#let's put it in a simple equation

[violettierre]

My haitani father Shio headcanon is just a bit too funny cuz of how well it works that it sounds like a waste of perfect canon idea and crossover for both of wakui's works.

Aside from the obvious physical features very very obvious, identical eyes, nose, blonde eyebrows, rindou's face form, ran's hair color palette and (arguably) bonten hair style, blah blah i mean just look a the pictures below, you can also bring up any fact from either manga and add it to the hc and it fits in just SO WELL, i'll give the first example, The Haitanis are very obviously rich spoiled kids like have you seen their apartment? They have a fucking dj set, only rich kids with neglective powerful parents will have no problem paying for that, just saying, and even though i love him let's be real Shio is the type to be that parent, i mean cmon he's rich like crazy rich (filthy yakuza money yum yum) he tots would give his children WAY more than enough allowance so they can leave him alone, also the way they act, i've always the Haitanis were the type of kids that think they own the school cuz their dad is rich .

Nvm if this never becomes canon or both universes don't collide, it's just so entertaining to keep connecting the dots that were likely never there, like how Rindou is a heavy drinker cuz his father drank alot with the rest of the Yotsurugis and he tried to imitate him from a young age that it became an unhealthy habit or if you want to add more drama he only drinks cuz he looks up to his father but Shio favors Ran cuz he can posssibly succeed him (canon power complex) so Rindou resorted to drinking cuz it's the only thing like his dad that he can do. Heck yeah i made it angsty!!!

You can also add great context to his fear of Yakuza, picture this, when he was a kid he got up in the middle of night after hearing a loud noise to search for his parents and witnessed Shio (canon Yakuza) pew pew-ing some poeple and surrounded with scary men, that probably scarred him for life that he was so terrified when Kakucho got them interfering with some, OH OH something just came to mind, if he's the son of a yakuza yeah he didn't wanna clash with other yakuza families cuz it can end in a blood shed and risk his and his family's lives.

And i'm gonna add this one not very small detail and i swear i'll shut up (for now), i know it's just a stupid headcanon that is very far from becoming reality and i don't have to take it this deep but hear me out, why their last name is Haitani and not Yotsurugi like their dad, Shio is powerful and have many enemies right ? So he simply decided to protect his children and their identity by giving them another last name likely their mother's (yk like minato with naruto style plan ?) So Haitani is actually their mom's family name. I rest my case. Thank you for coming to my useless ted talk.

[spotforme]

here's a little sketch, i'm testing the waters because i have no idea how to get the to look like Winx girls?? testing testing prototype one:

had to give Rimmer the mean girl glasses (tm)

i do have a better idea for Lister because what is he even? a pirate? gonna maybe have to make him one of the sword/cape boys but they look so boring i'm not sure if i can

not satisfied with the colours but no idea as to what to change them to

[beast-of-the-void]

.

[aerifim]

nerdy bf! gojo who pushes up his glasses absentmindedly—but not in a dorky way. he does it in an effortlessly cool way, sliding them up with two fingers, his sharp blue eyes flickering with focus as he talks. 

nerdy bf! gojo who bites his lips in concentration as he scribbles down math equations, cleary being in a deep thought on how to solve. sometimes he’ll even mutter under his breath, his voice low and breathy, completely oblivious how distracting it is to you. 

nerdy bf! gojo who rests his chin on his hands while he watches you work, fingers lazily tracing his jawline. he never realizes how intense his gaze is, but it definitely flusters you. 

nerdy bf! gojo who rolls his sleeves up when he’s working something—and somehow, the simple action of exposing his forearms (that also gives you a glimpse of his muscular arms) makes him 10x hotter. 

nerdy bf! gojo who loosens his tie with one hand (when he has one) or ruffles his hair when he’s frustrated, letting out a breathy sigh as he leans back on his chair, not knowing the kind of effect it has on you. 

nerdy bf! gojo who has the habit of stretching his arms over his head, revealing just a hint of skin, especially when he’s been sitting for too long—leaving your brain short-circuiting as you try to finish up your calculus homework. 

nerdy bf! gojo who reads things out loud in his smooth, low voice, and even though it’s just dry academic material, he somehow makes it sound worth reading. 

nerdy bf! gojo who leans in way too close when explaining something to you, his voice dropping slightly as he points at your notebook. he also loves leaning over you to grab something on your side of the desk or whispering in your ear to see you flustered. 

nerdy bf! gojo who teases you with a smug, lopsided grin when you do something dumb, knowing full well that it gets under your skin (and makes your knees weak). 

nerdy bf! gojo who holds eye contact just a little too long when you talk, tilting his head slightly with an amused smirk. 

nerdy bf! gojo who takes off his glasses sometimes just to clean them, knowing full well that the sight of him without them stuns you for a bit. he’ll put them back on and say, “like what you see?” with a teasing wink. 

nerdy bf! gojo who smirks every time he catches you staring. then he’ll casually say, “careful, staring too long might make you fall in love with me,” as if you weren’t already deeply in love with him.

♡ we luv u nerdjo

[starkwlkr]

girl, so confusing | f1

an: might make this two or three parts, not sure yet but oh well <3 love y’all THIS IS AN AU WHERE ALL THE F1 DILFS ARE SINGLE

faceclaim gisele bündchen

part 2 part 3

liked by maxverstappen1, aussiegrit and others

yourusername 💋

aussiegrit long time no see 👀

yourusername don’t worry, I still have cherry lipgloss that’s waiting for you

aussiegrit 😉

jensonbutton well hello 😏

yourusername hey there stranger

jensonbutton stranger? you’re breaking my heart, baby

sebastianvettel miss you lots!

yourusername come over then

sebastianvettel don’t tempt me

ferraridepressionclub y/n fr has all the dilfs in her comments i wanna be like her when i grow up

paddockgirlies she’s so iconic

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INTERVIEW WITH Y/N L/N | VOGUE

In conversation with Y/n L/n about being a mother and a racing driver, and her what’s in store for her.

Known for her fierce driving and even fiercer spirit, has seamlessly transitioned into a life that’s as complex as it is rewarding. A name that echoes through the halls of motorsport history, her story is one of reinvention—a journey from high-speed thrills to quiet, profound moments of motherhood, and, possibly, a return to the racing world in an entirely new role.

The 2000s were Y/n’s golden years at Williams. Her raw talent shone even when the team’s fortunes dipped, and she quickly became a fan favorite. Known for her courage, sharp wit, and stunning moves on the track, she formed friendships with some of the sport's brightest stars—Mark Webber, Sebastian Vettel, and Jenson Button. Their bond, a cocktail of camaraderie and unspoken attraction, became as legendary as her driving.

But the glamorous world of F1, with its dazzling lights and high expectations, took a toll. In 2004, Williams made the decision to drop her from their roster—a move that would alter the course of her life forever. Y/n, at the time, found solace in the chaos. Late nights, parties, and the company of friends became her refuge.

"I wasn’t ready to let go of F1, but at that point, I wasn’t sure where I was headed." Y/n said as we chat in her London home. It’s a beautiful house with stained glass windows and the perfect amount of sunlight shining in. Her daughter is also present though she much prefers to continue with her reading as she cuddles up to her mother.

But in the unpredictable world of racing, the story of Y/n was far from over. A fresh start beckoned when McLaren offered her a seat, a move that many saw as her redemption arc. She embraced the opportunity, her focus sharper than ever. The partying ceased. The cigarettes were put out. It wasn’t just a return to the sport—it was a return to herself.

Her career, marked by precision and passion, came to an official close in 2014, but Y/n’s influence has never waned. Retirement, though, didn’t equate to slowing down. Today, Y/n is a mother—something that’s become a cornerstone of her identity.

“I’ve always been independent, but being a mom has redefined what it means to be strong," she says, her eyes softening. "It’s a different kind of challenge, but one I’m grateful for every single day.”

Her daughter, now nine, was born a year after her retirement. She had announced the birth on her social media with a simple caption: “welcome to the world, my beautiful girl”

“As a mom, I’ve learned the art of balancing," Y/n reflects. "There are days when I’m just a mom—no racing, no interviews, no drama. And then there are days when I’m reminded of who I was before all of this. It's about finding peace with both versions of myself.”

At this point, her daughter stops reading her book and places several kisses on her mother’s cheek. It was a beautiful moment between mom and daughter.

“The future is full of possibilities. I’m focused on what’s next, but I'm not in any rush. We’ll see what happens. Right now, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Motherhood may have softened some edges, but it has only sharpened her focus. If there’s one thing Y/n has taught us, it’s that the greatest drivers are those who can keep pushing, even when they’re driving toward the unknown.

INTERVIEW WITH Y/N | THE PADDOCK SESSIONS PODCAST

“Welcome everyone to the paddock sessions podcast. I’m your host Dan and todays guest is a very special one. She is my favorite driver and I’m going to try not to freak out right now. Y/n L/n welcome to the paddock sessions!” Dan the host said into his microphone.

Y/n smiled and thanked Dan for the introduction. “Favorite driver? Dan, I’m flattered. I’ll pay you later.” She joked.

“You’re actually the reason my girlfriend watches formula 1. She watched your past races and was devastated when I told her you retired in 2014. I think she was thinking of breaking up with me because I told her,” Dan admitted. Y/n chuckled at his words. “But can we see a potential comeback for you? I know I’m not the only one that would love to see that!”

“Well I can’t really stay away from formula 1. I try to watch the races with my daughter, but she’s not interested in racing at all so I always end up watching them alone.” Y/n explained as she adjusted the microphone.

“Daughter of a racing driver isn’t interested in racing? That’s wild. But at least she knows that her mom is a legend in the sport, yeah?” Dan asked.

“She’s reminded every time we go out and I’m stopped because someone wants an autograph or a picture,” Y/n laughs. “But she knows the basics, she knows what all the number means, she’s a smart girl.”

“Amazing. Um, on the topic of your daughter, and you can stop me if you want, you’ve always been an open book in many ways, yet when it comes to your daughter’s father, you’ve kept things private. How hard has it been to keep things like that private? I imagine it must be frustrating.”

Y/n nodded and cleared her throat. “I’ve always believed in protecting my daughter’s privacy, and for me, that extends to the people closest to us. I’ll say this: my daughter is incredibly lucky to have the most amazing father. He’s the kind of dad who would do anything to keep her safe and happy. I know she’s growing up in a secure and loving environment because of him. He’s protective, but in the best way possible.”

“Have you seen the tweets regarding it?” Dan asked curiously.

“Oh yeah, it’s all over my feed. I’ve actually read some pretty crazy shit about the father of my daughter.” Y/n said.

“Any favorites?”

“There’s a thread that was posted recently on why Lewis is the father of my daughter. I love Lewis, but I can confirm he is not. He’s actually the godfather.”

“Well, you heard it hear first folks!”

[smutmind]

Retroactive Pt. 2 ft. Wonyoung

Read PT. 1 HERE

The library buzzed with soft clicks, page turns, and the tension of too much caffeine and too little time.

You usually avoided crowds, even quiet ones. But today, the spider inside your blood purred. It liked attention. You let it.

She sat across from you, Wonyoung. Long legs tucked into wide denim, her puffer jacket the color of candy and cropped just enough to tease a sliver of midriff. Underneath, a tight ribbed top hugged her chest like it had been painted on. Her look was clean, cute—almost innocent—but her eyes told you she noticed the way you watched her.

You’d watched her for weeks. Never said a word.

Today, you did.

“You stuck on the equations?”

She looked up, blinking like she hadn’t expected you to speak. “Yeah. It’s brutal. Thermodynamics is kicking my ass.”

You smirked. “Come over tonight. I’ll show you how I study.”

Her lips parted. “You serious?”

You held her gaze. “Deadly.”

That night, she knocked soft. Still in her jeans and crop top, jacket gone. Her hair down. Lips glossed. She smelled like clean shampoo and something sugary.

You let her in.

Inside, the room buzzed with quiet heat. She perched on the couch like it might bite.

“Is this where we study?”

“It’s where I test things.”

She tilted her head, mock-serious. “What kind of things?”

“Your limits.”

Her laugh was nervous, but her cheeks flushed pink. You stepped closer. Her breath hitched.

“You want me to be bad?” she asked.

“Only if you want to be good at it.”

You kissed her. She melted fast, fingers clutching your hoodie, mouth hungry and sweet. The couch groaned as you straddled her thighs.

She broke the kiss to whisper, “I’ve never done this with someone watching.”

Your brow furrowed. “Watching?”

She fished something from her tote—a silk sleep mask.

“I brought this. It helps me concentrate when I study,” she said with a grin, cheeks pink. “Put it on me?”

You took it. Slipped it over her eyes.

Her breathing deepened.

“I like not seeing. It makes everything feel... sharper.”

You slid her top off, slow. Her breasts were full, bare, nipples already stiff. She squirmed beneath your touch, the blindfold making her react to every graze like it was fire.

“God, your skin’s soft,” you murmured.

You kissed down her chest, tongue tracing each rise, each peak, until she moaned softly.

Her jeans took work, but she lifted her hips, letting you peel them down. Her panties were cotton, simple white, damp at the center.

You pressed your mouth to her thigh.

“You feel this more without seeing, don’t you?”

She nodded. “Everything’s louder in my head.”

You dragged your tongue up her slit, slow and deep. She gasped.

“Oh my god.”

You circled her clit, tongue flicking light then firm. Her thighs clenched. She whimpered.

“Fuck—your mouth feels so good. I can’t even think.”

“Good. Don’t think. Just feel.”

You pushed two fingers inside her. She arched.

“Fuck! Yes—yes—”

She came fast, shivering, crying out. The blindfold stayed on

You slid up, kissed her neck, whispered, “I’m not done.”

You stripped fast. Her fingers reached, eager and clumsy, guided only by touch. She ran her hand along your cock, tracing it slowly like she needed to memorize it.

“God,” she whispered, “You’re so hard… so thick. I want it now.”

You leaned in, breath hot against her cheek. “Then beg.”

She hesitated, then exhaled. “Please. Put that fat dick in me. I want to feel everything.”

You turned her gently, bent her over the couch, her ass arched perfectly, trembling slightly. You grabbed her wrists and brought them behind her back, tying them loosely with her own top.

You lined yourself up, dragged your cock through her soaked folds. She whimpered.

“Still okay, my little cumslut?”

She nodded frantically. “Yes. Please. I need it.”

You pushed into her slow and deep. Her mouth opened in a silent cry.

“Fuck—you feel huge,” she gasped.

You groaned, hips rolling forward. Her tight heat clung to you, pulling you deeper with every inch.

“God, you’re tight. So wet. You were made for this.”

She moaned loud, back arching as you bottomed out.

“Don’t stop,” she begged. “Fill me—fuck me like you mean it.”

You gripped her hips and started thrusting. Deep, firm strokes that made her cry out. Her ass bounced into every thrust, her body jolting under you.

“You like being fucked like this?” you growled.

“Yes! Oh my god, yes—harder!”

