pairing: regulus black x reader
summary: sirius gets the honour of discovering what his brother regulus is like with his friends in more intimate settings, and can't help but be enthralled by how he behaves with his girlfriend.
wc: 1.7k
There’s nothing like being invited to a function by someone you’re not too close to. You get to witness the friendship dynamics between your friends and the people closest to them and weasel your way into new friendship connections. Their friends become your friends, and your life becomes an endless circle of beautiful social interactions. The marauders are no strangers to being invited to parties by their friends, but it’s definitely a first for them to be invited to anything by a group of slytherins, let alone Regulus Black’s own friend group.
Sirius and James have their guard up a little too high, because while they cradle their beers and huddle like a pair of penguins, Remus and Lily seem to be having fantastic conversation with a couple of Regulus’s closest friends across the garden. Sirius looks around the vast backyard — just minutes ago you had been singing with your friends to muggle music Sirius had to admit was in fact amazing, and Regulus had been mixing drinks by the makeshift bars and offering them to some friends who chugged them then instantly gagged at the strong taste.
Now, Sirius spots Regulus cradling a tall glass in his hands. The liquid inside it is colourful, and a small plastic straw is sticking out of the glass as Regulus makes his way towards you, trying not to spill the cocktail he made you. Sirius’s gaze is glued to you and his brother, even as James suggests for them to join in on a conversation somewhere. Sirius nods, but it still attentive to the way Regulus holds the glass up higher for you, and you lean down to latch your lips around the straw, taking eager sips from the drink as you carefully shield your face from your hair. Regulus carefully watches you, moving the glass to one hand so he can settle his second arm around your waist as you straighten up, immediately wrapping your arms over Regulus’s shoulders. You instantly press a kiss to your boyfriend's cheek, lips moving softly as you thank him for the drink. Despite Regulus creating abominable drinks for his friends mere minutes ago, this one is absolutely perfect for you — not to sweet nor too strong, but something you'll ask him to make you again.
Regulus grins widely and freely, and Sirius immediately assumes that Regulus is extremely intoxicated to be so overtly happy. But Regulus can’t be drunk, not when his movements are so graceful and co-ordinated. Sirius’s eyes widen when you slot your lips against your boyfriend’s and Regulus immediately reciprocates the act, tilting his head to the side slightly so you can deepen the kiss when you press your body against his, nudging your tongue into his mouth. Sirius averts his gaze when he realises he’s been stood there watching his brother snog the girlfriend he hasn't even met yet.
It’s a good call, because Regulus blindly reaches behind him to put down the drink so he can put both hands on your body, gripping your waist softly as he tangles his tongue with yours. Barty passes behind Regulus, smacking a strong hand onto his shoulder, causing your boyfriend to stumble forward and subsequently causing a moan to tumble from your lips. Regulus’s lips break from yours with a sigh falling from between them. You both turn to find Barty and playfully glare at him, still clinging onto each other, and Barty laughs into the rim of his beer bottle as he catches his best friend’s eye.
Regulus presses a kiss to the corner of your lips to retrieve your attention once more, and he brings up a hand to wipe away at your smudged lip gloss. You stand quietly, letting him brush the excess makeup away with his thumb, holding his hand in place when he begins moving it away so you can press a sweet kiss to his thumb. When Regulus lifts his eyes back up to meet yours, he smiles softly at you, hugging you close with one arm as he spins you both so he can fetch your drink from the counter. He takes a small sip from it then offers it to you, smirking to himself when you open your mouth to chase after the straw. Regulus takes that time to glance around the room, scoffing in amusement when he finds his older brother standing with his arms crossed as his friends make conversation with people.
“Wanna come say hi to my brother?” Regulus asks, immediately noting the slight nervousness that appears in your eyes at the mention. He smiles when you nod nonetheless, index finger coming up to brush against the line of your lips to hide evidence of the passionate kiss you had shared with Regulus. Your boyfriend lifts his hand to cradle your face, his other one abandoning the drink again so he can clean the skin surrounding your lips — seriously this time. He digs a hand in his pocket to retrieve a familiar tube of lip gloss, and you smile widely when he unscrews it, lifting it up to your lips. You part your lips slightly, eyes glued to your boyfriend as he carefully drags the item across your plump bottom lip, pressing his own lips together for you to mimic the movement before lifting the wand again to apply product onto the delicate line of your top lip. You so desperately want to kiss Regulus for the intimate act he has just displayed, but you don't want to ruin his precious work, so instead you mutter “Thank you” and take the hand Regulus offers you when he lets go of your waist.
Regulus calls out his brother’s name, and Sirius instantly feels relieved to partake in conversation with someone familiar to him. Yes, they may still be patching up their relationship, but Sirius definitely prefers Regulus’s company over anyone else’s.
“Y’alright mate?” Asks Sirius as he approaches you both, bringing a hand up to dap up his brother. Regulus lets go of your hand so he can pat his brother’s shoulder as they go into a weird half-hug that only men ever seem to do. “Sirius, this is-” You cut your boyfriend off to introduce yourself to Sirius, holding a hand out respectfully. “A shaker, huh?” Sirius asks as he shakes your hand, and you glance down to where your hands meet, frowning softly. “No actually, I don’t know why I did that.” Sirius smirks, glancing back towards Regulus, who tilts his head to the side with a smile.
“She wants you to like her, is all.”
“Is that so wrong?” You ask quietly, pressing yourself into your boyfriend’s side. Regulus presses a kiss to your temple, shaking his head softly. “Hey, why don’t you go meet some of Sirius’s friends while I show him around? See if anyone’s giving them trouble?” You nod quickly, letting Sirius get dragged away by Regulus. You let your shoulders slump in relief. Now Sirius is going to think you’re shy because you were barely able to utter a single word in front of him. Maybe you just need another drink.
When you snap yourself out of it, you realise you’re being watched by a certain trio. They make their way over to you, Lily leading the pack, and you shortly consider turning around and pretending you didn’t see them. “Scary, huh?” Lily suggests, and you eagerly nod your head. “Most terrifying interaction of my life, I think, and I’ve been given a detention by Professor McGonagall before.”
James laughs loudly at your comment but nods nonetheless, as he mutters “I know that’s right.”
Remus shrugs, lighting a cigarette as he mumbles, “I don’t know, I would’ve thought meeting the parents would be scarier.”
You huff out a laugh, shaking your head in disagreement. “You’d be surprised by how little their parents care. The second they found out who my parents were, I was in the clear. A sad thought, really, but at least they leave us alone." You freeze, eyes widening at your own words, adding "Sorry, I tend to overshare a little when I drink and Pandora isn’t by my side to censor me.”
“At least you have someone to hold you back - all these three do is encourage each other.” Your eyes turn sympathetic at Lily’s words, but you laugh a little at the offended look in her boyfriend’s eyes. You lean in closer to Lily, mumbling quietly “Look, honey, if you need more girls around, we’re here.”
“Come on, Black, don’t try to steal my girlfriend, that’s not classy.” Argues James, but you just raise an eyebrow at him, echoing “Black?”
He freezes for a moment, unsure how to recover from calling you by your boyfriend’s last name, but a hand appears on your waist accompanied by a voice that says “No, that’s right.”
