Look At This Bodacious Baddie, Probably One Of The Reasons I Like Staying At My Best Friend's House I

I need spencer in my life in my mouth, my cunt, my ass, anywhere he sees fit okay like I need him between my legs no matter the scenario I need him to do things to me I would only let my other fictional/they will never know of my existence people do to me like I need him to defile me in all the right ways at all the wrong places okay like is that to much to ask a man to fill my holes and fulfill my needs. like I am just a girl in need of love from a fake man ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh and also a therapist.

Have a good day/night. Because I certainly won't I need spencer and food.

spencer eating you out for hours for his own pleasure after a fuck ass stressful case. he'd be grinding himself on the sheets but he wouldn't fuck you just yet not until you be good and squirt for him and when you do he'll fuck you hard but still so sweet make you beg for more even though you're absolutely fucked out of your mind and you can't even form coherent words. and he'd continue just as you begged for it and he'd even get off more seeing how you're nothing but a whimpering moaning cock drunk mess. when he's done with you he'll take care of you not after cleaning you with his mouth first and making you cum one more time. but it's all worth it for the sweet sweet aftercare.

Forever

The Afterthought: Chapter 7 | series masterlist

Azriel x Archeron!Reader

chapter 6 | chapter 8 | ACOTAR x Reader Masterlist

Summary: The day after your first date is spent gossiping with Mor, being gently harassed by your coworkers over your new relationship, and with the male you want to spend your future with.

Warnings: slightly shitty Rhys mention, I honestly don't think there's anything else!

Words: ~5.5k

Author's Note: god DAMN did it take me forever to get this one out 😭 I'm glad I can finally deliver some good fackin food! (Not that I haven't loved working on all my other fics lol) Loooots of cute fluffiness in this chapter, I hope you guys like it!! 🫶 Title from the Chelsea Cutler song

18+ only pls

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You’d just taken off you makeup and cleansed your skin when a letter from Mor showed up with a soft pop on your kitchen table.

You managed to decipher it after a minute on your own, something that you were immensely proud of. Her perfect handwriting read:

How did the date go?? Where did you go for dinner? What did you talk about? Did he kiss you?? Tell me everything, write back on this paper and once you fold it, it will send itself back to me! - Love, Mor

Your nose wrinkled as you thought about writing her back, your own penmanship far more clumsy, even with how much you had been practicing. But you did anyways, not wanting to disappoint your friend.

It was perfect, we went to an Illyrian restaurant for dinner. HE KISSED ME!! Can you come over at 7 to talk? - Love you, Y/N

Your fingers carefully folded the paper along the crease once more, and watched with amazement as it vanished from your hands immediately.

Less than a minute later the paper returned, Mor having written: YES! I’ll bring breakfast and YOU can tell me everything!

You giggled to yourself, so unbelievably happy to have not only a friend who cared about your romantic life, but also having a romantic life! With Azriel no less!

At the sound of your laughter, M’aiq ran over and brushed against your leg, meowing loudly for food. You’d fed her dinner before you left for your date, but here she was, screaming at you like she was starved. “Silly girly, you have to wait until morning,” you said as you bent down to pick her up, her tiny claws catching slightly on your nightgown. She meowed at you with all her might as you cradled her in your arms, her tiny paws resting on your hand as you pet her tummy. “You’re very cute and very mighty, and I’m tempted to feed you more because of that. But you’ll be fine, I promise.” You nuzzled your nose against her cheek, listening to her purr. “Or are you asking me how the date was?” She purred louder at that suggestions, and you giggled again. “Okay, I’ll tell you about it,” You said as you sat in your armchair, letting the roaring fire keep you warm as you gushed to M’aiq about the date, petting her tiny head and tummy all the while.

Eventually, though, you forced yourself from the chair and into your bed, carefully setting a sleeping M’aiq onto the pillow next to yours that had become quickly become hers.

You fell asleep snuggled into the blankets, one hand still placed on M’aiq.

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“Wake UP!”

That was your only warning before Mor flung herself on top of you, forcing the air from your lungs in one go.

“Oh my gods, Mor!”

Mor’s maniacal giggling was the answer you got as Mor flopped to the other side of the bed and off of you, your eyes flying open in panic.

“Did you squish M’aiq?!” You asked frantically as you turned to see Mor inspecting her nails.

“No, I didn’t squish M’aiq,” she reassured you. “She bolted straight under the bed the moment I winnowed in, otherwise I wouldn’t have squished you like that.”

You shook your head, even as a smile crept onto your face. “Oh, you won’t squish M’aiq but you’ll squish me?” You asked, letting fake offence seep into your tone.

“Uh, yes, you would cry if I squished M’aiq, but you? You have information that I want! Tell me all about the date while we do our skincare, yeah?” Mor asked as she stood up from your bed, looking expectantly at you.

You nodded and flung the covers back, scrunching your nose at the cold air. Your slippers and dressing gown fixed that easily, and you followed Mor into your bathroom.

“So, how was it?” Mor asked excitedly as she patted her face dry.

“It was…” You sighed dreamily. “It was everything I could have hoped for, honestly. We went to this small Illyrian restaurant in the Palace of Thread and Jewels, the food was amazing, We talked a lot about when we were younger, he told me a few funny stories about Cassian and Rhysand,” you giggled. “And we realized that we both thought we had been extremely obvious with our affections, but neither of us noticed.”

“Well, I noticed,” Mor laughed. “I swear, when Azriel can’t see you at least once a week, he becomes the crankiest little Spymaster. And you get so blushy and shy around him, it’s so cute!”

Color dusted your cheeks at her words. “…Does he really get upset?”

Mor burst into laughter. “He does! He went off on Keir so many times, it was amazing! How was the rest of the date? Did you do anything else?” She asked as the two of you moved from the bathroom to the dining table, settling down in front of the pastries and tea that Mor had brought.

You couldn’t help but smile as you thought of how the date ended. “Well, he walked me home along the Sidra, but while we were I heard this lovely music, and in the dim lights and with the snow it was…” You let out a breath. “It was perfect. We danced to the music-”

“Azriel danced?” Mor asked incredulously, and you blinked at her, confused.

“Yes? Is that… Does he not normally dance?”

Mor shook her head. “He knows how to, he’s just… Always avoided it, whenever he could. I’m not sure exactly why, I think he might just be shy. Or… Maybe he just didn’t have the right partner!” Mor squealed, and you blushed again.

“Well either way, we danced for a bit, and then when we got to my door he kissed me,” You whispered. “It was… I’ve never been kissed before but I can’t imagine any other kiss ever measuring up.”

Mor was holding her hands to her cheeks, a huge grin splitting her face. “Oh mother, you are in love!” You smacked her lightly, your cheeks cherry red now.

“Shut up!”

“No, I can’t! My best friend is in love with my other best friend! Do you know how cute the two of you are together?”

You rolled your eyes at her and took a sip of your tea. “You haven’t even seen us together since we’ve been dating, Mor.”

“I don’t need to see you two together to know that you’re the cutest couple in Velaris! That is, until I finally get a chance to ask out the adorable Illyrian that Nesta is friends with,” Mor sighed. “Any other details about the night that you want to share with me?” She asked, waggling her brows at you suggestively.

"Mor. We kissed, and that’s all!” You insisted, placing the back of your hands on your cheeks in an attempt to cool them. “And that’s all that will happen, unless we get married.”

“See! You’re in looove, already thinking about getting married to Azriel,” Mor giggled.

You shot her a glare, but the smile that forced its way onto your face ruined the effect. “Mor,” you groaned.

Mor snickered at you, but relented. “Fine, fine. Do you know when you’re seeing him next?”

You nodded, your smile growing. “He’s picking me up after I get off work tonight.”

“Cute! I have a feeling it’s going to be tough keeping Azriel in the Hewn City through the elections.” Mor glanced to the clock, sighing when she saw the time. “I have to get going, I’ve got a meeting with Rhys in ten minutes and he’ll be pissed if I show up late again.”

“How many times have you been late?” You asked as you walked her to the door, Mor waving excitedly at M’aiq, whose head poking out from under the bed.

“I’ve lost track,” Mor laughed. “Especially recently, if he’s going to keep me in the Hewn City most of the time, I’m entitled to being late, I think.”

“I think you’re right, Mor. Will I be seeing you tomorrow?”

“Yes, I should be in town a bit after you usually get off of work. But…” Mor fished something out of her pockets: two blank pieces of paper. “I wanted you to have these! They’re both spelled to be sent after being folded like the letter I sent to you yesterday, and all messages are erased ten minutes after being opened. One of them is spelled to go to me, and the other is spelled to go to Azriel. I thought it would be nice for you to have a way to communicate with us, without needing magic.”

You grinned at the blonde standing in your doorway. “Thank you, Mor, this is amazing! And I’m sure you have no ulterior motives, like getting information on my and Azriel’s dates?”

“Oh, of course not, I just thought you might like to have someone to gush about him to,” Mor said with a wink. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Y/N!”

“I’ll see you then, Mor. Have a good day!”

“You as well!” Mor called out from halfway down the staircase.

You shut your front door and giggled when M’aiq came trotting over, meowing insistently at you. “Yeah, you could have been fed earlier if you’d been a little braver, Eeky. Let’s get your breakfast started,” you said after setting the papers down on your kitchen table, trading them for your soft, fluffy child. “Do you want to watch me cook it today?”

Her loud meow was enough of an answer for you, so you set her on the counter next to the stove while you pulled a bit of beef out of the cold box. The rest of your morning passed by quickly, between cutting the meat and making sure M’aiq stayed out of the heating pan, and later keeping her from eating straight out of it. Soon enough, she was munching away after you’d set her and her food bowl on the ground.

You went about the rest of your routine, applying a light layer of pink eyeshadow and a bit of blush before getting dressed, choosing a pale purple dress, its sleeves reaching just past your elbow and the hem reaching your ankles. The matching sash around your waist was tied into a bow at your lower back, showing more of your figure than you usually did, especially at work.

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t chose it knowing that Azriel would be picking you up from work later that day, your mind already stuck on how he might react to it. The whole walk to work you thought about it, nearly slipping on two separate patches of ice, you were so distracted. Somehow, you managed to safely make it to Sevenda’s on time, your outerwear hung up in the tiny breakroom just as the clock hit nine.

“Oh, someone looks nice today,” Josi remarked as you slid on your apron, her hands already chopping onions.

“Thank you, Josi,” you said with a smile, tying off your apron and moving to the sink to clean your hands.

“You have a hot date later, Y/N?” Torma asked, making heat rush to your cheeks. “Oh! You do! Who is it, tell us who it is!”

You laughed nervously as you finished drying your hands, facing your coworkers with your flushed cheeks. “It’s no one, really,” you said quietly, readying your workstation for the day. You would be handling the preparation of the meats today, a task you’d only just recently earned enough trust to do on your own.

“It’s not no one, just tell us who it is,” Josi begged from your left. “Please?”

You shook your head, pulling out a large piece of beef that you’d be carving up. “I don’t want to talk about it yet, we’ve only been on one date.”

“Ah, new love,” Torma sighed. “Whoever it is, they better treat you right, Y/N.”

You couldn’t fight the smile that slid onto your face. “He treats me perfectly,” you said softly.

Josi and Torma continued to ask questions about your mystery suitor, determined to guess who it is through your answers by the end of the day. The two of them never failed to make your day fly by, their cheery attitudes and kind words always making your day better.

As your shift drew to a close, though, your eyes kept flicking up to the clock, wishing for once that the minutes would pass by more quickly.

If Josi or Torma noticed, neither of them mentioned it. Either way, you were glad no one had pointed out how antsy you were, waiting to leave.

Five minutes before five o’clock, Sevenda popped her head into the kitchen, locking eyes with you. “Y/N, you have a guest out front when you’re done,” she said with a knowing smile and a wink before disappearing back into the front of house.

“Oh, would that guest happen to be your male?” Josi giggled, her and Torma’s eyes following you as you cleaned up your space and washed up quickly.

“I think it is, look at how fast she’s moving! Normally you never want to leave us, Y/N, is that going to change?” Torma asked with a pout.

“No, that won’t change,” you laughed as you dried your hands. “I just happen to be meeting him right after work today.” You went into the breakroom and put on your cloak and scarf, sliding your mittens on as you walked into the front of house, your eyes instantly drawn to the Illyrian lingering near the doorway.

He noticed you in the same moment, his hazel eyes softening when they landed on you. A few of his shadows slunk over to you, wrapping themselves around your legs and ankles, and judging by his expression he hadn’t asked them to do so. You walked up to him, your eyes finally registering that he was holding a lovely bouquet of red camellias and azaleas.

He had picked such romantic flowers for you, both today and last night, it was making your head spin.

“Good afternoon, Y/N,” he greeted, pressing a soft kiss to each of your cheeks, your face flaming when he pulled away. Azriel pressed the bouquet into your hands gently. “I brought you these, I thought you might like them.”

“I love them, thank you Az,” you said, a grin on your face as you smelled them. “Should we go?”

“Yes, I was think-”

“No way!” Josi squealed from behind you. “Torma, you owe me twenty marks!”

“Nice, Y/N, you got the Shadowsinger!” Torma cheered from the back of the restaurant. “You two are so cute together!”

You smiled apologetically up at Azriel, your cheeks now red from embarrassment. “Goodbye,” you said loudly to the two of them, noticing that even Wren was peeking out from the kitchen, shaking your head at their antics.

The two of you left the restaurant, the chill of winter sinking into your skin a bit. “You were saying something before my coworkers interrupted you?”

“Ah.” Azriel rubbed the back of his head, and in the remaining sunlight you could see his cheeks were lightly dusted with pink. “I thought that we could go to the markets to get ingredients for dinner, and I could cook for you at your apartment.”

You couldn’t help the smile that formed at his suggestion, and you quickly nodded in agreement. “That sounds lovely, Az. Though I’d like to insist on helping you cook.”

“And I would like to insist that you allow me to cook for you myself, just this once,” he requested softly. Azriel smiled down at you as he grabbed your hand, a few of his shadows floating over to your other and disappearing with your bouquet, presumably taking it to your apartment. He slowly led you to the Palace of Bone and Salt, his grip being the only thing keeping you upright on more than one occasion.

Shopping went by quickly with Azriel at your side, your heart racing and cheeks flushed at all times from his presence. When the streets grew crowded, Azriel guided you through the groups of people with a considerate hand on your lower back, his other arm managing to carry everything he’d purchased for dinner.

He still had yet to tell you what he was making, or agree that you could help.

By the time you returned to your apartment, the sun had thrown lovely oranges and pinks into the sky, matching the lovestruck mood you were in from Azriel’s mere presence. You led Azriel up to your apartment, opening your front door slowly to be certain that M’aiq was unable to make an escape - not that you expected her to, with how frightened she seemed to be of anything and anyone new.

“M’aiq, we’re home!” You called out into the room, spying her green eyes glinting in the light from under your bed, a smile gracing your lips. “You know him, cutie pie,” you giggled as you watched her eyes lock onto Azriel’s form, her body slinking just a bit further into the shadows. You rolled your eyes and turned your gaze to Azriel, who had taken off his boots and was already entering the kitchen with the groceries.

Your own winter gear came off quickly, shoes replaced with fuzzy slippers. It took you mere seconds to be by his side, curiously taking note of everything he’d bought - you could hardly remember what you’d stopped for, with your head and heart buzzing from getting to spend so much time with Azriel, even if it was only grocery shopping.

“So, what are we making?” You asked, letting your right hand brush against his left ever so slightly.

“I am making a chicken stir-fry for us,” Azriel responded, a gentle kiss placed to the crown of your head right after. “And you, my dear, will be sitting either at the table or on the couch.”

Your lips slid into a pout - that just wouldn’t do.

“But I want to help,” you whined, laying your head against his shoulder. “Please?”

Azriel sighed. “You can help next time, Y/N. But I would love if you would give me the chance to make you a meal, all on my own.”

Your heart soared at his offer - he would love to cook for you - and you couldn’t help but smile, especially when you saw his lips tilted a the corners, his eyes hopeful as he looked down at you.

“Fine,” you gave in.  “Do you need help finding anything?”

“No, love, I’ve got it covered. You just go take a seat, and I’ll bring you a pot of tea in a moment.”

You took a seat, a playful pout on your lips. You appreciated the gesture, but you really would enjoy cooking with him again.

