Eight Nights (in December)

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Summary: The story of how two children and and their very handsome dad come into your life during the holiday season. Or - is it possible to fall for someone before you ever make it to date #1?

Pairing: Marc Spector x gn!reader, Steven Grant x gn!reader (Jake is mentioned)

Word Count: 7465

Content: regular fluff, domestic fluff, mentions of food, The Spector-Grant-Lockley family celebrates Hanukkah. Seasonal fun, nothing religious in this story. Fic does not indicate reader's gender, description or what, if anything, they celebrate. No use of y/n. This fic is for everyone! Not beta'd.

I named this fic after the beautiful Hanukkah song "Eight Nights" by Rosi Golan. Go listen!

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"Ask themmm."

The whisper of a child grabs your attention. You whirl around, causing the jingle bells dangling from your ridiculous hat to ring.

"Be quiet," a young girl hisses to the boy beside her, but he is not deterred.

"Ask me what?" You smile down at the adorable duo.

The little boy's eyes drop to his feet as he scuffs his foot uncertainly.

"He wants a candy cane," his sassy companion informs, folding her arms over her chest. "But I told him they're for kids going to see Santa."

"Oh. Are you guys here to see Santa?" You ask them. "Because there's a long line unless your family made a reservation. Do you want me to help you find the end of the line?"

"No," the little girl replies, tossing her mane of chocolate curls. "We don't need to see Santa. We're Jewish."

"Ohhh," you nod understandingly, kneeling down to their level. "That’s wonderful. You have eight special nights, don't you?"

The little boy's brown eyes sparkle as his long eyelashes blink up at you. "Yes, eight nights in a row, and we play dreidel and make lakkas."

"Latkes," the little girl corrects. She peers up at you as if giving you all the important info. "He always says it wrong."

You chuckle at how cute they are. They could be the same age, but the girl acts a little older. Both of them have bright brown eyes shining under thick eyebrows, olive skin and matching mops of brown curls.

"Max! Elle!" A frantic male voice calls. Their little heads snap up as a very handsome man comes jogging around the corner. As soon as he sees them, he sinks to his knees and pulls one of them into each arm. "You guys scared me." He presses a quick but fierce kiss to each of their foreheads.

"It was Max," Elle doesn't hesitate to blame, who you assume is her brother. "He's trying to ask this elf right here if he can have a candy cane. I told him it's only for kids who want to meet Santa and we aren’t here to meet Santa."

The man nods, climbing to his feet to address you.

"Sorry about that, we'll get out of your way," he apologizes, practically walking away from you already.

"No harm done." You grant him a warm smile, boldly stepping forward. "They are more than welcome to have a candy cane if it's alright with you. These are a kosher brand."

He makes a face and you wonder if you’ve overstepped. “They-they mentioned they weren’t here to see Santa - "

"Can we, Daddy? Can we have one?" Max bounces on his toes in anticipation.

"Uhhh, sure," he relents, "but any more sneaking off and we're going straight home. No carousel and no hot chocolate."

"Ooh, did you know it's so yummy to stick your candy cane in your hot chocolate?" You pipe, producing two sticks of candy for the kids.

"Really?" Elle skeptically questions. "Won't it just melt?"

"Eventually," you confirm, presenting her with a candy cane. "But not before you get the most delicious mint hot chocolate ever." Your eyes glisten with merriment because you love seeing the joy on kids' faces.

"Ooh, me, me!" Max holds out his hand to receive your offering. "I want to try hot mint chocolate."

"It's mint hot chocolate," Elle corrects.

The man regards you carefully, seeming protective of them. "Uh, guys, what do you say to this nice...elf?"

"Thank yoouuu," they dutifully chime.

Your cheeks go hot as you imagine what you must look like to this man, in elf garb. But he surprises you, mouthing a grateful 'thank you' over the kids' heads, his warm brown eyes shimmering with something kind, or at least relieved. His shoulders turn away from you, as if ready to bolt - his hands cupping the children’s shoulders as if to guide them away. But he makes an effort to be polite.

"One more thing," you risk his indulgence a moment longer, reaching for a flier. "Have you been down to the south end of the plaza? We have a giant menorah there. We'll be lighting it next week." You lean back down to kid-level. "And we'll be passing out gelt instead of candy canes."

"Gelt?" Elle breathes in amazement, while her brother vibrates with excitement.

"Daddy, can we go? Can we go, please?"

Mr. Handsome Dad stares at you a little too long and you hope you haven’t meddled.

He gives them a warning look, but it’s warm. "We’ll see.”

"Okay," they pipe in unison.

He takes the flier you've offered and smiles sincerely, his shoulders relaxing a fraction. "Thanks again. This is..." He drags in a breath, nodding to the Christmas emporium where Santa is basically enthroned and ready to be worshiped. "This can be hard to explain. So thank you." His eyes lock onto yours and you get a really good look at how attractive he is - you can definitely see where the kids get their features.

"You're so welcome," you kindly return, offering your hand and your name. "I'm the Event Coordinator for this plaza, and the mall too."

Electricity zings up your arm, straight to your heart as he shakes your hand. It takes him an extra few moments to offer anything more. "I, uh…I'm Marc. And this is Elle and Max, my kids."

"And Steven too, and Jake!" Max excitedly informs, while Elle seems to hush him.

Marc’s gaze falters as he hugs his children closer. "Uh, thanks again. I really appreciate it. Say 'bye', guys."

"Byeeee," they cutely chorus, chomping happily on their candy canes as they scurry away.

Whew.

He is...really handsome and those kids? The three of them must be someone's holiday wish come true.

Oh well, back to work, overseeing the Santa line.

You've worked with the mall for years, but once this newer shopping plaza opened, you jumped at the job opportunity. The outdoor shopping, variety of restaurants, and high end stores attract tons of business. Even the families unable to afford some of the shops bring their kids to the play areas and the events you plan and coordinate each month.

It’s important that people feel welcome here. You just finished up a kids' Diwali event last week. Santa arrived to govern all of December, and Hanukkah is coming up quick. Those are just a few of the many wonderful events you champion.

Convenient, since the menorah lighting is about to change your life.

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Marc tucks his children into bed, his mind preoccupied by the events of the evening. Max and Elle wandered away from him for just a couple of minutes, almost sending him into a full panic. They were prone to do this, always one of them blaming the other. Sometimes he got so worried that Steven or even Jake had to resolve the situation.

The worry is most acute when it reminds him of Randall, who loved to do the same.

He should have known one or both of them would be enchanted by the Santa Claus display. What child wouldn’t be? He found it sweet, however, when he realized they were only in search of a candy cane.

Which led them to you. Marc’s every instinct is to protect his children from anyone new. They’ve been through enough. Their mother passed when they were babies and since then, Marc, Steven and Jake have worked like hell to provide a safe and stable environment for them. This includes individual and family therapy, and one hell of an amazing nanny: Esperanza.

Jake particularly loves the influence of their sixty-year-old nanny on the children. She’s kind but firm, resourceful, a great cook, and she helps him teach the children Spanish.

Venturing back to the kitchen to pour himself a drink, Marc notices your flier resting on the kitchen counter. No way this kind invitation will be overlooked by his daughter. She never misses a thing, just like her mom.

His first instinct is always to withdraw and he wants to now. Maybe Steven will be up for taking the kids out to the menorah lighting.

But there’s something about you…

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"Look, right there!"

You hear your name called several days later. Two fireballs scurry toward you, wrapped adorably in winter gear, brown curls poking carelessly out of their matching hats.

“Guys, slow down,” Marc calls after them hopelessly. Something resembling a groan mixed with a chuckle rumbles out of him as he catches up.

“Heyyy, it’s Max and Elle, right?” You question, smiling warmly down at them before gazing at their dad. “And Marc?”

“They remember, I told you they would remember,” Elle pipes.

Max ignores her, stepping close and speaking softly. “Where’s your elf hat?”

You exchange glances with Marc. “I left it in Santa land since we’re here to light the menorah.”

“The nine candle menorah is special for Hanukkah. It’s called a chanukiah,” Elle informs, as she seems prone to do regularly.

“You are absolutely right,” you agree with her, glancing back at her dad. “So smart.”

“Oh, she won’t let you forget it,” he quickly replies, although his eyes glow with adoration.

You kneel down to talk to the kids. “Who wants to help light the shamash candle?”

Both kids excitedly volunteer but you see Elle take a step back. “It’s okay. You can let Max do it. You probably only need one kid, right?” She asks, brown eyes wide and pleading.

“If it’s okay with your dad, I could use the extra help.” All three of you wait for Marc to answer.

“Fine with me,” he shrugs. The kids are the reason he paced his room for a half hour, mustering up the gumption to bring them tonight. They might as well enjoy the event.

