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fireinmoonshot · 1 day ago

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darling | robert reynolds x reader,

THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR MARVEL'S THUNDERBOLTS*.

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x Reader Summary: You always call Bob darling in private... until you accidentally slip up and use the nickname in front of the rest of the Thunderbolts. Warnings: Mentions of food/drink, reader is mentioned to not be mentally ready for a relationship and has a bit of a moment at the end struggling with their thoughts/struggling mentally in general. Word Count: 1.3k A/N: Thank you all so much for the amazing response on my first Bob fic 🥹 For my second one, this was actually the first idea I had for Bob but it took a bit of workshopping to get right. I ended up being really happy with it. I love writing the Thunderbolts team dynamic. I also put a little easter egg in there for anyone that's read all my other Joaquín fics since February this year. I hope you all enjoy! 💗

Bob had been called many different things in his life. There had been a series of insults from his family and people he’d hurt during his time as an addict. Walker always called him Bobby, which he hated. Valentina called him by his full name, Robert. He had other names like Sentry and Void when he was using his powers. But none of those could ever come close to his favourite from you.

Every time he hears the word darling come from your mouth, directed at him, he thinks it might be the closest he’s ever come to true happiness. He wishes every time that he could bottle that feeling up and keep it for when the days are especially tough.

“Darling, can you pass me that book?”

“Darling, how are you doing after that mission?”

“Darling, do you need me to do anything for you?”

The only bad thing is the fact that you aren’t his. It’s a mutual decision, though, so he can’t be mad. You’ve been in mutual like for a while now. But both of you have known that entering into something serious when neither of you are mentally ready for something like that would just be foolish and end up with one or both of you being hurt. Your friendship always mattered more than the possibility of your futures together.

But the nickname still stuck and Bob was glad for that.

He never cared that it was just in private. In fact, he rather enjoyed the fact that it was just for the two of you. That, whenever he was alone with you, it was almost a guarantee that he was going to hear your voice speak that gorgeous word.

He cared for the rest of the team so deeply, but the moments when it was just you and him were his favourites. When you’d be laying together on the couch, both of you reading the same book and having to wait till you’d both finished the page before turning to the next one. When you’d be in the kitchen together, Bob washing the dishes as you plated up some kind of masterpiece for dinner. The quiet times, when everyone else was asleep and you and Bob would stay up trading memories like they were the worlds greatest secrets.

The level of comfort he got in your presence surprised him, but he accepted it quickly.

It’s why, when you enter the room, he knows that you’re there. He relaxes almost instantly, just from sensing you getting closer. You reach out to rest a hand on his shoulder before you stop yourself, resting it on the top of the chair that he’s sitting on instead.

There’s still a little hesitation when it comes to touch between the two of you. Both because neither of you want to cross the invisible line you’ve both drawn, but because of Bob’s powers too. He still isn’t fully in control.

“Morning, darling,” the word slips out before you can stop yourself. It’s so normal these days to refer to Bob like this, but always in private. Never in the dining room of the Watch Tower where every other member of the team is having breakfast.

Bob is none the wiser to your blunder. He gets that same starry look in his eyes as he always does when he looks up at you, standing behind him. He wants to reach out, wrap an arm around your waist and tug you onto his lap, though he wouldn’t have the confidence to do such a thing even if his powers weren’t an issue.

He always melts a little when he hears you call him darling.

Across the room, you hear a groan.

“Oh, hell no,” Walker says, dropping the spoon back into his bowl of cereal. “You two are not doing that. Whatever is happening here, I don’t care, but we are not listening to you two call each other darling. Especially over breakfast.”

“What’s so wrong with a bit of young love?” Alexei exclaims, throwing his hands up in the air as he looks at Walker across the table. “This is good! Love heals the soul, there is nothing wrong with love!”

You frown. “Okay, who said anything about love?”

Alexei and Walker ignore you and continue to bicker.

You catch Yelena’s eye from across the room where she’s sat by the window, but she just shrugs her shoulders and goes back to staring out at the skyline.

“I would’ve thought you’d be all right with seeing affection, Walker,” Ava says, entering the room behind you. She’d obviously overheard the noise from the hallway. “You are married, even if you’re not together right now. Are you telling us you never called your wife something like that?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t make everyone else listen to me!”

Bucky, who has been watching everything the whole time from the corner of the room where he’s sitting, coffee in hand, huffs out a laugh. “You guys think this is bad? You should be glad you’ve never spent time around Joaquin Torres when he’s away from his girl.” He shakes his head and takes a sip of his coffee, not bothering to explain any further about the new Falcon.

You take advantage of the moment of silence that Bucky has caused to attempt to fix the situation. “Okay, no more talking about love or who is and isn’t allowed to call each other nicknames. Can we just drop it? It was a slip of the tongue!”

“Only if you explain why you said it,” Walker says.

“No,” you reply, pulling out the chair next to Bob’s and sitting down in it. It’s all you offer in way of an answer to Walker and he seems to surprisingly give up on fighting you on it.

You glance over to see that Bob is still looking at you, his eyes glistening and a small smile on his lips. The sight of it makes you smile as well. “I am never calling you that in front of the others again… even if it was just a slip of the tongue, that was mortifying.”

Bob smiles again and nudges a drink that’s sitting in front of him over towards you – he’s prepared your favourite and had it waiting for when you arrived. You try to ignore the feeling that rises in your stomach at the small act of kindness.

“But when it’s just us?” He inquires.

“You know it’s different then.”

You pick up the drink and take a sip of it before leaning back in your chair. Walker and Alexei have started bickering over something else. Yelena is still looking out the window, Bucky is in the corner with his coffee and Ava is exiting the kitchen with a drink of her own. It’s a fairly mundane kind of morning for a group of people meant to be the ‘New Avengers.’

There’s a sudden feeling that rises in your chest at the thought of your new status as an Avenger. It’s uncomfortable, unwelcome. You still don’t know how you feel about it, even many months later. It should be a good thing, but then why does it fill you with dread?

Bob can see the change in your expression and he’s quick to act. He reaches over and taps the table in front of you to get your attention. You pull your eyes away from the window, where you’d been staring, and meet his eyes instead. They instantly help to calm you.

“Quiet time?” Bob asks, nodding towards the door that leads into the hallway.

It’s like a code word between the two of you. When one of you needs to get away from the others or you start to get a little too wrapped up in your head. Two words that put you instantly at ease.

You nod and Bob wastes no time in standing up from the table. You follow him, leaving your drink in the dining room and walking out of the room with him, ignoring Walker as he calls out, asking where you’re both running off to.

“Thank you, darling,” you mutter, once you’re just outside the room.

Bob turns to you with a small smile on his lips. “Always.”

#bob reynolds #robert reynolds #bob reynolds x reader #robert reynolds x reader #bob reynolds x you #marvel #marvel x reader #thunderbolts #thunderbolts x reader

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mutable-manifestation · 7 months ago

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When the password doesn't work, first instinct is either "Babs/Tucker locked me out for enrichment reasons" or "must've changed it sometime in the past..63 hours. oops" and in either the case the follow-up instinct is "time to break into my own laptop again I guess."

They both don't notice the different layouts - Danny has to work on that paper, and he knows as soon as he's back at his dorm (let's say college au) he simply will not be able to stay awake any longer.

Tim has to draft a PowerPoint for a WE meeting scheduled not 5 hours after that, and figures if he bunkers down he can get in a quick nap in the board room before people actually start arriving.

So they both immediately open a document and get typing.

Tim does not notice until later that night, when Damian makes a passing comment about a "new space sticker" on his laptop and Tim - who has since had a full 3 hours of sleep - is suddenly hit by all of the (numerous) ways in which this is clearly Not His Laptop)

It is, instead of black, a very dark shade of purple. It has a Nasa sticker on the back with a nebula in place of the usual blues stars background. Opening it again, he realizes what he'd thought were spots swimming in his vision were actually very tiny dots of lights in random places on the keyboard.

Danny only realizes the next morning, and calls Tucker to remote-fry his info (he keeps backups for everything important, but he does not need some of those files getting out, given that his ghost catalogue includes him. It's very encrypted, but still).

Tim, for his part, has already had plenty of time to access, copy (just in case, and start reading said files (he had to figure out who owned the thing! ...And he was maybe feeling nosy. But look! Ghost stuff! Now he has to know more!). So he only slightly surprised when the laptop suddenly died.

Irrecoverably, he found after cracking it open.

Danny, of course, starts hacking all of the encrypted files on not his computer - gotta know who it belongs to! And all these layers of protection! It's good hacking practice! For fighting Technus! Totally just that and not nosiness, pssh whaaaattt.

Of course once they both start finding Bat & Ghost stuff... the Need To Know hits an all time high.

They both manage to find out each other's favorite times to be at that coffee shop (both are regulars - Danny knowing the details via celebrity news & Tim through hacking the cameras).

They both start going to the coffee shop at the others' usual times, with laptop (or backed up data) and questions along with them.

Their usual times are completely different & they keep missing each other.

They both know who each other are, of course, but Tim is trying to play the "totally normal civilian" angle on the chance this guy doesn't know enough to get through his encryptions (and given Danny learned everything from Tuck & never flaunts it's a reasonable assumption, even if his paranoia only allows it to be a hope) and Danny is trying to play the "unsuspicious college student" angle on the off chance the bats didn't take one look at the laptop & decide it wasn't invasion of privacy time (a slim hope, given that that's exactly what he did. But as the saying goes: deny, deny, deny).

Danny and Tim are both at:

- same coffee shop

- hospital levels of sleep deprivation

- a delusional lack of awareness

where they accidentally slide into the other persons booth and take the other persons laptop; fully not registering the extent of what they’re doing.

Big issues:

- Tim has Top Secret WE documents and batfiles on that computer

- Danny has a majority of his ghost catalog on that computer.