Your face goes hot at Regulus’s words, and you twist your torso to get a good look at him. He shrugs as he meets your eyes, asking genuinely “You do know I’m going to ask you to marry me soon enough, don’t you?” Rendered speechless, you’re unable to do anything but stare at Regulus as his brother and his friends stare at your reaction. “I mean, well, I did, but I…” You trail off, blinking slowly, and Regulus grins, excusing you both from the conversation with the few outliers.
Regulus waits patiently as you open and close your mouth, gathering your thoughts into words before finally saying “I guess I hoped more than I really knew - I just didn’t know we were advertising it to people.” Regulus scoffs lovingly, squeezing your hips “Gonna marry you and build you a nice house our parents won’t know of. And I’ll keep loving you until even after I die.”
You lift yourself onto your tippy toes to press a kiss to Regulus’s lips, mumbling against them “Drinking makes you sappy, you know?”
He hums, replying “I’ve said too much, haven’t I?”
“Nonsense.”
Sirius stares from across the room as Regulus brings you into another kiss and sighs; he thought they had been invited to a party, not an engagement celebration.
synopsis: you and regulus are hopelessly in love, neither of you capable of admitting it. your older brothers, remus and sirius who are very much together, watch the pining with increasing amusement before deciding it’s time to knock some sense into you both and finally get you together themselves.
warnings: friends in love but in denial, so much fluff, misunderstandings, silent treatment, childhood friends to lovers, idiots in love, grumpy x sunshine, reg being a little shit, jealousy, regulus being possessive, scheming, a little angst, NSFW, smut, sub/dom, breeding kink, semi-public fucking, oral, harsh fucking, fingering, slight choking, dirty talk, overstimulation, spanking, bite marking.
w/c: 8.3k
a/n: this was 100% self indulgent! also please listen to Friends by Chase Atlantic when marked, it makes the scene way better ;) masterlist
── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──
Remus and Sirius could never seem to stop watching you and Regulus from afar. It was an odd sight, even after all this time, to see their siblings so utterly entangled in each other’s company.
No matter how many afternoons passed like this, with you seated beside Regulus beneath the dappled shade of the courtyard trees, the picture never quite lost its strange allure.
Remus, in particular, always felt a quiet tug of wonder whenever his gaze drifted to you both.
You, his younger sister, whose heart had always seemed so open, so achingly bright.
And beside you, of all people, sat Regulus Black. Who so rarely let anyone breach the carefully built walls around him.
It still surprised Remus, no matter how many times he saw it, the way Regulus changed in your presence.
The shift was subtle but unmistakable, a softening in his expression, a quiet attentiveness in the way he leaned towards you.
His eyes, usually so cold and distant, seemed warmer when they lingered on your face. He spoke more easily with you than with anyone else, his clipped words touched with something that almost resembled tenderness.
And you, in turn, seemed utterly at ease beside him. Where others might have been intimidated by his silence, his sharp glances and sharper tongue, you only smiled, filling the spaces between his words with your own easy warmth.
And though it had once seemed strange to Remus, this pairing, he could no longer imagine it otherwise.
Sirius, of course, noticed it all as well. He often watched the two of you with a wide grin, elbowing Remus with a conspiratorial glint in his eyes. "Look at them," he would murmur, voice low with amusement.
"So bloody obvious and yet so impossibly dense."
And Remus could only shake his head, a fond exasperation curling in his chest. For there was no denying it anymore. You and Regulus were in love.
Anyone with eyes could see it, could feel the invisible thread that bound you together, taut and shimmering with all that was left unsaid.
Yet somehow, you both remained oblivious to the truth of it. Friends, you called yourselves, though the word seemed a poor fit for what passed between you.
Friends did not linger in each other’s gaze quite so long.
Friends did not find excuses to brush fingers, to sit a little too close beneath the wide sky.
Friends did not look at each other the way you did, as though the world had narrowed to a single point and everything else had faded away.
It was almost maddening to watch. And yet, neither Sirius nor Remus could bring themselves to look away.
They had been here themselves, after all. They knew too well how love could creep in slowly, unnoticed, until it filled every corner of the heart.
They knew how blind one could be to one’s own feelings, how fear and uncertainty could bind the tongue and still the heart.
It ran in the family, perhaps. This stubborn obliviousness. This tendency to circle around love instead of stepping boldly into it.
So they watched. From beneath the archway, from across the courtyard, from the windows of the library. And with every glance they exchanged, with every sigh and shake of the head, a quiet resolve began to take root between them.
Because someone had to do something. Someone had to help you both see what was already written so clearly in every glance, every smile, every lingering touch.
And really, who better to take matters into their own hands than two Marauders, hopelessly in love themselves, determined to see their siblings find the same happiness?
Remus and Sirius shared a look. Then their eyes shifted to Barty, lounging nearby with that infuriatingly charming grin.
They didn’t say anything.
The idea came instantly. The execution would be easy. And with Barty involved, jealousy was practically guaranteed.
-
It had almost become a habit now, the way your afternoons led you here. The quiet comfort of the library’s farthest corner, a sun-drenched alcove of old wood and older books, always somehow waiting for the two of you.
No one really disturbed this place, and fewer still disturbed the pair of you when you were here, heads bent close over parchment and ink.
You sat with your chin propped in one palm, quill twirling idly between your fingers, the open pages of an Arithmancy text long abandoned in favor of quieter conversation.
Regulus sat across from you, sharp-boned and poised as ever, though the usual hard set of his mouth was softened now.
His hand moved absently, the tip of his quill tracing light, meaningless shapes in the margin of his notes. His gaze, though, was not on his work.
It was on you.
"Your hair is falling into your eyes again," he murmured, voice low and even, with a quiet patience that few others ever heard from him.
You blinked up at him, a little smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.
"Is it? Oh." You pushed the strands back clumsily with your fingers, only for them to tumble forward once more a moment later.
And then, without another word, Regulus reached across the table, slow and careful, brushing the stray locks gently behind your ear.
His fingers lingered for the briefest moment against your temple, the lightest of touches, and when he drew his hand back, something unreadable flickered in his eyes.
You smiled again, bright and unbothered, your voice a soft lilt that always seemed to wind beneath his defenses. "Thank you, Reggie!"
He only gave a faint incline of his head, as though it were nothing, though you noticed the way he lowered his gaze to his notes with a sudden, almost studious focus.
"You know," you said after a moment, voice bright with amusement, "you would probably get more studying done if you stopped doodling in the margins."
He gave a soft huff of breath, almost a laugh. "And you would probably get more studying done if you stopped daydreaming so much."
You gasped in mock outrage. "Rude."
"Entirely true," he replied smoothly, though there was a faint, fond curve to his mouth now.
Before you could retort, the distant thud of boots echoed through the stacks, followed by the low murmur of familiar voices.
"Oi, there you are," came Sirius’s voice, louder now as he rounded the shelves, Remus close behind him.
Regulus straightened in an instant, the soft warmth you had coaxed from him retreating as though a door had been quietly closed.
Remus and Sirius were an easy, familiar sight together. Remus with his gentle, thoughtful gaze, always steady, and Sirius with all his wild charm, half a grin playing at his mouth as he strode toward your table.