You slammed into her, pace quickening, the wet slap of skin on skin loud and filthy. She gasped every time you bottomed out.

“Please—pull my hair. Use me—just use me!”

You grabbed her ponytail, pulled. Her moan turned feral. She came suddenly, hard, her legs shaking as she screamed your name, convulsing around your cock.

You didn’t stop. You fucked her through it, each thrust drawing another helpless whimper.

“Fuck—I’m gonna cum,” you hissed.

“Cum inside me,” she panted. “Fill me. I want it.”

With a final thrust, you came hard, buried to the hilt, groaning into her neck as your release surged through you.

She went limp beneath you, wrists still tied, breath ragged.

You untied her gently. She turned, eyes still covered, smiling.

“That was... distracting.”

You kissed her shoulder. “Still passed.” to be continued

[moscatosin]

🖤 taste tests - mattheo x reader x theodore🖤 bored reader. oral (m! rec), public spaces, have a sprite. mdni, (2.3k).

“You two are both absolutely, fucking deranged.”

Coming from anyone else, the comment would have stung a little, like a quick witted insult with clearly no through process put into it, but slipping off the tongue of one Theodore Nott; the words were delivered as a fucking compliment – one wrapped, mind you, tastefully within the perfection of his somewhat rare, yet rather amusing comedic flare.

Your knees – they ached. God, did they fucking hurt at this point, all bruised and battered and bloodied on an almost artistic scale from the rough stone floors you’d been kneeling on for now what felt like forever, but let’s be real – the uncomfortable feeling and pain you were going through was a rather small price to pay for a sliver of illicit thrill.

There were three months left until graduation. 3. That equated out to roughly 60 days of classes and exams, or better still – eighty four days trapped within the castle walls of Hogwarts until your undeniable freedom from the education system you’d been held hostage within. Not that you weren’t grateful for what you’d learned; no, this wasn’t the case – you’d had the absolute time of your life, but it was time to move on. Time for bigger and better things than what Hogwarts could simply offer.

Until then though, you needed something to keep yourself relatively sane amidst the chaos of final exams, petty courtyard drama and dormmates you’d be oh so happy to never see again. The ache for something different, something unique and something that you could make undeniably yours is what brought you to this point: hair slicked back into a high ponytail and on your knees between the dimly lit rows of shelves at the back of the library, participating in something that over time you’d affectionately dubbed as ‘The Taste Test’. A story, rumour, myth that had rather quickly lingered throughout the school.

The concept? Simple enough. Sometime between mid February and the end of June, you’d made it a mission to give head to every sixth and seventh year boy in campus and rank them – both solo and by house from one through forty six based on the categories of taste, texture and overall satisfaction. Easy enough right? Ha! Wrong. Not when Slytherin of all houses was fucking involved, and not when you’d left them, intentionally until last. Let’s just go out on a limb by saying that their reputation for intensity that had been rumoured around the castle and whispered in riddles by portraits as you strolled by wasn’t just ‘talk’, and that you, over the last few evenings; had found that out firsthand.

Feeling fingers deeply knot into the length of your ponytail before being wrapped rightly around a palm, you managed to barely stifle an innocent little giggle at Theo’s comment, only for it to near immediately morph into a dangerous yet delicious choke as the tip of Mattheo’s cock roughly hit the back of your throat, causing you to splutter and gag. With eyes delicately watering, you glanced up at him from waist height with a feigned expression of both innocence and vulnerability you knew he’d see right through but threw out there anyway.

“Oh c’mon Princess, don’t give me that sweet little doe-eyed look”, Mattheo barely managed to drawl out as a sick little smirk threatened to tug at the corner of his lips, “You’re the one who wanted to try every guy and well.. low and be-fucking-hold, you’ve saved the best two for last.”

A quick slap at your cheek which caused the skin to bloom an immediate shade of pretty scarlet red, Mattheo’s eyebrows cocked up, his bottom lip brought almost seductively up to be caught between his teeth as he continued to thrust into your mouth setting a relentless pace that you hadn’t yet experienced from any of the other subjects involved in your little project.

Gagging, a hollow whimper escaped your lips that burned the edges of your tongue as it rolled out; your hands braced hard up against his thighs, half hoping Mattheo would slow down, mind already wondering how much you’d have to swallow and if skipping dinner tonight was fucking worth the empty stomach. Every other boy you’d been with prior had been in private – their dorm, a vacant broom cupboard, empty classroom, blah blah but this; oh this just had to be different. Nearby, Theo lounged comfortable, sprawled out on a chair he’d dragged over from a study area, watching on with an amused grin as he flicked through the pages of your little leather bound notebook and tried to decipher everything you’d recorded.

“Little miss researcher has got this all figured out Mattheo – point system and fucking everything”, Theo snorted, twirling his wand casually between his fingers, “Taste, texture, satisfaction – Merlin, it’s almost like a bloody Michelin guide.”

You managed to pull back just enough to catch your breath – just enough that you could talk and narrowed your eyes near menacingly. “It’s called having a scientific approach, Nott. Something I’m sure you wouldn’t understand.”

Mattheo chuckled along; his hand tightening back into your hair to guide you back to where you should have been focused; tip of his cock parting your lips a little easier than you’d have liked to admit. “Scientific huh? Less focus on Theo, more focus on the task at hand yeah?”

Rolling your eyes back heavily, you complied, focusing on the task at hand – just as Mattheo wanted. The library for the most half was silent, save for the faint rustle of pages from a forgotten book a student desperately flickered through last moment in an attempt to find something smart to quote into an assignment, and well, the occasional muffled sound from your efforts that you’d prefer to keep that way. A library – of course it had to be in the fucking library.

The Slytherin boys had been the final hurdle in this little experiment, and fuck – they hadn’t disappointed. Each brought something rather… different. Draco, a rather attractive arrogance. Blaise, a smooth confidence. Goyle ugh… breathmints; thank christ. Enzo, the intimacy of platting your hair as you went down on him. Theo, lounging around like a bored king was next; and you already knew from the dead eyed look he always wore and shot you that he probably couldn’t have cared less.. but Mattheo; fuck, the way his hips snapped up against your cheeks, it was a damn performance.

The rules overall, were simple. No bias. No favouritism. You’d worked your way through all students or well.. subjects – systematically. The Gryffindors – earnest, yet predictable. The Ravenclaws – surprisingly experimental. The Hufflepuffs – sweethearts, but rather lacking edge and now… these fucking serpents.

Feeling Mattheo’s pace slow, his grip in your hair began to loosen as he let out a low growl, pulsing and spilling into your mouth without much warning. There was a shift in his stance; weight switching from left leg to right as the telltale sign that Mattheo was close. Pulling back slightly, you teased your tongue flat against his shaft to draw the feeling out. No need to rush a finale. Swallowing each spurt, tears that had formed in the corners of your eyes running rogue down your face mixed in with mascara which ever so gently dyed lines into your cheeks. “Who’d have thought that mouth you run in classes would be fucking good at this?”

Chuckling, you skimmed your thumb across your lips to clean up and snatched your notebook out of Theodore’s hands to scribble down the score you felt Mattheo earned. Tilting your head, you hummed softly pretending to consider as if you hadn’t just been thinking about these scores for the last nine minutes.

“Taste – a solid eight. You eat way too many chocolate frogs – I can almost taste them. Texture – seven and a half. Standard. Nothing special. A little gritty. Satisfaction...” You paused, smirking; knowing that this would either make or break his confidence into tiny, pathetic little shreds. “Let’s go with nine. Always room for improvement, Riddle.”

Almost barking out a laugh; Theodore shook his head and bit his tongue between his teeth, buying himself some time to think of an appropriate reply before interjecting what had just been revealed.

“Brutal M. However, that would make it my turn now hey? Let’s see if I can’t top Riddle’s nine.” “Yeah – good luck asshole. She’s a fucking harsh critic.” Mattheo managed out, shooting Theo a glare as he stepped back to adjust his trousers before taking a seat on the edge of a nearby desk.

Sliding off the chair he’d been so comfortable in, Theodore sauntered over with that lazy, arrogant confidence that just made him oh so infuriatingly charming. Crouching down for a moment, his fingertips – soft and gently pushed up beneath your chin so that your eyes could meet his – the exchange of gazes glinting with undeniable mischief.

“A harsh critic? Nah, this little dollface is just discerning. Aren’t you love? Ready to meet your champion?”

Snorting in response, you tucked some loose hair which had fallen in front of your face from how rough Mattheo had been behind your ear and smiled. “Awfully cocky Nott for someone who hasn’t even stepped up to the challenge yet. You ready?”

“Oh, I am more than ready”, he confirmed; getting up, back straightening and feet widening with perfectly polished shoes as Theodore undid his belt with a theatrical flourish and guided you to tug his zipper down with your teeth, complimenting you with the whispered phrase of good girl that made not only your mind fault for a second but your inner thighs begin to burn.

The next few minutes on your knees were an absolute fucking blur; a battle ground of Theodore’s teasing commentary as his cock ran tender between your swollen lips and your own determination in trying ever so hard to stay focused. He was different – different from Mattheo, different from the other boys. Less intense, far less worried; much, much more playful, guiding you with soft murmurs breathed in both an eclectic fusion of Italian and English as well as, the occasional cheeky remark, reminding you to keep your eyes focused on him.

Unlike others; Theodore gave you fair warning – something only the Hufflepuffs funnily enough had done; prior to sinking his fingers into your hair and holding you close as he could before spurting warm and salty into your mouth. By the time he was finished with you, your knees were screaming; ready to call it a night. Thighs still irritatingly warm though. Damn – perhaps you should have convinced them this little project was a fuck study rather than a suck study. Leaning back, you swallowed hard; catching your breath with further flushed cheeks before you felt around for that notebook of yours and flipped it over to the last page, scribbling down Theodore’s scores before you could forget anything.

“Well?”, he asked, attempting to peer down over your shoulder, “Gonna keep me in suspense or tell me that I’ve bet Riddle?”

“Taste – nine”, you gasped out, licking your lips. “Rather savoury – it was nice.” You tapped the feather of your quill against your chest and continued to scribble. “Texture – seven point five; I’m starting to think this is a standard. Oh and satisfaction; you were the only one polite enough to warn me that you were coming so.. eight. You could have been a little rougher with me. Not bad overall though.”

Clutching at his shirt in mock offense; Theo sighed and furrowed his brows. “Not bad? Girl, I’m wounded – I was aiming for legendary, not the same fucking score as Riddle.”

“Better luck next time Italian Stallion”, Mattheo managed to choke out in between laughs, pushing himself off the edge of the desk he sat at watching rather intrigued.

Closing your notebook and tying the thin straps around it to keep the pages concealed, you reached a hand out, having Theodore help you onto your feet as you swept the material of your skirt down flat against your thighs and smiled; pulling your hair out of it’s updo to casually cascade down over your shoulders.

“That’s it – the taste test is now officially complete”, you chirped, walking out of the library with both boys past some rather curious and bashful looks from studying students.

“So who’s the winner?”, Theodore asked, falling into pace beside you. “Don’t tell me some Gryffindor with a hero complex.”

“Nah, surely it’s a Slytherin”, Mattheo piped up, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you walked out into central hall.

Holding your notebook close up against your chest, you shrugged and twirled some hair around your fingers lazily, “A girls got to have some secrets fellas – I mean c’mon.”

Nudging the shell of your ear with his nose, Mattheo chuckled softly, warm breath creeping down along your jaw that made your inner thighs burn with further more regret. “Pretty please princess – just give us a hint. How about overall? Slytherin took top spot – didn’t we?”

Shrugging again, you wriggled yourself out of his hold and shook your head, taking a few steps ahead before turning around with a spin on your heel to face them.

“Maybe, maybe not.. you’ll both just have to wait until graduation.”

The boys grumbles and groan at your answer, but nonetheless don’t bother pushing it any further. Not yet. Not now. They’ve got heaps of time to gruel information out of you. As you slip through the darkened corridors of the castle back to your dormroom, you can’t help but grin. This whole experiment had been a ridiculous, reckless way to pass the time, but hey, it had done its job. You’d survived your final few months of being stuck in the castle with a story that no one would believe, and a notebook full of secrets you’d take with you to your grave…

… or at least the ten year class reunion.

unedited - i'm sorry. short but i hope you enjoy xoxo

[koiukiy-o]

orphic; (adj.) mysterious and entrancing, beyond ordinary understanding. ─── 004. the blueprint.

-> summary: when you, a final-year student at the grove, get assigned to study under anaxagoras—one of the legendary seven sages—you know things are about to get interesting. but as the weeks go by, the line between correlation and causation starts to blur, and the more time you spend with professor anaxagoras, the more drawn to him you become in ways you never expected. the rules of the academy are clear, and the risks are an unfortunate possibility, but curiosity is a dangerous thing. and maybe, just maybe, some risks are worth taking. after all, isn’t every great discovery just a leap of faith? -> pairing: anaxa x gn!reader. -> tropes: professor x student, slow burn, forbidden romance. -> wc: 4.3k -> warnings: potential hsr spoilers from TB mission: "Light Slips the Gate, Shadow Greets the Throne" (3.1 update). main character is written to be 21+ years of age, at the very least. (anaxa is written to be around 26-27 years of age.) swearing, mature themes, suggestive content.

-> a/n: holyyyyy its finally here !!! this chapter was totally supposed to be the chapter that kind of puts things in perspective and establishes some world building BUT ALAS I GOT SIDETRACKED... -> prev. || next. -> orphic; the masterlist.

The lecture hall is silent, save for the occasional shuffle of paper and the measured rhythm of Anaxagoras’ voice. The afternoon light cuts sharp lines across the rows of desks, dust motes drifting in the air like suspended thought, catching on the edges of his words.

“A fractal begins with a base function,” he says, voice steady but threaded with something deeper—something that hums in the spaces between his syllables. “This is its essence. The foundation upon which all complexity unfolds.”

He doesn’t write an equation. Instead, his hands move through the air in clean, deliberate arcs, shaping the concept in motion.

“The Mandelbrot set,” he continues. “begins with a simple recursive function. A value is taken, transformed, then fed back into itself. Each iteration alters the outcome—but the fundamental pattern remains.”

He pauses, letting the weight of his next words settle into the quiet.

“Small differences in the starting value can lead to vastly different structures. But no matter how much it expands, the same signature is imprinted within it. Recursion does not create randomness. It does not erase its origin. Instead, it refines, elaborates, expands. The original form is never lost—only expressed in infinite variation.”

The pen in your hand is warm from where you've been holding it too tightly.

Anaxagoras moves seamlessly into the next thread of thought. “The human mind operates on patterns,” he says, underlining the phrase on the board with a slow, deliberate stroke. “Not in the sense of mindless repetition, but as a structured, evolving process. We recognize, reinforce, and refine information based on prior input.”

Something tugs at the edge of your mind.

“Consider language acquisition,” he continues. “A child is not born knowing a language, yet the structure for it already exists. Exposure, experience, and interaction shape the outcome, but the capacity is inherent. The process is iterative—the same foundation, refined through use, altered by context.”