#god I wish that were me”#if you want it to be Tim x Danny it can be timed when Danny's taking a drink to start off a series of #dpxdc #they both keep missing each other #Tim doesn't want to just go to his dorm because if he HASN'T figured anything out doing so would just invite question #Danny is slightly scared of Bruce Wayne so that's out #Tim considers just sneaking in and swapping them back #but given the self-destruct thing no WAY he doesn't at least know that he lost his own laptop #but also leaving it too long makes it just more and more of an exposure risk #but it's his regular coffee times like. he has to show up eventually #you don't just Quit coffee. Especially not the coffee that place serves #putting out a statement that he accidentally switched laptops with a stranger and would like to trade back asap would just lend credit #to anything Danny might decide to announce to the world #like. perhaps his vigilante ID #Except that would be mutually assured destruction bc apparently Danny is also a vigilante #and dead #even tho he was alive at the cafe #apparently bro can just die on command #when they finally manage to meet up later (after just over a month of missing each other - figuring out the problem - switching their norma #times back - finally biting the bullet and calling each other's cell numbers which they both definitely should not know)#Tim hears his very much Should Be Illegal That Much Caffeine Will 100% Kill Any Normal Human order and just #accidentally flirting with each othe #every time they talk“ alongside whatever heftier ”vigilantes helping each other deal with rogues/LOA/GIW“ plot gets going

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flwrkid14 · 7 months ago

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Tim Drake – From Vigilante to Infinite Realms Royalty

It was one of those things that Tim never imagined would happen, not in his wildest Gotham nights. But then again, dating Danny Fenton, aka Danny Phantom, the Ghost King, came with more than just the usual paranormal hijinks.

Tim was used to strange things, but being royalty? That was definitely new.

The revelation hit him one evening when Danny casually mentioned it, like he was talking about the weather.

“You know you’re technically royalty now, right?” Danny said, lounging upside down in the air like it was the most normal thing ever.

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Royalty? What are you talking about?”

Danny grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Well, you’re dating me. And I’m the King of the Infinite Realms. So that makes you my consort… which, you know, technically makes you royalty too.”

Tim froze. “Wait—what? That’s not how this works. I didn’t sign up for—”

“Oh, but it is how it works. Welcome to ghost politics, Drake.”

And that’s when Tim realized his life just got infinitely more complicated.

Naturally, the bats found out. Because of course they did. And it spiraled into something Tim really didn’t want to deal with.

It started when he casually mentioned it during a meeting in the Batcave. He figured it wasn’t a big deal. After all, being ‘royalty’ in a ghost dimension didn’t really change anything, right?

Wrong.

Bruce didn’t even flinch. He just kept typing at the Batcomputer. “You’re dating the Ghost King, and now you’re royalty?”

“Technically, yes,” Tim said, trying not to sound too defensive.

Bruce glanced at him. “I see.”

That was all he said. But it was enough to make Tim feel like he’d just announced he was moving to the moon.

Jason, of course, immediately jumped on it. “Hold up. So you’re, like, ghost royalty now? Does that mean you get a crown or something?”

Tim shot him a glare. “No, I’m not getting a crown.”

“Oh, I dunno,” Jason grinned. “Sounds like royalty to me. Next thing you know, we’re gonna be bowing to Prince Drake of the Phantom Zone.”

“It’s not the Phantom Zone, Todd.”

Damian, predictably, was furious. “This is ridiculous. You, Drake? Royalty? You are not fit for any throne, especially one in the Infinite Realms. The entire concept is absurd.”

Tim sighed, rubbing his temples. “I’m not ruling anything, Damian. It’s just a title.”

“An unearned one,” Damian muttered under his breath.

Steph, on the other hand, thought it was the funniest thing she’d ever heard. “Wait, wait. So if you and Danny are together for real, does that mean we have to call you ‘Your Highness’? I need to know. Are there royal ghost duties? Do you have to make decrees?”

“No. Please stop,” Tim groaned.

But the worst part? The teasing didn’t stop. Every dinner, every mission, every time Tim walked into the room, someone had something to say.

“So, Tim,” Dick said one day with a grin. “Have you started planning ghostly state visits yet? I’m sure the Justice League would love to attend a royal banquet in your honor.”

“No state visits,” Tim said through gritted teeth. “I don’t even rule anything.”

“Sure you don’t, ‘Your Ghostliness,’” Jason added with a laugh.

The bats seemed to think it was the funniest thing in the world. Tim? Not so much. But he had to admit, ghost politics were no joke. He was already getting drawn into weird Infinite Realms power struggles, where ancient beings would bow to him and ghosts would whisper about “the King’s consort.”

At first, Tim tried to play it off. He didn’t need the title. He wasn’t about to walk around with a crown and robes, or start making royal proclamations. But when one of the ghost courtiers addressed him as “My Lord,” he couldn’t help but cringe.

Danny found the whole thing hilarious. “Don’t worry,” he’d say with a smirk. “You won’t have to do anything royal. It’s just… a perk.”

“Some perk,” Tim muttered.

Still, despite all the teasing and the bizarre ghostly politics, Tim knew one thing for sure: he wouldn’t trade it for anything. Dating Danny came with chaos, sure. But at the end of the day, Tim was okay with it. Even if it meant being ghost royalty.

Just… no crown. Ever.

#brain dead #dead tired #tim drake #danny phantom #dc x dp #batfam #danny fenton #danny is the king of the infinite realms #which totally makes tim royalty now #and despite what he thinks he should totally get his own crown

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meadowfics · 3 months ago

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postpartum

husband!babyfather!kang dae-ho x f!wife!mom!reader

in a world where you did get to have your family, unlike what happened here

warnings: mentions of normal post-pregnancy stuff like breastmilk pumping. postpartum depression. dae-ho being ALIVE in this one and being the best husband to you and father to your babies <3

heavily requested in my inbox after what I posted yesterday LMAO

the weight of it all is suffocating.

you sit on the couch, your body sinking into the cushions as exhaustion drapes over you like a heavy, unshakable blanket.

in your arms, tiny and delicate, byeol drinks from her bottle, her little fingers curling and uncurling against your chest, her slow, steady suckling the only sound anchoring you in the moment.

the babies tiny body is warm against you, her breaths soft, her features too much like dae-ho’s that it makes your heart ache.

normally, you would be lost in adoration, in awe of this little life you brought into the world. you would trace her perfect cheeks with your fingers, marvel at the way her lashes flutter as she drinks, kiss the soft long hair she inherited from her father.

today, you are simply trying to hold yourself together.

your body is sore, aching from the endless cycle of feeding, pumping, and barely sleeping. your mind feels foggy, tangled with thoughts you don’t want to have, emotions you don’t want to feel.

you love your daughters, you love dae-ho, you love your family. you would never trade this for anything.

however, the love isn’t enough to make the heaviness go away.

across the room, seo-ah plays on the floor, a bright burst of energy that fills every corner of the house. she chatters to her stuffed animals, her high-pitched giggles filling the space, making everything feel alive in a way that you cannot.

“appa! look! teddy is dancing!”

she exclaims, lifting her stuffed bear into the air, twirling it in circles.

dae-ho, sitting cross-legged on the floor beside her, gasps in exaggerated excitement.

“wahhh! so cool, teddy is so talented!”

seo-ah beams at the praise, her eyes crinkling as she twirls again, her joy infectious, her laughter like sunshine.

normally, that sound would lift you.

normally, watching dae-ho be the incredible father that he is would warm your heart, remind you that you are not alone in this, that you have him.

today, it only makes the exhaustion worse.

dae-ho’s gaze flickers toward you, sharp and observant, even as he stays engaged with seo-ah’s game.

he doesn’t miss the tension in your shoulders, the blankness in your eyes, the way your responses are slower, quieter than usual.

he gets up, making his way to you, crouching in front of the couch so that he’s level with you.

“baby,” he murmurs, his voice soft, careful.

“are you okay?”

you manage a small smile.

“yeah, just tired.”

the marine’s warm, calloused hands settle on your knees, thumbs rubbing slow, comforting circles.

“do you want me to take byeol for a bit? you’ve been holding her all day.”

you shake your head, your arms instinctively tightening around byeol’s small frame.

“no, i got it.”

dae-ho doesn’t push. he never does.

he simply nods, but the concern lingers in his eyes.

after twenty minutes, when byeol finishes her bottle, you sigh, shifting in your seat.

“love, can you do their bedtime routine tonight? i feel… gross. i just wanna shower.”

dae-ho’s expression softens instantly, and without hesitation, he leans forward to press a gentle kiss to your temple before carefully lifting mini byeol from your arms.