You’ll have as many times as you want to cook with him after this, you reminded yourself, a smile coming to your lips at the thought.

You could cook with him whenever youwantednow that you were dating, so long as he was in the city.

That train of thought had you so entangled that you only realized Azriel had brought you a pot of tea when he pressed a kiss to your forehead, a soft look in his eyes when he pulled away. “What are you thinking about, love?”

Your cheeks flamed from the nickname - how could something so simple be so perfect? “Just… How we can do this all the time, now,” you admitted shyly.

Azriel nodded. “Yes we can, Y/N. And we will, whenever we have the time,” he promised before bending down to kiss you gently, leaving you breathless.

“Good,” you managed to say, grinning up at him before watching him turn back to the stove. “How was your day?”

“Oh, not too bad,” Azriel replied as he began cutting the chicken, having already prepared all of the vegetables while you had been fantasizing about your future with him. “Most of my day will happen when I go back to the Hewn City, so I’m incredibly grateful to spend the beginning of it with you. You are much preferred company to any of the citizens I have to interact with there, love.”

Would your cheeks always be pink around him?

“I’m glad you get to spend it with me too,” you said as you took a sip of your tea, which his shadows had kindly poured out for you - one of your favorites, a pink rose green tea. “Do you know when you’ll stop having to be there as much?”

Azriel hummed thoughtfully as he transferred the chicken to the pan. “I believe in three weeks things will be a bit more settled, and I won’t have to spend every night there.”

Three weeks. You could handle that.

You stood from your chair and made your way over to him, watching as he moved the chicken around the pan. “Three weeks? That isn’t too bad.”

Azriel turned to look at you, a wing curling slightly around your back to touch your arm. “Three weeks will be torture, knowing that I could have been spending every day with you,” he admitted quietly, your heart fluttering at the sincerity of his tone, the truth in his hazel eyes. “You have no idea how many times I’ve almost caused a problem with Keir when he was holding me up from leaving,” Azriel sighed.

“I think only Keir would mind if he got hit in the face,” you giggled, knowing how awful he was, even to his own daughter. One of your hands was slowly creeping over to the spoon he was using to stir.

Azriel let out a soft snort. “That may be true, but I’d prefer to spend time with you over teaching him a lesson.” Hazel eyes darted down, catching you in the act and using a scarred hand to pick yours up and bring the back of it to his lips, pressing a sweet kiss there. “Now, go sit down and enjoy your tea love.”

You stuck your lips out into a pout. “But I want to help,” you whined.

“And you agreed that you wouldn’t help this time. So, will you sit down? Or do my shadows need to help you?” Azriel asked, and your cheeks flushed bright red.

“I can sit down,” you sighed before turning back to the table and reluctantly taking a seat. You took a deep sip of tea, aware of the shadows that had stretched away from Azriel slightly. You almost felt like they were staring at you, making sure you didn’t leave your seat.

It was likely, you supposed, since Azriel was able to spy on people with them. Then again, you weren’t really sure.

“How do the shadows work?” you blurted out, hoping it wasn’t a rude question.

Azriel turned around, a surprised look on his face. “You… You want to know about them?” he asked neutrally.

"I... Yes. They’re a part of you, right?”

His lips tilted up, just a tiny bit, at the corners. “Yes, and no. They’ve been with me so long that we feel like one, but they have minds of their own. That’s why one has been following you around secretly without my permission for over a year.” His eyes locked onto a place by your feet, where a small shadow slunk out from underneath the hem of your dress.

“I- What?” you asked, worried about what that meant.

Azriel shook his head quickly, and his words dispelled any notions your brain had been creating. “I have received absolutely no information from them, when they follow you, I swear. They just… Wanted to keep an eye on you,” he said sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his neck, turning quickly to the pan to keep the chicken from burning. “I hope that you aren’t offended by it, I truly did attempt to make them stop.”

You pursed your lips together, trying to keep a giggle in. “They can… They can disobey you?”

“I don’t normally let people know that, but yes,” Azriel sighed. “They’re very stubborn, when they think I’m wrong.” He began stirring in the vegetables he’d cut, pouring a delicious smelling sauce over them as he did.

“They thought you were wrong? About what?” You asked with a furrowed brow.

You just barely noticed the way Azriel’s wings stiffened at the question, barely heard the quiet answer he gave to your question.

“About me… Giving you space.”

Giving me space? Space from what?

“Rhys…” Azriel groaned, stepping away from the stove. “Mother, it’s so stupid! Rhys told me not to approach you romantically, after he told me off for having feelings for Elain-” he seemed to have noticed his mistake the moment he said it, turning to look at you with horror in his eyes. “Oh gods, Y/N, I never had feelings for your sister, Rhys just had it in his head that I did because I was helping her recover as he and Feyre had asked of me,” he rushed out quickly, your brain struggling to make sense of the sudden onslaught of information. “Truly, since I’ve met you, I’ve had no interest in anyone else romantically, Y/N, you have to believe me,” Azriel begged when you were silent for a moment, getting on his knees in front of you, his wings folded behind him.

You had never felt that Azriel cared for Elain, beyond that of a friend. But, knowing that someone else had thought he had…

“I believe you, Az. I do,” you said quietly. “But… What changed your mind? About giving me space, I mean.”

Azriel let out a relieved sigh, giving you a gentle, reassuring hug before returning to the stove reluctantly. “Well… You. I had thought you were adjusting well to life in Velaris, but on Bounty Day… I realized that your support system wasn’t giving you the proper support, and I could have been contributing all along.” The shadow that was still at the hem of your dress rushed up to his face, poking him on the ear, almost scoldingly before he let out an amused huff. “Yes, also you, little one,” he said with an affectionate eyeroll, smiling when the shadow brushed against his cheek before returning to you, this time settling around your wrist.

“Well… I’m glad that you had someone to talk some sense into you,” you giggled before standing from your chair and going behind him, placing your face between his wings and wrapping your arms as far around him as you could, almost getting your fingers to touch. He stiffened in your hold for a brief moment before relaxing, a hand coming to rest over yours.

“Me too,” he whispered.

He let you stand behind him, arms wrapped around him tightly the rest of the time he was cooking, his shadows happily encircling the two of you.

The meal he made you was perfect, made with just the right amount of spice for you and oh so filling. Az even insisted on washing up while you sat on the couch in front of a blazing fire, attempting to lure M’aiq out from under your bed.

“Will you come out for food?” you begged, grinning when her ears perked up, eyes locking onto yours instead of where Azriel was standing in the kitchen. “Please, little noodle?” She let out a tiny meow and took a few brave steps towards you, and you took the opportunity to stand and scoop her up. “Thank you, now let’s get you some food!”

A few of Azriel’s shadows darted over to you and M’aiq, hovering curiously around her before backing away after she hissed, making her displeasure very known. You set her on the counter before pulling some steak from the fridge for her - her newest favorite.

You set to preparing her dinner, hyper-aware of Azriel standing near you at the sink, the very edges of his wing brushing you every now and then, his shadows lazily floating between the two of you. You’d just gotten the meat in a pan when Azriel finished at the sink, stepping aside a bit to let you wash your hands. He still had your hand towel when you finished, wrapping your hands in it softly and drying them for you.

In a moment of bravery you stood on your tip-toes, pressing your lips to his briefly before pulling away, only for Az to pull you back, his mouth covering yours sweetly until you heard metal rattling.

You turned to see M’aiq, one paw on the steak in the pan as she tried, and failed, to grab a slice from the pan. “M’aiq!” you yelped, moving out of Azriel’s hold to pull her away from possible danger. “You impatient little girl! You can wait five more minutes,” you said as you held her up to your face, shaking your head at her behavior. She was set on the counter to your left, away from the hot pan and thankfully staying put, now that your eyes were on her again.

You had just started to stir the meat when Azriel came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your torso and pressing a kiss to the crown of your head before resting his chin on it. For the next four minutes, you were sure that you looked an idiot, smiling so widely at a mere hug.

But you didn’t care.

Because it was Azriel.

And if you could spend every moment with him? You were sure that you would.

For now, though, you could settle for any amount of time with the perfect, caring male behind you.

Once M’aiq was fed, you couldn’t help but feel your time with him drawing to a close for the night, your heart aching already at the prospect. But you let him lead you back over to the couch, sitting down first and pulling you down and into his side, a warm throw blanket pulled over you in the next moment. His wings draped over the side of the couch, an arm wrapped over your shoulders and his free hand holding one of yours. He swiped his thumb over the back of it rhythmically as you basked in each other’s presence.

“So,” Azriel started a while later, after M’aiq had joined you. “I won’t be able to come to town until Friday night next week, and I was wondering if you would be free for another date?”

You tilted your head to look up at him, meeting his softened hazel eyes. “I most definitely am,” you confirmed with a smile, it broadening when he placed a tender kiss to your lips. “Do I get a hint on what it is?”

Azriel grinned at you, his face looking so boyish and free that your heart skipped a beat. “Wear something you can move comfortably in.”

You furrowed your brow. “That’s not much of a hint…” you half-heartedly grumbled.

“The hint was meant to be vague, love,” Az chuckled. He leaned down to kiss you once more, still soft and tender, but you could sense the hunger lying deep underneath the calm façade he was wearing. “I should be going, as much as I would rather stay with you,” he groaned, pressing another kiss to your lips.

“Then stay…” you whispered against his lips, drawing another long kiss from him.

He sighed when he pulled away this time, a finality in his expression. “I wish I could,” he murmured before carefully moving the blanket on his lap in an effort to not disturb M’aiq. Once he was standing, he bent down for another kiss, your eyes fluttering closed until he pulled away, your cheeks pink. “I’ll see you on Friday?”

“On Friday,” you nodded. “Oh, wait! Mor gave me these papers that will let us write to each other,” you said. “So… Expect a letter from me, probably tomorrow,” you giggled.

Azriel beamed at you, a dimple showing on his left cheek when he did so, your heart absolutely melting at the sight. “I’ll look forward to it, Y/N. Have a good rest of your night,” he said before pressing one last, lingering kiss to your lips.

“You too, Az,” you said, watching as he left through your front, door, the shadow that apparently stays with you locking the door behind him before lazily floating back over to you.

What a night, you thought to yourself.

There had been a brief moment of panic, with the reveal of Rhysand not wanting Azriel to approach you, but… You knew that Azriel was telling you the truth, that he had never harbored feelings for your second eldest sister.

And that was all the reassurance that you needed.

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. ۫ ꣑ৎ . 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒

tw: fingering, cunnilingus, piv, titty sucking, slight bondage. all characters are 18+. minors and ageless blogs do not interact, you will be blocked.

gojo satoru loves sucking your pretty tits as you ride him. swirling his tongue over your perky bud, lightly biting it to get pretty sounds out of your mouth. your delicious scent evading his nostrils as you move up and down on his thick hard cock. "you ride me so good baby~ fuck... and these pretty fuckin' tits" smooch "...i can do this all day..."

nanami kento eats your sopping wet cunt for hours before he shoves his cock deep inside you. he needs to pull out multiple orgasms out of you. he tells you it's to give you as much pleasure as you deserve, but in reality, he just enjoys the pretty sounds you make, as you whine and moan his name, while you squirt all over his face. "ken-i can't... 's too much, haah..."

"just one more, darling. i know you have it in you. you can hold on longer for me right...?"

geto suguru loves fingering your pussy every morning. his special way of greeting you everyday after a good nights sleep. pulling your panties to the side or taking if completely off, wetting his fingers with his saliva and sticking it inside of you, thrusting his fingers in an out slowly, his cock twitching in his boxers from the wet sound of your pussy and your moans, as your still laced with sleep. "you're so wet for me. and so early in the morning too. but i can it can't be helped. isn't that right sweetie...?", he captures your lips in a gentle kiss.

toji fushiguro cuffs your hands behind your back when you're acting like a brat. thrusting inside of you in a steady rythmn, denying your cries of asking him to go faster. how would you learn your lesson if he just gives in to you. "you've been such a naughty girl, princess", he smacks your ass, your pussy clenching down on his cock. "you have to take your punishment. i'll go faster when you learn to stop being a brat."

choso kamo just loves playing with your pussy, mostly through your underwear. rubbing your clit with his thick fingers, hard and slowly as you let out cute breathes and whines. he could just stick with this without having to be inside you, especially on days where your tired from your daily activities. he comes inside of your panties leaving them wet and sticky with his cum and he makes sure you fall asleep that way. "you look so cute like this, angel. you don't know what you do to me..."

sukuna ryomen who absolutely adores watching you ride him reverse cowgirl. your ass that he loves oh so much so close so he can smack and caress it. the way your pussy takes his thick cock so well. the jiggling of your ass cheeks as you take him all the way to the base like the good girl you are makes the gears in his brain malfunction. "you're taking me so well, baby-ahh- yeah, just like that" smack "fuck-don't stop . don't stop until i tell you to, pretty"

𝐂𝐑𝐃𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐇𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐏𝐎𝐑𝐍 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

CW: (heavy self-insert tehe), blast from the past, sukuna is rude, grumpy and sassy (nothing new), domestic man activities that made me tingle, female gaze-y (?), established relationship, some cursing, NSFW, rough sex, kitchen sex, spanking (just one?), angry sex (?), dirty talk, milddddddd degradation, kid(s), mention of nanami.

dilf!sukuna thinks it’s annoying how much you ogle him over the dumbest shit—but the smug tilt of his mouth says he eats it up. he was well-maintained for a man who ate the food for three people and went to the gym whenever time allowed him. infact, his trainer was surprised at his muscle definition, and asked tips from sukuna instead. his sharp words and scowls had mellowed, along with the addition of a few lines on his face, countable strands of grey in pink.

he's bent over the bonnet of his car, white tank soaked through and through, painted to his back. he was a sight for sore eyes, your husband, as he grumbled something about "fuckin' mechanics overcharging for shit—"

every muscle is on display, thick biceps flexing as he props the hood open with one arm, veins trailing down to thick, grease-smudged fingers. his wedding band flashes when he lifts his hand to rub at his lightly stubbled jaw, staring at the dozen hundred engine parts, deep in thought, that did something to you that you could never explain. one of the reasons why some of your fights never lasted for more than 2-3 days.

you hated summer, always whining about the heat and the stickiness that comes with it, but suddenly had a new-found liking for it.

"been calling your name like five times, woman. the fuck you starin' at?" he grunts, huffing as he lifts his top to wipe at the sweat collecting at his forehead. dilf!sukuna, whose abs peek out when he shifts, glistening like a damn oil painting, that stupid tank top riding up just enough to flash his happy trail and that sinful v-line you ached to trace with your tongue.

“if you’re gonna keep eye-fuckin’ me, at least be useful and grab me a cold beer.”

you roll your eyes, already halfway there to the fridge because—how do you say no, especially to a man like him when he's standing there, looking like that?

shirt clinging to his frame, grease staining his fingers and cheek like it belonged there, sweat trailing down his neck like it knew where it was going. you hand him the beer, and he pops the cap on the edge of the car hood like it's nothing. he takes a long swig, jaw flexing, throat working, and the scene before you seems to roll in slow motion. you shake your head to clear yourself of the haze that seems to consume you from head to toe, settling into a quiet ache between your legs.

he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, red eyes catching yours over the bottle like he knows what he's done. he always does.

and sure, this image of him reminds you of your apartment from before, the one you guys had before the bungalow. annoyed yells over the trail of socks he'd strewn around the place, or the way he'd let the dishes dry in the sink for more than two days, which would ultimately lead you to snipe at him, do the dishes yourself, or when you were at your limit, you’d shove at his chest, wild with irritation and sweat-slick fury, only for him to grab your wrist, drag you close, and say “do that again, I dare you."

the last time that happened, the AC had given up mid-argument. the place was already small to begin with, landlord couldn't care less about maintenance, the mess didn't help either. july was a damn furnace and you both were pissed, breathing in each other's heat, too hot and too stubborn to back down. and then, you had yielded when his calloused hands sought purchase on your waist, pressed you up against the counter, kissed you like he was picking a fight with your mouth, pawing at the silly excuses for clothes like he couldn't get it off fast enough.

his name spat out in anger turned into unwilling moans he pushed out of you—thrust after brutal thrust. he bent you over the kitchen counter like he owned it, like he owned you. one hand palming at the fat of your hip, the other in your hair, yanking you back so he could hear the way your voice broke each time he drove into you.

the sharp slap of his hand across your ass had you jolting forward, only to arch back with a desperate whimper. the sting bloomed, made your hips snap back to meet him harder, clenching around his cock, your body was begging for more. it earned you low, smug words and a harsh tug to your nipples.

