking down, the poppy seeds staring back at them. 'Oh, jar of honey as well.'
Y/n thought of what they had planned for the day, or lack thereof. Shifting from foot to foot as they made up their mind. 'Wanna come in?'
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imarvelatthestars · 2 years
Text
Zise: Emet
Notes: This takes place during the training sequence of X-Men: First Class and I chose to take some liberties with the plot, mostly keeping Darwin alive and not pairing Mystique and Erik together. I struggled to think of a way to weaponize the reader's plant powers like the other mutants are able to do when it finally came to me. I think you'll enjoy the answer I came up with.
Pairings: Erik Lehnsherr x Jewish!Reader
Warnings: feminine language used to refer to reader, references to the Shoah & the camps
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Part 1
Four days of hard work and all you had to show for it was a terrace covered in blossoms and ivy, and a literal thorn in your side from when you got so angry with yourself that the thorn bush you'd been growing exploded and half impaled you. You were tired, you were sore, and even though everyone else was experiencing their own struggles, you felt wildly out of your league and out of place among them. Between Darwin's ability to adapt to literally anything, Alex's energy blasts, Raven's shapeshifting, and Erik's metal manipulation, you felt like a child dwarfed by all the greatness surrounding her.
"I don't think I should stay here any longer," you finally tell Charles that night.
He starts out of his seat and you can see it in his eyes that he's ready to talk you out of it, but you don't care to hear it. Because you know you're right.
"I don't belong, Charles. My abilities aren't of any use to you or your cause. What am I supposed to do, throw daisies at Shaw and hope that scares him off?"
"You simply haven't unlocked your deepest potential yet-."
"I know I'm strong, Charles, I know I'm capable. That's not the problem. It's the fact that my abilities are completely useless in this war." You fix him with your gaze and feel a bit of calm wash over you when he doesn't fight you again. "You came to me for help, but what help can I offer when the most threatening thing I can conjure are some brambles? I mean, the rest of you have the most amazing powers I've ever seen! Abilities that can do real damage in a fight."
He rubs a finger over his lower lip as he considers you. You can practically see the wheels turning in his head.
"I just... I think it would be best for me to go so the rest of you can focus."
Charles thinks for a moment later before he finally nods. "Perhaps it would help you to know exactly who it is we're fighting." You start to protest when he holds up a hand. He stands, gaze focused solely on you as if you're a wild, cornered animal. "I haven't told you the whole truth about who Shaw is, or who he was some years ago, because it wasn't my place to say. But before you leave, I think you should speak with Erik. Ask him about Shaw and then you can decide what you should do. Does that sound agreeable?"
You don't tell him that your bags are already packed, but you figure he probably already knows. "Okay," you sigh. "Tomorrow then."
٠ ¤ ٠ ¤ ٠ ¤ ٠
The sun is barely clearing the horizon when you wake. You say modah ani and the rest of your morning prayers, shower, and put on one of your more plain dresses with a pair of tights instead of your workout wear. You're not sure that you'll be staying long enough for Charles' exercises today and you want to be ready to leave at a moment's notice, before anyone can stop you.
Erik is waiting for you in the terrace, dressed in his sweatpants and sweater. He seems entranced by what remains of your work from yesterday - ivy and brambles tightly intertwined as they swallow everything in their path, from the statues and banister to nearly half the wall of Charles' house. The sight of him takes you by surprise, even though it shouldn't have, and a tiny rosebush sprouts by your foot, immediately growing about a foot tall and covered in a dozen blooms. The sound of the earth shifting and the bush sprouting to life draws Erik's attention, and when he turns, you feel his eyes pierce right to your heart.
"Hello," he whispers.
You swallow the sudden lump in your throat. "Hello."
The wind stirs your hair and the strings on Erik's sweater. You're not sure what else to say. He's been your greatest comfort since you left home, the only other Jew in a sea of goyim, your one lifeline to anything familiar, and he's been a good friend. It hurts that you'll have to leave him and you hope he won't think poorly of you in your absence.
"Charles said you're leaving." Something burns behind his irises then, something so dark and fierce that you can almost feel its heat from across the terrace. "You're choosing to abandon us."
And God, does the accusation sting. "No, that's not it, Erik, I swear. I just, I don't feel that I should be here anymore. My abilities-."
"Could help us take down Shaw. Don't you see that? Don't you see what you're capable of?"
You follow the line of his arm as it points to the brambles along the wall. "It's not a question of what I'm capable of. I know I'm capable. But you were right, Erik. I don't fit in here. Not because I'm frum, but because my abilities are nothing compared to what the rest of you can do. I can't influence people's minds or fly or destroy weapons with a sonic blast. I can grow flowers and little thorn bushes. What good is that against a man like Shaw?"
Erik jerks as if he's been hit. His chest caves in on itself, his jaw goes stiff, and he turns his face away until you can only see the back of his head and the ragged heaving of his chest. And you can't help feeling angry that no one seems to be listening to you. You won't be any help on the battlefield, you'll just be the scared woman that watched Shaw and Azazel take Angel and almost kill Darwin all over again. And your little brambles and rose thorns won't be any good then.
Then you remember what Charles told you last night: ask about Shaw. So you do. And you watch Erik transform into something you've never seen before.
"His real name is Klaus Schmidt. We met at Auschwitz." His Adam's apple bobs and his voice trembles as the world crumbles down around you. "When he murdered my mother and abused my powers for his own enjoyment."
You can hear your blood rushing through your veins, can hear your heartbeat, can feel it all the way in toes as your heart threatens to hammer through your chest. Erik was at Auschwitz. Erik was in the camps. Erik survived the Shoah. It's like a nightmare you can't wake up from because you've heard the stories from other survivors on Yom HaShoah, you remember the radio broadcasts during the war when you were just a toddler, how they spoke of bombings and ghettos and Kristallnacht while you sat safe in the confines of your four walls and continued going to shul each week with your parents. Untouched by the horrors of the war, sheltered from Hitler's tyrannical reach by the simple fact that your family had left their shtetl a decade before his rise to power.
"He walked away from it all unscathed, unhindered. Because he could. Because no one held him accountable." There was that dark ferocity, the one you'd seen in Erik's eyes only twice before, now seeping into his voice until it was almost unrecognizable. You could hear the German-Yiddish tint of his accent more now than ever before, it was thick like blood and ash in your ears. "But I will."
What can you possibly say now? You'd joined Division X to stop Shaw from initiating World War III and murdering the whole of humanity, and perhaps you'd also joined because you finally knew you weren't the only one with abilities you couldn't explain or understand. And you had planned to leave because you knew you couldn't measure up to what Erik and Charles needed of you, but... Shaw was a Nazi. He took part in the brutal massacring of your people, he oversaw executions and gas chambers and Hashem only knew what else, and he wanted to take what he'd learned in the camps and apply it to all the non-mutants of the world? Eradicate them like he'd tried to eradicate the Jews? If he succeeded, then for all you knew, the only ones left alive would be himself, his henchmen, and Division X. And that you simply couldn't abide by. You would rather die in the heat of battle, useless and broken but still fighting, than stand back and let Shaw destroy what remained of your people.
You can still hear Erik somewhere in the back of your mind, but it's impossible to make out the words over the noise of your fury. You feel sick to your stomach and righteously angry. You feel as if you could take on Shaw yourself this very instant, wrap a vine around his neck until he stops breathing and then your people will be safe, then there will be justice for Erik and all the other innocents once at Shaw's mercy.
Something pulls hard at your arm and you come to. You hadn't even realized that you were literally seeing red until your vision returns to normal and the rage fades from your eyes. Now all you can see is Erik, tall and lithe and frantic as he shakes your arm. You frown, recoiling from his sudden proximity and start to back away when your heel catches on something and you drop like a stone. Erik catches your hands as you hit the ground. You're not sure if it's him or the impact that winds you, but you're back on your feet a moment later and he puts his hands on your shoulders. It's uncomfortable, it's strange, it's almost nice, and it would certainly make your mother scold you if she could see you now, but then he turns you around and you see what it is you've tripped over.
Erik breathes a laugh into your ear and you can feel it warm your skin. "I do believe you've disproved your own argument, my dear."
The golem that stands before you is massive, more comparable to a boulder than a human. Its domed head looms at least a meter above yours, its shoulders broad and its arms thicker than tree trunks. Two hollow eye sockets, a nose, and a faint line of Hebrew lettering form its stony face. And perhaps even more startling than its mere existence is the fact that this golem seems to be alive, crafted from a shifting mass of rock, brambles, and vines.
You blindly seek out Erik's hand, unable to tear your gaze from the golem. His fingers squeeze around yours and send a thrill down your spine. Perhaps you ought to stay after all.
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nonbinarylowkey · 2 years
Text
dinner and diatribes
Summary: You were a chef—a damn good one, if you did say so yourself, but still just a chef. So how was it you ended up playing pretend wife to Loki at a Hydra recruitment event?
Word Count: 15,873
Pairing: Loki/Reader
Rating: Explicit
Note: This is an edited version of a fic I wrote in 2020. This version has a completely rewritten ending. The original is no longer on tumblr, but it is still up on ao3. Divider by @firefly-graphics.
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The chip in the polish of the long wooden meeting table you sat at was fascinating. 
Truly.
There were so many things to wonder about: who did it, why did they do it, when did they do it?
Fascinating.
You picked at the damaged spot with the nail of your index finger.
“Seriously, you won’t even consider it?”
Or maybe the chipped polish just provided a convenient momentary distraction from the conversation you were trying very hard not to have just then.
Tony Stark sat across from you. He slouched in his cushy office chair, one arm propped up on the table, his face propped up on the hand attached to that arm. The beginnings of a frown graced his lips and his eyes were narrowed, though you couldn’t tell if he was glaring at you or just squinting. He didn’t look angry; just frustrated. Still, you weren’t an expert on reading people’s expressions. It’s not like you were a spy or anything. 
You were a chef; a damn good one, if you had anything to say about it, but still just a chef.
“Hello?” Tony drummed the fingers of his other hand on the table.
Whoops. There you went, distracting yourself again. You kept picking at the chipped polish, although this time you kept your eyes up.
“Look, I’ll pay you five times what you make working around here if you agree to do this,” he said.
“It isn’t about the money,” you huffed. “Aren’t there, like, ten Avengers now? Why can’t any of you do this? You’re all more qualified than I am. Hell, Natasha is actually a spy isn’t she? Why not send her?”
“Because Loki won’t go with her,” Steve chimed in. He leaned over the table a bit, both palms resting flat on its surface. He’d been so quiet until now, you’d almost forgotten he was in the room. “He refuses to go with anyone except you.”
“Loki?” You asked. Your next blinks came faster in your confusion. “You’re sending Loki on a mission?”
“He wants to atone for New York, he’s gotta work for it,” Steve shrugged.
For his part, Tony looked a bit more irritated. Clearly, not everyone was happy about this.
“Yeah, and so far he hasn’t put much work in at all,” he grumbled. “Jerk probably doesn’t want to atone for a damn thing.”
“You haven’t given him a chance, Tony. He’s under guard at all hours, he’s never allowed to leave the building, and you constantly remind him that you don’t trust him. Is he supposed to be willing to work with us like that?” Steve fumed. You wondered if he was even talking about Loki at all, or if there was a certain ex-Hydra assassin on his mind. As true as those things were for Loki, they were equally as true for Bucky. Steve turned his attention back to you. “I’m sorry we have to put this on you. Natasha was our first choice, but at this point her face is too well known. We decided to send Loki with her so he can use his illusions to hide their appearances, but he refused to go with anyone else.”
Pride bubbled up in your chest alongside the trepidation. The fact that you were the sole person to break through Loki’s shell so far made you feel special. You liked - loved, your heart whispered - Loki now that he wasn’t trying to take over the world. He was funny, interesting, and not too hard on the eyes. Still, as much as you liked Loki, that didn’t change the fact that Avengers missions tended to be… unsafe.
“What are the chances I’ll die if I do this?” You asked.
“If Reindeer Games wants to atone for New York, he’ll keep you safe.” Tony said, unconcerned with your very real concern.
“Tony!” Steve glared at him. You sort of wished Steve would punch him. “As long as you guys keep your covers intact, you’ll be fine. This is just an information gathering mission.”
You were silent for a few moments. If Tony had anything more to add, the glaring match he was having with Steve kept him from saying it.
“I’ll do it,” You said. “But I’m taking the money, Tony.”
“Fine by me; I might even give you extra for taking that little weasel off my hands for a while.”
Steve set a manila envelope on the table in front of you. “The mission details are in here. You and Loki will be going to a private party hosted by a man suspected of funding upstart Hydra factions: Christoph Rohr. Everyone else in attendance will be people he’s trying to recruit or people he’s already recruited. We want you two to get as much information about his operation as you can.”
“So we’ll be posing as wannabe Nazis?”
“You’ll be posing as a married couple Rohr has pegged as wannabe Nazis,” Steve said. “There’s a difference.”
“If we’re not wannabe Nazis, why did he peg us as wannabe Nazis?” You asked. Some act of divine mercy kept your attention off of the idea of pretending to be married to Loki. You could sort your feelings about that out when you were alone; the wannabe Nazi thing was the more important issue here.
“You are wannabe Nazis, you’re not wannabe Nazis, who cares,” Tony said, deciding that he’d been silent for long enough. “But everyone there is either a full blown Nazi or a wannabe Nazi and anyone who doesn’t like Nazis wasn’t invited so just keep that in mind when you decide on your cover story.”
“Look," Steve chimed in, "You don’t like Nazis, I don’t like Nazis. No one in this building likes Nazis. Sometimes, to get anything done, you have to pretend to be a Nazi. This is one of those times. Can you do it?”
“You never have to pose as a Nazi. You just punch Nazis,” you pointed out.
“The next time we bring a Hydra Nazi in for questioning, I’ll let you punch the Nazi. Sound good?” Steve sighed.
“Brilliant,” you grinned.
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The mission started a week later. It would last a day and a half assuming everything went as planned. You prayed everything went as planned. Maybe even better than planned if it got you out of there sooner. 
You jumped when a heavy knock landed on your door. Your jewelry clattered to the floor.
"Shit," you muttered, scrambling to pick up your ring. You shoved it on and shakily made your way to answer the knock.
On the other side of the door was a man you didn’t recognize. Not at first, anyway. In place of long, curly, black hair was short, blond hair that just started to curl at the tips where the product he put in couldn’t quite hold it back. The angles of his face were softer than you were used to, and there was a look to him that said that he was happier; less worn out by the stresses of his life. The suit was new, too, although you suspected that was less part of the disguise and more because Loki was the sort of person who never wore the same suit twice. His eyes were the same blue they always were.
And that smile. The one that always seemed to hold a thousand secrets in its curve. The one that both laughed at and with you whenever it appeared. You knew that smile anywhere; only one person in your life had one like it.
“Well, how do I look?” Loki asked, spreading his arms wide. He turned to give you the full view of his disguise. 
“I miss the long hair, but Laing doesn't look half bad,” you joked.
Robert Laing was Loki’s new identity for the next thirty six hours—a physiologist who had previously worked at a medical school in London. You were his wife, a chef for the catering company employed by his school. The two of you met while you were working the school's staff Christmas party and you'd been in love ever since. The desire for a change of pace led to the two of you packing up and moving to New York. A few weeks ago one of Laing's coworkers from London happened to mention one of Rohr’s events; one thing led to another, now you were about to attend one of Rohr's parties. Because you were a wannabe Nazi. Or at least that was the story you were going with. The true story of the invitation’s acquisition was a mystery to you. 
Why did you agree to do this?
Loki's smile grew predatory as he looked you over. You wore a forest green evening gown that shimmered with tiny gold flecks across the whole thing. The front of your hair was braided together to form a sort of crown while the rest fell down your back in tight curls. A thin gold chain with a single pearl hung around your neck and a simple gold band sat on your ring finger to match the one Loki wore.
"Mrs. Laing looks rather ravishing herself. I may have to keep you when we're through with this,” Loki said.
"If I knew all it took to catch your attention was putting on a fancy dress, I might have done it earlier," you step out of your apartment, bold flirtation pushing away some of the sour fear that threatened to settle in your stomach.
"I assure you, my attention was caught long before now. The dress assures me that I was right to allow you to catch it," he held an arm out for you. "Shall we?"
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Your anxiety held itself at bay for the first fifteen minutes of the drive to your destination.
You reread the file Steve gave you; you’d read it a thousand times before by that point and still, it didn’t feel like enough. But in the moment between finishing one page and beginning the next your mind wandered to a fragile little star hanging on an equally fragile chain in a bedside drawer.
After that the dam breaks.
Maybe it just cracked. Or maybe it didn't matter what the damage to that metaphorical dam was. Maybe all that mattered was that it was damaged and that you couldn't stop yourself from dropping the file. You couldn't stop your breathing from going harsh or your hands from shaking or a tear from rolling down your cheek.
You felt sick.
Loki looked up from his own book just in time to see the tear before it soaked into the fabric of your dress.
"Are you crying?" He asked, shocked and perhaps a bit incredulous at your sudden onslaught of emotions.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” you said, wiping away the tears. You had to muster all of your willpower to keep more from falling. By some miracle, it was enough. The tears dried up, leaving a lump in your throat that you struggled to swallow around. “This is just a lot more than I signed up for when Tony hired my little catering company to feed the compound, y’know? I guess I’m just overwhelmed,” you prayed he wouldn't push for more. 
Then you prayed that maybe he'd just read your mind—he could do that, right?—so that he knew what was going on with you without you having to say anything. Because you wanted him to know. If you were to be partners on this mission, if you were to be friends outside of this mission… Well, he deserved to know, didn't he? He did. But the place your emotions came from was too deep to summon the words. 
You met Loki's gaze. He looked at you with an intense curiosity that made you uncomfortable. You looked away again, this time setting your sights out the window beside you. It felt like minutes passed in silence. Minutes of staring out the windshield counting every tree, reading every license plate; minutes of doing anything to avoid thinking about your fears. In reality it had been seconds.
"I would never have mentioned you if I believed those sorry excuses for heroes would allow a civilian to come on this mission," Loki said. His voice had a hard edge to it. He picked at the skin of his palm.
"I'm not blaming you," you said. You still refused to look at him. "I could've said no. I just… I guess I didn't think about what I was saying yes to."
"What did you think you were saying yes to?"
"Well, Steve offered to let me punch the next Hydra Nazi taken into Avengers custody. Tony offered me money. Enough to pay all my bills for like… three months? So I was thinking of those things.” 
In a moment of boldness you added: “Pretending to be your wife sounded pretty fun, too.”
Oh, there was that predatory grin of Loki’s again; just as menacing on Laing's face as it was on Loki's. He scooted closer so that your thighs were pressed together. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders. Heat crept up your cheeks to dry the remainder of your tears.
"You were faced with something that terrified you, and chose to go along with it because being my wife sounded fun? Oh, I will be keeping you when this is over."
His arm tightened around you, like he was already keeping you even though the mission hadn’t even begun. In a way, you supposed that at least tonight, whether anything changed between the two of you later on, you were his for the keeping. Well, really, you were Laing’s, but Laing was just a cover for Loki so it was the same as being Loki’s, right? 
You jabbed a finger into his ribs and huffed, “It wasn’t just that. And, anyway, I said pretending might be fun.”
And then you leaned into him, face buried in his chest. This was the closest you’d ever come to outright telling Loki you were in love with him. As embarrassed as you were, you didn’t regret it. The comfort you got out of this man was strange; he’d almost destroyed New York for the purpose of taking over the world, his very existence threatened to invalidate large parts of your belief system. Yet, the thought of not having him around terrified you more than any of that. 
Loki’s fingers skimmed across the bare skin of your shoulder. His breath ruffled the top of your hair as he leaned in. 
“I will not allow any harm to come to you," he murmured.
You looked up at him with wide eyes and, in your most serious voice, you said, "Loki, I don't think anyone is going to ask your permission before hurting me."
"What a cheeky little wife I have," Loki pinched your side. You squealed, squirming away from his prodding fingers. "Whatever will I do with you?"
"Pretend wife," you reminded him, settling back into his side once his pinching fingers settled down once more.
"For now," he said.
The tops of your ears went hot, "You can't just say things like that. You're the God of Lies, remember? How am I supposed to know if you're being serious or if you're just messing with me?"
"You don't believe that I am a god, do you?" 
"Even if I don't believe you're a god, there's got to be a reason people call you that," you shrugged. Some of the good mood you'd started to feel died down again. Joking around with Loki had done wonders to take your mind off of your fears, but this particular topic brought the negativity simmering to the surface again. 
What if Loki was just messing with you? Were you about to enter a party full of Nazis for someone who didn't care as much as he led on?
Your vision went blurry. Dread clawed at your stomach. Shame welled up in your chest. Shame at what, though? At getting so worked up over your own fears? Or was it the fears themselves? The thought that maybe Loki was living up to his title; that going on this mission would be more dangerous than you had been told, was that what shamed you? There was an awareness somewhere in the back of your mind that allowing your thoughts to spiral like this was a very bad idea. The problem was, you didn’t know how to make them stop. You were never very good at handling anxiety at the best of times, and half an hour away from stepping foot into a group of Nazis was not one of the best of times. What were you supposed to—
“Stop,” Loki grabbed your chin between his thumb and index finger, forcing you to look into his eyes. His grip was firm enough that moving away was impossible. The tips of his fingers glowed on your skin. His magic was warm and traveled through your body, calming the physical symptoms of your anxiety down before you worked yourself up any further. “Stop,” he said again, softer this time. “Whatever lies I may have told in the past, whatever reputation for lies I may have, I am not lying to you now.”
You took a shaky breath. Muttered, "You might be lying about that."
"I am not," he moved his hand to stroke your cheek with his thumb. "Consider that the man who named me God of Lies was the same man who lied to me for millennia about my true parentage. Consider, then, the weight you bestow upon that title."
Loki grinned. It wasn't the predatory one this time. It was softer, more sincere. On Laing's face it didn't provide the intended comfort. It was nonsensical, you knew that; Laing's face was almost no different from Loki's usual face. A few minor differences, but to anyone who knew him, it was undeniable that this was Loki. You tugged at a lock of his short hair, displeased that you couldn't play with it at this length. You wanted your real friend, not your fake husband.
"Can you turn back into yourself until we get there?" You asked.
Green light washed over him. When it faded, Laing had been replaced by Loki. “Better?”
You nodded. You stared at him, using his familiar features to center yourself. You buried one hand in his hair, tugging and twisting the curls around your fingers. Loki held your gaze. He continued to lazily stroke his thumb across your cheek until you closed your eyes. You took a deep, steadying breath.
“Better,” you sighed on the exhale.
The rest of the drive was calmer after that. Loki kept you talking, which kept you from focusing on any triggering topics. He told you about the current goings on of New Asgard (some sort of land dispute between New Asgard and the Norwegian government was the big news right now). You told him about your idea to start a vlog to make a little extra cash (you wanted to do a series where you would teach the Avengers your favorite recipes and they would teach you theirs). By the time the car pulled up to your destination, you felt confident enough that you could, at least, walk into the building without bursting into tears. 
You moved to open the door, but Loki grabbed your hand before you reached the handle. When you looked back at him, Laing had returned. He was no longer smiling. Dread threatened to bubble up to ruin all the progress Loki helped you make in moving past your fear.
"Once we are in there, do not speak to anyone unless I am at your side. Do not leave my side unless it is necessary and do not go digging for information," he said. His tone left no room for argument.
"How am I supposed to help you with the mission if I can't dig for information? That's the point of us being here," you argued anyway.