“of course, baby. take your time, okay?”

he doesn’t say it to make you feel better. he means it.

every time, every single time, he is happy to take care of his girls.

he never complains, never hesitates.

he loves them, loves you.

as he walks away, bouncing byeol gently in his arms, calling for seo-ah in that affectionate tone he always uses, you make your way to the bathroom, the door clicking shut behind you.

unfortunately, the moment you step into the shower, the relief you so desperately crave does not come.

the warm water cascades down your skin, but it does nothing to ease the exhaustion weighing down on you.

the pressure is strong, firm against your sore muscles, but you still feel tense, wound so tightly that no amount of heat can unravel you.

you let your head drop forward, resting your forehead against the cool tiles of the shower wall. your arms hang limply at your sides, the steam rising around you in thick waves.

for a moment, you try to breathe…slow, deep, steady. but it doesn’t help. nothing does.

your body doesn’t feel like yours anymore.

your breasts ache, swollen and sore from pumping, tender in a way that makes you wince when the water hits them. your stomach, still soft and a little stretched from carrying byeol, stirs something sharp and cruel inside you, something that whispers that you’ll never look or feel the same again.

honestly, you cannot recall if you felt like this after having seo-ah.

you press your palm against yourself, fingers tracing over the faint marks left behind from your pregnancy, and you don’t know whether you love them or hate them.

a lump forms in your throat as your gaze flickers downward.

your thighs, your waist, the curve of your hips—none of it looks the way it used to.

you know, logically, that your body is healing, that you just brought a life into this world.

sometimes logic doesn’t quiet the thoughts that get at you, that tell you you are different now in a way that you can’t come back from.

you reach for your vanilla body wash, desperate for something familiar, something comforting.

the moment your fingers curl around the bottle, you realize it’s empty.

your breath catches.

it’s stupid.

it’s just body wash. you can use dae-ho’s.

it doesn’t matter.

it does.

your hand trembles slightly as you pick up his bottle instead, the scent of cedarwood and musk filling the space. it smells like him, like the warmth of his embrace, like the shirts you steal from his side of the closet.

you squeeze the soap into your net sponge, rubbing it over your arms, your shoulders, your chest. the wrongness lingers, settling into the hollow of your ribs like an ache that won’t fade.

when will this get easier?

the thought slams into you like a wave, sudden and suffocating.

your chest tightens, and before you can stop it, tears spill over your cheeks, mixing with the water streaming down your face.

you bite down on your lip, trying to keep the sobs at bay, but it’s useless. the emotions hit all at once, hard and overwhelming, crushing under the weight of everything you’ve been holding in.

your shoulders shake as the sobs build, as the exhaustion and frustration and sadness pour out of you in waves you can’t control.

you press a trembling hand to your mouth, trying to muffle the sounds, trying not to let it get too loud and scare seo-ah from her bedroom.

no matter how hard you try, no matter how much you tell yourself to just get over it, to just be strong…you can’t stop.

the walls feel too close. the steam is suffocating. the sound of the water is deafening.

you squeeze your eyes shut, gripping onto the tile as you try to catch your breath, try to pull yourself together, try to remind yourself that you are okay.

you don’t feel okay.

you don’t know when you will again.

your body still aches. your breasts are sore from pumping, tender in a way that makes you wince when the water hits them.

the final straw.

and then—

the door creaks open.

you don’t hear footsteps, don’t hear anything other than your own quiet cries.

then the shower door slides open, and suddenly, there he is.

dae-ho.

your husband.

your breath catches as he takes you in….your trembling frame, the water streaming down your face, the way you try so desperately to wipe away the evidence of your breakdown.

he’s not having any of it.

without a word, he steps forward, his black shirt and joggers instantly soaked as he pulls you into his arms.

“baby,” he breathes against your wet hair, his voice thick with emotion.

“don’t do that. don’t hide from me.”

you break.

your hands clutch at his shirt, your sobs shaking your whole body as he holds you. his large hands cradle the back of your head, his fingers slipping through your soaked hair as he rocks you gently.

“i know it’s hard,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“but i’m right here. i’ll always be right here.”

and you believe him.

he stays with you until the tears slow, until your breathing steadies.

then, gently, he helps you out of the shower, wrapping a towel around you before drying you off with so much tenderness it nearly makes you cry all over again.

you don’t lift a finger.

he stands behind you, brushing through your damp hair before braiding it, his fingers moving with practiced ease thanks to his older sisters.

he massages your vanilla body butter into your skin, his touch warm, comforting. when he helps you into your nightgown, his fingers linger at your waist, his gaze full of something so raw, so real, that it makes your breath hitch.

in bed, he helps you pump, his hands resting on your thighs, his presence a grounding force.

finally, when you’re settled against him, you whisper,

“did they go to sleep easily?”

dae-ho hums.

“byeol was easy, but seo-ah went on a five-minute rant about oreo ice cream before tiring herself out.”

you giggle softly, your heart swelling.

“she really loves that ice cream.”

you don’t speak again until the question that has been weighing on you slips past your lips.

“dae…will i feel beautiful again?”

dae-ho’s response is immediate.

he pulls you close, pressing kiss after kiss to your forehead, your cheeks, your lips.

“you are beautiful now,” he murmurs against your skin.

“you’ve always been beautiful. you gave us the most perfect babies. and i promise, baby, you’ll feel normal again. until then, i’ll be here. every step of the way.”

and in his arms, in his warmth, you believe him.

you will be okay, even if postpartum depression keeps trying to consume you.

masterlist

#kang dae ho #can you tell that this is my favorite gif of him lmao #squid game #squid game s2 #squid game season 2 #squid game fanfic #kang dae ho x reader #player 388 #payer 388 x reader #multifandom account #squid game x reader #squid game x y/n #meadowfics

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sinofwriting · 6 days ago

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Engineer in Law - Max Verstappen

Words: 1,758 Summary: Max and GP are far more close than most race engineers and drivers, which might have to do with the fact that Max is dating his daughter. Note(s): Takes place in 2021. Reader is GP’s daughter. Reader is 21, Max is 23. I don’t know what GP’s wife’s name is IRL but in this fic her name is Sarah. Also, reader is only given one physical descriptor which is that she has GP’s eyes, apologies if (like me) you don’t know have that eye color, but we can imagine and/or wish! This might end up getting a part two.

Masterlist | Support Me!

“You're happy.”

It’s not something GP normally comments on, Max’s moods. Not unless it’s to make a sarcastic comment about how thrilled he looks to be going to a press event or something of the sort, but Max is beaming like he just won a race. It’s an odd look on the young driver, an unusual one, sadly.

“I asked the girl I was seeing to be my girlfriend, she said yes.” Max’s voice is quiet and GP leans in, his eyebrows going up at the news, at the soft but excited tone the words hold.

He smiles at the younger, reaching forward and clasping him on the shoulder. “That’s fantastic, mate. Want to tell me about her?” It’s a rather stupid question because if Max didn’t want to talk about her, he wouldn’t have said anything. And GP is rather happy to sit here and listen to Max talk about this new girl in his life.

“She’s amazing, GP. I mean really smart, funny, and she never backs down. She always has a response to anything I say. And even if I’m in a bad mood, she doesn’t let me just sulk. She knows exactly how to get a response from me and she knows it. She’ll get this little smirk on her face after I snap back at her and she’s great.”

GP has to stop himself from clearing his throat at how head over heels in love Max looks. It was oddly like looking in a mirror when GP was just four years younger than him and seeing his wife holding their newborn daughter.

“I hope you're not snapping at her too much.” His dad mode is in full force, nearly shuddering as he thinks of his twenty-one year old daughter getting snapped at often by a boyfriend. He further shudders at the reminder she currently has a boyfriend.

“Not like that.” Max reassures. “It’s kind of like us in the simulator.”

GP lets out a laugh.

It wasn’t often he joined Max in the simulator but every time they did, other people would gather around to hear the pair mock argue with each other.

“Well I’m happy to hear she’s keeping you on your toes.”

—

Max is practically vibrating in his seat as he waits for GP to sit down.

“She planned a date.”

GP stills from where he was about to reach for his water.

“Like a whole date. From everything, the food, the drinks, what we watched and it was all stuff I liked and fit in my training plan.”

He watches the younger closely, hearing something off in his voice.

“I thought I missed something. Like an anniversary or something, even though we’ve only been together five months.”

GP eyes shut for a second, rage threatening to overtake him. Max was never treated kindly enough and Max had never really talked about his few previous relationships before and he can’t help but wonder if this is why. Because Max never felt truly happy in them. Always something just wrong, always on the edge.

“She just wanted to do something nice for me. Said it wasn’t fair, I had been planning most of our dates.” Max looks confused, but there’s a slight flush to his cheeks.

“Y’know, my wife and I trade off.”

Max tilts his head a little.

“I mean, we only do a date about once a month, but we trade off. I did the last one, so tomorrow, she’s planning our date. We used to do the same with vacations, but the whole thing stresses her out a little too much, so I plan them and get the travel plans sorted while she handles looking at things to do and places to go while we are there. It's a partnership, Max. It should be an equal give and take. And that doesn’t mean that it has to be you guys both are giving and taking the same thing equally, you just need to find the balance that works for you. Like you take out the trash, she does the dusting.”

“She has a dust allergy. And we aren’t living together yet.”

GP smiles, coughing to hide his laugh. “Yet, I see. And if she has a dust allergy she needs certain pillowcases and sheets, I’ll send you the ones I bought for my daughter last Christmas.”

“Thank you, GP.”

“I’m always here for you, Max.”

—

“You were out again.”

“Good morning to you as well, dad.” His daughter says, eyebrows raised even as she steps closer to press a quick kiss to his cheek before going to the fridge.

He glances at the clock, slightly miffed to see it is just after eleven am. “Closer to the afternoon.” He comments.

She signs, leaning against the counter, a Red Bull in hand, and he watches as her fingers play with the tab but not open it. It’s a habit he’s never seen from her before. “Dad,” He looks at her face at the sound. “Is me having a boyfriend bothering you that much?”

He softens a little. “No, well, yes. It’s just I don’t know anything about him. All I know is you have a boyfriend and that’s it. I don’t know his name, how old he is, what he does for a living, if he treats you well. And you're spending an awful lot of nights as his and I’ve never met him.”

Her fingers still against the can’s tab. “Is that something you want?”

“Well I’d prefer to meet him before you fully move in with him.” He gives her a look. “But yes, I would. He makes you happy.” It was a hard pill to swallow, the reason for his daughter seeming to be so happy being a boy, but that was the reason.

“Alright, I’ll text him and maybe tomorrow we could do lunch?” She offers.

“I’d like that.”

—

“I’ve been listening to Max talk about our daughter for months.”

Sarah’s lips thin as she struggles not to laugh, running a soothing hand over her husband’s back. “You said it was sweet how he talked about her.”

“Well, I didn’t know he was talking about our daughter then did I?”

His head somehow manages to drop further into his hands. “He talked for thirty minutes straight about her eyes. Her eyes, Sarah. She has MY eyes.”

Sarah can’t help the laugh that spills from her lips. “Well at least it was just her eyes you heard about.”

