Jake Lockely X Reader - Blog Posts

Really Rally posting PURE GOLD

jake lockley- mistress

from rally: This was written for the beautiful, talented, absolutely amazing soul @silvernight-m for our holiday gift exchange. I had no idea that being in a fandom would be such an important part of my life, and you're such a huge part of that, my friend.

I admire your courage, honesty, and humor. Please scream at me any time you want because I ALWAYS LOVE IT!!!! Thank you for sharing a corner of your life (and pictures of your pets) with me. Also, I went ahead and pasted a mustache on that Jake photo b/c that's how we like 'em.

Summary: Jake & his mistress have a loving, kinky relationship (~1.8k)

---

“Jake, this isn’t a punishment if you ask for it.”

He groans. “I can’t help it. I see you, and I start begging.”

Jake is tied to the bed with Steven’s old restraints. Each of his ankles and wrists snugly secured and pulled apart. Completely at your mercy. The way both of you like it.

You stand at the foot of the bed, arms crossed. “And in your expert opinion, what punishment do you deserve tonight, Jake?”

His cock twitches, already hard and dark, leaking onto his stomach as he lays there helplessly. You’re still dressed in your sweater and pants.

“Don’t know if you noticed, but I grew out my mustache exactly how you like it.”

You walk up the side of the bed slowly, lean forward to give him a gentle pat on the cheek. “And what do you expect me to do with it?”

His hooded eyelids blink at you. “Ride it, mi amor. Obviously.” He licks his lips slowly, pulls at his restraints as if he’d forgotten, for a second, that he’s tied up. “As many hours as you want.”

He grins up at you, but it fades quickly when you don’t respond in kind.

You hold his chin in your hand a little too hard.

“You seem to be forgetting your manners,” you say, steel in every word.

He swallows. “I’m sorry, mistress.”

“Good boy.” You stroke your fingers over his mustache with a sigh. As much as you want to do as he asks, you can’t give in to him. Can’t let him call the shots when he’s the one immobilized and at your mercy. “Jake, do you like touching me?”

You move forward onto the bed, kneeling over him enough so that he gets a eyeful of cleavage.

“Yes, mistress. Greatest privilege of my entire fucking life,” he says.

You smile. “A privilege. A reward, maybe? But you said you wanted to be punished.”

Jake’s eyes dart to your face. He’s caught by his own logic and he knows it. “Uh, mi amor.”

You slap his cheek. Not hard enough to leave a mark, but enough to sting. “No, Jake. You don’t get to act like a desperate little slut and expect me to indulge you. You do what I tell you. If I want you to bark, you bark. If I want you to crawl down the street naked, then you will. If I want you to fuck me until your dick falls of, then I’ll get exactly that. Isn’t that how this works?”

“Yes, but-“

“What the fuck did you just say to me? Were you going to contradict me?”

You back off the bed, standing straighter, looming over him.

“No, mistress. Or, yes, mistress. Fuck.” Jake winces, pulling at the cuffs for real this time. They don’t give. “I didn’t mean it. I’m sorry.”

“Louder,” you raise your voice.

“I’m sorry,” he almost yells. His chest heaves up and down.

You shake your head. “I’m disappointed.”

A little sound escapes him, almost a whine. His big, brown eyes plead with you. A curl of dark hair is already sticking to his forehead, the rest wild and tangled on the pillow. You tuck a second one underneath so his head is propped up. So he can see down his body and you, when you stand at the end of the bed again.

“Please, I’m sorry. I’ll do anything you want.” He’s calmer now, but you hear the edge in his voice. He needs it now. He needs you to treat him like only you how.

“I like the sound of that.” Your eyes trace his body, lovingly taking in his olive skin, how his muscles tense and tremble, his hips and thick thighs. They settle back on his cock. “That looks almost painful, Jake.”

“It is, mistress,” he pants. “I just want to please you.”

His eyes look down. He’s cowed now, gentler.

Sometimes it takes Jake a few tries to get into the right space to submit to you. But it’s fun for both of you, when you finally break him.