Loki lifted his other hand. The tips of his fingers were glowing with magic again.
"I need only touch them to look inside their minds. I will not have you risk yourself more than you already have by being here when I can accomplish our mission so easily."
"What, you think these guys are just going to let you walk around randomly touching them?" You narrowed your eyes. "Plus, don't you think it'll be suspicious when your fingers start glowing?" 
Loki mimicked your suspicious expression. A smirk pulled at one corner of his mouth, giving his mimicry a distinctly condescending feel.
“Mortals do change customs at an alarmingly quick pace, but handshakes are still in fashion, yes?” He lifted your hand to his lips. Featherlight kisses ghosted across your knuckles made you shiver and broke down the little bit of resistance you’d managed to muster up.
“Yes,” you sighed. It wasn't as though you wanted to spend much time socializing with the Nazis, anyway. If Loki was giving you a way out of it, you weren't going to put up too much of an argument.
The party was in an upscale hotel, one much too expensive for you to ever stay in under normal circumstances. Everything looked too fragile and pristine. It set your teeth on edge. Hundreds of people seemed to be in attendance, and more still filed in behind you. A private affair, but not an intimate one. Your heart rate picked up. Loki's hand went to the small of your back to rub light, calming circles into your skin through the fabric of your dress. 
"Enjoy your evening," the doorman said, drawing your attention away from the throngs of people. He handed the invitation back to Loki, who led you further into the ballroom with his arm still around your waist. 
A string quartet playing covers of modern pop songs was seated towards the back of the room. A few people had taken to the dancefloor; most were seated at tables placed along the edges. There were no signs that this was a party filled with Nazis. If you tried hard enough, you thought you might be able to forget about that. Buffet tables lined the side walls and a sizable bar was set in the corner at the end of one of the tables. There was a stage with a podium at the front of the dancefloor, although it was unoccupied at that moment.
Loki steered you in the direction of the bar.
“I’m not a huge fan of alcohol,” you protested.
“Tonight you will be,” Loki said. “You need to loosen up.”
You feared loosening up might do more harm than good. Loose lips were the last thing either of you needed. Not that tense fear was going to do you any favors, either.  “Where should we sit?”
“You can sit with us,” a voice said from behind you. 
Loki’s arm kept you from jumping ten feet in the air. You both turned. An older man who looked to be in his late 70s with thin gray hair and large jowls smiled at you. There was nothing outright sinister about his smile, but something about it made your skin crawl. Perhaps it was just the knowledge that this person was a Nazi. 
Yeah, that was it.
“Peter Woodard,” the man held his hand out for a shake. “I haven’t seen you two here before. Are you some of Chris’ new friends?”
“Robert Laing,” Loki—no, Robert; you needed to start thinking of him with that name to avoid a slip up—shook Peter’s hand with a dazzling grin that showed off his pearly whites. “And this is my wife, Charlotte." Apparently you were getting a fake name, too. Would you even remember that after a few drinks? "We’re certainly hoping to be his new friends by the end of the night.”
“Ah, well, I’m afraid Chris tends not to mingle on the first night. He feels its best not to waste energy on those who can’t even commit a full twenty four hours to the cause. You’ll get the chance to speak to him at tomorrow morning’s events, though. From the sounds of it, you’re not from around here. What brings you to the area?”
“You’re quite right that I’m not from around here. Charlotte grew up nearby. After a few years together in London, we decided to move here to be closer to her family.”
Until that moment you had been standing about half a step behind Loki—no, Robert; dammit you needed to get that right—to keep the attention off of you. But Robert nudged you forward so that you were nestled at his side while he talked about you. Alcohol was starting to sound nice right then.
“Well, you made a good choice. It’s a nice neighborhood we’ve got here; there’s not too many liberals in this neck of the woods,” Peter said. He gestured to a table on the opposite side of the room. “My own wife is waiting for me over there, so I’ll let you get your drinks. Do feel free to sit with us; I’d love to get to know the both of you better.”
As he walked away, you turned back to the bar. Loki's arm slid from your waist. He twined his fingers through yours, careful to always be touching you; to be right there to pull you back if you got lost in your own head. He leaned into you, nose pressed into your hair, his lips brushing the tip of your ear. To anyone who looked at the two of you, it was a husband giving a bit of affection to his wife.
"He is a close friend of Rohr's, but his involvement with Hydra is minimal. I suspect we won't learn more than we already know from him, however... " he whispered, trailing off at the end. Still, you knew what he was getting at.
"Sticking with him might lead us right to the man who knows everything," you turned your head so your noses brushed together.
"Exactly," he took your free hand, too. "If interacting with them is more than you can handle, I will not force you. I will make your excuses; you can go to our room. You will be safe there."
"You said you would protect me here. I trust you" you said. 
"Earlier you were convinced I would only lie to you."
The bartender cleared her throat before you answered. You looked at her to find her looking down at the counter. She shifted from one foot to the other, uncomfortable with the display of affection the two of you put on. Loki ordered for you; something fruity and sweet. Layers of pink and yellow alternated in the glass, topped with an orange umbrella, and a slice of pineapple on the rim. It looked like it held the promise of better things.
How nice would it be if this could truly wipe away your fears? How nice would it be, if a few glasses of this could turn you into someone new, someone rich and comfortable and careless; how nice it would be, you thought, if a few drinks could change everyone else, too. 
Before going to the table, you raided the buffet. Like the hotel itself, some of the foods were far too expensive to ever be available to you.  Even the dishes you were familiar with used higher quality ingredients than you could ever hope to match in your own cooking, both personal and professional.
Such lavish choices helped you to buy into the story the drink was meant to sell.
By the time you finished raiding the buffet, you had two over full plates just for yourself, and your glass was empty. The alcohol left a bitter feeling in the back of your throat. It felt less like the promise of an easier night and more like a portend of things to come. Still, Loki insisted on another glass.
“Smile and drink,” he whispered. So you did.
"Glad you decided to join us!" Peter said as you approached the table. He put his arm around the woman sitting next to him. "This is my wife, Ilene."
"Nice to meet you," you said. Even getting that out felt like a win. 
Ilene gave you an odd look. She was squinting at you, like her vision had chosen that exact moment to fail her. After a moment, her eyes went wide. That made the tight lipped smile she gave you all the more awkward. She said nothing, even when she nodded to acknowledge that you had spoken. 
You shoved a forkful of food into your mouth. That small interaction took what little wind you had right out of your sails. Under the table, Loki threaded his fingers through yours and squeezed. The weight of his hand did little to comfort you, but you supposed in a situation like this small comforts were the only thing you could hope for. You wished you could ask him what he thought of the exchange with Ilene. Had you done something wrong? Did you somehow blow your cover already? She could have been taken aback by the amount of food you had in front of you, but—no, she was looking at your face. You squeezed Loki's hand a bit tighter. 
Ilene continued to stare at you with that same tight lipped smile.
"How did the two of you hear about Chris’ little venture?” Peter asked, either oblivious to or ignoring his wife’s discomfort.
“A colleague of mine in London was invited to one of these parties a while back. When he heard we’d moved to the area, he arranged for our invitation. He thought it would be a good way to meet some… like-minded people,” Loki winked. It was unfair how attractive he was even while implying that the two of you were Nazis looking for other Nazi friends. 
Unease flipped painfully in your stomach.
"Your colleague wasn’t wrong. Everyone here is of the same mindset—anyone with different opinions, well… let’s just say they’d find themselves quickly overwhelmed, if they somehow managed to find themselves with an invitation in the first place. Even if you don’t leave here as a formal member of the organization, you’re certain to have made quite a few like-minded friends. That’s why I come to these little shindigs,” Peter said jovially, like what he was saying was the most normal thing in the world.
You took a sip of your drink to cover your laugh. Chris needed to reevaluate his invitee screening system if the Avengers were considered “like-minded friends” to Hydra. Loki let go of your hand to pinch your thigh. If it weren’t for the fact that you had an audience, you would have stuck your tongue out at him. Instead, you peered up over your cup to make sure no one thought your behavior was strange.
Ilene was still staring at you.
You took a bigger gulp of your drink.
The conversation was normal after that. No talk about Nazi subjects or anything that made you feel too awkward. For the most part, it was just your average everyday small talk. Loki talked about being a physiologist and teacher, you added a comment or two about your catering business, and Peter talked about the construction company he owned. Ilene said very little; she nodded or faked a laugh at something her husband said. Most of the time she kept her eyes glued to her plate, except when she gave you more wide eyed stares.
Part of you felt like this was somehow cheating. You weren’t doing much in furtherance of the mission you’d been sent on by not talking about Hydra at all. But Loki was the real Avenger; if he thought talking to Peter with the hope he would lead the two of you straight to Rohr satisfied the mission goal, well, who were you to argue?
You allowed yourself to become distracted by the activity around you after a while of utterly normal conversation. Each table was doing the same as your table. A few seemed to be having more serious discussions than the majority. You assumed those were the people getting down to Nazi business and making all of their Nazi plans. Some people were making rounds across the room; introducing themselves to everyone they thought was important, ensuring their name was known by all the important Hydra people in the room. More people were on the dance floor by then. You wondered if Loki would want to dance.
By the stage, some people were shuffling around with sound equipment. A tall, blond man stood up on the platform. He watched the people setting up with a frown. There was a microphone in his hand.
“That’s Chris,” Peter said, drawing your attention back to the table. “Looks like it’s just about time for his speech. You’ll love it; he’s one of the best speakers I’ve ever known.”
You nodded. Loki rubbed a hand along your back. A surge of warmth flowed through you as his hand moved; the same magic he’d used to keep you calm in the car, you thought. It was a good thing, too. There was no way Rohr himself would minimize Nazi talk in his speech to his fellow Nazis. Better that Loki helped to keep your anxiety to a minimum before it had the chance to get started.
Even without the physical symptoms of your anxiety, though, Loki couldn’t stop your brain from moving a mile a minute. How would you react to the speech? What if he said something you couldn’t just ignore? Were you going to blow your cover because you couldn’t act? If you did blow your cover, what would the Avengers think of you? Would you be able to face them at work again? More than what the Avengers in general thought, what would Loki think if you blew the mission because you couldn’t keep your emotions in check?
If you blew your cover, would you even make it out alive?
You were so caught up in your own thoughts that you forgot to pay attention to the world around you. So when Loki pulled your chair closer to his own to hold you against his chest, you jumped.
“Relax,” he whispered into your hair.
He wrapped his arms around your waist, letting them sit against your stomach. You did your best to relax against him. He gave a small hum of approval.
Was this normal Asgardian behavior? You knew for a fact that for human married couples, it wasn’t normal to get this affectionate in public. Or maybe it was just a Loki-specific behavior. Or maybe this was normal married couple behavior and you just didn’t know any normal marr—No. You needed to stay focused. You forced yourself to ignore the other people at the table; a futile effort. Heat crawled up your chest to the tips of your ears. Your awareness of everyone seeing this display wouldn’t back down; maybe that was a good thing. Maybe this wasn’t normal behavior, but the attention—even if it was just imagined attention—gave you something to focus on that wasn’t the impending Nazi speech.
"Thank you all for being here tonight. It means so much to me and all of the fine people who helped me organize this event to see you," Rohr said, cutting through the low murmur that had been ever present throughout the room. All eyes went to him.
There went your distraction from the Nazi speech.
Rohr pressed on, "You were all invited here for a purpose: to bring the world back to where it should be. You all understand what the world needs to prosper!"
You swallowed hard around a lump in your throat; fought the urge to close your eyes and block out the rest of the speech. That speech was the main event of the night. You couldn’t risk prying your attention away in such an obvious way. Loki tightened his arms around you. The sensation of his touch gave you something else to focus on. You squeezed his hands, still resting on your stomach.
Overall, the speech was uninformative as far as your mission went; it seemed to be aimed at inflaming emotions rather than calling the audience to a specific action. He likely saved the real calls to action for tomorrow, when the heavy duty recruitment began. Still, by the end you felt like crawling out of your skin. The whole speech was filled with Nazi dogwhistles; talk of needing to embrace tradition and turn away from modernity, claims that a certain group of people were secretly controlling the world through the banks, and funding the spread of communism.
Peter Woodard was wrong. 
You did not love hearing Rohr speak. 
It was a miracle that you didn't vomit halfway through the speech. You felt shaky. You hoped you weren’t outwardly shaking. Something felt like it was crawling around in your stomach. You wanted to beg Loki to get you out of there, to not make you go back even if it meant the mission was a failure. Before you had the chance, the music started up again. Loki shot out of his seat. 
"I'd like to dance with my wife at least once before we leave," Loki said.
"O-okay," you stuttered. 
He half-dragged you across the room, his grip so firm you had no choice but to let him. The sudden desire to dance baffled you. Sure, you had wondered if he might want to, but until that moment he hadn't given any indication that he did. 
You turned your head to see if the Woodards had any reaction to Loki’s strange behavior. What had you expected of them? You weren't quite sure; a look of confusion, an aborted attempt to speak to the two of you as you walked away, maybe;  just something that indicated they were caught off guard by your sudden departure. Yet when you looked back their attention was still directed towards the stage. Even Ilene, who had made such a point of staring at you all night, was no longer watching you. Stranger still, they seemed… cheerful. 
A hand shot out to grab your chin, yanking your face forward. On instinct, you tensed up to resist, but Loki was stronger. All you got for your effort was a jolt of pain up your neck.
“Keep your eyes on me,” he demanded. A smarter person might have heard the imperiousness in his tone and ceded to his directions. You were not that person. You stood a little straighter, and shoved at his hands.
“You know, a gentleman would ask his wife to dance instead of— Ugh!” You huffed. The problem with Loki, you came to realize, was that he tended to say things in a way that triggered a person’s fight or flight response, even when the substance of his words had merit. 
His command, of course, was no exception.
And so, you fought against the grip he had on your chin and turned your head to look back at the table. You didn't think looking would accomplish anything; you just did it because Loki told you not to. 
Regret was not an adequate word for the feelings looking inspired in you.
“Would my wife care to dance, or shall we break bread with Christoph Rohr himself?” Loki kept his voice remarkably neutral. 
You’d expected more of a mocking tone.
You turned away from the sight of the night’s host Nazi standng at the table you just vacated. Loki took your hands in his again, pulling you the rest of the way onto the dancefloor. Your brain felt numb. Your heart felt numb. The rest of your body was sore from the constant tension it had been holding all night.
How close had you come to having to speak to someone who just gave a speech about how the world would be better off without the very group of people you belonged to? From somewhere outside of your own body, you felt Loki adjusting your position to one appropriate for dancing.
Dancing.
How could you dance among these people; these people who believed in the ideals and words espoused here tonight? 
“Stay with me,” Loki murmured. 
His touch was soft and helped to reground you in the moment. He kept his thumb and index finger on your chin and this time, you did not fight his hold.
You nodded, swallowing around the dryness that had overtaken your mouth. Following that instruction would be easier said than done, but you tried. 
Loki looked at you. Then, he dropped his hand from your chin to rearrange your position once more. When he was done, you stood diagonal to him, so that your left shoulder was parallel to his. The corresponding arms were held at ninety degree angles with your hands pressed together, palm to palm.
"I might step on your toes," you said.
"Have you forgotten that your husband is a god, darling?" he asked. He nudged your hand to indicate the direction he wanted you to step. "You may step on me; it will not hurt. This will be a simple dance, one to keep your mind off of more unpleasant things."
The dance was slow. Throughout it, Loki kept you pressed close even when you were certain the dance would be easier with more space between you. The warmth of his hands made you feel secure so you said nothing about your suspicions. 
"When did you learn to dance?" You asked. 
He twirled you under his arm. 
"I was a prince of Asgard," he sighed, a laugh forming on the end of his exhale. When you were facing him once again, he dipped you low, and brought you back up slowly. His arms remained firm around you the whole time.
"I almost forget about that sometimes," you said, feeling ridiculous as the words left your mouth. “You manage to fit in so well with regular people…”
“I suspect most of Asgard tended to forget about that, as well,” he said with a levity at odds with the substance of his words.
“Loki, that’s terrible.”
Loki shrugged, and grinned, “Oh, but how else could I have so meticulously honed my craft? A prince of Asgard always has the realm’s eyes upon him. To be unthought of, even for a moment, no matter how that moment came to be, is an opportunity one should not let pass.”
"I wish an opportunity like that would come around right now."
"It has, my darling. There are no eyes on you, save mine. So dance with me, and think no more on these miserable wretches around us.”
That was easier said than done; true or not, you felt eyes watching your back—judging, knowing eyes. Eyes that would tear you to shreds in an instant if they had the chance.
You fell silent for the rest of the dance. When Loki noticed your mind or eyes wandering back to the table, or to the circumstances of the night, he whispered "stay with me." And when his eyes shone with such brilliant intensity, you couldn’t fathom doing anything else. 
The song ended and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. His hands fell to your hips, where his thumbs rubbed small circles.
"Our companions for the evening have left," he whispered. "Shall we make our own exit now—see what expensive accommodations Stark so generously arranged for us tonight?"
"That sounds wonderful."
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What. The. Hell, you thought.
The hotel room was ridiculous. In fact, calling it a room was a complete lie. With two bathrooms, a kitchen, a combined dining-living room, and two bedrooms there were more rooms in this suite than there were in your apartment.
Loki watched you from the position he'd taken up on the couch. His feet were up on the coffee table and his arms were draped over the back of the couch. He was comfortable in the space you'd been given for the night; maybe even a little bored. He still wore the face of Robert Laing. You paid him little attention. From one room to another, you paced. You paused to open a door tucked away in the corner of the room ‐ oh, look! A half-bath was hidden behind that door! 
"We're only staying here for one night!" You yelled. You stormed back into the living room to jab your finger in Loki's direction. "Why aren't you more concerned about Tony renting us a whole apartment for one night?"
"If the size of these accommodations concern you, it is for the best that Asgard was destroyed before I could whisk you away to my chambers for our wedding night."
The wicked grin on his face brought your pacing to a grinding halt. For a moment you'd forgotten about the whole fake-marriage-that-Loki-claimed-he-was-going-to-make-real thing. Your hand fell back to your side and your face went hot.
"The Laings' wedding night was like… three years ago," you muttered.
When you looked up again, Loki was standing mere inches away. "Hmm… I'm afraid I don't recall. Perhaps Mrs. Laing would refresh my memory?"
You slapped your hands over your face so you wouldn't have to see that glint in Loki's eyes. What were you even supposed to say to something like that? He tugged on a lock of your hair to get you to look back up at him. His smug, toothy grin was still in place. The butterflies in your stomach went wild at the sight of it.
"Is my little wife embarrassed?" He asked, although taunted was, perhaps, a better word for it.
"Y'know, if you're really set on making the whole wife thing real, I'd prefer if you took me on a date first," you said, adding "one without Nazis, preferably" for good measure.
He laughed. Green light shimmered across his body, wiping away the Laing facade so the real Loki stood before you. "Just as well; I, too, would prefer to give you a proper courtship, as a prince of Asgard, and the rightful king of Jotunheim should."
You groaned. Sometimes he was just so… so Loki it was overwhelming. 
“Whatever you say, Your Majesty,” you bowed, with a great flourish of your hands. “I feel dirty from rubbing elbows with those guys tonight. I think I’m going to take advantage of the giant bathtub before bed. What are you gonna do with the rest of your night?”
“I could keep you company in the bath,” he teased.
Fucking hell, you thought. He’s going to be the death of me.
Except… when you took a moment to think about it, the idea wasn’t terrible. You knew he expected you to say no; knew that he was making a flirtatious joke rather than a genuine offer. Yet, the anxiety from the night still lingered in the back of your mind. The thought of being alone left you feeling ill at ease. You knew he wouldn’t retract the offer if you did say yes.
So, squaring your shoulders and doing your best to make eye contact, you said, “I wouldn’t mind the company if you really wanted to join me.”
Loki’s eyebrows shot up. His eyes widened; just a bit, just enough to be noticeable. For a moment, he said nothing. Waiting for you to retract, you supposed. But when you didn't, his expression relaxed. His God of Mischief grin returned and he motioned with one hand in the direction of the bathroom that held the tub. 
“After you, my dear.”
The bathroom, despite its absurd size for being a hotel suite bathroom, was normal. By which you meant there were no unrecognizable gadgets only rich people would recognize because they were the only ones who could afford to have them in their bathrooms. In fact, despite the fact that this bathroom was twice the size of the one you had at home, there was very little in it beyond the tub (which took up half the room), the toilet, and the sink. The whole room was made of expensive looking marble, probably so you wouldn’t forget that this was a space meant for the super rich people of the world.
“Do you need help with your dress?” Loki asked.
You stared at him. Did you need help with your dress? You looked down at yourself. Was there something on your dress? You looked back up at him. 
He gestured to his back.
“The zipper,” he said by way of explanation.
You narrowed your eyes. Not another word left your mouth before he raised his hands in surrender.
“Peace. I will only do what is asked of me tonight.”
"Alright…" you nodded, turning your back to him so he could unzip you.
His hands were gentle. The dress dropped from your shoulders to pool around your ankles. For a moment, Loki's hands lingered on the bare skin of your back; he trailed his fingers up to the clasp of your bra. He lingered there; a silent question at the tips of his fingers. 
You nodded.
He unhooked the clasp.
The undergarment went to the floor with your dress.
A rustling from behind you drew your attention. When you turned around, you found Loki undressing himself. His suit jacket and tie were already on the floor next to your dress, and he was making quick work of the buttons on his shirt.
Oh no.
What was he doing? What happened to not doing anything you didn't ask him to do? You supposed he had offered to keep you company in the bath, not just the bathroom, but somehow it never occurred to you that he actually would plan on bathing with you. You opened your mouth to say something to him; to stop him, maybe. Except, inconveniently, you found that your vocal cords had stopped working. Your eyes followed his hands as they opened his shirt. 
“You’re drooling,” Loki said, forcing your attention back up to his face.
You slammed your mouth shut; with less discretion than you would have liked, you wiped at your mouth to get rid of any drool you may have actually let slip while you were staring. 
“I didn’t think you were going to get naked, too,” you muttered. 
“Did you think I was going to get into the tub fully clothed?” 
A small smile adorned his face and he arched one one eyebrow. You supposed the expression was meant to show you that although you confused him, he bore you no ill will for it. It should have comforted you, you thought. Instead, a niggling sense of dread gnawed at your stomach. It must have shown on your face, too, because Loki's expression soon became more serious.
"I can read your thoughts, if I must," he said. "But I have learned that open communication makes things much easier."
You shrugged, he sighed. There was silence. Then, Loki spoke up again: 
“What do you want from tonight?”
That was the question, wasn’t it? 
What did you want from the night?
You forced yourself to voice your thoughts as they came to you, “I wanted to feel useful to the Avengers for more than just my cooking. I wanted the money Tony offered me. I wanted to impress you and be more than just the girl you sometimes spend time with because I cook for you and I'm the only non-Avenger in your life.”
Loki held his hand up, a signal for you to stop talking. You did.
“I do not spend time with you because you cook for me. All my life I’ve had others cook for me; never did I say more than a passing word or two to them. I speak to you because you interest me. I will admit your lack of membership on the team that formed for the specific purpose of defeating me is a remarkable boon to our relationship; however, I would not associate with just any mortal simply because they are not an Avenger. And while I appreciate hearing what you intended from the whole night, I meant: what do you want from the night going forward—while we are standing here, in the bathroom, in particular.”
“I don’t want to be alone,” you shrugged. It occurred to you that this still wasn’t really an answer to his question so you amended, “I want to be with you.”