“where did all the fight go, hmm?"

he'd murmured into your damp neck, the vibrations of his words the last thing you remembered was your cunt clenching around him helplessly till the moment he found release in you, breathing heavily.

now? you’re here again. sweat trailing down your back. his hold, bruising the skin around your waist, pulling you flush as fingers tangled in his spiky, short pink hair while you chase at his lips like he’s your last meal. his hold, tying you to him, to this moment.

you're barely catching your breath when he mutters,

“when did you say nanami’s bringing the lil’ brat back?”

you blink, brain fried. “not ‘til evening."

he grins, his eyes flaring. “good. now get on the hood. haven't even started on you yet.”

maybe you do hate summer. but if this is what it looks like on him, you’ll happily burn for it.

A/N: had to get this out of my system. my ovaries are sobbing. currently summer here, it's soooo hot. and I'm prepping for exams. haven't written or posted in years. hoping this fed you as much as it fed me. might make this a series, based on requests. feedback is welcome!!

I love the poly vibes in thuyw and was reading your tags in the last post and , I keep thinking about all the different things going on, how everyone is pretty protective/possessive over our reader “she’s our girl”, got me thinking about reader also ending up really protective over “her boys”. Say a girl messes with one of them/upsets them/rejects them and they’re down in the dumps about it, reader going in to comfort mode. “Can I…can I help you feel better? What can I do?”

With those big doe eyes.

a/n: i know this was just a thought you shared, but now i wanna just take the opportunity to dive in and write a few headcanons because YES! that is so her that i already have notes scribbled down that are eerily similar

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

take her under your wing au masterlist | 101, intro to the au

masterlist | join my taglist 

you’re such a people-pleaser

and if someone around you isn’t having an okay day, then you simply can’t help but drop everything to at least try and help

but those doe eyes of yours? uuuuhhh they get you in trouble with all the guys…..

you just want to help them feel better… well, they sure know something that could make them feel better…

having those big innocent doe eyes blink up at them and fucking tear up as you’re choking on their dick.

and who are you to say no? you did offer after all

“please? anything at all, i just wanna help make you feel even a little bit better…”

you did after all want to help and if that’s what they claim could make them feel better, maybe that’s not such a bad thing then…

and then the next thing you know, when word spreads around them that you were willing to get down on your knees and give one of them sweet inexperienced kisses all over his throbbing cock, purely to make him smile again

suddenly everyone is in crisis! dropping like flies! every frat guy is magically having the worst day of their lives (drama queens, we love)

bet they could get real creative too with whatever remedies might heal them up…

next thing you know, you’re letting a dude suck on your titties and litter them with hickies IN BROAD DAYLIGHT, IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FRAT KITCHEN

or you're bent over the nearest surface with someone's tongue is doing unspeakable things to your untouched little asshole 🥺 making you all squirmy and wiggly inside 🥺

and just imagine if they all gang up together, lie and for example tell you that something really horrible went down with the rival frat that affected all of them

oh, so many sad frowns staring back at you…

and by now you knew how much you helped in those types of moments, how much of a pick-me-up you were for them

they depended on you

they need you 

you just couldn’t live with yourself if they spiralled into an even darker hole that you could have prevented...

...so whatever they may want, that’s what they’ll get. 

© 2025 thyme-in-a-bubble 

hi there, bby!! *paws at you* in your own opinion, which jjk men would still slam or rut into you as they cum and which would go completely still?? 👀 i'm completely normal about that small quirk that men do, ehehehehe.......

🔞WHO SLAMS, RUTS, OR STAYS STILL AS THEY CUM INSIDE OF YOU?🔞

GOJO does both while cumming, but I’d say he usually gets a bit excited and ruts desperately, quickly, and sloppily while whining like a slut.

sometimes he tries to act like the big bad strongest man alive and remain stoic but the pathetic whines peak through and his body shakes as he latches onto your nipple and allows himself to rut. Cute. Calls you mommy sometimes, doesn’t deny he did it after the fact either. Your pussy is just THAT good!! And you make him feel safe like a mommy does for their son! You don’t know exactly how to feel about that lol.

BUT the moments he does go still as he cums, he keeps a lil part of his dick out to watch the base of his dick pulse and jerk while injecting his cum into you, drooling and breathing heavy.

Sometimes, he jerks off and inserts only the tip into you as he cums, it’s so mean, you don’t get to cum at all. you ask him why he does that, and he tells you he’s usually in too much of a hurry everyday to do the whole sex thing, but you suspect he finds it amusing to fuck with you but won’t admit it because he doesn’t want you to think he’s an asshole. the guy even says he’s sorry after if you look extra upset, kisses you on the forehead, and slips into the bathroom to laugh at your expression with his hand over his mouth as you ask what he’s doing in there suspiciously through the door. He says he’s just cleaning his dick up.

TOJI usually drives all the way home in one HARD thrust that gives you a cramp from how deep he penetrates as he cums, with a drawn out throaty old man groan as he spurts into your cervix. he just can’t help that primal need to breed you; he doesn’t want anymore kids, but he just has that animalistic instinct to mate, more than a normal man does.

BUT I could also see him SLAMMING every now and then, but they’re HARD and MEAN thrusts that pound down on you while groaning loudly with every hit. he’s asking if you want to be impregnated, if you like a big man fucking the shit out of you, and so much rambling that you don’t even get a chance to talk back. Says cringe shit lall the way up until he cums and then it’s all drawn out, deep old man groans and grunts.

SUKUNA, similar to Toji, forces all the way, deep inside of you while he cums by shoving it all in at once until his dick and base isn’t even visible and your pussy lips are pressed down on his abdomen.

He WAS slamming before hand though, expect organ rupture. he has the need to shove his balls into you too (what the fuck is that about) but obviously he doesn’t. he stays on top of you, heavy and deep for way too long, 30 minutes sometimes (!!) after cumming, pushing all of his body weight down on you, suffocating you, growling like a tiger into the side of your head and rubbing his skull against yours like a cat. don’t expect him to talk during this process unless it’s to tell you to stop fucking moving when you try to get him off of you; he’s tuned all the way into his primal side so talking doesn’t usually occur.

he licks your neck and entirety of your face with eyes closed as he PURRS, listening to that animalistic primal part of him that wants to groom and thank you for being his mate and letting him breed your cunt, and when the your cute little sounds and convulsions of your pussy walls give him cuteness aggression, he bites your neck, latching on for long minutes at a time as he makes raspy noises like a lion would as it holds its prey in its mouth, proud to have caught dinner.

he takes breeding time very seriously, and gives in to the instinct of plugging you for a good while after cumming— probably to make sure his sperm sticks (even tho he’s not rly doing it to have kids.. just listens to his instincts blindly OR he’s trying to make an heir)

NANAMI stays still, pushed inside a good amount but he’s more so focused on you. He’s caressing your face, admiring you, kissing you and your neck, groaning into you passionately about how good and wet you feel. BUT when you’re a little brat, he fucks you through his own orgasm, hard, as he disciplines you. ‘Are you going to listen now? It’s too much? This hurts me just as much as it hurts you, I don’t want to have to do this to you either.’ he actually can be very mean to you, not name calling or anything but he’s blunt and harsh. you get on his nerves purposely sometimes just so he’ll fuck you really hard— which he suspects.

——

If yall like this I can make a part 2 of the other jjk men!

i feel like i could be completely wrong so take this with a grain of salt, just wrote intuitively without thinking much (I’d love to hear your guys opinions in asks)

Not Just Anybody | baby daddy!sukuna x f!reader

summary: after finding out you were going on a date with someone new right after his relationship ended, sukuna's left wondering just how bad his luck could get.

genre/warnings: hidden child trope, ex-fwb to co-parents to lovers, horrible communication, angst, fluff, smut (piv sex, rough sex, hate sex, sukuna getting overstimulated and biting his knuckles, thigh fucking, full nelson, cowgirl, backshots, mating press)

notes: hellerrrrr this is like 7.2k words I think? I also wrote a mini summary at the end of this chapter, feel free to check it out!

*******also poorly proof read, excuse any typos and don't be afraid to lmk of any mistakes I've made, I stayed up until 3 am writing this lol. anyways, enjoy!

part five | part six | part seven

“How are you feeling tod–” 

“Like shit,” Sukuna cuts the therapist off. 

Kento’s not even fazed by it, he already knew there was going to be a lot to unpack just by the look on Sukuna’s face when he walked into his office. He didn’t even say hello or good morning to him— just shot him a glare that was followed by a low sigh, then plopped down on to seat. 

Now he’s pouting as he waits for the next question, his arms also have yet to uncross. 

What a change from their first session. In the beginning he was leaning forward in his seat, looking like he was ready to maul the professional, and now he’s slumped back in his seat wanting Kento to ask him what was wrong. 

“I can tell,” Kento says, holding back a sigh. Not that he was frustrated or anything, he just knows his life has the tendency to randomly take a turn for the worst. He also knows that Sukuna himself can randomly take a turn for the worst due to the fact that luck's never really been on the guy's side. “Close your eyes and take a deep breath for a moment.”

“For what?” Sukuna stubbornly asks. 

“Just— trust me, okay? Close your eyes and take a deep breath,” he instructs him again. 

Without much of a fight, Sukuna follows along. Not like it’d make his week any worse. 

“Alright, good. Now tell me, what's the first thing that comes to mind?” Kento asks after he takes a couple more deep breaths. 

—

“A date?” 

It wasn’t even a question at this point, just one completely unbelievable statement. Not that you getting dates was unbelievable, it was how much life continued to fuck him in the ass. 

“Yeah, can you watch her on Saturday or not?” you ask again. “Sorry that it’s so last minute, I figured it’d be fine since you usually like to have your date nights with Yorozu on Fridays.” There was zero bite in your tone, you weren’t even looking at him when repeating yourself. 

A part of him wanted to spiral from how normal you are about it all, how fast you moved on. Meanwhile, he’s stuck in the past, like always. It’s almost as hurtful as it is embarrassing— all the nights he’s spent just wishing he could have a do-over with you, wishing you felt the same as him. 

“We broke up.” That’s all he has to offer at the moment, that’s what he was planning on talking to you about anyways on the drive here. 

“Wait, what?” you finally turn around and ask. He actually does seem a little sad the longer you look up at him, understandably so. If only you knew that’s not what he was actually bummed out about. “What happened?”

“She uhh– cheated on me,” he mumbles back before opening your fridge. The bottle of beer looks quite enticing, but it’s not even noon yet, so instead he reaches for the redbull. 

Your face immediately drops from a mixture of shock and pity. If Sayomi weren’t babbling on the other side of kitchen island, it’d be dead silent right now. To be completely honest, the last thing he wants or needs from you is pity.

...Unless if it were enough for to drop your fucking date, but he highly doubts that’ll ever happen. 

“I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s whatever,” he says in response, closing the fridge door a little too hard and cracking the can open in a way that sprinkled a few droplets of liquid on his hand. 

“It’s not whatever, you didn’t deserve that,” you correct him, trying to feed him the whole "everyone deserves love" spiel.

How cute.

He actually did deserve it though. He basically dropped her the moment you and Sayomi came into his life. The slap however? Debatable. 

He was right to be pissed about the possibility of her giving him something, but whatever.

“No seriously,” he says, holding a hand out in an attempt to stop you from feeling even more sorry for him. The way you think he's trying to hide his true feelings right now disturbs him in ways he couldn't even explain. “It’s fine, the relationship was on its last leg anyway.” 

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. It’s just– she would’ve backed out eventually,” he sighs, reflecting on all the fights they had. “I was busy enough as is, I didn’t like the idea of splitting my time between her and Yomi anyways. She’s my main priority right now.” 

“I see,” you say, handing him a napkin to wipe his hand off. His reason was pretty similar to yours when justifying Suguru ends things with you. “Well, if there’s anything I can do for you, let me know.” 

“Yeah, ditch your date” he all but mumbles to himself. 

“What’d you say?” you turn around and ask.

“Nothing,” he says, thankful you didn’t actually hear him. “When did you need me to watch her?”

“At 7, I’ll probably be back around 9 or 10. I don’t really plan on being out for too long.”

Good. 

“Who’s this date of yours?” he asks, lacing his voice with curiosity to sound more innocent. It actually shows how good he is at hiding his emotions if he actually tried, because he’d be down to seriously murder someone right now. 

“His name's Toji,” you chirp out, still so blissfully unaware of the man's internal turmoil. 

And now that someone has a name, Toji.

“How’d you meet him?”

“At the business dinner I went to a few weeks ago. He’s one of the heads of the company that was interested in having me manage all their stuff.” 

“So he's old,” he cackles to himself. Doesn't matter how much money the guy makes, a man with a dick that doesn't work is a man of no use to you.

Is he ageist? Only when it comes to Toji, he just decided.

“He’s only 40, calm down,” you say in defense. 

He let out a low, condescending whistle. “Wasn’t trippin’ to begin with, sweetheart. Just didn’t think you were into older men like that.” 

"Okay," you cut him off before he could continue to make more snide remarks. "You sure about that? 'Cause you sound pretty annoyed right now."

"I'm good," he chuckles before pulling Sayomi out of her high chair. "Quit tryna make issues out of thin air."

“Whatever, Sukuna,” you shake your head and sigh. There was no point in continuing the conversation if he was just going to make fun of you for giving someone a little older a chance and then gaslight you over calling him out. “I’m gonna go upstairs and get started on work now. Just text me if you need anything, I have back to back meetings all afternoons.” 

“Didn’t ask, but okay.” He says rather rudely, before ignoring you completely.  

—

Kento almost wanted to ask if that was seriously all he was mad about, but reminded himself being in a bad mood over it made sense when it came to Sukuna's situation. It’s always hard watching someone move on before you. Maybe now it was time for them to start working on his attachment style. 

He wouldn't say that Sukuna's attached to the idea of you, he seems like he's fond of who you are now, but he feels like it might be something more complex.

He's spent so much of his life trying to run away from the pain of losing his parents at such a young age, and now that he technically has a little family unit of his own, it's like he thinks it'll get rid of those parts of him that've been permanently changed.

Kento would have to spend more time thinking about this before bringing it up. Sukuna seems so attached to the idea that maybe you two will end up together, he just wants to break the truth to him gently at this point. Yes, it might happen, but statistics have also shown it's highly unlikely. He can't tell himself that he's a guaranteed exception just because of how unique his circumstances are.

Not only that, it's just not healthy. He might be making progress in his career and fatherhood, but holding on to something like this will just continue to stunt his personal growth in romantic relationships. It already happened with his ex-girlfriend.

“So if I’m hearing this correctly.. You aren’t just mad at the fact that she went on a date. You’re also mad that she wasn’t nervous to talk to you about it?” Kento pauses him and asks. 

“Mhm,” Sukuna nods his head. 

That’s fucking toxic, but the therapist obviously wasn’t going to word it like that... and at least he was honest about it. He can appreciate that, especially since his clients try to lie to him all the time.

“But wouldn’t her being comfortable with talking to you about those things be a good thing?” he attempts to reframe his viewpoint.  

“I kinda like it more when she’s nervous to tell me things,” Sukuna admits. 

That’s where Kento decides to change the topic. 

He really doesn’t want to get into how pleased Sukuna becomes whenever someone stutters while speaking to him. That’s another problem to tackle on a different day.

“Were things between you two tense after that?” he asks instead. 

“Nope,” Sukuna pops the p. “Everything went back to normal after that… at least until Saturday.” 

Oh god, Kento internally groans before he begins to dissect what he could possibly mean by that. “And what happened on Saturday?”

Sukuna smirks, “a lot.” 

—

Toji was a lot of things— handsome, successful, but most importantly, a father. His son’s around the same age as Yuuji and despite his busy schedule in the finance world, he seems to bend it as much as he could in order to spend more time with Megumi. 

You have higher hopes for this one than the last, being single parents was something you could actually bond over. 

“So why did you and your daughter’s father separate?” he asks, figuring it was okay since you did ask him about Megumi’s mother first. Not that you meant to, it was one of those questions you were inevitably led to with the direction the conversation was taking.