Remus’s eyes softened when they met yours. "We were looking for you," he said with quiet fondness, reaching to ruffle your hair with one large, calloused hand.
"You were supposed to meet us after quidditch."
You laughed, swatting at him playfully. "I forgot."
"She forgets everything," Sirius said cheerfully, flopping into the empty seat beside you, far too comfortable.
"Probably forgot we even existed. Here she is, holed up with my charming little brother, plotting who knows what."
Regulus gave him a look of cool indifference. "If we were plotting, you would not know about it."
"See what I mean," Sirius grinned, nudging you with his elbow. "Utter delight, that one."
You giggled softly, glancing between them. "Honestly, I am just trying to get through potions."
Remus settled beside Sirius, leaning comfortably into his side, fingers twining absently with his.
Sirius nudged you again. "And you dragged poor Reg into it with you? Cruel."
"I did not drag him," you said with mock primness, smiling at Regulus, who only inclined his head slightly, gaze unreadable once more. "He came willingly."
"I can hardly believe that," Sirius teased, though there was no real bite to his words. If anything, a note of genuine curiosity threaded through them.
Even now, after all these years, he still marveled quietly at the strange friendship that had grown between you and his brother.
Regulus remained silent, though something faint touched his eyes when he glanced your way.
Remus watched it all with a thoughtful expression, his gaze lingering on Regulus a moment longer than usual.
There was a quiet understanding in his eyes, an old awareness that never quite left him. He had always seen it, the way Regulus shifted when he was near you, the way your presence seemed to gentle him.
But as always, you seemed blissfully unaware of it.
And Sirius, ever impatient, could hardly help himself.
"You know," he began, voice bright with mischief, "we were just saying how you two spend more time together than anyone else these days. Should we be worried? Or are we finally going to admit that this is something more than just... studying?"
You laughed, shaking your head. "It is friendship, Sirius. Nothing more."
Regulus, for his part, said nothing at all, though a faint tension had crept into his shoulders.
Remus only smiled softly, squeezing Sirius’s hand in silent warning. Not too much, not yet. They would need more careful coaxing than that.
But as the four of you sat there in that sunlit corner of the library, conversation weaving around old books and quiet glances, the truth hung between you like the dust in the air. Obvious to anyone who cared to look.
And though you and Regulus remained blind to it still, there was a quiet certainty in Remus’s heart as he glanced at his sister, then at the boy who watched her when she was not looking.
It was only a matter of time.
“You know,” Sirius was saying, tone far too casual to be innocent, “if you keep sitting here in the dark with Regulus all day, you are going to forget how to have any fun.”
You looked up from your book, a small smile tugging at your mouth. “This is fun,” you replied lightly, voice warm with amusement. “Some of us do enjoy quiet, you know. And Regulus is the most fun person ever!”
“Fun?” Sirius repeated, making a face like he’d just bitten into something sour. “Right. Loads of laughs.”
Love really was blind. Because if Sirius had to name the most boring person in the entire castle, it would be his own brother—without hesitation.
Regulus was practically allergic to fun. The human embodiment of a sigh.
“You used to be so bright and cheerful, too. What have you done to her, Reggie?”
Regulus, who had been steadily ignoring the entire exchange in favor of a well-worn copy of Advanced Potions, turned a single cool glance toward his brother.
“If anything, she has done something to me,” he said smoothly.
“And she is perfectly capable of deciding what she enjoys.”
The words were calm, but there was something softer beneath them, something that made Remus glance sidelong at Sirius with the faintest of knowing smiles.
Regulus’s fingers tapped lightly against the spine of his book, eyes lowered again. You could see it — the way his guard was pulling back up around him, piece by piece.
You bit the inside of your cheek, a soft breath caught behind your ribs.
Enough of this.
“Well,” you said brightly, pushing your chair back with a soft scrape against the floor, “that is quite enough for one afternoon.”
Before either of them could reply, you reached out and caught Regulus gently by the sleeve of his robe, fingers curling lightly around the fabric.
“Come on, Reggie,” you said, voice soft but sure. “We will go somewhere quieter.”
Regulus looked up at you, something unspoken flickering in his gaze — and then he nodded, closing his book with a quiet snap and rising smoothly to his feet beside you.
Sirius blinked, half a grin still lingering on his mouth. “Oh? Running off with her now, are you?”
You stifled a laugh, giving a small shake of your head. “I will see you both later,” you said lightly, offering a smile first to Sirius, then to Remus, who only returned it with a soft, knowing warmth that lingered long after you had turned away.
And with that, your hand still brushing lightly against Regulus’s sleeve, you led him from the sun-dappled corner, the faint sound of Sirius’s teasing voice echoing behind you, growing fainter with each step.
Your steps are light, weaving easily through the scattered leaves and roots as you lead Regulus away from the library.
He follows you with that quiet steadiness of his, hands in his pockets, eyes flicking to you now and again. He never needs to ask where you are going. You both already know.
And soon, there it is—your favorite tree. Ancient and wide, its branches reaching high into the pale blue sky, its roots curling like lazy serpents across the earth.
Without a word, Regulus leans his back to the trunk and exhales softly, lids fluttering closed for a moment as if to savor the calm.
You smile at him, bright and easy, and with no hesitation at all, you fold your legs beneath you and settle onto the grass beside him.
Then, slower, gentler, you ease your head into his lap, the crown of it resting against the fine wool of his robes. You feel him still beneath you, feel the way his breath catches and then softens.
And when you tilt your gaze up, you catch the barest curve of his lips, an almost-smile, the kind he seems to keep only for you.
For a little while, neither of you speak. The rustle of the leaves above is enough, the warmth of the afternoon sun, the quiet sound of students far off in the distance.
And the steady presence of him. You let it fill you, content, before you finally break the silence in that soft, lilting tone of yours.
“What do you think we will do once this year is over?” you ask lightly, tracing idle shapes into the fabric of his robes.
Regulus shifts a little beneath you, gaze dropping to watch your fingers move. He hums low in his throat. “You will go to the Potters’, most likely.”
“And you?” You tilt your head, eyes bright.
There is a pause. Then, quietly, he says, “I will return to Grimmauld.”
You frown, a small crease between your brows. “No, you will not.”
Regulus arches a brow at you, the faintest amusement in his voice. “And why is that?”
“Because I won’t let you.” You smile up at him now, soft and sure.
“I will not leave you there. You will come with me. With Sirius, Remus, James, and Lily. We will all go to the Potters’ for the summer, and you will be there too. I will not allow you to go back to that house.”
There is a long moment where he says nothing. You watch him, patient.
You know him well enough not to push too quickly. And after a moment, his gaze drops again to meet yours.
“It is not so simple, amour” he murmurs.
“It is.” You reach up now, fingertips brushing the edge of his jaw with a tenderness that makes something in him go still.
“Because you are my favorite person, Regulus. And I refuse to be parted from my favorite person. Especially not for a whole summer.”
That nearly undoes him. He breathes in, careful and slow.
His fingers twitch faintly where they rest beside you on the grass, as if he is fighting the urge to reach for you, to tangle his hands in your hair.
“I… cannot promise,” he says at last, voice low.
“Then I will promise for you,” you say, your smile soft and your eyes bright.