Your pen hesitates, ink pooling in a single dot on the page.

Ilias nudges your arm. “That same page has been open for five minutes,” he mutters.

You don’t answer. 

It’s there. Right there, just beyond reach—woven between the lines of his lecture and the contours of your own thoughts.

Your gaze lifts to him.

Anaxagoras isn’t looking at you directly, but you recognize it now—the way his tone shifts when he lingers on certain ideas. His phrasing is precise, yet measured, as though anticipating the moment someone follows him past the obvious.

Anticipating you.

Ilias nudges you again. “You’re making the face.”

You blink. “What face?”

“The one where you’re about to say something wildly specific that sounds normal to you but makes the rest of us reconsider whether we know what words mean.”

You swat at him without looking, keeping your attention fixed forward.

"If individuality is a function of iteration," you say suddenly, the thought slipping free like a thread pulled from a greater weave, "then at what point does the original form stop being relevant?"

Silence.

A shift in the air—it’s subtle.

Anaxagoras pauses. The chalk in his hand stills just before it touches the board. But he doesn’t turn. Not yet.

"You assume it does," he says instead, his voice measured. "Why?"

You hesitate. "Because—" You try to grasp at the thought, but it’s slipping, unraveling. "Because if every iteration changes, then the original—"

"Changes how?"

You blink. "Through variance. Accumulated difference."

He nods, but it’s not satisfaction. It’s expectation. "And yet?"

You frown. "And yet it still carries the same process—"

"So is it severance?"

You inhale sharply. "No."

He turns now, finally, and the weight of his gaze lands fully on you. "Then what is it?"

You search for the word, the shape of the idea curling at the edge of your thoughts.

"Extension?" you murmur.

Anaxagoras watches you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then—so slightly you almost miss it—his fingers tighten around the chalk.

"Hm."

A pause. 

The weight of his gaze—assessing, acknowledging, remembering, as though he’s not just hearing your words but recognizing them, as though he’s tracing a pattern he’s seen before but can’t quite name.

Then, just as smoothly, he turns back to the board as if nothing happened, resuming his explanation.

You exhale sharply, pressing your lips together to stifle a grin.

You’re not sure if you should thank Anaxagoras or be absolutely, thoroughly frustrated with him.

Maybe both.

He takes a step forward, chalk tapping against the board in a series of crisp strokes as he shifts the topic. And then—

“Ilias.”

Ilias straightens instantly, caught mid-whisper.

Anaxagoras doesn’t turn. “If a system is defined by iterative transformation, how do we distinguish between growth and replication?”

Ilias scoffs, leaning back like this is the easiest question in the world. “Obviously, if a system changes with each iteration, it’s growth. If it just repeats the same process without meaningful difference, it’s replication.”

A beat.

Anaxagoras finally glances over his shoulder. “Incorrect.”

Ilias blinks. “What.”

Anaxagoras turns fully now, expression unreadable. “Your answer assumes that change alone defines growth. It does not.”

From beside him, you let out an involuntary snort.

Ilias’ head snaps toward you. “Oh, now you have an opinion?”

You press a hand to your mouth, eyes gleaming with barely suppressed amusement.

Anaxagoras waits.

Ilias flounders for a moment, then straightens again, clearing his throat like he can salvage this. “Okay, well—uh. If the transformation process is… uhh… significant enough, then—”

A long silence.

You don’t even try to hide your giggle this time.

Ilias throws his hands up. “Why are you laughing? You got to say your freaky little statement in peace!”

Anaxagoras raises an eyebrow. “Language.”

Ilias pales.

You wheeze, turning away.

Ilias exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair like he’s fighting for his life. “Alright, fine. Recursion isn’t just about repetition, but about… contextual… refinement..?”

The silence hung thick, oppressive, as Ilias struggled to string together a coherent thought. His hands fumbled with the papers in front of him, and his voice cracked under the pressure. It was clear to anyone with half a brain that his attempt to impress Anaxagoras had backfired—again.

Then, cutting through the stillness, came a voice. Quiet but firm.

"It’s not just about change. It’s about the system responding to its environment. If it doesn’t, it’s not really transformation. It’s just… repetition."

Ilias’s head snapped up. The voice had no warning, no introduction—just a cool, steady presence that seemed to effortlessly cut through the tension.

For a split second, he blinked in confusion, his mind scrambling to process what had just happened. He’d been so caught up in his own rambling, he hadn’t noticed anyone else was around. But there, seated a couple chairs over, was a girl he hadn’t seen before. Dark, hair, eyes sharp with quiet confidence, arms folded across her chest. She was a mystery—a calm, collected contrast to the chaos that he had just created.

Ilias swallowed, throat suddenly dry. "That was… uh. Really well put." His laugh was quieter this time, edged with something like genuine relief. "I was—yeah. Definitely struggling there." He hesitated, then, almost earnestly: "Thanks."

The girl didn’t say anything right away. Just tilted her head slightly, studying him with a kind of quiet amusement.

Anaxagoras’s gaze flicked between them, the silence stretching just a beat longer than comfortable. Then, finally, he exhaled through his nose, barely a sigh but just enough to be perceptible. His eyes landed back on Ilias.

"Struggling is a generous term," Anaxagoras said dryly.

Ilias groaned, dropping his head onto his desk with a thud.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Anaxagoras exhaled slowly, a faint, begrudging noise escaping him. His gaze flickered back to the girl for a moment, a brief acknowledgment that didn’t quite touch his eyes.

“Acceptable,” he said, his voice crisp and without fanfare, before his attention returned to Ilias. “This time.”

It was as close to praise as Anaxagoras was ever likely to give.

You grin. “That was impressive. Truly.”

Ilias glares. “I hate you.”

But across the room, Anaxagoras’ gaze flickers back to you for a fraction of a second—just enough for you to notice, just enough to make your pulse quicken.

And then, as always, he moves on as though nothing happened.

Yet, your thoughts linger, trailing behind you as the lecture ends, as you gather your things, as you step into the quiet corridors where the conversation still churns in your mind, unfinished.

The evening air is crisp, carrying the faint scent of autumn leaves as you and Ilias walk down the winding campus path, the crunch of gravel beneath your shoes the only sound for a few moments. It's a comfortable silence—both of you are still processing the mental gymnastics Anaxagoras just put the class through.

And then, of course, Ilias ruins it.

“I’m being publicly executed in that classroom,” he groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Every. Single. Lecture.”

You glance at him, amused. “What are you even talking about?”

He throws his hands up. “Oh, I don’t know! Maybe the part where he treats me like an enrichment activity for the class while you get revered like some kind of academic deity.”

You snort. “I am not—”

“You wouldn’t understand,” he cuts in, shaking his head dramatically. “You don’t know what it’s like to be the designated clown. To live in fear of the moment he decides today is the day to obliterate me for sport.”

You raise a brow. “Maybe if you stopped making questionable philosophical takes—”

“No. It’s too late for me. But you—” He points accusingly. “You get the pauses.”

You blink. “The what?”

“The pauses,” he repeats, exasperated. “You ask something, and he actually stops. Like, for a second, he’s just standing there, processing, recalibrating his entire existence before he answers like he saw it coming all along, and proceeds worships the ground you walk on. Meanwhile, I breathe wrong, and he materializes a ten-minute verbal essay on why I’m incorrect.”

“…That’s not true.”

“Oh, it is,” he deadpans. “I’m a walking rhetorical question to that man. You, on the other hand? He actually looks pleased when you speak. It’s sickening.”

You shake your head, biting back a smile. “You’re being dramatic.”

“And you,” he sighs, shoving his hands into his pockets, before something catches the corner of his eye– "Hey! It’s a dog!"

You barely have time to process before he veers off-course, pointing toward a scruffy-looking mutt curled up near a campus bench. The dog lifts its head, ears perking, but doesn’t bolt. Its fur is a patchwork of colors—mostly brown, with streaks of white and black—and though it looks a little unkempt, it seems well-fed.

"Do you think it's a stray?" you ask, stepping closer.

"I mean, it’s wearing a bandana." Ilias crouches, squinting at the little fabric tied around its neck. The dog watches him, tail thumping hesitantly against the ground. "Could be a lost pet. Or maybe it just—"

The dog trots forward, sniffing at your shoes before nudging its head into Ilias’ leg. He yelps, stiffening. The dog wags its tail harder.

"Okay," he breathes, lowering his hand. "Okay. This is happening."

Just as his fingers brush the dog’s fur, a voice interrupts. "Ah—hey, hey, don't scare him!"

You turn towards the source—a striking figure with windswept white hair, piercing blue eyes, and an air of effortless charm, jogging up to you, grinning like you’ve all just been reunited after years apart. His crisp, button-down shirt is a pristine shade of ivory, tailored to fit perfectly without appearing rigid. Over it, he wears a sleek, deep-blue blazer, unbuttoned, its lapels lined with subtle gold embroidery that catches the light as he moves. The blazer is paired with well-fitted slacks of a similar navy hue, pressed yet comfortably worn. A fine gold watch glints on his wrist, peeking out whenever he gestures animatedly. His shoes—polished but practical—carry a quiet confidence, much like him.

His energy is immediate, warm and bright, like he’s been waiting all day for a reason to talk to someone. 

"Sorry about that!" He slows to a stop, catching his breath. "This little guy's not a stray—he just likes hanging around here. We feed him sometimes."

You blink. "We?" 

The dog immediately abandons Ilias and darts across, tail wagging furiously as a second man crouches, offering food from his hand—a stark contrast. This one has sharp red eyes, dusty red hair falls at his shoulders. He, in contrast, wears black. A fitted, long-sleeved dress shirt clings just right, the top few buttons left undone, exposing the faintest hint of skin. The sleeves are rolled up to his forearms, revealing the inked patterns winding down his left arm. A single silver ring rests on his hand, catching the light as he idly scratches behind the stray dog’s ears. His charcoal-gray slacks fit comfortably, cinched by a belt with an unembellished black buckle. Unlike… blondie’s polished look, his ensemble leans effortlessly sharp—a perfect balance of refinement and disregard. 

"That answers that," you murmur.

The white-haired one—Phainon, judging by the way his companion sighs his name in exasperation—grins. "Sorry if he harassed you. He’s just a friendly little guy. I’m Phainon, by the way! And the one who’s pretending not to give a damn right now is Mydei."

At his name, the other man—Mydei glances up briefly, gaze flickering over you and Ilias before returning to his task. He places the container on the ground, and the dog immediately perks up, trotting over to eat.

Ilias, still kneeling awkwardly, exhales. "Okay. Not a stray. Noted."

Phainon beams. "Yeah, he just likes people! Kind of like me."

"Don’t compare yourself to a dog," Mydei mutters, scratching behind the mutt’s ears. Despite his dry tone, there’s a distinct lack of bite to it.

You exchange a glance with Ilias, who looks like he's trying to decide whether this interaction is going to be amusing or exhausting.

Mydei, meanwhile, finishes setting down the food, and the dog immediately perks up, trotting over to eat. Phainon watches with fondness before turning back to you both.

Ilias, undeterred, crouches slightly, watching as the dog happily devours its food. Then he tilts his head. "Wait, does he have a name?"

Phainon perks up. "Oh! Yeah, we call him—" but before the word fully escapes, Mydei cuts in flatly. "No, he doesn’t."

Phainon sighs, as if wounded. "Well, someone refuses to name him anything else–" 

"He doesn’t need a name," Mydei replies, scratching the dog behind the ears. "He’s fine as he is.” 

“We call him—his name is Dog." Phainon interrupts and proudly exclaims. 

Mydei exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "'Dog' is not a name."

"It's a perfectly functional name," Phainon counters, crossing his arms. "It tells you exactly what he is."

"It tells me you’re uncreative," Mydei mutters.

Ilias lets out a quiet laugh. "The dogs name is… Dog?"

Phainon nods enthusiastically. "Yes! And he responds to it! Watch—Dog!"

The dog does, in fact, lift his head, ears twitching.

Mydei gives him a long, unimpressed stare. "He also responds to literally any sound you make. You could call him ‘Toaster’ and he’d do the same thing."

Phainon gasps. "Toaster is kind of cute."

"Absolutely not."

You exchange a glance with Ilias, both of you barely holding back laughter. The dog—Dog?—wags his tail, blissfully unaware of the existential debate happening over his name.

Phainon turns his attention back to you, his grin softer now, less performative. "Anyways, you two should join us in the evenings if you’d like to befriend Dog over here! We usually hang out around here and—well, I do… and Mydei pretends he just happens to be here."

"Because I do," Mydei deadpans, but he doesn’t refute any further, turning his gaze to you instead.

Ilias glances at you. "Well, I don’t have anything better to do."

You hum, considering. The dog has finished eating and is now curled up against Mydei’s side, content. Phainon looks at you expectantly, his posture light, easy.

...That does not sound like a productive use of your time.

"... I’m in." you say. 

Phainon cheers, Ilias pats you on the back, and Mydei only shakes his head, unimpressed.

But even as laughter rings in the air, your notebook sits heavy in your bag, pressing against your side like a restless thing. The pages whisper against each other with every step, the unfinished nonsensical equations scrawled within tugging at you like a sleeve caught on a nail—persistent, insistent, refusing to be ignored.

Maybe that's what brought you here, you tell yourself.

The door to Anaxagoras’ office door creaks as you push it open, stepping into the dimly lit office. Anaxagoras looks up from his desk, dark eyes flicking to the threshold with the mild expectation of a routine interruption. But when he sees you—alone, unannounced—something in his expression shifts.

You don’t exactly wait for permission, as you cross the room, pull out the chair opposite him, and sit.

His pen hovers over the page. He does not tell you to leave, nor does he acknowledge your quiet audacity. Instead, he sets his pen down, fingers pressing lightly against the desk’s edge, and waits. A slight lift of his brow, but no verbal response. Just patience. A steady, expectant silence.

"Professor," you greet, as if a sliver of formality might excuse the sheer audacity of your unannounced arrival.

Your gaze flickers down to your notebook, its pages filled with hurried, half-formed thoughts—equations scrawled into the margins, trailing off as if they were abandoned mid-realization. You don’t need to check them. You already know they lead back to the same question.

"The base function," you begin, voice measured, "remains the same, no matter how many iterations occur. No matter how much complexity emerges, the original structure is never erased."

Anaxagoras leans back slightly in his chair, studying you with the kind of intrigue usually reserved for theorems that refuse to be solved.

"And?"

You exhale, fingertips brushing over the ink-streaked paper. "If that applies to consciousness—if the mind isn’t just pattern recognition, but recursion—then that means identity isn’t fixed. It’s an evolving expression of an underlying structure." 

Something flickers in his gaze. He rises.

Not abruptly, not impatiently, but as if drawn by the gravity of the conversation. His chair scrapes softly against the floor as he crosses the small space between you. He does not sit at the edge of the desk, does not fold his arms in some passive stance of authority.

Instead, he leans over your notebook, shoulders nearly brushing yours.

