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Hi, dear! I'm sorry if you don't write character death, I read your 'rules and disclaimers' and I didn't see death at either yes or no so this is just me shooting my shot and ask you if you would write an Regulus x reader where, preferably the reader, dies, and Regulus goes through grief? Again, I'm sorry if this made you feel uncomfy, I absolutly love your writing. All the love <3

Where you are

Regulus knew he wouldn’t survive, but he didn’t mind. Death meant seeing you again.

pairings: Regulus Black x Dead!Fem!Reader

word count: 4.6K

warnings: Angst, mentions death, torture, drowning, implied depression. Read on your own accord

note: I usually write fluff rather than death, so this is definitely outside my comfort zone, but in a way I enjoy. To answer your question, I see death as a natural part of angst, so no need to apologize. Again, PLEASE READ ON YOUR OWN ACCOUNT. I changed the way I post my stories. Do you think it looks good? Yes or no?

more here: masterlist, Regulus masterlist

requested by anon.

Regulus Black sat before your grave, his back hunched, his once-impeccable robes now wrinkled and dusted with dirt. His hair, usually neat, hung in unruly strands around his pale face. He hadn't left since your funeral, unable to tear himself away from the cold stone that bore your name. The world had moved on, but he had not. He could not.

The sickness had taken you swiftly, cruelly. One moment, you were laughing with him, teasing him about his brooding nature, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. The next, you were weak, burning with fever, and he was powerless to stop it. Even the best healers could not save you. And now, Regulus was left in a world that no longer made sense, with only memories to replay over and over again in his mind.

He closed his eyes, and for a moment, he was back in the candlelit glow of your shared bedroom, your laughter ringing in his ears. "Regulus, you're staring again," you'd tease, poking his chest as he smirked down at you. "Can you blame me?" he'd reply, pulling you into his arms. But when he opened his eyes, he was alone. Always alone.

The two of you had been caught outside during the season’s first snowfall. You had thrown your head back, eyes wide with delight as you stuck your tongue out to catch the falling flakes. Regulus had only watched, mesmerized. "You look ridiculous," he muttered, but his lips twitched in amusement.

You grinned, tugging on his scarf to pull him closer. "Admit it, you love it."

"I love you," he corrected softly. And as the snow fell around you both, he sealed his words with a kiss, his hands cupping your chilled cheeks.

Regulus lay beside you in bed, staring at the ceiling, while your fingers lazily traced patterns along his arm. "If you could be anywhere, doing anything, where would you be?" you asked.

He turned his head to look at you. "Here. With you."

You rolled your eyes. "That’s a cop-out answer."

He smirked. "It’s the truth."

You huffed, but he could see the warmth in your eyes, the way your lips curled slightly at the edges. You leaned over, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "You’re such a sap, Regulus Black."

One evening, long after the world had fallen asleep, you had pulled him to his feet in the sitting room. A record played in the background, its melody soft and crackling with age.

"I don’t dance," he had grumbled.

"Then stand there and let me dance with you," you countered, resting your head against his chest as you swayed gently. Slowly, hesitantly, he moved with you, his arms wrapping around your waist. The world outside did not exist in that moment—only the two of you did.

Regulus had never felt fear like this before. Not in battle, not in the presence of the Dark Lord. Nothing compared to the helplessness that gripped him as he knelt beside you, his hands trembling as they brushed against your fevered skin.

"Love, please," he whispered, his voice raw. "Stay with me. Just a little longer."

You offered him a weak smile, your fingers curling around his wrist. "Reg… don’t look at me like that."

"Like what?" he choked out.

"Like you already think I’m gone."

His throat tightened. He wanted to argue, wanted to tell you that you weren’t allowed to leave him. But even as he held your hand tightly in his own, he could feel you slipping away.

"I don’t know how to live without you," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

You exhaled softly, the weight of exhaustion evident in your features. "You don’t have to. Just… just promise me you’ll keep living. Even when it’s hard."