“In the bath?” 
“In general,” you shrugged again. “I’ve never done something like this; taken a bath with someone else, I mean.”
Loki stared at you for a long moment. His expression lacked any modicum of amusement now. A spark of panic flickered in your chest. Was your indecisiveness annoying him? 
“I would like to see you naked,” you blurted out. It was… not your finest moment. Standing there in nothing but a pair of pink polka dotted cotton panties and all of your jewelry, having just admitted to wanting to see Loki naked in an impulsive attempt to dispel the annoyance you weren't even certain he was feeling—yeah, definitely not your finest moment.
Loki slow-blinked at you once, twice. If he were a cat, it might have been comforting. Just when you were feeling certain you would die of embarrassment, he laughed. And laughed. And then he laughed some more. Something tense and painful broke inside of you as you watched him laugh. It seeped out of you until there was nothing left of it inside of you, replaced by the infectiousness of Loki’s laughter and your own relief that he wasn’t annoyed after all. So you laughed, too, and even your embarrassment stood no chance against the force of it. The whiplash of your emotions changing so quickly throughout the night was certain to leave you sore later on, but you cared nothing about it at that moment. There was only you, Loki, and your laughter.
When he tucked his thumbs beneath the waistband of his pants, he paused.
“Together?” He asked between huffs of laughter. 
You mirrored his pose, thumbs tucked into the waistband of your underwear.
“On the count of three?” You asked.
“One,” he said, by way of an answer.
“Two,” you continued.
“Three,” the two of you said together.
In one fell swoop, Loki’s pants and briefs were discarded in a pile on the floor along with your underwear. You grinned at each other and drank in the sight of the other completely nude. You expected to feel awkward in this situation. You were relieved to find, in reality, you felt nothing more than happiness; happiness that wasn’t even entirely related to the fact that Loki looked just equally good out of a suit as he did in it. It was happiness that there was someone in the world who managed to distract you from your fears and anxieties and made you feel strong enough to say what you were thinking without letting your embarrassment hold you back.
You removed your earrings and necklace, throwing them onto the sink counter, uncaring of where they landed. Loki took your hand and removed the wedding band himself; you did the same to him. He took them both, spiriting them away to one of his pocket dimensions for purposes only he was privy to. Perhaps he intended to use them for the real wedding he was planning; an incorporation of some of the false marriage into the real.
You turned to the tub, but found that while the two of you had been lost in the whirlwind of your emotions, you completely forgot to run the water for your bath.
"Oops," you giggled.
Loki, however, was unconcerned with this development. He waved his arms about theatrically. Green smoke and lights came into existence in the tub and underneath them, the sound of rushing water filled the air. When the theatrics faded, the tub was bath ready—bubbles included. Loki wasted no time in getting in and as he did, you continued to admire every beautiful inch of him from his head to his toes. 
Specifically, you focused on admiring his cock.
Staring would have also been an appropriate word.
Loki cleared his throat. You looked back up at his face with heated cheeks.
"I wasn't staring," you insisted.
"Of course not," his disbelief was clear in his tone. Rather than take offense, he took the chance to openly ogle you right back. He held his arms out. "Are you coming in?"
"How do you want to do this? Do you want me to sit on the other side?"
He spread his legs, gesturing at the space between them. "I want you right here."
Of course he did.
"You may sit on the other side, if that is what you wish."
You clambered into the tub, planting your naked bottom between his naked legs and tried to ignore the feeling of other naked parts of him underneath you. He lifted his hands from the water, letting them rest on your shoulders for a moment, then dragged them lazily down once again, rivulets dripping down your arms in his fingers’ wake.
“May I?” He asked.
You nodded, a fleeting thought going through your mind that you didn’t know what he was asking to do, that he was bending his own rule by asking you for something rather than waiting for you to ask. Another thought overtook it: it didn’t matter what he was asking for—you would let him do whatever he wanted tonight.
He didn’t leave you in suspense for long. Loki grabbed the hotel soap from the side of the tub and sniffed. To you, it smelled of nothing but soap. Inoffensive and clean, and apparently unsatisfactory to Loki’s godly senses because he threw the bottle across the room into the trash, and summoned another bottle from his interdimensional space pocket. When he opened this one, it smelled floral and light. It reminded you of sunshine and spring time, and for just a moment you imagined yourself lying in a field of flowers with the Asgardian sun on your face and Loki at your side, regaling you with the most exciting tales of what went on that day in his father’s court.
The roughness of a washcloth brought you down from the daydream. Loki started with your back, then he curled himself more firmly around you and raised one of your arms so you were reaching out across the expanse of the tub. He wrapped the washcloth around the width of your arm, and slowly, slowly stretched until he had brought the cloth down the whole length of your arm. His nose was pressed into your hair, mouth against your ear; his teeth grazed your skin. 
You shivered, despite the warmth of the water. 
One of his hands rested atop yours, lacing your fingers together, engulfing your hand in his. His other hand set to work washing your other arm, taking up the same final position as their siblings on the opposite side. He slipped the cloth into your hand, and kept his hands on top of your own so that he could move you as he wished.
He curled your arms in, running the washcloth over your stomach.
"Where shall we wash next?" He asked, breath warm against your ear. He moved your hands so that they came just under the curve of your breast, then dipped back down again.
"Loki…" You groaned, a plea and warning in one breath.
He moved your hands lower, to your legs; made a joint effort out of washing your upper thighs, teasing at touching you more intimately, but never making a true move to do so. He meant only to tease you as he had been doing throughout the night—never taking more liberties than he was explicitly allowed, but making his interest known, but it all felt a little bit like a test to you.
So you decided to make your answer a bold one.
You brought your tangled hands up your body, stopping only when you reached your breast. With your hand underneath his, Loki barely touched you. Still, you felt his chest stutter against your back when his breath caught in his throat. He nipped at your ear.
"Just what do you think you're doing, little wife?" He asked.
"Making myself feel good," you responded, snaking the hands at your legs between your thighs.
"As I recall," he squeezed your hand, at once trying to feel more of you and keep himself under control. "You requested a first date before we did this."
"I said I wanted a first date before you married me," you corrected. "I didn't say anything about a date before you fucked me."
“And is that what you want me to do?"
Your fingers and his brushed through the curls between your legs. The washcloth floated away to the other side of the bath, forgotten. He kissed the space behind your ear, then under, and lower still, only stopping his descent when he'd kissed his way down your neck to your shoulder. Your nerves tingled under his lips and you knew you could find yourself addicted to the feeling if you were not careful. Once more, his fingers brushed against what skin they could immediately reach with your hand obstructing his access. You felt certain that if he wanted to, his fingers were long enough that he could stretch them and feel far more. The restraint was frustrating.
But you found that between soft sighs of his name and pleasured moans you could not vocalize that frustration or even an answer to his question.
Your head fell back against his shoulder. 
He took the opportunity this afforded him to catch your lips with his. It was barely a brush of his lips against yours; so gentle you would have thought it was an accident were it not for the fact that the way he had to lean over to reach your mouth could only be achieved with purposeful maneuvering. 
It rankled at your anxiety. Gentle was not what you needed just then. Gentle would not keep your thoughts from straying to the rest of the night and what still awaited you in the morning. You sank your teeth into his lower lip, pulled at it until he snarled and pushed his mouth harder against yours, his tongue darting out to slide against your own.
"When I ask you a question, I expect an answer," he said, yet did not wait for you to respond before kissing you again.
You gripped his hair, bringing him close—close enough that you felt you could become one. It was not lost on either of you that with your hand now in Loki's hair, his own was free to touch where it liked. 
And yet…
“You still haven’t answered me, little wife,” he said against your lips. He lifted his hand so that it no longer touched you at all. “Do you want me to fuck you?” 
“I thought I made myself pretty clear,” you groaned, lifting your hips in an unsuccessful attempt to get him to put his hand back between your thighs.
“But I want to hear you say it.” 
"You’re so frustrating," you said.
"I am only ensuring I keep my promise," he said.
"Your promise… so if I ask you to fuck me, you will?"
Loki brushed his nose against your chin and hummed as a response. His free hand wiggled its way underneath you to give your backside a firm squeeze; you laughed into his mouth, which in turn allowed him to slide his tongue against yours, once again distracting you from asking the desired question.
You were still laughing when he pulled away. 
"Loki, would you please fuck me?" You grinned up at him. 
He squeezed your butt again, and said, "It would be my honor, little wife."
His hand took its place between your thighs once more; this time, he wasted no time sinking his fingers into you, slow and deep. Your breath caught in your throat as he moved, overwhelmed by the feeling of him inside of you both for the unfamiliarity of it and for the pleasure you were already feeling. His thumb rubbed circles over your clit and you rocked your hips in time with the movement. Your hand still at your breast fell away to join your other hand in tugging at Loki's hair. He used this new access to your body to enhance your pleasure, too; he kneaded your breast, messaging and rolling the nipple between his fingers. His teeth and lips busied themselves at your throat, biting and sucking and doing all they could to ensure there would be a sizable mark later on.
Each breath brought a wave of heat coursing through your body; I could burn up here, you thought, burn right up and never even feel it through the pleasure Loki was giving you. With all of the sensation overtaking your body, you didn’t last very long. You came with Loki’s name on your lips, white light bursting behind your eyes.
Your mind just… floated for a bit after that. You found yourself stuck in a state of dazed pleasure that your body was in no hurry to leave, so you leaned against Loki and let yourself come slowly down from the high of your climax. Dimly, you were aware of Loki moving behind you. Washing himself, maybe, as the two of you had never gotten around to that before you’d distracted him.
"You know, you're just gonna get dirty again," you mumbled. You could feel his erection pressed against your back, a firm reminder that the night was not over yet. You grinned up at him, wiggling against him to illustrate your point.
"I'm counting on it," he said, returning your grin. "I wanted to give you a bit of time to recover."
He stood; if you were recovered enough to speak, you were recovered enough to continue the night’s activities. He lifted you as he rose, like you weighed nothing at all, and you wrapped your arms around his neck with a grin.
"My strong, handsome husband," you teased, kissing him on the cheek.
Those words stoked the fire inside of him, and a low growl rumbled in his chest. He kissed your mouth with such force, you knew if you had been standing, your knees would have gone weak and you would have been knocked over. He sucked your lower lip into his mouth, bit and licked until you were breathless and panting; your noses pushed into each other as your desire grew more frantic. You squirmed in his grasp, anticipation coursing through your veins as surely as your blood. Minutes had passed since he brought you to completion the first time—already too long; you needed him inside of you again, needed all of him this time, and you needed him now.
You shivered when he dropped you onto the bed. The sheets were too cool against your heated skin and you pulled Loki's body against yours to absorb his heat into you. He buried his face in your neck and breathed you in. His erection brushed against you, slipped through your arousal, teasing at entering you fully, but denying that which you so dearly craved.
"Fuck me," you whispered.
He groaned. He wrapped his arms around you, but still did not give in to your desires.
"Are you real?" He asked.
You kissed him, soft and sweet and he went so weak against you that you were able to flip your position; so that you straddled his hips and he laid squirming underneath you.
"I am real," you said. "And I'll prove it to you."
He grinned. You grinned back. Without hesitating a moment more, you sank yourself down onto his cock. 
You moved slowly at first, needing to get used to the size and feel of him inside of you, and he respected that. 
His fingers gripped your hips hard enough to bruise, but he did not rush you or pressure you into moving at any pace other than the one you dictated. He propped himself up on the headboard and pulled you closer; any space between your bodies felt like a chasm that needed to be filled. He rested his forehead at the crook of your neck and you buried your nose in his hair. 
"I will protect you," he said into your skin. "No matter what happens, I will protect what's mine."
Those words encouraged you to quicken your pace, to take him deeper and rougher. You wanted to bring him so far into your body that it would be impossible to tell where he began and you ended; you wanted to absorb him, all of him, into your soul. You cursed and praised his name in the same breath, dug your nails into the skin of his back until he bled. When you came, you came together, with tears forming at the corners of your eyes, and Loki stealing your breath with another kiss.
Neither of you moved for a long while. You needed this; needed him close enough that his body felt like a natural extension of your own. When you began to shiver, Loki carefully guided you off of him and helped to lay you down in a position more conducive to rest. You sprawled out on top of him once he was down, too. 
He wrapped an arm around you, tracing patterns into your skin. Neither of you said anything more for the night. You basked in the warmth of each other's presence, in the post-coital contentment that seeped through your bodies. You fell asleep to the sound of Loki's breathing and the feeling of his skin against yours and as your mind quieted, you felt truly happy for the first time that night.
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You felt like your body had suddenly taken up martial arts while your mind slept. Morning light had stolen what vestiges of happiness remained and left you tense, anxious—ready to bolt at the slightest surprise. You were sore, more than even your actual nighttime physical activity could account for.
Loki’s arm pinned you to his chest. Craning your neck back to look at him revealed a bruise creeping across his sternum.
You groaned. Flashes of memory skirted the edges of your mind. Nightmares of Rohr and his associates catching you had you thrashing around throughout the night. In your dreams, your elbows and fists had landed on your captors; in reality, Loki had borne the brunt of your flailing limbs. You willed the mattress to swallow you up, to prevent you from having to face whatever the day would entail, but no such luck came to you.
You turned around and buried yourself in Loki instead.
It pleased you, at least, that he did not seem to be having nightmares of his own. He told you once, months ago, that his sleep was almost always plagued with terrifying memories—of the Mad Titan Thanos, or images of all the different ways he could have saved his mother, or worse, reenactments of his murder of Laufey, tinged with a guilt so potent, yet hidden so deep within his psyche that he could not recognize or fight against it until he finally woke so sick with it that he spent the better part of the morning losing what little bit there was in his stomach. 
You kissed his neck, and tried to re-relax in his arms, but soon found that your anxiety over the coming day was growing too strong to stay idle.
“Your thoughts are deafening, little wife,” came the low rumble of his voice, pulling you from your own head.
“Sorry,” you whispered.
Loki said nothing more. He ran his knuckles up and down the length of your spine. Occasionally, his breathing grew steady enough that you thought he might have fallen back asleep. You’d attempt to get out of bed, to leave him in peace while you worked off some of your nervous energy, but each time his arm would tighten his grip and keep you right where you were.
“We have to get up.”
“Let me enjoy this time with my wife a bit longer,” he said.
His hand warmed on your back, magic seeping into your skin as it had throughout dinner last night. He kept you in bed for nearly an hour longer that way. But even his magic wasn’t enough to keep you from squirming forever.
Nearly an hour later, you were just about ready for the day. Loki wasn’t a morning person, you learned. He said little as he showered and dressed and the last dredges of exhaustion still weighed his body down as he put the finishing touches on his Laing disguise. He came up behind you as you put your earrings on. Hands went to your shoulders, then rubbed down your arms. His head came down so he could bury his face in your hair.
"Robert Laing is truly a fortunate man to wake up to a sight like this every morning," Loki said. His voice was raspy with sleep. 
The sound of it sent your mind reeling with thoughts you knew there was no time to act on just then.
"Yeah, well, don't feel too jealous of Laing. Once today is done there's no way I'll ever have the money to dress like this again." 
"Once today is done, my dear, you will no longer be the wife of a mortal doctor, but the lover of a God, king, and prince. There will be nothing outside of your reach," he kissed your neck, just above one of the concealed marks he left last night.
"Technically, you're not a king right now. You just have a claim to an unoccupied throne," you rolled your eyes. 
He just grinned that devilish grin of his.
"You're imagining trying to take over a planet again, aren't you? I swear, Loki, you're incorrigible. You're supposed to be making up for the last time you tried to take over a planet, remember? Not planning to do it again somewhere else."
"Are you saying you don't—"
“Whatever you’re about to ask, the answer is no.”
Loki tsked, “Fear not, my shrewd little wife. I’ve no plans to go conquering again any time soon. I have managed to learn from some of my mistakes, you know.”
"Mhmm, how about you learn where to get some coffee around here. I haven't seen a room service menu and I just know I'm going to need caffeine to help me get through the day.”
“Your wish is my command,” Loki took his leave with a bow.
You putzed around the hotel room for the next few minutes, looking through all of the little cabinets and tucked away spaces it contained. Nothing interesting was hidden away—some extra linens, an ugly painting someone must have gotten sick of looking at that no one else cared to put back on the wall, typical hotel things—but looking kept your mind occupied enough that it didn’t wander anywhere unpleasant.
Until a heavy 
bang 
bang 
bang 
shook the door.
Loki’s name sped to the tip of your tongue; fear stopped you from giving voice to it. 
There was no way that was Loki. He wouldn’t have to knock, let alone bang on the door like that. But no one else was supposed to come to your room; not as far as you were aware, at least.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
Could you just wait it out? Would whoever it was leave if you didn’t answer?
Your racing heart made breathing difficult. You wanted to tell yourself that this was no big deal—room service, maybe. Just someone coming to give you a schedule of the day's events, perhaps.
The door was in front of you before you’d even fully processed the decision to go to it. You stood on your toes to look through the peephole.
Peter and Ilene Woodard stood on the other side of the door, awaiting the answer to their knock. You took a breath, then another. Then, you opened the door.
"Peter, Ilene, what a surprise," you said, forcing as much cheerfulness into your voice as you could manage. "What brings you here?"
And how the hell can I get you to leave? you thought.
Neither of them smiled. One of Ilene’s eyes was twitching. In her hands, she clutched a folded piece of paper. 
Peter looked around at the room behind you.
"Is Robert here?" He asked, as though you hadn't said a word.
Briefly, it occurred to you to say he isn’t here; maybe they were here for him and his absence would lead to their departure.
"Yes, he’s just in the other room getting ready," you lied anyway. Beyond that initial instinct to tell the truth was knowledge—knowledge you could not substantiate with anything more than an overwhelming dread that told you they were here for you. You prayed, not to Hashem, but to Loki himself. You prayed that they would believe the lie; that they would leave.
"I see," Peter sighed. He looked at someone outside of the room, just beyond your line of vision. He tilted his head in the direction of the floor’s lobby. "Find him."
That was definitely the last time you’d ever pray to Loki.
He and Ilene, along with two armed men, stepped into the room. They left the doorway open behind them, an open invitation for any of their friends to come in and join them.
Where was the nearest coffee shop? You couldn’t recall seeing one in the hotel last night. Did Loki have to leave the building entirely? Were you completely alone in a hotel filled to the brim with Hydra agents and flat out Nazis? Was there any hope that any of your friends would come to your aid—that Loki would come for you? There was no doubt in your mind that he would come for you if he could, if he knew that you needed him. And maybe he should have known not to leave you; all of your fear and anxiety—maybe he should have been more cautious about leaving you in light of how you’d been feeling. But you were the one that sent him out. You’d felt there was relative safety in this room. If not from your own racing thoughts, then at least from the people. 
What if the person Peter sent after Loki caught him? Illogical as it was, you feared for his safety, too. Did they know Robert Laing was Loki? Did they have someone who could go toe to toe with him?
Tears burned your eyes. Sheer stubbornness kept them from falling, though you knew it wouldn’t take much for that resolve to fail.
"What's going on?" Your voice shook.
"We were hoping you could answer that for us, Mrs. Laing. You see, my wife recognized you last night—said that she had seen an ad for your catering company a few years back. But you were supposedly living in London at that time, weren't you?" Peter said, taking another step closer.
Ilene held out the ad.
You didn’t take it. What good would looking do? Maybe it really was an old ad of yours; maybe it wasn’t. Either way, they’d said enough for you to know there was no weaseling your way out of this.
You took another step back. Realistically, there was nowhere for you to go. They had the doorway blocked and had you outnumbered. Putting space between you and them wouldn’t do much when they finally got to the point of this.
"There must be some misunderstanding,” you tried. “What reason would Robert and I have for lying about something like that?"
"That's what I thought at first, but my Ilene was convinced. So we did some research. Do you know what we found, Mrs. Laing?" The emphasis he put on the name told you that they'd found your real name, for one thing. And if they found your real name, then they were probably able to find…
"You work for the Avengers," a voice said from behind the group. Christoph Rohr walked into the room. Two more armed men followed him. "Now, that in and of itself isn't so bad. Hydra can always use people on the inside."
You took another step back; you were certain your heart was no longer beating.
Rohr waved his hand at you, “Grab our friend, won’t you, boys?”
You ran for the bedroom—
a gunshot—
a hole in the floor where there wasn’t one before—
you’re jaw hit the floor before you even realized that in your fright you’d tripped over your own two feet—
then one rough hand on each of your arms pulling, pulling, pulling—
Rohr, stood above you. 
The tears broke loose. Snot and spit ran down your face and when you moved to wipe them away the men held your arms at your sides. Bruises would form if you lived long enough. You sobbed, openly and unrestrained. You were pathetic. You couldn’t bring yourself to care.
You were no Avenger; there was nothing special about you. You were a chef, a damn good one if you had anything to say about it—and what did chefs know about infiltration or spying or doing a superhero’s work for them?
Loki, you thought. Loki, Loki, Loki, his name spun circles in your mind. 
"As I was saying, Hydra can always use a double agent. But a Jew? We have no need for your kind in our organization. We do, however, have a need to get rid of any potential threats. So, since you are interested in Hydra, you'll be taking a trip with us to one of our facilities while Peter and Ilene wait for your lovely husband to return. We wouldn't want to leave him out of the fun, would we?" 
The guards dragged you out of the room. You struggled against them, trying to rip your arms out of their hold, and digging your heels into the carpet, to no avail.
"Let go, you shits!" You yelled, fear giving way just long enough for a burst of anger to bubble up.
"Don't make too much of a fuss, please. It would be a hassle if we had to knock you out, but we will do it if necessary."
"I'm not going to make it easy for you to kidnap and kill me!" Your voice cracked on a fresh sob. 
Pain exploded through your body as barrels of each of the guard’s guns slam into the back of your head and your stomach respectively. Your tears burned on their way down. Rohr and Peter were talking, but the words were indistinct. Your head was swimming—drowning, while everyone around you looked on.
Then there was mass hysteria.
Screams—not from anyone in the room, but from somewhere else, somewhere far away, though it was hard to tell if it only seemed that way because of the concussion you surely had.
Something shattered, the screams got closer.
Rohr glared at you, as though any of this was your fault.
“Everyone out the back way,” he barked.  
The two men holding you hauled you up out of the room. Your legs dragged uselessly under you, which was fine. You still had no inclination towards making things easy and you had just enough presence of mind left to hope that they’d just decide you weren’t worth the extra trouble. Maybe they’d just drop you there in the middle of the hallway; leave you for dead instead of allowing you to slow down their escape.
And then they did.
The men dropped you, uncaring of the way you slump down onto the floor or the pained cry you couldn’t contain when your knees hit the floor.
But they didn’t leave, didn’t abandon you. Something stopped them.
“Get the fuck out of our way,” the man on your left growled at the figure standing in front of the group.
“No, I don’t think I will,” came Loki’s response. Though his words lacked any threat, his tone left the implication of it all too clear.
Loki, you thought, tears falling anew. You’re here.
It took all of your remaining energy to look up at him, but there—he was standing right there. You almost couldn’t believe it. If you had been alone, you probably wouldn’t have believed it. You’d have chalked it up to a trick your distressed mind was playing on you. But Rohr, the Woodards, the guards—they all saw him, too. 
And they truly did see him. All traces of Robert Laing were erased, though Loki had left wearing the disguise. Even his clothes were undeniably Loki’s. Gone were the suit and blonde hair. Instead, Loki’s dark curls fell in an unruly mess just above his shoulders. The metal of his armor gleamed under the hotel’s harsh lighting and the dark leather almost managed to hide the blood splattered across his chest.