“I want to see you come,” you say with a sweet smile.

His eyes look back up, hopeful.

“Oh no,” you almost laugh, “I’m not going to touch you. That would make it too easy.”

“Mistress, I-“

“And you’re not going to touch yourself either.” You stroke one of his ankles, just above the restraint. “No, Jake, you’re going to lay there, just like that, and you’re going to come for me. If you want to act like a whore, then you’re going to come like one.”

His jaw clenches so tight you almost wonder what kind of argument he’s having with himself (or whomever). It’s not that he’s in pain. It’s not about comfort. He’s frustrated beyond belief. The night hasn’t played out like he wanted it to, and he almost can’t handle it. He doesn’t want to be the brat you’d accused him of being, even though he definitely is.

“You want to stop?” You ask, letting your voice get softer for a second.

He shakes his head, his curly hair brushing back and forth over his forehead. “No, this is fucking great. How’d I ever end up with someone as amazing as you?” He grins, breaking character for a moment before remembering his task, re-focusing. “Okay, mistress, for you, I’ll give it a shot.”

You frown at him. “You’ll do more than give it a shot. Or else I’m going to make you wear a ball gag whenever you’re fronting at home for two weeks.”

Jake doesn’t look scared, not exactly. It’s more anticipation. You can see him doing the math on it. Honestly, he’d probably like to wear the gag. You would too. It’s more fun this way, though.

In the end, he nods. “Okay, I can come for you.” He shifts on the bed. “Mistress, could you keep talking to me? Or yelling at me? The sound of your voice-“

“Would help you get off. So no, Jake. Stop whining and come. Make yourself a pathetic mess for me, baby.” You coo at him.

He hums in his throat, his hips moving ever so slightly. You can only imagine the dirty fantasies he’s conjuring in his mind as his heavy eyelids shut. You see the muscles of his ass clench, his hips rising and falling.

Jake makes a noise of frustration.

“Fuck,” he spits out. His hips sink back down to the bed. He opens his eyes, his breath heavy. “I can’t, mistress. I’m sorry.”

He looks so sad, so angry at himself, that you have to give in a little.

“What were you thinking about?” You ask softly.

Jake’s head shakes subtly.

“Tell me,” you order him.

“The other night. You were sucking Marc off, but you were wearing one of my white button-downs because you were cold. He was so hard on you because you wouldn’t take it off. Your face was a mess. You wanted him to go hard on you, and you wanted to wear a piece of me.” Jake swallows. His cock gets a little harder, so stiff it’s not even touching his stomach anymore. “Marc asked you if you wanted me to front. But you said no. You both did it to torture me. You knew I was watching. I’ve never been so fucking turned on in my life.”

His hips buck up. His head falls back down. He groans loudly.

“You’re right. I am a whore. For you, mistress,” his words barely escape his lips. They’re mostly air as he moves up and down against nothing. Sometimes the tip of his cock hits his stomach and he shakes from the feeling. “Fuck. Fuck. I’m coming. I’m coming for you.”

His hips push high as his hands grab the restraints. He pulls on them, his muscles going tight and flexing as he comes spurts of gorgeous, thick cum onto his own stomach. It drips up his chest, down over his sides, pools onto the bed.

Exhausted, he falls down onto the bed. He tries to catch his breath, a smile on the corner of his lips. “Holy shit, mi amor. Was that good for you?”

You let yourself smile back at him, reaching over to undo the straps on his ankles. “I can’t believe I just stood there and watched that. I wanted to touch you so badly.”

You rub Jake’s ankles, then move to undo his wrists.

“Are you okay?” You ask.

“Of course.” His hand cups your cheek. “Are you okay?”

You kiss him on the lips. “I do like your mustache like this.”

Jake shrugs. “I know. Maybe after my shower, I can take you for a ride.”

He wiggles his upper lip, making you laugh. He reaches into the nightstand for a towel from the stack he keeps there. He gives his body a quick wipe down.

