I Love Reading Fanfics! Then I Gain Consciousness

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「 “ 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘴 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘢𝘸𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘭𝘰𝘵. ” 」

eventual james potter x fem!reader; inevitable angst and annoyance as james slowly matures over his time at hogwarts. slowburn.

2.7K | FIRST YEAR.

5.8K | SECOND YEAR.

2.7K | THIRD YEAR.

6.0K | FOURTH YEAR.

6.4K | FIFTH YEAR.

SIXTH YEAR.

SEVENTH YEAR.

It's Always Been You

james potter x fem!reader

Completed! Series

summary - You've known golden-boy James Potter for as long as you can remember. Though you don't just know him—he's your very best friend. But there's just one problem: you've fallen deeply, madly in love with him. Or two problems, if you count his thing for your friend Lily Evans. As time goes by, all you want is to get over him. Although, James seems set on making that the most impossible challenge of them all.

tags: James Potter x f!reader, childhood best friends to lovers, pining, unrequited love (or is it), "why are you pushing me away?", some miscommunication, Marauder!reader, hurt/comfort, angst, and a kiss that changed everything.

warnings: underage drinking, some mild cursing, occasional innuendo, she/her pronouns used, no use of y/n

a/n: this story has been a long time in the making ... but I'm very excited for it to be out! a very special thank u to everyone who supported it during its release, it rly means the world to me. with that being said, happy reading !! hope you guys enjoy <3 - e

check this out on my ao3!

*masterlist

read here:

Chapter 1 ->

Chapter 2 ->

Chapter 3 ->

Chapter 4 ->

Chapter 5 ->

Chapter 6 ->

Chapter 7 ->

Chapter 8 ->

Chapter 9 ->

Chapter 10 ->

Chapter 11 ->

Chapter 12 ->

*completed* <33

"it was in 2020" oh so like a year or so ago. a couple years. im sorry 5? did you just say five? five years ago ?

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

Web of Secrets - Miguel O'Hara 

Miguel O'Hara x SpiderSun Reader

words: 3.7K

warnings: secret pregnancy trope, swearing, angst, heartbreak, grumpy/sunshine, smut

Part I Part II Part III (coming soon)

In your universe, you are known as the Sun Spider. It all started on a school field trip to a solar energy research center, where you were accidentally exposed to a spider that had been subjected to intense solar radiation. You woke up with a white-hot surge of power, and your life changed forever. You donned a suit of pure white, taking the name that reflected both your newfound abilities and the brightness you brought into the world: Spider-Sun.

Your ability to harness solar energy and transform it into powerful blasts or create protective shields made you a formidable superhero in your home city, Nea Yorkey. Your ability to bring light to even the darkest corners of your city earned you the love of its citizens.

However, everything changed when you were suddenly pulled into the Spider-Verse.

Upon arriving, you were greeted by the gruff leader of this interdimensional team of Spider-People, Miguel O'Hara. His reputation preceded him - the genius intellect, the imposing figure, the gruff demeanor. Everyone respected him, and some even feared him. You, on the other hand, were drawn to him. There was something about that guarded demeanor that called to your own sunny nature.

You became an integral part of the team, fighting off anomalies and working hard to maintain the balance in the Spider-Verse. And despite Miguel's stern exterior, you felt yourself falling for him.

One mission was particularly rough, and you found yourself alone with Miguel in a safe house, nursing your wounds. His usually stern face softened as he tended to your injuries. The distance that he usually maintained was nowhere to be seen.

"Thank you, Miguel," you whispered.

He looked at you, his usually hard eyes soft. "You fought well, mi sol."

There was a moment of silence, a strange tension hanging in the air. Then, Miguel leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was filled with unexpected passion.

In that moment, you were not the Sun Spider, and he was not the Spider-Man 2099. You were just two people, seeking solace in each other.

Afterwards, as you laid side by side, Miguel turned to you, a serious look on his face. "This...this can't be more than what it is. Just...you know, stress relief," he muttered, his voice just above a whisper.

His words wounded you. Naturally, they did. He had reduced your relationship to mere stress relief, as if you were some object devoid of feelings. Yet, in spite of it all, you fell for him. Perhaps you were naive, even foolish, but you didn't care. You yearned for him and were ready to accept any fraction of affection he was willing to offer, no matter how small.

During the day, as you fought alongside him against the anomalies threatening the Spider-Verse, his attention toward you was sparse. He mostly shared only necessary information, barely making eye contact. Sometimes he didn't speak at all, and you and the rest of the team would receive mission orders and briefings from Lyla, his AI assistant.

But at night, when the two of you were alone, he became a different person. He'd whisper praises into your ear, telling you how exceptionally you fought, how much he desired you. He showed you his hidden vulnerability under the cover of darkness, the sheets their only witness. He'd gently stroke your hair and peppered your jaw and temple with kisses until you fell asleep, only for you to wake up the next morning to an empty, cold spot where he once lay.