In each arm, he held a body.
The guards Peter had sent after him.
Loki tossed them haphazardly at Rohr’s feet.
“I could forgive hunting me down,” Loki began conversationally, “That is considered something of a sport among the Aesir, you know. But hurting my wife? I’m afraid I can’t let that go unpunished.”
Metal pressed against both sides of your head. The guns, you assumed; you didn’t look to confirm. You couldn’t look away from Loki; you knew if you did, panic would overcome you. Panic wouldn’t help anyone in this situation.
 “I’m afraid you really don’t have a choice in the matter,” Rohr bit out.
“Do you suppose there is anything you can do to stop me?” Loki’s voice came from behind you.
Squelch. 
The guards had no time to react before they fell to the floor beside you, dead. Two Lokis promptly shoved them away from you. The Loki standing before you stepped closer to Rohr. He flipped a blade, his face a mask of contemplation.
“What do you imagine you could do to me, you old fool?” One of the Lokis behind you stepped forward, too, closing in on the Woodards. The third Loki stayed close to you. One of his hands rested on the top of your head, lightly playing with the strands of hair. Just feeling him there made you feel worlds better. Or maybe he was using some kind of magic to heal you. You still felt shitty enough that it was hard to tell. “Honestly—” Loki scoffed, “Six Avengers could not kill me at my worst; what hope could three old mortals searching for their glory days have against me?"
Six new Lokis sprung into existence, wrenching a soul piercing scream from Ilene, only made worse when one of them grabbed her hair. They all laughed in time with one another. It was a humorless laugh, deranged; dangerous.
“Let her g—” Peter’s vocal chords were no match for the blade Loki ran through them. 
A blade through her chest cut Ilene’s next scream short.
You knew, logically, that this all should have inspired some sort of fear in you. Violence was never something you’d had to witness; not like this, at least. Before this, your experience with blood came from paper cuts and meat. Now, blood spilled and pooled under unnaturally still bodies, stained white carpet to permanently commemorate the deaths of those who had wronged one worshiped as a god.
You did not feel fear. 
You felt good.
With Loki’s gentle hand on your hair and his blade wreaking vengeance on your behalf, you felt powerful.
You raised your head to look at Christopher Rohr. Every part of him trembled—hands, legs, even his eyes trembled. You thought about how powerful he seemed last night. All of those people cheering for him, supporting him. Where were they all now? Running, screaming in terror because they caught sight of true power—power that came to your aid.
“Kill him, please,” you whispered.
The Loki standing in front of Rohr turned his gaze on you. For an instant, it was softer than it had any right to be in a blood soaked corridor surrounded by dead bodies. Then he turned his gaze back onto Rohr. He grinned, his mouth a knife’s blade itching for carnage. 
“As my lady commands,” he said.
Rohr’s death was almost anticlimactic. He tried to flee, oh he tried. But with a circle of Lokis surrounding him, there was little chance of escape. They closed in on him slowly; let him search for openings to slip through, but Rohr truly was nothing more than an old man. He had no power without his followers around him.
The Loki at your back knelt down. His hand moved from your hair to your chin, gently pulling you to look at him.
“Before I end this cretin’s life, I believe you expressed a desire to punch one of his ilk. Would you care to fulfill it now?”
You licked your lips.
The Lokis circling Rohr shifted just enough for you to see inside of their circle. He was kneeling now, begging for mercy.
You nodded.
Loki helped you stand on shaky legs. A tingling sensation moved through your body, healing some of the pain that still lingered. You didn’t feel one hundred percent better, but it was enough to give you the strength needed for your task.
Rohr’s begging came to a stop when you joined the circle. His face hardened. It was almost amusing—even moments away from death, he thought to treat you as someone beneath him. As though it wasn’t your request that would end his life once you got your satisfaction.
Your fingers curled into a fist at your side. You thought about saying something; maybe some sort of biting comment that would torment him beyond the grave. But, really, there was nothing to say. Nothing that would erase the followers he’d amassed throughout his life, nothing that would erase what he’d done, what planned to do.
And so you punched him. Again. And again. And again. You punched him until you were breathless, screamed until your throat was sore.
Loki watched, a silent support, until you were done. And when you were done, he lifted you into his arms and let one of his duplicates sink his blade into Rohr’s wretched heart. Rohr, too, was nothing more than a lifeless heap on a bloody floor.
It was done.
The extra Lokis dissipated.
Your perception of space and time went foggy from there. You were aware, on some vague level, that Loki was carrying you from the hotel, but you had no idea where he was taking you or how long it took to get there. Hushed whispers from a crowd both beguiled and panicked by the sight of Loki were nothing more than white noise in your ears. Mostly, you were aware of the sticky wet feeling of the blood on Loki’s leathers seeping through your dress—
—staining
staining
staining—  
“Are you with me?” Loki spoke against your ear, kissing just behind it when you startled back to reality.
The room you were in was unfamiliar. Layers of fabrics in varying shades of green flecked with gold formed a canopy around the bed you were in. A wardrobe, table, and two chairs carved from sturdy dark wood were the only pieces of furniture you could see. Across from the bed was a door, left ajar just enough that you could begin to make out the bathroom behind it. Carved into the wall nearest the table, was a fireplace and in the fireplace a fire crackled as it warmed a kettle hanging just above it.
You breathed in.
You breathed out.
In.
Out.
And with every breath you took, Loki kissed your face; a trail from one cheekbone to the next.
In time, you became aware that you were no longer wearing the bloody gown. You felt clean. Fresh. You did not ask after the dress, Loki did not offer any information. 
He moved away from you slowly, going to the fireplace to remove the kettle. The liquid inside smelled of the earth and something a bit sweet. Loki helped you to sit up against the headboard and handed you a small cupful.
You sipped at it.
“The specialty of mothers across the Nine Realms—just the trick for bumps and bruises,” Loki offered, by way of explanation.
You were only mildly surprised to find your pain all but gone after only a few sips of the concoction. If it could heal the ailments of Asgardian children, your human pain surely didn’t stand a chance against it.
“Thank you,” you whispered.
Silence fell over the room. Loki flitted about, finding this task or that chore to do. You watched him; your mind felt somehow too busy and too empty. A cacophony of static mixed with deafening silence.
When Loki ran out of menial tasks he returned to the bed, tucking you into his side. He let the silence reign for a few moments more before he broke it. Stories of growing up on Asgard filled the air—of wild hunts for legendary creatures, of boots that let him walk on air, and of battles fought with rhymes and wit instead of swords and magic. He spoke until the cup was empty, then took the cup to wash.
"I don't think I'm cut out for Avenger-ing," you confessed. The corners of your mouth turned down. “Avenging? Seems like that shouldn’t be the right word—they don’t actually avenge very much, do they?” 
Loki’s next breath came out as a laugh. He bent to kiss away the crease of your furrowed brow, and settled back down next to you in the bed.
“They do not,” He took one of your hands in his, kissed your knuckles. “Do not sell yourself short. You did well tonight—we may make a warrior queen of you yet, little wife.”
“Yeah, right,” you snorted. “All I did was punch an old man; besides, you didn’t see me cry when they came to the room. Definitely not hero behavior.”
“All warriors must start somewhere,” he offered.
“Mhmm, I guess,” you went quiet for a moment, just letting your mind drift. You’d probably have nightmares for a while. You’d never seen anyone get murdered before; that probably had some lasting psychological effects, you imagined. “What should we tell Steve and Tony?”
“The truth.”
You leaned away from Loki, brows raised, but eyes narrowed in suspicion. 
“It is a useful enough tool, on occasion,” he said through another breathy laugh. He wrapped his arm around your shoulders, pulling you back into his body. 
You nuzzled his neck, pressed a kiss over his pulse. This was nice. This was good. There would be fallout from all of this, no doubt about that. But it could wait. For now, there were no nightmares, no angry Avengers with angry opinions, and no violent bigots to deal with. That felt like a win. For now, you had Loki.
“Don’t forget, Mischief, you owe me at least one date before I’ll marry you for real,” you whispered into his skin.
“I haven’t forgotten,” he tapped his index finger against his chin. “How do you fare at climbing trees? The Branches of Yggdrasil are lovely this time of year…”
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bts-hyperfixation · 1 year
Text
Stuck
A quick new years piece dedicated to my Beta and friend @stealth-liberal
Seokjin x gender neutral Jewish reader
Warning: Jin in women's underwear
"My love? Where are you?" You call out into the dorm. 
You'd passed the other members on your way in, each claiming not to have seen Jin all day, but they were certain he was somewhere in the building. You had decided to surprise him since he hadn't been able to come home for the last couple of days since promotions started up again. 
"Y/N?" Jin's voice sounded far away.
You followed it into his room only to find it empty.
"Marco!" You yelled.
"Polo..." A very sad-sounding Jin responded from the closed closet. 
Confused, you make your way over and pull at the handles, to no avail. To your knowledge, there has never been a lock on the walk-in wardrobe before now... A painfully obvious flaw when Jimin had walked in on you and Jin not long after you had started dating... You tug harder and the door budges slightly, only to be promptly shut again.
"JIinnie... Are you holding the door closed?" You raise an eyebrow and tap your foot, waiting for his excuse.
"Maybe."
One more tug and you give up on trying to get in. You instead walk back a few paces and sit on the floor to wait for him to stop being stupid.
"And why is that?" you sigh, looking up at the door.
"Because I don't want you to see how I look right now."
"Don't be absurd Jin, what could you possibly be wearing or doing that you don't want me to see you in?"
Slowly the door opens revealing your boyfriend to you in all his glory. For some reason, he has wiggled his way into a very skimpy pair of lavender panties, with matching bralette, and garters. Not forgetting the half rolled down stockings. You take your time drinking him in. Your eyes rove down his body leaving not a single patch of his skin untouched by your gaze as he shuffles uncomfortably. 
When you don't immediately say anything, he moves to close the door again. You kick your leg out just in time to stop him from shutting himself away. The bruise that was sure to arise was definitely worth it. 
"Ahavah, if you don't stop staring at me I'll cry." Jin whines.
You continue to look on anyway. Some how, in your many years together, you had never thought to put Jin in women's  underwear, but you were definitely regretting it now. 
The lavender lace complimented his smooth tan skin in the most perfect way. The delicate straps of the bralet accentuated his already broad shoulders, making him look both strong a delicate. And the garters created a little line of chub beneath them from being so tight that you were just aching to bite.
"Would it be wrong if I wanted you to cry? just a little?" You ask coyly "Although not about the way you look... never about the way you look my beautiful little idol." 
You stand and move to him. Reaching for the waistband of his panties and twisting it in your fingers. You allow the elastic to flick back against his skin and kiss him on the nose.
"What if I wanted you to cry from me giving you the same amount of pleasure seeing you in this lingerie has given me?"
You reach up to remove unclasp the bralet, only to find one of the hooks trapped in the lace, twisted in to the fabric with little hope of release. You realise then why no one had seen Jin all day.
"How long have you been trapped in this bra?" You ask, turning off the horny to spin him around and help him out.
"Since this morning." He admits, clearly ashamed. "I would've ripped it but I really like this one.
You decide to let that statement sit while you helped him. You could revisit his apparent lingerie collection once he was free. Although the thought wouldn't escape your brain completely. 
Taking great care, you the exact parts of the pattern that are entangled with the hook and follow each one with as much focus as a brain surgeon. It doesn't take long for you to wrestle the metal free. You kiss along his shoulders as you finish and he turns around to face you.
"Thank you." He kisses your forehead and then moves to remove the entire set so he could get dressed properly. It's only as he is rolling down the garters, the real question springs to mind.
"Jin?"
"Hmm?"
"If only the bralet was stuck, why are you still in the panties?"
I'm alone for new years! send me an ask to keep me company! Let me know what you are doing this year!
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loelysian · 1 year
Text
marmoris
(n.) the shining surface of the ocean
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pairing: namor × reader
word count: 4.1k
summary: what happens when nakia takes a straggling passenger from talokan on her mission to retrieve shuri and riri to bring them back to wakanda—that passenger being the queen of talokan.
note: since this one shot was written by me, a jewish arab person, it is hinted that y/n is also from those cultures but if you are not, that is fine. it is never explicitly stated and i don't plan on doing so in future chapters. feel free to apply your own experiences to the scenarios i've written about. please keep in mind that i am not fluent in yucatec so i've used a translator for any scenes in talokan. if you find i've upset you or there is an error in regard to lore (i tried my best to recreate certain scenes from the movie but i've only seen it once). please comment and let me know so i can fix it and apologize. i do not mean to offend anybody. i would also like to mention that this was posted yesterday but because i accidentally deleted my main blog, this is a repost—not stolen. i hope you enjoy.
warnings: some discussions of colonization—i brought my own struggles with displacement into y/n's relation to namor's history. there are some depictions of violence as well.
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Namor had prisoners, that much you knew. He hadn’t been keen on telling you why, insisting he had it under control and that absolutely no harm would come to you or the people of Talokan. He’d given you his word as the King and as your husband. Namor the loveless child. That was what he’d dotted himself as but then he’d met you. You’d been given the opportunity of a lifetime to study sea life in San Diego, California and your apartment, which had been paid for by the school, overlooked the ocean. Even as a child, you’d always been drawn to the ocean. Despite living hours away, whenever your parents took you to the beach, it was like the waves had been calling you, a primitive urge to get closer, to let the water engulf you. Your parents had always joked about it, calling you a mermaid or siren and were convinced that one day you’d have fins instead of feet. They weren’t exactly far off.
The very first time you saw him, he had been undercover trying to collect information about a new oil-infused tank that was set to drop in the middle of the ocean, potentially displacing thousands of already endangered species’, the array of coral reefs that resided in the area and polluting the waters. You’d been at the meeting to argue against its installation and provide evidence you and your team had collected that supported your claim. He’d been there, standing in the corner of the room with his hands behind his back eyeing you curiously. You’d assumed he was some sort of marine biologist, the long, white lab coat he’d worn over his shoulders as good a sign as any but once you got a closer look, he was anything but. You could tell it was hard for him to mask the disgust he’d had for everyone that stood on the opposing side and found yourself silently sharing the same sentiment. It seemed as though they were only thinking of money and not the catastrophic side effects.
“All you care about is how much you’ll have in your pockets if this deal goes through,” you argued, slamming your hands on the table in front of you. You’d tried to maintain composure throughout the debate but the businessmen weren’t letting up and you couldn’t allow them to go through with this. Not when there was something you could do about it. Not when you were this close.
One of the men stood up and met your eyes, wearing a smirk that only seemed to anger you more.
“Finally, y/n speaks some sense!” he clasps his hands together as the men sitting behind him laugh into their hands. Your eyebrows furrow.
“I don’t care what it takes to put an end to this endangerment. Arrest me for all I care.” you barely registered the fact that your hands were shaking, the first sign of you losing your composure.
“That can be arranged.” the man in the middle said, both of his goons laughing impossibly harder.
Finally, the mysterious man who stood in the corner stepped toward the table with a neutral expression. You could tell he was hiding something right away. You’d always been good at reading people. You felt the urge to step back and let him handle this, but this was also something you were incredibly passionate about. This was why you were here. Straightening your shoulders, you stood up and eyed the men in front of you dangerously.
“If you go through with this, there is absolutely nothing stopping the stream of bad luck that will likely find its way to the three of you if this tank is to be installed. I may be forgiving, but the ocean is not.”
You had never seen businessmen keen on making money pack their things faster. It was almost as if they were in a trance. All you could do was watch on in awe as they quickly left, ushering their apologies to the mysterious man from the corner which was what you’d taken to calling him in your head.
Once the men were gone, you quietly let your peers know you wanted to speak to the man alone and they each nodded in understanding, slinging their backpacks over their shoulders as they exited the room as well. The man eyed you curiously, and suddenly, the fire you’d ignited during the argument had been extinguished leaving nothing but a shy college student who loved nothing more than the ocean.
“Thank you for taking care of that mysterious corner man.” you said. To your surprise, the man laughed. The sound was loud and sweet and your stomach felt funny, an unfamiliar sensation you’d only felt once before when you’d been at the beach and finally caught your first wave on the surfboard you’d crafted yourself.
“Namor.” was all he said, the smile never leaving his face.
“Huh?” it had taken you by surprise.
“Namor. My name. It is Namor.” he said once more. Somehow, the two of you had gotten closer to one another.
“Mine is y/n.” your eyes met his dark brown and he seemed to be captivated. Unable to look away from you.
“Your name .. it is lovely,” you barely registered the fact that your hands were still shaking at your sides from the debate, but he did. In fact, he silently searched your eyes for permission as he took one of them into his own big and strong and pressed your knuckles to his lips. You eyed him confusedly. Was this allowed?
He seemed to pick up on this.
“I wanted to thank you.” was all he said, hoping you’d get it.
“Whatever for?” was what came out instead. You weren’t sure what he was getting at.
“For defending the ocean. There are not many who do what you do anymore. They couldn’t be bothered.” Namor seemed hurt by this but there was a hint of fondness in his voice, probably hinted toward you.
“I’m just doing what any good person would.” and that was the truth. You couldn’t understand why the profession you’d wanted to be a part of was so small in size—why so many people lacked any sense of care or self awareness about the problems out in the ocean. At least Namor seemed to understand. It felt good knowing someone was on your side.
“You’d be surprised.” and wasn’t it funny that he hadn’t let go of your hand yet? It barely seemed to register to you as you were far too engulfed in the way he’d been staring at you. Like you meant something. Like your voice was heard.
After you’d both parted ways, you’d been left with nothing but his first name and the yearning sensation that you wanted more. It couldn’t have ended there yet you had been certain you’d never see Namor again. It caught you by surprise when you’d seen him at the beach during an afternoon stroll. He’d been standing by the shore, letting the surge of cold yet clear saltwater rush past his feet. He had his hands behind his back as he watched the sun set below the horizon. For a moment, all you could do was watch. Could it really be him? The same man who’d so bravely defended you and your cause? You were keen on finding out.
As you walked closer and closer, he finally spoke without turning around.
“Y/n. Our paths cross once again.” you silently wondered how he’d known you were there. To your knowledge, he hadn’t turned around.
“Namor,” you joined him at his side and instead of meeting his eyes, you kept your focus on the ocean, watching the mixture of oranges and pinks that reflected off the sea from the setting sun.
You weren’t sure what to say. Surely mentioning the fact that you’d been thinking about him since you’d last parted was weird. He spoke first, though.
“What is it you do for a living? Your passions and hobbies?” so he wanted to know more about you. You felt the same.
“I’ve always had a fascination with sea life which is why I’m here studying to become a marine biologist. I guess you could say I surf in my free time, but since school is so demanding, I spend most days learning more and bettering my arguments so I can stop crooks like the men you met from ruining our oceans and provide better ways for energy infrastructure instead of relying on oil.” you’d been rambling and suddenly felt embarrassed, searching Namor’s eyes for any hint of annoyance or confusion but all that was there was the same look of fondness he’d had back when you’d very first met.
Clearing your throat, you finally spoke after the moment of silence.
“Sorry for oversharing.” you spoke quietly. If he hadn’t been so close, you were certain the waves rushing in would drown out your voice.
“Do not apologize, y/n. It is something I also find fascinating—you could say I study it too.” he was wearing a smile.
“You’re not a marine biologist?” you asked confusedly. For whatever reason, you’d assumed he was some sort of scientist. Why else would he be at the meeting?
“Not quite. You see, I study the ocean from a different angle. Not from the surface.” you furrowed your brows in concentration, trying to piece together what he meant. Maybe he voyaged in submarines, studying deep sea life?
“So you’re a scuba diver.” at his sudden laughter, you placed your hands on your hips. “Are you mocking me?” you inquired, feigning offense, though it wasn’t masked very well as a smile had broken out on your face as well.
“No, no, not at all.” Namor regained his composure, looking at you with a seriousness you hadn’t seen from him yet. “Have you ever heard of the K’uk’ulkan?” he asked. You nodded. Of course you had.
“Yes. He’s regarded as a serpent-like deity in Mesoamerican mythology. They say he had feathered feet.” you wondered why he was bringing this up, but it interested you.
He was quiet for a while until the last of the sun's orange disappeared beneath the horizon. You two were the only ones on the beach for miles.
“Namor, are you alright?” you wondered aloud, turning toward him.
“There is something you must know. Something you must promise not to share—to anyone. Am I able to trust you?” without another word, you nodded. You weren’t sure why, but you trusted him too—more than you’d trusted anyone before.
Silently, he reached for your hand and led you toward the dry sand, offering you a spot beside him on a broken log that the tide must have brought in. Hesitantly, you sat down.
“I cannot deny the feelings I harbor for you—the things I think of, the things I wish to say and want to do to and with you, but I always promised myself if this were to happen, I’d tell them of the greatest secret I’ve ever kept.” conflicting thoughts rushed through your head. For one, you were grateful he shared the same lust for you as you did for him but on the other hand, you had absolutely no idea what he wished to tell you.
“Namor I-” but your sentence fell short as he revealed the feathered feet he had and just how pointed his ears were, which had been concealed by hats both times you’d seen him. Suddenly, everything made sense. Everything he’d been alluding to was true.
“The K’uk’ulkan? That’s you?” your voice was barely above a whisper yet you couldn’t conceal the awe you felt. The curiosity. As a scientist, you had many questions, but you wanted to remain as respectful as possible.
“I’m sure you have many questions,” was the first thing he said, laughing as you nodded.
“How were you able to conceal your identity for so long? From what I’ve read about the K’uk’ulkan, the first historical texts date all the way back to the 16th century. Have you been alive that long?” you asked, hoping you weren’t prodding too much.
“It is a long, long story. I hope you have time.” he teased, knowing you would.
Namor explained that while he wasn’t actually the great deity the Mayans described, he was a mutant. You were unfamiliar with the term, but because of the Avengers and the fact that so much in the Universe was left unanswered, you believed him. He spoke of a liquid he and his people were instructed to drink because of the colonization-inflicted diseases that were wiping the entirety of Mesoamerica out left and right. At first, his mother hadn’t wanted to drink the vibranium-infused liquid as she had been pregnant with Namor at the time, but was eventually told he too would be sick and that the liquid would cure him. In many ways, you understood his pain. Colonization had also affected your relationship with your culture and at times, you were also incredibly angry at how your people were still suffering years and years later.
Because of the liquid, Namor was born with feathered feet and his people worshiped him. He described his people with such fondness in his eyes. They called him K’uk’ulkan and he was the ruler of an underwater civilization called Talokan. Because of the liquid his people drank, they were able to breathe underwater which is how they were able to survive. Everything sounded so beautiful to you.
“Your home sounds lovely. If there was a way, I’d love to see it one day.” you said with a smile.
“There is a way.”
That had been a year ago. Since the talk you’d shared with him on the beach, you two had only grown closer. After meetings on the very same sands every now and then, he’d asked if you’d wanted to see Talokan. You’d said yes, happy that he’d trusted you as much as he did. You had to admit it was absolutely amazing. You’d never seen anything quite like it before and his people grew very fond of you as well. They enjoyed your company whenever Namor allowed you to visit and you were beginning to wish you’d never have to leave, though you were conflicted. Everything you’d wanted to become was on the surface, and Namor had only spoken to you once before about what would have to happen in order for you to stay with him and his people in Talokan permanently.
While you were putting your suit on, you’d decided to talk to him about everything you’d been thinking about.
Namor was watching you with the same fondness in his eyes he’d had the very first day he’d met you. It was something you’d gotten used to.