You were also three glasses of wine in. 

And now you wish you could hit the rewind button because you were not ready to unpack that yet. 

“It’s complicated,” you let out a little laugh before taking another sip of wine. 

“I see how it is,” he clicks his tongue and chuckles. “Guess I’ll save that question for the third or fourth date then.”

“And who said there was going to be a second one?” you begin to tease the man ,who’s clearly too confident in himself to care. 

“Me,” he says shamelessly, before getting a little more serious. “I’d take you out anytime you want if it’s as fun as tonight. Only if you want, of course.” 

“I think I’d like that,” you smile at him. You swear on your life you wouldn’t be able to even hold a conversation with him sober. It wasn't that bad at the business dinner since you were with other people, talking about their company, and also drinking.

But fuck this is so much more different compared to a business dinner. You weren't even this nervous on your first date with Suguru, and you thought he was intense upon first impression. Toji's on a different level, he's insanely intimidating, but in a good way. If you didn’t have to go home tonight, you most likely would’ve jumped his bones already. 

Your conversation with him gets cut short though when Sukuna decides to call you after 5 missed texts. 

“Babysitter?” Toji asks. 

“Mhm.” You let out a frustrated sigh. Was it a lie? Who knows at this point, the last thing you wanted was for him to find out it was your baby daddy who’d been texting you these last 30 minutes and now calling. “Mind if I step out and take it?”

“Not at all,” He assures you. “Take all the time you need, doll.”

If only Sukuna was this patient. 

His call ended up getting sent to voicemail on your walk to the bathroom, because there was no fucking way you were going to run in this restaurant in this heels. Hell, you wouldn’t run ever, unless there was an emergency, which there clearly wasn’t given the last five texts he sent you. 

All of which were different variations of “are you okay” and “when will you be back”. 

He doesn’t even give you the chance to call him back, he goes straight to calling you again. 

“What?!” you pretty much whisper-yell at him the moment you step into the empty bathroom and answer.

“What do you mean ‘what’? It’s 11:00 and I’m just tryna see if you’re okay, don’t get a fuckin’ attitude with me,” he retorts. “You won’t even thumbs up one of my texts back, letting me know you're alive.”

“You are so dramatic sometimes,” you say as you begin to rub your temple. “Didn’t know I had to report back to you.”

“Didn’t know you’d be out past 10 either, yet here we are–" he begins to complain, but then cuts himself off. "You’re tipsy as fuck right now, aren’t you?”

“Maybe.” 

“You’re so fuckin’ annoying sometimes,” he mumbles. 

“Yeah? So are you,” you argue back. 

He doesn’t care to argue right now, he’s too tired to do so. You can overhear him rummaging through your liquor cabinet and pouring himself a drink. 

“You comin’ back tonight or are you gonna spend the night at your boyfriend's house?” 

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“Don’t care,” he cuts you off. “I just need to know if I’m watching Yomi overnight or not.”

“Of course I’m coming back,” you say defensively. “What makes you think I’d leave for the night without saying anything?”

“The fact that it’s past 10 and you keep ignoring my messages," he reminds you again. 

“I wasn’t ignoring them, you just didn’t give me the chance to answer them.”

“Lost track of time?”

“Yeah.” 

“You’re so full of shit when you get a couple drinks in you, but we’ll talk about that later when you come stumbling home.”

“I’m not gonna be stum–”

“Yes you are,” he flatly responds. “Hope you enjoy the rest of your night.”

His words before hanging up on you almost sounded like a threat. At this point you were more curious to see if he’d even follow through with whatever the hell he meant by them, because you know for a fact he doesn’t care if you have a good night with Toji or not. 

You're met with Toji’s little grin when you come back to the table. By the look on your face, he could already tell that the time for tonight was up. 

“Did I keep you out past curfew?” he cheekily asks. 

“You did,” you nod. “It’s my fault for losing track of time though. But yeah, it's time to call it a night.”

“I’ll take some of that blame,” he says before waving down a waiter and mouthing ‘check please’ to them. “You can tell the babysitter I wouldn’t shut up or something.”

“I probably should.” 

You definitely won’t, it’ll just give your “babysitter” more ammo to argue with you when you get back.

The ride back home was quiet. 

Toji offered to give you a ride back home, but you decided to uber home in an attempt to mentally prepare yourself for whatever reaction Sukuna had waiting for you at your house. 

Which didn’t help, the man was blasting classical music the entire ride back. 

Your heart rate slowly began to pick up once you got past the gates into the neighborhood and by the time the driver pulled up to your house, it was racing. 

It's moments like this where you wish Sukuna never came back into your life. Why did he have this much of an effect on you? He didn’t even say anything that bad on the phone and now here you are freaking out over seeing him. 

But of course, your Uber driver already had a new customer to pickup by the time he pulled up to your house. Can’t keep him waiting on you. 

You take a moment to fix your hair and your train of thought before opening the door to your home. You’d think he’d have something playing on the TV, but it’s eerily quiet right now. He’s obviously awake and still here downstairs though, you can hear a glass being set down on the counter. 

The silence makes it all the worse, but you push through whatever fear you had and announce yourself before stepping into his view. “Hey, I’m back.”

“No shit,” he's quick to respond.

“As grumpy as ever I see.” You try to lighten the mood and even force out a laugh that he’ll most likely see through. You turn the corner into the kitchen and see him sitting on one of the barstools, leaning over the counter with a drink in hand. 

He’s either been slowly sipping on it given how the phone call was over 30 minutes ago, or he poured himself up a new one while waiting for you. It was most likely the latter.

“How was Sayomi?”

“The usual— a perfect little angel,” he responds boredly. “The complete opposite of her mother.”

“C’mon, you can’t be that mad over me going out and having fun,” you say, throwing your arms out in defeat.

“That’s not it,” he lets out a low laugh that does not match his current expression. He's pissed and you can tell he's holding on to the last bit of his sanity. “We’ve had an entire conversation about communication whenever it comes to one of us watching Yomi and you throw it out the window the moment you go out.”

“I didn’t throw it out the window,” you argue back.

“Oh right, time got away from you, my fuckin’ bad,” he says mockingly.

“Fine– fuck– I’m sorry,” you immediately give in, not wanting to end your night with a full blown fight with the man. “I didn’t think it was that big of a deal and kept telling myself the date would end soon anyways.”

“That date wouldn't have ended had I not fuckin’ called you,” he continues to argue with you.

“Yes it would’ve!” 

“I seriously doubt that.” He downs the rest of his drink in one go before pouring himself up another one. “You left here at 6:30, and now it’s what? 11:43?”

“Didn’t know I had a curfew,” you scoff. 

“You don’t,” his voice drops threateningly low as he looks you dead in the eye. “This was your first date with the guy. Don’t even try to fucking twist this right now, I’m allowed to wonder if you're okay and check in on you when you don’t answer.”

And that shuts you up for a second.

His therapy sessions have actually been working. The aggressive honesty and vulnerability was a shock to see at the very least, but it also made you lower your guard for the time being.

Maybe this was love in its most basic form for him, just needing to know you’re alright and safe— something you’d rather get scolded over at the end of the night, instead of the fights you’ve had in the past where you two hurled profanities and insults at each other. 

Not that he was in love with you, you wouldn’t even say it was anything close to the type of love he had for his daughter and nephew, it was probably something closer to Choso.

Maybe even Yuki if you had to be honest with yourself.

“You’re right, Sukuna,” you respond in a warmer tone this time.

They were words you never thought you’d catch yourself saying, but you had no problem saying them. You’re actually proud of him right now. He explained why he was mad at you without losing his patience and yelling at you at you for once— yes, he was kinda mean about it at first, but you weren’t expecting overnight results when he started therapy. He also made a good point by saying it was your first date with Toji.

“It was messed up that I didn’t consider that and I’m sorry. I promise I’ll respond to your text messages and keep you updated the next time I meet someone for the first time– no– whenever I’m out and you’re watching Yomi.”

You should’ve stopped at “I’m sorry”, he really didn’t want to hear or even think about you going on more dates, but he appreciated your words nonetheless. You said all the right things, he felt the sincerity in your voice. 

He feels validated.. or whatever word it was that Kento used.

This should be the end of it.

But it’s only been a couple months since he’s started and he cannot for the life of him get the thought of other men getting to enjoy you out of his head, he fucking hated it. He couldn’t even blame it on the scotch that he swirled around in his glass anymore, these were his true feelings.

This is the second man you’ve gone out with in the time he’s been back in your life. Truth be told, he's fucking over it, one was enough as is. 

“Surprised you’re not stumbling around right now.” He says, continuing to push your buttons while blatantly checking you out— the two things he’s best at. “And what’s your skirt all hiked up for? It didn’t look that short when you left.”

“I’ve been sitting in a restaurant all night, what the fuck did you think would happen to a silk skirt?” you spat back in annoyance. No good deed goes unpunished with this one apparently, reminding you once again that Sukuna is an asshole in his most basic, purest form.

He bursts out laughing at that, you sounded like such a brat right now to him, even though he’s done way worse to you. 

“Hell if I know, sweetheart," he says after his own laughter goes down. "But since you're asking and I'm practicing on my honesty here, I thought you let him fuck you in the bathroom stall or something.” He takes one more good look at the skirt before picking up his glass again and taking a generous sip out of it.

The slight creases around your hips actually did look like you'd been sitting down for around 4 hours though. Maybe you shouldn't be at one for that long if you didn't want him picking on you for it.

You end up grimacing at his response. “You’re so fucking disgusting sometimes.” 

“You used to like that about me,” he softly says then chuckles. 

“Well things change.” You murmur back, trying to ignore the certain sadness in his voice when the words left his lips. It left you unsure of what to even say at this point as you pathetically kick your heel back and forth. 

“No need to remind me,” he sighs. "You've made that very clear."

You used to like me too, is what he had actually wanted to respond with, but what was the point in that? 

He wasn’t exactly sure of what his intentions were right now, but guilting tripping you definitely wasn’t one of them. 

Would it be weird if he suddenly told you how beautiful you looked tonight, or would that throw you off too much? 

He tried to earlier before you left, but you were in too much of a rush to talk about anything other than what time you’d be back. There’s not even a point in giving him instructions for the night with Yomi anymore. You said it yourself, he’s the best dad to Sayomi, maybe even the better parent out of you two at this point. 

A well deserved compliment for him and an insult to yourself— him and Kento agreed that was just your guilt starting to surface. You and him will always have your own roles as Yomi’s parents, there couldn’t be a better parent in his eyes.

Even if there was, he wouldn’t want to take that spot, his job is to take the fall when it comes to you two.

He really should give you that compliment, but it’s hard when it’s not for him that you got dressed up for. So the words get washed off the tip of his tongue by the drink that made it easier for him to admit he was worried about you— call him selfish, he calls himself balanced. It’s up to others to decide which one he was.

“So did you let him?” He asks instead. 

“Let him what?”

“Fuck you,” he says simply, like it was the most normal thing in the world to ask your ex, who isn't really your ex. “Did you let him fuck you?”

“Of course I didn’t!” you suddenly raise your voice from how much he’s testing your patience right now. “Are you sure it’s not you who’s drunk right now? These questions are insane.”

“Definitely not drunk,” he smirks. “You sound way too defensive to be telling the truth right now though.” 

“I’m not fucking lying,” you snap at him

“Okay,” he chirps out, clearly pleased with the reaction he got out of you. “Whatever you say, princess.”

“And can you stop with the pet names?” you nearly hiss at him as you go to grab a water bottle from the fridge. 

“Why? Don’t tell me you got yourself an insecure boyfriend that gets mad about that shit like that.”

Oh to be driven to the point where you finally break and throw your head back in laughter. Those first couple of seconds are euphoric, you're convinced nothings better than that short burst of energy you get after realizing you didn’t have to be the bigger person, not when it comes to the man that eventually finds himself right in front of you. 

You don’t even remember what exactly you said that made him snap too. Something about being bitter that he got cheated on, nothing worse than what he’s said to you in the past. 

“At least I’m not the one that’s constantly on the hunt to find someone, tryna find Sayomi a stepdad ‘n shit,” he says with the biggest grin. 

He’s enjoying this.

It’s something you don’t catch on to, so you end up shoving him in the heat of the moment. 

“So now you’re calling me whore?! Is that it?!” 

“Just saying you move on fast, that’s all,” he retorts. “Can’t deny it either, you fuckin’ dipped on me like I was nothing.”

“Jesus fucking Christ, Sukuna! Here I was thinking we were actually getting somewhere but you constantly make it clear that you’re never going to let that go!” you take a step forward as you yell over him. “What’s the fucking point in trying to include me in the time you spend with Sayomi if you clearly fucking hate me for making the choice I made?!” 

“I don’t fucking hate you and that’s the problem!” he yells back before aggressively rubbing his face.

Deep breaths.

Like what Kento said.

Just take a deep breath.

…

Fuck it.

“I fucking loved you, and it's my fault for not telling you back then, but it doesn’t change the fact that I did. And– fuck!– I still do," he reveals, throwing his arms out in pure frustration. "I would’ve stayed with you, I would’ve gone to every single doctor's appointment with you, I would’ve held your fucking hand during the delivery— we would’ve been a fucking family!” 

“I know! I fucking know,” your voice slightly cracks. It's not even from the sadness, you just hate hearing about what could’ve been. That, and that you were so wrong about him. You’ll spend the rest of your life eating your own words, regretting that you sabotaged your own happiness for nearly two years. “You think I don’t realize that whenever I see you two together?”

“How the fuck would I know that when you're going out and trying to find someone else to have a fresh start with?” he asks, slowly coming down from his own rage. The raspiness of his voice will the proof of it all by tomorrow. 

It was wrong, getting mad at you for dating when he had a girlfriend this entire time up until a week ago. He tells himself it's different, that he was already in a relationship to begin with, but he can’t keep telling himself that. 

It was wrong. 

Changing the narrative, changing everything around him as much as he could for his own comfort. Lying to himself in order to make reality easier to swallow. It didn't work when his parents passed away during his first year of college, why would it work now?

Sometimes he hates how he's not that kid with a fresh wound anymore. He had the time and resources to grow from it, to become someone that didn't let grief ruin them. Now he's just an asshole.

It's exhausting, spending all of his adulthood going through the motions. The only times he feels alive is when he's fighting, fucking, or winning a game.

Thrill seeking, adrenaline chasing— will it ever be enough? No.

It’s why he’s crashing his lips into yours.

Which is also wrong, but he doesn’t care. 

He’s an asshole, and he knows you like him like this with the way you're kissing him back with the same fervor. The way you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him closer to you erases whatever guilt he felt tonight.

You can taste the scotch on him, something about it makes you wish you spent the night with him and Yomi instead. He spent this entire time waiting for you to get back home safe, ready to explain what his problem was.

And now he’s turning you around and bending you over the marble counter.

What are you even doing with your life at this point?

You don't know anymore, your skirts bunched up at your waist and he just ripped your lace thong off like it was nothing. 

“Fuck.” He's running his tip through your folds. “Just admit you miss me already.”

Your eyes continue to glaze over more and more everytime he grazes against your clit— teasing you, dragging the moment out until you finally admit it. 

He grabs your jaw and pulls you back to murmur in your ear, “you’re fuckin’ soaked right now. Don’t be stubborn and say you want me already, babe.” 

You still don't say anything, because yeah, you kind of are stubborn. Instead you move your hips back, thinking that’d do it, but instead his dick slips in between your thighs which earns a low, pleased groan out of him. 

“Or we could do this,” he chuckles. He starts to move back and forth while slowly peppering kisses down your neck. “Could just fuck your thighs until you beg me to put it in.” 

“You’re an asshole,” You snap at him in frustration, feeling his thick cock glide past where you want him the most. “God why do you have to make everything so difficult?” 

“Says the one who could've been stuffed full by now,” he taunts you, letting out a couple breathy moans. You already know he’d be just fine like this, it wouldn’t be the first time he’s fucked your thighs. “It's easy, princess. Only gotta say three words– holy fuck you’re soaked– are you seriously gonna let your own pride keep you from having some fun?” 

"It's you that's doing that, not me."

"Nothing wrong with wanting some validation," he murmurs against your skin, you can feel him smiling against your neck as he says it. "I used to fuck you so good, used to make you cum so hard and so much too. Let me do it again."