“Why don’t you go lie down on the couch? I’ll make you a snack so you have something to do while I clean up and change the sheets,” he says.

“You let me do all of that to you, and somehow, you end up giving me aftercare? Doesn’t seem really fair to you, Jake.”

His dark eyes sparkle at you. He throws the towel into the laundry hamper one-handed. “You’re my soul, my love, my life. You took care of me so well tonight. Let me do something for you. Please,” he winks at you, “mistress.”

You roll your eyes at him.

“I love you, mi amor,” he says, leaning in to kiss you again. But instead of touching his lips to yours, he scrubs his mustache along your cheek. “I’ve got all kinds of plans for this mustache. New Year’s is going to be special this year.”

“You have plans? Jake,” you pat his shoulder lovingly, “that mustache and that face belong to me. This year, next year, every year.”

“I like the sound of that,” he agrees. “You’re going to have hard time topping last year, though, when you had me on my knees for an hour, starting off the year with my tongue-“

“Don’t you worry, Jake. I’ll have no problems topping last year. In fact, I think you’ll enjoy just how I’m going to… top... it.”

His dark eyes go wide in delight. He swings you around in his arms, planting a huge kiss on your lips. “You’re a hell of a woman.”

“I’m going to fuck you until you’re brain dead.”

He growls, squeezing you in his arms. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted. You’re all I’ve ever wanted.”

Jake settles you on the couch with a movie and your phone, whistling on his way to the shower. When he comes back out, you’re asleep already, but Jake doesn’t wake you. He unfolds a blanket, carefully lays it over your body and kisses the top of your head.

Before you, he wouldn’t have thought twice about going out, killing an hour by punching faces in. Now, though, he’s taking a night off. He settles on the couch, one hand on your sleeping body.

He’s happy to not have to guard every single traveler of the night. He wants to protect you, to watch you, to be there when you wake up. This year, next year, every year, just like you’d promised him.

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bro did my man dirty 😢

LOOK. LOOKIT. LOOK AT HIS 💫SMILEE 💫. IM ACTUALLY CRYING RN. HIS SMILE IS SO PRETTYYYY. HES THE TYPE OF PERSON I WANT TO HUG AND THEN CRY ON. I WILL PROTECT THIS MAN WITH MY LIFE. I WOULD DIE FOR HIM.

I agree, i'm genderfluid and not girly as other girls are

Reposting a comment I made on a post and adding to it

x Reader fics need to handle writing “reader” better sometimes

As a 6ft afab person who’s built like a man and has never been super feminine and has a more unique haircut that’s shorter I hate to read about “readers” petite, small, pale body and her “long flowy straight hair”, etc.

Reader is meant to be ambiguous!! And if it’s important to the plot please mention it at the beginning!!! If it’s not important to the plot why is it being included???

Some people who are reading may be tall, fat, skinny, short, or even somewhere in between. The readers could have a hijab, 4c hair, locks, braids, long hair, short hair, wavy, no hair and even more.

Stop making all readers so sweet and innocent, I want a reader who’s petty and sassy sometimes. I’ve noticed also that so many readers are either too baby to do anything or over powered.

Personally I also hate reading about obviously toxic men and relationships that the reader goes back to because they are “so in love”, like no please let me deck that sucker and leave them in the dust and be happier.

Also, if you label your post with the tag “___ x reader” or titled with “___ x reader” and then make descriptions and then ADD A NAME!!! It’s not an x reader fic and I heavily want to block you.

Edit:

Hey hello! I just wanted to add that I heavily respect and love fic writers! So many have a talent that I will never reach or have and I appreciate your content being put out at all! I made this post as a 5 am ramble and was half delirious lol

People can write as they please and I’ll ignore it if I’m not interested or I’ll make slight internal edits to fit me if I am

Another great series!! Check it out!

Plot Twist || Reader x Moonboys

Moon Knight AU

Word Count: Around 1.3k

Summary: in which your boss sends you to keep an eye on a possible avengers recruit. You’re tasked with following him, figuring out who he is, and if he’s good enough for the team. That’s it. But it’s never that simple.