“Sometimes I wish I could stay here with you forever,” you’d whispered though the cave was empty. It was just you and him.
He rose a brow.
“In yakunaj (my love),” he whispered back. “There are ways that can be arranged, but I cannot ask that of you. That is a decision you’ll have to make yourself.” he stated solemnly. You knew what he wanted—what he desired—and you knew how dangerous that was. If he asked you to stay with him, you knew you’d say yes. Namor knew that too. That was why the decision was ultimately left to you.
“I think I love you.” is what you began with. You’d, of course, told him this numerous times before, but right now, it felt like it mattered the most that he knew this decision was coming from your heart.
“I love you too, y/n.” Namor looked like he wanted to reach out and hold your hands so you let him. They were grounding, helping you focus on what you’d wanted to say.
“I want to spend the rest of my life with you,” and that was the truth—you did. “There is more you can teach me about the ocean than any land-dwelling professor. I want to wake up and see your face in the morning. I want you to teach me more about your culture—anything you think I might need to know. I’m all ears. I can’t fathom leaving you.” you whispered. The two of you were impossibly close. When he exhaled, you could feel it on your face. Searching his eyes, you anxiously awaited his response.
“I can teach you things no college professor of yours even has the knowledge to grasp, throw big, grand celebrations for you. You will be their Reina.” at your confused head tilt, he clarified.
“Their queen, y/n. You will be the Queen of Talokan. My queen.”
The ceremony had been one of the most extravagant things you’d ever been a part of. Before any of that though, you’d been given the mysterious liquid to drink which was going to give you similar abilities that the Talokan’s had. You still couldn’t believe you’d be able to breathe underwater—that you’d be living underwater. Namor had promised he’d be by your side as you drank from the flower and assured you that everything would be okay.
After you drank it, it was like a sedative. You were passed out in moments and once you awoke, you found yourself gasping for air. It seemed as though your lungs could no longer intake oxygen. As promised, Namor rushed you to the body of water that led to Talokan in the cave so you could get your bearings. He seemed to be memorized by you and your bravery. Once you caught your breath and gazed around the cave, the world felt different. You felt different, which was to be expected. Without a word, you wrapped your arms around Namor who held you close and you shut your eyes. The weight of what you’d just done finally settled in and while you were excited for the new opportunities and the fact that you’d been welcomed into his home, you were going to miss the surface-world.
“Is everything okay, in yakunaj?” he asked, his voice full of worry and concern.
It took you a moment, but after you collected yourself, you nodded, smiled and let him lead the way as you swam down, down, down.
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Sometimes curiosity got the best of you. Like you’d said, one of the guards had informed you Namor was holding two prisoners in the caves and since you’d always been an explorer, you asked one of your guards, Muyal, to take you to them. Namor rarely held people in the caves as no land-dwellers knew anything about Talokan so when she begrudgingly said yes, you smiled and let her lead the way.
Since you’d become Reina, the Talokan people had treated you very differently to the visiting land-dweller you had been before you’d drank the vibranium-infused liquid. As a means to honor the K’uk’ulkan and your husband, you were gifted pointed, jeweled ear pieces you wore along with his mother’s bracelet he’d given you on the night of your wedding. You hadn’t taken it off since and every time he noticed you wearing it, Namor couldn’t help but smile. To honor your own culture, most days you wore golden hand pieces that reminded you of a home you were never able to know but hoped that you could visit one day, even if you were only able to travel its oceans. Namor respected the fact that you honored both yourself and his people and during language lessons, sometimes he asked you to teach him about your native tongue as well. You were happy to do so.
It took a while to swim upward toward the caves, but once you arrived, Muyal handed you a water-mask you needed to wear in order to breathe on land.
The first thing you registered was the fact that there were two women sitting there, one of which was wearing royal clothing that Namor had designed specifically for princesses or princes—in this case you recognized her as princess Shuri of Wakanda. The other woman—someone you did not recognize—was sitting on the ground and she noticed you first. Her face morphed into something akin to fear—worry—which confused you. You were not there to harm them. You just wanted answers.
“Shuri,” the woman sitting on the ground whispered, unable to look away from you as she tapped on the other. Princess Shuri looked at you yet you couldn’t quite register what she was thinking. Her facial expression was unreadable.
“Hello,” you stated, waving hesitantly at the two. The one on the floor waved back albeit nervously. “I’m not here to hurt you,” you said. “I just want answers.” Shuri and the woman sitting on the floor looked at each other with unreadable expressions before turning toward you.
“Did Namor not tell you?” Shuri asked confusedly. You shook your head. No, he had not.
“No, he didn’t. That’s why I came here. Things like this don’t happen often.” is what you replied with, hoping that would ease the tense atmosphere. The woman on the floor seemed happy with your answer and smiled.
“I’m Riri Williams. I’m sort of the reason we’re in this mess,” she nudged Shuri’s shoulder and the two of them laughed, though you weren’t privy to what caused everything. Riri eventually continued. “I’m a scientist,” that caused a smile to break out on your face.
“Me too,” you shared with her, urging her to continue her story.
“I made a vibranium detector that my professor sold to the government without my permission and now Namor wants to kill me,” it was word vomit but your blood ran cold. Namor wanted to kill her?
In a way, you supposed you understood. If the world were to gain access to vibranium detectors, Talokan would be discovered, compromising Namor and his people. But on the other hand, you could tell none of this was her fault.
“Maybe if I talk to him,” you mumbled under your breath but Shuri must have heard you.
“I have already tried. I could not convince him,” you felt immensely bad for both Shuri and Riri and an overwhelming urge to help them.
“How can I-” in the corner of the room where one of your guards stood, there was a sudden commotion that had the three of you turning toward the sound. Shuri stood protectively in front of Riri while you allowed Muyal to position herself into an attacking position in front of you.
“Nakia?” Shuri whisper-shouted. Muyal took the moment of distraction as her chance to strike. A shout left your lips but because of the adrenaline, she didn’t stand down like you’d demanded. Nakia threw her arms over her face defensively and once she regained her composure to fight back, she fired a warning shot that hit the wall of the cave. Because of the loud noise, none of you had noticed the fact that one of the guards had Shuri in a chokehold. Before you could do anything though, Nakia positioned her gun and got ready to fire.
“P'at a biin le princesa (let go of the princess)!” Nakia demanded, fluently speaking Yucatec.
The guard shook her head. You glanced over at Riri who had her hands over her mouth.
“Ma'atech (never)!” the guard shouted.
Nakia sighed in frustration, knowing how much time she was losing.
“Shuri, move your arm to the right.” as soon as she complied, Nakia shot the guard's arm, emitting a scream from your lips as you rushed toward her, hoping there was something you could do to help her feel better. The blast from Nakia had singed her arm pretty good.
You watched as Shuri collapsed beside you, shouting something about war and everything was just so, so overwhelming.
“I can fix this!” Shuri shouted, her voice full of anguish as Nakia demanded she follow her.
“Shuri, we don’t have time!” she shouted back, grabbing her by the arm. Nakia glanced at you.
“You,” she pointed at you. Your eyes widened. “You’re coming with us.” everyone was shouting in confusion—including you.
“What!? Why!?” you demanded. You hadn’t done anything wrong as far as you knew.
“There cannot be any witnesses.” Nakia muttered as she led the four of you to the ship-like tube she’d taken to Talokan. Hesitantly, you boarded, watching as Talokan got smaller and smaller and smaller.
Solemnly, you wondered where Namor was.
chapter 2
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by-ego · 10 months
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Late night, Asher x Babe
Just some cute Asher and Babe stuff. She/they ashkenazi jewish Babe with good music taste. Asher being intrudused to Babes and their friends diffrent cultures. Him loving it. Asher being in love with Babe <3
Asher came home late, much much later than he usually does. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, trying to be as quiet as possible as to not wake up his sleeping mate. But when he stepped inside he heard music coming from the kitchen, in Arabic and russian. He could also smell honey, cinnamon and wild berries. He closed his eyes and took in the sensation of his mates ethnic baking and music. He kicked off his shoes, knowing babe would whoop his ass if she saw him wearing shoes in the apartment, and headed towards the kitchen to greet his lover. 
Babe was sitting on the counter, eyes closed and just vibing to the music as the oven was heating up and babka layed waiting to be baked. Rests of the mess making jam had caused was scattered in the sink. Babes' eyes shot open as they heard him enter the kitchen and a smile spread over their face. Ash smiled back and quickly stepped to his mate and wrapped his arms around their waist. He could feel her entire body relax and grow heavy as he embraced them, their head resting on his shoulder and their arms around his neck. He gently kissed her exposed shoulders and hands wandering over her naked thighs. All she was wearing was his t-shirt and very short shorts. That is usually what she slept in, and she changed as soon as she got out of bed, so it was clear how tired they had been when they started the long process of baking babka. No words needed to be exchanged, they both knew the other had had a long day, and just needed to rest in the embrace of the other. 
Soon the timer made its noice signalling that the oven and dough was ready and Asher picked his mate up from the counter and put them on the floor. He kissed their neck, a gentle and soft kiss, and whispered that he was going to clean himself up before coming back to join them. They nodded and turned to place a kiss on Asher’s cheek, leaving a smile on his face. He wanted nothing more than for them to join him in the shower, but the slight dampness of their hair showed that she had showered not long before. And if Ash asked them to join him, they both knew that they wouldn't just be showering, not with how much he had missed them. But they were both too tired, he knew that. So instead he rested his forehead on hers, eyes lazily gazing at them, before kissing them one last time and leaving the kitchen. 
The hot water hit his body and relaxed his muscles, he took a deep breath and let his head fall back, resting against the tiles. He let the warm sensation of the water wash the stress and ache of the day. He wished he had his mate there with him, resting against his chest, water running down their back. His hands on their body, her hands on his, helping him wash off.  He needed to feel them against him, but not right now. He knew that. He picked up the shampoo and drizzled out enough into his hand before lathering up his hair. Washing out the shampoo was always his favourite part, feeling the water wash out the dirt from his scalp. His shoulders sank and he closed his eyes, just breathing. 
Ensay by Saad Lamjarred was playing when he came out from the bathroom, just sweatpants hanging low on his hips. Babes' shoulders and hands were moving to the music, their hips swaying. He loved seeing them dance, her movements hypnotising. He saw the light on in the oven, and a timer ticking, showing that the sweet jewish bread was being baked. His chest pressed up against their back, hands snaking around their waist, and moving to the song with them. He was still getting used to the music, language, cooking and culture, not just from her, but from her friends too. He knew that the playlist playing was a shared playlist between her friends, coming from many cultures. He loved it, even if he didn’t always understand what was being said and why certain things were done the way they were, but nonetheless, he loved to learn. Especially for them. The song changed, russian this time. He recognized the voice but not the song. Erika Lundmoen. “Крыльями” they whispered, he looked at them with confusion. “It’s the name of the song, it means wings,” she smiled. She had turned around to face him, her chest pressed to his. One hand on his cheek, their other on his shoulder. He leaned down, kissing them. A deep and loving kiss, one filled with hunger for the other person. They broke the kiss, catching their breath, just to crash her lips to his again the next second. 
Not how either of them had expected the night to end. Making out in the kitchen to ночь by ooes, both of them lacking a lot of clothes, waiting for babka to get done and both very tired and drunk in love with each other.
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romanarose · 4 months
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I got the cutest Joel miller x Jewish reader fic comimg yall you don’t understand
Comment if you’d like a tag!!!
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commander-writergirl · 11 months
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Red String of Fate 2
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Synopsis: In a world where your soulmate is picked for you with a name tattooed, you are born with the rare trait of not seeing colors until you meet yours. You never expected the universe to foresee the divided mind of your other half.
Pair: Jake Lockley x Jewish!fem!reader, Steven Grant x Jewish!fem!reader, Marc Spector
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Mention of child abuse (verbal), mentions of death, car crash, drunk driver, alcoholism
Word Count: 2,151
Tags: @softlyspector @romanarose @ginger-haired-queen @loonymagizoologist​ 
“Wait, wait.” I turned from the eggs I was cooking to look at Steven. “Why didn’t you tell me before you were vegan?”
The spoon Steven held stopped halfway to his mouth before setting it back in the bowl. “Y-you just always seemed so happy to cook for me. I didn’t want to ruin it.” He answered rubbing his hands along his pants.  
Steven still had a lot of nervous energy around me even after months of being together.  
And I knew he was being honest, Jake even stepped out of the kitchen when I began cooking because I just disappeared into my own little world. I hadn’t gotten around to telling the boys about my mother yet... even almost 16 years later, her death still hung around.
I shook my head and walked over to Steven. Once I stood next to him, I ran my fingers through his curls. “You could have told me; I could have tried to cook more vegan friendly meals.”  
He leaned into my hand, his eyes drifting close. I smiled lightly and tilted his head back before pressing my lips to his. He hummed and held me close to his side. I giggled. “Jake would have taken the chance to bend me over the table.”
Steven nodded, “Yea, the bloke won’t stop mentioning it.”  
I shook my head, “Well now I know to make more vegan meals.” I said walking back to the stove and finishing up my eggs.
Steven’s spoon clanked against the bowl a few times. “Well maybe if you keep them kosher, it won't be so bad.”  
I smiled to myself, moving the eggs from the frying pan to my plate. “I can certainly do that.” I grabbed my plate and walked over to the table.
“So, any plans today?” Steven asked, resuming his task of finishing his cereal before it got too soggy.
I took a bit of egg before answering him, “Yes, I have matinee ticket to a friend's production.” I looked at my watch. “Shit, I’m gonna be late.” I shoveled a few more bites into my mouth before getting up and running back to my bag that now had an almost permanent place in the apartment.  
“Well, I’ll be at the museum today so no Jake randomly picking you up.” Steven said with a smile.  
I rolled my eyes; how could I be attached to two men so competitive for my attention.  Well technically three, but Marc was still hiding himself. I knew he came out when the boys weren’t around me, keeping himself distant.
I quickly slipped into the sunset dress I brought and turned in it a few times making the skirt ‘swish’ about. I nodded to myself, “Okay, this works.” I sat on the edge of the bed and pulled my heels on.
“Oh, bloody hell,” I looked up to see Steven standing in the door frame with his hand on his heart. “You have to warn me when you’re dressed like that darling.”
I giggled and got up grabbing my purse as I walked over to him. “Sorry, I kind of forgot I even had this dress until a few months ago.”
He pulled me to him and kissed me deeply. I smiled and kissed him back cupping his cheek. It was always hard to pull away from Steven and Jake, the soulmate bond having full effect almost.  
I hummed and pulled away. “If I miss this, my friend will kill me. I will see you both tonight.” I pecked his lips before stepping around him heading for the front door. “Love you, bye.” I shouted before stepping out and heading for the elevator.
~~~~~~~~~
Steven rolled his neck sighing as the bone cracked.  
“Why can't I go do my job?” Jake asked for the... well Steven didn’t quite know how many times Jake had asked that. Probably since Steven grabbed the spot in the archive room almost; he glanced at his watch, four hours ago. Thankfully it was still daylight out.
“Because this is my job and we agreed to alternate who does what.” Steven rubbed his eyes, the text in front of him blurring a little.
“At least we aren’t doing Marc’s job.” Jake grumbled.
“Screw both of you.” Marc spat out in the headspace.
Steven looked over at the glass display and could see Marc scowling. Which since you came into their lives has been the norm. He still hadn’t shown himself and even Steven was losing patience with it. He woke to find himself on the couch when he could have sworn up and down, he fell asleep with you wrapped around him.  
“Maybe if you just showed yourself to her Spector, you would feel a lot better.” Jake said, showing up in another glass display, mustache and all.  
“I don’t know what you think but I don’t deserve her affection.”  
Steven grounded his teeth. There were days where he wished he had the ability to put the walls between them back up, but Jake didn’t deserve that. “Obviously the universe, the Fates, whatever you believe, knew what would become of you and still believed you deserved a partner.” Steven snapped.
Almost a year of this. Of Marc’s self-deprecation. It was grating on everyone. Steven and Jake could both see it hurt you that Marc didn’t want to meet you. Even when you said it was fine and gave them a smile, they could see the pain.  
When Steven was met with only silence, he returned to the text he was working on and was able to focus once more.
~~~~~~~~~~
I traced random shapes on Jake’s chest as he snored softly. As my finger ran over a specific scar, his arm tightened around my waist before his eyelids fluttered. I looked up to meet molten brown eyes.  
“Mornin’ mi vida.”  
“Mornin’,” I leaned up and kissed his cheek. He smiled and ran his finger over my thread bracelet.
“Who gave this to you?” He messed with the moon charm. “Because I wonder if they had any idea of who you were connected with.”
I tried not to think too much about what Marc did at night for an Egyptian deity, usually just worried me. “My mother.” I watched as he twisted the charm.
“I can’t wait to meet her.”
I felt the burning start behind my eyes. “Believe me, I wish you could.” I sniffled and sat up.
“Mi vida?” I felt him pull me to his lap.
I took a shaky breath and wiped away tears. “She died, 15 years ago.” I looked at him to see him blink a few times. “I know it was so long ago and I shouldn’t be crying about it.” I looked down and curled in on myself.
He stroked my cheek. “What happened?”
I sniffled, “She was picking me up from a function or something, I can’t remember.” I could hear the music that had been playing. She had some Bruce Springsteen playing and I was laughing at her lip singing. I remembered the headlights... “We were hit by a drunk driver. The doctors said she died on impact, but that it was a miracle I survived.” I shook my head. “I haven’t felt lucky, and then after her death, my dad he...” I sighed.
“It’s okay, take your time mi amor.” Jake pressed a kiss to my temple and brushed my hair back. “I’m sorry about your mom.”
I nuzzled into his chest. “You never told me who was the uh,” I closed my eyes trying to remember the term. “The host was.”
He set his chin on the top of my head. “Marc is.”  
I ran one of my fingers along the vain running in his forearm. “Funny, he doesn’t want to meet me. Considering I was probably originally born to be his.”  
“Well, the time between the universes creation of you and you meeting us has been filled with roads of bullshit and death. He doesn’t believe he deserves you.” Jake rubbed circles along my bare thigh.  
I sighed, “I like cooking because I had to take care of myself for a while and it reminds me of my mom.” I moved to rest my head on his shoulder. “My dad, he lost himself when she died. He began to drink excessively. A man who hated liquor caused bottles to litter our home.”  
I felt Jake tense and realized I needed to keep going. “I came home from school one day and he passed out on the couch. I decided that for the moment, I needed to be an adult. I started with picking up all the empty bottles. I then took all but one vodka from the house to the bar down the block. And when I got home, I began to cook dinner.”
I remember that day, I had therapy and was home later than usual. “When he finally woke up, he went for the bottle of bourbon that had been on the table. When he couldn’t find it, he began to look for it. The whole time I sat at the island eating dinner and finishing my homework.”
The look in his eyes when he realized what I did.” I shook my head. “My father doesn’t scare me, but the look on his face that day.” I sighed. “I thought he was finally gonna break and blame me for my mom dying, I had been blaming myself. Hence the therapy.” I felt Jake slowly relax as I squeezed his hand. “But I guess something in my face told him, I wasn’t afraid of him even then. He cried a lot after my mom but after the tears were gone, he drank.”
“Whatever he saw in your face that night broke him again?” Jake asked.
I nodded. “He did and after that we went to family therapy, and he got better. After a few years of that, our therapist explained that losing his soulmate had broken a part of my father so much that she was surprised I was able to pull him back.” I sighed and moved so I could look at him. “And that is my tale of woe.”  
Jake stroked my cheek. “Aw mi sol.”
I sniffled and laid my hand over his. I closed my eyes and let the warmth of his hand spread from my cheek to the rest of my body.
When I felt his body tense again, it felt... different. “Marc?”
He huffed, “They were right, you are good at sensing that.” Midwestern accent, not what I was expecting.
I opened my eyes and looked at him. He had the same brown eyes, but I could see something else in them. Something I didn’t usually see in Steven or Jake. A sense of being lost, unfocused.  
“Why now?” I whispered. As he began to turn away, I cupped his jaw. “Marc, why now?” I repeated, a sternness in my voice.  
He gripped my wrist and for a moment, I worried he would shove me away. But his thumbs rubbed against my pulse points. “Because you don’t deserve to be in pain because I’m...” He sighed and kissed the inside of my palm. “I don’t feel deserving because of the things I did. Because someone told me for too long, I was a mistake. A monster.”  
I wanted to tell him that whoever said those things was a liar, but I also felt that once he told me who had been saying those things, I would understand why they still stuck so much with him.  
“Who made you believe those things baby?” I watched some of the tension in his shoulders vanish from the nickname.  
“My mother.” He looked at me and I caught the small crack in his armor. “I did a stupid thing as a kid, and I got my brother killed. She blamed me, took all her pain out on me.” He took a shaky breath. “It’s taken me a long time to realize, I couldn’t have known what would happen. I was a kid, I wanted to have fun.”  
“Is that what caused the break?” He looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “First, I went to therapy for years. And second, I know the boys let you in on my fascination with psychology.”
He shook his head, “Right.” He took my left hand from his face and began to mess with the charms on my thread. “Yes, it was.”  
I nodded and moved to sit on my knees in front of him. He tilted his head and furrowed his brow. I smiled and held my hand out. “Hi, I’m F/N L/N. And I think I might be your beshert.”  
He chuckled and shook his head before shaking my hand. “Hi Y/N. I’m Marc Spector and I think you are right.”
I watched our hands shake and we both watched as the red thread slipped off my wrist.
----------------------------------
translation: 
Beshert: “destined” or “intended.” An event, set of circumstances, or situation can all be referred to as bashert, implying that whatever happens was orchestrated by G-d, who ultimately has out best interests in mind. 
In short, it’s the closest term in Hebrew/Yiddish to soulmates. Some Jews also see it as meaning “the right person, at the right time.” 
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milkymoon2483 · 1 year
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Coming Of Age
Push & Pull - Episode 4 Frank Castle X Plus Size Jewish OFC
Previous episode | Series Masterlist | Next Episode
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Summary: After surprising Frank in the shower, you wake up the next morning to have a difficult conversation. He needs to tell you the truth, and you realize that not all fantasies translate into reality as you expect them to.
Rating: Very much E.18+. MINORS DNI.
Warnings: Alternating POV, age gap (legal), Mentions of alcoholism, drinking, trauma, plus size reader, SMUT, P in V
WC: ~3300
Thank you my lovelies. @romanarose @hbc8 @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @boysddontcry @imaswellkid @theonewheresheindulges
This is dedicated to the lovely @midnightswithdearkatytspb.
Coming Of Age
"Get dressed, we gotta talk."
He left the room before you had a chance to say anything.  Your heart sank fast, dread spreading from your abdomen into your chest. Oh god, does he hate you now? After what you did last night he must be furious.
He clearly expressed that he didn’t think it was right but you acted anyway, cornering him, leaving him no choice. At the light of day your actions seemed crude and aggressive. Was it unforgivable? Will he resent you for it? 
Shame and regret flooded you, wrapping their tentacles around your throat. You were nauseous at what you've allowed yourself to go through.  It seemed like you were only capable of embarrassing yourself in front of him, frustration getting the better of you again and again like the petulant child you obviously are. 
But, he could have refused, and he didn't, he surrendered willingly, absolving himself of responsibility. He almost seemed relieved, you could almost say he drove you to the breaking point again and again. You were just braver than him.
The memory of last night was still fresh, the weight and taste of him still lingered in your mouth. Now you were switching blame for something you both wanted so desperately, and both seemed to regret. The pang in your chest was sharp but you couldn’t decipher the emotion. Was it remorse or rejection or fear of what’s to come? Maybe they were all combined. 