“You will come, I will make sure of it, Sirius will too, and Remus. You are welcome, none of us want you to be alone.”
He lets out a breath. His gaze softens more than he means it to. And though he does not say yes, you can feel the edges of his resistance slipping.
“You are impossible,” he murmurs.
The silence deepens, heavy and fragile, until a familiar voice finally breaks through.
“Well, well,” Barty drawled, voice low and smooth as he dropped onto the grass beside you without invitation.
“Didn’t think I’d find such excellent company out here!”
You looked up, raising a brow. “You always say that. Makes it hard to believe you’re ever surprised.”
Barty’s mouth curved into something softer than a smirk. “Maybe I’m just easily impressed.” He plucked a stray leaf from your shoulder, his fingers brushing just a little longer than necessary.
“Though I think we both know that isn’t true.”
You gave a quiet laugh, brushing your hair behind your ear. “You’re impossible.”
“Possibly,” he said, eyes gleaming. “But I’m told I’m charming enough to get away with it.”
Regulus didn’t move at first. Then slowly, he shifted, sitting straighter, though his gaze remained firmly ahead. His face had gone carefully blank—expression composed, impassive.
But his lips were pressed tight and his brows faintly drawn, like he was holding something steady just beneath the surface.
Barty turned back to you. “You always this lovely in the morning, or is this just luck?”
“You’re laying it on thick today, Junior,” you said lightly, flipping the page in your book.
“Only for you.”
Regulus’s fingers flexed once at his side, then stilled. His posture was perfect. His expression hadn’t changed. He looked almost bored, if not for the edge behind his eyes.
Barty leaned back on his elbows, turning his face toward the sky. “You’d think being this pretty would come with a warning.”
You smiled, amused, but didn’t reply.
For the first time, Regulus turned his head.
His voice, when it came, was quiet and clipped. “Some of us were enjoying the quiet.”
Barty glanced over at him, then back to you. “Wasn’t trying to interrupt. Just couldn’t resist the view.”
Regulus’s jaw shifted, subtle and sharp, and though he didn’t respond, his eyes didn’t leave Barty for a long moment.
Barty just grinned. “Anyway,” he said, standing and brushing his trousers off.
“Don’t let me keep you. I’ll see you around, sweetheart.”
He winked before turning, and Regulus tracked his retreat with a gaze cold enough to freeze wind.
You, still thumbing through your book, didn’t seem to notice.
Regulus looked back at you, his features schooled again into that same unreadable calm. But his fingers, curled in the grass, didn’t unclench.
You give him a playful swat to the arm. “Go on then, let us have our peace.”
For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The quiet settles again, but it feels different now—less peaceful, more strained.
You shift slightly, resting your head back on Regulus’s lap, eyes turning upward as if the sky might offer some explanation.
He’s unusually still beneath you.
You glance up, catching the sharp line of his jaw, the way his lips are pressed together, the faint crease between his brows. That unreadable look he gets when he’s thinking too much, or trying too hard not to feel something.
Something’s off.
You tilt your head, voice soft. “You alright?”
He doesn’t answer immediately. When he does, it’s clipped. “Fine.”
You blink. “You don’t sound fine.”
Regulus exhales, low and barely audible. His eyes stay on some far-off point, cold and focused like they’ve locked onto a problem only he can see.
“I don’t get it,” you say, quieter now, more to yourself than to him.
“One minute you’re fine, and then Barty shows up, and you shut down like someone flipped a switch.” You sit up a little, resting your weight on your elbows, still watching him.
“What did he even say that got under your skin?” you ask, genuinely puzzled. “He was just being Barty.”
Regulus’s gaze flicks down to you then, briefly. His expression is unreadable. You can’t tell if he’s annoyed or tired or just done with the conversation.
“I said I’m fine,” he mutters.
You hesitate, then nod, letting the silence settle again even though it gnaws at your thoughts. You lie back against him, but it doesn’t feel the same now.
The rest of the day blurs by in a way that days sometimes do when your mind is a little elsewhere, when the air feels lighter and you are quietly waiting for something.
The hours of lessons seem to bleed into one another.
You and Regulus had not shared classes today. Not until later. And already, you were counting down until you could meet him again, like you always do.
The two of you had made quiet plans for dinner, you would meet by the entrance hall, as always.
But now, with the last lesson fading to a close, you are already making your way down one of the quieter corridors.
You turn the final corner, steps light and familiar as your eyes scan the corridor ahead.
You’re expecting to see Regulus leaning against the archway like he usually does, arms crossed, half-annoyed at being early. But the space is empty.
You slow slightly, glancing around.
“Looking for someone?” a voice purrs beside you.
You blink, startled, and turn to find Barty, again, falling into step beside you, hands in his pockets and a faint smirk tugging at his mouth.
“Oh,” you say, letting out a small laugh. “Just Regulus.”
“Of course,” he says lightly. “You two are practically stitched together.”
You smile without thinking. “He’s usually here by now.”
Barty tilts his head, studying you. “I could keep you company until he shows.”
You nod, kind. “That’s sweet of you.”
“So,” he says, casually sliding a bit closer, “what are you doing tomorrow afternoon?”
You blink. “Tomorrow?”
“Mm,” he hums. “Thought maybe you and I could go into Hogsmeade. Get something warm and take a walk. Unless you’ve sworn some blood oath to Regulus to never leave his side.”
You laugh again, still not entirely catching on. “Oh—I mean, I’ve got a few things to do. Some studying and a bit of tutoring.”
Barty leans in slightly, voice warm and teasing. “Surely someone like you can make time for something fun.”
You hesitate, blinking at him. “I—well, I suppose maybe. But—”
“There you are.”
The words cut clean and cold through the air.
You turn.
Regulus is standing just behind you, jaw tight, eyes unreadable.
He looks directly at Barty, not even pretending to smile.
Barty only grins wider. “Perfect timing, Regulus. Just asking your girl here to spend a little time with me tomorrow! We’re thinking Hogsmeade.”
Regulus doesn’t answer or even smile. He just takes a slow step toward you.
Barty claps his hands once, mock-pleasant. “Well, now I don’t have to worry about walking her back. I’ll pick you up at the dorm tomorrow, yeah?”
You look between them, confused, but Barty doesn’t give you time to answer. He gives a wink and strolls off down the corridor, whistling low under his breath.
You turn back to Regulus. “What was that about?”
He starts walking, not waiting for you to follow.
You hurry after him. “Regulus!”
He doesn’t look at you. “You seemed busy.”
You frown. “What does that mean?”
“It means I didn’t want to interrupt,” he mutters, voice clipped.
You fall silent for a few steps, trying to puzzle through the tone, cold and sharp, nothing like the warmth he usually carries around you.
“I didn’t agree to anything,” you say quietly. “I didn’t even understand what he was doing.”
Regulus exhales slowly, still not looking at you.
“I’m not stupid,” he says. “I know exactly what he was doing.”
You watch the rigid line of his back as he walks ahead, and for the first time, you’re not sure how to reach him.
You catch up to him just outside the common room, your steps quick and light across the stone floor.
He doesn’t slow when he hears you or even glance back. That alone is strange.
“Regulus,” you call gently. He keeps walking.
You try again, louder. “Regulus!”
He stops.