The scent of coffee lingers on his shirt, mingling with the fainter trace of old paper and ink. His gaze moves over the mess of your notes, scanning the tangled web of equations and annotations, before settling on you again.

"You're making an assumption," he says, voice lower now, more measured.

You tilt your chin slightly, meeting his gaze. "Of what nature?"

His fingers hover near the edge of the page, not quite touching, but close enough that the movement draws your attention. "You assume that the core of identity—the thing that stays the same through every iteration—is purely structural." 

The silence stretches between you, taut as a thread on the verge of snapping.

Your breath is steady, but something in your pulse betrays you. He is too close. Not inappropriately so, not in a way that crosses any boundaries—only in a way that makes the air shift. The room smaller. The moment stretched just slightly beyond its logical bounds.

It would be easy to answer. To argue, to press forward, to let the academic current carry you both into safer waters.

Instead, you only watch him. 

And for the first time, you wonder if he feels it too.

Your fingers tighten slightly around your pen.

"The base function has to be structural," you counter, though your voice is softer now, measured against the weight of the space between you. "If it weren’t—if it were mutable at its core—then what holds continuity between iterations? What prevents identity from collapsing into chaos? What keeps one’s identity from falling apart?"

Anaxagoras doesn’t move away. He studies you the way he studies difficult problems—patiently, intently, as if waiting for the answer to emerge in real time.

"And yet," he muses, "if it were purely structural, if the function was rigid rather than dynamic, then identity would be deterministic. There would be no true variation between one individual. and another"

Your breath catches—not at the words, but at the way he delivers them. Low, deliberate, as if testing their effect. 

Your eyes flicker back to your notes, searching for the answer already buried in the ink-scrawled equations.

"If recursion alone dictated identity," he continues, fingers brushing the page near a half-written derivation, "then all of our decisions would be predictable, predetermined by the constraints of that function. But something else is at play."

You glance back up at him. "Emergent complexity."

A small, almost imperceptible nod. "Iteration isn't replication. Each step in it's expansion is influenced not just by the base function, but by external conditions—context, interference, interaction. No two paths are identical. Every recursive process has the potential for divergence."

You inhale sharply, following the thought as it unfolds, as it threads itself between the logic you already understand and the realization taking shape. 

He watches the shift in your expression—sees you arrive at the same conclusion.

"If identity," you say slowly, "is shaped not just by its internal function, but by its interactions—"

"Then when two distinct but intrinsically linked patterns cross paths," he interjects, "neither walks away unchanged."

The words land too heavily.

Not just because they are true, because they make sense.

But because he isn't speaking in hypotheticals anymore.

For a moment, neither of you move. He is still leaning over your desk, too close, breath dusting lightly against your shoulder—warm, uneven, just barely there. His presence presses into the space between the pages, the margins, the frantic scrawl of your thoughts. 

Your fingers brush against the edge of your notes. "And what happens," you murmur, almost to yourself, "when two of these... structures become entangled?"

Anaxagoras holds your gaze.

"You tell me," he says.

A slow breath. Hesitation.

"...Change is inevitable," you murmur. "Not a choice, not an accident—just a consequence of proximity." 

Something flickers across his expression—too brief to name, too quick to be certain.

He should correct you. Should challenge the conclusion you’ve drawn.

Instead, he watches you, head tilting just slightly—less like a professor considering a theory, more like something else entirely.

Your breath stills. The moment lingers too long.

You shift slightly, glancing down at your notes.

"Perhaps," Anaxagoras says at last, his voice quieter than before, "but not all change is equal."

"... And what determines the difference?" you ask, softer now.

His eyes don’t leave yours. "The depth of the resonance."

The night air hums with a quiet sort of clarity as you step out of the grove, the weight of the conversation still curling around your ribs like an uncollapsed waveform. The campus pathways are near-empty at this hour, bathed in the soft glow of lamplight. Each footstep crunches softly against the gravel, the rhythm steady, measured—nothing like the chaotic pulse beneath your skin.

You aren’t entirely sure how long you sat there in his office. The concept of time had blurred somewhere between the pages of your notes and the weight of his gaze. Between the fractal recursion of thought and the unsettling realization that—perhaps—you weren’t just speaking of equations anymore.

Your fingers tighten around the strap of your bag as you walk.

(If recursion applies not just to thought but to interaction—if the base function of identity is altered through contact—then what does it mean that his presence lingers in your mind long after the conversation has ended?)

The wind shifts, cool against your skin, but it does little to steady the unshaken cadence of your pulse.

Anaxagoras had let the silence stretch before you left. No dismissal, no final remark to wrap the conversation into something neat and containable. Just that lingering weight—his dark eyes studying you, as if waiting for you to arrive at the realization before he acknowledged it himself.

(The depth of the resonance..?)

You exhale sharply, shaking your head as if that alone could unravel the thought from your mind.

Your dormitory looms ahead, its familiar outline silhouetted against the night sky. The building is quiet when you step inside, the soft hum of distant voices muffled through the walls. You move through the dimly lit corridors with muscle memory, feet carrying you forward while your mind is still somewhere else.

Your door clicks shut behind you, shutting you into the quiet stillness of your room.

Everything here is familiar. The unmade bed, the clutter of books on your desk, the notebook you’d left open earlier with some half-scribbled thought that now feels embarrassingly simplistic. The air smells faintly of old paper and the lingering trace of coffee grounds from this morning—scents that should root you back into the present.

But they don’t.

Not when your mind is still back in that office.

Not when you can still hear the quiet cadence of his voice, the deliberate pause before he spoke—

You press your fingers to your temple, willing yourself to unspool the loop of recursion that has latched onto your thoughts.

It’s fine. This is fine.

The conversation had been an extension of an intellectual discourse, nothing more. You were both speaking in abstracts, exploring a hypothesis. That’s what you do. That’s what you’ve always done.

Then why did you feel so different?

You swallow, exhaling through your nose.

Your notebook is still in your hands, the pages curled slightly from the way you’d gripped them on the walk back. Slowly, carefully, you set it down on your desk, flipping back to the last scrawled equation.

Identity = f(Iteration, Context, Interaction)

A slow inhale. Your fingers brush over the ink-streaked margin, a reflexive motion—an attempt to ground yourself.

Then, after a moment, you reach for your pen.

The ink flows smoothly as you add another line beneath the equation, hesitating for only a second before you let the words take form.

Resonance determines the rate of transformation.

You stare at it.

And then—slowly, deliberately—you close the notebook. 

-> a/n: hey, if you've made it this far i SERIOUSLY commend your strength. i had to take several breaks while proofreading this because i, the writer, myself could not process their words at one stretch... erm... so, here's a mini explanation with an analogy, if any of you are actually interested in what they were talking about. Imagine you're building a snowman. At first, it’s just a small snowball in your hands. But as you roll it, more snow sticks, and it grows bigger and bigger. You stack more snow on top, shape it, maybe add a scarf or a carrot nose. No matter how much it changes, the first snowball—the one you started with—is still there, buried inside. It never went away, it just became part of something bigger. That first snowball here is like the core of 'identity'. Everything else—your experiences, choices, and changes—builds on top of it, but it’s always there, shaping who you are.

-> next.

taglist: @starglitterz @kazumist @naraven @cozyunderworld @pinksaiyans @pearlm00n @your-sleeparalysisdem0n @francisnyx @qwnelisa @chessitune @leafythat @cursedneuvillette@hanakokunzz @nellqzz @ladymothbeth @chokifandom@yourfavouritecitizen @sugarlol12345 @aspiring-bookworm @kad0o @yourfavoritefreakyhan @mavuika-marquez @somniosu

[loserlvrss]

𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮 - 𝐚𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜───── they don’t understand, but 𝔦'll hold your hurt in the box here beside me.

anton.lee &fem!rea. ⟡ 838HUNdrabble hurt-comfort, fluff ｡｡ est. relationship WARN!language 📻. archive

ⓘ call me back ꒰ req:yes/no @yudaies

“I got it,” You’d always say, “I don’t need help. I can do it.” 

You were never one to ask for things when you were struggling; not even from the people who were supposed to be there for you. You could do it. You could handle it. You’d climb through hoops, or on countertops to get what you needed. You remain silent, struggling in the depths of your mind—a smile on your face. But, sometimes, you just wanted to cry. Sometimes you just wanted someone to ease the pain a little. To take the weight from off your shoulders and come uncover your soul. You wanted someone to see you, not praise you for all that you’d done. You were more than just cracked-glass. 

Maybe it was because you had to grow up too early. Maybe it was because you never had that support engraved into you. Maybe having to act like an adult while you still played with dolls took its toll on you. Maybe you weren’t able to ask such a simple question because it was never met with anything but criticism—why weren’t you able to accomplish such a simple task? Why couldn't you solve this equation? Why didn’t you know how to put gas in a car, or change the oil? Why couldn’t you preheat the oven? Eventually, you asked yourself the same questions.

Why did you have to be dependent on people who were supposed to help you?

So, you never bothered them anymore—the fear of rejection strong. 

You reached your hand high above your head, silently cursing yourself for putting things on the top shelf anyways. You huffed, feeling the deep desire within you to get off the countertop and find something else to hold what you wanted. However, there was a screaming voice inside your head, mocking your lack of attempt. You could reach a little higher, your fingertips were brushing it anyways. What was a little fall if you got what you wanted? 

Would you feel accomplished? Would it satisfy you to feel pain as you rubbed at your bruised knees? Would it make you smile? 

“Here,” You felt a warmth, a presence you’d grown familiar with, his body pressed to your back momentarily. Your heart beat unsteadily—from adrenaline, or proximity? “Let me help you.” 

“No,” You looked over your shoulder, “I got it.” 

Your faces were close, so close you could feel his breath against your lips. You never knew someone could look like that up close. 

“I know you do,” He ignored your pleading eyes, knowing somewhere within them was just a mirage of what you wanted people to see. What you wanted to see. “But, I want to help.” 

And that’s how it started; your undoing. The crumbling of the walls you built so goddamn high, even you couldn’t get over them. But, he picked at them pebble by pebble until he roamed your mind freely. 

It was the small things: holding your jacket out for you to put on, brushing your hair after a shower, grabbing you a glass of water or a snack without wanting something in return, letting you vent instead of biting your tongue. He’d put your legs over his lap, and turn on your favorite show. He’d remind you every second of every day that you were beautiful if he could. He’d do anything for you to see yourself the way he saw you; wingless angel.

He never made you feel like a burden, normalizing the things that should’ve just been. 

His soft voice would replay in your mind, a lingering touch on your heart—pulling the strings until they unraveled. 

Maybe there was such a thing as everlasting love. Maybe there was such a thing as unconditional. Maybe you’d never felt trust before—maybe you’ve never actually loved before. Because to be loved is to not feel uncomfortable. To be loved is to not walk on eggshells. To be in love is to not make selfish sacrifices. To be loved is to listen. To be in love is to be on the same page. To be in love is to not feel like you’re at war with yourself. To be in love is to hear angels singing every time you look at each other. 

“Anton,” His hands found your waist, helping you turn around and face him, legs now on each side of his hips. You knew you were fucked up, messy and little off-putting because of it but, you’d trust him because you wanted to, “I love you.” 

The plastic cup clattered to the floor, along with the rest of your reserve. You were scared of heights, scared of romantic words, scared of receiving help, but ready to leap with his hand within yours. He’d hold your heart like it was the most delicate and rare artifact on Earth. He’d hold you like you’d float away—far out in space somewhere. He’d love you like his first and his last. 

Because now you know, to be loved is to be healed, not cut open.

© loserlvrss 2025. 𝗿𝗶𝗴𝗵𝘁𝘀 𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗲𝗿𝘃𝗲𝗱. >.< tags: @kstrucknet @k-films @blossomnet @starlit-network @bbangbies @gluion @slytherinshua @saxytalks @mystarsohee @seomisaho @chwesun @atzlordz @cyjzzl @minkilicious @takoyari @chenlezip @nctrawberries reblogs ─────feedback v appreciated !

[with-my-calamitous-love]

HELP ME HOLD ONTO YOU

osamu dazai x reader

in a rare moment of what he believes to be weakness, you help your boyfriend through a panic attack.

mentions of anxiety and dazai’s trauma 🤍 please read with discretion

inspired by the archer

dazai’s been the archer, and he’s been the prey.

he’s experienced both sides of an uneven coin. he’s been the hunter, the one of top with the power and the last laugh. alternatively, he’s been stomped on and hurt, used as nothing but a pawn.

both sides ultimately left a hole in his heart. he expects evil, the same evil he’s given to people his entire life. who expects betrayal, death, or simple abandonment. in the face of that pain, he smiles.

he smiles because he’s expected it. he smiles to hide what he truly feels inside. like all the kings horses and men couldn’t put him together again.

he’s easy to approach, but hard to love. anyone who could see through his barriers, his equations and puzzles was certainly someone special. breaking through his walls was rewarding to you- since you discovered what it truly means to love osamu dazai.

loving him was like assessing an equation. his charm, his humour, his charisma- thats what people like about dazai. and for the most part, he’s fine with the surface level. but loving him means sitting next to him, tangled together on the couch, letting his hand press against your heart as he steels himself.

no one knows what truly goes on in dazai’s head. even when he vocalizes his thoughts, most people couldn’t ration his peculiar ideas. it seemed as though the only time you could see into his tortured heart was when he openly gave it to you, allowing himself to be loved.

he’s breathing is picking up as he his hand ever so slightly tightens around yours. he’s thinking and thinking deep, wondering if its okay for him to be this vulnerable around you.

he’s spent the entire night pacing like a ghost. he looked around and felt like the room was on fire, invisible smoke filling his lungs. all of the people he’s ever cared about die all alone.

when be turns to you, shutting his eyes and letting his forehead rest against yours, he searches for your dark side. be physically can’t believe that he’s safe, that he’s alright when he’s with you. no one knows it, but dazai is on survival mode long after he’s needed to be.

his mind ruminates on his failures and his shortcomings, wondering all the things that could have been different. the people he could have protected. the crimes he didn’t have to commit. the one life he could have saved.

if he was just a second sooner, just a bit faster. if he was perfect instead of almost perfect. if he could ever truly become a good man.

they see right through me.

they see right through me.

they see right through me.

[y/n] sees right through me.

even i see right through me-

“osamu.” you say, bringing him back to reality. “breathe.”

with that simple word, his eyes open. he didn’t even realize how much his breathing had picked up evident by the sweat on his palms and the frown curved on his lips.

you cup his face in your hands as he continues to ground himself, clinging to yours presence like a life buoy. he’s shaking.

suddenly, he’s holding onto you. dazai was always clingy, but this time it felt different. your quick to hug him back, throwing your arms around his back and rubbing soft circles over him. he presses his face into your bare shoulder, taking in your smell and assuring himself that you’re real.

at the end, he lets out and exasperated chuckle, pulling away just enough to look into your face. his eyes are glossy and it breaks your heart, knowing that he’s likely holding back his feelings.