GP’s face screws up at that remembering the hickey he had seen high on Max’s neck last week and apparently he had some interesting scratch and bite marks as well. Those thankfully he had not seen. “Please, love, put me out of my misery.”

His hands fall into his lap and he presses his face against his wife’s neck, smelling the slightly faded scent of her perfume and her lotion.

“Oh hush.” She says, lightly swatting his shoulder. “It could be much worse. You like Max, you know Max. He’d never hurt our baby.”

GP softens, pressing a kiss to her neck before sitting straight, his back thanking him for it. “No, he wouldn’t. I just,” He sighs. “This is serious for Max and it’s obviously serious for her. She’s never invited a boy around the house that she’s been seeing. When she said lunch, I thought she had booked our usual table.”

“I know. You were all ready to go, wallet and keys in hand.”

“She let me think that as well you know.”

Sarah hums, “I wonder who she got that from.”

He smiles at her. “No clue, love.”

Her eyes give a slight roll and then she’s leaning forward. Brushing their lips together. “Max is good for her and it’s obvious that she is good for Max as well with what you’ve told me. And just think you always joked that Max was like a son. Now it’s just more official.”

“Oh my god, they’re going to get married.”

Sarah laughs at the horror and awe in her husband's voice. “I’d say don’t get ahead of yourself, but you saw exactly what I did at lunch.”

—

“Max, if you talk about my eyes one more time, I’m going to report you to HR.”

Max snickers at the older’s expression. “But, I’m not talking about your eyes.”

“She has my eyes.” GP cuts him off immediately, already knowing his defense. “We have the same exact eyes.” He holds up a finger, silencing Max. “And don’t even think of starting to list the difference between them.”

He kicks a little at the ground, faking a sigh. “Fine. Can we at least talk about you talking in the braking?”

GP sighs, but nods. “Yes, we can talk about it.”

They both fail to notice the Sky Sports camera that had been filming the conversation until much later, when Max is sitting in his driver’s room, chuckling at the broadcast that had just ended and the tweets on his phone.

“Listen to this one, Sky Sports seriously reporting that a female employee is threatening to go to HR because of Max’s comments while playing the video of audio of GP, his MALE race engineer, is seemingly joking about going to HR, is sending me. How is this a serious news source?”

GP snorts, looking at his texts with his daughter. “She just sent me this one, ‘Sky is doing nothing but proving their British bias and stupidity. How much do you think they suck Lewis’ dick for every year now?’ Honestly, they have a point.”

“More than a point.” Max says, tossing his phone to the side. “It’s one thing to say I’m a shit driver that shouldn’t be anywhere near Hamilton, but this? This is ridiculous even for them. They have the footage and audio, aired both, and are saying that it’s a female employee. Vicky is having the time of her life right now, and so are my lawyers.”

“Your lawyers?”

Max shrugs. “They’ll be working with Red Bull’s as well, but this is more than that.”

“It is.” GP agrees. “Sarah was with her when it aired. She was livid.”

“I could tell.” The driver chuckles. “My texts are filled with it. She wants to come to the next race, well, two.”

“Team home race. That’s a statement.”

His cheeks are a little pink. “She wanted to wait for Zandvoort to officially come as my girlfriend, but she wants to be with me for these next two now.”

“It will be nice to see her at both.”

#max verstappen imagine #max verstappen x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 imagine #formula 1 x reader #sins fics

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n0rmal-cat · 18 days ago

Text

Farmer yan x thief reader short-sunscreen

[farmer yan doesn’t know a lot of things he really only learned how to be a farmer, he honestly doesn’t even know he’s flirting…but when he learns it’s over for reader]

Reader applies sunscreen to their hands before rubbing it into their face.

“Why are you doing that?” asks Farmer Yan, looking confused.

“Putting on sunscreen?” the reader responds.

“Sunscreen…?”

“Ehh!? Don’t tell me you don’t know what sunscreen is! You’re always in the sun!”

“What does sunscreen do?” Farmer Yan asks.

“It protects your skin from the sun so it doesn’t burn and peel.”

Is that what had been happening to him? He thought it was normal for humans to get a little toasted when they went outside. The idea that humans made a cream specifically to prevent this almost made him smile.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” reader asks.

“You humans are so silly,” he replies, taking off his shirt.

“Hey, what the hell are you doing!?”

“I would also like some sunscreen, please.” He said turning his back to them

The reader rolls their eyes. “Fine.”

They start applying sunscreen to him, though it doesn’t do much since he’s already pretty burnt. His muscles weren't what reader expected firm yet soft, but it felt like something was underneath, that tough almost made them throw up so they decided they weren't going to think about it anymore.

“There, you’re done,” they announce, stepping back to admire their handiwork.

Farmer Yan bends back, cracking his spine with a satisfying sigh the sound was so loud it was almost as if he broke it. “Well done, very well done” he smirks, his voice sending a rush of warmth to the reader’s cheeks.

“What other secrets are you hiding from me, pest?” he asked looking down at them.

“I’m not hiding anything from you. It’s your fault for being a farmer and not knowing what sunscreen is!”

“Well, that’s good,” he grins, rolling his shoulders back. “Because you’re putting this stuff on me every day from now on.”

"What I'm not doing that-" He leans down, his breath brushing against their ear, sending shivers down the reader’s spine. "Really, but you didn't even let me finish? I could shorten your work hours—how's that for a fair trade?"

Well that sucks reader kinda wanted a little...a kiss wouldn't hurt but guess less work was fine too.

“Fine, whatever,” they mutter, pushing his face away stubbornly, trying to shake off the warmth in their cheeks.

"it so easy to convince you, ya know? I'm glad" reader watches as he puts his shirt back on in slight disappointment.

#gender neutral reader #gn reader #yandere #yandere drabble #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yandere oc #yandere scenarios #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere x y/n #yandere x willing reader #gn y/n #gender neutral y/n #farmer yan

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invoncible · 1 month ago

Text

♡ THINK I NEED SOMEONE OLDER ... ! (CECIL VER.) cw. suggestive towards the end

— as requested. i've gotten a few asks for some cecil, conquest, and nolan stuff so i'm gonna make this a mini series! the next part will probs be conquest ? i imagine you're controversially young for them in comparison. because lets be real these guys are fossils. — i probs got him ooc IM SORRY

cecil is a private man. nobody knows about your relationship, and that's how he liked it.

you were a secretary at the pentagon, a well-to-do front line desk worker that loved your low maintenance job that allowed you great pay, easy hours, and lots of benefits.

the first time you met, he came in to work grumbling as usual about all the shit he had to deal with... until he saw your bright smile over the counter.

"hiii!" you sprung up from your seat, offering him a coffee. "director stedman, good to see you today."

his name and 'good to see you today' rarely coincided. being the guy that made all the hard decisions didn’t leave much room for camaraderie—no one got buddy buddy with the guy in charge (except donald).

he accepted the coffee on autopilot while scrutinizing you. you were a new face, at least to his knowledge. first day, maybe? wanting to make a good impression on the boss?

"thanks." he muttered, taking a sip and trying to hide his surprise when it was made just how he liked it. he was too picky for it to be a lucky guess, so you probably asked around... for information on him... interesting. he had to be careful with you.

he caught your eyes over the rim of the cup; you were watching him with an equal intensity, searching for any microexpressions that would affirm you did a good job. your lips quirked up in a smug little smile when you managed to pull approval from his facade, smoothing down your pants as you dropped into your seat again.

"have a good day, sir." you hummed, eyes flickering up to him as he walked away.

"yeah." he cleared his throat, more confused than anything.

he brushed it off as a fluke—again, he thought you were new and wanting to make a great first impression. which you did, by the way, but his intrigue grew when you just didn't stop.

every morning without fail, you had his coffee ready, a sweet little greeting, a warm smile. it became a comfort for him, but he didn't even allow himself to go down that road of ... affection. because you were you and he was him.

"so, how about that secretary, sir?" donald asked him one day.

"what about 'em, donald?" cecil sighed, but he was itching to talk about it, too. his thoughts drifted to you more often than he’d like, and it was becoming a biiit of a problem.

“nothing.”

“you brought it up. clearly you had something to say.” cecil pinched the bridge of his nose. “so talk.”

donald’s lips quirked up ever so slightly. “are you aware they only prepare coffee for you?”

no, he wasn’t aware. it’d become so normal that he hadn’t even considered that. he might as well be hyper-aware, now. breaking people down to their innermost desires and principles were his trade, and his analytical mind was not lost on you. and so, every morning without fail, he talked a bit. went beyond the ‘have a nice day’ thing you’ve both grown comfortable with.

you perked up in your seat upon seeing cecil walk in, another thing that endeared you to him. “director—”

“how do you like your coffee?”

you blinked, thrown off by the change in routine. “um… i like to try something different each time, i guess..?”

“if you had to choose.” he murmured, delicately accepting the warm cup from your outstretched hand. “humor me.”

that was where it started. from then on, he showed up with your coffee, performing an amicable exchange of sorts (he had ulterior motives, of course) and while you two sipped on the hot invigorating brew, you talked about how you ended up here, what you did outside work, places you’ve traveled… emphasis on you because he wasn’t going to spoil this slice of heaven with his troublesome past.

“it’s a good deal, you know?” you hummed, swirling the cup in your hand. “nice desk all to myself, easy admin work, no one annoying to handle for the most part.”

“for the most part?” he inquired, leaning over the counter.

you waved him off as you sipped from your cup. he frowned and chucked his empty cup in the garbage behind your desk.

“tell me.”

you laughed softly, tossing your cup along his, licking your lips of the residual taste. “mm. you have bigger things to deal with, director. things that needed your attention…” you trailed off, glancing at your screen. “what, an hour or so ago?”

“is it the end of the world?”

“no.”