The kids cheer and you take them over to the gigantic menorah, which elicits an excited clap and cheer from each of them.

A decently sized crowd gathers to hear a blessing and get ready for the lighting. The wonder on Max and Elle’s faces immediately reminds you how important it is to include as many people as possible in events, and also sponsor non holiday themed events for those who don’t celebrate.

After the beautiful but brief ceremony concludes and the appropriate torches are lit, a fire truck pulls up, dazzling the kids with a horn honk and flashing sirens.

“Who’s ready for the gelt drop?” A local firefighter calls out to the kids, who jump up and down excitedly.

Marc groans but can’t help but chuckle as he jogs after his two little firecrackers, hoping they will appropriately accept a piece or two of gelt rather than beg for the whole bag or start climbing up the fire truck’s ladder.

If it’s up to Elle, she’ll somehow activate the siren or drown every member of the gathered crowd with the hose.

You watch as the firefighters “sprinkle” gelt from the top of the fire truck, amused at the children’s antics.

Marc, Elle and Max find you several minutes later, proudly carrying a stash of chocolate goodness in the holiday bags provided.

“I foresee a trip to the dentist in their future,” Marc jokes, one arm slung around each of their small shoulders.

What a sight these three are. Such a gorgeous little group and so sweet, you can hardly stand it.

“Daddy, the firefighters said we could look at the truck, so can we please go back now?” Elle begs, wrigging free of his protective grip.

“Nooo, we gotta say thanks first,” Max dutifully pipes.

The children thank you, leaving their father holding their hats, scarves and bags of candy.

He sheepishly chuckles, shifting all the items to one arm. “I thought it would be such a relief to get rid of the diaper bag when they got old enough,” he explains, “but I still end up holding all their stuff anyway.”

“They are so cute,” you can’t help but tell him. “And smart. You must be really proud of them.”

“I am,” he sincerely agrees. “They’re my whole world.”

Your heart melts as his fatherly gaze lingers on them a little longer, just to make sure they’re safe.

Finally, he tears his eyes away and meets your own, only for a moment, before flickering away. “Thank you again, so much, for this. My kids have been looking forward to it for days. They, uh…they couldn’t wait to see you again.”

“Me?” You ask, astonished and hesitant to admit you’d spent the last few days dwelling on thoughts of the three of them too. “I was so glad you guys could come out tonight. I was hoping you would.”

Marc blinks over at you, seeming surprised. Maybe even pleased. “You…have kids?” He flinches at his own question. Probably too personal.

“Me? No. No, I…I would love to. But…not yet,” you somewhat vaguely answer. “Just haven’t found myself in that place…if that makes sense?”

Probably too much information to explain how your ex-fiance finally admitted he never wanted kids just a few months before your wedding…

“It makes sense,” he agrees. “You’re ready when you’re ready. And sometimes it happens before you’re ready.”

“Oh, I’m ready,” you accidentally blurt, immediately feeling your face warm at your overshare. “Sorry. I, um…it’s a long story.”

“It’s okay,” he sympathizes, feeling the slightest bit of warmth bloom inside him. You’re kind. So he tries. “It’s…nice…to talk to another grownup. My five and six year old are great company but…this is nice.” He swallows, a very serious wrinkle appearing between his dark eyebrows. You believe him, but the words almost seem difficult for him to express.

“It’s nice for me too, really.” You grant him a genuine smile. “I guess I thought Max and Elle might be twins,” you add, glancing over to where the kids are climbing all over the fire truck.

“They may as well be,” he explains. “They’re twelve months apart. Elle is older - I’m sure you could tell that. And Max was an even bigger surprise than Elle. Love ‘em though. So glad I have ‘em.”

“They’re wonderful,” you gush, thrilled that he seems to have warmed to you some. “I think children are such a blessing.”

“They definitely think they are,” Marc jokes, the wrinkle between his eyebrows softening.

It doesn’t take the kids long to bound back over, bursting with news about how great the firetruck is.

You remind them of the free hot chocolate, but Elle informs you Marc is taking them to the Spaghetti Barn. The name sounds rustic or contradictory at best, but it’s actually a popular place.

“Daddy,” Max asks, blinking up at his father while pulling on the sleeve of his navy blue coat. “Can they come with us? To eat spaghetti in the barn?”

Marc’s eyes dart over to you apologetically. “Oh, um…”

You feel bad for putting him on the spot. And you do need to wrap up the event, despite the feeling inside you drawing you to this little family.

“Oh, it’s okay - “

“You’re more than welcome to - “

You and Marc speak at the same time, a bit flustered as four brown eyes and chubby cheeks peer up at the two of you expectantly.

Elle is uncharacteristically quiet, but Max reaches for your hand. “You’ll please have spaghetti with us? It’s really good and they have bread too.”

Chewing on your lip, you bend over a little. “I think you guys might have some family time planned. I don’t want to intrude on that.”

“You’re not,” Elle finally chimes, sounding much older than her six years. “Daddy wants you to, right, Dad?”

Marc shifts from foot to foot, handing the kids back their piles of winter gear and candy. “You guys go thank the firefighters for me, okay? I’ll be right there.”

Elle seems to understand what’s happening - that she’s being sent away so the grownups can talk. Reluctantly, she helps her brother with his hat and drags him away.

“I’m sorry - "

“Sorry about that - "

You both start again.

“Uh, you first,” you decide, your cheeks going warm for about the hundredth time since you met Marc.

“Look,” he starts, focusing in on you. His hands are free now and his eyes find yours once more. “I know you’re working right now, and…we’re strangers to you. It’s okay. You don’t have to say yes to my kids.”

“Oh…” you start to say, disappointment creeping into the center of your chest.

“But,” he goes on, stepping closer to you, “We would love to have you join us, if you're free, and…if you want to.”

“Really?” You breathe, feeling a smile brighten your face. “I would absolutely love to.”

“Yeah?” He returns, smiling back at you. “Okay. Good.” He glances around, noticing a crowd gathering at the hot chocolate table. “Need some help here first?”

It takes you over a half hour to conclude the menorah lighting event and walk over to the Spaghetti Barn. Thankfully, Marc called ahead, so, despite the line going out the restaurant door, you only have to wait about ten minutes for your table for four.

As you eat and laugh and share with this little family, they burrow under your skin and seep into your heart, one laugh at a time. By the end of dinner, you realize you’re crazy about all three of them.

The thing is, you still have no idea if Marc is in a relationship, and, after Max mentions this Steven several more times, you wonder if he’s the other half of the team raising these kids. The name Jake also comes up again, but Marc changes the subject and never elaborates.

The only female name mentioned is Esperanza, but Elle is quick to clarify that she is their nanny.

At any rate, they seem like a wonderful family, so you invite them back to the plaza for another event. Only this one is a volunteer event, packaging toys and toiletries for children who need them.

They both enthusiastically agree, but, as usual, nothing gets past Elle. “Will Hanukkah be over before then?” She turns to you. “I want you to come over and eat latkes with us.”

“Yeah, and play dreidel!” Max adds.

“Guys, calm down,” Marc mildly warns. “Let the grownups decide what our plans are, okay?”

You find yourself walking them to their car, waiting as Marc tucks them into the back seat before shutting the door.

“Sorry again about my very blunt children,” He chuckles, seeming more relaxed with you now.

“It’s okay, I really don’t mind,” you assure him. “I had such a great time tonight. It was so sweet of you to invite me along. And don’t worry about what they said, I understand. I don’t want to step on any toes at home. I hope I’ll see you guys at the next event.”

“You’re not, you know,” Marc assures you, boldly easing closer to you. “You’re not stepping on any toes. I promise.”

“Right, okay,” you whisper, swiping your tongue over your lips because you suddenly feel thirsty. “Just wasn’t sure who might be waiting for you at home.”

There. You said it. He would have to be an idiot to not recognize the blatant are you single? question you just posed.

The corner of his mouth curls knowingly. His social reservations aside, he knows how to talk to a someone when he wants to. “It’s just the three of us. No one else.”

You swallow, nodding quickly.

“I have to be honest though,” he smoothly intones, his smirk making his dark eyes twinkle. “I burn the damn latkes every time.”

You burst out laughing and he joins you, the corners of his eyes crinkling in merriment.

“I’ll consider myself warned,” you tease back.

This leaves the two of you on the edge of…something. You’re not sure if you’ve actually been invited over to his home, and you can tell there’s something in him that’s closed off somehow. Maybe it’s this Steven? Or maybe it’s the mother of his children.

Whatever it is, he gives into it because the wrinkle between his eyebrows returns, he withdraws, and the two of you part ways without any plans to meet up further.

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Marc Spector is something else. He’s a beautiful man - that much is obvious. He’s rigid and there’s something stern in his countenance. But one look at those children and he shimmers.