But he still doesn’t look at you. His shoulders are stiff, the line of his spine pulled taut, as if even standing still is a strain.
You frown, stepping up beside him. “What’s wrong with you?” you ask lightly, hoping the softness in your voice will coax whatever it is from him. “You’ve been off since—”
“I’m fine.”
You blink. “You don’t sound fine.”
He finally turns to you. “I’m just tired,” he mutters.
You cross your arms. “Tired doesn’t usually come with the silent treatment.”
Regulus scoffs under his breath and starts walking again.
You follow. “Did I do something?”
He doesn’t answer.
You press again, voice rising. “Regulus!”
That’s when he turns, too fast, too sudden. “Why does it always have to be about you?”
You freeze.
“What?” you whisper.
He exhales through his nose, jaw clenched, like he’s said too much already. “Forget it.”
“No, say it,” you snap, stepping forward. “You’re being a prat right now, and I deserve to know why.”
His eyes flicker to yours, cold and unreadable. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself just fine earlier. Maybe you should go ask Barty to walk you back.”
You blink again, more confused than anything. “What does Barty have to do with this?”
Regulus laughs once — a hollow, bitter sound. “Of course! You don’t even see it.”
“See what?”
He shakes his head. “Nothing. It doesn’t matter.”
“It does matter,” you say firmly, voice rising. “If you’re going to treat me like this, you don’t get to act like I’m the problem. Tell me what I did.”
“You didn’t do anything,” he says, almost too fast. “That’s the point!”
Your mouth opens, then shuts again. You stare at him for a long moment, stunned and not even sure what it is you’re supposed to be defending yourself from.
“I don’t understand,” you whisper.
He looks at you, really looks, and for a moment something flickers behind his eyes — not quite anger, but then it’s gone.
“Neither do I,” he says tightly, and turns again, disappearing into the shadows of the corridor.
You stand there for a long moment, the stone walls pressing in around you, heart hammering too loud in the sudden quiet.
You didn’t cry.
You told yourself that when you slammed the door shut behind you, chest heaving and eyes dry with stubborn heat.
You wouldn’t cry over Regulus Black and his moods and his walls and his unreadable coldness. You paced the length of your room for what felt like hours, silent and bristling, your thoughts circling like a storm.
And when sleep finally came, it was out of exhaustion, not peace.
The morning dawned too early, too bright. You woke with your jaw clenched, the memory of his voice sharp in your bones, the ache of confusion still lodged under your ribs.
You got dressed slower than usual. There was hope beneath your frustration — that maybe, just maybe, it had been a bad night.
That maybe he’d speak.
You made your way through the corridors, the castle quiet in that golden, waking kind of way. And there he was.
Up ahead, his stride is even and precise, as always. The clean line of his shoulders, the dark sweep of his hair, too familiar not to draw you in.
“Regulus,” you called gently, a little breathless.
He didn’t stop.
He didn’t even glance at you.
He passed by as if he hadn’t heard. As if you weren’t even there.
You stopped walking. Your eyes stung, but you blinked it away, standing alone in the middle of the corridor, heat rising to your cheeks, sharp and furious.
Fine. If he wanted to be cold, you’d let him freeze alone.
“Morning.”
The voice curled around you with an easy drawl, smooth as ever.
You turned to find Barty leaning casually against the wall just ahead, his eyes already waiting for yours, lazy amusement tugging at his mouth.
You hesitated for only a moment. Then you walked toward him.
Far behind you, unnoticed by most, two Marauders sat in a tucked-away alcove near the end of the corridor.
kOne leaned forward just enough to catch the moment Regulus passed you without looking. The other raised a brow.
Remus smirked behind the rim of his cup. Sirius didn’t bother hiding his grin.
You, of course, didn’t see it.
You only saw Barty, already stepping forward to fall into pace beside you. “Rough morning?” he asked, like he didn’t already know.
You exhaled slowly, lips twitching into something tired but sharp. “You could say that.”
He gave a soft chuckle, brushing his hand through his hair. “Well, lucky for you, I happen to be excellent company. You need a seat partner?”
You nodded before thinking, letting him guide you into the Great Hall without another glance back.
You followed him down the aisle, right past the usual table where Regulus always sat — not even sparing a glance.
Barty pulled out the bench for you with a flourish, flashing a half-smile. “Allow me.”
You sat, jaw tight but grateful, and he slid in beside you with practiced ease.
“So,” he said, reaching for a slice of toast. “What’s the plan today, trouble? Should we skip Potions?”
You laughed, quietly. “Tempting.”
His eyes flicked over you, warm and just a little too knowing. “You’re sad.”
You blinked, surprised. “What?”
Barty grinned. “You’ve got that edge today. Out of all the gryffindors, you’re usually the happiest. So what’s got little Lupin sad?”
You shook your head, pretending not to be flustered. “It’s really nothing.”
“Whatever you say,” he said smoothly.
Far off, behind his own untouched plate, Regulus did not look away from the spot you used to sit.
“You really ought to let yourself have fun more often, you know?” Barty said, tilting his head as he studied you.
You gave him a look, but your lips curled into a smile. “I do have fun. You’re not the only source of entertainment at Hogwarts, Junior.”
“Maybe not,” he murmured, voice dipping lower now. “But I am the best one.”
You laughed despite yourself. He leaned a little closer, his knee brushing yours as if by accident. You didn’t pull away. His presence was warm, light, easy.
Still, your eyes flicked away for a moment.
You thought of how Regulus always knew what you needed before you said it, how his silences somehow spoke more truth than others’ words.
You thought of the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing left in the world worth trusting after all the heartache his family brought upon him.
And just like that, the breath you took felt thinner.
Barty didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe he did, and he didn’t care.
He shifted again, closer still. His hand hovered near yours, his eyes unreadable now.
“You’ve got this look,” he said softly. “Like you’re trying to decide something.”
You blinked. “Am I?”
“I don’t know,” he said, his gaze fixed on your mouth. “But if I’m lucky, maybe you’ll decide in my favor.”
And then he leaned in. Slowly, deliberately, like gravity itself had shifted to pull him closer.
His face tilted toward yours, the space between you thinning until his lips hovered just shy of yours, brushing the shape of your breath.
Your breath hitched. A quiet, startled catch in your chest. And before you could think better of it, before you could remind yourself that something about this felt not quite right, you found yourself beginning to lean in, too.
“I need my copy of Advanced Defensive Charms back.” a voice cut through the moment like a blade, sharp and quick.
You jolted slightly, startled. Regulus stood a few paces away, arms crossed, his tone just loud enough to make a few heads turn.
His eyes never once flicked to you. They were locked on Barty, steady and searing, the kind of stare that didn’t waver or soften, only dared him to lean closer.
“Now?” you asked, breath catching.
“Yes, now.” He didn’t wait for a response. He simply turned, expecting you to follow.
You hesitated, glancing back at Barty. He only hummed under his breath, half a grin tugging at his lips.
“Well,” Barty said with a slow smile, rising to his feet. His eyes flicked to Regulus, all amusement. “Good luck with that.”
He brushed past you lightly, then turned back just enough to add, “If you change your mind, you know where to find me.”
As he passed Regulus, his shoulder brushed deliberately against his. He leaned in, voice barely audible, words meant for one person only.