You played the accusation game in your mind while pulling your clothes on. The complete safety and security you were used to around Frank were now gone. It was an unfamiliar feeling, the need to defend yourself in front of him. You didn't think you'd ever have to. Not with him. But then again you never thought you'd do what you had done. Your mind a scrambled mess, you sat on the edge of the couch, awaiting your judgment.
He wouldn’t look at you. Frank’s gaze darted around the living room. You’ve never seen him this nervous, like a caged animal hopelessly looking for a way out.
This was not going to be a pleasant conversation, ones beginning with “we need to talk” seldom are.
Your eyes never left him, searching for clues as the seconds stretched while he was still silent. Then he finally spoke.
“Han there’s something you need to know.”  He sighed heavily before continuing to speak.
"Yesterday was…shit…I can't say I didn't want it, but Han, it was wrong. It was a lapse of judgment. I shouldn't have let it happen. M'sorry."
Of course he'd say that. 
Shame settled in the pit of your stomach.  This man seemed unable to get closer to you without regretting it.  You blinked slowly, nervously biting your lip, allowing him to continue without interruptions. 
“I failed your dad.” He stated plainly, guilt painted on his face.
Frank’s heart wrenched at his own words as he forced them out one by one. After what happened, he couldn’t hide this from you any longer. “We met at AA. I was clean for a few years when he showed up. I was…I was his sponsor for a while”
He diverted his look to you, carefully attempting to gauge your reaction, only to find your face blank, your expression betraying no emotion.
“I…I wanted to help him and many times I did, cause I know that everybody deserves as many chances as they need to fight this shit.”  He took a deep breath to steady himself, running his palms over his face, wishing he could hide from you.
“Han, I gave up on him, I’m so sorry. In the end I just gave up. He was on another binge and I told him to talk to somebody else."  His look was averted to the floor, god forbid you'd see his eyes begin to pool with tears.
"Shit almost got me drinkin' again, and I just couldn't go through that. Now I regret that every day. I should have helped him, as many times as it took. I should have kept tryin'." 
There was a long silence stretched between you, until his eyes finally met yours. They were brimming with guilt, red and glossy. 
"What makes you think I didn't know?" You asked quietly
He squinted with disbelief.
"I've known about AA for years. And Deb told me what happened at the end. I don't blame you. Saul had a knack for pushing people away" 
You remained eerily calm. He expected you to cry, or scream, or storm out. This was by far so much worse.  "But it's ok, it really is…I understand"
He shook his head, brows furrowed.
"Han I'm sorry, and it's not ok. That's why I can't let anythin' happen between us" 
You bit your cheek, effectively stopping yourself from betraying your true feelings, and spoke carefully.
Frank was a great fantasy, but the reality of him was broken. The man in front of you seemed fragile and indecisive behind the facade of dignity and respectability.
Disillusionment was always going to be a part of coming of age.   
"Frank It's Ok. I'm done."
You were indeed done.  Done with humiliating yourself in front of him, done with trying to appease his guilt, done with the torture of him pushing you away just to pull you closer. That fucking game was over for you. Your frustration and helplessness festered into anger. Anger was good. It was safe.
"I'm gonna go"
You could cry at home, have your little temper tantrum away from him, wouldn't want more guilt piled up on his broad shoulders now, would you?
You closed the door behind you, not looking back at him, and crossed the street as fast as you could without running, eager to get to safety.
“FUUUUUUCCCCCKKKKKKKK” you growled as soon as you crossed the threshold, hitting the wall with your fist. Anger burned in your chest, at him, at yourself, at the ghost of your shitty father.  Your nails dug crescents into your palms, the sting of it cathartic, and you pressed again and again, slowly draining the fury from your bloodstream, until only a simmer remained.
You needed to think, to remind yourself of what life looked like before you were dragged into this mess, the life you’d be returning to very soon. A sense of relief washed over you at the notion, Just a few more days and you’ll be on your way back to campus. Back to your dorms, your friends, back to what’s important.  You’ll have the lawyer deal with this, Deb will gladly help, and you won’t even have to come back. You don’t want anything to do with this place anyway. You soothed yourself, sipping on the glass of cold water you so badly needed.
Three knocks, loud and urgent, jolted you from your seat towards the door.
Frank..?!
Your eyes were wide with worry as he walked in. He nuzzled at your face, placing both palms on your cheeks. No. You shook your head, flaring your nostrils at him. Not fuckign again.  But his eyes pleaded, begged you. 
“Frank, you can’t do this to me ag..” his mouth was on yours before you could finish the sentence.
He kissed you gently at first but the press of his lips grew more urgent, dipping his tongue in, swirling it in your mouth. Kissing you like you were his lifeline, sucking the air out of your lungs. You wished you could refuse him, maybe out of spite, just like he did to you all those times, but you never stood a chance. Flames licked at your core the moment his lips touched yours. 
He was all rugged breaths and grunts, not uttering a word. He walked you back into the kitchen, until you hit the edge of the table, Hands running frantically on your body, mouth never leaving yours. 
The palpable exigency of his touch didn’t frighten you. Something snapped, and you were seeing him clearly for the first time. Unburdened by the need to hold back or restrain himself, the mask of his dignity finally slipped, revealing a man who was just as desperate as you were. 
He understood it now, your inability to stop yourself. The aching need that crawled under his skin, whispered in his ear, blinding him to reason. The moment you closed the door behind you, that’s when he realized he was only lying to himself. He tried to forget but he remembered. Your hungry eyes, your sweet words "You can have me…" Fuck. Could he? 
His fingers grazed past the edge of your top and lifted it up, breaking your bruising kiss just to pull it off. His hoodie met the same fate on the kitchen floor. Your bra followed, discarded as soon as he was able to remove it.  He nuzzled at your breasts, pressing them onto his face with his palms and breathing in your scent, like he was coming up for air. His hungry mouth sucked and pulled on the plump flesh, barely stopping himself from sinking his teeth in. God he wanted to eat you and fuck you and console you and debase you. All at the same time, with the same intensity.  The longer he tried to deny it, the stronger and more vicious the need became. He made quick work of the buttons of your jeans as he began taking them off. He lifted you up, placing you on top of the heavy table with impressive ease, pulling them the rest of the way down. You shivered as he laid you on your back, his warm palms running reverently on your goosebump covered skin. He stopped for just a second, lifting his eyes up at you, asking for permission. You nodded breathlessly as he began pulling the thin fabric of your panties down your legs.
The cool silvery light filtered through the windows, illuminating your delicate skin with a pale glow. His calloused fingers pressed into your soft flesh, greedily grabbing the meat of your hips, the swell of your breasts, all laid before him on the table like a feast for a starving man. His movements were erratic, mind silent while his body buzzed with possessiveness.  The thought of defiling you, corrupting some part of you, made his cock harder than it should have. He tried to be gentle, but the greedy beast inside of him was demanding.
His teeth grazed your jaw, as he rubbed his clothed length against your core, pinning you to the hard surface under his weight.  “I need to fuck you, honey” He whispered into your skin, and your pussy pulsed at the words, more heat pulling in between your thighs. Fuck me, fuck me untill I can’t breathe.
“Tell me to stop and I will” He rasped.
“Don't…” You shook your head, pulling him to press his lips back to yours. You felt the desperation in your tone slip from you, harder than ever to control. 
“You want me to fuck you? Hm?” He asked, almost teasing, thumb rubbing at your folds, spreading your arousal. You whimpered in response, bucking your hips at his fingers.  You thought about fucking him many times, countless even, but nothing prepared you for this. You could never conjure the smell of his sweat, the exact pressure of his calloused fingers on your cunt. 
"You know I do" you almost whined. Your fingers hooked into the waistband of his sweatpants as you rolled them down with his boxer briefs, first with your hands and then pushing them all the way down with the tips of your toes, removing all barriers between your bodies. His deliciously heavy cock dragged against your soaked folds, and he could see it now, the way your body shuddered at the touch, the aching need in your eyes. 
“You ready baby?” he asked softly. 
“Mhm…” you barely uttered 
He lined himself up and began to gently breach your entrance with shallow thrusts, slowly opening you up. The muscles in your lower belly trembled. Inch by maddening inch he sank into you, until he was buried to the hilt in your warmth.  He exhaled sharply, finally releasing the breath he was holding. So fucking soft. He couldn’t believe how soft you were, your core sleek and warm, perfectly tight around him. He couldn't have deserved this.  So fucking perfect.
He began moving, each drag of his cock in your tight warmth more addictive than the last, trying to plunge himself deeper within you with each stroke. You shared ragged breaths, clinging onto each other as your nails dug into the taut muscles of his arms. 
"M'sorry" he muttered into the crook of your neck with each slow thrust, a plea for your forgiveness. Your legs shook with the effort as you pulled him further in.  "It’s ok" you whispered back, again and again. You let him repent for his sins, absolving him from his supposed crimes. 
The pressure built steadily in your lower belly, flooding your core with more arousal, spurring you on. The stretch of him was divine, filling you to the brim as your walls fluttered around him.
His words were replaced with kisses, slow and open mouthed, from the base of your neck all the way to your ear. You could hear every breath and grunt, every strangled moan. 
His fingers intertwined with yours as he pinned your hands above your head. His movements quickened, fucking into you with everything he had. Your moans turned into whines, short and high pitched, eyes rolled back as he was hitting something within you that sent jolts of electrified tingles up your spine. 
This is what you needed, to be so thoroughly cock drunk that every rational thought was being fucked out of your mind, to sense nothing but the weight of him on top of you, to feel nothing but the pulse of your hungry cunt around him. 
He could tell you were close, and began almost grinding his hips against yours, rubbing his hip bone against your swollen clit. The pressure built and built, tilting you closer towards the edge. You were a vortex, a black hole swallowing everything in it’s surroundings ,more and more and deeper and deeper until everything paused. Your climax burst from within you, and you shook and moaned as the pleasure flooded your limbs. 
“Fuck baby..” he rasped, quickening his movements again. He raised himself , fingers digging into your hips as he pounded you, looming from above. He could see himself disappear into you, your tits bouncing with every thrust, soft beautiful curves at his fingertips, your jaw slacked and eyes shut, lost in pleasure. “Stunnin’…gorgeous girl..fuck..” he muttred as his pace began to falter, spilling himself into you with a breathy grunt.
You could feel his cock twitch, flooding your core with warmth.  For a moment everything was quiet, your releases still buzzing through you both, like an electric current running between your bodies.  Spent, you both panted as he slumped over you, supporting himself with his forearms as not to crush you. You smiled at him lazily, still drunk of pleasure, and he couldn’t help but kiss you again.  
“Shit..Han..Are you..?” He asked, panicked when he realized he came inside of you.
“Yeah, it’s ok” you reassured him. 
He pulled himself off and reached out a hand to help you up. You hissed at the ache of your body, leaning on the table, legs still wobbly and back sore from the hard surface.
“Are you ok?” He asked, concerned.
“Yeah. just a little sore” you smiled back. 
“Shit I’m so sorry, did I hurt you?” 
“For god’s sake Frank, please stop apologizing.” Your voice broke. “If you're going to tell me you regret this too, you can just leave. Because I don’t.”  You began picking up your clothes off the floor, holding the pile against your body to cover yourself up.
“Hey hey…stop that. I don’t”  His head shook.
He turned towards you, taking the pile of clothes from your hands, placing it on the table.
Gently, Frank tucked a strand of hair behind your ear before engulfing you with his solid embrace. You melted against him, clinging to his broad warmth.
Your fantasies never included this, The silence that followed. There was an awkwardness to it, coupled with a familiar comforting warmth, and you bounced between the two sensations. You didn’t know what to say, frozen in a moment you were afraid would end, making you restless and uneasy.
Fucking him was safer, more familiar at least in your mind. This was new territory and you found yourself even more unsure than before.  Sure he’s saying he doesn’t regret it now, but nothing is for certain with this man.
“um..I’m dripping. I gotta get cleaned” You had a reason to break the hug, needing a moment for yourself.
Frank could sense your unease as he released you from his arms.
You looked at yourself in the bathroom mirror, and something reminded you of that day in the pool. You were still unsure of yourself, still didn’t always like your reflection, but today you did. Kiss swollen lips, eyes rimmed with long lashes and dark circles, curves that have since become more prominent and lucious. You could see the red flush on your chest, evidence of a really strong orgasm. His hands left marks on your hips, and you hoped they would darken.
You emerged a few minutes later, wearing an oversized T shirt, looking so young all of a sudden. 
The familiar claws of regret began to creep up his back, flooding his veins with ice. You wrapped yourself back around him, soft and warm and sweet, melting the frost.
No more regrets. No more lies.
"Han, I need you to know…I wanted this. Ok?" 
"Ok" you nodded, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. 
“I wanted this too. Frank, I…you probably know”
“I do. I did, and it scared the fuck outta me, still does.”
“You're afraid of a little girl who’s got a crush on you?” you smirked
“Yeah, and for good reason, cause look at you…”  
Your chest swelled at his statement, relief bubbling in your belly. The mere thought of you holding any kind of power over him felt dizzying. This man that had captivated your deepest fantasies for years was suddenly succumbing to you. The notion was making you drunk.
He pressed soft lips on your temple and mumbled "lil’ temptress"
You stood in the kitchen for a while, embraced and silent, running cautious fingers on his bare back, until his stomach grumbled, loudly.
You both chuckled at the very obvious sound.
“Ok, I’m makin’ french toast” he exclaimed, before releasing you from his hug with a peck on your head.
He didn’t ask, just dove straight into the fridge, pulling eggs and milk and the loaf of french brioche you picked up in the bakery the day before. “That’s fancy bread” he shrugged, making you smile.
There was something lighter about him, almost cheerful, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.
You weren’t surprised to find out he knew exactly where everything was, feeling completely at ease in your father’s kitchen. You slipped a few too many glances at his shirtless back and the smooth skin that stretched over the taut muscles, smirking to yourself and muttering a soft “damn” under your breath. 
 The lovely smell of melting butter came shortly after, and if you closed your eyes you could almost imagine mornings like these, with your dad and Deborah and your cousins, when things seemed very normal and mundane, even for a short while.
It was a strange mixture of the old and the new, making past memories and current sensations bleed into each other. 
Frank's presence was both comforting and intimidating. You haven't given thought to domesticity, to sitting in comfortable silence and sharing a meal. Him making you french toast after fucking on the kitchen table? That seemed as surreal as any other fantasy, but there he was.
He was hidden in a deep, secretive and shameful part of your mind, and now he was crossing the border, coming into light.
FIN. 
49 notes · View notes
p3mybeloved · 1 year
Text
baby, don’t make me spell it out for you
Summary: A snow squall leaves her stranded at Peter’s apartment. Strip dreidel is clearly the move.
Pairing: TASM!Peter Parker x Female Reader
Word count: 10.2k
Rating: 18+, no minors
Tropes/warnings: friends to lovers, mutual oblivious pining, sex, light praise kink, aural kink, light teasing, hair pulling, sacrilegious use of dreidel (I’m one of the tribe, I’m allowed), also Peter is Jewish because AG says so and who am I to argue with him
This is for the lovely Ree @fallensilencefics! You are a joy to know. Happiest holidays to you and yours!
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It started with a scattering of snow and a last minute assignment. No big deal. She’d go to his apartment and they’d tag-team the article instead of texting heyy did you get my edits yet thirty thousand times. Not that it was a task to hang out with Peter; he was a friend. An outside of work friend, even. They’d gone to the movies together and gotten drinks after finishing an arduous assignment. He’d taken her to the High Line for her birthday last month. They’d even tackled the Guggenheim a few weeks ago just because she’d never been. Friends did stuff like that. 
What friends didn’t do was perseverate on an almost-kiss at a Fourth of July work barbeque that thankfully no one else had seen. And it had been a complete accident— they’d been in the corner of the rooftop bar because it was so damn loud and he’d been telling her something about an NPR podcast that she couldn’t hear, and they’d been sitting so close that they’d both leaned in to say something at the same time and like something out of a mid-nineties romcom, their mouths had brushed before they'd both pulled away instantly, cracking up because how else were they gonna react to that?
No, she didn’t think about that at all. Ever. It certainly didn’t have her overanalyzing their interactions from that day forward. Or every interaction they’d ever had preceding that. And she definitely didn’t have a crush on him. 
That would be entirely unprofessional. 
Their assignment was winter holiday traditions. She could still remember putting her pink sneakers in the hallway for Saint Nick during naptime in kindergarten and being delighted to find an eraser shaped like a dolphin inside when she’d collected them later. She’d been crushed to realize it had been Mrs. Hudson all along when she’d seen the empty eraser bag in the trash by their cubbies. 
The next year, her teacher taught about Kwanzaa and the kinara. Nguzo saba and the importance of unity and culture. She’d created a family portrait on canvas with far too much red paint and a dog they didn’t own. 
Hanukkah came in second grade, and so did the waxy gelt that she was so proud of winning after learning to play dreidel with letters she didn’t recognize but was absolutely hellbent on memorizing to beat Mike Petersen, her annoying math partner who made her hate learning how to add two-digit numbers because he whined nonstop about carrying numbers. The gelt was objectively not delicious but her victory over him made them taste like a five star dessert. 
Las Posadas came in third grade when her teacher brought a shiny star-shaped piñata that she’d wanted to break so badly, but had lost out to Lila O’Malley who’d landed the winning blow. She’d sulked while coloring her poinsettia picture, because she was just a little competitive and wanted to be the one to smash it to pieces. It wasn’t flattering to be so determined, and she’d learned to control it as she’d gotten older. But still… it would have been rewarding to smash that star into colorful bits of confetti. To hear that crack of the bat as it had crumpled and dropped a rainbow of treats all over the worn tile. To be the hero of room 301, the candy deliverer. Even as an adult, that gotta be the best streak lit up in her every once in a while. It was like a dormant volcano, simmering under her surface at a low boil. 
Unfortunately, she couldn’t rely solely on her elementary school education to write an article with Peter. Peter, who was funny and smart and handsome and it turned her all inside out even though she knew she shouldn’t let it. But he was just her friend. And she was inside his snug apartment.
She was fairly certain that they were sitting a little too close on his navy couch, knees bumping as they leaned in to trade laptops so they could inspect each other’s work every twenty minutes or so. He’d picked a piece of lint off her dark sweater when she’d arrived, hidden among the starry constellations printed across it, and she’d been kicking his foot every time he’d checked something unrelated to work on his phone. He’d begun to return the kicks, and that had turned into shoulder bumping that had them both cracking up like dweebs. She didn’t touch her other coworkers like that, and she didn’t think he did either. 
Whatever. It meant nothing. 
Currently, she was making sure she’d spelled cuetlaxochitl correctly every time she’d typed it, because it was too important to mess up. Poinsettia just came from the ambassador who’d brought them over in the 1800s from Mexico and stomped out their real name, in addition to being an all-around shitty person. Co-founding the Smithsonian Institution didn’t erase owning and displacing people. And if there was one thing she loved, it was letting the masses know things that had been left out of history class. She was incapable of writing a strictly fluff piece, but Jameson grudgingly let it slide because her work was good. 
“You done with Hanukkah?” she asked, carefully rubbing her burning eyes so she didn’t smear her mascara. 
Peter glanced up from his laptop. He’d dug out a box labeled Hanukkah which had led to a spelling discussion and why there were approximately nine trillion ways to spell the holiday: Hanukkah Chanukah Hanuka Chanukka, even some with a Q and an X. It had also led to Peter rediscovering a dreidel that had been collecting dust in his closet since he’d moved in, and he’d been idly spinning it on and off all evening. It was a pleasant noise, a smooth whir across his book and succulent-covered coffee table that ended with a clatter. He’d been tallying the letters it had landed on but they’d gotten distracted along the way and ended up losing count. 
He nodded, smoothing out the curling edge of a bagel sticker that said LOX AND ROLL that wanted to escape from his green metal water bottle. “Shamash and all. You finish up Christmas, Ace?”
The nickname tugged at her pleasantly, wrapping around her brain like a hug. He’d called her that since they’d all gone out for happy hour back in May, some off-the-cuff joke about an intrepid girl reporter that had made her giggle, which had seemingly cemented it. A nickname was a gift she’d always loved. Something more than a birthday card or a keychain, a this is how I really see you. 
Outside his kitchen windows, everything was a hazy gray, blurring the building across the street into something approximating a rusty rectangle under the streetlights. The snow had kicked up in the last hour, and it was unfamiliar enough to make her a bit nervous. If she was back home, she’d be in a pair of criminally short shorts and a tank top.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket at the same time Peter’s screen lit up. It was an emergency alert, and it made her stomach swallow itself up. 
National Weather Service: Snow squall warning in effect until 11:00 PM. Icy roads, sudden whiteouts. Stay indoors.
Shit. It was late enough as it was, and 11:00 was past when she was comfortable being on the subway alone. She couldn’t ask Peter to walk her all the way home, and she didn’t want to impose. Sucking it up and leaving as soon as it was clear was the only option. Hopefully the subway would be crowded with people in the same situation as her. Crowds felt safer at night. Easier to disappear into and just be a nameless nobody.
“You can stay here tonight,” he offered, cracking his neck with a yawn as he shut his laptop. “I’m not having you go out in this kind of weather.”
Heat flooded her face at his words, and she stared at her corgi-covered socks. As much as she appreciated how considerate he was, it didn’t feel right to spend the night. What was she supposed to do, wear his clothes that smelled like him? Sleep on his couch that definitely smelled like him? That all seemed counterproductive to the crush she’d been trying to fight for months. “I can… um, it’s fine. I don’t wanna put you out.”
“Ace.” Peter shook his head emphatically as he stood, picking up their empty beer bottles from the table. They clinked together and the glassy sound sent a shiver up her spine. “No offense, but you’re out of your mind if you think I’m letting you loose at midnight on a Saturday. I’ll sleep out here, the couch is comfy. I do it all the time when I get in late.” Great. She could sleep in his bed. That wouldn’t irreparably damage her horny little goblin brain. What the fuck was he doing, trying to kill her?
“Didn’t know you were such a night owl,” she deflected, chewing on her lip as the wind screamed past the building. What the hell was he up to that he was collapsing on the couch instead of taking the ten extra steps to his bedroom?
“First squall?” he asked from the kitchen, leaning on the counter with a mischievous gleam in his eye. The same one he’d had when he’d been the first one to pop his head over her cubicle wall with a hey, new girl as he’d offered her jelly beans from his secret candy stash in his bottom desk drawer. She’d picked a lemon one off the top, tart against the sweet grin he’d given her after telling her if she had any questions, he was her man. Oh, Jesus, had she always had a crush on him and the dumb barbeque had just forced it to surface? For someone who wrote for a living, she apparently couldn't read between her own lines worth a damn. “You’ll be fine, I promise.”
She’d moved up to New York from Miami at the tail end of March to take the Bugle job, and despite having visited the city a million times growing up, it had always been during the summer. Never this blustery frigid mess that made her ass and thighs go numb from the sheer sharpness of the wind. “Miami doesn’t do snow.”
“Yeah, but if you’ve made it through hurricanes, you can make it through a squall,” he assured her breezily. That was him: trying to boost others with a sunny grin and a big wink that always made her feel better. And just a little bit fluttery. Which made her feel like a creep because he was her friend and he lit her up inside and she wished he wouldn’t, because it made her brain feel all sticky and stupid. Friends weren’t supposed to light each other up. “Squalls are nothing.”