You find yourself tossing and turning in bed, replaying your magical night together. The children’s eyes twinkling as they soaked in your attention, their little curls bouncing as they chattered away animatedly.

The candlelight reflected in Marc’s matching eyes - the way the corners of his eyes would crinkle when his children made him laugh was stunning. The slight struggle as he attempted to be firm with them, but hesitated to speak to them with anything except gentleness.

Whatever there is to know about this man, you want to discover it. You’ll get a chisel or a shovel and dig and excavate until you find the gems that assuredly lay buried inside.

But you’re getting ahead of yourself. You don’t even know who this Steven is…

Until, two days later, you do.

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Thankfully, you do see the kids at the next event only a couple nights later. But Marc isn’t with them.

Well, he is, but…he’s not Marc.

Max runs up and throws his arms around you before tugging insistently on your sleeve. “This is my dad Steven.”

“You’re not supposed to say it like that,” Elle huffs, holding onto…not Marc’s hand.

Max pouts for a moment, but their dad steps forward and extends his hand. “Not sure if Marc told you but…we’re a system. I’m Steven,” he announces in a lovely British accent. His brown eyes sparkle with warmth and openness. His dark eyebrows arch with curiosity and he shakes your hand with fervor.

“It’s called DID,” Elle informs. “But we’re totally normal, right, Dad? And honest too.”

“Oh god, sorry,” Steven quickly apologizes, his long lashes kissing his cheeks as he blinks, flustered. “Em…it’s a pleasure to meet you. I know you’ve met our children.”

“Yes, I have,” you beam at the kids, a little confused, but thrilled to see them nonetheless. “Max and Elle helped light the shamash candle for the menorah. They did an awesome job.”

Max tugs on Steven’s gray jacket, his soft voice as sweet as a tinkling bell. “See, Daddy, I told you they’re so nice.”

“Thank you, Max,” you chuckle. You gaze into the eyes of this man whose face you think about all too often, but is completely new to you at the same time. “Steven, it’s very nice to meet you. Your children are wonderful.”

“What do you two say to that, then?” He prompts, with an arm around each of their shoulders.

“Thank you,” they dutifully chime.

Steven offers to get to work, helping box toys and toiletries for children in need. You help everyone get organized, promising to check back on them soon. Once you get a free moment, you meander back their way, noticing the stark differences in the way Marc and Steven hold themselves.

Steven’s shoulders are a bit hunched and his clothes are…colorful. His gray coat covers a vibrant, patterned sweater and his scarf is another print entirely. You’ve only met Marc twice but he was all neat solids and neutrals, with styled, kempt hair. Steven’s curls carelessly tumble across his forehead, and you try not to stare as he continuously pushes them aside while leaning over to speak to his children.

Where Marc hangs back and lets the kids take the lead, Steven jumps right in and the children gladly follow. His eyes scrunch with laughter as he entertains the kids, pantomiming some sort of story with the items about to be boxed.

You almost hesitate to approach them, content to observe how good he is with them, like Marc, but in a vastly different way.

He’s apparently telling a story so riveting now, that several other children have paused their box-packing tasks to listen to him explain. You creep closer and hear him relaying something fascinating about ancient Egypt.

“Did the ancient Egyptians have Santa Claus?” One girl questions.

“They do now,” Steven answers her, “for those who celebrate - he’s called Baba Noel. But in ancient Egypt, there was a celebration for the birth or rebirth of the sun god…” He rambles on for another minute before he catches you watching.

“Alright, back to work, you lot,” he pretends to scold, with a sly wink your way. “No hot chocolate for slackers.”

He catches you giggling and shrugs his shoulders, smiling sheepishly.

The event finishes up and everyone enjoys some piping hot chocolate. You’ve found it’s one of the cheapest freebies to give out at winter events. Max and Elle play for a few minutes with the other children and Steven makes his way to you.

“Wonderful event you’ve organized here,” he compliments, pulling his fidgeting hands to the center of his chest.

“Thank you,” you beam, thrilled to have his attention. “This is a great turnout. Thanks so much for bringing Max and Elle to help.”

“Oh, couldn’t keep ‘em away even if I tried,” he confesses, gazing at you openly. “Don’t know if a day has passed where they didn’t talk about you…if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“Thank you for saying that. They’re so sweet.” You wonder if Marc talks about you too. You make a mental note to dive head first into DID research tonight.

Speaking of which. “I’m sorry if em…well, if you were expecting Marc tonight,” Steven apologizes sincerely. “Can’t always tell who’s gonna be around. I hope it’s alright.”

Before you can answer, he barrels on. “Sorry if it’s strange, me not being him - "

“Steven, no, there’s no need to apologize for who you are.” You may not be an expert on DID but you’re not about to make anyone feel uncomfortable in their own skin. “To be honest, I was wondering about you.”

Steven holds your gaze, his eyes wide and unblinking. “About me?”

“Yes,” you smile sweetly at him. “Max kept mentioning your name. At first I thought you must be Marc’s partner.”

“His partn - oh,” Steven laughs and the sound of it makes your insides sing. “You mean like…”

“I wasn’t sure,” you supply, offering him an out from speculating aloud. “He also mentioned Jake? And your nanny Esperanza.”

“Yes,” he laughs, “Sounds like a full house when you say it like that. But it’s really just us and the kids.”

Your eyes travel over to where the children are playing. “They adore you. You’re so good with them.”

“I do try. Always wanted kids,” Steven replies, gazing at his little loves as if they are the wondrous treasures of Egypt in the story he was just telling the children.

“Me too,” you find yourself mindlessly replying, your eyes regarding them longingly.

Steven turns to you, seeing an opening. “You know…our daughter insists that you need to eat latkes with us. And our son thinks you can help him win the dreidel game.”

“They did mention it,” you slowly answer, wondering if this is an actual invite to their home.

He studies you closely, as if trying to gauge what you might think of him, or of his quasi-invitation. His gaze is warm and open. “I know it can be a lot. The way we are, I mean. We’re used to it, but it’s a bit different.” His eyebrows shift hopefully. “Would it be alright if I gave you my number? You could think about it and let me know. Sorry if that’s like too forward. I don’t mean - "

“No, Steven, it’s okay.” Immediately reaching for your phone, you unlock it. After you exchange numbers, he sends you a quick text.

'Hi, it’s me Steven, with a V - the bloke standing right in front of you.'

You giggle and text back, ‘Hi Steven with a V, I’m really glad I have your number.’

You feel like a teenager again.

You and Steven text several more times through the night, after you’re home and reading multiple articles on DID.

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The next morning, you get a text from Marc.

‘Sorry I missed you last night. Steven says you might come over to watch me burn some latkes. - M’

Then a follow-up text, ‘We share a phone, so we sign our texts. Sorry, I understand if it’s a lot.’

Your heart somersaults, knowing that Marc is really inviting you over.

‘Please don’t apologize, I’m so glad you texted. I would love to come over if you’re sure it’s okay.’

You and Marc text all day long and you can hardly contain your excitement to see him and the kids. You feel so nervous to be entering their home, almost as if this is an audition of sorts. Drawing a deep breath, you relax and try to remember to be yourself.

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“It’s time, they’re here!” You hear the kids chanting through the other side of the door. You hear a shuffle, then a bossy, “Move!” followed by, “Come on, guys.” Finally, the door opens.

“Hi,” Marc greets you, wearing an apron with a vegan pun on it. You think it’s Marc anyway. His hair looks a little Steven-ish. Then again, you’ve only met Steven once and Marc twice. Your heart melts at the sight of flour on his cheek and the two little ones trying to break free of his grip and tackle you.

“Hey you guys,” you beam, bouncing a little on your toes.

“Uh, come on in,” Marc invites, dragging his littles a few steps back to give you some space.

Marc releases the kids, warning them to take it easy on you. They leap into your open arms and you’re sure your heart might explode.

“Happy Hanukkah,” you warmly greet them.

“We were getting the lakkas ready,” Max whispers against your cheek, while Elle toys with your scarf. She forgets to correct him, happy to have some TLC for the moment.

Marc instructs the children to let you breathe. They unwillingly release you and that’s when you realize they are both wearing little matching aprons with their names embroidered on them. Max’s reads: ‘Max: chef in training’ and Elle’s says: ‘Head chef’. You compliment their attire before Marc sends them back to the kitchen so he can greet you properly.

“Sorry for the ambush. How are you?” His words are tinged with an air of uncertainty. As if he knows you shared a night with his family, but not him.

And now you’re in his home, frankly, at Steven’s invitation. He swallows - seems to be a habit of his, and the usual wrinkle appears between his stunning brown eyes.

A navy sweater shows off his broad shoulders and you lick your lips at the way he’s pushed his sleeves up to his elbows, revealing the musculature of his forearms.