“Fine,” you whine. “I miss you, are you happy now?” 

He says nothing in return and instead fully sheathes all 10 inches inside of you in one go. The sudden intrusion makes you nearly scream and gasp for air and he just covers your mouth while he begins driving his dick into you with the same precision that made you so weak for him in the first place. 

It was mean, brutal even, and it made you see stars.

“Keep it down,” he murmurs in your ear. “I’ll actually fuckin’ lose it if she wakes up from this.” 

You two were lucky Yomi didn't wake up while yelling at each other. The last thing he needed was her waking up when you two were... making up.

The sounds of skin slapping and his belt buckle clanking steadily become louder. He didn't even bother taking his clothes off for this, it's not like they got in the way.

"So fuckin' tight," he groans, continuing to pound his way into you. You struggle to keep your balance with the heels on, but you stay strong knowing he couldn't bend you over and fuck you so easily without them on. "Takin' me soo good too, princess— always took me like a pro. M’gonna make you watch yourself like this a little later."

"Hm?!" It's barely a question and it's laced with slight panic. His hand's his still over your mouth and it's the only response you could come out with that wasn’t a muffled moan.

"Hm?" He mocks you, then laughs immediately after, like a fucking asshole.

Sukuna doesn't even bother to elaborate on it, nor do you think too much into it, at this point you were too focused taking each and every inch he gave to you. His was insanely thick too, completely filling you up and stretching you to your limit.

He shouldn’t even be able to fit, yet he did and was always able to pull an orgasm out of you faster than you could if you were by yourself. 

Right now's no different, he works it out of you. Finding the spot that makes your legs shake and walls tighten around him, then hitting it over and over again until you're crying out his name. Just when you think you think you can't take it anymore, he takes his hand off your mouth, and shoves two fingers inside of your mouth.

You didn't know what to think of it, but you quickly lose your ability to think when he starts fucking you and rubbing your clit with those same two fingers at almost the same speed.

The sight must've been obscene.

Squeezing your eyes shut, one hand covering your own mouth while the other holds on to the counter, trying to keep your balance because the father of your child's only goal at the moment is to make you cum so hard that you pass out. He wants to fuck you into a coma. You're sure of it.

Not to mention all the things he's saying to you, going back and forth between different variations of "shut the fuck up" and "fuck— fuck yes, baby— just let go ‘n fuckin’ cum for me already”.

Every single one went straight to your core and after one particularly harsh thrust, your ears ring and eyes blur while you begin to fucking gush all over him.

“Good fuckin’ girl— that’s it baby just let go for me,” he says through his low, raspy moans, slowing down while he fucks you through it. "Fuck, fuuck— that's it baby, so' messy too, so fuckin' sexy cumming all over my cock like this.”

It takes a moment for you to come back to your senses, especially with how he shot all 5 of yours out of place. But the sound of his jeans zipping up eventually pull you out of your daze— pushing yourself the counter, bracing yourself for whatever came next.

“What the fuck,” you say as you try to catch your breath. You were trying so hard to come down from the high that you forgot he liked having you an overstimulated mess, the only reason why he stopped was so he could look at the absolute mess you made. "Were you trying to make me fucking pass out?"

Maybe.

“That was so fucking hot,” he murmurs to himself in amazement. This was the most he’s ever made you cum. It’s all over you, the floor, his jeans that he has yet to take off, but really needed to.

He doesn't even know he zipped them up to be honest. He didn't even get to finish, he decided to focus on you and it obviously paid off. But he’s a little needy right now, something you caught on to quick.

You two eventually end up in the guest room that’s the furthest away from your daughters, where you’re able to make as much noise as you want while Sukuna continues to fuck you with the same intensity as the first round, but this time with you folded up in a full nelson. 

He’s drilling into you— effortlessly snapping his hips up everytime he drops you down on to his length. He made sure you were facing the mirror so you could watch yourself get ruined by him. It’s like he wanted every part of this ingrained in your brain— the way he pounds into you, the way you couldn’t escape him with how your knees were pinned to the sides of your chest, the way you beg for more because you are just as selfish as him at the end of the day. 

You don’t fall apart with him, he’s not somebody you turn to mush with either. 

He’s somebody that rips you apart. 

Every sound that’s pulled out of you is real and raw, there was no way you could fake it. He finds what makes you feel good and drowns you in it, stripping you bare and leaving you wide open for him to consume. 

It didn’t matter how much had changed between you two, this is who he was— intense, all consuming, like a black hole that swallowed you whole.

And you were you, someone who enjoyed being on the other end of it. 

—

There’s water bottles littered on top of the dresser, you two have been going at it for hours, in every position you could think of. 

Folding you in a mating press, making you press down on your stomach at one point to see how deep he was inside of you. He’d surprise you with a particularly harsh thrust here and there, just to see how loud he could get you. Then he’d eventually pick up the pace, pounding into you until he had you crying and cumming all over his cock again.

Making you ride him, taunting you about how you wouldn’t last more than 5 minutes and saying he’d help you if you begged him hard enough. He quickly took those words back the moment you started bouncing on his cock, treating him like he was some fucking sex toy. You weren’t so forgiving though and didn’t allow him to touch you. 

It started off with him lean back on his elbows, talking you through it and telling you how good you were doing in that sexy voice of his. As time went on, his words became less. He mainly threw his head back while letting out the most sinful, drawn out moans or going completely mute while biting on his knuckles, with a few desperate pleas to just please let him touch you. He eventually stopped begging all together and placed a hand on your hip.

It earned himself a slap across the across face and made him cum so hard that he genuinely thought he was going to have an out of body experience because of it. 

Especially since you didn’t stop fucking him until you knew he was done, literally milking him for all he had and then some, like a spoiled brat.

He got his revenge on you shortly after, when he had you taking backshots from him in the world's meanest arch. Smushing your face down into the bed, degrading you and calling you all sorts of things that would’ve made you slap him again if it were under normal circumstances. He snapped his hips so hard against your ass that the smacks echoed throughout the room, making you eventually bite down on the blanket while you continued to take each and every one of his powerful thrusts. Even then, neither of you were worn out. 

You both were insatiable, taking turns on each other's bodies, allowing yourselves to use each other for reasons that probably won’t make sense once it’s all over. 

The sex you two had in the past was nothing compared to this.

Maybe it’s because hurt and anger were now added into the mix of confusing emotions you already felt towards each other. Or maybe you truly did miss each other and didn’t want the closeness to end.

In the beginning, you were so afraid to show more than just the “chill” side of yourself-- in fear of him calling it quits, in fear of him labeling you as some annoying girl for wanting more out of him.

And these past few months you've shown him nothing but the complete opposite of who you were when you were with him, yet he still wants you around. The person you were when you were with him didn't even exist, you just became someone you thought he'd like for the time being.

You betrayed yourself and it was all for nothing. It’s not until the end when you realize it, when you're splayed out under him and he’s giving you the slowest, deepest strokes. The guilt and shame from it all strikes you right then and there. the tears that begin to stream down your face feel endless, Sukuna can’t keep up with them no matter how many times he wipes them away. 

And he has no idea what the tears are from and who they're for, you two stopped talking to each other a while ago. So he just wipes the tears away and kisses you slowly, not even realizing how much more confusion he’s adding. 

Making love to someone should feel blissful, it’s supposed to be mindless. 

How can he feel that way with you after everything that’s happened? After everything you’ve done? 

He’s so gentle now. Does he think that you still deserve it?

You wouldn’t know, you fell asleep shortly after. Your entire body was sore, but it was the headache and tears you’d brought upon yourself that made you finally listen to your body and give in to rest. 

Falling asleep with Sukuna was always something that was easy for you, he’s warm. He’s heavy too, but you’ve always found comfort in the way he’d weigh you down with his body, you felt secure. 

But that feeling of security doesn’t last, it never does. You remember that when you wake up in the cold bed of your empty guest room. Sukuna seemed to have cleaned it up a bit while you were asleep, but the clean space does nothing to help the panic that immediately began to settle over you. 

You were going to have to eventually leave the room to face him and the child you share together. The only way you'd be able to do that is if you shoved down the feelings of shame far enough to where you wouldn’t feel them again until your all alone in your bed tonight, but your not sure if that's possible at this point.

You’re not even sure if you can look them in the eyes right now.

—

“What the fuck,” Kento mumbles to himself with his head in his hands, dropping his professionalism for a split second. The only thing he had to say at the moment was that he just knew Sukuna would be the one client that makes him drop his daily facade. 

Judging by his therapist's reaction, he’s definitely glad he didn’t tell him the full story. Not that he’d go ever go into graphic detail, but there was a huge difference between “we ended up sleeping together” and “I fucked her all night”. 

“Alright,” Kento recollects himself and says, lightly rubbing his temple before putting the glasses back on. “Let me just get this straight, you got mad at her last week for bringing up that she had a date, but you two were still completely normal up until she got back from her date.”

“Mhm,” he nods. 

“But you still feel like… shit over her going out?” 

“No, that’s kind of old news now. The story just wouldn’t make sense if I hadn’t mentioned it.” He tries to clarify, even though Kento is still left incredibly confused.

“Right.” The therapist clears his throat. “So what is it exactly that you don’t feel good about now?”

“Just everything that happened, things are kinda.. weird now.” 

“How so?”

“We haven’t spoken to each other aside from just a few words about Sayomi since then.”

notes: heeeeeeeeyyyyyyyyyy 🫣 things got a little messy and complicated here haha

ummm sooo pretty much he fucked her so good she like *actually* realized her faults that weren't just her hiding an entire baby, and now she lw had depression idk. and ya! before having a baby, she basically was just like one of those people that kinda morphed in whoever their crush wanted.

she's obv grown to be her own person and is confident in herself, but realizing that he would've liked her regardless kinda made her spiral bc she was like why tf was I so hard on myself??? I fr hated myself that much?? yomi didn't have a dad bc of this??????

in this chapter we are reminded that they're kinda just dumb, confused kids at heart

also, sukuna's lw so fucked up for that 😭 toji didn't even get a CHANCE before he called him old and fucked reader right after her date. but we'll see.....

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evil twin !

regulus black x twinpotter!reader ⊹ 10.2k

cw ⟢ eventual poly!bartylus!!, slytherin!reader, fluff, friends to lovers

summary: the potter twins, a marvelous duo split by the sorting hat. just like your brother you presence was addictive, drawing in the attentions of a particularly brooding black brother.

a/n: THIS IS THE FIRST OF HOPEFULLY MANY PARTS HEHEHE I HOPE YOU ENJOY MWAH!!! not proofread x

Dumbledore was convinced that both Euphemia and Fleamont Potter had carried out a divide and conquer tactic apon your arrival in the castle.

Individually, you and James were a force to be reckoned with—both incredibly charismatic, intelligent and hard-headed, with a knack for mischief. So together, Dumbledore’s head only spun at the thought of the havoc the pair of you would cause.

Luckily, on the fateful day of your arrival, you were placed in Slytherin and your beloved twin brother was placed in Gryffindor—separated for the first time ever. The moment still vivid in your mind, the second the sorting hat was on you, the way you flinched when it hummed, pondering—voice ringing loud in your ears as it announced—Slytherin.

James had frozen at the Gryffindor table, half out of his seat, hand still twitching against the bench where he’d been saving your spot—watching as your lip trembled, walking glossy-eyed to the Slytherin table.

That first night, the castle felt too big, dungeon walls suffocating, too many corridors between you and your brother.

Of course it was hard, for the both of you.

James had always been protective over you—infuriatingly so. Always reinforcing the fact that he needs to take care of his little sister. Like those three minutes made any difference at all.

It had been a slow shift—painful, even. You and James had always been a unit, bound by childhood games, matching jumpers, and the unspoken certainty that wherever one of you went, the other wasn’t far behind. But Hogwarts had changed that. The Sorting Hat had done more than divide you; it had distilled you. Pulled apart the blended pieces of your personalities and exposed them for what they truly were.

It gave you both room to grow.

Individually. Distinctively.

Earning names for yourselves outside of ‘the Potter twins’.

You’d both carved your names into the stone walls of Hogwarts in your own distinct ways—loud and clear, unmistakable.

James Potter was sunlight. A walking, talking explosion of brightness. He lit up corridors with that crooked grin and wind-mussed hair, bounding through the castle like he owned every inch of it. Gryffindor Quidditch captain, chaotic and loud and brilliant in all the ways that made people want to follow him into a duel or disaster.

He was the kind of boy who laughed with his whole chest, who spoke like everything he said mattered, arms slung around friends like they were lifelines. Always in motion. Always burning. A golden retriever in human form, all reckless energy and genuine joy.

And then there was you.

Cool where James was burning. Still water to his wildfire. But no less dangerous.

No less alluring.

They called you the evil twin—never to your face, and never with confidence. Not seriously. Not really. But the name clung to you like smoke. It suited you in the way all the best lies do: close enough to truth to be dangerous.

There was a calm to you, deliberate and composed, but it was the kind of calm that made people lean in too close, not noticing that they were slipping under the surface until it was far too late. You moved with the kind of grace that made people watch without realising they were watching, your smile soft, voice smoother still, and eyes always gleaming with something slightly wild.

They whispered about you long after you left a room.

Head Girl before your quill ever touched the application parchment. A perfect record—at least on paper.

Your charm was quieter than James’, more calculated, more disarming. Beautiful, brilliant, and just a little terrifying. You made people nervous, even when you were smiling. Especially when you were smiling.

There was a glint in your eyes that made hearts skip and stomachs drop, that whispered of games and secrets and consequences. A wicked sort of glimmer, like you knew every thought in their head and were already deciding what to do with it. Like the sea right before a storm.

Yin and yang, Dumbledore had once said, half in jest. Opposing forces in perfect balance.

You enter the Great Hall like a secret unfurling—quiet and unannounced, not so much walking as gliding between tables, untouched by the noise that fills the air.

Steps silent across the stone floor, a slip of motion through the chaos of breakfast—chatter and cutlery and laughter clanging off the walls. You pass the Gryffindor table without so much as a murmur trailing behind you, and still, not one person notices.

Not until your hand touches James’ shoulder.

He jerks so violently he nearly knocks his goblet over, a string of startled swears tumbling from his mouth as his fork clatters against the plate. Pumpkin mash splatters. Someone at the table yelped. Sirius choked on his toast, and Remus actually gasped as if someone’s just hexed him.

Every head turned.

And James was clutching his chest like you’d stabbed him.

“Bloody—! Merlin’s sake, you can’t just—!”

You tilt your head at him, ever so slightly, a small smirk twitching at the corners of your lips—eyes glinting with amusement. “Jamie,” you say in a sing-song lilt, sweet and syrupy, “You wouldn’t happen to still have the History of Magic textbook you borrowed from me, would you?”

A hush falls over the table—just long enough to make you notice.

“Er. About that,” he says, eyes darting like he’s working out whether to lie or apologise. “I might still have it. Might. Can’t say what condition it’s in, though.”

Your smile fades instantly, its replacing expressing shockly serious.

“James,” you say flatly, eyes narrowing. “Did you ruin my book?”

He winces. “Define ruin—”

“James.”

“It wasn’t on purpose!” he insists quickly, shoulders raising like you’re about to hex him in the middle of the Great Hall. “There was this—uh—Sirius spilled ink on the table and then Remus knocked it over and there was just a lot going on.”

You stayed silent, blinking at him, unimpressed.

“I’ll get you a new copy,” he says, guilt creeping into his voice. “Later today. You’ll have to stop by the common room, though.”

You sigh like it physically pains you. “Fine. I’ll try to come by around seven.”

He grins, pleased with himself. “Sorry, Poppet*.*”

You roll your eyes, but the edge of your mouth twitches. Straightening, with a roll of your shoulders as you draw your hand away from him, letting it fall to your side. And when you glace up again, the stares hadn’t stopped.

Like they’d forgotten to look away, the silence hung in the air for barely a second, scanning the table momentarily—before offering a small smile—slow, sweet, almost smug.

The kind of smile that ruins people.

“M’kay, see you later, Jamie,” you murmur, then turn and slip back into motion.

Eyes follow you as you go—every turn of your heel, every soft shift of fabric, every second you exist within their line of sight. James barely registers it at first—too busy spearing his toast again, already halfway back into conversation. But then he pauses.

His eyes flick to Sirius. Then to Remus. Then to Marlene.