“who could ever leave me, darling?” he asks sardonically, his lips curving into a forced smile. he doesn’t want you to see him like this. he’s got a 100 thrown out speeches he wants to say to you, about who he really is. and its moments like this when he feels like he can. that, despite all of his wrong doings, you’d still somehow love him.

he hopes you’ll see past his facade of being okay. and you do.

“i’m not going anywhere.” you whisper. thats the moment he realizes that you could stay.

and he searches your face for any signs of deception, the lies and betrayal he had known all his life.

he finds none.

[admirationandromantics]

Rivalry

Okay, so great request, I love the so-called enemies with benefits thrope. I don't think there would be a character fitting this more than him too. Maybe Jess or Emily? Idk, I just know that this was fun <3

Part 1 I Part 2

“At least I’m not some stuck up bitch who can’t even solve a simple equation!” Josh shouts, walking up the stairs. 

“Well, I don’t need anger management classes, I’m actually sane!” I shoot back, walking up the other set of stairs. 

I can feel the tension down in the living room, everyone holding their breath. They were all waiting for one of us to explode, one of us to finally be done with each other’s crap. He failed and I won… This round at least. I’d been giving him small snarky remarks all week, slowly riling him up, and I loved it. Usually, we both go at it, but after his sisters heard a comment which struck a little bit too hard, they took him into a room and gave him a berating like a little child. It was hilarious. And now, when we were with everyone up on the mountain, he didn’t dare to insult me in public, afraid that his sisters would berate him once again. After building up, he finally popped, unable to contain his anger and lashing out. Honestly, I did too, I hated him after all. No wonder they say that all rich kids are spoiled and rude, except his sisters of course. 

I don’t know what caused this particular fight. We were all playing a card game, and I used a bit too long to add up the points. Apparently, that was his breaking point. No wonder it took some time, I’ve drunk and I’m tired. I continue making my way up the stairs, walking to my room and slamming the door. I’m sure to lock it too. As I turn around, I’m met with his body slamming into mine, forcing me back on the door. I whine as my back hits the handle. He keeps kissing me roughly and passionate, getting all of his built up frustration out.  

“Not the first time you’ve had that reaction to the door knob” he teases, smirking against my lips. I hate him. I hate his infiltrating nature, and classic smirk, thinking he’s better than everyone else. 

“Well, maybe stop slamming me into it” I comment, grabbing the collar of his shirt and dragging him to the bed. 

“You’re giving me too much power darling” he continues, putting an extra soft tone on the nickname. If it weren’t him, I would have blushed from the name, but I’ve gotten used to his snarky remarks, and I knew he just used them to get under my skin. 

“Stop calling me that Washington” I whisper back in between breaths. I push him down on the bed, going on top of him and pulling at his shirt. He helps me, dragging it off and revealing his toned body. His skin is hot to the touch, and I feel like I’m on fire on him. Slowly being dragged into madness. Though this was not something new. I don’t know when we started doing this, but we both decided that it would be the best way to relieve our frustration. 

“I would prefer it if you called me Josh” he whispers in my ear, starting to leave soft kisses on my neck. 

“Keep dreaming”

“One day you’ll slip”

“I would never” I state as I quickly drag my sweater off, revealing my bra. He stops taking a look at my stomach, sliding his fingers over the dark spots he left the other night. 

“You know, I think you should start parading these” 

“And let everyone know what we’re doing? Absolutely not”

“You’re the boss” he laughs, taking hold of my thighs. I know what he’s about to do. He’s going to turn us around, forcing me under him and taking control, but I won’t let him. Right before he’s about to turn, I put my foot down, and he fails miserably. He grunts against my lips, and I can’t help the smirk that creeps. 

“Smart girl” he comments, unbuttoning my pants. 

“I know your patterns” I whisper, still smirking while he’s working on my neck. He suddenly stops, looking up at me with that familiar smug look. 

“Oh really?” he challenges. He tries to turn us the other way, but I react quickly, stopping him yet again. 

“Fuck” he whispers, admitting defeat. 

“That’s what I thought” I tease him, and I can sense his anger building up again. 

I feel around his shoulder, grazing every part of him, every curve and every muscle. I stand up, taking off my pants, and he does the same, throwing off his underwear at the same time. I take off my bra as well. Before he’s able to react, I push him down on the bed again. Determined to win both rounds today.

He’s surprised by my actions, and tries to get up again, but he only manages to sit up before I take my place on his thighs, kissing him roughly once again. 

When we started doing this, we said no kissing, but as time went on, we figured that it helped the mood a lot. And we would not be talking and insulting each other, too busy fighting for dominance and eating each other's faces off. 

One of his hands moves down to my folds, sliding and tickling lightly. I hate when he does that, making both of us aware of how hot he gets me, how I turn to putty in his arms. 

“N-no” I whine, head going into his shoulder for support while I try to breathe calmly. There was no doubting the fire in between us. Passion, teasing and heavenly lovemaking. The other guys have commented on how we would be perfect for each other if we just put our rivalry aside, but neither of us could. I don’t even know what started it. I remember him being a jerk, and I shot back. The group told me no one else does, they just ignore his remarks. But when I tried, he just pushed harder, making my bubble pop. 

He puts two fingers inside me, and starts pumping them in and out, thumb rubbing soft circles around my clit. 

“Fucking hell, Washington” I moan, throwing my head back in pleasure. He always knew how to work his fingers in the most efficient way possible, able to make me cum in no time. I wouldn’t let him win this time. I take hold of his cock, pumping painfully slowly, making him lose his rhythm. He starts moaning, giving loud grunts and occasional whines. To fuel the experience, I start kissing his neck. As an automatic response, he tilts his head, giving me better access. 

“You’re really off your game today” I tease against his tan skin. The comment makes him wake up, and he quickly grabs hold of my busy hand, forcing it around his neck. I look up confused, unsure about his next move. He moves his hips, hopping me up so I land right down on his dick. The sudden fullness throws me off, and I I give out an uncontrollable moan. He smirks, obviously proud of his little accomplishment. 

“Are you insane?” I ask, panting and sweaty, still getting used to him inside me. 

“Only with you” he whispers, starting to move. “The way you’ve been talking to me… You deserve every bit of this”. 

The action throws me off, and I can’t help the erotic sounds coming out of my mouth. The possessiveness and darkness in his voice turns me on even more, making each thrust sloppier and wetter. I try to push him back on the bed, trying to gain my lost control, but he doesn’t fall. Instead he grabs my thighs harshly, making me whine out in pain. He uses the opportunity to capture my lips again, his mouth winning over mine easily. The grounding of the bed suddenly leaves my legs, and I feel him standing up, holding me tight whilst still inside me. 

“What are you-” my question is stopped by my back slamming against the wall, my breath knocked out. Not being busy with my lips, he attacks my chest and collar with his mouth. His cock is still sliding in and out of me, and I feel my core building up again. I need this, I want to come so fucking bad. I hear his breathing quickens, and my legs wrap around him while he is still holding me up between his torso and the wall. 

He doesn’t even need to rub my clit, our bodies so tight together that the friction from his pelvis is more than enough. I give a whine as I try to hold my release, desperate not to fail. 

“Come on, come on” he chants, biting down on my shoulder to stop himself from finishing. 

I give a small cry as I come, and he does as well. I don’t know who did first, but we both still stand against each other, my back against the wall and legs in the air. We both breathe heavily in tact, emotions all over the place. I look at his lips, feeling almost desperate for some sort of closure. But that cannot work. It’s too intimate for both of us. He keeps looking into my eyes, as if he’s searching for something, but doesn't know what to expect. I’m scared he’ll find out about me, that one part of me wants to be something more, do something deeper. I wiggle a little, and he carefully sets me down, making sure I still can feel my feet and have balance. We both walk in silence over to our clothing, and I have to look all over my room to find my bra. 

“Hey” he exclaims, and I look up, seeing my panties in his hands. 

“Give them here Washington” I threaten, holding out my hand. He gives me that irritating smug look, and I’m almost happy I didn’t kiss him in the end. As I go to grab them, he lifts them higher in the air, dodging my attempts. 

“It’s Josh, say it!” he teases, and I look at him with contempt. 

“I swear to god, if you don’t give me-”

“You’ll what? Fuck me again?” he smirks, proud of his remark. 

“You know what, keep them” I wave my hand, putting on my leggings. 

“Knowing that you’re walking around like that is gonna turn me on even more” 

“Ugh, get a life Washington. Don’t you have anything better to do than thinking about me?”

He laughs, a small one which sounds genuine. “I guess I don’t”

“See you in a couple of hours” I say, making my way to the door. 

“Two times in one night?”

“You can be so infuriating” I say to him, seeing him put my panties in his pocket. 

“Well, that’s just part of the game”

[itsnesss]

𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭 | minho (xo,kitty) × fem!reader

summary | while working on a project with dae in his dorm room, you unexpectedly encounter minho coming out of the bathroom shirtless, making you feel both uncomfortable and flustered. trying to compose yourself, you retreat to the bathroom, but minho follows, confronting you about your reaction

warnings | romantic tension, suggestive situations (but not explicit)

word count | 1.07 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

You had known Dae since the first days at KISS. His friendly personality and willingness to help had quickly turned you into his close friend. Now, you were in his dorm room finishing a math project together, something that seemed simple but kept getting more complicated with your mind filled with equations and numbers that didn’t add up.

“Dae, I think I’m losing my mind,” you said, dropping your pencil on the desk.

He laughed. “It’s simple, you just have to follow the steps. Look, here…”

While he was explaining, you heard a noise from the next room. Turning around, you saw Min Ho, his roommate, coming out of the bathroom, drying his hair with a towel. He was wearing sweatpants, and to your surprise, was shirtless. His tanned skin glowed with the leftover moisture, and his confidence as he walked left you speechless.

“Don’t you have to announce when you invite someone?” Min Ho asked, giving Dae a teasing look before focusing his gaze on you.

You tried not to appear affected, but your face started to burn. You barely managed to look away, focusing again on your notebook as if your life depended on it.

“Relax, Min Ho,” Dae said with a sigh. “We’re working on a project. Could you at least put a shirt on?”

Min Ho let out a soft laugh. “I’m not doing anything wrong. This is my room too, remember?”

Your discomfort grew. You could feel Min Ho’s eyes on you, which made it impossible to concentrate. The room, which had been cool a moment ago, now seemed to turn into an oven.

“I’ll go to the bathroom for a moment,” you said quickly, standing up before anyone could respond.

You entered and shut the door behind you, resting your forehead against the mirror. “Breathe, calm down,” you told yourself. But the images of Min Ho kept invading your mind: his teasing smile, the carefree tone in his voice, and of course, the way his skin seemed to shine under the light of the room.

“This is ridiculous,” you muttered, turning on the tap to splash cold water on your face.

The sound of the door opening behind you made you turn quickly. There he was, Min Ho, closing the door behind him with an expression that mixed amusement and something else... something that made your heart stop for a second.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, trying to sound annoyed, although your voice trembled slightly.

He took a step toward you, crossing his arms. “I saw how you reacted. You’re not very good at hiding your emotions.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, stepping back until your back hit the wall.

Min Ho smiled, that arrogant smile that always seemed to ignite and infuriate you at the same time. “Oh really? Then why are you so red?”

“It’s hot,” you lied, although you knew it wasn’t believable.

“Really?” he asked, leaning in slightly toward you. You could feel the heat from his body, the closeness making it impossible to think clearly. “I could swear that…” his gaze dropped to your lips for a moment “…this isn’t just because of the heat.”

Your breaths mingled, and before you could stop yourself, your eyes also dropped to his lips. The tension between you two became unbearable, and it was he who broke the barrier.

His lips met yours in a kiss that took your breath away. It was intense, full of a passion you hadn’t anticipated, but that seemed to have been waiting for a long time. Your hands found their way to his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingers.

Min Ho took you by the waist, pulling you even closer, as if the space between you was too much. His lips moved skillfully, exploring yours as one of his hands rested against the wall next to your head.

“I knew there was something between us,” he murmured against your lips, making you shiver.

“There’s… nothing,” you tried to say, though your body said otherwise, responding to every one of his movements.

“Sure? Because it doesn’t seem that way.”

His lips moved to your neck, leaving a trail of soft kisses that made you release an involuntary sigh. Your mind screamed that this was wrong, that Dae was just on the other side of the door, but your body didn’t want to stop.

With effort, you placed your hands on his chest, gently pushing him away. “Min Ho, wait…”

He stopped immediately, looking at you with a mix of desire and concern. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, although your heart was still beating wildly. “This is… I don’t know if this should be happening.”

Min Ho smiled, but this time his usual arrogance seemed softened by something more genuine. “I didn’t plan for this to happen either, but I don’t want to pretend I don’t feel it.”

His words left you speechless. There was something in his tone that made you believe him, even though he seemed so different from the Min Ho you had known.

“Can we talk about this later?” you finally asked.

He nodded, taking a step back to give you space. “Sure. But don’t pretend it didn’t happen.”

With that, he left the bathroom, leaving you alone to process what had just occurred. You looked at your reflection in the mirror, your face still red, your lips slightly swollen.

This was going to complicate things.

[anakinstwinklebunny]

I’m afraid I’m never getting that one nerd ani/stevie req from the depths 😔

- 🐇

PAIRING: stephen glass x f!reader

FLUFF ❦

Late afternoon's friday. It's this day when STEPHEN GLASS finally gave in and laid his head down on his work desk with a tired sigh. He’s been buried in paperwork and equations for hours, scribbling away like some man possessed, like a damn hamster in a cage. So it was just a matter of time when exhaustion would slowly took over.

But still, let's get this straight, he really didn't mean to fall asleep—he really didn't—and before he knew it, he was out, snoring lightly against the pile of notes.

Minutes passed, maybe hours..hes not really sure, before the realization hit in. He fell asleep. At work. During his work. He suddenly jerked awake within a heartbeat. Hands fumbled in panic as he frantically searched the desk, knocking over a pen and a pile of papers in the process.

“Shit, shit, where are they?” He muttered to himself, hands desperately grasping at the clutter.

While he was panicking, you were walking proudly through the hallway, before crossing to the right. When you found yourself before these doors, you leaned against the doorframe of his small office room. A smile curled your lips, faint but warm. “What’s wrong?”

“I can’t find my glasses!” Stephen's voice was strained, a hint of embarrassment bleeding through. “I—goddammit, where are they?!”

He stumbled to his feet, knocking into his chair, letting our a painful groan, barely catching himself before his head slammed into the wall. His eyes squinted against the harsh fluorescent lights, the edges of everything being a disgusting blur.

You stepped into the room, amused yet concerned, watching your overworked, adorable man. You offered him a soft smile, eyes softening at the sight of his ruffled hair and the slight panic that overtook him.

“You’re looking for these?” you asked gently, holding up his glasses between your fingers.

He froze, a relief and frustration rushing through him. He looked at you through his blurred vision “How did you—”

You raised an eyebrow and nodded towards the bathroom. “You left them in the bathroom, sweetie. And, you know, I couldn’t let you struggle with your favorite pair.”