This cycle - his coldness by day, and the fervor by night - repeated itself relentlessly for months.

And so, this is how you find yourself: disoriented, frenzied, and on the verge of tears, seated on the couch of your best friend, Peter B. Parker, in Earth-616. Cradled in your arms is his sweet daughter, Mayday, who, with her innocent touch, tries to console you. Yet her wide eyes dart anxiously to her father, reflecting her own alarm at your distress.

Peter rubs his chin thoughtfully. "Maybe we should wait until MJ gets home?" he suggests, then, with a furrowed brow, he asks, “Have you tried talking to Jess about this?”

You shake your head vigorously. "No, I haven't told anyone. I have no idea what to do," you confess, your voice breaking.

Peter, ever the caring friend, gently takes Mayday from your arms and sets her down. He turns back to face you with a sympathetic gaze. “Do you..eh.. know who the father is?” he inquires softly.

You shake your head again, even though deep down, you know the truth. “The father is out of the picture. He doesn’t know, and he never will because he doesn’t want kids,” you whisper, fighting back tears.

As you and Peter sit down on the couch in his cozy living room, you find a sense of comfort being around him. His experience as both a superhero and a parent seems like it could be a beacon in this storm you're facing. The room is quiet, save for the soft ticking of a clock on the wall.

“You know, Peter,” you begin, your voice almost a whisper. “I’m terrified. What if the baby has powers? How am I going to protect them, especially if...if I can’t stop fighting anomalies?”

Peter looks thoughtful. “That’s a valid concern. First, you should know that you don’t have to do this alone. There’s a whole community of us, and we stick together. If the child does have powers, she or he will be badass like Mayday, right?”

You nod slowly but then anxieties pile on top of each other in your mind. “But... how can I hide this? Nobody and I mean nobody is supposed to know that I’m pregnant. Especially not...” You trail off, not finishing the sentence.

Peter rubs his chin, deep in thought. “We could look into modifying your suit, maybe talk to some tech geniuses in the Spider-Verse about creating something that can shield or conceal the pregnancy.”

You roll your eyes. “That kinda defies the ‘nobody is allowed to know ‘ordeal, Peter. You have to promise me that this stays between us.”

“I promise,” Peter says sincerely.

Silence fills the room again, and then you voice another fear. “Peter, what if...what if I’m not a good mother? What if I mess this up?”

Peter smiles warmly. “You know, I had those same fears when Mayday was born. I think it’s normal for any parent. But, take it from me, the fact that you’re worried about being a good parent means you’re already on the right track. You’ve got a good heart. Trust it.”

You look down at your hands, fingers interlaced. “Thank you, Peter. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“You’ll never have to find out,” he says with a reassuring smile. “We’re family, in this weird, Spider-Verse kind of way. But maybe… and I am sayig this as a father myself… reconsider telling the father. I can’t imagine any guy wanting to give up this.” He says, pointing to his precious daughter playing with a napkin she found on the floor.

"Maybe you should reconsider telling the father," Peter's words are echoing in your mind like a haunting melody. A part of you yearns for that possibility. Perhaps you're not alone in this. Maybe, just maybe, Miguel wants this as much as you do.With newfound resolve, you set off for the Spider-Verse headquarters, expecting to find Miguel tucked away in his office, immersed in maintaining the spider verse or as he calls it "arachno- something-multiverse-thingy” or something similar to that.

Upon reaching his office door, you pound on it sharply. No response. Frowning, you knock again, a little harder this time. When silence continues to greet you, you slowly turn the doorknob and peek inside. There he is, hunched over his desk, lost in a world of numbers and codes.

"Miguel, I-" you start, but his sharp voice cuts you off.

"No," he interrupts, his tone cold. "Did I say you can come in? Dios mio, why are you always so damn clingy?"

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stare at him, taken aback by his blatant disregard for your feelings. You can feel the beginnings of tears prick at the corner of your eyes, but you will them away.

He doesn't mean it, he doesn't mean it like that. This mantra plays over and over in your head, like a broken record. You take a deep breath, forcing down the hurt his words cause.

"Look, Miguel," you begin, struggling to keep your voice steady. "There’s something we need to talk about, and I think it's important for you to listen to me."

“Fucking hell, woman! What exactly don’t you understand. I’m busy. I don’t care about your little problems, right now.” he barks, not even looking up.

“Miguel,” you speak up, forcing the words out through clenched teeth, “ I’ve never asked anything from you. Not once have did I ask you to stay, to feel the same I feel, to fucking talk to me when people are around. Please all I am asking you is to just ... listen to me, fpr once.” Your voice grows stronger as you speak, a determined fire igniting within you.

