girl girl hear me out YAPPER GF X REGULUS!! Pls pls pls like u could do anything u wanted with them!!! I have a few ideas (take any or none)
May be she just walks up to him one day like clearly wanting to befriend him cuz she has a lil crush and just starts yapping about how the great hall had her fave pastry for breakfast today and he's so confused but also intrigued and then she starts sitting next to him in classes and asking him to hang out at hogsmead and she just yaps and sometimes she thinks may be he zones out but then he'll bring up this super niche detail she mentioned last time like "hey what happened to that quill you forgot in the potions lecture?"
they r already dating and she worries she's too much energy and talk for him and tries to be quiet and he's just like r u sick? R u mad at me? What's wrong u haven't gone on a 30 min description/rant about ur day
3. May be someone else brings up she talks a lot and Reggie defends her?
you guys really love your bubbly/talkative readers with Regulus, don't you? (so do i); thanks for your request!
Regulus Black x yapper!reader who didn't think he was actually listening
p1 | p2
CW: fem!reader, rolling thoughts, brief mention of difficulty making friends, people talking about reader behind her back, swear words (on ellecdc? nooo [sarcasm])
Your family said that you had an incessant need to fill silence from the moment you could talk.
“If there’s a room with our daughter in it, you can be certain that it won’t be quiet.” Your mum had proclaimed as she beamed at you lovingly one day.
While it was certainly a trait that your family had always found rather endearing, you felt that it made it particularly difficult making friends once you began attending Hogwarts.
But the friends you managed to make loved you for it, and they had often stated “you can call her what you want but you can’t call her boring.”
That didn’t mean your other classmates appreciated your stories or tangents, though.
Which is how you ended up serving numerous detentions for speaking during class or lectures and disturbing the students around you, and how you’d been cycled through numerous seat partners in potions class.
And that is how poor Regulus Black ended up stuck sharing a worktable with the likes of you.
He didn’t seem to mind, though. And if he did, well, he certainly never said anything about it.
You were quite sure he tuned you out during your rambles, hardly ever sparing you a glance and keeping his eyes trained on his parchment in front of him as he took dutiful notes during lectures.
Couldn’t be you, however.
No.
You were too busy lamenting about the fact that you couldn’t get more than twenty feet to the mooncalf herd up the hill behind the quidditch pitch before they would all run off. They only came out at night, you see, and you wanted to take some photos of them. Some photos turned into midnight picnics, and picnics turned into sharing apple slices by means of throwing them towards the bug-eyed beasts and watching them argue over the slice until you threw another. But even after feeding them forty seven apples and counting at this point (Winky the house elf from the kitchen was not pleased with you), they still wouldn’t let you get any closer to them.
Your next course of action was to try a smellier and higher value treat; you wondered then if mooncalves could have tuna? Tuna was certainly smelly enough. Well, if you couldn’t entice the mooncalves, you’d certainly entice a cat or two.
You wondered then if mooncalves and cats got along? Kneazles were nearly the same size as the poor beasts, but cats were much smaller. You figured cats would look at a mooncalf the same way they’d look at a goat.
You’d seen a cat ride a goat once, not many people believed you, though. You’d have to learn how to make a pensieve one day just to prove it to everyone. You didn’t much care for goats, though; something about their square pupils seemed alien to you.
Which seemed odd considering there were numerous beasts in the magical world that really were quite alien, yet it was goats that did it for you.
And why were they always associated with the devil? Was it because of the square pupils? Do you think there’d be a book that explained that?
But you didn’t even realise that the period had ended until Regulus stood and collected his books, offering you a curt nod before leaving the classroom.
Merlin’s tits, she never stops talking! I feel bad for the poor sod stuck next to her; Black probably wants to avada himself every class. You heard a classmate mutter as you walked to your workbench, movements slowed as you lowered yourself into your chair and tried not to let their words hurt you.
You were used to the comments, you were used to the sentiment honestly; did they think it was easy being you? Did they think you didn’t get tired of listening to yourself too?
Of course you did, it was exhausting; your brain never stopped moving, and apparently, neither did your mouth.
But it did hurt a little, perhaps because Regulus had been quite gracious about it thus far. He had listened to you carry on about the astrological significance of space waste and how that was affecting the magic of the stars. He had listened to you bemoan about the positive impact that centaur migration had on local flora and fauna and how the fencing of fields and forests was going to cause unimaginable damage to the life cycles of such. He also had listened to your morose mooncalf story and the update the next day that you were able to order cans of tuna via owl to the castle.
And he’d not so much as bat an eye at you.
Certainly he’d have said something to you if you bothered him?
Although, perhaps this was why Slughorn put him beside you, because he knew Regulus wouldn’t say anything; had Regulus done something to anger Slughorn? Was placing you beside Regulus less about you driving your seat mates crazy, but more about being a punishment for Regulus?
Well, you couldn’t imagine Regulus had done anything bad enough to deserve a full term with you as a potions partner.
No, you decided, you would not be his punishment.
So when Regulus entered class that day, and Slughorn read out the instructions for today’s potion brew, you resisted the urge to speak.