“I’m good,” you finally answer him, pulling off your scarf and coat, hoping he hasn’t caught you staring. “Happy Hanukkah.”

“Thanks,” he nods at your attire, taking your winter gear from you to hang it up. “You look incredible.”

“Oh, thanks - sorry, I - “ You glance down at your leftover work attire. You rushed to get here. Thankfully, you dress nicely for work, when you’re not donning elf garb, but… “I guess I’m a little overdressed.”

Maybe there is something guarded in Marc Spector, but he knows perfectly well how to respond to attraction.

“Come on, I’ve got just the thing.” The corner of his mouth curls as he nods his head toward the kitchen. Following along behind him, you wet your lips at the sight of him from behind - the bits the apron does not cover. Mmm.

In the kitchen, you find Elle waiting for you with a watermelon print apron.

“We all have to wear them” she informs. Marc simply shrugs, pointing to her apron, as if indicating that she is indeed the head chef.

The four of you get to work making the yummy potato pancakes. The kids want to wedge themselves on either side of you, but Marc’s not having it. In fact, he hovers rather close to you in an almost protective way. Maybe he’s worried his children might be overbearing or - if you could be so lucky - maybe he wants to be close to you.

He stands beside you at the countertop and tells the kids they can take turns on your other side.

“I’m the one who invited them,” he argues.

“Nah-uh, Steven did!” Max refutes.

“No, I did,” Elle corrects. “I asked first, so I should get to stand there.”

Marc bumps your shoulder and flashes you a grin. “Glad you came?”

You chuckle, trying to remember the last time this many people wanted your attention outside of work.

“I am,” you softly reply, reaching for a paper towel. “Here, let me just…” You wet your lips, hesitating before brushing the flour from his cheek.

The heat of his breath tickles your hand, prompting you to linger as his eyes find yours.

“We already chopped the onions so Daddy wouldn’t cry in front of you,” Elle pipes, gathering a bowl of chopped onions from the fridge.

You and Marc quickly snap out of your brief trance.

“I think you mean we chopped them because you guys think they stink,” Marc wryly corrects, glancing at you.

Max tugs on his father’s apron, his soft voice such a contrast to his sister’s. “Daddy, Jake chopped them, right? So we should say, ‘thank you Jake’ for chopping up the stinky onions that make Dad cry. Right?”

Marc chuckles, ruffling his son’s hair. “Yes. Thank you, Jake.”

Before he can try to explain, Elle’s already taking the lead, as she does. “Jake is our dad too. Like Steven. But when they’re not here we can just say their names. Right, Dad? But we call them Dad if they’re here.” She gets a silly idea in her head and starts to giggle. “Right, Marc? What if we call you Marc all night?”

Max, ever following after his sister, catches the giggles from her and chimes in, “Hello, Marc, is it time to make the lakkas, Marc?”

The children are snorting by now, but Marc narrows his eyes. “That’s it. You’re going in the blender, little girl, come here!”

She laughs out a, “Daddy, no!” as Marc scoops her up and spins her around in a circle.

“That’s right, we’re going to blend you up instead of the potatoes and onions.” He winks at Max. “Should I turn the blender on high? Blend her up really good?”

“Yes, blend her on high!” Max chortles, jumping up and down as Marc spins his daughter faster.

Laughing hysterically, she begs him to stop. He doesn’t go too far before he sets her safely down, making sure she’s not too dizzy.

“Daddy, can I go in the blender?” Max pleads, bounding over to his father.

“Not right now, bud,” Marc answers, hands on his knees as he leans down to the little one’s level. “Dad needs a breather and we have to get the real food into the food processor.”

Chuckling, he straightens up, finding your gaze - your beaming smile - just the essence of you has a gravitational pull and Marc finds himself behaving in ways he would normally only reserve for his children at home.

Which he is, but still…the warmth you radiate soothes him. As sure as he notices it, however, he clears his throat and takes a step back.

“Sorry, we get a little silly when we cook.” Despite his fun, unguarded moment just now, he can’t find it in him to look away, holding your gaze steadily as he runs his hand over the sexy stubble on his chin.

You drag in a ragged breath, struggling to remember, for only a moment, that children are in the room with you. Somehow, this holiday season, you’ve managed to unearth a gem. You feel certain he’s wounded in some way - that he must see himself as damaged. The subtle body language as he reaches out with warmth and instantly withdraws. The pinch of worry between his eyes. The way his eyes darken and slide to the side when he shows vulnerability.

Only, he can’t hide it around his children. They’re his tether. He must have some loss in his past - surely, these children had a mother, or a co-parent at some point. It’s possible Marc used a surrogate and they’ve always lived this way, but you can feel the hesitation: sense something brewing between the two of you, only with the slightest dark cloud hanging overhead.

Maybe it’s Steven, or Jake, but Steven seems wonderful, and Jake chopped the onions ahead of time for goodness’ sake.

The urge to soothe whatever raw nerve is left exposed, or comfort whatever tenderness might linger from long ago propels you forward, boldly fixing your eyes on his.

“Don’t be sorry. This is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Fortunately, the latkes don’t burn and the four of you sit down and enjoy them, sampling them with sour cream and applesauce.

Max is over the moon to play dreidel and fortune smiles on him. He wins several rounds, but Marc limits the amount of gelt actually consumed.

“You guys have had enough gelt and hot chocolate to last three Hanukkahs,” he warns.

Soon enough it’s bedtime and Elle is already asking Marc if you can help tuck them in.

You immediately step in, not wanting to put their father in an awkward position with such an intimate request. It’s one thing to be invited over for food and games, but bedtime is a level you’re perfectly aware you haven’t reached yet.

“Actually, your dad can help you with that, because I’m on dish duty,” you decidedly inform. “But I’ll take a goodnight hug, if you’re up for it.”

Elle seems a little pouty but hugs you anyway, and Max seems thrilled with the way the night has gone.

Marc sends them on ahead, lingering to speak with you. “Don’t worry about the dishes, I’ll do them in the morning. Just give me a few minutes…okay?”

“It’s okay, I got it,” you smile warmly at him. “Take your time.”

Several minutes later, you’ve loaded the dishwasher and are searching for the dish soap when Marc makes it back from the kids’ bedroom.

“Thank you for this,” he tells you, finishing up the task and powering on the machine.

Feeling as if you’ve sampled a slice of his domestic life - washing his dishes, searching under the sink for detergent, noticing brands of cleaners and a plant watering pot - his reentry into the kitchen makes you prickle with anticipation.

“You’re so welcome, thank you for inviting me.” Your eyes dip as you attempt to not gush too much. “I haven’t done anything like this in forever. Not outside work anyway.”

Marc folds his arms over his chest, leaning his weight against the countertop as he regards you with interest. There are secrets behind those deep, eternal eyes. You want to know every one of them.

“Well, I couldn’t tell - you’re a natural,” Marc compliments, hitching his thumb toward the coffee maker. “Want some? Or tea? Or something stronger?” His eyebrows shoot up teasingly.

Your insides warm as you realize he’s inviting you to stay longer - just the two of you. Possibility blooms within your chest as you consider having his undivided attention.

You opt for tea and Marc offhandedly comments that Steven is actually the tea expert, Brit that he is. And this somehow feels important to you that Marc speaks about his alter so freely with you.

He seems relaxed now, which soothes you. Admittedly, you wondered if he would button up once the children were no longer influencing the atmosphere.

You and Marc settle onto the couch - he’s nursing a beer and you have ginger peppermint tea with a spoonful of honey. Marc puts The Cure on the record player, but keeps the volume low. “This okay?” He sweetly asks, alluringly volleying between his clear ability to talk to someone he's interested in, and his more somber nature.

“Mm-hmm, thanks for asking me to stay.” You watch as he cozies into the couch’s corner, navy sweater fitting him perfectly, complementing dark gray pants. He seems peaceful in his domain.

Time to be bold. “I was hoping you would…ask me to stay.” You slide a little closer to him, really needing to…connect to him somehow - just the two of you.

Your eyes meet, but it seems he wants to clear the air. He shifts in his seat, wetting his lips as if concentrating on how this all needs to go.

“So, uhm, Steven told me about the charity event,” he says slowly, glancing away. “He said Elle was…pretty blunt about…well, us.”

You can tell this is the elephant in the room, at least to Marc. The familiar wrinkle appears between his eyes, he chews the corner of his lip and reaches for his beer bottle, chugging down a bit more.

“I think Elle tells the truth and that’s a remarkable quality,” you diplomatically answer.

Taking another drink, he nods as if he’s made up his mind about something. “I’m not like them. Steven, or Elle. Max, even. I’m still…I just don’t…”

“Hey, it’s okay,” you let him know. “You don’t owe me some sort of explanation. I just want to get to know you…if you want.”