Miguel finally looks up, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, he seems taken aback by the resolve he saw there.

He rubs his temples. “Can we do this later?”

“No!” you shout. “It’s always later with you. You’re like...like a ghost. Just a figure in the hallway. I don’t need a figure, I need a person! I need someone who listens when...”

He glares at you, his eyes narrowing. “Okay, okay I will listen just not now. Whatever it is, it can wait.”

“No, it can’t,” you retort, your voice shaking a bit. “Why is it that every time I try to talk to you, you just brush me off? Am I that insignificant to you?”

He stands up abruptly, the chair skidding behind him. “This? This is what you want to talk about?” he says with a tone of annoyance. “Look, I have a million things to deal with and-”

“And what? And I’m not one of them? Just five minutes, Miguel! That’s all I ask!”

The room is tense. Your heart is racing. His eyes are fiery. It's a standoff.

“And what is so important that you have to disrupt everything right now?” he challenges.

Your breath catches in your throat. This is it. You're about to say it.

“I...” you stammer. “I need to tell you that...”

Suddenly, the door to the office swings open and Jess storms in.

“Miguel, we have a major issue in Sector 12! The anomalies...” she starts, then catches sight of your tear-streaked face. “Oh, am I interrupting something?”

Miguel seems to shake off the tension and slips back into commander mode. “No nothing important. What’s happening in Sector 12?”

You can't believe it. Just like that, he turns away. It feels like your heart is being squeezed.

Jess starts rattling off data and scenarios. The two of them are talking, but you don’t hear it anymore. All you can think of is how you almost told him. How you just wanted five minutes.

Your hands shake and you quietly step out of the room. The door closes behind you, and it feels like a chapter that you can’t read has been sealed away.

The next day you are on Earth-8311, an anthropomorphic animal-dominated universe. It's the home of Peter Porker, the Spectacular Spider-Ham, and you can't help but find it amusing.

The mission: to transport an anomaly, which resembles an enormous floating jellyfish, back to its home universe. It's been pure chaos here, and you are determined to set things right.

The team: Gwen, Hobie, and Peter B. Parker. You're all in your suits, eyes sharp, and webs at the ready.

"Alright, Spiders. Let's round this jelly up and send it home," Peter B. Parker takes charge, shooting a web towards a nearby building.

You swing alongside him, your thoughts a whirlwind. The world around you blurs - the animal citizens, the bustling cityscape, the strange yet familiar surroundings.

The anomaly appears before you, thrashing and pulsating as it floats through the sky. It releases blasts of energy that ripple through the air.

"Watch out, Sunny!" Gwen calls out as she dodges a blast.

You, however, are a split second too late. Your reflexes are off, your movements sluggish. The blast sends you spiraling towards the ground.

Hobie swings in and catches you mid-air, his guitar strapped on his back. “Get it together, Sun!” he shouts over the noise, his punk-styled hair waving wildly.

You shake off your daze and look up to see Peter B. Parker shooting webs to pull the anomaly back down, while Gwen is deploying a device to open a portal back to its home universe.

Your heart races as you focus on the task at hand. You need to get this right, not just for yourself, but for the life you’re now carrying. Your suit seems to glow even brighter in the chaos.

With a final combined effort, you manage to lasso the anomaly and push it through the portal. The anomaly disappears, and the portal closes behind it.

The team regroups on a rooftop. Gwen is catching her breath, Hobie is tuning his guitar, and Peter B. Parker gives you a concerned look.

“Are you okay?” Gwen asks, her voice laced with worry. “You weren’t yourself up there.”

The weight of the secret you’re carrying feels unbearable. But you're not ready to share it.

“Promise me you won’t tell Miguel about this,” you say, your voice barely audible.

Gwen raises an eyebrow, while Hobie crosses his arms. Peter B. Parker simply nods.

“Nah, Bossman doesn’t need to know about this,” Hobie says, and there’s a firmness in his voice that is strangely comforting.

Back in the HQ, your head spins, and your stomach feels like it's doing somersaults. You mumble a quick excuse about feeling nauseous and practically sprint to the nearest restroom.

Meanwhile, Gwen, Hobie, and Peter B. Parker head to the cafeteria to grab something to eat.

As they sit down at a table with their trays, Gwen breaks the silence. “Is it okay if I say that this mission was kind of easy? Like, I’ve seen Sunny take down Doc Ock from Earth-818, and she did that without any problem. So what was that today?” Gwen’s concern is apparent.

Hobie, munching on a sandwich, nods in agreement. "Yeah, it's like her spidey senses were jammed or somethin'. Never seen her like that before."

Peter B. Parker looks thoughtfully at his sandwich, then glances up at Gwen and Hobie. He’s torn, having promised you to keep your secret but also wanting your friends to understand why you were off your game.