You were quiet when retrieving your potion ingredients, you were quiet as you checked and double checked the brewing instructions, and you were quiet as you waited for the potion to reach its boiling point.
You actually thought you’d done quite well; you sort of wished you had started a timer, this may very well have been a record for you.
Well, unless sleeping counted. Would sleeping count as being quiet? Oh gods, what if you talked in your sleep too!? You’d have to ask your roommates.
“L/N.” Regulus called as if it hadn’t been the first time he’d done so. “You alright?” He asked, ducking down in an attempt to meet your gaze as you watched a divot appear between his brows.
“Yeah? Why?” You asked, finding yourself furrowing your brows in solidarity; you found Regulus to be too pretty to look so worried.
He shrugged his shoulders and straightened up, though the space between his brows remained divoted. “You’ve been awfully quiet, s’all.” He murmured quietly, and you were surprised to see a dusting of pink on his cheeks.
“Isn’t that a good thing?” You muttered perhaps pointedly; his eyes narrowing to match the furrowed brows.
“Says who?”
Your eyes traitorously darted to the students who had been discussing your habits, and Regulus followed your gaze.
He rolled his eyes and muttered something in French under his breath as he turned his attention back towards your shared potion. “Those tossers are just mad that they have nothing of value to say.”
You more felt than heard a disbelieving breath escape your lips as you looked at Regulus in bemusement.
He didn’t seem to notice though, as he continued to the next step in your potion and carried on. “Did the tuna work?”
You stared at him dumbly before your brain kicked back into gear. “I beg your pardon?”
“The tuna.” He repeated. “For the mooncalves?”
Oh.
“Oh.” You started, giving your head a shake as you tried to find your balance you had long lost during this conversation. “Erm, no, but I did indeed attract a few cats.”
“Ah.” Regulus offered, smiling at you (or at the expected poof from the potion signifying that the two of you had brewed it correctly thus far).
“Also, I found out why goats are often associated with the devil, but the book you’d be looking for is Biblical in nature.”
You stared at him with your mouth agape as he continued. “There’s a quote where that Christ bloke mentions something about separating people from one another just as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. They’re used as a metaphor for the ‘bad’ or ‘inferior’ member of any group; it could also be understood as the divide between the pure and the wicked. I say goats got a bad rap, though.”
The next step in your potion brewing process was to allow the potion to simmer until it turned a milky white colour, so Regulus lowered the heat before appearing to remember something.
“I almost forgot…” He started as he began rooting through his book bag. “I asked the shopkeep at Brood & Peck, and she said this is a favourite of mooncalves; maybe you’ll have more luck tonight?” He asked as he held out a parchment of beast treats to you.
“You’ve been listening? This whole time?” You whispered in awe as you took the bag delicately as if he had just handed you a delicate china dish.
His brows furrowed again as he searched your eyes. “Well…yeah? I’m rather invested now.” He explained just as your potion turned its intended colour.
“Very good Mr. Black, Miss. L/N.” Professor Slughorn commented as he walked past your workbench.
You were alerted to the fact that class was over when everyone’s potions were vanished with a pop and students started to pack up their belongings.
“You’ll keep me posted, yeah? About the mooncalves?” Regulus asked as he started walking backwards towards the door.
“Sure.” You murmured, earning you a wide smile from the notoriously quiet boy.
Yes… You’d be more than happy to keep Regulus Black posted.
hello, i’ve been loving your summer kickoff event! may i please request a burger with regulus and the prompt: “of course i remembered, it’s your favourite!” thank you so much!
hi anon! so this is still part of my event, but i accidentally ended up doubling the word count i was aiming for and really loving what i wrote, so i’m posting it as a oneshot! im quite proud of this and i hope u like it too! <3
earl gray
regulus black x reader
summary: it's a completely ordinary day, except for the part where regulus realizes he's in love with you ⊹ 1.2k
warnings: brief/vague mention of walburga/family troubles
· ─ ⋆⋅✶⋅⋆ ─ ·
“What’s this?” Regulus asks, his voice soft in the way it only ever is with you.
He’s in your kitchen doorway, eyes on the porcelain cup you pressed into his hands, the warmth still lingering where your fingers briefly stilled over his before withdrawing.
“Tea,” you answer, like it’s nothing, turning back into the kitchen to tuck everything away.
But it’s not nothing. Because the second the warm tea hits his tongue, Regulus’ eyebrows twitch up in surprise.
“This is…” he starts, but the rest falters in his throat.
“Earl gray, loose leaf,” you say without looking up, your focus on wiping down the counter with a gingham dish rag. “From the tea shop on the corner of Birch and Cross. Steeped for four minutes. Splash of milk. No sugar.”
“How did you-?”
“I’ve watched you make it more times than I can count,” you say, a fondness in your tone as if recalling a cherished memory.
His eyes follow you as you bustle about the kitchen, placing dishes in the sink, putting the milk back in the refrigerator. There’s a slight tilt to his head, like he’s trying to figure out just how much attention you’d have to pay him to notice he steeps his tea for exactly four minutes—no more, no less. To have caught the name of the tea shop on the bag during the few seconds it sits on his counter while he moves the leaves to the unmarked tin in his cabinet.