“Took you long enough, Black.”
You didn’t hear it. You were already catching up, confusion stirring beneath your ribs. You moved after Regulus without looking back.
Barty, however, didn’t glance away. He smiled to himself and wandered off, whistling low under his breath.
And not too far off, beneath the arch of a crumbling corridor, Sirius watched with a grin curled into the corner of his mouth.
Remus leaned against the wall beside him, expression unreadable, but his eyes flicked briefly to Regulus’s back.
“Well,” Sirius said under his breath. “That’s one way for him to realise.”
Right after Barty left, before you could fully process what had just happened, a hand closed around yours. Firm, warm, and unmistakably his.
You froze mid-step, surprise catching in your throat. “Regulus?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he tugged sharply, a sudden, insistent pull that sent your feet moving before your mind could even catch up.
He was dragging you out of the hall, his jaw clenched tight, eyes fixed straight ahead with an intensity that brooked no argument.
You stumbled, breath hitching in your chest. “What the hell are you doing?”
Still no response.
“Regulus!” You yanked at your arm, trying desperately to plant your heels into the cold stone floor. “What’s gotten into you?”
His grip didn’t waver. Knuckles whitening around your wrist, holding on like losing you was something he simply could not afford.
“You can’t just—drag me around like this,” you snapped, voice rising now.
“You ignored me yesterday, acted like I didn't exist, and now you think you can just show up, grab me, and what? Command me like a dog?”
He kept walking.
“Regulus, seriously, stop! What is this? What do you want from me?”
You were furious now. Not just annoyed—furious. Because you didn’t understand, and he wasn’t saying anything, and his silence felt like a match held too long over your skin.
“Is this a joke to you?” you hissed. “Because if this is some twisted mood swing of yours, I’m not playing along!”
He didn’t even look at you.
He was dragging you through the empty corridors, his grip unwavering, steps quick and purposeful as the castle's echoes followed behind.
When he finally stopped, it was outside a narrow door tucked between unused classrooms—an old closet room long forgotten. Without hesitation, he opened it and pulled you inside, the darkness swallowing you both.
You were breathless, panting more from anger than exertion.
Without warning, he spun you around, his hand gripping your waist with a force that both startled and grounded you.
His touch was firm, commanding, pulling you close as he pressed you back against the cold stone wall.
His breaths came ragged and uneven, a low exhale escaping him as if the air itself was thick with tension.
His pupils were dilated, dark and wide, flickering with a restless fire that made your skin prickle.
The smooth weight of his body loomed over you, tall and unyielding, casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the space between you.
Your shoulders met the wall with a deliberate, lingering pressure—not harsh, but enough to stop your breath and still your racing thoughts in an instant.
Your hands flew up to his chest instinctively. “Are you insane?!” you snapped.
He stared at you like he couldn’t hear you. Or like he’d heard every word but couldn’t stop himself anyway.
He stepped closer. You could feel the tension pulsing off him now, raw, sharp, and electric.
And then, finally, he spoke. “He wants you.”
You blinked. “What?”
“Barty,” he said, voice low and bitter. “He wants you.”
You shot him a fierce glare, voice trembling with barely contained anger. “Junior? Is that what this is? Him sitting with me?”
He closed the gap, breath hot against your face, hand gripping your waist tight.
“He wasn’t just sitting with you. He was about to kiss you and you were going to kiss him back!.”
You shot back, voice sharp, nearly a shout. “And why do you care?”
He opened his mouth then closed it again. “You have no idea what you’re doing.”
That made you scoff. “Oh, really? Enlighten me, Black.”
His eyes searched you, as if trying to decide whether to say it at all.
You laughed, too harsh. “You know what, Regulus? You’re unbelievable!”
“You’re acting like I’ve committed some crime. He sat beside me. He talked. What did you want me to do, tell him to leave?”
“You were going to kiss him,” Regulus said, he didn’t flinch. Instead, his hand shot out, fingers curling around your jaw with an unexpected firmness that both claimed and grounded you.
You stared at him, the heat in your chest twisting. “And what if I did?”
His thumb brushed lightly against your lips, slow and deliberate, before his eyes dropped from your face to linger on your mouth.
His voice dropped low, edged with a quiet intensity that made your pulse hammer in your ears.
[I highly suggest playing Friends by Chase Atlantic here!!!]
“I’m not here to argue,” he said, husky but steady. “I’m here to tell you that I won’t let you forget what almost happened. You were about to kiss some other bastard.”
His gaze held yours, unyielding and raw. “And I’m the only one you should ever want.”
Before you could even register what was happening, his lips were on yours, urgent and demanding.
You kissed him back instantly, your hands in his shirt, pulling, anchoring, trying to close the impossible space that had always lived between you.
The kiss deepened, lips parting, breaths catching, hands everywhere at once—his in your hair, yours fisted in the front of his shirt like you needed something to hold onto or else you’d fall straight through the floor.
His body pressed against yours, firm and unrelenting, pinning you to the stone wall behind like you were something worth holding onto, something he couldn’t let go of even if he tried.
Your legs parted instinctively, one of his thighs sliding between yours as your hips tilted forward without thinking, chasing the pressure, chasing him.
The way he moved against you—slow, firm, purposeful—sent heat coiling low in your stomach, your breath stuttering as your hands slid down the hard lines of his back and held him there.
You could barely think past it. Barely speak.
But then your mouth opened and—
“Regulus,” you breathed, the sound escaping like a prayer. “God—Please.”
He stilled instantly.
The world narrowed to the way his chest heaved against yours, the shallow rise and fall of his breath. His lips brushed yours again, barely, as he pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and blown wide with something more dangerous than want.
“Say that again,” he murmured, voice ragged and low like it had been torn straight from somewhere deep.
You swallowed, heat flickering through you. “Regulus.”
His name on your tongue again made something in him snap.
He surged forward before the last syllable left your lips, kissing you harder, like he was trying to consume it, claim it, swallow the sound down and make it his.
He groaned into your mouth, hips pressing against yours again in a movement that had you gasping, clinging tighter.
You didn’t hesitate. You pulled him closer, fingers sliding under the hem of his shirt, touch desperate and searching.
His mouth found the curve of your neck, hot and open, and a gasp escaped your lips before you could stop it.
“I need you, please.” you panted, breath catching as your head fell back,
Your legs shifted instinctively, knees parting, trying to draw him closer still as his teeth scraped lightly over your skin, his hands tightening at your waist like he couldn’t get close enough.
“Keep those legs spread for me, amour.” He groaned.
The command was so firm and unquestionable that it nearly took you by surprise. He had never spoken to you like that before. Moments between you were usually filled with playfulness and light teasing.
You reached for him, fingers curling into the front of his trousers, a silent plea for him to touch you where you need him most.
But before you could move further, his hand wrapped around your wrist.
“Behave,” he murmured, voice low and rough, with an edge that hadn’t been there before.
You barely manage to catch your breath before his hands slide lower, gripping your waist as he presses you harder against the wall.
Regulus leans in, his mouth finding your neck, biting and sucking with a hunger that sends your pulse skittering. Each mark he leaves burns, a promise, a claim—evidence you already know you’ll need to hide later.