“then the team can handle it.” cecil’s lips parted in a smug smile, his words holding a finality you couldn’t help but listen to. you couldn’t suppress the warm feeling pooling in your gut. “tell me. that’s an order.”

“oh?” you reacted verbally, your eyes widening, the firm command making your heart flutter. “since when do you give me orders?”

“since i care about harassment in my building.” he shot back before allowing himself to be impressed with your audacity. since i care about you.

you giggle softly and he takes a moment to commit the sound to memory.

“i’m just kidding,” you stand and jog your papers against the desk surface, preparing to make your rounds with the freshly printed documents. “you are my boss, after all.”

yeah… he is your boss. but with you, he often felt like you were in charge.

you’d be lying to say this wasn’t your plan all along. you saw him when you came in for your job interview and decided to try your luck. you didn’t expect it to work, much less work well. you had him wrapped around your finger! at first, it was just a fun way to pass the time at your desk; now it was something you looked forward to everyday.

“it’s just some analyst from upstairs that comes to bug me.” you shrug with a roll of your eyes. “just stands there and talks for hours.”

“isn’t that what i do?” the question left his mouth before he could stop it, and he instantly regretted it. the more he talked to you, the less of a filter he had, rarely thinking things over before speaking and impulsively saying what’s on his mind.

your lips spread in a small, mischievous smile, a glint in your eye. “you’re different. i like you.”

you’d become more and more forward and it was getting harder for him to dismiss the hints you dropped. the man’s been around, and he wasn’t so dumb to be blind to what you were doing. what you were trying to get him to feel. although considering that he was your boss, he was simply content with the song and dance you had right now.

he watched you walk away until you disappeared from his sight with a heavy sigh.

side note, you never saw that analyst again.

there was one day you weren’t at your desk, and your absence rang some alarms in his head. he’d been sneaking looks at your records and would know if you requested time off. more than that, you would have told him.

he was about to walk off when he heard the doors behind him burst open and the rapid clack clack clack of shoes racing across the floor.

he turned to watch you, looking deliciously disheveled might he add, with a raise of his brow. “y/n—“

“i’m sorry!” you stop in front of him to catch your breath. “i didn’t get your coffee today—“

“that’s fine,” cecil said lowly, his expression amused. “you run a fucking marathon or something?”

“—i got up late and… and… damn, that’s the first time i’ve sprinted in a while. fuck.” you bent over your knees, panting. “there was traffic and a whole line at the coffee shop—someone knocked it out of my hand when i was leaving—“

“hey.” he set your coffee down on the counter behind him, putting his hands on hips. “you don’t have to apologize. it was nice you even started to do that in the first place, doll.”

your eyes snap to the cup he got you, a frown tugging on your lips. “but you—“

“don’t worry about it.”

“okay, but—“

“i said don’t worry. that’s an order.”

you huffed a breathless laugh as you straightened up. “i’m beginning to think you just like telling me what to do.” (he did.)

your odd relationship with the director came to a head at a workplace get together. a rare moment of respite which was really a space for the entire department to wallow in their misery together rather than alone.

cecil never came to these things until he knew you’d be at them. he figured he’d drop in just to scope things out, and he wasn’t sure what he expected but he definitely did not expect you, and many others, to be piss drunk.

you recognized him through the dim light, brightening up as you usually do. you stumbled over, jostled by the packed bodies pushing and pulling you through the crowd.

“easy.” cecil murmured, coaxing the glass out of your hand. “damn, you’re wasted.” he commented more to himself than you, a short incredulous laugh slipping through his lips.

“mhmm.” you slurred, head thumping into his chest.

“okay.” he whispered, downing the rest of your glass and setting it aside to free up his hands. can’t let good wine go to waste. a thought passed through his head as he swallowed the beverage: this must be what you taste like right now. pump the brakes, loverboy.

he propped you back upright by your shoulders. “how ‘bout we lay off the drinks?”

“whatever you say, boss.” you hummed, a buzzed smile on your lips.

“you want a ride?”

your clumsy hands wrapped around his tie, pressing into him and tugging him forward by the loose fabric. “you offering?”

holy shit. his eyes flickered to your delicate fingers, the same ones he’s watched type away at a keyboard, walk up and up and up his red tie. “no.” he said curtly.

“‘nd i don’t mean a car.” you hiccup.

he paused, wondering if you realized you were talking to him, not some other co-worker. “i know.”

you sigh dramatically, leaning into him. “you should give me your number.”

cecil groaned, shaking his head. now he knew you needed to get some water in you and sleep your intoxication off. you were saying nonsense. “let’s get you out of here, kid, i’ll call you a cab.”

“no. m’serious,” you pushed, lips pursed in a pout. “i want your number.”

his steely blue eyes narrowed at you, searching your face even as you swayed from side to side. “no, you don’t.”

you scoffed and knocked your head against his shoulder, clinging to his arm for support as he walked you out of the gathering. “whyyyy…” you mumbled.

cecil dialed someone on his phone, holding it up to his ear as it rang. “you’re drunk, y/n. you’re not thinking straight.”

“i am!” you retorted petulantly, tugging on his arm and pulling the phone away from his head. “i’ve wanted it for a while, just took a little liquid courage to ask…” you trailed off, eyes drooping. “we have coffee dates all the time, what’s so different if—”

“woah, woah, woah.” he stopped you, “dates?” he echoed incredulously.

you bite your lip, peering up at him while his response buffered in your inebriated mind. after a moment, you nodded. “uh-huh.”

“those aren’t dates, kid.” this bitch was lying through his teeth. he considered them dates, too, but anything to keep a semblance of control over the situation.

“might as well be. ‘nd stop calling me that.” you scrunched up your nose in distaste. he’s never called you ‘kid’ before this and you’re beginning to think it’s his way of putting distance between you.

“i’ll call you whatever the fuck i want.” he snapped, growing defensive. he liked your little game, the fun will-they-won’t-they thing you two had going on, but now that it was becoming real to him… now that you were forcing him to confront the feelings he knew he had for you, he had to build his walls back up again—even if it pushed you away in the process.

“yeah? cuz you’re my boss?” you managed to shoot back, still gripping onto him for support.

“look at that, you got it. was that so hard?” he scoffed, turning away from you to prevent himself from caving. your shiny eyes in the darkness and tinted lips from the drinks made him want to throw caution to the wind. “i know you think you want something from me… trust me, sweetheart, i’m doing you a favor.”

you roll your eyes. “cuz you’re so noble like that.”

cecil’s eyes narrowed, getting into your space. he walked into you, unintentionally guiding your back into a wall. “mock me all you want, doll. the moment you lie in bed with me is the moment you’re erased from existence. i won’t allow anything to happen to you, and i’ll do everything to prevent that from happening.”

“okay?”

he put his hands on his hips. “i don’t think you understand. i don’t do anything half-assed.”

you giggled drunkenly. “and that’s supposed to be a threat?”

“you know i love when you talk, but shut up for a second,” cecil closed his eyes like he was trying to gather himself. you always had a knack for undermining his authority. but in retrospect, he made it way too easy to do so. when he looked at you again, something had shifted.

“this isn’t a game to me,” he muttered, voice quieter now, but no less intense.

you blinked up at him, suddenly realizing how close he was—not just physically, but in a way that made your heart stutter. you were finally on the precipice of what you’d been building up to since you met him.

cecil exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face like he was trying to keep himself in check. “i’ve spent months convincing myself i should keep you at arm’s length.” his hand curled around your wrist, not hard, but firm enough to make your breath catch. “if you push me…” he trailed off, leaning in closer… and closer… his nose brushed against yours and that singular touch sent a jolt of clarity into him.

he pulled back, stepping back and shaking his head with a click of his tongue. “this is reckless.”

“cuz you’re my boss?” you offered, finally finding your voice, your mind no longer occupied by his proximity or the scent of his cologne.

“uh-huh. and i can’t be your boss if i’m with you like that.” cecil adjusted his tie and shirt. “also. you’re drunk.”

“i’m not that drunk.”

“drunk enough.” he shot back with a raise of his brow.

“cecil.” you step towards him, reaching out to him. your heart swelled when he didn’t try to evade you. your hand fastened around his wrist. “i’m telling you i’m not. scrub me from your records for all i care. keep an eye on me. i know you do that already, anyway. the only thing that’s changing is that we’re both getting what we want. i don’t want you to just be my boss.”

he groaned, turning away from you despite the tether you had on his arm. “don’t say that shit.”

“what? that i want you?”

“will you stop?” cecil turned to you, a scowl on his face.

your lips split into a grin. his instructions never really worked on you. “do you want me to?”

cecil rolled his eyes. obviously the answer was no. “...fuck.” he cursed before dragging you outside, storming across the parking lot.

he stood next to his car. “last chance to back—”

“fuck no.” you scoffed with that stupid grin of yours and cecil wasted no time ripping the back door open and shoving you into the back seats. he quickly followed you inside.

his breath hitched as you clambered onto his lap, hands landing on your hips. for a brief moment, he hesitated—just a fraction of a second before he kissed you.

it was rough and desperate and months in the making, like he couldn’t get close enough, like he couldn’t pull you in fast enough. his hands slid down the curve of your ass, pulling you up further on his lap as he let his legs shift apart. your fingers tangled in his hair as you pulled him deeper.

“you’re so fucking annoying,” he growled against your lips, his grip tightening around you contrary to his declaration.

you laughed brightly. “you're taking me to coffee tomorrow. but for now... still up for that ride?”

#invincible #invincible x reader #invincible x gn reader #cecil invincible #cecil stedman #cecil stedman x reader

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heliosunny · 1 month ago

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Ooh so I had a dream that Anaxa was my academic rival. He was relatively standoffish so I figured he disliked me since we only spoke when necessary. I didn’t mind since that meant i could do my introvert things and focus on research. But when we were forced to work together he slowly and methodically over time showed his true colours as a yearning yandere 😳 like he was obsessed but super cunning!