“Hurricanes don’t just pop up,” she reminded him as she plugged her phone in, ever aware of the potential of a power loss. That was one thing snow and hurricanes had in common. “We have time to buy all the water out of Publix.”
“Fair.”
“But, um, thank you. For trying to distract me. Any other ideas?” 
“Trivial Pursuit. Video games. Strip dreidel. Pictionary,” he suggested, spinning the top across the counter with an easy flick of his fingers. 
She was so busy focusing on his elegant hands that It took a second to realize what he’d said, and her face went boiling hot as the words sank in. “Strip dreidel?” He had to know she felt some kind of way to suggest something with the potential to turn naked. She couldn’t imagine any other reason to bring up a game like that. Maybe her crush wasn’t unreciprocated. Maybe she should tug on this seemingly loose thread and see what might unravel between them. 
He grinned. “Strip dreidel,” he over-enunciated with a lewd wiggle of his dark brows as he popped the P at the end of strip. 
“We didn’t learn that version in elementary school.”
“I would hope not,” he replied primly, examining the letter it landed on, tracing it thoughtfully with his thumb. “You never got drunk and played strip dreidel at a party?” He sounded surprised, like it was spin the bottle common. 
“Oh, I’m sorry, you’re saying it like it’s a thing,” she said dryly. 
“College kids will make anything horny,” he reminded her, spinning it again. She watched the little blue dreidel make its way across the counter, but he caught it lightning-fast before it could hit the floor. She’d watched him do that a million times with a cup that was second from crashing to the ground, always setting it back down like it was nothing.
“What are the rules to strip dreidel?” she asked as the power flickered dangerously for a second. Wind rattled the windows angrily, practically begging to get inside and destroy everything it could touch. Lift them away like The Wizard of Oz and drop them in a strange new land. “Should we even be taking our clothes off in a storm?” Damn him for planting a lewd little seed and needling at her curiosity. Excuse her all to hell for wanting to see Peter Parker shirtless. And maybe pantsless. She was only human. Whatever, he’d started it. 
“I have draft guards,” he said, gesturing vaguely to the windows, twirling the top through his long fingers, which she needed to stop looking at, because she was currently imagining them loosely wrapped around her throat. Was she shitfaced off one beer that she’d had almost three hours ago? What the hell was her problem? Why would she think of his big palm pressed to her throat, thumb skating along her jaw as he tipped her head to the side? They were hands. Her friend’s normal, big hands—
“Oh,” she managed to mumble. Like she’d ever seen a draft guard in her life. It sounded like a basketball position, if anything. 
If he’d noticed that her brain was being filthy, he wasn't letting on. “The heat is up and I have the humidifier over there. It’s also a very stupid suggestion and we don’t have to. We can watch something. Play Scrabble. Drink more. Start a rumor in the office Discord that work is canceled tomorrow.” A chaotic checklist. It summed him up well. 
She was still thinking of dreidel. Objectively, it was a stupid thing to do. She knew it, but the part of her that never wanted to back down was screaming at her. Her competitive streak reared its head, that goddamn piñata flashing before her eyes. And the nagging question of why would you suggest that to play with a platonic friend? “Nervous, Parker? You think you’ll lose dreidel to me?”
His grin was blinding. But it wasn’t friendly at all. It was something past that that didn’t exist between them. Something bordering on suggestive, and she could smell the smoky air from the barbeque, hear the far-off fireworks as his mouth ghosted across hers for a split second in her memory. It twisted low in her belly, and oh, she wanted. “You wish.”
Her heart nearly flipped out of her chest. “So what are the rules?” she asked again, because he was spinning her all out of sorts. Yet here she was, entertaining the possibility of taking her clothes off with him because she wanted to win a game and see what else might happen. “Is this sacrilegious to do? Will we go to Hell?”
“I wouldn’t play it with my rabbi, but I don’t think it’s the worst thing someone’s done with a religious object. Think of the possibilities a menorah offers.” He was busy with the humidifier at his small kitchen table, fiddling with it until it began to hum. 
“Gross,” she laughed. 
“And we don’t have a consensus on the existence of Hell as a people,” he said, like nothing weird was about to happen between them. Just two pals discussing Jewish ideology and definitely not about to start undressing. “One of those things, you know.”
She picked up a dusty guide from the Hanukkah box, the blocky Hebrew letters staring back up at her. She vaguely remembered them: nun, gimel, hei, shin. Nes gadol haya sham. “A great miracle happened there.”
“Indeed it did. You in?”
“Sure.” She matched his inviting smile. At least she’d worn cute underwear, a matching black set with tiny flowers scattered all over. Under her shirt, goosebumps raced across her skin at the thought of him seeing her wearing only that. What would he think? What would he do? She desperately wanted to find out. “Tell me what to do.”
For a second, he looked caught off-guard, like he’d never expected it to go this far. But as quickly as the shock had flashed through his eyes, it was gone, and he leaned forward, like he was going to tell her a secret. “Well, whatever we land on would apply to the other person,” he began. “So gimel would be two pieces of clothing. Hei would be one. Nun is nothing.”
“Shin you’d put something back on?” she asked as she read the game rules.
“You’re gonna nail this,” he said with a wink. What a bastard. 
“We choose what comes off?” She glanced down. They’d both already lost their shoes. Her heart quickened in her chest, finch wings beating in her ribs in a ticklish flutter. 
“Yes.”
“When does the game end?” she asked, wondering just how far it was meant to go. 
“Whenever you want it to.” The flirty look disappeared from his eyes, replaced with a sincerity that was somehow more intimate. 
She nodded. “Okay. You too.”
“Nervous, Ace?” A Cheshire grin hung from his lips.
She shook her head, tapping her dark nails on the counter. “You don’t make me nervous.” That was a lie. A half-lie, anyway. 
“Good.” That flirty look was back. “We can spin near the door.” She followed him toward the tiny hallway near the door. “It’s more level over here, I’m sure you hadn’t noticed.”
“I think the warped floor is charming,” she assured him, and he threw her an eye roll over his shoulder. “Gives it a real funhouse feel.”
They sat opposite each other, crisscross with their backs against the walls, the dreidel sitting innocently between them. Excitement rushed through her, but at the same time, she wished she’d kept her sweater on. Anything to give her an advantage. She was just in an oversized tee from a local diner, jeans, socks, and underwear. Her scarf and gloves sat in a pile with her messenger bag, hidden under her puffer and sweater. That would teach her to get comfortable in someone else’s home. 
“You first,” he offered, and she picked up the top, tracing the Hebrew letters for a moment before giving it a twist. If only Mike Petersen could see her now. 
It seemed to spin for an eternity before dropping suddenly, and she leaned in to study it. “Nun,” she announced, a bizarre mix of relief and disappointment flooding her. 
“Too bad, baby,” he teased with a ridiculous shimmy of his shoulders, and she rolled her eyes as she waited for her fate. 
It was slow somehow, the dreidel spinning away from him in a blue blur before it snagged against an uneven part of the floor, clattering to the floor. 
“Hei,” he grinned victoriously, eyes darting over her. Tracing the length of her neck. The curve of her hip. They moved lower, and for a moment, she couldn’t believe—
“Socks,” he declared. 
She peeled them off and set them next to her knee. Cautiously, she picked up the dreidel and gave it a spin, pulling her knees up to her chest. As she did, the wind slammed into the glass and the lights flickered twice before plunging them into the void. 
“Shit,” she heard him mumble, shuffling to his feet. “You good?”
“Uh, yeah,” she replied, pressing back against the wall. She wasn’t a fan of blackouts. Faceless shadows and black-oil pockets of darkness in her periphery. Every little sound magnified into a monster—
“I’m gonna get a candle, just sit tight,” he was saying, navigating the dark like he was a cat. She half-expected a muffled thud or an oh shit as his knee found a piece of furniture, but all she could hear was drawers opening before the hiss of a match. There he was, his beautiful face illuminated orange as he brought a candle with a small plate under it to catch the wax. The scent of lemon filled the air, inviting summertime into his apartment. For a moment, she felt like she was back home in the sunshine. 
“You look a little nervous,” he said gently as he sat across from her again, folding his long legs underneath him. “You okay?”
She nodded. “I’ll be fine.” She wanted to stay distracted from the eerie rattling of the windowpane.
Peter leaned in close to examine the dreidel in the faint light. “Gimel.”
That was two things. 
“Socks,” she began, because that was fair. Feet weren’t sexy to her. She wasn’t Quentin Tarantino. “Um… shirt.” She hoped she didn’t look blatantly turned on at the prospect of seeing him shirtless, because her whole body felt like it was about to boil over.
Peter reached behind his neck and tugged his black tee over his head quickly, and the light was enough that she could see the lean muscle of his torso. Gorgeous obliques, pretty abs, kissable pecs. Shoulders carved by God. He probably had that hip line too, although she couldn’t see anything from how he was currently sitting. But Christ, what an evening it was turning out to be. The idea of him being a secret gym rat made her grin. 
“What are you smiling at?” he asked, folding his arms across his chest in a way that made her stop breathing for a moment. He seriously had the nicest shoulders she’d ever seen, and a collarbone that she did not feel at all friendly toward. Was it bad that she wanted to lick his delts? Her heart leapt in her chest as he shifted, shadows dancing over his long neck. “Don’t get all moon-eyed over me, Ace.”
“What the hell is all of… that?” she gestured vaguely at his bare chest. What the fuck were those traps? “Like, eighty percent of your diet is pizza. And the other twenty is leftover pizza.”
“Parkour,” he offered, and she snorted. 
“Peter Parkour.” She pulled her knees to her chest again, chin resting on top of her hands as she awaited her fate.
“Don’t you get punny and alliterative with me,” he warned as he spun it. 
“What happens if I do?” She could be just as big a flirt. Maybe she could knock him off his game. 
The dreidel dropped again, saving him from an answer. But she’d gotten under his skin. There was a flicker of something in his brown eyes, something decidedly not buddy-buddy that she wanted to know more about. 
“Hei,” he told her, brandishing the toy in the palm of his hand. His large hand. Much bigger than hers. He could wrap his fingers around her wrists so easily—
“It sure is.” She peered down at it, pretty sure she knew what was coming. He’d match what she’d done. It was a game of chicken, and she didn’t intend to lose. Neither did he.
“Shirt.” His voice faltered for just a split second, but she’d heard it. Nerves. 
She crossed her arms and pulled her tee over her head, the logo from Florence Prime crumpled into a cursive heap as she set it on top of her socks before she dared to look back at him. His eyes were fixed on her face, so determined not to look that it would have been funny if they were playing with friends. But it was just the two of them, and instead the whole room felt steamy as a hot spring. She’d seen them in Yellowstone as a child, stunning opalescent pools of azure and lemon and emerald and amber that looked like they were made to be touched. She could still smell the sulfur warning they gave off, recall a tourist’s red baseball cap that sat abandoned in one. Danger.
“I looked at you,” she reminded him as she smoothed her rumpled hair. An invitation that hung in the air between them, an untouchable sentence that was his to take if he wanted. 
“You did.” His gaze was heavy as it slipped from her eyes to her cheekbones, down to the hollow of her throat where her heartbeat shivered insistently. From her clavicle to her shoulders, and maybe it was the heat or the humidifier humming away from the other side of the room, but she was just a little too warm under his umber eyes. 
“It’s my turn,” she said hoarsely, clearing her throat. Still, she didn’t budge. Couldn’t budge. Didn’t want to break the crackling magic between them. 
“You’re pretty,” he said, twirling the dreidel between his nimble fingers as his eyes continued to devour her. Ghosting across her bare skin, lingering on the curve of her breast, down to the scar on her stomach from a pocket knife incident at summer camp when she was in fifth grade. The space between them seemed minuscule all of a sudden, closing in until they were the only two people left in the city. Even the rest of his apartment seemed non-existent. Just them and the cramped glowy hallway and some piles of clothes and a dreidel that was causing far too much trouble. “You know that?”
That question knocked her breathing shallow. She’d never been asked that. She’d been told before, in the heat of the moment or from a drunk girl in a bar bathroom or when she put in the effort. But never asked do you see what I see when I look at you? 
She didn’t know how to answer that. Peter was still gazing at her, a gentle look that made her feel too warm. “It’s, um. My spin,” she said shakily, holding her palm out, knowing it was only going to get worse the longer they played. But she couldn’t help herself. Not knowing what was unfolding between them had overridden any logic and she selfishly wanted to know what would happen next. 
“Come take it, Ace.” He held it aloft, dangling it carelessly between two fingers. His teasing grin was gone, and his voice had gone raspy. Rough. 
She was a goner. She wanted to climb in his lap and kiss him. And she’d had that thought before and always pushed it away— at a group hang at the bar after work when he laughed at one of her jokes, in the office when he’d snagged the last sprinkle doughnut for her from the break room. In the elevator when he’d bump his shoulder into hers and she’d bump it back, and they’d just stand in the buzzing silence when she really wanted him to bend down and kiss her so thoroughly that they missed their floor. Oh, she was a fool. 
Before she could stop herself, she leaned forward and planted a kiss at the corner of his mouth, a skittish thing that was definitely not HR approved. An echo of July, hardly even a touch. But still, something she shouldn’t have done. Danger. 
Peter looked flabbergasted, and the noise of surprise he made didn’t help. Her name falling from his lips in a half-whispered question mark. His brown eyes wide, like a spaceship had just dropped her from the heavens and she’d landed at his feet. 
Fuck. She’d ruined it all. Read him wrong entirely. And to top it off, she was stuck in his home, in the situation she’d created. And they were both half-naked.
“I am so sorry,” she mumbled as she pulled back, staring down at her bare arms so she didn’t look at his. Humiliation struck her chest like a harpoon, a solid thud between her lungs as the full weight of her actions settled inside her brain. Look what you’ve fucking done now, you ruined the most solid friendship you’ve made all year, what the fuck is wrong with you? “I thought, um, I thought, shit, I—”
“Come here,” he said after a moment, eyes boring holes through her as he touched his mouth, tracing where she’d left cherry chapstick behind. 
“Why?” she asked, arms tight across her chest, back pressed hard against the wall like maybe it could swallow her up, like that Japanese movie from the seventies that she’d watched in college with her roommates while they’d gotten ripshit drunk on cheap beer to celebrate finals being over. Melding with the beams and drywall and asbestos and paint until—
“You missed. Try again.”
She looked up so sharply that she must have looked ridiculous. Practically slack-jawed at his words: come finish what you started, Ace. Maybe her silly little crush wasn’t one-sided. Or maybe he was just bored and they were trapped together for the night and this would pass the time. The thought of being an easy distraction for him didn’t sit well in her bones. 
“Peter, I shouldn’t have done that,” she protested, even though she so badly wanted to do what he’d asked. Just go to him and get what you want. 
“Then I’ll come to you.” The way he was looking at her now was unmistakable, even in the flickering tangerine light. The shadows made him look dangerous in a way that made her blood burn hot as it thrummed under her skin. Maybe she wasn’t a distraction, maybe she’d missed some signs along the way from him because she’d always been oblivious to anyone being attracted to her. It was always her friends pointing out when someone at a bar was gazing at her, or that a barista had left a black permanent marker heart on her iced coffee cup. Maybe this wasn’t danger after all.
“Really?” she whispered hopefully, and true to his word, he leaned in to close the gap between them. 
“Yeah, really.” He sounded nearly incredulous, like it was obvious he wanted her too. Clearly, she had missed some signs and written off their playful relationship as just that because she’d rather keep a friend than risk starting something different and losing him in the process. 
Slowly, his hand came up to cup her jaw, and she leaned into him like some sort of touch-starved thing. Perhaps she was. She’d been on one bad Tinder date since moving to New York and it hadn’t resulted in any touching other than her ducking his pizza kiss and his mouth landing wetly on her cheek.
But Peter was gazing at her like she was gold, and his fingers were leaving stardust on her skin as he slowly dragged his thumb along her cheek. He had the warmest eyes she’d ever seen and she regretted she couldn’t see their true shade as his mouth barely brushed hers. That itself was more intimate than the fact that they were both shirtless and on the precipice of pushing their friendship way out of bounds. Her heart fluttered in her chest as she tried to deepen the kiss, but he pulled back. 
“Tell me you want this,” he said quietly. Almost a plea. “Because I do.”
“I…” she began. She did, she really fucking did. She’d thought of him for months. But there were bridges she shouldn’t cross, right? “You’re my friend.” It sounded like a question, high-pitched and wanting. Entirely unconvincing. 
“We are,” he agreed, his hand slipping down to explore the hollow of her throat. Also entirely unconvincing. Friends didn’t touch each other like that. 
“Can we try not being friends?” she asked, stifling a soft sound when he applied the tiniest bit of pressure to her carotid when he tilted her head to the side. 
“Aw, Ace.” His voice was blurry with arousal, and then his mouth was on her neck in a lazy kiss, tongue tracing and teasing as she grabbed his shoulder to ground herself, her shiny black nails digging into the muscle. “You don’t wanna be my friend anymore?”
“You started it,” she reminded him with a gasp as he pulled her into his lap so she was straddling his thigh. “With your— fuck— with your sacrilegious Hanukkah game.”
“Well, I like you,” he muttered, hands busy tracing her sides, slipping over her ribs to her hips, carefully tracing the scar on her stomach with a questioning frown. “I’ve always liked you.”
That made her heart squeeze. How much time had they lost? “Why didn’t you say something?”
“Why didn’t you?” he countered with an unhurried kiss to her shoulder, and then down to her collarbone. It was quickly becoming difficult to think, but she didn’t really want to. His warm breath skated across her skin as he kissed his way down to the scalloped cup of her bra and back up again.
“It’s…” she trailed off as he nipped at the hollow of her throat. “It’s a— a bridge you aren’t supposed to cross.”
He exhaled sharply as she rocked forward on his thigh, not really meaning to but not caring enough about self-control to not grind against him shamelessly. There was something wanton building in her mind, curling around any logical thought and choking it out until she could only think of Peter Parker. 
“Bridges exist to be crossed.” His mouth was on hers again. He tasted like the soft peppermint candies they’d been eating all evening, and she sighed as she kissed him back, tongue sliding along his as she curled her fingers through his thick hair. She could swear he made some sort of guttural noise when she tugged, but it could have been her whimpering as one of his big hands drifted up to palm her breast, thumb sliding under the black strap until it slipped down her shoulder. 
“The Fourth of July wasn’t an accident,” he gasped between kisses, his other hand firm against her ass as he dragged her somehow closer, knees and calves and thighs tangled ridiculously in front of his door. She wondered if anyone passing by might hear them. “But you started giggling—”
“Okay, so I’m not that bright,” she mumbled in embarrassment, ducking her face against his chest. 
“No, but you’re really pretty and everyone knows that’s what’s most important,” he teased, giving her a wrecked sound when she dragged her teeth along his clavicle. “Shit.”
That clearly did something, because he had her gathered up in his arms instantly, lifted clean off the ground with her legs around his narrow waist. He was half-hard between her thighs and embarrassingly, she whimpered as she greedily rolled her hips into his. He was moving so quickly it took her brain a moment to catch up, until there was a shuffle of their papers falling away from the couch as the backs of her knees collided with it. Normally she’d worry about losing her notes but it looked like she’d be spending the night so she had time to find them later. 
She pulled him on top of her eagerly, her legs parting for him without a thought. His skin was warm against hers, and of all the nights for this to happen, at least it was during a snowstorm. It was like being pinned by a human space heater. His mouth was all over her: neck and cheeks and collarbone and shoulders and breasts until she was arching under him, trying to get more but their stupid pants were still in the way. Part of her felt it was a shame they hadn’t gotten to take off each others’ shirts. The rest of her wished their pants had already been discarded. 
“Parkour,” she whispered, tracing her fingers across his biceps as he trapped her underneath him. His muscles twitched under her touch and she wanted to make him fall apart completely. She spun with possibilities, her brain firing too fast to the point that she couldn’t articulate anything as he sucked a harsh mark against her throat, grinning when she grabbed his hip to try to pull him closer. Her other hand was in his hair again, and when she pulled, his grin turned into a groan. 
“Shit,” he swore as she did it again, grinding his hips into hers and Jesus, she didn’t want to waste time. Maybe she could make him fall apart on round two because again, she wanted. She was so turned on from just making out and grinding against him and just hearing him groaning that she was a bit lightheaded. 
“I knew it,” she breathed, giving the silky strands another tug. “You like that.”
“Intrepid girl reporter,” he muttered, and his voice was a growl, burrowing into her brain as it shot through her uncomfortably fast. If his voice was making her wet, actual sex was going to devastate her. “You’re killing me, Ace. Lemme eat you out.”
Her breath caught. No one had ever asked her something like that either. They’d just done it. Usually not well. Attempted it, more like. She’d put money on Peter Parker’s tongue, though. Some kind of airy okay left her cherry mouth, four gossamer letters floating through the room like dandelion puffs. 
The effect on him was instant. 
“Atta girl,” he muttered gratefully, leaving a trail of kisses down her body as he slid to his knees next to the couch, pulling her so she was sitting up in front of him. His warm fingers brushed her stomach as he fiddled with her jeans, and if the cold was creeping in from the squall, it was impossible to tell. It was like the heat of his touch had temporarily transferred to her, leaving her melting under his touch. “Lift—”
She arched up before he could finish his sentence, and if she was too eager, she didn’t care. He was clearly eager too, tugging her jeans down her thighs and discarding them somewhere in the graveyard of their notes. How the hell was she supposed to read their article in the paper and not think of Peter going down on her? Happy holidays, indeed. 
With a sigh, she sank back against the cushions and gazed up at the ceiling as Peter pressed a kiss against her stomach. Shadows flickered across the ceiling, hazy ghosts that swayed and danced as the candle sputtered for a moment. His warm breath skated across her skin as he kissed along her hip and down her thigh, nudging her legs open gently before hooking her knees over his shoulders. 
“You good?” he asked, toying with the edge of her underwear. “Because you look really fucking good.”
“So do you,” she replied as he tugged the black material down, somehow maneuvering her legs out of them without it being awkward or her knee going straight into his nose like that one time in college that had ended in a nosebleed for her partner. It had been an accident, but it had understandably killed the mood. 
He didn’t touch her right away, instead taking her in like she was a fucking oil painting. Long fingers ghosted along her hips to tug her closer as he mumbled fuckin’ pretty, Ace, and he began to kiss the inside of her thighs until she was squirming. His stubble was scratching at her and his left hand had drifted up to her breast and all she could do was stare blankly as bolts of pleasure zipped through her. Not a single discernible word was in her head, just a jumble of pleaseiwantyoutoeatmeout iwantyouinsideofme imsorryimisunderstoodjuly ireallyfuckingwantyou ireallyfuckinglikeyou. 
“Peter,” she began, and he looked up at her the moment he buried his mouth between her thighs. It was a sight she wouldn’t soon forget, his eyes ink-black in the lemony light as hers rolled back in her head. She clutched his hand to her breast, not sure if she wanted him to feel what he was doing to her heartbeat or because she needed him to touch as much of her as possible. “Peter.”
But he was busy with her cunt, slow licks that had pleasure building inside her that she tried to offset by digging her heel into his back. It only made him chuckle against her, and that low sound alone sent a rush of desire through her. He gave her nipple a gentle pinch before he reached to squeeze her hand. She’d never had her hand held during sex before. It was strangely sweet. For a moment, the span of his palm against hers distracted her entirely. Engulfed was a more appropriate word; enveloped entirely, wholly overwhelmed. And how had it taken until today for her to notice how big—
And then her hips seemed to jerk of their own accord as he circled her clit with his clever tongue, humming in satisfaction when she cried out. Again, that rough sound rolled through her, pulling her in directions she’d never ventured before.