Regulus swallowed past the lump in his throat. "I can’t."

You gave his hand a faint squeeze. "You can. You’re stronger than you think."

But he wasn’t. He was weak without you. And when your eyes finally fluttered shut, and your grip on his hand loosened, something inside him shattered beyond repair.

Days turned to weeks. Regulus stopped attending Death Eater meetings. The Dark Lord sent summons, but he ignored them. Nothing mattered anymore. He barely ate, barely slept. It was as if he had died with you; only his body remained, trapped in this hollow existence.

The Dark Lord’s patience began to wane. He could not tolerate insubordination, not even from the Black heir. At the next gathering, Regulus's absence did not go unnoticed.

"Where is Regulus?" Voldemort’s voice cut through the room, cold and sharp.

Silence.

Lucius Malfoy cleared his throat, exchanging a glance with the others. "He has… not been well, my Lord."

Voldemort’s expression remained unreadable. "Not well? Or unwilling?"

A heavy tension filled the chamber, the air thick with unspoken fear. Then, with a slow, deliberate nod, he turned his gaze to Narcissa Malfoy.

"Go to him," he commanded. "Remind him where his loyalties lie. And if he refuses to remember… persuade him."

Bellatrix Lestrange let out a sharp laugh, the kind that sent a chill down the spine. "Oh, dearest cousin has lost his spirit?" she cooed, her dark eyes glittering with amusement. "Mourning a little lost love? How... pathetic."

Narcissa shot her sister a warning look before bowing her head to the Dark Lord. "I will see to it, my Lord."

Bellatrix sneered. "And if he does not listen?"

"Then we ensure he does," Voldemort replied simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Narcissa arrived at Grimmauld Place within the hour, her expression composed but laced with concern. She knew grief. She knew how it twisted inside a person, warping their reality, making the rest of the world fade to nothing. But she also knew the cost of disobedience.

She found Regulus where she expected—by your grave. His head was bowed, his fingers tracing the etched letters of your name. He did not look up as she approached, did not acknowledge her presence.

"Regulus," she said softly, kneeling beside him. "You have to come inside. You’ll make yourself ill."

He did not move.

She reached out, placing a gentle hand on his arm. "She wouldn't want this for you. She loved you, Regulus. You think she would want you wasting away like this?"

His voice, when he finally spoke, was hoarse from disuse. "Don’t. You don’t understand, Cissy."

"I do understand," she countered, squeezing his arm. "But I also understand that the Dark Lord does not tolerate weakness. He sent me here to remind you of that."

Regulus exhaled sharply, finally lifting his gaze to her. His eyes were hollow, void of the sharp intellect that had once defined him. "Let him kill me, then. It would be easier."

Narcissa’s stomach clenched at his words, but before she could respond, the fireplace in the house roared to life, signaling another arrival.

Bellatrix.

She strode into the clearing like a phantom of death, her wand twirling between her fingers as she observed the pathetic sight before her.

"Look at you," she taunted, tilting her head. "The great Regulus Black, reduced to nothing more than a lovesick fool." She sighed, shaking her head dramatically. "What a waste."

Regulus did not react, not even as she stepped closer. Bellatrix crouched before him, her dark curls falling over her shoulder as she studied him with twisted fascination.

"You think grieving makes you noble?" she whispered mockingly. "It makes you weak. She’s gone. Dead. Nothing you do will bring her back."

Regulus's jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists. "Shut up."

Bellatrix grinned. "There’s fire in you still. Good. You’ll need it when the Dark Lord decides you are no longer worth keeping."

Narcissa rose to her feet, stepping between them. "That’s enough, Bella."

Bellatrix huffed, rolling her eyes. "Enough? Oh, dearest sister, our cousin here needs a lesson in duty."

Regulus finally looked up, his gaze meeting Bellatrix's with something dangerous simmering beneath the emptiness. "My duty?" he echoed. "Tell me, Bella—what would you do if it were Rodolphus? If he was the one buried here?"