To be able to read his mind when you’re not even looking at him.
“Of course I remembered. It’s your favorite.” You glance at him briefly, a knowing smile playing at your lips. “You always drink it when you’re having a rough day, at least. And I know today’s been a long one.”
He hadn’t told you that, but it’s true. He can feel it in the way his body holds itself—shoulders tight, spine rigid, jaw clenched—his stress intertwined in every muscle. And beneath it all, a bone-deep exhaustion. If he were to look in the mirror, he could expect to find sunken eyes and his face drawn.
Spending the morning with his mother tends to have that effect.
Normally, he would escape to the quiet of his flat after a day like today. Spend the rest of his evening in solitude, and—you’re right—pacify his emotions with a cup of his favorite tea.
He doesn’t quite remember when he started coming to yours instead. Choosing your company over quiet isolation. Where he can swallow his frustrations. Tough out his turmoil. That’s what he was used to, before you. Before you were there, gently encouraging him to do the last thing he thought he wanted: talk about it. And yet, he knows he’s better for it.
Regulus realizes he’s never had a friend like you before. Or, maybe, something more than a friend. Maybe the quiet ways you take care of him and the way your gentle touch always seems to linger have been indications of your true feelings. Maybe the way a smile comes more easily to him and the warmth that swells in his chest when you’re near are indications of his.
The realization catches in his throat. What this is, what you are to him. Over a blood cup of tea… he feels ridiculous.
But isn’t it better to be ridiculous than afraid? He never liked to think about it before—you, this. Putting himself in the vulnerable position of placing his heart in your hands, where you could so easily break it. Abandon it.
His heart still races as he thinks about it now, but for a different reason entirely.
Perhaps it’s your patience that changed him, never asking to put a label on what this is. Your constant presence, showing up even when it would’ve been easier not to. You let him learn, in his own time, how to lean on someone else. And he finally realizes it’s okay to lean on you.
Maybe it’s partly that, and partly because he knows you’re worth the risk.
“Is it alright?” you ask, a hint of worry sneaking into your tone, because he’s just been standing there. Tea resting idly in his hands, cooled down to the point where steam no longer wafts from the pale surface. You could have put too much milk. Or not enough. Or you needed to let it steep for longer.
“Of course,” he quickly reassures you. Reading the insecurity on your face, he’s desperate to squash it. “It’s lovely.”
He takes a long drink of the tea. “It’s perfect,” he adds, between sips, savoring every drop. The fact that it was made by your loving hands make it taste better than any cup of tea he’s ever made himself.
The tension leaves your shoulders as you watch him, mirroring the way his had eased several minutes ago. He hadn’t even noticed it, the weight lifting. But he knows it’s your presence that did it.
He slowly places the cup on the counter, staring at it for a moment. Hesitating, before his eyes flash to you, and determination sets in his gaze.
In a few long strides, he rounds the counter. You drop what you’re doing as his hand comes up to the side of your face, his fingertips lightly brushing across your cheek until he gains enough confidence to firmly cup your jaw.
Your breath hitches as his eyes flicker to your lips. He waits a moment, giving you the space to back away if this isn’t what you want. When you lean into it, he brings his free hand to cup the other side of your face, too. Any lingering hesitation promptly vanishes when his lips finally meet yours.
There are no fireworks, like the romantics said there would be. Time doesn’t stop, the stars don’t collide.
The one thing they did get right? The way the world fades away, insignificant in the face of you. He soaks up the warmth of your presence as your hands find his chest, sliding across the cool, crisp fabric of his black button-up, the press of your palms a gentle comfort.
Regulus feels like he belongs in this moment. In this kiss that he didn’t know he was longing for, as your soft lips move against his. He’d stay here forever if he could, but he has to come up for air eventually.
For a moment, you just stay there. Still, foreheads pressed against each other, sharing heavy breaths as you both come back to reality.
First to break the silence, a shaky murmur shaped like a joke slips past your lips, “Must’ve been some cup of tea.”
Regulus laughs, a happy sound from deep in his belly that stirs up a warm swirl of affection in your chest, and he kisses you again.
summary: When Regulus suddenly pulls away from you, arguing and ignoring you, you decide to mirror his behaviour. how long can this avoidance last?
for this request here!
cw: angst with a happy ending?, Regulus doesn't deal with his feelings in a healthy way.
Regulus Black is many things. Some of them good – brilliant, fiercely loyal – and some of them not so good. Lately, it seems he’s chosen to lean hard into the worst of it: avoidant, closed off, stubborn to a fault. Almost overnight, he shut down, retreating behind an invisible wall that no one’s been able to scale.
The fight that followed shouldn’t have happened, but it did. Tension had been building for days, maybe weeks, until it finally cracked. What came out were clipped words, cryptic excuses, cold eyes, and raised voices. You knew exactly what he was doing, pulling away, keeping you at arm’s length. And you knew why. Years of being close to him had taught you the patterns, the ways Regulus handled pain or fear. But this time felt different. Sharper. Colder. Worse.