“Someone could walk in,” you gasp, voice trembling as your back presses harder into the wall, but Regulus just exhales, his breath hot against your collarbone.
“Then be quiet,” he murmurs, voice rough and low. His hands slide beneath your shirt, palms gliding over your skin with agonizing slowness. You shiver beneath his touch, already arching into him before you realize you're doing it.
“You wanted this, didn’t you?”
Your answer is a broken whimper as your fingers tangle in his hair, tugging hard enough to draw a groan from his throat.
His grip tightens on your hips, and you feel him against you—hard, aching, insistent through the fabric of his trousers, grinding into your thigh.
“Need you,” you breathe, the words barely making it past your lips, “please, Regulus.”
Regulus leans back just enough to look at you, his eyes dark and seething. “You think it's funny,” he says, voice low and cold, “going around flirting with Junior?”
Before you can answer, his hands move—urgent, possessive—tugging your skirt up with rough precision, exposing skin to the cool air and his hotter gaze. His fingers press into your thighs, thumbs brushing dangerously close, and the sharp edge of the tension coils tighter in your stomach.
“You were smiling at him,” he mutters, like the thought alone sets him off. “Laughing.”
Your breath hitches. He presses closer, chest against yours, thigh slipping between your legs until you can barely stand straight.
“Say it,” he demands, voice at your ear. “Say who you want.”
You whimper softly, eyes barely meeting his as the words slip out, “Want you.”
He raises an eyebrow, a slow smirk curling at his lips. “Uh uh, that’s not my name, amour.” he says, voice low and amused.
You straighten immediately, biting back a smile. “Want you, Regulus,” you correct.
“Good, baby,” Regulus murmured, but before you could respond, he pulled you flush against him, capturing your lips again. His kisses were harsher now, urgent and hungry for more.
His hands slid beneath your skirt, fingertips tracing along your bare skin, sending a shiver through you. His glare was intense, but softened by the way his lips parted slightly, breath uneven.
You leaned in closer, brushing your lips along his jaw and teased, “Is that all you’ve got, Reggie? Barty seems to be doing a much better job.”
A low sound rumbles in his chest, and before you know it, he’s doesn’t give you a chance to react before he’s stepping between your legs, hands spreading your thighs wider.
“You’re getting cocky,” he mutters, unbuttoning your shirt off in one quick motion. His hands are everywhere, skimming your sides, gripping your waist, fingers digging into your thighs.
He finally rests one on your waist, and one just under your breast. “Think you can go around acting like that? Such a brat.”
You bite your lip, trying to hold back a moan when his mouth latches onto your collarbone, sucking a mark into your skin.
“You didn’t exactly stop me,” you manage to say, your voice breathy.
Regulus just scoffs, his hands moving to pull your skirt up “You’re right. Guess I need to teach you a lesson.”
His hands slide over your panties, and his lips brush against your ear. “You’re gonna keep quiet, understand?”
You nod, breathless, and he smirks, clearly not convinced. His fingers dip lower, teasing you through your underwear, and you have to bite down on your lip to muffle the noise that slips out.
Regulus just hums, almost pleased with your reaction. His thumb grazes against your clothed clit, just barely giving you what you want. He applies slight pressure, and you bite your lip harder, eager for more.
“Better keep your voice low. You wouldn’t want anyone finding out how desperate you are for me, would you?” He taunts, his thumb pressing more firmly.
He pushes your panties to the side, and strokes long stripes up and down your folds, collecting the arousal that has accumulated.
He groans softly as he stares down at your cunt, and he slides his middle finger inside of you, earning a soft gasp from you. You can’t help the way your hips buck forward, chasing his touch. You're too needy to be embarrassed at this point.
“Please, Reggie,” you whisper, your hands clutching at his shoulders, nails digging into the fabric.
He gives you that intense, the one that makes your stomach twist with anticipation.
“You’re lucky I need you this bad,” he mutters before he slips his ring finger inside, curling just right, making you mewl.
His other hand cups the back of your neck, keeping you close as his mouth moves against yours, swallowing your moans.
His fingers move faster, and it’s impossible to stay quiet, but he doesn’t seem to care anymore. All that matters is the way you’re unraveling in his hands, and he’s watching every bit of it with a smug, satisfied look.
The way his fingers curl so precisely inside of you almost makes you see stars—and his thumb increases the speed against your clit. You grind your hips harder into his hand, desperate for your release.
“You’re gonna remember this next time you think about kissing Junior,” he murmurs, his thumb rubbing circles over your clit, making your thighs tremble around him.
"Say it."
"I'll remember it, just—please, need all of you." You whimper as his fingers fuck you faster.
Regulus doesn’t waste any time, pulling out his fingers and spinning you against the wall.
You gasp loudly at how quickly he pulled his fingers out of you, and also being slammed against the wall rather quickly.
His hand snakes around your waist, pulling your hips back to meet his, and you can feel how hard he is through his pants.
“You’re gonna be good for me now, right?” He mutters against your ear, his voice rough and dripping with dominance.
You nod, too breathless to respond properly, and he chuckles lowly. “Use your words, amour.”
“Y-Yes,” you stammer, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “I’ll be good, Regulus. I promise.”
“Good girl, that’s what I thought,” he murmurs, one hand slipping under your shirt, brushing over your stomach, while the other tugs your hips back against him.
His lips trace the curve of your neck, sucking a mark just below your ear.
You can’t help the way you push and wiggle back against him, desperate for more contact.
Regulus clicks his tongue disapprovingly, his grip tightening on your waist to keep you in place.
“Patience,” he says, almost like he’s scolding you, but there’s a hint of a smirk in his voice.
His lips follow, kissing along your shoulder as he pushes his own pants down just enough to free himself.
His cock stands proudly, and he gives himself a couple pumps in preparation. He runs his hand over the tip, collecting the precum that had accumulated.
He brings himself closer to you, and presses his cock head against your wet folds, causing the man to sigh shakily.
You feel him press against you, hot and heavy, and your breath hitches in anticipation. Regulus leans over you, his chest pressing against your back, one hand still gripping your waist.
“Please, I need you,” you whisper, pushing your hips back to encourage him.
He finally gives in, guiding himself to your entrance and pushing in slowly, stretching you inch by inch.
The way he fills you has your knees almost giving out, but Regulus’s grip on your waist holds you steady. His girth stretches your walls out further and further—the sting and burn never feeling better.
“Fuck,” he groans, stilling once he’s fully inside you, balls deep. “So tight... and you just take it so well.”
You whimper at the stretch, your body adjusting to the intrusion, and Regulus’s lips press against the back of your neck, grounding you.
Once he’s sure you’re ready, he starts to move, his thrusts slow and deep, every movement deliberate and measured. His grip on you tightens, and he lets out a soft sigh of pleasure.
“God!” you gasp, as he picks up the pace, the sound of skin against skin filling the room. His balls clap against your ass as he fucks into you harsher.
“Keep quiet,” he warns, his teeth grazing your shoulder. “You don’t want anyone to hear how desperate you sound, do you?”
You bite your lip, doing your best to muffle your moans, but Regulus’s relentless pace makes it impossible.
His hand slides up to cover your mouth, muffling your whimpers as he pounds into you harder, his hips snapping against yours with an urgency that drives you wild.