I’m excited to see what he’s like in game! Lol

Yandere!Anaxa x Reader

Scratch. Scratch.

The steady rhythm of pens against papers filled the research hall, a quiet symphony of intellect in motion. The air was thick with the weight of concentration, punctuated only by the occasional murmur of scholars trading theories, the rustle of turned pages.

And then, Anaxa sat down beside you.

You didn’t react immediately. He was always like this—silent, only engaging when necessary. If he had his way, the two of you would exchange no more than a few words, and that was fine with you.

Except this time, there was no avoiding him. Collaboration was mandatory.

“I don’t like group projects” he said.

“Then don’t slow me down.”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “If anything, you’d be the one struggling to keep up.”

“Then let’s not waste time.”

The first task was simple: gather the necessary data, record findings, and return for analysis. Simple in theory, at least.

You had expected this to be a tedious affair, given Anaxa’s usual standoffish nature. Instead, you found yourself standing slightly behind him, quill in hand, watching as he effortlessly extracted information from people as though it was second nature to him.

With scholars, he was sharp and direct, threading his questions in a way that made them eager to prove themselves. With common folk, he was almost… charming, casual yet undeniably persuasive. You had seen him argue in academic settings before—blunt, efficient, never wasting words—but this was different.

You, in contrast, played the role of a secretary, silently noting down everything while he worked.

“I can feel you staring.”

You scoffed and focused back on your notes. “I’m just writing.”

By the time you had gathered everything, the sky had long since darkened.

“Here,” you said, handing him the notes. “We can continue analyzing everything tomorrow.”

Anaxa took them without a word, his fingers brushing against yours.

“…See you tomorrow then”

The next day, Anaxa arrived as usual. But something felt… off.

The way he sat down, just a fraction slower than normal. The faint rigidity in his posture, as if he were forcing himself to act as though nothing was wrong. But you weren’t blind.

You turned slightly toward him, frowning. “You’re warm.”

“I didn’t realize you made a habit of checking my temperature.”

You ignored his teasing and pressed the back of your hand lightly against his forehead. The heat radiating from his skin was undeniable.

“You’re burning up” you muttered. “Why are you even here?”

“I can handle it,” he replied smoothly, pulling back from your touch. “We have work to do.”

You gave him a look but didn’t push further. If he wanted to be stubborn, fine. It wasn’t your problem.

So, you carried on.

At least, until he collapsed.

One moment, he was beside you, the next, his hand slipped, his quill clattering to the floor, and before you could react, he was tipping forward.

“Anaxa—”

Your body moved before your mind could catch up. He was burning. The room buzzed with hushed voices, but you barely registered them as you adjusted your hold on him.

“You idiot” you muttered under your breath, shifting your grip.

The school nurse didn’t seem particularly alarmed—apparently, scholars pushing themselves to the brink wasn’t uncommon. Still, she instructed you to stay with him until he woke, citing that you were his research partner and therefore the most convenient choice.

You sighed but didn’t argue. It wasn’t like you were going to waste time.

Settling into the chair beside the infirmary bed, you placed your research materials on your lap. If you had to stay, you might as well be productive.

Beside you, Anaxa stirred faintly in his fevered sleep.

You shook your head, refocusing on your work.

It wasn’t your problem. Right?

By the time Anaxa stirred awake, you had already finished reviewing and organizing the research data.

“…You stayed?”

“The teacher asked me to” you replied, stretching slightly from your prolonged stillness. “Lucky for you, I got everything sorted while waiting. You don’t have to worry about today’s work.”

“I see,” he muttered before sighing. “I’ll make it up to you. I don’t like leaving debts unpaid.”

“It’s fine. If it’s you, you would’ve finished it without needing my help anyway.”

He huffed a small laugh at that, shaking his head slightly. “Still. Let me repay you somehow.”

You didn’t bother arguing further. If Anaxa wanted to do something in return, he would, regardless of what you said.

The walk to his home was quiet, the evening air carrying a gentle chill. He insisted he was fine, but you weren’t about to let him wander off after collapsing just hours ago. At least not until he was behind his own door.

When you reached his residence, you stopped at the threshold, waiting for him to step inside.

“Go rest” you instructed simply.

Anaxa leaned against the doorway, tilting his head at you with something unreadable in his gaze.

“I will,” he said. “See you tomorrow.”

You turned, heading home without a second thought.

The moment the door shut behind him, Anaxa exhaled, letting his carefully constructed mask slip just enough for a glimmer of satisfaction to creep in.

His plan had succeeded.

A fever induced on purpose, a minor sacrifice to buy uninterrupted time with you. To measure your worth.

It had been worth every moment of discomfort.

He wasn’t fully recovered yet, but that didn’t matter. He felt good. Good enough to return tomorrow.

After all, there was still more to do.

The next day, Anaxa arrived in class looking perfectly fine. Or at least, that’s what you assumed.

As you went over the next steps of your research, he sat across from you, quill in hand, but his usual sharp attentiveness was… lacking. His gaze drifted, unfocused, as if his thoughts were miles away.

You frowned, tapping your fingers against the table. “Anaxa.”

“Yes?”

You squinted. “Were you even listening?”

His lips parted slightly as if to deny it, but judging by your unimpressed stare, he knew better than to lie.

“…Not entirely” he admitted.

You sighed, rubbing your temples. “Alright, I’ll explain it again. This time, try to keep up.”

Anaxa nodded, but as you began your explanation once more, his mind refused to cooperate.

Focus. That was all he needed to do. He was no stranger to deep concentration, to immersing himself in the pursuit of knowledge.

But right now, his mind was full of you.

The way you gestured slightly while explaining, the way your brows knitted in mild frustration, the way your lips moved with certainty,...

I should pull myself together. This research is more important. It’s an opportunity to prove myself, to push boundaries, to—

But then there was you. You, who sat right in front of him, completely unaware of how maddening you were.

His jaw tensed slightly. How frustrating.

By the end of the day, Anaxa had agreed with nearly everything you proposed, his input far less argumentative than usual.

You had chalked it up to discomfort. Maybe he was still feeling unwell, maybe he hadn’t fully recovered from the fever, maybe he was simply tired.

But the truth was far from that.

It wasn’t his discomfort that affected him—it was you.

---

Anaxa was absent the next day.

Instead, one of his acquaintances approached you between classes, delivering his message: “Anaxa said to come to his place for today’s work.”

“That’s it?”

“Pretty much.”

To his credit, working with Anaxa was nothing short of effective.

Most groups would still be figuring out the framework of their research, yet the two of you were already halfway done.

It was almost funny—should you be relieved that you had been paired with one of the top scholars, or irritated that it happened to be him, your long-standing rival?

Yet, oddly enough… these past few days hadn’t been unpleasant.

Maybe, just maybe, he was only unbearable when he was off on his own, doing things his own way. When he worked with you, the process was smooth, methodical, efficient.

After class, you made your way to his home as requested. Anaxa had the workspace neatly prepared, his focus unwavering as you both spent the evening finalizing key points. Hours passed without notice, the ticking of the clock drowned out by the steady rhythm of progress.

When you finally checked the time, you realized it was late.

You gathered your things, stretching slightly. “I should get going.”

Anaxa, who had been reviewing some notes, didn’t look up immediately. “It’s late,” he said, as if that was reason enough for you to stay.

“I can handle a walk home.”

“Stay the night. It’s safer.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but then—

The news broadcasting on the TV got your attention.

…Due to unforeseen incidents, residents are strongly advised to avoid traveling at this hour. Increased security presence will remain active throughout the night…

You frowned. Perfect timing.

“It seems you have no choice.”

“Alright, fine. Just for the night.”

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said, “I’ll get you something to drink.”

You narrowed your eyes at his unusual hospitality but didn’t comment. Instead, you took a slow glance around his home, properly observing the space for the first time.

It was… neat. Impeccably so.

Not surprising.

In the kitchen, out of your line of sight, Anaxa exhaled slowly.

He hadn’t expected his plan to work this perfectly. Sure, he had anticipated a high chance of you staying if he played his cards right—but to have the news itself provide the final push?

Fate must have been on his side tonight.

As he prepared your drink, his mind wandered—as it often did these days—back to you. The way you worked seamlessly alongside him. The way you challenged him without hesitation. The way your presence had become an unshakable fixation in his thoughts, leaving no room for anything else.

It was infuriating. It was intoxicating.

This night was an opportunity. A rare chance to further deepen the dynamic between you two.

By the time he returned to the living room, his expression was composed.

You glanced at him as he handed you the drink. “Thanks.”

“Of course.”

Despite the circumstances, the night carried on as usual. Research, discussions, debates—it was a cycle you had grown accustomed to. But tonight, something felt… different.

Every now and then, Anaxa’s hand would graze yours when reaching for a paper. His shoulder would brush against you as he leaned over to reference something. A brief touch at your wrist when handing you a pen.

You weren’t sure if it was intentional or simply a consequence of working so closely, but every time it happened, it sent a strange awareness through you.

“I’ll make something to eat.”

The meal was surprisingly good—not extravagant, but warm and filling. You finished quickly, eager to make more progress.

By the time you looked at the clock again, it was terribly late.

Too late to be working, really, but neither of you were the type to leave things unfinished.

It was only when exhaustion started creeping in that Anaxa finally spoke.

“You should sleep.”

“Yeah, I probably should. I’ll just—”

“I’ll take the floor. You can have the bed.”

“That’s unnecessary. It’s your bed.”

“You’re the guest.”

“That’s not—”

“Are we really arguing about this?”

You opened your mouth, then shut it, glaring slightly at the sheer stubbornness in his tone.

In the end, you reluctantly took the bed, if only because you knew Anaxa would not let this go otherwise.

Though the bed was comfortable, sleep didn’t come immediately.

You turned slightly, peeking over the edge to see Anaxa lying on a mattress on the floor. His eyes were still open, faintly illuminated by the dim light in the room.