The confession rushes out of you and you suddenly wish you had a cold drink instead of a warm one. Is it too soon to wish you were climbing across his lap to seal your mouth to his?

Staring at the floor for a moment, you see his leg bouncing and wonder if you’ve made him feel uncomfortable in his own home.

“You know, this isn’t how I saw our first…night together going,” he carefully admits. “Sometimes my kids don’t understand that they don’t have to do everything I do, all day every day.”

You nod understandingly. “What did you see then? For our first…whatever this is?” You peek over your teacup, longing brewing inside you.

“I don’t know - dinner, maybe?” He takes his final swig of beer and sets his bottle down on the end table beside him. Running his hand over this stubble on his chin, he gestures animatedly between the two of you “I wanted to ask you out for real, just us.”

“Willing and able,” you tease, giving him a mock salute. “Just say the word.” Ugh, why are you such a dork…

Marc regards you with interest, his dark eyebrows shifting as he studies you. Leaning toward you, he rests his elbows on his knees. “I’m not always good at this. Kids broke the ice, I think.”

The mention of those little firecrackers lights up your countenance.

“I’m glad they did, Marc.” If he’s trying to gauge your interest, you want to make it perfectly clear that he is definitely your cup of tea. “Or we wouldn’t be here…would we?”

He inches closer. “Haven’t done this in a long time,” he offers an apologetic shrug.

Setting your tea down on the table in front of the couch, you slide closer to him. “You mean, had someone meet the kids?”

One finger carefully reaches out to brush your wrist. “I mean…a date. At all.”

By now your shoulders are touching, side-by-side on the couch, with your bodies angled toward one another’s, leaning in. Warmth seeps from his navy sweater through your work shirt to your arm.

“Me either,” you confess, clearing your throat. “I’m pretty rusty.”

“You’re serious,” he scoffs, almost playfully nudging your shoulder with his. “You?”

“Yeah, me,” you confirm, nudging him right back.

The finger bold enough to trace over your wrist pauses. Dark eyebrows shift curiously. Then all his fingers wrap around your wrist - the small motion seeming to envelop and warm your entire being.

“We need some practice then,” he decides, almost nonchalantly, his gaze falling to your mouth. His gaze lingers there indulgently before his impossibly long lashes blink and his warm brown eyes find yours again. “Maybe this weekend? No kids allowed.”

The corner of his mouth curls temptingly.

How far gone is it possible to be before a first date?

*ೃ༄ The end?

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you to the moots who listened to me whine about this storyyyy ILY

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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TOO GOOD TO BE FAKE: CHAPTER 4

JAMES POTTER X F!READER

hello hello again!! this is part 4 (!!) of my james potter fake dating series. oh my wordddd do these two have it bad 🥹 i'm having sooooo much fun writing this, it's mostly done by now i'm just refining little bits and pieces. i'm also aware i can use a lot of the same words again so i apologize for that. anyways i hope you enjoy!!! xoxo sunny ☀️🌻

wc: 2012

prev in series:

1: This Is Going to Be a Problem

2: That Wasn't a No

3: Fake It 'Til You Make It

4: That’s New

— 1 —

I should have known this would happen.

A week—or maybe two—has passed, and somehow, this strange, impossible arrangement has settled into something almost routine. People still notice. They still watch. But the whispers have changed. Less sharp, less scandalized. Now, they sound more like admiration, laced with something close to adoration.

"They’re actually kind of cute." "Did you see how he looked at her yesterday?" "Merlin, I think I believe it."

I don’t scan the room like I used to, searching for stray glances or hushed gossip. My eyes naturally glide to the Gryffindor table, the usual spot where four boys are chatting raucously. And, unable to focus on anything else, I focus on James.

He’s already there, draped across his usual spot like he owns the very air around him, a laugh spilling from his lips at something Sirius just said. There’s a looseness to him, a careless sprawl that makes my fingers twitch with irritation. Because of course he isn’t fazed. He was built for this—the way people track his every movement, drawn in without even meaning to be. He soaks it up like it’s his birthright, as if the entire room is simply bending to accommodate him, orbiting around his gravity.

Meanwhile, I’m fighting to keep planting one foot in front of the other.

And yet, as if feeling my eyes on him, James turns—and the second he sees me, his entire demeanor shifts.

The dazzling grin stretches wider. His eyes brighten in delight, like he’s been waiting for this exact moment. And then, because he’s insufferable, he lifts his hand in greeting—fingers wiggling, smirk widening.

“Morning, baby!”

It’s loud enough for people to hear.

I swear I hear someone gasp.

Alice, walking beside me, chokes back a laugh. Jade just mutters, “Unbelievable.”

But then I spot Simon, sitting just a few tables away. His posture is stiff, his hands clenching his goblet a little too tightly. He’s looking at me. Or rather—at James.

And suddenly, I don’t care anymore.

Before I can think better of it, I move toward James, and the smile on my face doesn’t feel so forced.

— 2 —

I sit down, and James immediately moves closer. He doesn’t hesitate. He throws an arm over my shoulders, the weight of it easy, natural, like he’s done it a hundred times before.

I don’t know why that makes my stomach flip.

I expect him to say something smug, something loud and theatrical to make the whispers grow, but instead—he lowers his voice.

“Was starting to think you wouldn’t show.”

I freeze for half a second—just long enough for him to notice.

It’s different. The teasing intonation is still there, but his timbre is quieter, softer, meant just for me. Not for the show, not for the audience. Just for me.

I recover quickly, reaching for my goblet. “I almost didn’t.”

James hums, fingers drumming idly against my shoulder. He glances at Lily—just for a moment, just long enough to see if she’s looking. I should feel triumphant. The plan is working. But the moment stretches too long, his gaze lingering, and something distasteful coils in my stomach when I glance at Lily, too.

He’s still looking at her, but when he speaks, he’s only talking to me.

“That would’ve been a shame.”

I don’t respond immediately. I can’t.

Because he leans in, just slightly, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he finishes—"I would’ve missed you."

I don’t stiffen. I don’t freeze. Instead, I react exactly the way I’m supposed to—like this is normal, like we do this all the time. A slow, easy smile tugs at my lips, and I let out a breathy little laugh, tipping my head just enough to brush against his.

"Good thing I showed up, then," I murmur, voice smooth, effortless, the perfect counter to his. Commitment to the bit.

It’s a performance, it has to be. But it’s too easy, too natural, the kind of rhythm we shouldn’t have mastered so quickly. It doesn’t feel like a role. It feels real. And judging by the way James’ fingers falter slightly against my shoulder, he feels it too.

Across the table, Sirius’ smirk falters.

"Well," he says, tilting his head, too perceptive for my liking. "That’s new."

James leans back, grinning again, too quick, too easy. “Nothing new about it, mate. Just talking to my girl.”

His girl.

I force a laugh, I force myself to look away, to refocus. But the damage is already done.

Because for the first time, Simon isn’t even in my mind, and James’ flirting feels like it’s not just part of the plan.

And worst of all—for the first time, I think he felt it too.

— 3 —

The corridors are crowded between classes, students weaving between one another, voices overlapping as they rush to their next destinations. I should be doing the same—moving, blending in, not lingering long enough to be noticed.

But then, a body steps into my path, not unlike the feeling when I first collided with James. Only looking up, I see Simon.

I halt, too fast, too obvious.

He smiles, but it’s different. Not amused. Not easy. Just… considering.

“Didn’t think he was your type,” he says slowly.

It takes me a second too long to respond. I blink, my brain working to catch up. "What?"

Simon gestures vaguely, but I already know what he means. James.

I could laugh it off, make some snarky comment, dismiss the way Simon is watching me like he’s actually trying to figure something out.

Instead, my fingers tighten around my books.

"I didn’t think you cared," I reply coolly.

Simon huffs out a short laugh, tilting his head slightly. "I don’t."

Liar.

But before I can push, before I can say anything else, a familiar voice cuts in.

"Alright, sweetheart?"

And just like that, James is there. Not from around the corner. Not catching up. Just… there. Like he knew I’d be standing here, like this is just another part of the routine.

Except it isn’t. We never made walking to class together a rule. And yet—here he is, standing beside me, slipping into the moment effortlessly, like he was always meant to be there.

His arm doesn’t come around my shoulders this time, but his presence is heavy enough to feel. His gaze flickers to Simon, just for a second, assessing.

Simon shifts, just slightly. "We were just talking."

James smiles, too tight, too sharp. "Yeah? About what?"

Simon doesn’t answer, because he knows.

James knows too. His presence is imposing—he knows he’s interrupting, I know it, and Simon definitely knows it. It’s strangely… protective.

I exhale slowly, turning my main attention to James. "Nothing important."