"You guys remember when she fought Morlun on Earth-001? She was a totally smashin’ it, and today, she nearly got turned into spider-paste by a floating jellyfish. That ain’t right," Hobie adds.

Gwen’s eyes suddenly widen. "Oh my God! Do you think she’s in trouble? Like, something from her universe? Or maybe she's having an identity crisis! Should we stage an intervention?"

Peter B. Parker clears his throat. “Maybe she’s just having an off day.”

Gwen’s eyes narrow as she scrutinizes Peter. “You know something, don’t you?”

Peter scratches the back of his head, obviously uncomfortable. “Nope, no idea.”

Hobie puts down his sandwich and leans in. "Oi, mate. Spill your guts. There's something dodgy going on. She's always been our burst of sunshine, lifting the mood. But now she's... dimmed. What's going on with our Sunny, Parker?"

Before Peter B. Parker could answer Gwen’s barrage of questions, Jess - Spider-Woman - appears, her belly showing. She takes a seat at the table and, oblivious to the serious conversation that was taking place, asks them about their latest mission.

"So, how did your mission go?" Jessica asks, while munching on her Burger.

"Nothing to report, Jess," Gwen answers, a little too quickly, her face all sunshine and false smiles. Peter simply nod in agreement.

“Yah, all good!” Hobie chimes in, flashing a grin that seems a little too bright.

“How about you? How are you holding up?” Peter asks Jess, trying to steer the conversation away from the mission.

Jessica shrugs, not overly concerned, and bites into her burger. "'M good. You know,  I'm so glad I can finally eat a burger again. At the beginning of my pregnancy, practically every food made me nauseous, especially after swinging around on missions.”

Suddenly, there's a moment of collective realization among Gwen, Hobie. It’s as if their spider senses are tingling in unison. They exchange knowing looks, all of them silently putting the pieces together.

Gwen’s eyes are wide, Hobie’s eyebrows are raised, and they both turn to look at Peter, who simply nods.

Jess, noticing the silent exchange, squints at them. “What is up with you guys? You’re acting weird. Well, weirder than usual.”

“Uh, nothin’!” Hobie says, a little too quickly.

“Yeah, just tired from the mission,” Gwen adds, trying to play it cool.

Jess rolls her eyes and stands up. “Alright, weirdos. I’m gonna go find some normal people to talk to,” she says jokingly and walks away.

After she leaves, the trio leans in.

“Sunny’s pregnant, isn’t she?” Gwen whispers.

Hobie's eyes are as wide as saucers. “That would explain everything!”

Peter B. Parker nods. “We need to be there for her, but remember, it’s her news to share when she’s ready.”

They make a pact to support you without pushing you to reveal anything before you're ready.

As you walk back into the cafeteria, you find your friends huddled together. They break apart when they see you and welcome you back with smiles and light conversation, but something in their demeanor is different but you can’t put your finger on it. They are being more attentive, considerate, and frankly, a little too curious about your well-being.

"Are you sure you're okay, Sunny?" Gwen asks for the third time since you sat down. Her concern is genuine, but her intensity is slightly off-putting.

"Yeah, do you need anything?" Hobie offers, his eyes gleaming with unspoken curiosity. "Food, drink, or maybe... pickles?" Pickles? Thats oddly specific.

There's a burst of laughter from Gwen, and even Peter is suppressing a chuckle.

"What's up with the pickles?" You ask, looking at them suspiciously.

"Oh, nothing!" Gwen says, a little too quickly, trying to hold back her laughter.

"Hmm, pickles and ice cream, a weird combo, innit?" Hobie wonders aloud, a mischievous grin spreading across his face.

Again, there's suppressed laughter, and you look at each of them, a realization slowly dawning on you. You turn to Peter, your gaze steady and serious. "You told them, didn't you?" Peter looks shocked, but quickly composes himself. "I didn't exactly tell them, per se," he confesses, "I might've confirmed their suspicions when they asked, but they figured it out on their own. Spider senses and all that jazz.”

Before you could respond, Gwen and Hobie jump in, both talking over each other in an attempt to apologize.

"We're sorry, Sunny," Gwen says sincerely. "We didn't mean to invade your privacy, it's just that... we're worried about you. Please don’t be mad."

Hobie nods, adding, "And we're right behind ya, whatever comes our way. We've got your back, no doubt about it."

You are happy, while the situation isn't ideal, but at least you're not alone. You have friends who care about you and, despite their unconventional way of showing it, they are there for you. You smile, comforted by their concern, and grateful for their support.

"Yeah," you finally say, "I guess we’re gonna need a lot more pickles and ice cream around here, huh?"