Now, he’s barely there at all. He slips in and out of rooms like a shadow, avoiding eye contact, changing direction the moment he sees you. You haven't spoken properly in weeks, and really, you've hardly even seen him. Just fragments, his back disappearing around a corner, the edge of his voice drifting through a corridor. Like he’s haunting the place more than living in it.
You see him first at the end of the corridor, all sharp lines and quick steps, his satchel slung over one shoulder, head down like he’s got somewhere important to be. It’s a lie, of course. You know his timetable. You know he has charms in fifteen minutes, and that it’s three doors down from where you’re standing. There’s no rush. He just doesn’t want to be intercepted. Doesn’t want to see you.
Which is exactly why you step out from the alcove you’ve been leaning against and into his path.
He hesitates, just barely, but it’s enough. His gait falters for half a second before he smooths it over. You can see it in the way his jaw tenses, the flicker of annoyance that crosses his face before it shutters again.
"Regulus."
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even glance at you. Just keeps walking, brushing past like you’re no more than part of the scenery. A Stone wall. A speck of dust. Irrelevant.
"Regulus," you try again, firmer this time, planting yourself more squarely in his way. “Seriously? You’re just going to pretend I’m not here?”
He veers around you with surgical precision, not so much as a grunt of acknowledgment. It’s almost impressive, the way he navigates the space like you’re nothing but air.
Your chest tightens. “You’re unbelievable.”
Still nothing. His footsteps echo down the corridor, growing fainter, lighter, until all you’re left with is silence and the low, familiar simmer of humiliation blooming under your skin.
You stand there a moment longer, watching the spot where he disappeared around the corner, feeling something inside you snap, a thread pulled too tight and finally giving way.
Fine.
If Regulus Black wants to rot in whatever self-made hell he’s wrapped himself in, then so be it. Let him. You’re done chasing after shadows. Done trying to break through walls that were never meant to let you in.
You turn on your heel, fists clenched at your sides. There’s no relief in the decision, just an exhausted sort of fury curling beneath your ribs. Bitter and brittle and long overdue.
You’ll make it simple for him.
-
Ignoring Regulus becomes a discipline, something sharp and deliberate. Like learning a new spell, it’s difficult at first, but easier with repetition. You stop aching when he enters a room. Stop scanning the corridors for the flash of his robes or the angle of his jaw. You stop checking your watch and counting the minutes until your paths might cross, because now, it doesn’t matter.
He’s nothing to you now. Nothing. Or so you say.
In the common room, you take your place in the circle of armchairs closest to the fire, the way you always have. He sits two chairs away, as he often does, silent, motionless, legs crossed and posture rigid. It’s almost normal. You don’t look at him. You laugh at something Barty says, your hand curling around the steaming cup of tea in your lap, and don’t notice the way Regulus’ head lifts just slightly, or the way his eyes linger too long.
You’ve gotten very good at not noticing.
In Potions, you partner with Mary Macdonald. She's competent, efficient, and doesn’t ask you why you’re not working with Regulus anymore. People do notice, of course but you give them nothing. When someone nudges you during breakfast and asks, “Is Regulus alright? He seems a bit off lately,” you just blink and say, “I wouldn’t know.”
And that’s the truth. You wouldn’t.
You don’t know what he does with his evenings now, or whether he still takes his tea with two sugars. You don’t know if he’s sleeping, if he’s eating, if his nightmares have returned. You’ve stopped wondering. Or at least, you’re pretending you have. It's almost the same thing.
Even when you catch glimpses of him – half-reflections in windows, the blur of his profile at the end of the dining hall – you hold your ground. You don’t let your eyes linger. You don’t allow yourself the indulgence of curiosity. You don’t break.
Because Regulus may be hurting, unraveling quietly under the weight of whatever silent war he’s waging, but he made a choice.
He chose to push you away. To make you feel small and unwanted and forgettable.
And you won’t let yourself be made to feel that way again.
-
The rain seems inevitable. The clouds hang heavy in the sky above, a promise of something cold and unforgiving. You’re already late for Transfiguration, but honestly, it’s the last thing on your mind.
You spot him in the courtyard before he notices you, and you correct your course. A quick detour around a column, a turn of the corner, a speedier pace to your step, and you'll be out of his reach.
But no. The second your foot hits the cobblestone, there's a hand, rough and cold, seizing your arm. You know that touch.
You look up, meeting his eyes for the first time in weeks. Regulus Black looks awful. His eyes are shadowed and hollowed-out. His hair is a mess, falling too far over his forehead, his robes unkempt, like he hasn’t been sleeping, like he hasn't been doing anything except falling apart.
You want to look away. You don’t. You keep your eyes trained on him, but that deep pit of anger in your stomach is still there, sharp and heavy.
“What do you want?” you ask, softer than you should, though anger tints your voice.
He doesn’t answer, straight away. His mouth opens, but no words come out. He looks at you, and for just a moment, you see it. The shame. The apology, maybe. The confusion. It’s all there, hiding under that practiced mask of indifference he wears.
"I just want to talk," he finally mutters, his voice hoarse, like it’s been a while since he’s had the chance to speak to anyone at all.