All three of them are still staring across the hall. Still tracking your path back to your table.

“Oh for Merlin’s sake,” James groans loudly, glaring. “Stop gawking at my sister.”

Marlene blinks, caught. “She’s terrifying,” she mutters, almost to herself.

“In a really…good way,” Remus adds, dazed.

Sirius only grins.

James lets out a strangled sound and buries his face in his hands.

The portrait swings open without hesitation, at exactly seven o’clock sharp, you’d been there enough times that even the Fat Lady doesn’t bother asking questions anymore.

James is already waiting on one of the overstuffed armchairs by the fire, textbook in hand. You barely slowed as you approached. He tossed it up with a practiced flick of the wrist, and you caught it one-handed.

“New copy,” he says proudly. “Didn’t even steal it. Aren’t you proud?”

You hum in approval, flipping it open to scan the pages. “No ink stains. No food crumbs. No smell of dungbombs.” You close it with a satisfied snap. “Miracles do happen.”

Before he can retort, you’ve already turned toward the couch, where Lily is perched cross-legged with a steaming mug of something floral and her usual tower of parchment. She smiles when she sees you, shifting over to make space without being asked.

Tucking the textbook under your arm as you lower yourself beside her.

James raises a suspicious brow, but you and Lily are already whispering to each other, heads tilted close and expressions conspiratorial. It’s nothing terribly sinister—something to do with Hogsmeade, and getting Slughorn to move a test back a week—but it’s enough to draw curious glances from the far side of the room.

You feel them. The eyes.

But you don’t look. Don’t need to.

Sirius was pretending not to stare. Which is laughable, really, because his entire body was angled toward you, elbow propped on the back of the couch, fingers tangled in his hair in that careless way he probably thinks is charming.

And Remus was worse. He’s trying to read, bless him, book in his lap and everything—but his eyes haven’t moved from you since you sat down. He shifts like he’s uncomfortable, chewing the inside of his cheek. You think you catch the faintest hint of a blush creeping up his neck.

You say nothing. Keep your voice low as you murmur something into Lily’s ear that makes her snort softly behind her hand.

After ten minutes of easy conversation, you rise without ceremony, slipping the textbook fully under your arm and smoothing your skirt.

“Well,” you say lightly, brushing a hand over your robes. “This was fun.”

Lily smirks. “We’ll finalise tomorrow?”

“Perfect” You glance to James. “Thanks for the book, Jamie.”

“No problem, Pop.”

You turn, finally acknowledging the two boys across the room with a glint of something wicked in your eye.

“Goodnight, boys,” you said sweetly—voice soft as silk, almost melodic. The slightest edge of a smile curves your lips as you roll your eyes, and then you’re already walking toward the exit, the hem of your robes trailing behind you like smoke.

You don’t look back.

But if you had, you would’ve seen Sirius run a hand through his hair and lean back with a low whistle.

“Merlin,” he mutters. “I’d swear she’s half siren if it weren’t for you, Prongs”

James, who’s still watching the portrait door swing shut, scoffs. “Oh, come off it.”

“What?” Sirius grins, unashamed. “It’s not my fault your sister is—” he gestures vaguely toward the door, “—whatever that is.”

Remus doesn’t say a word. His book is still open in his lap—he’s not reading it.

“I’m just saying,” Sirius continues, “if she weren’t your sister…”

“But she is my sister.” James rebutted, slouching back in his seat—swiftly ending the conversation.

The corridor curved with quiet shadows, lit only by the flicker of distant torches. Your footsteps echoed faintly against the flagstone, a soft rhythm in the stillness of the dungeons. It was late, you’d spent more time in the Gryffindor common room than you’d realised—most of the castle already asleep, save for the odd prefect or wandering ghost.

You turned a corner near the potions classroom and nearly walked straight into Regulus Black.

He stopped short, posture already impeccable, as if even in surprise he couldn't be caught off guard. There was a brief flicker of something in his eyes—recognition, hesitation—and then he stepped slightly aside, giving you room without a word.

“Burning the midnight oil, Black?” you asked, voice soft with the sort of casual familiarity that made his name sound like something you owned.

He glanced at you, dark eyes catching in the torchlight. “Prefect rounds. Took longer than expected.”

You fell into step beside him as naturally as breathing, and he adjusted his pace to match yours without needing to be asked.

“What was it this time?” you mused. “More Gryffindors smuggling sweets from the kitchens?”

“Fourth-years,” he said with a small exhale—amusement undercutting his otherwise smooth tone. “Said they were practicing for a future in espionage.”

“Ambitious,” you said, a smile tugging at your mouth. “Almost enough to make me proud.”

Regulus didn’t respond, but you felt the brief flick of his eyes on your profile, like he was trying not to look too long. Like he was trying not to seem too interested.

You didn’t comment, but you noticed.

By the time you reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room, barely mumbling the password before the metal hinges whined, door opening slowly. Inside, the green-glass lamps glowed low, casting dreamy reflections against the water-like ceiling. The fire in the hearth crackled lazily, golden against the dark velvet furniture.

Dorcas sat half-curled on the rug, absently flipping through a magazine; Evan was draped across a couch like he owned it, cards floating above his face; Pandora leaned near him, humming as she threaded a strand of starlight-colored ribbon through her hair. It was a tableau of sleepy elegance.

Without hesitation, you crossed the room and lowered yourself to the center rug near the fire. Your hand stretched toward the flames without thought. A spark rose up, obedient and curious, dancing into your open palm.

Twirling it between your fingers like silk, the heat never burning you, the flame curling comfortably around your touch. Pandora’s fingers stilled in her braid, watching.

Wandless magic.

Dorcas tilted her head, eyes bright. “You really have to teach me how to do that one day.”

You didn’t look away from the fire. “Of course,” you said lightly. “But there’s a bit of a learning curve.”

“Like what kind of curve?” Evan asked, not looking up. “Burn-your-dormitory-down levels?”

“More like third-degree-if-you’re-clumsy,” you replied with a grin.

“I could do it,” a voice said behind you, full of loud confidence.

Barty stepped forward from where he’d been balanced on the arm of the sofa, his hair tousled, shirt rumpled, and a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth like he’d been waiting for the perfect moment to make an entrance.

You turned your head slightly, one brow raised. “Could you now?”

“First try,” he goaded, brows arched in light challenge. “Swear on my father's boring haircut.”

Regulus snorted, not even looking up from his book. “You’ll burn yourself stupid.”

“I’ll be fine,” Barty said, already striding forward. “How hard can it be?”

He reached toward the fire, trying to mimic the smooth gesture you’d used, fingers tense with focus and impatience.

A small spark leapt up—and immediately sputtered, flaring far too quickly. The flame caught his skin with a sharp sizzle before he could react, and he yelped, flinging his hand back with a curse.

“Bloody hell!”

The room erupted with laughter.

Pandora’s hand clamped over her mouth as if to shove the laugh back in, both Evan and Dorcas threw their heads back in sync, barking out a laugh—sound mixing with yours, loud and delighted, as Barty glared at the fire like it had personally betrayed him.

“Under control, was it?” you teased.

He cradled his palm like it was a war wound. “Minor setback. I didn’t even flinch.”

“You flinched so hard you almost somersaulted.”

“Semantics,” Barty grumbled.

“Let me see,” you said, standing and stepping closer.

He hesitated only a beat before holding out his hand, palm-up. A faint red welt bloomed across his skin, angry and hot. Your fingers brushed against his as you took it, and you felt the brief hitch in his breath. You didn’t comment.

A whisper of magic curled from your palm, cool and quiet, threading over the burn like mist. The redness faded almost instantly, leaving only smooth skin and the faintest echo of heat.

Barty stared down at your work like it was a trick he couldn’t quite understand.

From the couch, Evan leaned forward, smirking. “You just wanted an excuse to hold her hand.”

“Shove off,” Barty muttered, pulling his hand back quickly, though not too quickly.

You shook your head, half-exasperated half-amused, and turned toward the hall. “I’m going to wash up.”

As you stepped away from the firelight, you caught movement in the corner of your eye. Regulus was still in his usual spot—half reclined in the reading chair by the window, a book open but forgotten on his lap.

His gaze was fixed on you, unreadable and unblinking.

You held it for just a moment, a soft smirk just barely twitching at the corners of your lips, before disappearing down the hall.

Unsurpisingly, both you and Regulus had more in common than you’d care to admit.

Both the less outlandish sibling, the ‘quieter’ ones—not necessarily in sound, but in presence. While James and Sirius blazed like bonfires, reckless and radiant, you and Regulus were something else entirely.

Subtle, magnetic.

You didn’t need to shout to be heard. You’d both entered a room and the air seemed to still slightly, as if waiting to see what you’d do.

Both of you understood what it meant to watch. To study a room before deciding what piece you wanted to play in it. You weren’t loud, nor silent just quietly unnerving. Regal, even.

There was a stillness about Regulus, an almost surgical precision to his movements and his clipped tone, like everything he did was measured twice before execution. He was painfully composed, almost uptight, his dry wit tucked behind an unimpressed brow and unimpeachable posture.

And where you differed—you were made of wild starlight and strange tides, chaos in your blood even if it rarely cracked your veneer, eventhough you rarely indulged. And where Regulus pulled inward, you leaned out. You loved a little disorder, havoc—a challenge; your eyes shining when something didn’t go to plan, smirking like you were always in on a secret.

There was a certain wickedness in your stillness—one that made Regulus look twice. Then three times. Then constantly.

Each thing he learned about you surprised him more than the last.

So he decided, quietly and with a calm sort of resolve, that he’d had enough of watching you from afar. He wanted a closer look.

The first time was in the library.

You were tucked into the corner of a row, arms full of books, hair falling across your face as you read the spine of a heavy tome. You didn’t notice him at first—or maybe that’s just what he told himself, though he should’ve known better. Regulus moved with the silence of a shadow, but when he was only inches away and just about to speak, your voice floated out, lightly entertained:

“Planning to sneak up on me, Black?”

He blinked, lips parting in the barest hint of surprise. “I wasn’t—”

Without sparing him a glance you handed him the book at the top, and he took it instinctively—letting his fingers linger on yours just that bit longer than necessary. And you held in a quirk of your brows, the squint of your eyes—making a mental note.

Because Regulus was nothing if not purposeful.

He didn’t say anything else at first, only helped, taking the weight from you and beginning to shelve them wordlessly. There was a moment—just before he reached for the last one—where his fingers paused. The cover was worn, clearly read many times.

Icarus.

A Muggle myth. One of his favourites, though no one knew that.

His hand hovered just a little too long, thumb brushing over the faded title.

“What did you think of the ending?” you asked suddenly, your tone soft but cutting through the quiet like a quill to parchment.

He almost stammered, nearly asking how did you know? But caught himself, clearing his throat before replying. “Tragic. I liked it.”

You tilted your head, teeth sinking into your bottom lip—scanning his face—something glinting behind your eyes that he couldn’t quiet put his finger on.

The way the corners of your lips threatening to curve into a smile, had him struggling to swallow, voice honeyed in his ears—“Of course you did.”

And you were gone, just like that, leaving him standing—ears hot, brain playing your voice, your smile on loop.

Regulus prided himself in his ability to read a person, and yet with you—every interaction left him more confused, more intrigued, more captivated. There was some sort of riddle about you, something flickering in the depths of your eyes that made him want to unravel it—you.

The next time he saw you, you’d agreed to meet after his Quidditch practice to finish a joint assignment for Potions. Waiting just outside the changing rooms, arms crossed loosely over your chest, leaning against the cool stone wall with your bag slung over one shoulder.

The first person out wasn’t Regulus, but Barty—lips splitting into a wide smirk like he’d been expecting to see you there.

“Well, well,” he drawled, striding over with no shame, his hair a windswept mess and his jersey clinging to his frame. Immediately he closed in on you, arm slinging lazily over your shoulders, a light scent of cigarettes and oak filling your nose.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, pretty?”

Groaning, your nose crinkling at the contact, you didn’t push him off though—”You’re sweaty, Junior,”

He only leaned in closer, grin wolfish, letting his breath fan over your jaw. “You love it.”

“I love showers, actually. You should try one.”

Tongue darting out to wet his lips, his eyes flickered across you face, the corners of your lips fighting to stay down—eyes glimmering with that twinge of defiance that had him only smirk even wider—“Only if you come with.”

Your brow cocked up slightly, narrowing your eyes as your plucked his arm off of you, placing gently back by his side—palms still wrapped around his wrist. He watched your movement eagerly, the smirk that was already etched onto his lips, adopting a positively wolfish quality when you leaned up into him—lips almost brushing the shell of his ear as you whispered.

“You wouldn’t last five minutes, Junior,”

Pulling away just as quickly as you came in, leaning back against the wall leisurely, rolling your eyes at the way Barty scanned your figure—adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

Then the door opened again, still not Regulus.

“Evan,” you called sweetly, “come collect your lost dog before he starts shedding on me.”

“C’mon, Crouch” Evan replied with a snort, catching him by the collar and dragging him off. “Leave her alone before you melt her into the floor.”

Barty turned just before they were out of sight, voice loud despite the distance—playful, “Miss you already, Treasure!”

For a few more minutes you waited, the corridor quiet now except for the flickering of enchanted sconces and the distant echo of voices. When Regulus finally emerged, his tie half-undone and hair damp around the edges, cheeks still reddened from the bite of the air—adjusting his uniform.

“Did you wait long?”

He’d already began the walk out, following after him, you hummed a small no—slipping through the hallways in the East Wing to find an empty classroom. It wasn’t hard task at all, settling in with the low scrap of the stool against the stone floor and opening your textbooks.

As he flicked through the pages of the book, your gaze dropped instinctively to his hands—his knuckles bruised and bloodied, red blooming like petals across pale skin.

Without hesitation, you scooted forward in your seat and took his hand in yours.

“We could’ve stopped by Pomfrey,” you said, brows knitting slightly as you examined the scrapes.

He didn’t pull away. Just kept his gaze fixed on your hand, the way you held his delicately, and your fingers, the way they moved so gently across his skin.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered. “I’ll heal.”

A frown had etched itself onto your lips as you continued to inspect his hand, if you weren’t so engrossed in your assessment, you would have noticed the faint flush of his ears, or how his eyes flickered back and forth between your face and your hand.

Your motions were slow and attentive, pressing your palm along the bumps of his knuckles—the heat of your skin ghosting over his—the simmer of magic was so soft he almost didn’t notice it.

There was a flicker of discomfort in his eyes as the wounds healed, but he didn’t flinch away.

And as your palm crossed over the edge of his hand, the final gash closed before his eyes, the skin was almost perfectly anew, as if nothing had happened—the only indication being a fading pink hue.

You continued to trace over the now-faint marks, fingertips ghosting along the healed bone, the tenderness of your touch leaving him slightly breathless.

“Better,” you whispered, half to yourself.

Regulus just stared at his hand when you let go, still feeling the echo of your touch, the whisps of your warmth. “Thank you,” he said finally, voice quieter than usual, lips still parted—stretching and rolling his fingers, watching the bones move comfortably under the skin, free of the light burning sensation.

When he looked up, you were already watching him—head tilted, expression cool—neutral.

Sighing out a breath his lips were moving before he could stop them, “I—how?”

A quiet hum escaped your lips, hands crossing over your lap as you leaned into the wood of your chair, “Well, James and I were really clumsy—more James than me, obviously,”

Recollecting, your lips curled into a smile, shrugging slightly as you continued, “Our mum got tired of us walking around bruised and battered when she was busy, so she taught me how to heal without a wand,”

The ghost of a smile almost twitched at the corners of his lips. Almost.

A short silence veiled the room as you fell into a working rhythm, mindlessly highlighting and note taking before the clattering of Regulus’ quill against the table broke your concentration. Eyes immediately shifting up to him—his lips pursed into a tightline but the words were already out. Blurted abruptly, cracking the silence just as his quill did.

“Teach me,”

Your brows raised into a suprised arch, confusion flickering across your face for brief moment, lips parting to respond. When he shrunk into himself slightly, shocked by his own outburst, muttering a small, “…please?” under his breath.

The response fell heavy on your tongue, lips stretching into an amused smirk and huffed chuckle bubbled low in your chest.

The wood of the chair scrapped and screeched loud against the stone as you stood, wordlessly making your way around the table. His eyes tracked your movements, just barely becoming frantic in their flickering when you sat beside him—knees brushing, so close.