James turns to me then, ignoring Simon entirely, his eyes softening just slightly. "Walk you to class?"

My heart stumbles.

It’s not in the rules. It’s not for an audience. It’s just… him. Asking, sweetly and kindly. I should overthink it. I should question it.

But instead, I only nod, unaware that I’m smiling.

And just like that, I walk away with him.

— 4 —

The library is quiet at this hour.

It’s always quiet, but now it’s the kind of silence that settles into your bones, the kind that makes every movement feel heavier, every breath feel louder than it should. The lanterns flicker, casting long, stretching shadows across the towering shelves. The whole place smells like fresh bundles of parchment and half-empty pots of ink, and for the first time all day, I feel like I can breathe.

Except… I can’t. Not really. Not when I know exactly why I’m here.

I told myself I was coming to study. To clear my head. To force myself back into something normal after a day that has been anything but. I told myself it had nothing to do with him. That it wasn’t about the way my pulse jumped when he showed up beside me earlier, that I wasn’t still thinking about the way Simon looked at us, or the way I had felt when I chose to walk away with James instead.

But lying to myself is getting harder.

The chair across from me scrapes against the floor. I don’t have to look up to know who it is.

James doesn’t belong in the library at this hour—or any hour, really. The last time I saw him with a book in front of him, he was using it as a makeshift pillow. But I feel him settle into the chair, his presence too tangible, too heavy, and just like that, the air shifts.

I should ask him why he’s here. I should question it, tease him, brush it off. But I don’t.

Instead, I just turn the page in front of me and keep my voice steady, even. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you here voluntarily.”

James doesn’t respond right away. I can feel him watching me, the weight of it pressing against my skin, penetrating into all my nerves as if they’re exposed. Then, finally— “I was looking for you.”

I falter.

It’s not what I expected. Not the easy banter, not the teasing. It’s quieter. Too honest.

I turn the page again, even though I haven’t actually read a single word. “Why?”

James leans back slightly, like he’s considering it. “Not sure.”

I finally glance up, and that’s a mistake.

Because the way he’s looking at me—it’s different.

Not smug, not amused, not like he’s trying to prove a point. It’s like he’s trying to figure something out, like he’s looking for an answer in my face that I don’t even have yet. He steps closer, approaching my seat slowly.

There’s a pull—deep, insistent, like gravity shifting just for him.

“You’re staring,” I say lightly, tilting my head. I mean it to be teasing, something to break the tension that’s building too fast, too thick. But my voice isn’t as steady as I want it to be.

James doesn’t look away. “So are you.”

I don’t have a response to that.

Silence stretches between us, thick and humming. The lanterns flicker again, casting shadows that move over the sharp angles of his face, and Merlin, I should say something. I should look away.

But I don’t.

Because he’s leaning in. Not much. Just enough.

Just enough that I can feel the space between us getting smaller, smaller, smaller. Just enough that I can see the flicker of something hesitant in his expression, something unsure, like he’s waiting to see if I’ll stop him.

I should.

I should pull away, laugh it off, remind him of what this is supposed to be. But his eyes drop to my mouth and I forget how to breathe.

A heartbeat passes. Two. The air is thick, crackling, waiting.

I blink, snap back to reality, shift slightly in my seat like I just remembered where we are, like I just remembered what we’re doing. My chin drops, I pull back.

James exhales, the spell breaking, the moment slipping through my fingers before I can fully grasp what it was.

He leans back, just enough to make it seem like it never happened at all.

And then—the smile is back. The effortless, easy, practiced one. The one that puts the distance back between us.

“Careful, sweetheart,” he says, voice low, amused. “You almost looked like you wanted to kiss me. ‘S against the rules, y’know.”

So were feelings.

I huff out a laugh, shaking my head, forcing myself to roll my eyes even though my heart is still pounding against my ribs. “In your dreams, Potter.”

His teeth show. “Every night.”

I shove my book at him, because it’s the only thing I can think to do. He laughs, catching it easily, the moment slipping into something safer, something familiar.

Tomorrow, we’ll pretend this didn’t happen. Tomorrow, I’ll tell myself it was nothing.

But right now, I can still feel the ghost of his breath on my lips.

And I don’t know what to do with that.

Next in series: 5: Too Good To Be Fake (UPCOMING)

series page linked HERE

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d1lf-loverrr

1 year ago

Pedro Pascal with Chicken Little 🐔

After I saw that interview with him being compared to chicken little I cant help but draw them 😆

22K notes View Post

d1lf-loverrr

1 year ago

hi so. this album is everything and as such, i figured that i would do my first ever album collection to pair with such a masterpiece! olivia rodrigo truly can create such masterful storytelling - and i think all i can offer in repose to you all are some fics!

i’ll do the best i can to do a fic a week, if i get derailed you MAY bully me but only lightly because my ego is fragile and i will cry. unless you like roast me artfully then i’ll just be impressed aNYWAYS, here we go!

brutal - harry potter x reader

traitor - james potter x reader

driver’s license - kit walker x reader (non hp!)

1 step forward, 3 steps back - remus lupin

deja vu - fred weasley x reader

good 4 u - roger davies x reader

enough for you - charlie weasley

happier - george weasley x reader

jealousy, jealousy - steve harrington x reader (non hp!)

favorite crime - fred weasley x reader

hope ur okay - sirius black x reader

tagging some moots to spread the word! 🌸 @cherrybarzy @anchoeritic @tatesimper @kitwalker02 @billyhxrgrove @wandsandwheezes @lumosandnoxwriting @feetoffthetablee @harrysweasleys @sinfulweasley @sunrisefairy @diary-of-an-onliner

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d1lf-loverrr

7 months ago

My upcoming works in November

WEEK 1 - Ron Weasley - Unsteady desk chairs - when ron’s been locked in his dorm trying to finish an essay all afternoon, you decide to help motivate him a little

WEEK 1 - Remus Lupin - Low waisted jeans - you don't realise you have bruises on your hips when putting on low waisted jeans, and your brother is instantly protective over you.

WEEK 2 - Peter Parker - Bed side drawer - when Tony finds a box of condoms Peter's bed side drawer, he doesn't expect Peter's girlfriend to walk into the room, causing an awkward interaction.

WEEK 2 - Sirius Black - Fancy ride - Sirius gets jealous when you're sharing stories from your date with Evan, so you put him in his place. Or, he puts you in yours.

WEEK 3 - Remus Lupin - Teasing kisses - Basically just dry humping with Remus Lupin

WEEK 3 - Tony Stark - Boyfriends and Mentors - peter brings his gf to meet tony, his mentor. But when he gets dragged away for nightly rounds, he doesn't think as much as he should before leaving you two alone.

WEEK 4 - Remus Lupin - Two sides, one door - potter!reader going to james after remus yells at her the day before a full moon.

WEEK 4 - Harry Potter - Request - Long kisses, Risky places.

316 notes View Post

d1lf-loverrr

11 months ago

Do you ever read a really questionable fanfiction or a spicy love story and think "what the fuck did I just read"

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d1lf-loverrr

1 year ago

hell yeah

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d1lf-loverrr

10 months ago

A Man with a Plan.7

prologue // p1 // p2 // p3 // p4 // p5 // p6 // p7

Remus Lupin x whimsical!reader - Hogwarts Era (no Voldemort) - Soulmate AU

CW: angst, discussion of Black and Crouch shitty parenting, accidental attempted drowning/belief of drowning -> please note: there are always happy endings here on ellecdc

Amelia Bones didn’t like to think of herself as a particularly stupid girl, but she couldn’t deny she probably looked pretty foolish right now.

She was just about as pathetic as any school-aged girl got over their first crush – which was to say was very pathetic. The worst part of all of it was that she really sort of did this to herself.

She couldn’t deny that Remus had always been very clear that he was interested in nothing more than casual sex; he never invited her to breakfast, he never asked her out on dates, he never even invited her to parties. But that never stopped her from wanting those things.

And for a while, she was able to pretend it was fine.

She was able to pretend that when he didn’t kick her out of bed right away and allowed her to stay the night, that it meant he actually wanted her there. She was able to pretend that when he approached her at a party, it was because she had always been his first choice. She was able to pretend that when he grabbed her and rushed into a broom closet, it was because he just couldn’t stop thinking about her and needed her just as desperately as she needed him.

But she was only fooling herself.

And to add insult to injury, it appeared that Remus wasn’t completely averse to feelings, relationships, or dating; he just didn’t want that with her.

“And have you noticed how sweet he’s been on that freak L/N?” Shirley sneered from Amelia’s left as they all watched Remus smile sweetly at you and pass you a cup of something at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall.

“You should start offering palm readings, Amelia. Maybe then he’ll find you odd enough to keep around.” Added Silas, earning snickers from the entire friend group.