You laugh, bitter and short, shaking your head. "Oh, and whatever Regulus wants, he gets, right?" You can hear the venom in your tone, and you can’t help it. It’s all that’s left.
Regulus flinches at the sound of your laugh, like you slapped him across the face. For a moment, he stands still, unsure how to react to the accusation, or maybe to the bitterness that coats your words. His grip on your arm tightens for a second, then loosens again, as though he's testing how much distance he can maintain before you pull away completely.
"I didn't want to hurt you," he says quietly.
You stand there, staring at him, heart pounding in your chest. The rain is starting to fall in light drizzles, little droplets sliding down the cobblestones, soft and relentless. You want to scream, to ask why, to demand something – anything – from him. But your voice is caught somewhere between your chest and your throat, the words tangled and useless. So, you stay quiet.
Regulus’ eyes shift to the ground, like he can’t bear to hold your gaze any longer. His hand drops from your arm, and he seems to fold into himself, his composure slipping. You can see it in the way his shoulders slump, in the way he shifts his weight from one foot to the other.
“I know I fucked up,” he mutters, voice hoarse, barely audible against the rain. “I know. I thought... I thought you’d be better off. And I can’t–”
You cut him off, not out of anger, but because the words don’t even make sense to you. “That wasn’t your decision to make,” you say, voice quieter than it should be, but the sting is still sharp. “I’m more than capable of making my own choices, Regulus.”
His face tightens. He looks like he’s about to say something – his mouth opens, but no words come out. He swallows hard, forcing something down that’s threatening to choke him. He opens his mouth again, but nothing. Again. A third time, and still nothing.
A fresh wave of frustration bubbles in your chest. You’ve had enough. He can’t expect you to stand here, waiting for him to speak the things he’s too afraid to say, too proud to admit. You’ve been waiting for weeks, and all this silence is suffocating you.
“I need to go,” you say, your tone flat and final. You push past him, careful not to make contact. Every step feels like it weighs a tonne, like it’s taking everything in you to turn your back on him. To walk away. It should feel good, shouldn’t it?
But as soon as you make it halfway across the courtyard, you hear his voice crack like thunder.
“I need you.”
The words stop you dead in your tracks. You freeze, caught between the weight of the words and the weight of the rain beginning to fall more steadily now, the drops slicking your hair to your neck and drenching your robes.
You don't turn around. You can't. If you do, you’re afraid you’ll shatter. But you can feel his eyes on you, burning with something you can’t quite place.
“I hate that I do,” he continues, his voice raw now, desperate. The words sound like they’re being dragged out of him, like every one of them is fighting against the pressure inside him. “But I can’t go on pretending I don’t.”
“What… what are you saying?” The words come out quieter than you expect, a little shaky, but you can’t help it. It’s like you’re underwater, and the only thing that matters now is the sound of his voice.
Regulus steps closer, but the distance between you still feels insurmountable. You don’t turn around. You won’t. If you do, you're afraid you’ll be swept away by whatever this is, and you’re not sure you can survive it again.
He runs a hand through his wet hair, clearly frustrated. The damp strands stick to his forehead, his eyes dark.
"I'm a fucking mess," he says, the words tumbling out with a force that seems to shudder through him. "Everything around us is a fucking mess. There's all these expectations being put on me, I feel like I don't know anything anymore, like I don't know what I'm doing, or where to go."
The sincerity in his voice, the rawness of his words, makes something inside you twist painfully. A part of you wants to reach out, to understand, but all you can feel is the knot tightening in your chest.
Why is he doing this now? After everything.
Anger, sharp and sudden, flickers through you. It surges up from the pit of your stomach, leaving no room for uncertainty. You turn around then, and when you do, you can’t help but raise your voice, a crack of frustration breaking through the dam you'd built around yourself.
“What does that have to do with me?” Your tone is biting, louder than you intended, but you can't help it. He’s breaking apart in front of you, and you're the one left holding the weight of his mess, of his silence.
Regulus flinches at the sharpness of your voice, like you've struck him physically, and his eyes flicker with something that’s unmistakably guilty. His mouth opens again, then closes, his brows furrowing, struggling to hold himself together. The words he wants to say seem just out of reach, lost in his tangled thoughts.
"I–I don’t know," he breathes, hands trembling at his sides, water dripping from the end of his soaked sleeves. "But I need you to understand, this isn’t about you… it never was. It’s me. It’s always been me, and I…" His voice cracks on the last word, admitting any of this is costing him. Rarely, if ever, does he talk so openly about anything, let alone this.
You can’t stop looking at him, the mess he’s become. His hair plastered against his forehead, his face drawn, like he’s seen more than he can handle. And it hits you then, how hard he is trying.
You swallow, trying to keep the lump in your throat from choking you. “I don’t care about the reasons, Regulus. I don’t want to care anymore.”
The words sound like they’re coming from someone else, someone who doesn't know the ache of seeing him like this, standing in the rain, looking like he’s falling apart at the seams.
He stares at you, his face crumbling realising how much he’s lost, how much he’s pushed away. He steps forward in the rain, desperate, but you don’t move.