“Sooo...who’s the dad? Is he hot?” Gwen, leaning on the table with her elbows, asks shyly after a while.

You let out a long sigh, “He’s very hot... but also a colossal jerk.”

Peter raises an eyebrow. “You took my advice and talked to him then?”

You shake your head, your eyes starting to well up. “No, I tried. But he wouldn’t listen to me. He was busy, and I guess I wasn’t important enough. So, the baby won’t be either,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper.

Hobie's eyes narrow, and his face is flushed with anger. "Who's this bloke, eh? I swear on me nan's grave, I'll give him a right proper earful! No one treats our Sunny like a tosser and gets away with it!"

Gwen jumps in, her eyes wide with speculation, “Wait, is he a Spider? Is it Peter? Or the other Peter? Or—”

“Guys, guys!” you cut them off, your voice cracking. “Please, it doesn’t matter. He made it clear where I stand, and it’s not with him.”

There’s a silence that settles over the table as your friends look at each other and then back to you. Their faces are a mix of concern, sadness, and frustration.

Peter B. is the first to break the silence. “You don’t have to go through this alone. You’ve got us. If the dad doesn’t want to step up, then he’s missing out on something amazing.”

Gwen nods, her eyes firm with resolve. “Yeah, we’re family. We’ve got your back, no matter what.”

Hobie, still fuming, finally calms down enough to say, "All you gotta do is whistle, love, and we'll be there in a blink. Even if it means thumping some manners into this mystery idiot."

You can't help but crack a small smile, despite the tears. You’re overwhelmed by the love and support your friends are giving you.

“Thanks, guys. You don't know how much this means to me.” 

They all reach out and there’s a group hug right in the middle of the cafeteria. You didn’t know how much you needed this until it happened.

Part 2 Webs of Fate

a/n: Thank you guys for all your love on this fic so far.I really appreciate each like, comment, reblog <3. I still can’t reply to your comments so please if you want to tagged (and are not already) comment on part 2 and I’ll do my best and add you.Also I am open to requests, critic and wishes. Have a wonderful day. xx

Eight Nights (in December)

Based on this poll, 407 of you voted, and this story is your winner!

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!

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

"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.

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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…

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

"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. 

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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. 

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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. 

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

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. 

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

“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?

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

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I love Britain 🇬🇧

Harry and Andrew Garfield at the Valentino show in Paris - 29/09

i think this screenshot is a sign to post chapter 10 (😘)

I think you're right👀👀👀

Pink Pastels Pt 10

Description: Your rooftop rendezvous with Spiderman. NSFW content below the cut

“He phrased it all wrong, good girls don’t suck dick, they take cock.” Miguel says it slowly, and seductively, watching as your breathing hitches, your heart rate speeds up, and your body temperature rises.

“Yeah?” You ask, half breathless, your hand settling on the blanket right next to his knee.

He nods, twirling a lock of your hair around his finger. “Yeah, they look all pretty, and take all the pleasure you can give them, until they’re a beautiful, babbling mess.”

“O-oh…” Your face is adorable, eyes looking anywhere but his masked face.

“Look at me.” He orders, lightly, not to scare you, never to scare you.

Your eyes flicker to his, and he preens under your gaze, his free hand wrapping around your waist, fingers splayed across your clothed skin. “Good girl.”

He sees you rub your thighs together ever so slightly, and it drives him wild. He can’t fuck you, you have a boyfriend, and you don’t even know it’s Miguel under the mask, it wouldn’t be the same. But he does have another idea.

He trails his hands down your body, watching your face for any signs of fear.

“What else did he phrase wrong?” You ask with an adorable nervousness coloring your tone.

He can tell you want him, not just because his suit is giving him your bio signs, but by the way you inhale, and the way you lean towards him, hanging onto his every word.

He brushes a thumb over your lips. “How long has it been since he’s tasted you?” You avert your eyes, and he lightly taps your cheek with his forefinger. “Don’t turn from me Querida, I want to see those pretty eyes.”

You do as he says, and he hums in satisfaction, moving his hand to cup your face, thumb still resting on the center of your lips.

“So long, Spiderman.” You breathe, your lips moving against his thumb.

“Corazón.” He says, “not Spiderman, not now.”

You repeat the word after him, a little clumsily, but the sound of it makes him hide his face in your neck, his fangs begging to break through and claim you.

“It’s been so long, corazón.” You say, once he raises his head.

“Allow me to repent for his sins, then.”

Your eyes are wide, lips parting in surprise when his hands leave your face to grasp your thighs, pulling you forward, the bottom half of his mask dissolving once he’s lined up with your clothed core.

He’s dreaming, he has to be. You’re there before him, pretty little sundress bunched up around your hips, damp cloth covering that perfect pussy he’s seen night after night in your bathroom mirror.