Warnings: None (I don’t think?) it’s really just a story full of fluff.

MARC SLOWLY WALKED out of your bedroom. He was nervously fiddling with the t-shirt that you had given him. His heart was pounding and he felt like he was going to have a panic attack, but he tried breathing through it. He knew he could do this - and he wanted to.

"There you are." You said sweetly as your eyes landed on the man.

"Here I am. ." He responded, scratching the back of his neck.

"Steven asked if he should be worried that you have men's clothes here." He said lightheartedly.

You laughed as you cooked, elegantly moving around the small kitchen. You set her spatula down and looked to the man.

"Is he. . Jealous?" You raised an eyebrow teasingly.

"Little bit." Marc felt the tension slowly leaving his body as you fell into comfortable banter.

"I assure you that Steven - and you - have nothing to worry about. I stole them from an old friend of mine back home." You said as your cheeks turned pink.

"Sorry, I don't mean to insinuate that you like me or have to like me. I was just -" You began to ramble as you tried to fix your mistake.

Marc smiled softly and closed the gap between the two of you, standing in front of your short person. He raised his hand hesitantly before wrapping it around yours.

"No, no. . I understand what you were saying." He assured you.

Your skin burned at his touch, in the best way possible. Steven was so lighthearted and silly, while Marc was mysterious and dark. It drove you crazy. You wanted to know everything about him.

"Well. . Good. Take a seat and I'll serve you." You told him, shooing him towards the table.

He happily obliged and took a seat, adjusting the sweatpants that hung on his hips. You set a plate in front of him consisting of a small stack of pancakes and waffles. You set syrup in the middle of the table before grabbing yourself a plate and sitting opposite of the man.

"I wasn't sure what you guys liked so I just made both." You said referring to the breakfast items, a nervous glint in your eyes.

"I'm good with anything. Steven prefers pancakes." He chuckled as he dug in.

"I'll keep that noted." You said as you tapped your head.

The two of you fell into a few minutes of comfortable silence before you decided to request something from him.

"So, Marc. Just like I asked Steven to, tell me about yourself."

"I - uh. There's really not much to tell." He told you.

You studied his reaction and saw the nervousness and uncomfortable look he suddenly held. You would have to take it much slower with Marc, you realized. He wasn't an open book like Steven.

"Let's start simple. Tell me this, what's your favorite movie? Because I already know how much Steven loves The Mummy."

☽ ♞ ☾

Marc was sat on the couch, waiting for you to find a particular blanket you were looking for. He watched you with humor in his eyes as you scurried around the apartment, looking for the item.

After a few minutes, you returned to the living room, wrapped up in a large fluffy blanket. You took a seat near the man and glanced at him.

"Sorry, I tend to misplace things." You giggled as you grabbed the remote and pressed play on the movie.

The two sat near one another, your knees almost touching. Marc glanced to you and back to the tv, contemplating what to do. Should he hold you? Or should he just stay where he was? He didn't want to make you uncomfortable.

"You can lay with me. . If you want?" You broke his train of thought. It was as if you could read his mind.

He looked over to you, to see you holding your arms open towards him. Without hesitation, he dove into your arms and laid his head on your chest. You giggled at his eagerness and wrapped your arms around him.

"I'm sorry. . You just don't know how long I've waited for this." He admitted in just barely a whisper.

"Really?" You asked with surprise.

He nodded his head in reply, resting his palm against your stomach. You bit at your lip before reaching up and running your fingers through his wild curls - causing him to let out a sigh of content.

You didn't press further and adjusted the blanket so it was covering the both of you. Your focus became engrossed in the movie and that's how you two spent their day off.

☽ ♞ ☾

You were stood at the museum gift shop, a clipboard in your hands as you examined the items for purchase. You had to keep rereading the words on the paper - as your mind was completely distracted with thoughts of Marc and Steven.