“Please,” he says, and the desperation in his voice hits you in the gut. His voice is so raw now, jagged, almost broken. “Please don’t walk away from me. I can’t–I don’t know how to fix this, but I need you. I need you, and I don’t know how to say it any clearer. I’m an idiot. A fucking coward who pushed you away because I couldn’t face what was staring at me.”
It’s too raw, too vulnerable. But you're already too tired to be angry, too worn down by the silence and the coldness that he wrapped around himself. And yet, here he is – breaking down in the middle of a thunderstorm, looking like he might just drown in it if you don’t say something, anything.
"I’m in love with you," Regulus blurts, as though the words are being ripped out of him. His breath shudders in the rain, and you can see his chest heaving with the effort of speaking.
“I—what?”
“I’m in love with you,” he repeats, louder now, the words crashing through the storm. His eyes pierce yours, his whole body tense. “And I’ve always been. And I can’t do this anymore. I can’t pretend I don’t need you when I do.”
Regulus moves again, his hands reaching out to you, tentative but insistent. He’s closer now, his chest barely an inch from yours, the rain soaking both of you.
And maybe it’s the exhaustion that’s been building up between you both. Maybe it’s the silence that’s finally broken. But without thinking, you reach for him, pulling him closer by the collar of his damp robes.
“I hate you,” you whisper, even though there’s no venom in it. There’s something softer in your voice now, even as your hands grip him tightly to stop him from disappearing. “I hate that you did this. I hate that you made me feel like nothing.”
Regulus’ eyes flicker with pain, but his hands are on your face now, gentle and desperate, as though he’s terrified you might still walk away.
“I know,” he breathes, his lips barely brushing yours. “I know. I don’t deserve you. I never did. But I’m here now. Please, please, let me fix this.” His voice is barely a whisper, terrified.
And then, before either of you can say anything more, the distance between you collapses.
His lips crash against yours, hungry, urgent, desperate. It’s a collision of everything – weeks of hurt and silence, years of unspoken feelings. The kiss is messy, raw, as though he’s pouring everything into it, everything he’s kept locked away. You feel it in the way his hands clutch you, pulling you closer, like he needs to prove something.
Rain washes over both of you, but it doesn't matter. You kiss him harder, and he meets you with the same urgency, as if each second you’re together is a second worth fighting for. It’s not graceful or perfect..
And when you finally pull away, breathless, your forehead resting against his, you realise that for the first time in weeks, everything feels like it could be okay again.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice cracking again. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I never meant to.”
And this time, when you look at him, you don’t look away. You let him see everything in your eyes. Hurt, anger, confusion and something softer.
“I know,” you reply, your voice thick with emotion. “I know.”
masterlist <3
“Baby,” Regulus’ voice comes out two parts affection and one part exasperation as he feels your knees pressing down into the bed on either side of him. You hum distractedly in response, mind wandering to places he knows he can never follow.
He cracks his eyes open, a small smile involuntarily making its way onto his face at the sight of you. You’re as pretty as you always are, so pretty he wonders if you’re actually a dryad of some sort. You certainly look the part, with daisies braided into your hair and miniature toadstool earrings.
He watches as you outstretch your fingers to fiddle with the chain on his neck, your eyebrows bunched in concentration. Your tongue juts out of your lip adorably as you bite down on it, and he resists the urge to kiss you senseless.
The chain Regulus was wearing was nothing more than a thick black string, but it was knotted around various small crystals, courtesy of your hobby of collecting them. When he had first asked you out with a ring, you had shyly given him this string with a single crystal hanging from it – a rose quartz. “For my unconditional love,” you had mumbled, blushing so hard he thought you mirrored a rose. But the pink that coated your cheeks was a lovelier shade than any flower he had laid his eyes on.
From then on, you would knot new crystals onto the string whenever you found them. Regulus was pretty sure some of them had to have been rocks or pebbles, but he loved you too much not to indulge you.
“Mon chéri,” he tries again, amusement seeping into his tone. “It’s 5 in the morning.”
“So?” you ask distractedly, your fingers still tugging and pulling his necklace from side to side. “5AM is when the crystals are most active, you know. This is when they pull the most power from the core of the earth,” you explain matter-of-factly, so dedicated to your task that you don’t notice his smile widening.
You sway forward slightly, unable to balance on the balls of your knees. Regulus silently wraps his palms around your hips, tugging downward until you’re comfortably seated on his stomach.
That was when he noticed you had odd-shaped stones in one of your hands, sunlight reflecting off of them to give a pale blue glow. “What are those?”
You perk up at his question, abandoning your task of trying to tie the stones onto the string. Your head tilts upwards to give him a sunny smile. “They’re aquamarine crystals, obviously.”
“Yeah?” he murmurs, his smile softening. It doesn’t matter how many times you do this, it’s always just as endearing to him. The way you smile fondly at him – like he’s silly for not knowing.
“Yeah,” you beam. “I found these in the stream nearby, the one next to the big daisy field with all the horsies.”
“You walked into the water again, then?”
It’s too laden with fondness to sound accusatory, but you turn slightly sheepish anyway, nodding. Your hands find their way back to his necklace, and this time you manage to loop the string around a crystal successfully. Your face lights up, obviously pleased with your work.