“Oh Querida, you smell so good.” He presses kisses to your thighs, careful not to do more than nip you, mindful of the venom in his fangs.

“Corazón, please…” Your voice is quiet, but he can smell your arousal, and he rips off your underwear, tracking where it falls, intent on taking it home with him.

And then he feasts, large hands holding your thighs apart, as he devours you, tongue like silk through your folds, moaning at the taste, his lips wrapping around your clit.

You gasp at the feeling, and it goes straight to his cock.

“I don’t—fuck, um, I haven’t really shaved, and you really don’t need to all this for me, I mean Todd told me guys don’t like it when…” You’re nervous, insecure, and it breaks his heart.

He pulls back, pressing soft kisses to your skin before he rests his head on your thigh, giving you a reassuring smile. “It’s okay y/n, let me take care of you, forget what Todd says, focus on me.”

“Yeah, but what about—" You’re cut off by him diving back in, mouthing at your core like a man starved, and your eyes flutter shut.

You taste divine, and he needs more. He locks his arms around your thighs, his hands spread on your soft skin, his nose brushing your clit. “You’re so pretty, Querida, so perfect.”

“Corazón, corazón, I need more, please…” You beg, hands grabbing at his shoulders, your nails digging into the fabric of his suit.

“Anything, mi vida, I’ll give you anything.” He promises, as he plunges his tongue into your entrance, his words vibrate against you, and he moans when your walls clench around him.

“You, corazón, I want you.” You gasp, bucking your hips against his face, smearing your juices over his skin.

He could die like this and be content, but he wants more, he wants to see how desperate he can make you.

“Get on top of me.” He orders, not giving you time to react, instead Miguel holds you up with one arm and lies on his back.

He has you facing the street, hands able to find purchase on the ledge, as he pulls you down, the scent of you flooding his senses, your thighs framing his head.

“Spid—” He pulls you down further, seating you fully on top of him, lips and tongue working in tandem to drive you closer and closer to your peak, his suit growing tighter and tighter as you pant and whine above him.

 “Corazón, please, touch me.” Your head is hanging down, he can see the way your eyes are screwed shut, your expression is all he imagined while he watched you pleasure yourself, and now he gets to see it—be the cause of it.

He drinks you in, slipping two fingers in to aid his tongue, and your eyes fly open, locking with his.

You’re so beautiful, truly he thinks you might be an angel, a goddess, a succubus, with the way you begin to ride his face, rutting against his nose, crying his pretend name over and over again.

“You sound so beautiful, mi reina, sing for me.” He pleads, grinding your hips down on him.

Your eyes flutter shut once more. “I—fuck, Miguel, I—”

You’re singing for him. His name slipping from your lips unknowingly, and he loses it, free arm wrapping around your waist, his tongue bullying your clit, his fingers finding that spot within you, in a record time, he applauds himself for that, and curls against it mercilessly, a punishing pace that has you screaming.

“Miguel, I can’t, it’s too much, Miguel—” Your words are resistant, but you grind down on him, making no attempts to escape him.

“Lo siento, querida, no puedo parar, no puedo. Sabes demasiado buena” He strokes the clothed skin of your back to comfort you, his words muffled by your pleading. Trsl: I’m sorry, sweetheart/my dear, I can’t stop, I can’t. You taste too good.

Then you crash, your muscles tightening, hips moving wildly, and then you go boneless and Miguel slides from under you, wrapping his lips around his fingers and savoring the taste.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to—I’m so embarrassed, that isn’t even your name and—”

He tilts your chin up, and presses his thumb to your lips, like a vixen you part them unconsciously, and he groans, his cock aching. “No apology needed; I understand.”

“No but really I—”

“Y/N.” He warns playfully, the lower half of his masks reappearing.

You fall silent, and he feels a slow curl of lust. How obedient could you be? If he stayed to find out, he’d fuck you on this dirty roof, and he refused to debase you in such a way.

“Good girl, now go inside and get some rest.” Then he stands and swings away, desperate to find a quiet corner and take care of himself, your ripped underwear tucked safely away.

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Line That Leads To You

Pairing: Sirius Black x Fem! Reader AU: Soulmate AU CW: Language, Genre: Angst with a happy ending (don't worry guys) Summary: You make Sirius realize that having a soulmate isn’t all that bad— that he too, will have his happily ever after.

Note: One of my favorite tropes to write, soulmate AUs! Sirius just needs love and affirmation. I love writing for this! Enjoy! Picture is from pinterest, credits to the owner!

You know, Sirius never really believed in those pesky soulmates stuff. It irks him to no end, and makes his head hurt.

The topic makes him snappy, bitter, and it leaves him feeling angry. To whom? The world— the one who’s responsible for everything that has to do with soulmates. He thinks it is a bunch of bollocks. It’s a pathetic little concept that everyone seems to be too invested in.