“We should see the professor tomorrow,” he murmured, “Get their input on our progress.”

“Mm,” you hummed in acknowledgment.

“We’ve gotten further than expected. Not that I doubted it.”

Another hum.

Then silence.

He waited for you to respond again, but when nothing came, he tilted his head slightly—only to find you already fast asleep.

For a long moment, he simply watched.

The even rise and fall of your breathing. The way your features softened in sleep.

This—this was rare.

With one last glance, he closed his eyes.

Tonight, at least, he could rest easy.

----

You should’ve known nothing would go in your favor forever.

When you received the professor’s feedback, the document was marked with more corrections than you anticipated. Whole sections needed restructuring, some data needed refinement, and a few parts—ones you were sure were solid—had to be completely rewritten.

Your fingers tightened around the papers as you skimmed through them again. This wasn’t bad per se—you still had plenty of time to make adjustments—but the sheer volume of work made your mood plummet.

Anaxa, on the other hand, remained unreadable as he flipped through the notes.

“You look like someone just told you the world was ending”

You shot him a glare. “Forgive me for being disappointed that we basically have to rewrite half of our research.”

“We have time. Figuring these out now is better than later.”

You sighed, pressing your fingers against your temple. He wasn’t wrong. You just weren’t in the mood to hear it from him.

Before you could dive back into overanalyzing the feedback, Anaxa leaned back in his seat, regarding you with a slightly tilted head.

“You need a break.”

“What?”

“Let’s go somewhere else. Relax your mind.”

You gave him an incredulous look. “Relax? With someone like you?”

“Why not?”

“You don’t exactly scream ‘relaxation’”

“I’m not a machine, you know.”

Debatable.

But still, as much as you hated to admit it, maybe a distraction wouldn’t be the worst idea. You had been staring at research papers for hours, and your frustration would only make it harder to focus.

“…Fine,” you muttered, standing up. “Where did you have in mind?”

Anaxa smirked. “The park.”

The idea was simple: a quiet walk, fresh air, a moment away from academic stress.

The unfortunate reality?

The sky had other plans.

What started as a slight drizzle quickly turned into a full downpour.

You and Anaxa were still several minutes away from any proper shelter when the rain came crashing down. Neither of you had thought to bring an umbrella, and within moments, you were both completely soaked.

“Great,” you muttered, shaking off excess water from your sleeves. “Just great.”

Anaxa, to his credit, seemed unbothered, running a hand through his now-drenched hair before nodding towards a nearby structure—an old, empty bus stop.

“Come on.”

You didn’t hesitate, dashing under the small roof, though the wind still sent cold droplets clinging to your skin. You shivered slightly, rubbing your arms for warmth.

Anaxa glanced at you, his own clothes dripping, before casually undoing the top buttons of his soaked shirt.

You looked away. “You couldn’t have checked the weather before suggesting this?”

“Oh? Now it’s my fault?”

You huffed, exasperated. “Yes. Absolutely.”

Despite the misfortune, there was something almost ridiculous about the situation. Just you and your rival, stuck in a downpour, drenched to the bone, forced to wait it out together.

“How long do you think this will last?”

Anaxa leaned against the cold metal pole of the bus stop, his eyes glinting in amusement as he smirked.

“I suppose we’ll have to find out.”

The rain didn’t let up for nearly half an hour.

Eventually, when the skies finally cleared, he walked you home.

You were tired, cold, and utterly done with the day—but what you didn’t expect was that this little misadventure would come back to bite you.

You should have known.

Between being drenched in the rain and already being exhausted from research, it was inevitable. By the next morning, you were miserable.

Your body ached, your throat was scratchy, and just lifting your head felt like a monumental effort.

With no choice but to stay in bed, you barely had the energy to process the fact that someone was knocking at your door.

You dragged yourself up, shuffled to the entrance, and opened it—only to see Anaxa standing there, holding a neatly compiled stack of papers.

“…I see you caught it” he mused, stepping inside uninvited.

You groaned. “You—this is your fault.”

“Perhaps. But don’t worry—I’ll take responsibility.”

You weren’t sure what he meant by that until he set down the papers, rolled up his sleeves, and immediately started doing everything in your place.

He cleaned up, cooked a warm meal, fed you, and before you could protest, tucked you into bed like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You wanted to argue. You really did.

But the warmth of the blanket, combined with exhaustion, made it impossible to resist sleep.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, you stirred.

Your fever had gone down slightly, enough for you to shift around without feeling like your limbs weighed a ton. But as you turned, you noticed something… off.

Anaxa was lying next to you.

For a moment, you thought you were imagining things. But no—he was actually there, asleep beside you.

You had no memory of this happening. Did he stay to keep watch? Did he lie down and accidentally fall asleep?

You sat up carefully, intending to move him to a proper bed, but—he was heavy.

Before you could figure out what to do, he stirred.

“…What are you doing?”

“I was going to—uh, move you.”

Anaxa exhaled softly, closing his eyes again. “Too late for that.”

“…Fine.”

Resigned, you gave up and lay back down.

When you woke up, there was no alarm. No rush to get up.

It was a day off.

For once, you had the luxury of sleeping in.

But as you stirred, you realized something far more shocking.

Your head was resting against Anaxa’s chest.

Your mind went blank for a second before you carefully, very carefully, tried to move away.

“…Going somewhere?”

Your heart nearly jumped out of your chest.

----

The next week flew by in a blur.

You and Anaxa polished your research, made the necessary revisions, and finally handed it in.

The results came back excellent. High marks. Praise from the professor. A complete success.

This meant one thing: no more group work.

You were relieved. No more Anaxa. No more of his annoyingly efficient work ethic, no more subtle brushes of contact, no more unexpected moments of domestic care.

You were fine with it.

Anaxa, however, was not.

The moment the research project ended, Anaxa felt a strange, suffocating emptiness.

No more long nights of working together. No more excuses to linger at your place. No more seeing your little expressions of focus, frustration, or amusement at his dry remarks.

It was unacceptable.

You might have been fine with moving on, but he wasn’t.

Which meant—he would have to change that.

He needed a reason for you to come back to him. A reason you couldn't ignore.

A few days later, you received an urgent message from a faculty assistant.

The professor wanted to see you.

You went to their office, only to be met with a look of concern.

"I need to speak with you about your research paper" the professor said.

"Is something wrong?"

"There's been an issue. A section of your research was flagged—it seems there's a discrepancy in the data. Anaxa was the one who noticed it and reported it. He suggested reviewing the findings together."

A discrepancy? But that didn’t make sense! You had double-checked everything. Hadn’t you?

"Since you two worked on it together, I’d like you to resolve this matter with him before we take further action," the professor continued. "He's already waiting for you in the library."

With no other choice, you left the office and made your way to the library.

When you arrived, Anaxa was already seated, flipping through your research.

"Finally here?"

You sat down, exhaling sharply. "I heard you found a mistake."

He tilted his head slightly, tapping the paper with his fingers. "It’s subtle, but yes. A slight inconsistency. I figured we should fix it together before the professor takes further action."

You frowned, leaning over to read where he was pointing.

By the time you were finished, there were no remaining "errors" in your research. The professor thanked both of you, and that should have been the end of it.

Except it wasn’t.

If anything, Anaxa had wormed his way deeper into your life.

You started noticing it in class—the way you kept running into him more often than before.

He always sat near you now. Always seemed to already be there whenever you arrived. You just noticed the way he casually pulled out a chair beside him and glanced at you, as if it were already decided you’d sit there. The way he always had an extra copy of the day’s notes, ready in hand before you even asked. The way he spoke about things he shouldn’t know about—little details about your schedule, your habits, things you were sure you hadn’t told him.

It was as if he had memorized your life without you realizing it.

One evening, you were packing up after class when Anaxa leaned against your desk.

"You’re free this weekend, aren’t you?"

"Why?"

"Because," he said smoothly, "we’re going out."

"Since when?"

"Since now," he replied. "I already planned it."

"You didn't even ask if I wanted to."

"You would’ve said no. I’m not giving you a choice," he added, tilting his head slightly. "Not when you spend so much time avoiding me these days."

"I don’t—"

"You do."

"I’ve been generous so far," he murmured. "Letting things happen naturally. But I think I’ve waited long enough."

You weren’t going to agree. That was your initial instinct—to push back, to tell Anaxa you had better things to do.

But he had already anticipated that.

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make it sound like a secret only for you.

"Come on," he murmured, "You owe me."

"For what?"

"For catching your mistake in our research. You wouldn’t want an academic scandal, would you?"

"That’s a low move, even for you."

Anaxa just smiled, "Is it?" he said, "Or is it just a reasonable exchange?"

You scowled, but before you could say anything, he continued.

"Besides," he added, "you’ve been stressed lately. I can see it."

"You barely take breaks," he continued, "Always pushing yourself, overworking, barely sleeping. It’s a wonder you haven’t collapsed yet."

"I’m just looking out for you," he murmured. "A little outing won’t kill you."

You hesitated.

Logically, you knew he was playing you. He was twisting the situation to make you feel obligated.

But… was he wrong?

You sighed.

"Fine..."

----

Anaxa left the classroom that day with a sense of satisfaction coiling deep in his chest.

That was too easy.

A little pressure, a well-placed guilt trip, a carefully crafted excuse—and you caved.

You always acted so guarded, so wary. But all he had to do was find the right buttons to push.

And he did.

It was just one step closer.

One step closer to making sure you’d never pull away from him again.

It started with one mistake.

At first, you thought nothing of it—just a lapse in focus, a careless slip. Everyone had bad days. Perhaps you had been tired, overworked, or maybe distracted. It was bound to happen.

But then it happened again.

And again.

Your academic performance began to plummet.

It made no sense. You were always meticulous, always double-checking your work. But now—now your answers weren’t what you remembered writing. Numbers and formulas were off. Essays you swore were polished came back with errors you had no recollection of making.