Stephen blinked again, still disoriented. “I don’t—what?”

You giggled, slipping past him towards the bathroom. With slow, measured steps, you carefully cleaned his glasses under the warm water. It was almost like you were performing some kind of surgery—delicate, precise, and thoughtful.

Stephen on the other hand leanped gainst the doorway, watching you with a grateful expression. He could feel his heart do a flip and swell as he took in the sight of you, so effortlessly loving, so kind.

After a few moments, you finished cleaning his glasses and carefully tiptoed over to him. Of course, he was still standing there, blinking rapidly as if trying to make sure his brain and his body were on the same page.

“You want me to put them on for you?” you asked softly.

He chuckled nervously, face flushed. “I’m not an invalid, you know.”

But despite his straight reaction, there was a softness in his eyes, something only you could see. With gentle movement, you gently placed his glasses on his face, fingertips grazing his temple, sending a warm shiver through him.

You grinned up at him, and before he could react, you pressed a quick kiss to his lips, "There," you said softly, "all better."

His eyes softened when his gaze moved down at you. His heart race, not just because of the exhaustion and relief, but because of the overwhelming amount of love he felt for you in this simple moment.

Stephen couldn't really help himself any longer and leaned in closer, planting a second kiss on your lips. Although it was deeper this time, as if he was trying to communicate everything he couldn’t put into specific words.

“You’re too good to me,” he murmured, pulling you into him

You rested your head against his chest, letting his arms envelop your waist. "I’m just doing my job, babe."

He chuckled; a small, a little breathless sound. "Well, yu’re my favorite part of the job."

TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @divineani @haydensprettyprincess @skyguys-princess @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @babybell-cheese @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker @gallerygourmet @ysrjune @anakinskwkler @cookybananas @emotionallybruisedx @diorvalentina @sevinax @throughparisallthroughrome @aniiuv @ritosparty @ninastyless @lily-strnlo @thesassypadawan @awhhayden @sydkneez @anisangeldust @l1ttle-misssunsh1ne @anakinca @rubiesarepretty @luluartpop @cloverina @nikiloveshayden @cherriies-snake

[extinctlesspains]

I know it’s different from your normal requests, but could you do a Kwon x fem!reader who’s Robby’s cousin (Johnny’s niece) and a member of Cobra Kai. They’ve been together since pre-Sekai Taikai; older now, like 18-20 and Kwon wants to propose but he knows Robby still hates him and doesn’t want to cause any problems between reader and her family so he finally puts his ego aside and begrudgingly goes to ask Robby for not exactly “permission” but approval I guess? And it ends up being really sweet when Robby sees how much Kwon genuinely cares about reader

A/n: awww this is so cute 😓❤️‍🩹

𝑀𝑎𝑟𝑟𝑦 𝑚𝑒: 𝐾𝑤𝑜𝑛 𝐽𝑎𝑒-𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑔

𝐵𝑦 𝑒𝑥𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑡𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠

»»——⍟——««

»»——⍟——««

𝑃𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: 𝐾𝑤𝑜𝑛 𝐽𝑎𝑒-𝑠𝑢𝑛𝑔 𝑥 𝑓𝑒𝑚!𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

𝐺𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒:𝑅𝑜𝑚𝑎𝑛𝑐𝑒, 𝐹𝑙𝑢𝑓𝑓.

𝑆𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: 𝐾𝑤𝑜𝑛 , 𝑑𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑔-𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒 𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑙𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑖𝑛 𝑅𝑜𝑏𝑏𝑦'𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑎𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑑, ℎ𝑢𝑚𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑠 ℎ𝑖𝑚𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑒𝑒𝑘 𝑅𝑜𝑏𝑏𝑦'𝑠 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑣𝑎𝑙, 𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑦 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑢𝑖𝑛𝑒 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑖𝑡𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡.

𝑊𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠:𝑛𝑜𝑛𝑒?

𝐵𝑎𝑐𝑘𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑: 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 𝑖𝑠 𝑅𝑜𝑏𝑏𝑦'𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑠𝑖𝑛. 𝑇𝑎𝑘𝑒𝑠 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑐𝑒 𝐴𝐹𝑇𝐸𝑅 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑆𝑒𝑘𝑎𝑖 𝑇𝑎𝑖𝑘𝑎𝑖.

◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆

The Cobra Kai dojo was quiet for once, a rarity since the Sekai Taikai had elevated everyone’s focus and competitiveness. Kwon paced nervously in the corner, fidgeting with the small velvet box tucked deep in his pocket. He didn’t get nervous—ever—but this wasn’t just another tournament or sparring match. This was about her.

You and Kwon had been together for years now, since before the Sekai Taikai when tensions between your family and Cobra Kai had been at their peak. You were Johnny’s niece, Robby’s cousin, and while your loyalty to Miyagi do was never questioned, the way Kwon fit into the equation had always been a sore point—especially for Robby. He hated Kwon with a passion, and Kwon, in turn, had never done much to mend the rift, his ego always getting in the way.

But now, as Kwon thought about your future, he realized this wasn’t about him. It was about you. You deserved peace, a life where the two of you didn’t have to dodge awkward family gatherings or deal with icy stares from Robby.

So here he was, swallowing his pride, standing in front of the LaRusso household to talk to Robby Keene.

Robby opened the door, his brows furrowing immediately when he saw Kwon. “What do you want?”

Kwon exhaled sharply. “I need to talk to you.”

“Yeah? Well, I don’t have time for your crap today.” Robby moved to close the door, but Kwon wedged his foot in before it could slam shut.

“Wait,” Kwon said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “This is important.”

Robby sighed, clearly debating whether or not to punch him. Eventually, he stepped aside, letting Kwon in.

“Make it quick,” Robby said, crossing his arms.

Kwon hesitated, something Robby never thought he’d see. “Look, I know you hate me. And I get why. I wasn’t exactly…easy to deal with back then.”

“No kidding,” Robby muttered, but he stayed quiet, curious now.

Kwon cleared his throat. “This isn’t about me. It’s about her. I’ve been with her for years, and she means everything to me. I want to marry her.”

Robby’s arms uncrossed slightly, and his eyes narrowed. “What?”

Kwon reached into his pocket and pulled out the small velvet box, opening it to reveal a simple yet stunning ring. “I’m going to ask her to marry me,” he said, his voice steady. “But I didn’t want to do it without talking to you first. Not for permission or anything—just…your approval. I don’t want to cause more problems for her. She loves her family, and I don’t want to be the reason she’s stuck in the middle.”

Robby stared at the ring, his expression unreadable. For a long moment, the room was silent.

Finally, Robby spoke. “You really love her, huh?”

“More than anything,” Kwon said without hesitation. “She’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I know I can be a lot, but I’d do anything for her. I want her to be happy—even if it means dealing with you.” His lips quirked in a faint smirk, but it quickly faded. “I know I don’t deserve it, but I’m asking you to trust me with her.”

Robby exhaled slowly, his gaze softening. “You know, I always thought you were just some arrogant jerk who didn’t care about anyone but yourself.”

Kwon opened his mouth to retort, but Robby held up a hand. “But…you’ve proved me wrong today. You really care about her, and that’s what matters. If she’s happy with you, then…I’m not going to stand in the way.”

Kwon blinked, surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Robby said with a small smile. “But if you ever hurt her—”

“I won’t,” Kwon said firmly. “I’d rather die than hurt her.”

Robby nodded, and for the first time, there was no hostility between them. “Then you have my approval.”

Kwon let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Thank you,” he said sincerely.

As Kwon turned to leave, Robby called after him. “Hey, Kwon.”

He turned back, his brow raised.

“Good luck,” Robby said, a genuine smile tugging at his lips.

Kwon smirked. “I don’t need luck. I’ve got her.”

●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○

A/n: Hiii lovelys ik I've been offline for a bit and I just wanted to say sorry. Some things came up and I wanted to get them done before updating 💕

[th3cadav3r]

NSFW JayVik Headcanons

content: mlm ship(could be m4m, m4tm, or tm4tm), penetrative sex, semi-public sex, mention of breeding kink, praise kink

author’s note: Sorry I’ve been gone for like a week, I’ve been recovering from a cold. I’m working on a much longer JayVik fic that someone requested so I figured that I’d just drop this simple little list of headcanons in the meantime. Enjoy!

Jayce’s favourite position when he’s topping is cowgirl. He always either places a pillow underneath Viktor’s bad leg or just holds it up gently for extra support. He also loves holding Vik’s tiny waist with his huge hands because it’s the hottest thing ever

His favourite position while bottoming is missionary. He loooves looking at his lover while he gets pounded like there’s no tomorrow

Viktor’s favourite position when he’s topping is doggy style, specifically him standing up while Jayce is bending over something(desk, bed, etc)

His favourite position when he bottoms is spooning. It puts no pressure on his bad leg plus this allows Jayce to moan and say FILTHY things in his ear

Speaking of Jayce saying filthy things, he will without a doubt say the most dirty things that come to mind and regret it immediately after the whole ordeal. It doesn’t help that Vik usually teases him about it

“What was it you said you’d do to me last night? ‘Breed me like a bitch in heat,’is that correct?”

“OH GODS WHY WOULD YOU REMIND ME”

Viktor on the other hand has nothing to regret because any filth that comes out of his mouth is always in Czech and he refuses to translate when Jayce asks what he said

Jayce moans really loud. He just can’t help it. Oftentimes Viktor will have no choice but to cover his mouth with his hand or make him bite down on something just to shut him up, especially when they’re fucking in the lab

Viktor on the other hand took a while to finally become comfortable with making noise. He used to stifle any noise that threatened to escape him, but nowadays he doesn’t mind letting Jayce know just how good he’s making him feel by way of whining and groaning

They were both already very familiar with each other’s bodies before their first time due to the many anatomical and biological studies that they’ve done on one another

During their first few times together, Jayce pretty much treated Viktor like he was made out of porcelain. He constantly checked in on him, asking if his leg was okay and if anything hurt etc. While it was very flattering that he was being so considerate, Viktor got a little tired of constantly having to reassure Jayce that he was fine. They talked about it afterwards and luckily Jayce is a quick learner so it wasn’t much of a problem

Sex is usually spontaneous. One second they’re going over equations and the next second one of them is bent over the desk with their ass high in the air

They’ve almost gotten caught several times by Heimerdinger and several others but does that stop them? Nope not at all

Jayce is a lot more focused on Viktor’s pleasure than his own. He’ll make sure that he cums at least three times before he finally allows himself to

It takes a lot for Viktor to cum. The only sensation that has been consistent in his life is intense pain—lots of effort has to be put in to make him feel something stronger than that. Luckily, Jayce knows him like the back of his palm—he knows how to make him feel pleasure that overrides the pain

They both definitely got emotional after their first time. It was nothing like either of them had ever experienced before, so they spent a good half an hour just holding each other afterwards

Jayce has really sensitive nipples. This is was discovered by accident, but now Viktor takes full advantage of this almost every time they get intimate

Jayce is an absolute sucker for praise. All Viktor has to do is pat his head or call him a good boy and he’ll get in the mood instantly

Aftercare is usually very light because Viktor falls asleep right after. But in the rare case that they’re both wide awake, they’ll just start building stuff together while still being completely nude

[really-fanny-longbottom]

the things we do for love

helion x reader (platonic), inner circle x reader | secrets can never be kept for long. eventually, the truth always comes out, and so do the consequences of it.

warnings: mentions of blood, pregnancy, birth, fight, death; there's a flashback scene in the middle.

words: 7.7k

masterlist

you are a scholar from day court. but you are not just a simple scholar — you are the best.  

you were known for graduating at the top of your class and for your impeccable reputation of never failing a project and never leaving a question unanswered.

you have always been a very curious person, and the fact that you grew up in day court gave you the privilege of having access to the best libraries with the best books in prythian.

that's why books were your life and the fact you liked to have an answer for everything, even though helion called you a know-it-all from time to time, and even if that irritated you a little, it was true.

whenever a question arose that you didn't know the answer to, you made it your personal mission to find one. 

even if it meant having to read dozens, if not hundreds of books, but that part you never care about.

besides, the libraries were your favorite places, especially the one near the pegasus stables.

the only thing you liked more than books was pegasus.

you thought they were the most magnificent creatures your eyes had ever had the pleasure of seeing.

your favorite was meallan, who was also helion's favorite — it was with him that you learned to ride a pegasus, and he was your favorite partner to fly and enjoy the sky.

besides being curious, you were also a very adventurous person, and it was your sense of adventure that got you into trouble. 

one day, you decided that it would be a great idea to combine the two things you love most in this world — books and pegasus.  

so you tried flying with meallan while reading one of your romance books, only to get distracted when the scenery in the book started to heat up and lose your balance.

your luck? meallan wasn't flying very high when it happened.  

your bad luck? a broken leg and a very big and angry lecture from helion.

when he heard what you did, he banned you from flying with meallan or any of the other pegasus again for months.

which led you to focus on books again for a while, which helped a lot during your recovery.

your reputation caught rhysand's attention.

the high lord of the night court was in the middle of researching the cauldron.

rumors about hybern being in search of it for a new war had reached his ears, and as all high lords should, he began to prepare for war but the truth is that his library could not be compared with those at day court.

even with the help of the priestesses, he was unable to find almost anything.

that's where you entered the equation.

during a meeting between the night court and day court at helion's palace, rhysand mentioned your name.

helion wasn't surprised.

he knew very well what you were capable of, and in that moment, he couldn't hide the pride he felt for you. 

he knew what rhysand was about to ask of him.

he wanted you to join him and his inner circle in velaris and help with the research, and if possible, bring some books from your court on the subject for them to read as well.

helion had no problem with you helping them, afterall rhysand was one of his longest friends. 

the only thing he didn't like was putting you in the enemy's attention.

if hybern found out, you'd have a target on your back.

helion explained his worries to the high lord of the night court and his inner circle that were seated beside him.

he explained to them how you were not just another citizen of his court. 

you were important and very close to him.

he told them how your mother was one of his best friends for centuries, and when she died, he took you under his care.

the night court assured him that they would treat you like family and that they would not let anything bad happen to you.

before helion could respond, your voice filled the conference room, "i'll do it."

all the heads turned in your direction, helion leaned back in his chair and ran a hand over his face, "how many times do I have to tell you not to eavesdrop?"

with an innocent smile, you replied, "i wasn't eavesdropping. i was passing by, and i heard my name."

"really? you were just passing by?" helion didn't believe you for a second.

the inner circle watched the scene unfold in front of them with amusement in their faces.

"hm-hm" was your response.

helion interlaced his hands and with an amused look — one that you knew very well and that meant he was about to corner you — "and where were you going, if i may ask?"