Your heart fluttered at the mere thought of the men, a smile always finding a way to your lips when thinking of them. You had come to the realization that you were inevitably falling in love. You knew you shouldn't be and you knew you should feel guilty - in a way you did. Would you ever be able to tell the boys the real reason you came into their lives? They would probably hate you.

That thought made your stomach drop. Should you just tell them now instead of pushing it off? You didn't know what to do. It was another instance of when Natasha would come to your rescue. But that was no more. And you certainly weren't going to ask Peter, the 15 year old, about it. You were on your own and it was nerve wracking.

"Love." The familiar sweet British accent rang in your ears, pulling you back to reality.

You spun on your heels, now facing an adorable Steven. His lips were broken into his toothy smile and all you wanted to do was plant kisses along his face. But you refrained - hardly.

"Hey, you." You beamed as you set your clipboard down and stepped towards him, gently tugging him closer by his jacket.

His curls were wild and unruly - and you loved them that way. His eyes carried bags underneath, alerting you to his lack of sleep. A frown immediately replaced your grin.

"You didn't sleep did you?" You asked him, your voice filled with worry.

You hadn't seen him in a day or two - ever since you met Marc for the first time. He had been busy with work and what you assumed was Moon Knight business.

"I uh. . no." He admitted, a frown now on his face.

"Well. . I guess you know what that means?" You tilted your head slightly as you asked him. He shook his head no and gave you a confused look.

"It means you have to sleep with me tonight." You told him, a smile popping back onto your lips.

Steven's eyes widened at your words. He knew what you meant, but he couldn't help but think about the other thing. He blushed deeply before smiling at you.

"That is very much needed." He told you, an eager look in his eyes.

"Marc says it's just what he needs." He added on with an eye roll, making you laugh.

"Tell Marc, there's enough of me for both of you this evening." You sent him a wink, knowing it would make the man blush even more.

"I uh -"

"Bye, love." You turned and grabbed your clipboard, walking away from the awestruck Steven.

He was stood stuck in his spot, his eyes wide with adoration and lust as he watched you walk away. Marc was rattling around inside his head, demanding him to go after you. Marc wanted to continue that conversation.

"No, no. I have work to do." Steven took a deep breath as he calmed himself, still watching your retreating figure.

"We gotta keep ourselves in control." He muttered to his alter before trudging towards the cash register.

☽ ♞ ☾

Love You to the Moon and Back

Pairing: Moonknight System x Gn!Reader

Summary: The Boys are away for Valentine's day but they make sure to leave behind some thoughtful gifts to show you how much you mean to them.

Warnings: just fluff and a brief mention of the boys touching reader's butt at the very end (Just couldn't help myself)

WC: 1.2k

A/N: thought I'd try writing some fluff with valentines day around the corner. Enjoy :))

You awaken to a cold, empty left side of the bed. You rub your hand over the indent left behind and sigh. Being apart was hard enough, but on Valentine's Day especially, their absence was glaringly obvious. You knew they'd be gone, but it didn't stop a wave of loneliness from washing over you. You had spent the previous evening together, knowing they'd be gone for the actual day. You had worked late, so you only really had a few hours to cuddle on the couch and fool around a bit before you had to head to bed. You agreed to celebrate properly when they get back, but you don't want to endure the wait. All you want to do is wrap them in your arms and spend the day in bed.

Before the melancholy can completely consume you, your nostrils are filled with the scent of freshly made breakfast. You get up and make your way into the kitchen and are immediately taken aback at the sight. The counter is covered with an assortment of all your favorite breakfast foods. The quantity is impressive, and it looks like a little buffet.  Alongside the food there is a note that reads, 'Enjoy!' and informs you of fully prepped lunch and dinner in the fridge. You immediately know it's Jake's doing. He takes care of you in so many ways but keeping you well fed has to be his favorite.