For the first time, Bellatrix faltered. It was brief, barely noticeable, but it was there, a flicker of something human beneath her insanity.

She scoffed, straightening up, mask falling back into place. "That’s the difference between us, dear cousin. I would not be weak enough to let love ruin me."

Regulus gave a hollow laugh, shaking his head. "Then I pity you."

Bellatrix’s eyes darkened, but before she could retort, Narcissa stepped forward, voice firm. "That’s enough. We came here for one reason."

She turned to Regulus, her expression softening. "Come back, Regulus. At least pretend, for your sake. If you keep ignoring the Dark Lord’s summons, it will not be my voice or Bella’s he sends next."

Regulus looked at her for a long moment before exhaling, the weight of his grief pressing down on him. "Fine," he murmured. "I’ll come."

Bellatrix smirked. "Smart boy."

But as Regulus stood, casting one last glance at your grave, he knew the truth.

He would never truly return. Because a part of him had died with you, and no amount of pretending could change that.

A few days later, the night was thick with smoke, the air filled with the distant echoes of screams and the crackling of fire. The raid was nothing new, another display of the Dark Lord’s power, another night of violence. Regulus moved through the wreckage like a specter, his wand gripped tightly in his fingers, his expression empty.

The mission had been simple: take down those who resisted, leave an example behind. It should have been nothing more than another task to complete. And yet, something in Regulus had cracked.

His wand was raised, the curse spilling from his lips before he had even registered the words.

“Crucio.”

The man collapsed instantly, his back arching off the ground as if an invisible force had seized his spine and twisted it. A raw, guttural scream tore from his throat, his fingers clawing desperately at the dirt, nails breaking as he convulsed. His legs jerked uncontrollably, his body writhing like a trapped insect beneath a magnifying glass, unable to escape the unbearable fire coursing through his veins.

Regulus didn’t blink. Didn’t waver. His arm remained steady, his grip on his wand firm. The screaming filled his ears, louder than the roaring flames consuming the house behind them, louder than the shouted orders of other Death Eaters in the distance. It should have been enough. But it wasn’t.

“Crucio.”

Another wave of agony slammed into the man’s already broken body. He choked on his breath, gasping as though drowning, his limbs seizing up before thrashing violently against the cobbled ground. His skin was slick with sweat, his face contorted into something beyond recognition—beyond human. A broken animal, screaming for mercy that would never come.

Regulus’s heart pounded against his ribs, his fingers twitching as he tightened his hold on his wand. The pain in the man’s eyes—it reflected something back at him. Something raw. Something that made his own grief flare like an open wound. He wanted to stop feeling nothing. He wanted to make the world feel what he did.

“Good,” a voice purred from behind him.

Bellatrix.

Her presence slithered through the smoke like a serpent, her dark eyes gleaming with sadistic delight as she watched him work. She stepped closer, her breath warm against his ear. “Again.”

Regulus hesitated for only a second before his grip tightened once more. The man on the ground barely had the strength to whimper, his body twitching, his consciousness fraying at the edges. His breaths came in wet, strangled gasps, his eyes rolling back in his head. He was close to the edge, teetering between agony and oblivion.

Bellatrix chuckled, her voice dripping with approval. “Yes, dear cousin, let him suffer. Make him beg.”

Regulus’s expression was unreadable, his heart hammering. He lifted his wand once more, ready to cast again, to drag the man deeper into suffering. To let the pain swallow them both whole.

And yet, as he stared down at the broken body beneath him, something twisted in his chest. The man’s face was a mess of blood, sweat, and agony. His fingers twitched, his body barely responding to the torture anymore. He was nothing but a shell now.

Regulus took a slow breath and lowered his wand.

Bellatrix’s smile faltered, her excitement giving way to scrutiny. “Why did you stop?”