"i. . .hm, i-" you paused to think, before an idea came to your mind "ah, i was going to the kitchen. yes, that's where i was going."

helion chuckled, "the same kitchen that is on the other side of the palace, and you can't access it from this floor?"

your smile fell, and you realized you had been caught. 

he was right, this floor was for political purposes only — helion's office, the conference room they were in now, an armament room and the map room which was mainly used by helion's general and his soldiers.

everyone tried to contain their laughter at your expression and when you tried to come up with a quick response and couldn't, you decided to admit defeat.

"okay, okay, i wasn't just passing by. what do you want me to say? you know i'm curious."

"indeed, i do." he gave you a smile.

raising from his seat, he gestured for you to approach him, and when you did, he wrapped you in a side hug. "y/n, meet the inner circle." 

you couldn't help but linger your gaze on the shadowsinger. he was stupidly handsome, and no one should look that good. 

the laughter caught your attention, and when you looked at them, you noticed that everyone was smiling except helion. 

realizing what had just happened, you said, "shit, did i just say that out loud?" a hand coming to cover your mouth that was starting to form into a nervous smile.

"unfortunately," helion replied with a roll of his eyes.

another thing you were also, besides being curious and adventurous — is being honest.

you are not, and you have never been afraid to say what you think and be direct about it. 

helion has always really liked that trait of yours but not at the moment, especially when you're using it to flirt with the male in front of you.

"okay, enough." he averted his gaze to azriel, "stop looking at her like that before i regret all of this."

the shadowsinger raised his hand in surrender with a smile playing on his lips.

helion released a sigh before looking at you. "are you sure about this? you don't have to do it if you don't want to."

you gave him an assured smile, "i'm sure, i can do this. besides, it's what i was trained for, right?"

the word 'trained' led you to another thought, one that helion wasn't very fond of "oh, can you train me while i'm there?" you asked the general. 

cassian was surprised by the question. no one ever asked him to train them before, and if they did, it wouldn't be a female.

that made him feel a strange sensation in his chest, one that he wasn't used to. was it, pride?

"of course," he had no problem in saying.

"awesome. i'm going to pack my things." you gave them one last smile before exiting the room. 

with the door shutting behind you, helion turned to his old friend, "alright. rhysand, i'm trusting you, all of you, with her. so. . .do not fail me. unless you would like to see me very angry." helion added a little of enfase with his high lord voice.

rhysand chuckled at his words, but he knew the male meant every single one of them "we won't."

helion turned to cassian, "oh, and cassian? be careful when you eventually put a weapon on y/n's hands. she's a little curious and clumsy even though she never lost or ruined a book, which is kinda of a surprise, actually."

cassian laughed while crossing his amra over his chest, "it can't be that bad."

helion gave them a nervous laugh before telling them one of your many stories.

"i once tried to teach her archery because she was interested and when i was teaching her how to shoot an arrow, she got distracted with a butterfly that was flying near her and the arrow that was supposed to go into the target, end up going into one of the gardener's legs. who, by the way, was on the other side of the garden."

cassian's smile dropped, and he's arms fell to the side.

everyone else laughed, if it was at your story or at his reaction, cassian didn't know.

"oh, this is going to be fun," morrigan said with a "i already like her," followed by amren.

"no weapons, got it." cassian said before starting to re-think about his life's choices. 

•••

you were finishing packing when helion entered your bedroom chambers.

"everything okay?" he asked you.

"yes, i already have everything i need."

you turned to look at him and when you saw his worried look, you gave him a gentle smile "don't worry. i'm going to be fine."

"i know," he reciprocated the smile and approached you.

his hands fond your shoulders and he gave them a tight squeeze "remember, no one can know. it needs to remain a secret." 

"yes, i know. i'm not going to tell them." you promised.

"good," helion gave your shoulders one last squeeze before letting them go, "now, have fun but please be careful with the weapons during training with cassian. we wouldn't want you to lose a finger."

"or him," you added, making you and helion laugh.

"or him," he repeated your words with a chuckle, "also, don't forget our agreement," helion reminded you with a stern look.

you rolled your eyes but with a chuckle escaping your lips, "i know."

"four letters during the week," he said while smiling at your antics, warmth in his eyes "deal?"

"deal."

•••

everything was going well. 

you had been at the night court for about three months now and the research about the cauldron and hybern had progressed a lot with your help. 

you loved velaris and adjusted very well but instead of staying with the inner circle, like rhysand offered, you decided to rent a house near the sidra so you could explore the city of starlight at your own pace. 

and because you never lived alone before and decided to try it — 'a new adventure' that's what you wrote to helion in the letter.

he didn't liked it.

you also did that, so you had a reason for the shadowsinger to fly you to the house of wind and then back to yours —but you decide to leave that little detail out of the letter.

the library at the house of wind made you feel at home and helped with your homesickness. 

the priestesses adored you and found your presence comforting. the only thing they didn't like very much was when you disappeared for a few hours and they had to alert the inner circle.  

they found you on the last floor of the library drinking tea while talking to bryaxis much to cassian's dismay.

when they asked you about it you blamed your curiosity — you had heard some priestesses talking about the creature that lived in the library while searching for a book. 

you went to the edge of the stairs and when you looked down, you found nothing, and you needed to know what this creature was like so your feet started moving before you could stop them. 

you end up finding that bryaxis was really good at telling stories and you thought he was friendly.

cassian didn't liked it.

you were doing remarkable work, rhysand had complimented you multiple times for it.

you were respecting the agreement and sending four letters as agreed and cassian still had all his fingers and toes but the same couldn't be said about the ear he almost lost when you got distracted during sword training. 

two months without any incident — or almost.

but that changed the day a letter from the night court arrived ar helion's office.

••• 

helion never winnowed so fast as he did when he received the letter from rhysand explaining about what happened to you.

the moment helion set a foot on the night court's ground, he was quick to make his way to rhysand and grab him by the colar of his shirt.

"what the hell happened?" he yelled.

rhysand's eyes widened, never in his four hundred years of friendship, had he seen his friend reacting like this.

rhysand told him everything.

how you didn't show up in the library this morning and clotho noticed your absence.

how no one had seen you since last night and after checking if you were in the library or the rooftop training which you weren't, they decided to come to your house to check on you.

how they found the door of your house open and when they checked the inside. . .

the house was destroyed.

broken furniture, paintings lying on the floor, shattered objects, torn cushions and then, blood.

not just yours but also whoever invaded.

apparently, training with cassian had worked, because you put up a good fight to the invaders.

and then there were the scents.

the scent of autumn soldiers.

at least five different scents lingered in the air but they were starting to disappear so they suspected you had been taken at least two hours ago.

and when the explanation ended, helion finally released his friend's shirt and took a step back.

helion panicked.

you kidnapped?

autumn soldiers?

helion knew what this meant.

he had found out the truth and came for you.

all the emotions started overwhelming helion — anger, worry, fear, rage.

this couldn't be happening.

it couldn't be true.

helion leaned over to try to ease the pain he felt in his chest.

but it didn't work.

raising his head, the inner circle watched as helion's golden eyes darkened — anger.

he was going to find you, and he was going to bring you home — to him.

even if it meant he would have to destroy the autumn court with his bare hands, like he did once, to some beasts, centuries ago.

"don't worry, helion, we're going to find your scholar," rhysand promised him.

"she's not just my scholar!" the high lord of day shouted.

he shouted so loud that the birds that were posing on the trees nearby flew away as fast as their wings allowed. 

feyre moved forward and placed her hand on helion's arm, trying to comfort him as much as she could, "what do you mean by that?"

helion met the high lady's eyes, and all she found in them was pain and fear. 

his lip trembled, and after taking a few deep breaths, he told her the truth.

the truth that no one was prepared for.

"she's my daughter." 

the inner circle stilled at his words. for a few moments the only sounds heard, was their breathings.

this was unknown to them, helion had never mentioned a child of his own.

"y/n is my daughter, and she's the princess of the day court."

before any of them had the chance to say something, helion raised his hand and signaled his second in command to approach him.

the male had refused to let his high lord come alone after reading that letter "benjen."

benjen approached him and stood to his full height, ready to receive his orders. "yes, high lord?

"i need you to send a letter to rris, tell him what happened and that he needs to come to velaris as soon as he can."

helion paused for a second, very well aware of the gazes the inner circle were sending his way, "and also tell him not to show the letter to anyone, as soon as he finishes reading it, he must burn it immediately."

"of course, high lord." bejen replied and gave a small nod before leaving to carry out his order.

at the exit of one of his most trusted friends, helion looked turned to face the inner circle, and he only had a second to breathe before the shadowsinger spoke.

"why are you sending a letter to eris? What does he have to do with y/n?" he asked him, with worry and confusion on his face.

if autumn had really captured you, he didn't want to waste another minute.

"everything."

tired of his riddles, rhysand spoke, from one high lord to another.

"helion, tell us what's going on? how is y/n your daughter, and why did i never know about it?"

"how is eris connected to her? and why has she taken by autumn soldiers?" cassian added. 

helion released a long breath and pitched the bridge of his nose.

he approached his old friend, and with a stern look and a firm voice, he said, "if i tell you, rhysand. . .you and your inner circle can't tell anyone." 

rhysand looked back, and with the firm nods of his family, he returned his look to helion before extending his hand to him "i promise."

helion took his hand, and a bargain was made.

a tattoo in the shape of the sun appeared on the back of their necks.

helion gave him a nod before telling him, "y/n's mother didn't die, and she wasn't just a random lover." 

the inner circle approached at the sound of the new information the spell cleaver was sharing them.

they formed a circle around helion, as if the keep the information within it.

"y/n is the result of an affair that i had eighty-two years ago."

helion paused, aware of what he was about to say. once his words came out, he couldn't go back.

"she's mine and elowyn's daughter."

several gasps were heard out loud. they froze in their place's with shock spreading through their features.

oh, this was bad.

this was very bad.

"you mean. . .?" feyre wasn't able to finish her sentence, too afraid to say it.

"yes." he said, his eyes locked on the high lady's blue ones, "the lady of autumn is her mother."

helion sighed, and turned with his back facing them "we kept it a secret all these years so beron wouldn't find out, but apparently, he has."

helion took a step back and passed a hand through his long black hair. "that's how y/n is connected to eris. he's her older brother."

mor spoke for the first time since all of this happened. "but how does he know?" 

helion looked at her. "because eris was the one who brought y/n to me on the day she was born."

•••

eight-two years ago

the sun had left a long time ago.

the night had already come with it's dark sky, shiny stars, and smooth breeze.

the entire prythian was thankful for it.

every citizen from every court just wanted today's day to end.

no one understood or had an explanation for the events of today. 

it didn't make sense.

prythian was in the height of winter — two weeks from the Winter Solstice to be more precise. 

and even though the seasonal courts didn't follow the natural course of nature, they, too, were affected.

during the entire day, the sun shined like it had never shined before, releasing an unbearable heat that prythian had never felt before.

not even the summer court or the day court have had a sun like that before.

and these were the two courts best known for their warm suns.

even winter court, known for it's constant cold, and it's land always decorated with snow and ice felt uncomfortable with the sun.

nothing happened differently during the course of today's day to explain the reaction from the sun.

there was no reason for it.

except, there was, they just didn't know that.

—

the letter came a few minutes after helion had finished his dinner.

he, too, was contemplating about the sun's behavior earlier. 

he even made his way to one of his many libraries to see if this event had ever happened before but he found nothing.

it wasn't strange for the sun to shine like it did today.

they've had their fair share of hot summers but for the sun to shine like that during the winter?

that didn't make sense.

and with all the libraries and even more the books he owned, there had to be an answer somewhere.

the high lord of day was in the middle of reading a book when the letter appeared on top of it.

the letter had brown tones with leaf patterns and an intense scent of pine — autumn.

that was the second strange thing that happened today.

why — of all the courts — would autumn be sending him a letter?  

it was then that he noticed that the letter did not come from beron.

the stamped seal did not belong to the high lord.  

no, the seal was in the shape of a hound.

the heir's beloved creatures and personal seal.

eris vanserra sent him a letter — a personal letter.

without further hesitation, helion opened the letter and read the content hidden within.

if he was confused before, he is even more now. 

the letter contained three simple instructions: "meet me at the border between day and dawn in twenty minutes. come alone and don't let anyone see you. burn the letter once you finish reading it."

now, this was even stranger than the sun's behavior.

—

helion knew that he was most likely making a mistake. 

meeting eris alone at the border could very well be a trap, but on second thought, what reason did the heir have to ambush him?

the answer was none.  

he knew that eris was not the cruel and arrogant male he appeared to be.

he knew that deep down eris was good, honest and kind and that the rest was nothing more than a mask that he had created because of beron.

that's why helion followed his instructions.

he just hoped he didn't regret it.

as agreed, eris appeared exactly twenty minutes after sending the letter.  

the high lord of day decided to arrive a little earlier as a precaution, just to make sure there were no hidden hounds ready to attack his legs, especially today that he was wearing a new robe.

helion had no idea what this secret meeting was about.

he came to think that perhaps the heir was moments away from asking him for help to take down beron, but he came to the conclusion that if that were the case, it wasn't him that eris would ask for help, but the night court, so he scrapped that idea and was left with no other.

therefore, he had no expectations for this meeting — if it could be called that. 

but the last thing he expected was to see eris vanserra with a newborn in his arms.

—

the day was already feeling long, but with the sun shining like that and the unbearable heat that came from it, it only made it seem even longer.

elowyn, lady of the autumn court, had now been in labor for three hours.

the eighth child of beron vanserra and elowyn was about to come into the world.

and like all the other births, beron was far away from the room where his wife was.  

but eris was there.

just like he was at all the births of his younger brothers, holding his mother's hand like he always did.

eris loved his mother more than anything, and one of the reasons he wanted to overthrow beron so much was so she could be free and happy.

he also knew that lucien was her favorite son, and although it hurt him, he would still do anything for her.

but what was unknown to eris was that he was her favorite son too.

eris was surprised when his mother announced that she was pregnant again.

after all, lucien had born more than four hundred years ago.

another brother was something that the young heir wasn't expecting.

but he couldn't not be happy.

besides he always liked taking care of his brothers when they were younger, and after everything that happened maybe a baby was exactly what they needed.

as his mother pushed again, eris began to think about all the things he was going to teach the new member of the family — fishing, hunting, fighting, reading, writing, camping but most importantly how to control his powers.

that was something eris didn't have. 

no one taught him how to control and use his fire, and that led the healers to treat a lot of burns because of it, and he wasn't going to let this baby go through what he did.

his mother's scream shook him away from those thoughts, and Eris refocused all his attention on her and made sure to hold her hand tighter, assuring his mother that he wasn't going anywhere.

not until his brother was born.

two hours later, after many screams, pain, and sweat — a baby's cries burst into the room, bringing tears of happiness to the eyes of elowyn and eris.

but it was at that moment that the mother made her first turn of events.

"it's a girl, my lady," the head healer that was helping with the labor announced "a very healthy baby girl." 

eris froze, not knowing how to react before this new information.

in over a thousand years, the vanserra lineage had never had female descendants. 

this couldn't be possible.

"a girl?" elowyn asked, exhaustion in her voice.