Regulus breath caught when your gazes met, heat prickling at the base of his neck, hands curling into half-fists on the table, and you kept your eyes on him. Even as you leaned over closing his books, making space on the desk—warmth of your body vaguely gracing him.

He couldn’t bring himself to look away, tear his gaze from yours—as much as it made his stomach flip from its quiet intensity—the confidence that swam in your eyes. It sucked him in, making his adam’s apple bob in his throat.

All-consuming.

At the sound of a single galleon, lazily spinning on the table, you broke your stare—letting your sights fall onto the coin as it clattered to a halt. “Have you done wandless magic before?”

He sucked in a deep breath, allowing his lungs to fill completely—using that time to regulate his heart that threatened to beat out of his chest—before pushing all the air back out, forcibly rubbing his palms into the fabric of his robes.

“Once—accidentally,”

With a nod, you hummed at his words, waiting for him to continue, eyes back on him—boring into the side of his head. “I—uh, got the lights to turn on when i couldn’t find my wand,”

His eyes shift between you and the coin as you picked it up, rolling it between your fingers as your spoke, “Okay, lets start with something simple, shall we?” The way you watched him made his mouth painfully dry, he couldn’t even trust his voice to answer, silently nodding at you words.

“Try move the coin.”

When he whipped his head towards to, lips parted in slight disbelief, protests creeping up his throat—Regulus clamped his mouth shut at the smile on your face, the way your eyes crinkled at the corners swimming with mischief as you leaned in. Placing the coin back onto the table with a soft clink, instinctively he held his breath, short-circuiting at the sudden proximity—so close he could smell you, a light vanilla scent with a twinge of maple and freshly burnt fire-wood.

You made him so nervous, he found himself a bit pathetic.

And the honeyed cadance of your voice did nothing but make his heart race faster than it already was, “Just breathe, Regulus. Focus on the coin and where you want it to move—relax,”

Easier said than done.

Gods, even the way you said his name—he almost lost the rest of your sentence, letting it echo in his mind over and over again.

When you reclined, leaning back into your chair, he felt the urge to mourn the loss of warmth—rolling his shoulders back, focusing his gaze. Or at least, he tried to.

The coin sat quietly on the table, unmoved, unbothered by the sheer force of his will alone. His jaw tensed, brows pinched together, fingers twitching slightly as if the movement alone might spark the magic into life.

Nothing.

With a breath that was equal parts frustration and surrender, Regulus leaned back and exhaled sharply.

“Can you—” he muttered, glancing at you from the corner of his eye, —can you not watch me?”

You blinked, caught off guard. Then a quiet chuckle slipped from your lips as you raised your hands in surrender, the teasing edge of your smile tugging at the corners. “Alright, alright,” you murmured, “Sorry.” Voice light and easy, but your eyes still sparkled with that same mischief that made his stomach clench. “Didn’t realise I was that distracting.”

“You are,” he muttered under his breath, almost too quiet for you to hear.

Still, you didn’t comment on it. Instead, leaning in again—slowly, gently—and placed your hand on his shoulder, the heat of you palm instantly radiating through his robes, hairs raising down his spine. His eyes flicked to the contact, then to your face again. You were closer than before.

“You’re thinking too hard,” you murmured, your thumb brushing once over the fabric of his robes. “And you’re not breathing.”

“I am breathing,” he argued weakly.

“Barely.”

You didn’t move your hand as you spoke again, your voice quieter now, velvet-soft and steady. “Close your eyes. Envision it. Just you and the coin. No pressure.” Regulus hesitated for a beat, then followed your instruction, lids fluttering shut.

A few moments pass before your voice reaches his ears again, “Can you see it?” and he nodded slowly, jaw tightening in focus.

“Alright,” you continued, tone low almost hypnotic now, “imagine it moving. Just a bit. Like there’s an invisible string tugging it toward you.”

He sucked in another deep breath, picturing it. The cool glint of the galleon. The subtle shine under the tinted light of the classroom. The gentle tug, like a current.

And then—scrape.

The softest sound of metal shifting against wood reached both your ears. His eyes shot open. It had moved—just barely a few centimeters, but undeniably there. His breath caught, disbelief flashing across his face.

When he turned to you, a bright beam had already split across your face, the sort of proud, delighted smile that hit him harder than the adrenaline from the magic—your hand finally slipped from his shoulder, leaving a coldness in its wake—fingers grazing the fabric of his robes. “You did it!” you said, eyes bright. “See? Easy.”

He let out a stunned breath, caught between awe and the bloom of success, heartbeat still rapid beneath his ribs. The warmth of accomplishment mingling with the quiet thrum of your presence, you. He was still processing when you reset the coin with a smooth sweep of your hand.

“Again,” you urged, nudging it into place. “Try further this time.”

He nodded, more focused now—confident. When he closed his eyes again, he could still hear the echo of your voice in his head. Could still imagine your hand on his shoulder, steading—warm.

And this time, it slid farther—too far.

The coin zipped forward, clattered off the edge, and hit the floor with a metallic clink that echoed around the empty classroom. You let out a short burst of laughter, delighted, as his head dropped, a sheepish huff escaping him. But the tension had melted from his shoulders, replaced with slow blossoming of something lighter. Pride.

He bent down to retrieve it, fingers brushing the cool metal before placing it back on the table. You were already settling beside him again, the warmth of your presence sparking something just under his skin. “This is the next step,” you said, tapping the surface of the table.

Regulus was still watching you.

Then you extended your hand, with a single finger, you hovered just above the coin—twirling it in a slow, controlled motion—and like it had a will of its own, the coin lifted.

Spinning, following the gentle twirl of your finger. A slow spiral, then faster, gathering speed until it hovered in the air, dancing in place.

He was entranced, gaze stuck on the coin even as it settled down, coming to a graceful halt—landing perfectly in the center of the table. He’d known magic, of course he did—but it felt different, raw and effortless. The same way the flame had danced between your fingers in the common room the other night—mindlessly intuitive, captivating. The coin spun like it wanted to please you. Everything did, it seemed.

He was still staring at the coin, hesitating—doubt creeping in through the back of his mind, like an unwanted invasive parasite—it barely flickered across his face. An almost imperceivable break in his expression, but you saw it.

Taking the coin again, you reached for his hand—laying your palm flat under his, eyes flickering to his face for permission before continuing. When he didn’t pull away, you placed the coin in the center of his hand, the warmth of your skin on his made the sharp bite of the metal feel that bit colder against his hand.

It lifted and spun confidently against his skin, puppeteered by the twist of your finger.

“Feel that?” Voice just above a whisper.

And he could feel it, a steady thrumming faintly circling in his palm, the buzzing with your magic. Swallowing before he spoke, a small “Yeah,” passing into the air between you.

“Now,” you spoke quietly, catching his other hand and bringing it to hover above the coin. “Picture that same feeling at your fingertips. Like it’s moving from your hand into the air—let it flow through you.”

He concentrated. You stayed close. Hand still gently cradling his from below, a silent encouragement, he started mimicking the slow twirling motion in the space above the coin.

For a few long moment—nothing.

Then, it happened. The coin jerked, slightly. Then again, shakily dragging to a stand. A tremble, stuttering before a spin. Jerky at first, but then it righted itself—smoothly gaining speed, falling into step with the command of his finger.

And your laughter, it rung through the room—soft, radiant—spilling from your chest with that same pride from before. He was too stunned to say anything. Blinking down at the coin with wide eyes, then looking to you, breathless, like he wasn’t quite sure it had actually happened. A smile—an actual, full smile—slowly curved onto his lips.

Rare and quiet, it lingered like a secret only the two of you shared.

The low buzz still resonating in his palm, the echo of your magic mingled with his own. The feeling of your hands—warm, steady, coaxing power out of him with nothing more than your voice and a bit of stubborn charm.

And even as the coin fell suddenly into his hand, all he could do was look at you.

Relish in the way your eyes shone with a glimmer of excitement, how your hands curved around his, jogging them slightly in enthusiastic joy of his accomplishment.

The coin was stagnant in his palm, Regulus flipped your hands, surrendering the cold metal into yours—and yet his hands lingering in your hold. He knew he probably should have moved his hands, the second he resigned the coin back into your possession; that was his cue. But he felt stuck, frozen under your sights.

Bewitched.

Even as your lips moved before him, the words almost fell deaf on his ears—taking a few seconds to let them echo in his mind, how did it feel? He responded with a sighing breath, as if relinquishing all remaining tension in his body, “…Good,” nodding his head as his continued, “really good actually,”

His small confession has your lips stretching even further along your face, and acknowledging hum rumbling in your throat as your touch slowly slipped away from his. Quietly tucking the coin into your bag before you started to pack up.

Just when you closed your notebook Regulus’ voice glided across the air, just above a faint murmur—if the room had any other sounds than the quiet rustling of papers, you wouldn’t have heard it.

“You’re a really good teacher,”

A small huff of laugh passed through your nose, tucking your notebook under your arm as you stood and offered a small, warm smile. “It’s easy,” you said lightly, “when you have a good student.”

Regulus shook his head faintly, a huff of something like disbelief leaving his lips—but the curve of pride hadn’t quite left his mouth.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence through the halls, your steps in sync. His hands tucked in his pockets, your bag slung over your shoulder. The dungeons were dim, washed in the dull blue of lantern light, shadows stretching along the stone. He kept glancing sideways at you, like there was something still lingering on his tongue he hadn’t quite worked up the courage to say.

Just as you reached the bottom of the girls’ dorm staircase, your hand curling loosely around the bannister, Regulus spoke.

“Wait—” His voice was low, tentative. Pausing, you turned slightly. “Hm?”

He stood a few steps back, one hand curled around the strap of his satchel, the other still shoved in his pocket. “Would you…” he paused, gaze dipping before finding yours again, more certain now. “Will you show me more?”

There was a beat of silence.

You tilted your head, watching him closely, fingers curled loosely around the railing. Blinking once, twice, reading the sincerity in his face, the open want—not desperation, harmless interest. He could see the cogs turning in your head just for a moment, before you murmured with a shrug, “Yeah.”

Descending the stairs again, you fell into step beside him as he led the way up the other staircase. The boys’ dorm was quiet when you reached it, the door creaking softly open under his hand. The warm scent of parchment, cologne, and something distinctly him met you in the space.

You paused at the threshold.

It wasn’t unfamiliar—you’d lounged across Barty’s bed enough times, lazily flipping through books while he tore the room apart looking for a missing assignment. You’d perched at Evan’s desk, rifled through his scribbled notes, borrowed a quill Barty’s nightstand. But never while Regulus was there. You’d never stepped into his space, not when he was in it.

He didn’t seem to notice your stillness. He moved through the room with ease, like you weren’t watching—dropping his books in a stack by the desk, slipping his robe off one shoulder, then tugging his jumper over his head. His shirt was rumpled beneath, sleeves already rolled up, collar slightly askew. You caught yourself staring.

He looked over his shoulder.

“You coming in?” he asked, voice a little lower now, pitched in that way it sometimes got when it was just you.

Without a word, you stepped in, toeing the door shut behind you and dropping your bag just beside the frame. You mimicked his motions easily, slipping off your jumper and draping it over the back of a nearby chair, fingers brushing absently along the edge of his desk as you walked further in.

It was a clean room. Structured, but not stiff. His bed was neat, the desk organised, quills and books perfectly aligned. But there were touches—human ones. A framed photo of the Quidditch pitch mid-game, a green ribbon pinned to the wall—a burnished Slytherin scarf neatly folded at the end of his bed, and a single piece of parchment stuck to the wall above his workspace.

With a soft exhale, you flopped onto his bed, letting your arms stretch out as you gazed up at the canopy. The hangings were dark, almost velvet black, and they made the whole space feel smaller, quieter. Private.

Regulus glanced over, amusement tugging at the corners of his mouth. He returned to his desk, potion book in hand, eyebrows arched in mild disbelief.

“You make yourself comfortable wherever you go, don’t you?” he said dryly, a smirk threatening at the corners of his lips.

You didn’t reply—just smirked smugly, twisting your head into the sheets below, stretching your limbs out, still gazing up at the dark, heavy curtains draped above the bed. The movement made your shirt shift, riding up slightly—just a touch above your waistband, exposing a sliver of skin, soft and warm under the low lamplight—the stretch of your abdomen and the small indent of your navel.

He was staring.

He didn’t realise how long until you sat up, balancing your weight on one arm, eyes still wandering lazily over the ceiling.

“You’d think your parents taught you it’s rude to stare,” you said lightly. “But you and your brother are just the same.”

Regulus cleared his throat, heat blooming high on his cheekbones, but he said nothing.

Your attention drifted to the stack of books on his desk—and the singular piece of parchment, handwritten in a precise script, pinned above it.

“What’s that?” you asked, nodding toward it.

He followed your gaze. “A line from a poem.”

You hummed, intrigued. “What’s it say?”

He crossed the room, settling a book on his night stand before he sat on the bed beside you.

You didn’t meet his gaze right away—still reclined, your hair spilling over the edge of the bed like ink, one hand absentmindedly twirling the galleon between your fingers.

Stretching out onto his stomach, bringing his chin on his forearm to look at you properly. He watched you for a moment. The way the gold shimmered in your grip, the way your mouth twitched with unspoken thought. You could feel his eyes on you, but you didn’t mention it.

When he finally spoke, his voice was soft—gentle and low as he recited the line, something breathy and melodic in French. His accent was quiet but careful.

The coin fell still in your lap as you turned your head toward him.

“It sounds pretty,” you murmured. Your eyes traced his face, steady and curious. “What does it mean?” His gaze didn’t leave yours, sucking in a breath through his nose, the mattress beside you dipped as he promped himself up onto his elbows, words slow and hypnotising in your ears.

“Let night come on bells end the day, the days go by me still I stay”

You blinked at him, for a long moment, just letting the words rest heavy in the air between you, and his adam’s apple bobbed in his throat when you spoke, voice barely above a whisper, more breath than words—as if anything louder would crack the air as it stilled around you.

“It sounds extra pretty in your voice.”

Regulus swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. You were too close. Not close enough. The lamp behind you casted golden shadows across your face and your lips were slightly parted, just barely.

Before he could stop himself, the words were already tumbling out.

“I think you’re pretty.”

You didn’t say anything, just kept your eyes on him—blinks slowly as you took in each feature.

And then he was leaning in. Slowly, but not hesitantly—fingertips skimming along your jaw, guiding your face toward his with reverence more than boldness. He tilted your face toward him like he’d done it a thousand times before.

The ghost of a smile tugged at your lips, and as he got closer, you hummed, tone somewhere between amusement and a quiet gentleness, “Such high praise,” Gaze flickering between his eyes and his lips one last time before his mouth was on yours.

Regulus’ lips brushed yours with a delicate sort of caution, like he was afraid to startle the moment. His hand stayed warm at your jaw, thumb ghosting along the edge of your cheekbone, grounding himself in the quiet thrill of the contact.

When you kissed him back, slowly, deliberately, and it was like you lit a fuse under his skin. He moved closer, shoulders angling toward you, the hand on your jaw trailing down—fingers curling gently around your neck, not possessive, but fervored.

There was nothing rushed about it. Only the press of mouths and the occasional, breathless hitch of air as your noses brushed and he tilted his head, deepening the kiss slightly—still cautious, still a little hesitant.

But then then he heard it—just barely there, a small breath of contentment through your nose as your fingers slid up the front of his shirt, curling into the fabric.

That did it.

His lips moved with more intent now, more certainty, like he’d been holding back and couldn’t anymore. He tasted like peppermint and something you couldn’t quite place, and every time he pulled away even a fraction, he came right back—drawn to you like the pull of gravity.

Somewhere in the flurry of warmth and movement, the air around you shifted.

The curtains.

The ones above his bed rustled faintly, and then, slowly, they began to close—not all the way, but just enough to wrap the two of you in the hush of privacy. The dark velvet swept inward in a lazy draw, like someone had tugged gently at invisible strings. The air around you seemed to slow, thick with suspended magic and the soft scent of something like cedar and parchment.

Pulling back from the kiss, just barely, your lips brushing his as a breath of laughter escaped you. The kind of soft, genuine giggle that bloomed right in your chest and spilled out in surprise. Your forehead dropped back lightly against the pillow as you whispered, voice honeyed with delight, “Did you just—?”