Regulus didn’t answer. He turned away from the broken man at his feet and walked past her, his expression void of anything. Bellatrix watched him go, amusement flickering in her gaze.

“Oh, cousin,” she whispered, laughter dancing on her lips. “The Dark Lord will be so pleased.”

Regulus didn’t react. He just kept walking, the man’s screams still ringing in his ears, merging with the ghosts of the past he could never escape.

Another raid. Another night drenched in screams and the scent of burning wood. The world around Regulus was a blur of fire and shadows, but none of it truly touched him. He moved as if in a trance, detached from the chaos that once might have rattled him. Nothing mattered anymore.

The target of their raid had been reduced to a heap of trembling limbs, barely clinging to consciousness. A once-proud wizard, now on his knees in the mud, his body wrecked with exhaustion and pain. Regulus stood over him, wand still raised, breath slow and measured. He didn’t even remember how long he had been casting.

Death Eaters gathered in a loose circle around them, the flickering firelight illuminating their masks, their dark robes shifting like shadows. Some watched in silence, arms crossed, their expressions hidden but their satisfaction clear. Others smirked, whispering amongst themselves, reveling in the spectacle. This was entertainment. A lesson. A show of power.

“Crucio.”

A gurgled scream ripped from the man’s throat, his head snapping back as another wave of unimaginable pain consumed him. He twitched and writhed, his fingers digging into the dirt as if the earth itself could save him. But there was no salvation. No mercy.

Bellatrix’s laughter echoed through the ruined village, a sweet and cruel melody that slithered into Regulus’s ears. She stood nearby, watching him with an indulgent sort of pleasure.

“That’s it, darling,” she cooed, stepping closer. “Feel it. Let it consume you.”

Regulus tightened his grip on his wand, watching the way the man’s body spasmed, his eyes rolling back, his screams hoarse and broken. He should have stopped. This should have sickened him. But all he felt was the void.

“Again,” Bellatrix urged, voice thick with delight.

Regulus obeyed. The curse tore from his lips once more, and the man shrieked, though his body was barely responding now. He was slipping, teetering on the edge of death, barely holding onto life by the frayed strings of his shattered nerves.

Bellatrix stepped around Regulus, her movements slow, predatory. She knelt beside the broken man, running a gloved finger through the blood seeping into the mud.

“See how beautiful suffering can be?” she murmured, her gaze flicking up to meet Regulus’s. “You understand it now, don’t you?”

From the corner of his eye, Regulus saw some of the Death Eaters nodding approvingly, their postures relaxed, satisfied. Others murmured to one another, their voices thick with amusement, speaking as if this were nothing more than a game.

Regulus didn’t answer. His wand was still raised, his heart hammering beneath his ribs. He wasn’t sure if it was from exhilaration or sickness. He wasn’t sure if he cared.

Bellatrix smirked, her dark eyes dancing with a manic sort of glee.

“The Dark Lord will be pleased,” she said, almost sing-song. “You’re finally becoming who you were meant to be.”

Regulus swallowed hard, his fingers tingling from the magic coursing through him. His chest felt hollow, his veins filled with ice. He didn’t look at the man he had broken. He didn’t want to.

Instead, he turned away, stepping over the crumpled body as if it were nothing more than debris in his path.

Bellatrix followed him, still smiling, still watching.

The Death Eaters parted as he passed, some murmuring words of approval, others giving him silent nods of respect. This was his place now. This was who they believed he was becoming.

But Regulus felt nothing. Nothing at all.

The first time Regulus killed someone after your death, it wasn’t intentional. At least, not in the beginning.

The raid had gone as all the others did, rushed movements, shouts, spells flying through the air like lightning, the scent of burning wood and flesh thickening the night. Regulus had been moving on instinct, his mind caught somewhere between the present and the past, the ghosts of his memories keeping him at a cruel distance from reality. He barely registered the man he had cornered, barely recognized the wand shaking in the desperate grip of someone who had already lost.