He huffs out a laugh, leaning forward to run his hands down your long skirt. As expected, he finds it damp and sticky. “You’ll have to take a bath, mon amour.”
“In the stream?”
“No,” he mutters, trying but failing to conceal his amused grin. He presses his elbows into the mattress, hoisting himself upwards to press an amorous kiss to your forehead. He can’t help himself, the blush on your cheeks and the shy smile too much for his heart to handle. “In the shower, baby.”
“Oh,” you reply as a way of answer, and Regulus can’t help but chuckle at the slight disappointment in your voice. “Maybe I can shower in the water tomorrow, then? With all the ducks. These ducks are nice; they eat the bread I throw at them. You can come too if you’d like.”
“Maybe,” he replies indulgently, with absolutely no intention of letting you bathe with the ducks instead of with him — but he was never one to deny you anything you asked for.
"that's it, darling," regulus coos, his chin resting on your shoulder. "keep going."
you're sat in his lap, your back flush to his chest with your legs spread wide as you clutch your book with white-knuckles. his fingers expertly slip in and out of you, his thumb deftly working at your clit in an intoxicating combination that makes your mind cloudy.
regulus has made the rules of this exchange pretty clear: you stop reading, he stops moving.
at first, you had thought he was merely teasing, wanting to see just how far he could push you. but when you had first dropped your book, head falling back against his shoulder to let out a shaky moan, he had pulled his fingers out instantly with a reprimanding tsk. it was only when you started up again, voice shaking and cracking around the words, that regulus resumed his prior motions.
every now and then, he curls his fingers up to press against your g-spot, a wicked glint in his eye as he watches you stumble over the current piece of dialogue you're reading
"reg, please-" you breathe, eyes screwed shut as you feel your orgasm slowly build. the muscles in your stomach tighten, and in an effort to finish faster, you grind down onto his fingers.
"ah, ah," regulus hums, using his free hand to cup your cheek and redirect your face towards your now forgotten book. "told you, love. have to keep going. y'doing so well for me."
you're so close that if he stopped now, you're sure tears will escape your eyes and roll down your cheeks, a pathetic display of desperation. your only option is to continue reading.
the words become blurry as you fight to keep your eyes open, and you're only half sure that whatever you're saying is even comprehensible as you stumble through paragraph after paragraph.
all it takes is the pad of regulus' thumb swiping over your clit particularly roughly for you to see white. your book hits the floor with a thump, drowned out by the sounds of your moans and mumbled thanks. regulus holds your hips as you writhe in his lap, pressing kisses to your shoulder as you come down from your climax, all the while muttering praise and compliments.
"did so well, love," he hums, kissing your temple. "wanna see how well you can focus w'my cock in you, now."
You could feel your boyfriends eyes on you as you carefully applied shimmery pink gloss to your lips. You tried your best to ignore his blatant staring and focus on your make up but it kept getting harder and harder as time went on.
Regulus was leaned against the bedpost of your dorm with his arms loosely crossed. He hadn’t meant to linger. Really, he’d just come to walk with you to breakfast—but now that he was here, watching you, he couldn’t bring himself to move or speak.
There was something about the way your brow furrowed in deep concentration, the light sweep of your hand as it spread the lip gloss like it was an art form, that made his heart tighten in the most peculiar way.
Regulus found you utterly captivating.
Your eyes met his in the mirror for a fleeting second. “What?”
He blinked, straightening slightly, as though caught doing something forbidden. “Nothing.”
You arched a brow, the ghost of a smile tugging at your lips. “You're staring.”
“I wasn’t.” He lied, very badly. He couldn't ever lie to you.
You turned, still holding the applicator like a wand mid-spell. “Then what were you doing?”
He paused, then let out a quiet breath, eyes shifting across the room, looking anywhere but you,“Just… admiring. You’re very... precise.”
You laughed, and the sound filled the room like music. “That’s the nicest way anyone’s ever said ‘you take forever.’”
He smiled, just barely, but it reached his eyes. “No. I mean it's calming...Watching you.”
You tilted your head, surprised, slightly touched. Regulus didn’t give out compliments very easily. Not because he didn’t think them, no, but because putting them into words felt far more dangerous than any duel.
There was a beat of silence before he added, a bit quieter this time, “You're beautiful, even without all of that. But I like the way you care, the way you take your time.”
You blinked at him. For once, speechless and unsure what to say.
And Regulus, ever guarded, offered a small shrug, as if that would somehow make it less vulnerable. “Anyway. I'm ready when you are.”
He turned to go, but not before catching your reflection once more in the mirror—this time, smiling just a little more brightly than before.
Hi I was wondering if you could possibly make a cute regulus oneshot where regulus is just admiring the reader and compliments them in french knowing the reader doesn't understand. I love your posts so much. Hope you have a good day! 🌷🌟
Regulus Black x reader
જ⁀➴ Regulus loves to whisper French endearments to you ᝰ.ᐟ
Thank you lovely! enjoy 💕
Another sigh falls from your lips as you stretch your arms before laying down against the soft picnic blanket, the feeling of the material against your skin only elicits another sigh which in turn makes Regulus let out a breathy chuckle, looking down at you with soft eyes.