He didn’t say anything at first. But there was the faintest flush at the tips of his ears, even as the corners of his lips twitched in a sheepish smile. You cupped his jaw gently, brushing your thumb along the edge of his cheek as you teased with a squint of your eye, voice low and fond, “Already showing off.”

He just huffed a laugh, dipping his head slightly—forehead pressing to yours, breaths mingling in the narrow space between you. His hand found your waist again, sliding over your hip to pull you closer, until your bodies were all but tangled together in the middle of his bed.

Then he paused.

Looked at you.

Really looked at you—eyes searching your face, the softness of your features in the low dorm light, the flush on your cheeks, the swollen curve of your lips, still flushed lightly from his kiss. His thumb brushed your waist absently, reverently, like he was trying to memorise the moment through touch alone.

You blinked up at him, slightly breathless, lips curving into that small smile—that quiet, knowing one—that had his pulse quickening.

“How long have you been waiting to do that?” Voice just above a whisper.

A beat.

His answer was just as quiet.

“…Too long.”

You didn’t say anything, you didn’t have to.

Because then his lips were on yours again, more insistent this time—hungry but still careful, still delicate. Like he was trying to learn the shape of your mouth with his own. His hand slid to the small of your back, curling to bring you even closer, your chest brushing his with every inhale.

Dinner came and went. Neither of you moved.

Body sprawled across the bed, head in Regulus’ lap, legs stretched out and one arm flopped over your middle lazily. His hand drifted idly through your hair, almost absentminded in its rhythm, as he spoke—quiet and thoughtful, voice lilting into stories you never expected him to share.

He told you about how he hated summer, because his skin burned too easily—how the Black family manor always smelled like dust and old magic. How he and Barty used to sneak wine from the cellar and sit on the roof, trying to name constellations. How his favourite book growing up wasn’t even magical—it was a Muggle text he smuggled in and read by candlelight.

You blinked up at him with a soft smile, utterly content, not interrupting—just listening.

For a man you’d once believed was of few words, he sure had a lot to say.

Not that you weren’t complaining.

There was something soft about him now—looser. Less controlled. Like the tightly wound strings he kept knotted around himself had started to loosen just enough to let you in, like he’d been waiting for the the chance to bare himself. And Merlin, he was affectionate. Not in the loud, boisterous way others might’ve been. But with soft hands and stolen glances. A touch at your hip, the gentle brush of knuckles down your arm. Aching for contact in any form, so careful about how he was gave and received it, like it could be torn away at any given moement—still so foreign, even in his own mind.

Your thumb traced slow circles into his knee as you murmured, “Can you read the line again? From the poem?”

Regulus looked down at you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He nodded, brushing a piece of hair from your forehead before turning toward the parchment pinned above his desk. He recited it again in that soft voice—low and smooth, almost like a lullaby.

You closed your eyes, humming in contentment.

When he finished, you whispered, “Lemme show you something.”

And before he could ask, your hand curled into a fist. You held it up between you both. His brows furrowed slightly, watching with interest.

Then, you slowly unfurled your fingers—and from the centre of your palm, a small bluebell flower sprouted, delicate and glowing faintly with the magic that coaxed it into being.

“This,” you whispered, eyes flickering with warmth and voice like a secret, “is what I think of when I hear your voice.”

For a long moment, Regulus didn’t speak.

Just stared.

The shock in his eyes wasn’t loud. It was quiet and still, like everything else about him. But it was there. Etched into the way he looked at you—not just at the flower, but at your face. Your expression, the tenderness written across it with no ulterior motive, no mischief behind your eyes. No teasing lilt in your tone.

Just you.

And he didn’t know what to do with it.

His fingers reached out gently, brushing the fragile petals like they might dissolve under his touch. And when he looked back at you, his voice was barely above a whisper.

“You really are something,” he said, with a kind of awe that made your stomach twist in a way you weren’t prepared for.

Covering the sudden flutter of your chest with a scoff and biteless roll of your eyes. You didn’t give him the chance to say anything more, before you sat up abruptly, hair whipping slightly at your speed—movements fluid and unbothered as the mattress dipped under the concentrated weight of your knees.

Regulus frozen against the headboard, wide-eyed when your leg swung over his middle—settling on his lap in a straddle that was far too flippant. His hands hovered awkwardly at first, unsure where to settle—eventually, they found your hips, fingers curling there hesitantly.

The small smirk on lips only widened—at his obvious flush, relishing in the way the blush crept up his neck and spread across his cheeks.

“Relax,” you teased, brushing your fingers through his dark curls, tucking and retucking the strands behind his ear like you were sculpting something. And then, you nestled the bluebell flower in the space you’d created—right behind his ear.

“There,” you said with a proud grin, leaning back slightly to admire your work. Your hands slid down his neck, wrists resting lazily on his shoulders as you laced your fingers behind him, just barely hovering over his surely goosebump ridden skin. Tilting you head, you let your gaze rake over him like you were evaluating an art piece.

“I think blue might be your colour, Reg.”

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips, and you subtly shifted in his lap—closer, pressing into him with purpose. Regulus huffed a small scoff, finally finding a bit of his footing again, though his voice was still slightly strained. “Must you always be this brazen?”

You shrugged innocently. “It’s fun having people on edge.”

He hummed lowly, eyes flickering with something darker now—his grip tightening slightly on your hips. “Really?”

You leaned forward with a smirk, lips brushing his as you replied in a hushed, mocking whisper, “Reaaaally.”

That was all the prompting he needed.

His mouth met yours with vigor, kissing you like he couldn’t help it. Like he’d been waiting to. Desperate, yet controlled. His hands squeezing at the flesh of your waist as he pulled you closer, chest pressing flush to his, heat blooming between you, smiling into the kiss.

Pulled back slightly, lips still grazing his, and whispered against his mouth, “You must like brazen then.”

And that made him grin.

Actually grin. Wide and rare and perfect.

His hands gripped your waist more firmly as he kissed you again, feverish now, all slow control forgotten in favour of something more frantic and yearning. The kind of kiss that stole the air from your lungs and made time slip sideways.

So engrossed in each other, you didn’t hear the door creak open.

Didn’t notice the soft shuffle of footsteps.

But the moment the familiar sound of Barty’s voice filled the room, everything stopped.

“I brought teacakes,” he called out lazily from the other side of the dorm, “because you missed supper. I figured you were sulking or something—”

You and Regulus froze mid-kiss.

Legs still straddled across his lap. His hands halfway up your back. The flower still behind his ear.

Regulus’ eyes flew open. Your hand slapped over your mouth to muffle a curse.

“I left extra lemon ones, since—wait.”

Barty’s voice was closer now. Suspicious—”…Why are your curtains closed?”

Regulus was already looking at you, panicked. You swatted his arm sharply when he didn’t say anything, eyes wide and insistent. “Was Potter here?” Barty asked, a little louder this time.

“She—uh—” Regulus stammered. “She was here. Earlier.”

Stammered.

You physically winced.

He never stammered. And now Barty definitely knew something was off. There was the unmistakable sound of someone standing up. Then footsteps. Getting closer.

Barty’s voice was cool and skeptical. “So…she was here earlier…”

He paused just outside the curtain.

“…and just left her bag behind?”

Your eyes widened in horror. Your bag. You could envision where you’d left it—sitting in plain view.

A pained expression split across your face as Regulus turned to you with a look that screamed, what do we do??

But there was no time.

Because the curtain was already being drawn back.

Regulus didn't move. Neither did you.

Time seemed to stall between one breath and the next, and there was Barty—standing there with a half-eaten lemon teacake in one hand, his brows slowly climbing higher and higher as he took in the sight before him.

You, still straddling Regulus.

Regulus, pink-faced and looking about two seconds from imploding.

And the flower, still tucked delicately behind his ear.

A beat of silence.

He gasped—actually, audibly gasped, clutching his chest as if you'd physically wounded him. “Treasure,” he breathed, eyes wide and betrayed, “I cannot believe you traded me in for Black.”

You groaned. “Junior.”

“No—don’t you Junior me,” he said, stepping back like your words had scorched him, pressing a hand against the curtains pillar for support.

You slid off Regulus’ lap in a single, painful motion, trying to maintain any shred of dignity, which was difficult with your hair mussed and your shirt slightly rumpled from where Regulus had been clutching at the back of it.

Regulus didn’t even try to salvage anything. He just stared at the ceiling like he was mentally calculating how fast he could die and be buried—red down to the collar of his shirt.

“I thought we had something, Treasure,” Barty continued with a theatrical sniff, flopping onto his bed. “A shared love of mild chaos, midnight escapades, and morally ambiguous hexes.”

You just rolled your eyes. “Oh, please.”

He stared at the ceiling, hand still on his chest. “I’m heartbroken.”

“You’re eating a teacake.”

“I’m grieving, let me be.”

And then, his voice softened a little, still dramatic but now with an edge of sincerity. “I mean… obviously everyone’s had a crush on you, but I didn’t think he’d be the one to do something about it.”

You blinked, head whipping to Regulus, eyes narrowing. “You’re not denying it.”

He just shrugged lightly, like he didn’t see the point.

Barty’s laughter was smug as hell. “See?” he said, sitting up.

Regulus groaned softly beside you. “Is this going to end soon?”

Barty glanced between you both, a wicked little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “So tell me,” he said, casually now, propping himself up on one elbow, “is this a new study method? Because I must’ve missed this chapter in Advanced Charms.”

“Jun—”

“No, no—really, I’m curious,” he said, waving his teacake for emphasis. “Do you rate each other’s technique? Is snogging now a core requirement for N.E.W.T. preparation?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, trying very hard not to laugh. It didn’t help that Regulus looked like he was actively contemplating vanishing spells, dropping his head into his hands.

Then he softened again, leaning his chin into his palm as he watched the two of you. “For what it’s worth, Reg… you look good like this. Like an actual person instead of a walking anxiety spell.”

“I hate you,” he muttered, hands slipping from his face to reveal a withering look.

Barty beamed. “That’s more like it.”

With a smug little wave, Barty finally stood, sauntering backwards toward the door with his usual flair.

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do—which, to be fair, is a very short list. Night, lovebirds.”

Diplomacy Be Damned

pairing: Kallias x Reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings: some fighting, burn injury, Kallias loses his temper to defend you, Beron being Beron

a/n: dipping my toes into writing about Kallias. i need to read up on some headcannons since we have so little canon info about him. dug this one out the drafts lmao

The halls of the Winter Court glistened with ethereal beauty. Walls carved from ice, crystalline chandeliers dripping with frozen jewels that caught and refracted the faint glow of faelight. The chill in the air was familiar, comforting even, though it did little to ease the tension rising in the room.

The High Lords had gathered again to discuss the threat of Koschei. And as always, it felt like sitting in the eye of a storm.

You sat quietly beside Kallias, your mate, the bond between you a steady hum under your skin, a thread of warmth woven through the cold. His hand brushed yours subtly, an anchor amidst the political currents swirling around the grand table.

Beron was speaking.

Of course, he was.

You had the displeasure of sitting near him, Kallias and one of his sons were all that was between you. On your right sat Thesan and Tarquin with their respective councils. The Inner Circle, Helion, and an empty spot for Tamlin across from you. The large circular table made of ice was designed with the much-needed space that was necessary for these tumultuous meetings in mind. Usually, Autumn would be positioned on the same side as Night, but with Lucien Vanserra’s new position as their emissary you convinced Kallias to rearrange the seating chart so the poor male did not have to sit near the male who caused him so much suffering, and instead next to his true father. You were reconsidering that moment of compassion now.

Arrogant and venomous, Beron’s words were dripping with condescension as he spoke of sacrifices and violence with the casual cruelty only the Autumn Court’s High Lord could master. You saw the way Kallias’ jaw tightened, the faint narrowing of his eyes, the only signs of his control slipping.

Across the room, Feyre Archeron sat beside High Lord Rhysand, her posture rigid, and nails tapping rhymically against the table as Beron’s smug remarks continued. You could see it in her eyes, she was losing her patience with him, as was everyone else in this room.

“If Koschei wants the Archeron witch so badly, I say let him have her,” Beron drawled with a flourish of his hands. “There’s no sense in going to war over one useless female.”

A burst of flames shot across the room, wild and uncontrolled. It was meant for Beron. You knew that. Everyone knew that.

But Feyre had still not yet mastered her aim, and you were sitting in its path.

The searing heat hit you before you could react, fire licking across your shoulder, burning through the layers of fabric, biting into flesh. A sharp, involuntary cry escaped you as pain erupted and you fell backward out of your chair.

The room exploded into chaos.

Kallias’ reaction was immediate, his power blowing an icy wind that extinguished the remaining flames. The chill of his power was a different kind of sting, but an improvement nonetheless. He helped you rise, his hands on your waist as he sat you down in his chair. You gazed up at him to tell him it was alright, to just adjourn the meeting for a moment until you saw his face.

Fury.

Uncontained, unrelenting fury.

His eyes blazed with a rage colder than the harshest winter as he turned on Rhysand and Feyre, his power crackling in the air like a blizzard ready to consume.

“What were you thinking?” His voice was a snarl, low and dangerous, ice creeping across the marble floor like the tide rising at a beach.

Rhysand rose, hands raised in a gesture of surrender, but there was a readiness in his stance. “It was an accident—”

“An accident?” Kallias roared, his magic lashing out, frost racing across the walls, shards of ice falling from the ceiling and crashing onto the table. “She burned my mate!”

You tried to stand, the pain sharp and unyielding, but Kallias was already at your side again, lowering you back down to the seat. His breath came fast, uneven, his fury battling with fear. The smell of your charred flesh permeated the room, even Lucien across the table wrinkled his nose at the all too familiar scent.

Beron, ever the viper, chuckled darkly from his seat. “Seems the High Lady still can’t control her temper. At least it wasn't my wife this time.”

That was all it took.

Kallias and Rhysand lunged.

Power collided—ice, darkness, and fire. Winter’s wrath and Night’s might against the burn of Autumn. Beron blocked Kallias’ strike with a shield of fire, but the sheer force sent shockwaves through the hall, cracks spiderwebbing across the floor. Rhysand’s darkness engulfed Beron, snuffing out his flames.

“Enough!” Helion shouted, stepping between them, his golden power radiating as he formed a shield around everyone else.

But Kallias wasn’t listening. He could only think to protect, avenge, defend. His magic surged again, colder than death itself, as he bared his teeth.

“Kallias,” you managed to rasp, your voice raw from both the pain and the rising fear of what he might do.

He froze.

Then he was in front of you, dropping to his knees, cradling your face in his hands. His fury didn’t vanish—it was there, sizzling beneath the surface—but his focus shifted entirely to you.

“Hold on,” he whispered, his voice ragged with emotion. “I’ve got you.”

With a burst of his power, he winnowed you both away, the freezing air swallowing the sound of shouts and curses from the meeting room.

He had taken you to your shared chambers, the familiar scent of fir trees and eucalyptus wrapped around you like a comforting cocoon.

Kallias didn’t waste a moment. He led you to the edge of the bed to sit and carefully peeled away the burnt fabric. The sight of the angry, blistered skin made his breath hitch. He strode into the washroom to retrieve healing supplies before returning to your side. His fingers hovered above the wound, trembling slightly.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered as if it were his fault. “I should’ve—”

“You couldn’t have stopped it,” you assured, wincing as he dabbed a cool cloth over the burn, the chill both soothing and sharp.

But Kallias didn’t respond. He clenched his jaw, his eyes shadowed with guilt as he worked. He was meticulous, his hands gentle, as if he feared hurting you more.

After delicately applying healing salves to the burns and wrapping them with a bandage, he sat beside you, his head in his hands.

“Does it still hurt?” he asked.

You shook your head. “No, it just tingles now. The salves are working.”

He released a sigh of relief. Then, softly, “When I saw you fall…” his voice cracked, and he took a shaky breath. “I’ve faced war and impending death, but nothing has ever terrified me like that.”

You reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. “I’m here. I’m okay.”

His grip tightened, pulling you into his arms with a desperation that made your heart ache. He held you as if you might disappear, his face buried in the crook of your neck, breathing you in.

“I don’t ever want to feel that again,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

You pressed a kiss to his temple, feeling his tension slowly ease. “You won’t. I’m not going anywhere.”