It should have been over quickly. Stun him. Leave him. Move on. But something snapped.

The man had looked up at him, eyes wide, pleading, and there was something—something in his expression.

It was the way his lips parted, the way his chest heaved, the way his entire body braced for the worst but still hoped, still begged for mercy. It was the same way you had looked at Regulus once. The same way you had reached for him in your final moments, fingers weak, trembling, before they had gone cold against his skin.

His wand moved before he could think.

“Crucio.”

The man screamed.

Regulus had cast the curse before, had heard the sound of agony a hundred times over. But this was different. This wasn’t calculated. This wasn’t controlled. It was raw, vicious, and desperate. He poured everything into it—his grief, his rage, his emptiness. He watched as the man writhed beneath the force of his magic, body twisting unnaturally, breath choking in his throat as his screams turned ragged.

And Regulus didn’t stop.

He barely noticed when the others fell silent around him, when the fight moved on, when the only sound left in the alley was the crackling fire and the wet gasps of a dying man. His hand was shaking, grip tight around his wand as though it were the only thing tethering him to the world.

The man stopped moving. His chest barely rose. His fingers twitched, his mouth opened, whether to speak or to breathe, Regulus would never know. Because, in that next instant, the last thread of life snapped, and he was gone.

Regulus stared down at him, at the way the light had left his eyes, at the way his body had gone slack in the dirt, at the way his blood soaked into the ground as if the earth itself was eager to erase his existence.

He waited for the guilt. He waited for the satisfaction. He waited for anything at all.

But there was nothing. No regret. No triumph. No relief.

Just emptiness.

A void where something should have been.

And as the night stretched on, as the echoes of death faded into the wind, Regulus realized that maybe, just maybe, there was nothing left of him to save.

Regulus hadn’t looked at himself in weeks. Maybe months. There was no need. He already knew what he would see—someone who wasn’t really alive anymore. A hollowed-out thing, a ghost wrapped in skin.

But tonight, something had drawn his eyes to the mirror.

It was accidental. He had stumbled into the Black family bathroom after another sleepless night, reaching for the basin to splash water on his face. But then his gaze flickered up, and there he was.

He froze.

The man staring back wasn’t him. He looked sickly, his once-pale skin now ashen, stretched thin over his sharp cheekbones. The deep shadows beneath his eyes made them look sunken, like the empty sockets of a corpse. His lips were chapped, bloodied in places where he had bitten them raw without realizing it. His dark curls, once so carefully combed, were a tangled, matted mess.

His mother would have been horrified. His father, disgusted. He might have cared once.

Regulus gripped the edge of the sink, his knuckles turning white. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, staring, unable to look away. A thought flickered through his mind—how much he looked like you in the last days before you died. How the sickness had drained the life from your body, how your eyes had dulled, how you had wasted away until there was nothing left but a fragile shadow of the person you once were.

You were dead.

And he was still here. Why?

Something cracked inside him, something he had been holding together for too long. His breath hitched, his vision blurred, and suddenly he was moving, his hand lashing out before he could stop himself.

The mirror shattered.

The pieces clattered to the floor, sharp fragments catching the dim candlelight, scattering across the black-and-white tiles. He stared down at them, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths, his fingers shaking. Blood dripped from his knuckles where the glass had sliced him, but he barely felt the pain.

It was quiet now.

Too quiet.

His reflection was gone. No more proof that he was still here, that he was still breathing when you weren’t.

He slumped to the floor, his back against the sink, staring blankly at the broken shards surrounding him. It felt fitting. Like his body had finally caught up with the state of his soul.

He wasn’t sure how long he had sat there. Minutes. Hours. Maybe forever. The thought of moving, of getting up and continuing like nothing had happened, felt impossible. The weight in his chest, the crushing emptiness inside him, was too much.

And for the first time, he didn’t want to fight it.

The thought came slowly, creeping in like a whisper in the back of his mind, curling around him like smoke.

It would be easier. To just… stop.