“Ha ha.” Amelia deadpanned, tossing her half-eaten toast onto the plate in front of her.

The bitter taste followed her around all day after that. She swore she could hear the sounds of Remus and his friends snickering all day, and if she happened to hear your serene voice echoing in the hallways, she knew that chances were that Remus wasn’t too far behind.

Remus was everywhere; and wherever she was able to avoid him – you seemed to show up. As you walked into the library in which Amelia was currently holed up in, she swore she was a thestrals hair away from using her quill to put herself out of her misery.

Amelia was able to see her friends from her current table but had opted to sit on her own in order to focus on the difficult Care of Magical Creatures essay, knowing that sitting with Silas would result in a rowdy game of gobstones in no time – library or not.

“Oi! L/N! What kind of voodoo spell did you cast on Lupin, huh?” Shirley called to the girl, earning her a round of snickers from the friend group. Amelia cringed, noting that you were currently alone and very clearly minding your own business.

“Hello Shirley.” You offered, albeit much less jovially than your usual sunny disposition.

“She asked you a question, freak.” Silas barked aggressively.

“Oh, leave her be.” Coraline chided in faux sympathy. “We all know she doesn’t have the attention span for voodoo practices; she’d need a brain larger than a goldfish for that.”

You looked away from the group who were now all belly laughing at your expense when your eyes met Amelia’s; her gaze already trained on you.

“Hello Amelia.” You said softly with a gentle smile gracing your lips as you approached her table. Amelia regarded you cautiously, though she hated to admit that she found it extremely difficult to feel defensive in your presence.

“Hi Y/N.” Amelia sighed, looking back down to her textbook.

“Have you gotten far on the essay?” You asked kindly, peering over Amelia’s textbook. She really wanted to be vexed at your intrusion in her studies, at her table, in her life, but she found she really couldn’t muster the effort.

“No... I, uhm. I’m finding this quite difficult, honestly. I’ve still got a foot of parchment to go.” She admitted begrudgingly. You hummed in agreement.

“It likely doesn’t help that it requires an understanding of the mating habits of the frost snails, which we haven’t covered in class.”

Amelia’s head snapped up to consider you. “Really?”

You nodded.

“Helga...I thought I had lost the plot! I was certain I had missed something in class to feel this lost.” Amelia admitted looking back down at her parchment feeling slightly elated to know that she at least wasn’t a complete fool in this area of her life.

“You can find everything you need to know on page 246; the rest of your paper should come along nicely.” You offered, smiling kindly at her. Amelia was sort of annoyed at the pleasant feeling that you elicited from her, but again she couldn’t muster up the energy to be particularly vexed.

“Thank you, Y/N. I would have been quite lost without your help.” She relented.

Your smile grew at that as you stood taller, preparing to walk away. “Oh, I’m sure you would have managed just fine Amelia. You’re quite the witch, you know.”

And with that, you floated away.

Amelia supposed that if there was anyone in this school who would be able to convince Remus Lupin to break all of his rules, you’d be a shoo-in.

Amelia decided then that it was actually quite an honour to have ‘lost’ to a witch like you.

Remus felt silly wandering the grounds in search of you. If he was a man of more restraint, he would try harder to control himself; but he decided there was no use in denying Moony, or himself, of you.

Thankfully for your part, you didn’t seem to mind all that much.

Remus’ life had been flipped upside down twice recently: once when he found out about his soulmate bond, and again when he came clean to you about his lycanthropy. He found he felt... freer, safer, grounded if that made any sense at all.

And though his regular anxiety surrounding the full moons seemed to lessen, his anxiety surrounding you seemed to grow each day the closer he got to the full. It was almost as if Moony was convinced he could feel every beat of your heart – it sped up momentarily, something upset you, you’re catching your breath, you’ve fallen asleep – and though Remus felt incredibly disturbed and admittedly creepy to be capable of assessing all of these things from Merlin knows how far away, it brought Moony immense comfort to be able to sense you safe.

He tried not to overwhelm you with his constant presence as Moony (and begrudgingly, himself) would much prefer, but with the full moon approaching, Remus decided it was better for everyone not to fight the urge to be close.

Remus had (quite embarrassingly) searched the entire castle for you to no avail and had even resorted to asking Regulus (who was accompanied by Barty) if he knew where you were.

Barty had scoffed at him. “Figures you wouldn’t be privy to her schedule yet, Lupin.” He sneered, emphasising his last name as if it were a dirty word.

Regulus rolled his eyes at his friend and let out a sigh. “She goes down to the Black Lake every afternoon to bring a gift to the mermaids, Lupin. Now if you don’t mind, I find Barty to be far more pleasant company when he’s not whining about people dressed in red and gold.”

Well, Remus didn’t have to be told twice. Moony was very excited to leave his present company to find ‘MINE!’.

Remus was admittedly not a huge fan of the moniker Moony had chosen for you, but he was very tired of arguing with The Wolf.

As Regulus had promised, Remus finally found you crouched down at the edge of the dock on the Black Lake, tracing shapes into the water’s surface with your hands.

Perfect. Good. Mine. Mine. Mine.

Remus couldn’t exactly disagree with the sentiment.

You were alerted to Remus’ presence by the wooden planks shifting below his feet.

“Hello Remus!” You cheered in that gentle and serene way of yours; Remus couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face.

“Hello Y/N, what are you up to?” He asked as he stood above you. You began to squint up at him and Remus quickly shifted over in order to shield your eyes from the sun.

“I’ve been trying to befriend the mermaids.” You explained, returning your gaze down to the water. “Each day I try to bring them trinkets.”

Remus hummed in acknowledgement and crouched down beside you ignoring the burning sensation in his knees. “What kind of trinkets?”

You hummed in thought before you answered. “I think anything shiny works well. Sometimes if I’ve lost the pair to an earring, I’ll bring it to them. Or crystals and gems are nice too.”

“And what do you get for your efforts?”

You turned to consider Remus bemusedly; your brows were furrowed but you were still smiling, nonetheless. “Do you only ever do things for the sake of a potential outcome, Remus?”

Remus figured he ought to feel properly chastised, but he was just too happy to be talking to you in order to do much about it. “I guess so.”

You hummed and assessed his face before turning back to the water. “Do you often feel disappointed?”

“I feel like we’ve already determined that my planning skills are not conducive to success, no?”

You smiled to yourself at that as you continued playing with the water. “It’s true that I’ve set out with a goal to befriend the mermaids. But whether or not they return that friendship, I will have succeeded.”

“Wouldn’t you think that you’d have better luck from in the water?” He queried, causing your lips to purse as you let out a disappointed sound.

“Perhaps; if I knew how to swim, I’d certainly try.”

Moony reared his big old head again at that, and Remus quickly stood and gently helped you stand and pulled you closer to the middle of the dock, away from the edge you’d been inhabiting.

You giggled at him; the first real spontaneous emotion he thinks he had ever heard from you, and it caused Remus’ heart rate to speed up double time.

“You needn’t worry, Remus.” You expressed solemnly. “I’m very careful.”

And for that, he and Moony were glad.

“Where are you headed now?” He asked instead, hoping to begin steering you away from the Lakes edge and towards solid ground.

He could tell by the subtle lift at the corners of your lips that you had caught onto him, but were gracious enough not to call him on it.

“I believe I’m to meet Bartemus and Regulus in the Slytherin dungeons for a bit.” You admitted, causing Remus to wrinkle his nose and Moony to growl in protest.

So many of the words you had used in that sentence were displeasing to Remus, but you were willingly stepping off the dock and walking towards the castle with him, so he didn’t feel he had any right to complain.

“What are you headed to now?” You asked in turn, catching Remus off guard.

What was he going to do now? The only thing he’d planned on doing was finding you, and he’d done that.

“You know; I’m not sure.” He admitted.

You chuckled at him and began telling him about Barty and Regulus’ plans for the afternoon; and although he was displeased at the content, he was very pleased listening to the sound of your voice.

He hadn’t realised he’d been subconsciously leaning into you or brushing your hand with his until you confidently yet gently took his hand in yours and continued to lament about Barty’s poor study habits without missing a beat.

Remus found himself feeling very lucky to have you as his soulmate.

Remus’ feeling of luck ran out quickly when he found himself stepping down the last stair into the Slytherin dungeon to figuratively hand you off to your friends.

You must have noticed Remus’ hesitation to let you go when you gave his hand a gentle squeeze and smiled kindly at him. “Perhaps we can meet in the library after supper? I have a Care of Magical Creatures essay to edit.”

And Remus was certain that was a lie; he was quite sure you were long done that essay, but he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

“That’d be very nice.” He agreed.

“Alright, alright, Lupin. Move along, would you?” Barty grumbled as he made his way over; Regulus rolled his eyes at his friend and actually offered Remus a somewhat apologetic expression.