“There you go,” he muttered, his thumb soothing a soft line along hers. He’d let go of her hip and through her own gasps, she could hear the clink of his buckle and zipper and Jesus Christ, if he was doing what she thought he was doing, she was gonna lose it entirely. 
“Peter,” she sighed again, because it was apparently the only word she knew. Under her knee, she could feel his shoulder moving rhythmically and he groaned against her cunt. 
“Taste so fuckin’ good,” he groaned, and her hips were rolling against his mouth greedily and somewhere in the last few moments, pleasure had wound itself tight in the pit of her stomach and brought her dangerously close to the edge. 
And then he paused, pressing sloppy kisses all over her thighs, still holding her hand like it was the most natural thing in the universe. An anchor in the darkness of his living room. He’d been one for her the whole time she’d known him, why would it be anything different right now?
“Don’t tease,” she breathed, the words startlingly thin in her own ears, smoke slipping away from her tongue as fog filled her brain. It wasn’t much, but it was still more than muttering his name over and over like a dizzy little mess. 
“Never,” he grinned before his tongue slanted into her, humming quietly until her eyes rolled back again. She’d never been so enthralled by how someone had sounded in her life, practically ready to hold her breath so she didn’t miss a single noise from him. He made her feel frantic for more, so she reached down to pull on his hair. Vibrations trembled through her as he moaned against her, his fingers digging into her harshly. 
“I’m close,” she whispered as one of his hands came up again to gently pinch her nipple through the thin floral material. Air was razor sharp in her lungs, like she’d run a mile in the snow, but she didn’t care. His mouth was too much, the way he was groaning was fucking sinful, and the fact that he had been jerking off while he devoured her was an overload. “Please, I want it.”
“You want it?” he echoed, moving to rest his stubbled cheek against the inside of her thigh. Even in the candlelight, she could see that his mouth was slick with her and she had to actively stop herself from whimpering at the sight. “You wanna come on my face?”
“Your face is a good place to start.” She could feel that achy feeling slipping away and she felt almost mournful at the loss. 
“Are there other places?” he teased as he crawled over her, his hand slipping between her thighs to circle her clit before the coil in her belly could disappear completely. Instead, it tightened back up and it was difficult to tell if her vision was blurring or it was just the partial darkness that was swallowing them. “Where else, Ace?”
Fucking tease. She started to complain but he kissed her before she could, and she could taste herself as he slipped two fingers inside her. Could feel the hard press of his cock against her hip as he settled on his side next to her, hooking her leg over his thigh. She wanted to reach down and wrap her fingers around him but she couldn’t bring herself to move. 
“Like that,” she mumbled as he slowly began to pump his wrist. “Your hands.”
“Hands, plural?” He grinned, pinching her cheek gently. It was affectionate. Sweet. Unlike his other hand, which was moving in an obscene blur between her thighs.
“Yes,” she sighed as he traced the bow of her lips, gathering the gloss on his thumb and licking it off, his other hand still merciless between her legs. 
“Anywhere else?”
“Peter,” she gasped as he withdrew his fingers, focusing solely on her clit. His gaze was so intense, black holes boring into her as he watched every little microreaction. The tremble of her mouth, the flutter of her eyelashes, the ridiculous stuttering hitch of her breath as she chased his touch with greedy rolls of her hips. “Just—”
Her head went echoey as she fell apart. Whatever he was saying was lost, because her heartbeat was a fucking subway in her ears, drowning out whatever he was saying. It could have been a secret family recipe. Nuke codes. Something about crypto. It didn’t matter. Blinding pleasure rolled over her in a fog, and it was by someone else’s clever fingers for the first time in almost a year. The bad light made it difficult to tell if she’d gone hazy-eyed or not. 
Embarrassingly, she kept shuddering as he kissed her gently, her nose bumping his a little too hard. Her apology stumbled through chattery teeth, and he raised a dark brow. “You okay?”
“No. Yeah,” she amended quickly, her soupy little brain attempting to reconstitute itself. “Felt really good, I just, I haven’t, uh, not since…”
She was rambling. She knew it, and so did he. His grin was affectionate, the one he gave her when she was complaining about something or bemoaning an assignment that should go toward someone in a more junior position. A gentle I know, Ace, it’s all right. 
“I want, um,” she tried to continue, reaching for his cock while her vision was still righting itself. 
“Hey, you can take a second.” He pushed her hand away, taking the time to sweep a tiny little pleasure tear from the corner of her eye. “Just breathe.”
Absurdly, it felt like her lungs had shrunk and she couldn’t get enough air. What the hell he’d managed to do to her, she never know, but she wanted him to do it again. “I wanna touch you too.”
“I’m very glad to hear that,” he said drily, “but slow down. I’m not going anywhere.”
She huffed and sure enough, it left her breathless. Still, she snaked her hand down to touch him, and the surety fled his features, crumbling him instantly. All over a simple brush of her fingers. It was like flipping a switch, and somehow, he was under her and she was straddling his thighs, gazing down at him dizzily. In the spitting light of the candle, she could see his cock hard against his stomach, practically begging for her touch. The couch was too cramped for what she wanted to do, so she slid to her knees on the floor, taking his former spot. “Sit up for me,” she said, raking her nails gently along his thighs as she tugged his pants and boxers down. He’d managed to get them halfway down which was impressive, considering he’d been multitasking between her eating her out and jerking off. For just a moment, she could see a long white scar across his knee as he sat up. Maybe it was from all his parkour. She gave it a peck and he bent, taking her face in his hands to give her an achingly soft kiss, lips chaste against hers. As if he hadn’t just made her fall apart. As if she wasn’t kneeling between his legs to do the same to him. It wasn’t a surprise, Peter being sweet, but sex usually wasn’t like that for her. She wondered if he was like that with other partners. Secretly, she hoped not. She wanted all of it for herself. Every last tender kiss and kind smile and helpless groan— every last bit of him. 
“Hang on,” he mumbled against her mouth as he pulled her close, busy with the clasp of her bra. He was hard against her, pre-come smearing against her ribs as he helped her out of the floral piece.
“What’s wrong?”
A weak laugh left him, but it twisted into a sharp exhale when she wrapped her hand around his cock. It was a powerful feeling, to be the one on her knees, looking up into his dark eyes, yet he was twitching in her hand and his fingers had dug into the couch like it was a lifeline. “Ace…” he trailed off. It sounded like a warning. Perhaps a plea.
She held his gaze, his normally soft brown eyes cast onyx in the glow of the candle. “You don’t want me to touch you?” she asked, circling her thumb over the head, trailing pre-come down the underside of his cock. 
Unexpectedly, he wrapped his hand around hers, stilling her movement. “If you put your mouth on me, I’m not gonna last.” He sounded almost sheepish.
“Oh.” She swallowed hard. The idea of him not being able to deal with her mouth made her feel about as solid as a sandcastle. “Well,” she said as he tugged her to her feet, “then you should take me to bed and fuck me.”
He grinned hungrily as he walked her backward to his room, the door creaking open as it bumped against her ass. The power flickered twice but they remained in the blackness. She wanted so badly to fully see him but there was an eroticism about the dark, a natural blindfold that amplified her remaining senses. 
“Just… hang on,” he mumbled as she sank down on the bed, darting out and returning with the candle, setting it down with a clatter on his nightstand. She wished she could see the posters on his wall, probably some classic films and bands she’d never heard of. He was mumbling to himself about condoms and lube as she got comfortable on his pillows, yanking his nightstand drawer open quickly. It had been maybe two minutes and she missed his touch. Clearly, she had it bad, but he did too, begging to eat her out and telling her he couldn’t handle her sucking his dick. Maybe he’d let her later, but for now, he was gathering her close as he settled between her thighs. 
“You good?” he asked as she wrapped her legs around his hips. “You feeling better about the purpose of bridges?”
She nodded as he shifted slightly, lining himself up with her. “Thanks for reminding me.”
He gazed down at her and she nodded, her breath shaky as he slowly thrust into her. She didn’t mean to, but she dragged her nails across his back a little too hard as he took his time bottoming out. The stretch of him was almost too much, but it was so good that she didn’t know what to say other than his name again. He kissed her sweetly as he set a slow rhythm, but all she could hear were the soft noises she was making as he fucked her.
“You sound really good,” he grunted, a guttural noise falling against her throat as she started to push back at him. “Really fuckin’ pretty.”
“So do you.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere with me.”
“You do,” she insisted as he kissed her again before fervently trailing his way down her throat. “When you groan, your voice gets all low, and I…”
“So you want me to be loud for you?”
“I’ll pull your hair again,” she teased, and he rewarded her with a harder thrust before he buried his face in her shoulder.
She kept one hand on his back, enjoying the flex of his muscles under her touch while she gently played with his hair, tugging sharply enough every few minutes to pull a whine from him. Another sound to lock into her brain for eternity.
They stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each others’ arms, bathed in golden light. She liked how the curves of her body pressed perfectly against his muscles. It was almost too idyllic, like she’d dreamed it up after falling asleep in his bed like he’d offered and she’d wake up to find herself alone.
Eventually, he began to nip and kiss at her chest, finding his way back to her lips as she dug her heel into his back, selfishly trying to have as much of him as she could take.
“You keep kissing me,” she murmured against his mouth. Everything tasted like her smeared gloss, cloying and artificial but somehow perfect. 
“Making up for lost time.” His hips were lazy between her thighs, almost too gentle as he worked her mouth open again greedily, both hands on her cheeks. For a moment, she imagined he could leave his fingerprints tattooed along her cheekbones, faint whorls and arches and loops pressed into her skin. “Shoulda done this months ago.”
Again, a little twinge of sorrow pulled at her. How could she think he’d accidentally leaned too close that night? Why did she never want to believe someone might want her? “I’m not always intrepid.”
Peter was busy with her throat, leaving no inch of it unkissed, and the attention made her chest ache. Just friends. What a dummy she’d been. “Well, you know. Nes gadol haya sham. In my apartment.”
She couldn’t help laughing, and his grip tightened on her sharply as he dropped his face against the hollow of her throat. “Sorry, sorry.”
“Gonna kill me,” he groaned with a hard thrust that knocked the breath from her lungs. Slowly, she tangled her fingers in his thick hair and tugged, and again, he thrust hard enough that it pulled a gasp from her. It was an obscenely full feeling that made her never want to leave his bed. Thank God for a last minute assignment that they’d decided to make an evening out of and bad weather. A great miracle, indeed. 
“Fuck,” was all she could manage. It was crass and inelegant, but it seemed to work. Vaguely, she was aware that he’d pushed her to the edge of the bed, and that she was on the verge of turning into a rag doll. Whatever ideas she’d had about being the one to pull him apart had clearly fallen by the wayside, because the idea of being fucked into his mattress was so much more appealing than making him beg.  
“What do you feel so fuckin’ good for, huh?” he muttered, hooking his finger under her chin so he could give her a filthy kiss that made supernovas shudder through her. 
“I—” she began, but a whine came out of her as he pulled her knees up against his ribs, and somehow he was deeper inside her and hitting something that was making her heart soar. “Peter—”
“There you go,” he soothed. She didn’t even care that he was fully pinning her, making it impossible for her to roll her hips into his. He sounded too good to try to fuck him back, groaning and panting against her neck with each thrust, mumbling filth and sweetness between kisses as she dug her nails into his shoulders again. It should have been a vulnerable position, the way he had her thighs spread and held in place, but she’d never felt uncomfortable with him in her life and she certainly didn’t now. She only felt good and desperate for whatever he gave her. 
“I’m gonna c—” she tried, but another hard thrust made her forget what she was trying to say. 
“I can feel you,” he growled. He was bottoming out with every stroke, and he wasn’t being particularly rough with her but it was still enough that her thighs were beginning to ache deliciously. “Tightening up around my cock.”
Just hearing him spit the words out made her gasp out his name. Never in her life had she gotten off on hearing someone; she hadn’t even known it was a thing. But every growl and moan and whisper and hitch of his breath had been spiraling through her and building low in her belly until it had her on the edge again. 
“Can you come with me?” she managed, biting the inside of her cheek to stave off her impending orgasm. “Please?”
His thrusts were getting sloppier, and whether it was because of what she’d just asked him or because he was truly close, she wasn’t sure. Either way, she’d take it.
“That’s what you want?” His voice had gone from teasing to rough to absolutely wrecked throughout the night, and that was almost enough to push her over the edge again. Her name spilled from his lips against her mouth as his grip tightened on her. It was one thing to hear Ace growled out, but hearing her real name sent silvery stars streaking through her field of vision. She’d always thought seeing stars was for cartoon characters getting hit in the head with anvils, but it was real enough that it made her shatter apart in his arms again.
He was right behind her, hips harsh against hers while she ran her nails up the back of his neck. She didn’t even know what she was telling him, something like justlikethat justlikethat while she tried to recover her own breath. He was like a slowing train, his breathing ruined as she smoothed his hair back from his slightly glazed eyes.
“Hey,” she whispered as he kissed the tip of her nose with a dizzy grin. Even in the flickering light, all she could focus on was his smile. 
“Am I crushing you?”
She shook her head with a sigh, but he still untangled himself before she wanted him to, mumbling stay right there for me. She watched him disappear across the room to get cleaned up, and she arched into a stretch, rubbing her eyes briefly. The bed felt cold without him, and she snuggled under the blankets, suddenly aware of the weather again. The catalyst for her being in his bed in the first place. She’d certainly survived her first squall. 
The bed dipped under his weight and he was on her in an instant, pulling her into his warm embrace immediately. She could feel him grinning as he kissed her throat, see it vaguely through the ever-shifting shadows of his bedroom. It had been there all night, slipping through jokes and feverish kisses and orgasms and filthy words. 
“What?” she asked, and she sounded laughably dreamy. Fluffy as a princess dress, a sugary little macaron of a word.
“Nothin’. I’m just…” he searched for a moment before landing another kiss against her forehead, “I’m just happy.”
“Oh.” She was too. Overwhelmingly so, like sunshine was spreading through her from the inside out. All this man did was make her feel wanted and it turned her into a complete sap. “Peter?”
“Ace?” He was bordering on drowsy, fingers tracing shapes against her shoulder. She recalled the Nazca Lines she’d learned about in middle school, colossal geoglyphs left behind in the Peruvian desert. The Spider. The Hummingbird. The Flower. Expansive enough for the whole world to see. But his touch was just for her, art only she got to experience. A temporary secret on her skin. 
“I’m glad you were my friend first,” she admitted, kissing his chest. Mentally mapping where she could leave lines of her own next time, maybe write Ace in looping cursive across his back. Maybe her own name over his heart some day. “I needed a friend.”
He hummed in agreement, lacing his fingers through hers and kissing her knuckles one by one. “Me too.”
Outside, the squall had finally died down. She’d become so used to the constant noise of the city that it was strange for it to be absent in the aftermath of the storm. Gone were the horns and squealing tires and shouting voices that carried up to her window. 
But it was nicer to listen to the thump of Peter’s heart as she fell asleep in his strong arms. 
~
Title comes from Make Me Feel by Janelle Monáe. The Japanese film I referenced is Hausu, a film I firmly believe everyone should see at some point in their life.
Taglist: @abibliophobiaa @withahappyrefrain @letmeplaytheliontoo @wicked-remarks @liz-allyn @mortwig @cordiformity @silkspiderstuff @rae-gar-targaryen @tastesupremacy @squiddtheekidd @spidervee @quobber @secretaccountlol @b3autyfuldisast3r
Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist! I'd love to know what you thought if you read this.
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imarvelatthestars · 2 years
Text
Zise: (In) The Beginning
Notes: Set during X-Men: 1st Class. This is my attempt at filling the severely lacking amount of Jewish!Readers in Erik's tag.
"Zise" means a sweet person in Yiddish.
Pairings: Erik Lensherr x Jewish!Reader
Warnings: feminine language used to refer to reader
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Part 2
"Curious place."
Charles glances across the taxi at his friend and smiles. "I quite like it," he muses. "The river, the hills, the trees." He cant catch Erik's eyes, but he tries anyway. "How long has it been? Since you've visited one?"
Erik's voice is smaller than he's ever heard it when he finally answers, "A very long time." But there's an unspoken implication that says it's been long enough that he simply doesn't remember anymore.
"Will you be alright, Erik?"
The taxi comes to a stop, jolting the pair forward in their seats before Erik has a chance to answer. He considers Charles and his question for a moment, but the firm line of his mouth is a clear indication that the conversation is over. Erik clambers onto the pavement while Charles pays the driver, and he can't help worrying that this visit may be difficult for Erik, that it may reawaken a slew of painful memories for his friend. He can only hope that coming here won't be a mistake.
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The bell above the door chimes as it swings open and you look up from your desk with a jerk, quickly pushing your book under the closest stack of papers. You wouldn't want anyone to think you're bored or, arguably worse, slacking off on the clock. So you greet the two visitors with a welcoming smile.
"Welcome, gentlemen. What can I do for you?"
The man on your left, a bit shorter than his companion and with a smidge more hair, offers you a charming smile. "My name is Charles Xavier and this is my friend, Erik Lensherr." His friend nods in your direction. "We're looking for a young lady, perhaps you can help us? I believe she works here."
"Of course. What's her name?"
You start to pull out a pad of paper and a pen, expecting them to ask for the rabbi's wife or the other girl who works in the office part-time and you're fully prepared to give them a phone number or address to aid their search, but instead they ask for you. By name. Your pen scratches along the pad as you look up at the man on the right, the tall one who said your name.
"That's you, isn't it?" says the shorter one, Charles. He has his forefinger pressed to his temple.
"Why?" you ask as you look between the two. You're trying your best to keep your voice as normal sounding as possible in case your nerves are getting the better of you.
Suddenly, you realize that you don't know why these men are here. You don't recognize them and they both have foreign accents. It could be nothing, but it could also be something. Something awful. This is, after all, the only shul in town and you're no stranger to threats of violence that end in shutting the whole place down for days or weeks at a time.
Charles still has his finger pressed to his temple, his eyes distant yet still focused on you. Like he's not really looking at you. The other man, Erik, is frowning slightly, eyes searching emptily for something you can't comprehend with his head tilted to one side. Then he blinks and he looks right at you, and you wilt under the intensity of his gaze.
"Please," he says as he steps toward you with an arm outstretched, "don't be alarmed." The pen in your hand wobbles, then suddenly flies up and over the desk into his waiting hand. He smiles and the pen floats back to you until it rests atop the paper. "You have a gift, like we do, and we're here to ask your help. Offer you a job."
There's a million thoughts running through your head, so fast and so loud that you can hardly wade through them. Did he actually just levitate a pen? How did he do that? Does that mean he's like you, with a secret power that manipulates the world around you? What else can he do? How could your own powers measure up to his? How did they even know about you or where to find you? Why-?
We can answer all your questions if you choose to come with us.
It's Charles, the one who keeps touching his temple. His voice is inside your head.
Charles grins and shakes his head. "We both thought so about ourselves for a very long time," he says aloud, "but there are so many more of us out there. Mutants with gifts you couldn't even begin to imagine."
"I thought I was the only one."
You frown. "Is that what we are? Mutants?"
"Yes. And we could really use your help."
This is all starting to getting a little too bizarre. It's making the vein above your eye start to tick. And what's all this about them needing your help? For what? What could you possibly have to offer a couple of strange, inexplicably gifted men?
"Why don't you show us?" Charles prompts, his voice soft and low.
With a fleeting thought somewhere along the lines of 'this might as well happen', you stand up and reach out for the vase of half wilted flowers at the edge of the desk. You focus your mind on the details of each petal, the way the leaves crimp and curl after being without water for a few days, how the stems are bent near the bottom from the force of being haphazardly shoved in, and you get to work. The familiar tingling sensation of something emanating from your soul all the way down your fingers and through the air into the flowers brings the ghost of a smile to your lips. It's been too long since you last used your abilities, long enough that you'd forgotten the bliss that came with it. When you snap out of your trance a few moments later, the stems of each flower have thickened, the leaves unfurled and now a rich shade of green, their missing petals have regrown and each bud is blossoming brilliantly and fragrantly as if they'd been picked from a greenhouse moments ago. And although you hadn't meant to, a new flower has grown in the center of the bouquet - a red rose still in the process of opening its bud.
You glance about the room to ensure that no one had entered the room and seen what you'd done. The last thing you need is for the rabbi to walk in on you performing magic tricks for visitors. But instead of the usual panic you feel after using your powers, you feel a sense of peace begin to settle in your chest. It feels good not to hide, to have your talents sought after. And when you finally find the courage to look Erik and Charles in the eyes, your face flushes with heat; they look proud, impressed, happy.
"Remarkable," says Charles.
And Erik nods. "Quite." His eyes are the bluest blue you've ever seen.
٠ ¤ ٠ ¤ ٠ ¤ ٠
Just an hour later, you're in your bedroom, frantically cramming your clothes, siddur, and toiletries into your suitcase while Charles and Erik chat with your parents in the living room. You keep replaying the phone call with the rabbi's wife in your head, over and over again, wondering if you've just made a terrible mistake. You'd given her a hug and a kiss on the cheek in thanks for covering the rest of your shift, and in farewell, and promised you'd explain everything soon before hurrying out of the shul hot on Erik and Charles's heels. What would she think? What would she tell her husband? What would your family and the rest of the community whisper when you didn't return on time from your mysterious visit to D.C. with the equally mysterious federal agents?
A sudden knock at your door jolts you from your downward spiral and you lift your head in time to see Erik open the door. "Pardon my intrusion, but Charles could hear you panicking." He taps a finger against his head and almost smiles. "I thought perhaps you could use some company."
From what you can tell, Erik is a kind man. Patient, observant. You appreciate it more than you feel comfortable admitting.
"Thank you."
"It's nothing to be scared of, you know. This Division X thing."
Easy for him to say, but you mostly believe him. He is, after all, just like you. Different. Both of them.
"I can't say you'll fit in very well, though."
Something hot sparks in your throat and you turn to face him, brows furrowed and your mouth already open, but he's grinning.
You huff, hands on your hips. "Why would you say that?" you demand.
Erik rubs his chin as he bites back his laughter. "Because none of the other recruits are quite as frum as you are."
The world seems to come to a halt and you're torn between frustration and shock. Why the hell is he mocking you? Where does he even find the audacity to do so in your own home? But then... how would he even know the word 'frum' if he isn't-?
"I-I didn't know you were-..." Your eyes are starting to water. "Erik, I-."
That's when you realize that he isn't mocking you, he's just teasing. Because he's Jewish. And if you could, you'd throw your arms around him and hug him within an inch of his life.
"I'm glad you're coming with us," he says, your name a pleasant ending to his sentence.
You have no idea what's in store for you, but you feel twice as brave as you did an hour ago. Division X, mutant abilities, this mysterious mission you've been recruited for, it all seems insignificant compared to the knowledge that you won't be alone anymore. Because Erik will be there too.
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xuanelle · 1 year
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goyim really will go out of their way to defend the mcu's bad casting to the point that they'll say being jewish doesn't matter to every character.
and like I think if you think being jewish isn't important to the guy who is literally a golem and whose character was based after his jewish creator, the jewish holocaust survivor who's experience in the holocaust radicalized him and shaped the rest of his life, the son of an orthodox rabbi who's upbringing as an orthodox jew shapes the person he grows up to be, the guy who is a reform jew and who had a jewish wedding and the girl who literally wore a star of david in her first appearance who constantly talks about how proud she is of being jewish, you should do some self reflection and realize you're just antisemitic
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