To close his eyes and never open them again. To let go.

He wasn’t scared. He had nothing left to be afraid of. No one left to disappoint.

You were waiting for him. Somewhere out there, beyond all of this, you were waiting.

Regulus let his head fall back against the cabinet, his bloodied hand going limp at his side. He exhaled slowly, almost peacefully.

Maybe it was time to go home. Go back home to you.

The cave was silent, save for the rhythmic lapping of the dark lake against the stone. The air was damp, thick with the scent of decay, of something ancient and long-forgotten. Regulus stood at the water’s edge, his wand raised, the golden locket heavy in his trembling hand.

This was it. His final act of defiance.

He had spent so long lost in grief, spiraling deeper into the abyss of the Dark Lord’s service, hollowed out by your absence. He had tried to fill that void with cruelty, with violence, with mindless obedience. But none of it had numbed the agony of losing you. And now, he stood here, at the edge of his own demise, finally understanding what you would have wanted for him.

He wasn’t meant to be this. He wasn’t meant to be a monster.

“Kreacher,” he whispered. The elf trembled beside him, eyes wide with terror. “Take this. Go. Destroy it.” He forced the locket into Kreacher’s small hands, curling the elf’s fingers around it.

“But Master Regulus—” Kreacher’s voice cracked.

“Please,” Regulus breathed, kneeling before the only soul who had remained loyal to him. “You must live. You must finish what I started.”

Tears burned his eyes as he thought of you, of the way you would have scolded him for throwing his life away, for giving up. But this wasn’t giving up, was it? This was finally doing something right.

Kreacher vanished with a crack.

And then, the water stirred.

Cold fingers clawed at the air, skeletal hands breaking through the surface. The Inferi moved unnaturally, jerking toward him with silent, gaping mouths. He lifted his wand, but he already knew—there was no escaping this.

His body screamed to fight, to run, but Regulus let himself sink to his knees. A hand gripped his wrist, another clawed at his shoulder, and suddenly he was being pulled under, the icy water swallowing him whole.

Darkness wrapped around him, numbing his limbs, slowing his heart. He exhaled a shuddering breath, bubbles escaping his lips as the last remnants of air left his lungs. He didn’t fight. He didn’t thrash. He simply closed his eyes and let the memory of you carry him away.

Your laughter. Your warmth. The way you whispered his name like it was something sacred.

He saw you waiting for him in the depths, reaching out, just as you had before you were taken from him. And as the abyss claimed him, for the first time since your death, he felt peace.

Your name was the last thing that left his lips before the darkness took him forever.

When Regulus opened his eyes, he was somewhere else. The cold was gone, the suffocating weight of water no longer pressing against his lungs. Instead, there was light—soft, warm, golden light. The kind he had only seen in dreams.

And then he saw you.

You stood before him, untouched by time, just as he remembered you—beautiful, radiant, alive. His breath hitched, his chest tightening as he stumbled forward, almost afraid that if he touched you, you would disappear.

But you didn’t.

The moment his arms wrapped around you, the dam inside him shattered. A sob ripped from his throat, raw and broken, and he clung to you as if he were drowning all over again. His fingers dug into you, desperate, needing to make sure this was real, that you were real.

“I’m so sorry,” he choked out, burying his face in your shoulder. “I’m so—so sorry.”

Your hands came up, running through his dark hair, soothing, grounding. “Shh, Regulus,” you murmured. “It’s over. You’re safe now.”

But he wasn’t sure he deserved to be. He had done terrible things. He had let grief consume him, let it turn him into something unrecognizable. He had been lost for so long.

Yet, in your arms, he finally felt found.

You pulled back just enough to cup his face, wiping away his tears with your thumbs. “You did the right thing,” you whispered. “You’re here now. With me.”

Regulus let out another broken sob, pressing his forehead against yours. For the first time in what felt like eternity, the void inside him wasn’t empty anymore. He was home.

With you.

#implied depression

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