You frowned at your latest assignment, your hands tightening around the graded paper. A sinking feeling settled in your gut as you stared at the corrections—mistakes that didn’t feel like yours.

This… this wasn’t just random errors.

Something was wrong.

And yet, you couldn’t pinpoint what.

The frustration began to eat away at you, leaving you restless, anxious, and second-guessing yourself.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you placed your assignment on the desk in front of you. Another disappointing grade.

“You’re overthinking again.”

You flinched slightly at the familiar voice.

“I don’t get it,” you muttered, shaking your head. “I checked everything. How did I mess up?”

“Maybe you’re just tired,” he said. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard.”

That had crossed your mind before, but… something still felt off.

“Can you check it for me?”

“Of course”

The more you struggled, the more you needed him.

At first, it was small things—him offering advice, fixing your mistakes, guiding your hand. But over time, it became more than that.

He was always there, always soothing you when frustration built up. Reassuring you when doubt clouded your mind.

"You can’t keep going like this," he murmured one evening, after yet another failed attempt at solving a problem. "Let me take care of it."

It was easier to rely on him.

You didn’t notice at first, but others gradually became distant.

The subtle way he redirected conversations, the way your interactions with classmates grew shorter and less meaningful. Like he had woven an invisible web around you—one that no one else could penetrate.

And by the time you realized it, it was already too late.

One evening, as you sat together reviewing notes, Anaxa spoke casually.

"Everyone else is unnecessary," he said, flipping a page with ease. "Only we matter."

----

One evening, while Anaxa was out, you found his notebook.

At first, you assumed it was just another research journal. But as you flipped through the pages, your blood ran cold.

Every page was about you.

Your schedule, your habits—things he shouldn’t have known.

What time you usually woke up. What days you skipped meals. What places you went to alone.

And then— How long you stared at him when you thought he wasn’t looking.

Every detail was written in precise, calculated handwriting.

Your hands shook as you clutched the book, realization slamming into you like a tidal wave.

You needed to leave.

Now.

"Going somewhere?"

"I—I need to—"

"You look pale," he interrupted, "Are you feeling unwell?"

"I—I’m fine...I just…"

Before you could finish, a sharp prick bloomed against your skin.

"You’re just exhausted. You need rest."

When you woke up, the notebook was gone.

Anaxa sat beside you, his expression calm, almost concerned.

"You were having a nightmare" he murmured, brushing a hand over your forehead.

"You were muttering in your sleep," he continued, "Tossing and turning. It must have been… unsettling."

The notebook. The pages. The proof—

But there was nothing.

"Don’t worry" Anaxa whispered, "It was just a dream."

That’s all it was.

#yandere x reader #yandere #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x you #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #hsr anaxa #anaxagoras #anaxa #anaxa x reader #honkai star rail anaxa

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moonstruckme · 2 months ago

Note

Hello icon ✨Could we have a poly!wolfstar x reader where she thinks that they are mad at her for something (or they could actually be a bit miffed) and it just a bit of hurt comfort with cuddles and kisses at the end😔🙏🏻

Thank you for requesting <3

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

You’re being weird.

The three of you are doing a puzzle, which usually captivates your attention but never Sirius’, which is how he’s so very aware of how little attention you’re actually paying to the puzzle. You keep glancing at Sirius, at Remus, like you’re nervous about something. You’ve been like this all day. It’s in and out, sometimes waning like you’ve forgotten to be anything but normal, but Sirius has a keen gauge for tension. He can sense it every time it ticks back up.

You’re pretending to look for sky pieces, though Sirius suspects you forgot what color the sky in your puzzle was a while ago. He feels like you’re building to something, and it makes his skin itch. Remus is too absorbed in his tree bark pieces to notice—the nerd—so it’s up to Sirius to get it out of you. Luckily, James has always said that Sirius is a master of tact.

“What’s wrong with you?”

You were halfway to sneaking another glance at him, and you react as though you’ve been struck, jumping a little where you sit on the rug by the coffee table. “What? Nothing.”

“Well, that was very believable.” Sirius smiles to take some of the bite out of it. “Come on, you have me on the edge of my seat. What’s got you all worked up?”

“I am not worked up,” you insist, though your expression says otherwise.

Remus appears confused, but he notices your guilty eyes as well. “What’s happening?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you say again.

“Clearly something,” Sirius counters.

Your lips press together, corners downturnt. You’re not looking at either of them.

“Hey.” Sirius softens his voice. “What is it? You’re freaking me out, babe.”

This only seems to distress you further. “I wanted you not to freak out,” you say.

“Sweetheart, about what?” Now Remus sounds worried too, though the look he gives you is more patient than anything Sirius could ever manage. He ducks his head to catch your gaze.

After a moment of looking at him, your shoulders droop. “Okay.” Your voice has quieted. “Just a second.”

Sirius’ anxiety ratchets as you stand, going down the hall towards your room.

“Why does it feel like she’s going to bring us back a school report?” he murmurs to Remus.

Remus shakes his head, gnawing on the inside of his cheek. “No idea.”

When you return, it is with papers, though Sirius doesn’t at first know what they are.

“This came this morning,” you say in that same resigned voice, laying them down on the coffee table as you sit back down next to Sirius.

With Sirius and Remus on opposite sides they can’t both read the text at once, and Remus picks them up first. Sirius spots you bringing your hand to your mouth and reaches for it silently, drawing it away before you can start chewing your fingernails. Your nervousness is making him nervous. He pushes his thumb up the lines of your palm.

“Oh,” Remus hums.

“Remus,” Sirius says, in a tone that clearly communicates if somebody doesn’t start talking I’m going to throw a wobbly.

“It’s the gas bill,” says Remus. He’s making his old man face, where he leans away slightly and squints like he needs glasses. Ordinarily Sirius would tease him for it, but he’s not in the mood. “Bit high.”

“I’m sorry,” you say in a small voice.

Sirius looks at you. Frowning, your hand still trapped in his. “Why are you sorry?”

“Is this…” One glance at Remus, and it’s clear Sirius is now the one lagging in understanding. “Is this because you left the oven on?”

Your expression says enough.

Oh, well. In fairness, Sirius had thrown a bit of a wobbly over that.

It was weeks ago. You made cookies just before bed. They were warm, gooey, the perfect precursor to sleep and an excellent excuse, in Sirius’ opinion, to trade chocolate-flavored kisses until all three of you were snoozing on your pillows. It hadn’t been until he and Remus were making breakfast the next morning that Remus smelled the gas. You’d come out of the bedroom, confused, to find them throwing open windows and calling the fire department for advice. Your gas oven had been left on all night.

You felt awful. Your boyfriends gave you an appropriate amount of shit for it, but it was only thoughtless, not malicious. Your apartment hadn’t blown up. The smell drifted away within a few minutes, and in all honesty Sirius was left feeling a bit bad that what began as you trying to make them all happy had resulted in you being so thoroughly chastised. But it had been let go.

Until now, evidently.

“I can pay it,” you offer meekly. “The difference, or all of it.”

Remus sighs, rubbing his brow. “Dove…”

“Let me see that.” Sirius reaches with the hand not holding yours. Remus gives it to him. He finds the total quickly. “This isn’t even that high.”

Okay, it’s a bit high. But genuinely, Sirius was expecting worse.

“It’s my fault,” you mumble.

“Baby, is this what you’re all wound up about?” Sirius sets the papers down to gawk at you. “Really? I thought something happened.”

You’re shrinking, your hand tense in his. “Something did happen.”

“Yeah, a whole month ago!”

“Sirius,” Remus murmurs, in a tone Sirius knows to mean you’re not helping. He asks you, “Did you think we would be angry with you?”

Spiderweb cracks spread through your expression. Your mouth wobbles.

“Oh, you absolute moron.” Sirius grabs for you with both hands, hauling you into his lap.

“Pads.”

“You ridiculous, sweet idiot.” He kisses your head. Once, twice, three times. “Why’d you have to go and get all worked up? You got me worked up, silly thing.”

“I’m sorry,” you say weakly.

“Alright, that’s enough apologizing,” Remus says gently. Underneath the coffee table, a socked foot bumps into Sirius’ leg before presumably finding yours. Sirius grins. Remus is tactile in the oddest ways sometimes. Like a cat.

He loves you both so very much. God, you really had him going. He feels liable to squeeze the life out of you.

He satiates the urge by kissing you all over your face until you look significantly less upset. You look at Sirius with tentative relief, the beginnings of a smile curled up in the corner of your mouth.

He’s about to ask you again how you could be so stupid, but Remus speaks first. Probably for the best.

“It really won’t be so much more for each of us once we split it,” he says, looking again at the bill.

That guilty look is back on your face. Sirius gives you a squeeze in hopes of banishing it. “I can get it,” you say. “It wouldn’t be there if I hadn’t been so…if I hadn’t left the oven on.”

“You don’t need to punish yourself,” Remus tells you. “It’s all right.”

You fidget. “I feel like you should probably be angrier with me.”

“We already have been angry with you,” Sirius points out. “We got over it. Time to move on, babe.”

“It was a mistake.” Remus’ gaze is steady. Knowing. “It was scary, but it happens. You shouldn’t be angry at yourself for us, lovely.”

You look to be gnawing the inside of your lip. “Are you sure?” you ask.

Sirius scoffs. “I can be angry without anyone’s help, thank you.” Then, at your wary look, “But I’m not angry about this.”

Slowly, the tension Sirius has been sensing seeps out of you. You relax in a way you haven’t all day long.

Remus notices, too. “Sweetheart,” he sighs, in a soft, fond voice. “Talk to us next time, okay?”

“I know, sorry.” You give him a sheepish look. “I was going to. I just really thought you’d be upset.”

“Yeah, well.” Sirius kisses your head, sharing an eye roll with Remus. “Shows what you know.”

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