“Are you okay?” He asks pushing your hair from your face and tucking it behind your ear, he smiles, an expression overflowing with love. You look up at him, your hand shielding your eyes from the afternoon sun as it casts down against you both, and you notice the way its orangey light dusts against his skin making him glow, just like an angel.
“Yeah, m’just getting a little tired” you whisper, and you watch as he lays down on his front, chin propped up on his elbows. He looks down at you and there’s something in his expression that melts you completely.
He leans down to press a kiss or two against your jaw and then another to the corner of your mouth, smiling into the small peck. Regulus never fails to make you go all giddy, the small touches and his love-filled eyes, that have you hiding your face behind your hands.
You can hear him 'tut' slightly as his fingers wrap around your wrist, the warmth of his hand against yours as he guides them away from your face.
“There we go,” he says with a smile, the sight has your chest blooming with warmth. He leans into you once again before whispering, “Tu es tres jolie” his lips peppering kisses against your face, and you swear your heart is skipping beats.
The words leave his mouth so beautifully and even if you haven’t the slightest idea of what they mean they still seem so heavenly. In all honesty, he could be insulting you, the thought makes you chuckle.
You watch as he frowns slightly, tilting his head with slight confusion. “You could be insulting me, I would never know,” you tell him, Regulus shakes his head, his curls that frame his face bouncing as he does so.
“I would never” he gasps with fake offence, a hand over his heart, “Je t'aime tellement” he whispers, his hand resting on your hips as he lets his head fall against your shoulder.
“I still don’t understand” Your fingers thread through his wind-tussled hair and you can feel him chuckle against you.
“Do you want me to tell you?” He asks, sitting up slightly as he kisses your cheek, you nod with a small ‘Mhm’
He smiles, excitement flashing through his eyes as he pulls you up, both sitting crossed-legged on top of the soft blanket he whispers a quiet ‘Okay’ before he speaks again, “Tu es tres jolie” he says slowly, breaking down the words for you.
And for what you lack in knowledge of the language you make up for with passion, and he stifles his laughter behind his hand, “Hey! Don’t laugh, I’m trying” you tell him with a slight twinge of embarrassment.
“I’m not laughing at you,” he says taking your hands in his, fingers entwined as he rests them on his lap, “Now listen carefully” he tells you as he repeats the words even more slowly.
“Tu es tres jolie” You give him a weary smile and he nods.
“Perfect” he praises you, his thumb smoothing over the bumps of your knuckles, “It means, you are very pretty” he leans forward pressing his lips against yours, your noses bumping slightly with the action, and his gentle words leave you feeling all floaty.
He doesn’t have time to pull away before your arms wrap around his shoulders pulling him back into you as you kiss him, although it doesn’t last too long as you both end up smiling, which makes you both break out in a fit of giggles.
“Teach me more?” You ask, forehead resting against his.
“Of course beautiful,” he says, and he spends a good hour teaching you, enjoying how interested you seem to be. The sun will eventually set, and both you and Regulus pack away your small picnic into a basket before walking back to your quaint little village house, arms linked.
description: you and regulus are complete opposites, yet you couldn’t be happier together.
(sorry i died for a month. i don’t really like this but i wanted to post something again)
Regulus Black is, by all means, a quiet person. He keeps to himself and his select group of friends and to all else he is a dark and intimidating person.
You are a social butterfly, bouncing around various groups of friends from every house, smiling everywhere you go. All in all, you’re the opposite of Regulus Black.
Which is why it came as a shock to everyone the day he bid a goodbye to you, when you went to sit with your separate friends, by pressing a quick kiss on your cheek.
Though over time everyone around you both became accustomed to small occasional gestures of affection between the two of you, that is everyone except for Regulus.
He still finds it completely inconceivable that you, basically the sun to him, want to be with him.
So he still jumps a little when you suddenly appear behind him in the hall, wrapping your arms around his waist whilst he is in the middle of a idiotic conversation with Barty.
The second he hears your voice, all bubbly and excited, all thoughts of that previous conversation were out the window.
“Regulus!” You gasp excitedly as you squeeze around his waist gently.
“Hello, love.” He responds while quickly turning himself around in your arms to face you.
“You won’t believe what happened in transfiguration today!” You say while bouncing up and down on your toes.
Regulus quirks an eyebrow as a silent gesture of telling you to continue.
“Okay, okay, so..” You begin to ramble excitedly about some silly thing James had done to impress Lily, but Regulus wasn’t exactly listening.
Well of course he was listening, he listens to everything you’ve ever said, but at this very moment he was enraptured by just watching you.
The way your eyes sparkle in the light beaming in from the windows, how your hair is slightly messed up from the school day, but especially the glowing smile on your face as you talk a mile a minute.
Eventually Regulus snaps out of his little trance, glancing behind your head seeing Barty and Evan laughing and mocking Regulus, who's always been stone cold, melting before their eyes.
But what snaps them all out of their silent mocking, is when you finish your story.
“I mean I just can’t believe Lily finally agreed to a date with him.”
All three boys snap to your face when you say that and at once they speak.