Sirius would be very much happy to tell you it doesn’t really end with a happily-ever-after.

“I’m telling you, Prongs. It’s just a bunch of crap.” Sirius tells James one time at the drawing room in the Potter Manor. James shakes his head, disagreeing with his best mate.

“It isn’t always like Walburga and Orion, Pads.” James gently tells him, eyes swimming with empathy for Sirius. “Just look at me, Lily and I are together, finally.” Sirius can’t help but scoff, shaking his head in a disagreeing manner.

“That’s because you were already pathetically in love with her before you even knew she was the one, Prongs. Same thing for Lily, but she was quite stubborn trying to deny what she felt about you. You guys are actually made for each other.” James lets out a laugh, the memories resurfacing making a love-struck smile appear on his face (Sirius gave him a disgusted look)

“That’s what soulmates are, Pads. You’re supposed to complete each other, balance the other person out” He pursed his lips and sighed, there’s no way Prongs could understand his opinion on the matter.

Complete each other, huh?

Then can someone give him a reasonable excuse on why his parents broke each other? One descended into madness; the other doesn’t really seem to care as long as the noble house of Black lineage will continue.

Sirius bites his bottom lip, deep in thought as he stares at his pinky, willing the connection to be seen; a red string that was tied into a bow that leads to Merlin-knows-where. It serves as a connection; the string that he and only his soulmate can see whenever they want. He tugs on it curiously, awaiting any reaction with bated breath. He almost scrambled away when he felt the other end also tug it. Sirius was utterly terrified, a shiver crawled up to his system, it’s foreign feeling for the Black’s eldest son. It made everything feel too real. A fact that he desperately tries to deny.

That night, before they returned to Hogwarts as sixth year students was the last time he ever willed to see the annoying little string in his pinky, not caring if his supposed other half was finding him or already found him.

Maybe it had to do with his twisted upbringing. He saw how his father cut the string tying him to their mother, the purple string that bound them together turning gray and withering away.

He saw how Regulus flinched, no one should’ve seen a scene like that, but they did. Someone severing their connection to someone who should’ve been with them through better or for worse, the one that fate intended for them. Their life got worse just after that, forcing him to flee and leave his younger brother behind at the deranged hands of Walburga Black.

“You should eat more, Reggie.” You turned towards the quiet and reserved Slytherin, pushing his plate closer to him, which made him wince. “I am quite full.” You raised a brow “None sense, all you did was sip pumpkin juice so you better do as I say or I’ll tell Evan and Junior.”

“Do you know that you boss people around quite well?” He grumbles, shoving a few spoonsful of dinner in his mouth as you hummed in approval, cracking a small smile. “I was told.” Your eyes flickered to the Gryffindor table, it seemed to gravitate you, pulling you in.

Looking down at your pinky, you willed the string to be visible to you. Seeing the red string attached to Sirius Black made your stomach churn; was it butterflies? Unease? You don’t particularly know, having mixed reactions to the string that leads to your other half.

You’ve known for over a year now, keeping it to yourself as you quickly figured out that he wants nothing to do with his soulmate.

“Reggie! Reggie!”

You exclaimed, slapping the poor boy’s arm as he was currently staying in the L/n Manor. He looked in your direction, quite annoyed, he was interrupted reading his book. “I’m reading, Y/n. You know, you should too. It’ll do you some good.” He sassed, trying to find which part he stopped reading. “My soulmate! They tugged the string!” You gushed, “They must be looking for me too, right?” You asked no one in particular, you can still feel the tingles you felt, how your heartbeat picked up, and how you felt like you were in could nine.

Quite the opposite from what Sirius felt, huh?

You never told him, never planned to. It was quite clear what his views are on the concept of soulmates when you saw him snogging different girls every week. It wrecked you; you swore you felt your heart stop beating every time you see him loving a girl other than you even just for a week. It sounds stupid and all, but you would give up everything just to know what it feels like; how he will look at you with love and adoration in his eyes, how his touch and kisses would linger on your body, and how his voice would sound like as his breath fans in your ear, whispering promises of love.

You looked at him from the Slytherin table; so close yet so far.

Regulus noticed, the all too familiar broken look in your face. His heart hurts for you, even if you do not tell him, he already knows. Seeing his brother’s indifference, Regulus’s gaze hardened. How could he have the guts to do this to his soulmate?

The memory of their mother's despair, the way she withered away after their father severed the bond, was etched into his mind. Regulus does not wish for anyone to feel that way, he does not wish upon it even in his worst enemies.

It was a pain no one should endure, a lesson that should have been learned.