"yes, my lady." one of the healers that assisted with the birth and now holding the baby confirmed while walking closer to the bed.

"it looks like you've been blessed, my lady." 

eris's grip on his mother's hand loosened, and the male stood up from the side of the bed where he had spent the last five hours crouched.

now raised to his full height, eris saw his baby sister, and his heart stopped. 

and that was when the mother made her second turn of events.

the baby didn't look like eris or his mother or anyone in his family.

her hair wasn't red, her eyes weren't russet or brown, and her skin wasn't pale. 

she wasn't a daughter of autumn.

meaning she wasn't beron's daughter.

eris took the baby from the healer's arms before speaking to all of them. "leave us." 

the head healer asked before making her exit, "should we announce the birth to the high lord, my prince?"

"no," eris was quick to respond.

he looked at the baby in his arms again before meeting the gaze of the female. "i'll tell him myself when he gets back from the meeting. thank you for your help."

"of course, my prince." the healer turned to face elowyn and bowed one more time before leaving the room "my lady."

elowyn gave her a small smile. "thank you, lydia." 

now alone in the room, eris finally looked at his mother and took a seat on her left side of the bed, and passed the baby to her arms.

at the sight of her daughter, elowyn cried.

she knew what this meant.

beron was going to kill her and her child.

her love affair had ended after becoming pregnant with lucien, but after seeing helion at the high lords meeting three years ago, all the feelings that she had buried deep down in her heart came to the surface.

and as always, she wasn't able to stay away from the male she's always loved — the love of her life, her mate, and now the father of two of her children.

elowyn ran her fingers over the delicate cheek of her daughter — her only daughter.

and with tears running down her face, she looked at her firstborn and said to him in a low voice "he's going to kill us, isn't he?" 

it was eris's turn to have tears in his eyes, but he didn't let them fall.

placing one of his fingers in front of his little sister, eris saw the baby wrap her small hand around his finger, and he could have sworn his heart skipped a beat at the gesture. 

he had a gentle smile on his lips as he looked at the newborn now sleeping in his mother's arms.

her hand still wrapped around her big brother's finger.

"she's Helion's, isn't she?" eris asked without taking his eyes from the baby.

elowyn's mouth opened in surprise.

she never mentioned helion to anyone, not even to lydia who wasn't just the court's head healer but also her dearest friend.

"wha-"

"it's okay, mom. i have known for a while." eris gave her a small smile, eyes still directed to his sister.

"since when?"

"since lucien," eris finally looked at his mother. 

eris gave a long sigh before revealing his opinion to his mother "if you would like to know, i wish you had married him and not Beron, even if that meant i would never been born."

eris grabbed her hand and give it a tight squeeze before continuing "you deserve to be happy and well treated, mom, and i know that helion does that and so much more. i've never seen you as happy as on the days you returned from your encounters with him."

elowyn gave him a genuine smile before murmuring a small "thank you," she had no idea her son was aware of this.

eris chuckled, now putting the two pieces together, "this is why the sun is acting like crazy today, isn't it? because she's a child of day.

the same had happened with Lucien but it wasn't as strong as today and lucien was born in the summer which didn't raise any suspicions.

his mother nodded her head in affirmation before returning her eyes to her daughter, smiling, "she looks just like him."

and it was true.

everything about you screamed helion — your eyes, your hair, your skin, and even your nose.

there was no doubt in it.

concerned invaded her face, and elowyn found herself holding the baby tighter to her chest. 

she looked at her son again, "what are we going to do?" 

eris met her gaze before looking at the peaceful baby again, and his head started to work to come up with a plan. 

even if you weren't beron's you were still his sister — his baby sister — and he wasn't going to let that horrible male harm you. 

after a few minutes and after thinking about all the possible ways, eris understood there was only one option — one that he hated.

but that didn't matter.

what mattered was to keep you safe and alive even if it meant to send you away.

the tears returned to his eyes.

he had to swallow the lump in his throat because he knew he was about to break his mother's heart.

after breathing for a few seconds to calm his heart, he gathered enough courage to tell her, "i have a plan." 

and just like that, the mother made her third and final turn of events.

—

the high lord of day couldn't believe what was in front of him.

eris vanserra with a newborn in his arms?

things had just gotten far more interesting or dangerous.

the heir of autumn was walking in his direction and looking at his surroundings while doing it.

when he finally stood in front of the high lord, eris asked him, "are you alone?"

with an annoyed look, helion raised his arm to gesture around them, "do you see anyone else here, prince?"

"as far as i'm concerned, you could have soldiers hiding behind the trees ready to attack me at your signal, high lord." eris gave a sarcastic smile.

helion reciprocated his smile while adding, "i could say the same about you." 

eris shrugged his shoulders and concluded, "i suppose that's true." 

helion winked at him before his eyes moved to the baby in his arms.

trying to act as normal as possible and not let his curiosity take the better of him, helion asked "who's this little one? and why would you bring a baby here?" 

helion didn't have a good view of you, only of the top of your head since the rest was hidden by the blanket.

at the question, eris held you tighter in his arms, he looked to the high lord, who was still busy staring at you, probably trying to get a better look.

he wanted to see his reaction when he revealed the truth to him.

"this is my sister. she was born a few hours ago." the Heir said and moved the blanket so helion could finally see you.

when eris removed the blanket and helion finally had a good view of you, confusion settled on his features.

the spell cleaver's features scoffed before telling him, "she's your sister?"

eris nodded before helion continued. "i hate to be the one telling you this, eris, but she looks noth-"

you opened your eyes at the sound of his voice, making the high lord of day freeze in his place.

helion stopped.

his heart did, too.

realization entered him as he put the pieces together. 

he raised his head to look at the redheaded male who only gave a nod of affirmation as his response.

helion had to blink his eyes several times to make sure that he wasn't dreaming — that this was real.

you looked just like him. 

"it's not possible." helion said, more to himself than to the young heir

"it is. she's the living proof of that." eris told him.

helion's eyes widened in disbelief, "the sun?" he murmured.

"yes," eris confirmed as he passed one of his fingers through your cheek.

helion couldn't tear his eyes from.

you were looking at him with your big golden eyes — his eyes.

he felt weak in his knees.

helion always wanted children, he knew that since the moment he met elowyn but the world hadn't been kind to them. 

by the Cauldron, he didn't even know elowyn was pregnant.

the last time they had seen each other was a little over ten months ago, but sometimes that happened, it had happened before.

when Beron was around a lot, it was difficult for her to leave without lifting any suspicions, so they would wait until she could.

sometimes it took weeks, other times mouths, but helion was patient, he would rather wait than risk her safety at beron's rage.

but the wait was worthed because when they were together it was like the rest of the world disappeared and it was just the two of them.

it was perfect. 

the room was lit by the first rays of the morning sun and a gentle breeze came through the window.

the two lovers were together in bed. after a long night of passion and romance, the two were in each other's arms with nothing but a sheet protecting them from the breeze.

elowyn laughed again at the tickling sensation.

she hit helion's arm that was holding her against his chest "stop", but she couldn't stop laughing.

"why would i do that when i can hear that magnificent sound?" helion joined her laugh.

but helion was right.

elowyn only laughed when she was with him, and that was one of the reasons why she loved him so much.

the lady rested her head on the high lord's chest and released a long sigh before giving voice to her thoughts, "i wish i woke up like this every morning."

she adjusted her head on the male's chest so she could look at him,"with you."

helion lowered his head to meet her beautiful brown eyes, a sad smile taking over him, "me too."

"do you ever think about that? about how our life would be if we were together?" she asked him.

"of course i do," he placed a hand on her hair and began to caress it as he spoke "the first thing i would do, would be to marry you and after making you my wife, i would make you my high lady."

a smile began to form on her lips, "what else?" 

he reciprocated the smile and continued, "afterwards, we would have our honeymoon at the summer court because i know how much you would like to visit there. and then, i would show you every place of your new Court. the libraries, the pegasus, the entire palace and my favorite places."

he paused for a second, sadness starting to make its way to his features again "i would make you feel like home, and i would make you feel loved, seen and heard every single day. i would give you anything you asked of me, sunshine."

a tear fell from elowyn's eyes, and her lip trembled a little, "that sounds perfect. it would be a dream come true." 

helion wiped her tears and told her "yes, it would be. . ." he gave her a weak smile.

he, too, felt the pain of what they could only imagine."would you like to hear the best part?"

when she nodded her head, he proceeded "after a few years of being married, if we were blessed enough and if you wanted, of course," he paused, "children."

elowyn didn't know what to say.  

she had confessed to helion a long time ago how she wished she had run away from her family and married him instead of her current husband.

how she wished she had been strong enough to stand up to her father and how she wished all her sons were his. 

because this last confession was what held her back in autumn, she was not capable of abandoning her sons and leaving them at the mercy of beron. 

she couldn't wait for the day when eris killed him so she could finally be what she always wanted — lady of the day court but in this case she would be high lady as helion had told her and she didn't doubt for a second of his words.

but unlike helion, the first thing she would do, wouldn't be to marry him but to accept the mating bond.

that beautiful, golden, and magical mating bond.

she tugged on the bond and a second later helion did the same.

finding the words she was looking for she said to him "of course i would have children with you, helion. that's not even a question."

she giggled, "can you imagine? little versions of you and me running around and causing trouble?"

helion couldn't hold back the laughter that escaped at her words "they would be troublemakers, wouldn't they?" 

elowyn laughed even more "of course they would be."

her laughter quieted and a hint of love adorned her face "maybe i would finally have my little girl. i always wanted a daughter."

"me too," helion confessed, "i would name her after my mother in honor of her."

"your mother was a remarkable female. it would be an honor to name our little sunshine after her," she said and dropped an arm around his waist.

"it would be my greatest achievement.'' he gave her a kiss on the forehead. 

they spent the rest of the morning in bed talking about the future they wanted more than anything and expressed their love one more time until elowyn had to leave.

what they didn't know at the moment was that it was the last time they would see each other for a really long time.

the memory surged through helion's mind like a wave. 

he remembers that day so well after all that day was only ten months ago.

what a coincidence that on the last day they were together they talked about their future and their children and now, right in front of him, was their daughter.

their little sunshine.

with a trembling voice, helion spoke after a long time in silence "can i hold her?" 

"of course," eris was quick to answer,passing you to your father's arms. 

and that's when it happened.

a moment that neither helion nor eris would ever forget.

in the second that you were in helion's arms, both of your skins started glowing as bright as the sun had just a few hours ago.

the day court glow. 

"wow," eris whispered, amazed at what was happening.

"indeed, she really is mine," without taking his eyes from you, helion asked "what's her name?"

"y/n," eris answered still observing the glow.

once again, the high lord froze on his spot.

his heart started beating faster.

seeing the strange reaction from helion, eris spoke "what is it?"

helion looked at the male with a smile "that's my mother's name. i told elowyn once how if i ever had a daughter, i would want to name her after her." 

eris smiled at the kindness of his mother but he wasn't surprised, she was always like that.

"elowyn," the high lord of day whispered.

locking his gaze with the red-headed male, concern all written in his features at the well-being of the female he had been in love for centuries.

he was so focused on you that he didn't remember to ask this earlier, "elowyn. how is she? is she alright?"

eris released a long sigh, "physically? she's fine but exhausted from the birth. emotionally? she's a wreck, but i suppose that's normal considering her only daughter has to be sent away."

"what?"

"that's why i sent you that letter, helion. i came to bring her to you." eris said, a firm look on his face.

"she can't stay in autumn. no matter how much i want." he murmured the last part to himself, but if Helion noticed he didn't show.

"no one can know about her, about who her mother really is, we need to keep this from away from beron's ears."

he nodded his head, agreeing with the young heir.

of course, you couldn't stay there. he didn't even want to imagine what beron would do if he found out about you.

at the thought of the horrible male, confusion settled on his face again, "wait, what about beron? certainly, he's going to notice that his supposed child is missing."

"don't worry about beron, i took care of it." eris tried to be as vague as possible.

"how?" 

"you don't want to know, besides that's not important right now. she is." he gestured to you, your skin still glowing and now grabbing one of helion's fingers.

eris gave a long breath, and then directed his gaze to you just for a second before raising it again to the high lord "are you going to take her?"

helion scoffed, "what kind of question it's that?"

eris released a long breath of relief, and a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

he didn't doubt that the mal3 would refuse you, but he couldn't but be nervous at the same.

the heir reached for the inside pocket of his coat and removed a letter, and helion took his gaze from you to look at it.

"my mother wrote this for you. she told me to tell you to only read it once you're back home," he handed him the letter.

helion's heart ached at the revelation of elowyn calling his court 'home'.

he accepted the letter and thanked the red-headed male, starting making his way to leave.

but before he could, he stopped at the voice of the heir calling for him.

he turned around to face him.

"i want to be part of her life," eris confessed without hesitation. 

"what? we just agreed that no one can know about her, eris, and that includes you. she can't know you're her brother." helion explained.

"i know that," seeing the confused look Helion gave him, it was his turn to explain.

"she doesn't need to know me as her brother. a friend will be enough." he paused for a second, "beron just nominated me as autumn's emissary which means i will be the one going to your court for meetings so i want to take that as an opportunity to get to know her and to see her grow. that's my only condition, i already lost lucien, and i'm not going to lose her either.'

"very well, as long as you share those moments with elowyn. that's my only condition too," helion replied. 

"consider it done."

without further words, the two males parted away.

one with a heart full and the other with an empty one.

•••

present

helion's heart was no longer full.

how could it be, when you, the best thing that ever happened to him was missing?

he saw the inner circle's face at the big revelation he had just told them.

rhysand broke the silence "why didn't you tell me? i could've helped you."

helion met his gaze, "i couldn't risk it. y/n is my number one priority, and she'll always be, so i did everything i had to do in order to keep her safe. i have no regrets."

feyre interlaced her fingers with rhysand's, asking the high lord, "does she know?"

"only that she's my daughter. she doesn't know about elowyn or eris and the rest of her brothers."

"she never mentioned anything," mor replied.

"i told her not to. y/n knows that she's my weakness and that if my enemies knew about her connection to me, they would use it as leverage. so i made sure no one outside of day knew it, except eris and elowyn, not even her other brothers knew it." helion explained.

"not even lucien?" feyre asked, feeling sorry for her friend.

"no, not even him."

"so how did beron find out?" azriel said, interrupting their conversation.

"i don't-" helion started, but before he could continue, the autumn heir arrived.

as soon as eris' eyes met helion's, he marched towards him.

the heir was angry, and he didn't spare a glance at the inner circle. 

"where is she?" eris demanded and his heart dropped when he saw the state of the house.

when eris's eyes settle on everyone, all they saw was desperation and fear in his eyes.

"where is my sister?!"

a/n: thank you for reading!

general taglist: @emryb @fantasyandshit @azrielover @shadowsingercassia @brieflyclassymortal @lilah-asteria @lure-of-writing @pruvii @olive-main @mybestfriendmademe

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dividers by @cafekitsune