“Barty.” You chided lightly with a smile. “Be nice, yeah?”

Barty grumbled petulantly, muttering “that was me being nice.” But he acquiesced to your request in the form of keeping his mouth shut until Remus had ascended the stairs.

True to your word, you approached the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall when you were finished eating with a kind smile on your face.

Unfortunately for poor Moony (Remus), your presence led to questions from James, who, upon hearing you were working on edits for the essay in Care of Magical Creatures, insisted he join (seeing as he hadn’t even started it yet). Of course, not one to ever be left out, Sirius was quick to offer to join.

And since Remus, James, and Sirius were all going to be in the library, Peter figured he may as well tag along.

Though Remus was feeling rather petulant about the final attendance of your study date, Moony was feeling very chuffed about his whole pack being together.

He forced Moony to lie down and be quiet as he listened to you try to help James with his essay (read: pretty much write it for him).

Remus was surprised how well you seemed to settle into his group of friends, and in turn, how his friends seemed to settle around you.

James seemed to be able to sit still for a longer period of time if it was you he was conversing with, Sirius seemed less inclined to argue with everyone about everything, and Peter seemed far more comfortable in asking you follow up questions than he was with anyone else the group had spoken with before.

Unfortunately, things didn’t seem to want to go smoothly for Remus today.

The sound of your name being called over and over and over again in a hushed tone interrupted your sentence on why the mating cycle of frost snails was dependent on the growth pattern of shrivelfig fruit as Barty came rushing over.

“I’m sorry,” he started breathlessly, surprising the absolute fuck out of Remus. “I forgot to tell you earlier; I got a letter.”

Remus watched as your face turned grave; your expression far more severe than he’d ever seen it before.

“Did you burn it?” You asked darkly.

“Not yet.” Barty admitted.

“Bartemus.” You chided quietly, looking like your heart was breaking a little bit.

“Merlin; do you really need Y/N to check your mail for you, Junior? Couldn’t this wait until later?” Sirius grumbled, never looking up from his own Runes translations he was currently working on.

Remus was surprised he didn’t hear your neck snap with the speed at which you turned your attention away from Barty and back to the table where you glared severely at Sirius.

“Sorry Treasure.” Barty commented quietly, patting your shoulder. “I’ll catch up with you later.” Before he left the library.

Remus felt his heart drop…no…he felt your heart drop as you turned to watch Barty disappear behind the stacks in the library.

“Sirius Black.” You began quietly, causing all the boys to cringe at the use of his full name. “Tell me; how do you usually feel after receiving a letter from your father?”

You had once again returned your attention back to the black-haired boy, but any of the softness and serenity that the boys were used to seeing when it came to you was nowhere to be found.

Sirius didn’t seem to have an answer for you as his eyes darted nervously between his friends.

“Is your father kind? Loving? Understanding? Does he tell you he’s proud of you? That he’s glad to have you as his son? That it’s an honour to share his name with you?”

“No.” Sirius finally said quietly.

“And who helps you with that?” You asked. “When you had nowhere to go, and no one to turn to; who helped you with that?”

Remus heard Sirius swallow around what was likely a growing lump in his throat. “James.”

“Then call me James, Sirius.” You said emphatically, standing and beginning to pack your things.

“Wait, dove. Where are you going?” Remus started reaching out a tentative hand to rest on your wrist.

You slowed your movements but didn’t stop. “I have a Sirius to comfort, and a fire ritual to perform.” You explained simply. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

And with that, you turned and disappeared into the rows of books.

“Way to go, Pads.” James grumbled as he began organising his half-written parchment. “You managed to upset a perpetually happy person, and now I’ll never finish this essay.”

“Well how am I supposed to know everything about that crazy bastard?” Sirius finally blurted out defensively.

“Don’t you think you’ve done enough damage, brother?” The voice of Regulus Black drawled as he stepped out from behind the stacks.

“Make it a habit of spying, brother?” Sirius sneered back. “Tell me; was it my conversations you were concerned with, or Juniors?”

Remus watched as Regulus’ jaw tightened minutely as he seemed to consider his next words.

“I’m not telling you this for your own sake, nor for Barty’s. But, if Y/N is important to any of you, there are some things you ought to know.” He started.

Yes. Important. Mine. Important. Moony chanted, sitting at attention.

“You know the fire that was caused by a magical experiment that went wrong a few years ago in Ottery St. Catchpole? That was Y/N’s house. Both her parents died in that fire.”

James’ head reared back as Sirius sucked in an uncomfortable breath.

“She lives there with an elderly house elf as her only family. The house elf and Barty.”

“Junior lives with Y/N?” Remus asked quickly; too quickly. He was immediately embarrassed.

“Junior lives with Y/N.” Regulus parrotted. “You know, Sirius, the Black’s aren’t the only family who practice Unforgiveables on their children.”

Regulus seemed to allow that to sit in the air for a moment before he continued.

“And you aren’t the only one who needed a friend to run to.”

“I’m sorry, alright?” Sirius admitted, though he couldn’t bring himself to make eye contact with his brother.

“I don’t think you are, Sirius. I think you’re feeling properly chastised, and have no qualms painting Barty as the villain in every story all because of the school colours he happens to wear. You were so upset when our family accused you of being sorted into the wrong house, but you are the one who continues to view houses as wrong.”

Sirius looked up at his brother at that. “I am sorry, Reg. I didn’t know.” He admitted earnestly.

“I’d thought that maybe…maybe out of everyone, you’d understand him the best… he reminds me a lot of you, you know. Stop - don’t look at me like that.”

“Reggie, I am trying, but you’re pushing your luck here.” Sirius groaned.

“I just wanted to let you know.” Regulus continued, though he seemed to be saying that to Remus. “Y/N is wonderful. And accepting, and understanding, and wholesome, and open minded. But she will protect her own. If Evans has to learn to put up with the lot of you for the sake of Potter, you’re going to have to figure out how to put up with me and Barty, because I can assure you that Barty isn’t going anywhere.”

Hearing Regulus’ message for what it truly was, Remus made a mental note:

Do not come between you and Barty.

You found the weather to be quite refreshing today as you made your way to the edge of the Black Lake.

You felt poorly for Bartemus; you didn’t understand what the point of Crouch Senior continuing to write to his estranged son was, or what he sought to accomplish.

Perhaps it was just to upset Barty, which upset you even more.

But, you’d performed the “fire sacrifice” as Barty often called it, and burned some white sage to cleanse the energy after disposing of the horrid letter.

And today was a new day.

There were hardly any clouds in the sky, the grounds were quiet as most students were still in class whilst you had a free period, and Barty had offered you a family heirloom to offer the mermaids today.

You had no sooner lost sight of the Crouch signet ring as it sank to the depths of the Black Lake when the sun in the sky was blocked from behind you.

You turned to see the figures of Silas, Shirley, and Coraline from Hufflepuff standing over you.

“I know you said she had a brian the size of a goldfish, Coraline, but it seems she rather wants to be a goldfish.” Shirley commented with a malicious smile.

“Returning home to the Grindylow’s, L/N?” Silas jeered.

Your mother always told you to ignore the mean words; to smile and stay kind when people got mean.

“What?” Coraline cooed in faux sympathy. “Kneazle got your tongue?”

“You better start talking, witch, because the way I see it; you’ve hurt one of ours.” Silas barked.

“Hurt?” You asked as you stood up, trying to sift through memories of your recent interactions with Hufflepuffs only to come up empty.

“Don’t play dumb; you totally stole Lupin right out from under Amelia.” Coraline explained.

Your heart fell; you certainly hadn’t meant to do that, you hadn’t even realised they were together. You never meant to hurt Amelia, and you were sure Remus must just hate you for this if it was true.

“Amelia is twice the witch you are; Lupin deserves better than some ditzy airhead.” Shirley spat at you.

Amelia certainly was a nice witch; she was competent, powerful, and quite pretty. She was normal too, not like you; you were odd, a freak.

“Why do you think he was spending all that time with Amelia when you two first started talking? He didn’t want you, L/N.” Coraline stressed.

He didn’t want you.

That was perhaps true. He didn’t choose this soulmate bond; and he didn’t choose you.

He had seemed more than disturbed in the beginning.

Perhaps he was only being nice to you now because he was simply no longer resisting the bond.

No one should have to live like that; to live their life out of force and obligation. Not Sirius, not Regulus, not Barty, and certainly not Remus.

“I don’t think you heard me.” Silas said as he took a menacing step towards you, and he punctuated every word with a sharp jab of his finger into your shoulder. “Stay. Away. From Lupin.”

And then he used his whole body to shove you backwards, and you were plummeting into the cold dark water of the Black Lake.

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