Yet there sat his brother, laughing with his friends and willfully ignoring the pulls of his heart. The person who held the other end of this unseen tether, was beside Regulus. Your soul ached as you watched your soulmate. It was a betrayal of the heart's deepest connection, and it stirred a tempest of fury within Regulus that he struggled to contain.

“My brother is foolish. Eat.” He states, pushing your food and placing the cornbread on his plate to yours. She cracks a smile, chuckling. “Alright, Reggie. You’re lucky I love you.” You pat his curls, proceeding to eat the bread, smiling a little. Reggie never really shares his food with anyone, except for you. You’re the only exception.

“Padfoot.” Remus starts, looking out of the window as Sirius lays down lazily in his bed, looking at nothing.

“What, Moons?”

“If I say that I have an inkling on who your soulmate is, would you… look for them?” Remus asked cautiously. Peter and James perked up, eyes wide with shock. How could Remus possibly guess who his soulmate is? Unless… They’re also in Hogwarts?

“Don’t start with that crap, Moony.” Sirius sat up; a scowl displayed in his features as his grey eyes turned stormy.

“Don’t you even feel the slightest amount of guilt in your system as you snog other girls?” Remus frowned.

Sirius’s scowl deepened, his hands clenching into fists. “Guilt? For what, Moony? For not wanting to be chained down by some ancient magic?” His voice was a low growl, barely containing the emotions that surged within him. “I won’t be dictated by fate. I make my own choices, and I refuse to be bound by a bond I never asked for.”

Remus’s expression softened, the lines of concern etching deeper into his face. “It’s not about being chained, Pads. It’s about finding someone who complements you, who understands you in ways no one else can.” He paused, his gaze steady and piercing. “You’ve seen what happens when that bond is severed. You’ve seen the pain it causes. Is that what you want for yourself? For your soulmate who’s probably hurting somewhere?”

Sirius looks down, biting his lip and playing with the rings on his fingers. “I don’t plan on severing our bond, Moons- “

“Then what the fuck are you doing?” Remus spat, Sirius flinched, looking at anything but them. He knew deep down that Remus was right. He can’t deny he also wants to look for his soulmate. The only thing that was holding him back is that he’s scared. What if your story would end similarly like how Walburga and Orion’s did? Dread fills his system as he reflects on how he slowly realized he’s becoming like his father. Peter and James exchanged a glance, the weight of the conversation settling heavily upon them.

“I’m scared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Scared of finding her… Scared of repeating the same mistakes.” He paused, his gaze lifting to meet Remus’s. “But you’re right. I can’t keep running from this. It’s not fair to them, and it’s not fair to me.”

James offered a supportive smile, feeling happy for his friend. Sirius stood up, his posture straightening as if shedding the weight of his fears. “I’ll do it. I’ll find her,” he declared, his voice steady. “I owe it to both of us to at least try.”

“That’s our Padfoot.” Remus breathes a sigh of relief as Peter nods encouragingly at Sirius.

The next daylight soon came. Sirius gulps, looking around the great hall, feeling quite overwhelmed at the number of students entering for breakfast, eating, or chatting amongst themselves. For the first time in a long time, he willed the red string of fate to reappear within his vision.

Ah, there it was. The red string connected to someone from the Slytherin table. Sirius felt his heart drop, seeing the end of the string connected to your pinky. “Y/n?” The name left his lips in a hushed awe, his heart skipping a beat as he saw the string connected to your pinky. You, who laughed with such ease beside Regulus, were the missing piece.

Whether it was some brotherly instinct, Regulus looked at him, shooting him a warning stare as if to say: ‘If you hurt her, you’ll never see the light of day ever again.’

Remus raised his eyebrows in surprise, knowing eyes set on his friend. “Found her, Pads?”

“Yeah. Found her, Moony.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” James chimed in, a grin spreading across his face as Peter silently cheers him on. “Go on, before you lose your nerve.”

Sirius took a deep breath, trying to shake off the weight of Regulus’s protective stare. It was a silent challenge, a vow to keep your heart safe from his brother. With a nod of acknowledgment, Sirius stepped forward, crossing the small distance between the Gryffindor table and Slytherin.

“Y/n,” he said, standing before you, the red string pulsing with a life of its own.

You stilled, slowly looking in his direction. Eyes wide with surprise, searched his for a moment before softening. “I was wondering when you’d come around,” you teared up, making Sirius’ heart ache.

Sirius extended his hand, the red string wrapping around both your destinies. “Let’s talk, yeah?”

And in that moment, as your fingers intertwined, Sirius knew that whatever the future held, he had made the right choice. For in finding you, he had found a new path that began to unravel, one filled with hope and courage. The buzz of Great Hall continued, but both of them felt time still, feeling the bond weave into their souls deeper.

Sirius’s and Y/n’s story had its flaws, but it was theirs, uniquely woven by the red strings of fate.