 At the center of the counter, you notice a beautiful white orchid. You smile. That was surely from him as well. You had mentioned your interest in getting one a while back and his eyes lit up. He’s a plant dad through and through and he's been sharing his hobby with you, showing you how to nurture and care for a variety of plants. It initially piqued your interest just seeing how committed he is to them. His gentleness and attentiveness when it came to his beloved flora warms your heart. You noticed it mirrors his care and devotion for you.

 As your eyes scan the various plates down the counter, they land on a pink heart shaped cloche. You lift it to reveal a Swiss roll with hearts decorating the outside. This, you know, is from Steven. He knows you enjoy baking and he had asked you a while back to give him lessons. Now every time you step into the kitchen, he’s at your heels, soaking in all the knowledge you can offer. You’re quite impressed with his roll, something you didn't teach him, so you know he went out of his way to learn by himself. The thought of him venturing out on his own to learn how to do it widens the smile on your face.

 Alongside his treat, he also got you a teddy bear. The little name tag on the ribbon reads, 'Little Steven' and you giggle. Every time they come home you always mention to him how much you miss his cuddles and how you resort to snuggling up with their pillow as a substitute. You cherish that sort of physical intimacy with all of them but especially with Steven. Sometimes he'll read to you, or you'll just chat about anything and everything. Other times you just lay there in silence, completely enveloped in the warmth and love of one another. It’s a time for connection and to be present with each other. It brings you closer together not just physically, but emotionally and it's hard to go without it for extended periods of time. So, he decided to gift you something as a sort of place holder to snuggle up with until he can get back to you.

 As you reach the end of the counter, you notice Marc hadn't contributed to the buffet, but that comes as no surprise. Marc is a disaster in the kitchen. Whether it's cooking or baking, or even making a cup of coffee, he's completely clueless. Just last week he tried to make you Ramen and almost burned down the house. Although there is no treat from him, what he left you was better than anything you could have asked for. He wrote you a letter, expressing his love for you. He talks about how you hold a very special place in his life and his heart and how he is grateful for you every day. The note itself was touching and it made you tear up, but the gesture meant just as much. He had been the hardest nut to crack amongst all three of them. Jake was quicker than him to open up, which surprised you.

Marc had been very closed off, emotionally, but you understood. You had been very patient with him, not wanting to pressure him and push him away. So, you were determined to let him go at his own pace. This eventually started taking a bit of a toll on your relationship and you voiced that concern to him. Your gentleness and understanding was enough for him to feel comfortable to start to make the effort. He speaks about this in his letter, saying you help him be more in touch with his feelings and not just shoving them deep down inside and shutting everyone out.

 Through your tears you start to chuckle as you eye the homemade “coupons” that accompanied his letter. They ranged from offering a massage, a cuddle session, trip to the farmers market, picnics, and a few other sweet offers. These are all things he would more than happily do with you anytime you asked but the gesture was appreciated.

 As you go to grab a plate, your eye lands on a small black box that sits next to the teddy bear and orchid. Feeling like you already got more than you could've hoped for, you reach for the box hesitantly. You can tell it's jewelry, which isn’t your typical type of gift. You prefer just spending quality time with your boys. When you open the box, you let out a small gasp. It is a simple but beautifully delicate moon pendant on a thin gold chain. The box is engraved with, “To the moon and back”. Tears, yet again, threaten to spill from your eyes. You immediately put it on, and you feel so full of love, even in their absence.

 As you begin eating, you open the card they got you. It had a sweet inscription, “Sorry we can’t be here to shower you with love like you deserve, but we’ll make it up to you when we return.” It's very sweet but what catches your eye is what's written on the bottom of the card. The boys left their own personal 'P.S' and you giggle as you read each one.

P.S. “give that cute butt a squeeze for me” -Steven

P.S.S “and a slap from me"- Marc

P.S.S "and a bite from me…oh wait…guess I'll just have to do it myself *wink*”-Jake

 You’re still missing them terribly, but you’re grateful to have their sweet words and gestures to keep your heart full until they come home.

Screaming and shouting and sksveudnbdmzuem

Live laugh love this fic 😍💞

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.”

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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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