"You're doing a good job at listening," he praises as his cock slams in and out of your tight walls, "I'm s-shocked." You bite your lip harder, eager to please him.
Knowing Regulus, he'll stop if you disobey. You nod your head in response, and thrust your hips back into his to match his pace.
You can feel yourself getting closer, your walls clenching tightly around him, and he whimpers at the sensation, his hand sliding from your mouth to your chest, pulling you back against him as he thrusts deeper.
“Gonna cum for me?” He whispers against your ear, his breath hot and ragged.
You nod frantically. "Good," he growls, and he bites down on your shoulder, his pace becoming rougher, more erratic.
The wet sloshing sounds filling the room along with bated breaths and desperate moans. “Fuck, amour, squeezing me so good. pretty little pussy was made just f’me”
Cock drunk moans being the only response coming from yourlips. Fingers of one of his hands digging into the flesh of your hip, no doubt leaving bruising prints you’d be seeing for days.
The other creeping around your throat, squeezing briefly before arching you back to look into those eyes you loved so much. “Reg, hah, p-please, I can’t!”.
A harsh smack against the skin of your ass making you gasp. “Now, what did I tell you about being quiet?”
Your eyes roll back, walls of your cunt starting to spam as you feel that beautiful high creeping upon you. “Can’t hold, fuck."
His slender fingers toy with your clit bringing you closer, jaw slack with a desperate cry of his name.
“Merlin, you squeeze my cock so good, shit, gonna stuff you full of my cum so you’ll belong to no one other than me!”
Whines leave your throat at the rough thrusts, tip of his cock practically kissing your cervix. “I’ll fuck this cunt as many times as it takes, as many times I need to to make sure you’re no one else’s”.
You’re filled with the burning feeling of the thick ropes of his cum emptying deep within you, flooding your womb with the intention of his seed doing its job, leaving you whining for more.
“You feel so good.”
Emptiness taking over as he pulls out, still twitching at the sight of his cum slowly trailing down your thighs.
Regulus’s hands found your waist with a firm, almost desperate grip. He spun you around to face him fully, his touch careful but commanding.
He pulled your panties upwards and smoothed the hem of your skirt, adjusting it with an almost ridiculous kind of precision for someone who had just fucked you like that.
Then, more gently, he cupped your face, his thumb brushing along your cheek as if to ground himself. “Look at me,” he murmured, voice low but steady.
You did, your eyes wide and breath shallow.
He held your gaze for a long beat before the tension cracked just slightly. “Are you alright? Was I too harsh?”
You nodded, pupils still blown wide, lips parted as you tried to steady your breath.
Your neck was littered in the proof of him—faint, blooming marks he hadn’t quite meant to leave but hadn’t resisted either.
Regulus’s hands didn’t leave you. One of them tightened at your jaw, the other resting low on your waist as he leaned in, gaze dark and unwavering.
“Use your words, baby,” he said softly, but it wasn’t a suggestion.
Your voice came quiet, a little shaky. “I’m good. Just… not sure I can walk.”
That pulled a laugh from him. Real and unguarded. It burst from his chest before he could stop it, low and warm, his head tipping slightly as he smiled at you.
And you just stared.
Because it wasn’t often that Regulus Black laughed.
And you couldn’t look away.
Your chest ached in the sweetest way.
You loved him. You had, maybe, for far longer than you’d ever dared to admit. But now, standing here, with his hands still on your skin and his laughter blooming like a promise between you, it was impossible to ignore.
He looked back at you, eyes soft, still shining with something that made your heart stutter.
And you knew. There was no one else you would ever want like this.
His eyes searched yours like he still didn’t quite believe this was real, like he might wake up if he blinked too long.
“I’ve wanted to do that,” he said, voice low and rough, “for as long as I can remember.”
You blinked, a startled laugh slipping from your lips. You tilted your head slightly, amusement flickering in your eyes.
“You know,” you said, breath still shaky, “Remus might actually kill you for this.”
Regulus shrugged, a faint smile pulling at his lips, equal parts challenge and surrender. “Merlin, don’t even mention it.”
Your grin widened, eyes gleaming now. “Well,” you murmured, as if tasting the words before you committed to them, “our brothers are dating.”
His brows twitched, and for a moment, something almost vulnerable crossed his face. His voice was quieter this time, uncertain around the edges.
“Should we?”
The question hung in the space between your mouths, half-ridiculous, half-serious.
His voice was a whisper, raw with meaning and years of silent longing. “Je t’aime.”
“Je t’aime, Y/n, since I was eleven.”
A soft, joyful laugh escaped your lips, the weight of his words settling deep in your heart.
“I love you, Regulus, since I was eleven too.” you breathed, your voice trembling with the truth of it.
Without a pause, he drew you close again, his kiss slow and reverent, as if trying to memorize every part of you.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he murmured against your lips, the depth of his love echoing in every word.
Unbeknownst to you and Regulus, not far away Sirius and Remus were sharing a quiet moment, their voices low but filled with laughter.
Sirius was clapping Barty on the shoulder, his eyes bright with mischief and satisfaction.
“Thanks for stepping in, Junior,” Sirius said with a grin. “I don’t think we could’ve gotten through to them without a little… persuasion.”
Remus chuckled, shaking his head. “It was about time someone shook things up. Watching them circle each other like that was honestly painful.”
Remus sighed, then added proudly, “I’m sure he pulled her aside to talk things out. Maturely! Like the reasonable Black he is.”
Sirius snorted. “Right. I’m very sure he’s handling this like a Black.”
Remus froze. His eyes widened slowly as something unpleasant dawned on him. “You don’t think they would—”
“Oh, that’s exactly how we talked our feelings out, remember?” Sirius grinned, smug and absolutely no help at all.
Remus looked positively horrified and about to pass out. “Merlin. No. No, no—she’s my sister—”
Barty was already wheezing with laughter, doubled over on the bench. “Come on, Lupin. He’s a Black. What did you expect?”
Remus suddenly stood, eyes wide with dawning horror.
“Oh no. No. I need to find them.”
He was already striding down the corridor, muttering about protective charms and locking spells, while Sirius and Barty doubled over behind him—laughing, breathless, as their plan succeeded just a little too well for Remus’ peace of mind.
Somewhere behind the walls and winding corridors, two people were finally finding their way to each other, none the wiser to the gentle push that had set it all in motion.
hi welcome to my first kinktober! as a busy student, these will probably be around 1-2k words!
i won’t have a post out everyday of october, but i picked 13 prompts because of friday the 13th! (NOTE: all these prompts are consensual and do not have darker themes like incest, abuse, pedophilia, etc)
the ☆ symbol = raven’s favourites!
1. voyeurism/degradation/biting - vampire!regulus black ☆
2. threesome/multiple orgasms - james potter & regulus black ☆
3. bondage/restraints - remus lupin
4. somnophilia/thigh fucking - james potter
5. oral sex/gagging - cowboy!remus lupin ☆
6. medical play/innocence kink - doctor!remus lupin
7. very messy sex - sirius black ☆
8. praise kink/grinding - knight!james potter
9. vibrator play/edge control - sirius black
10. lingerie/squirting/come licking - sirius black
summary: Poly!jeguliliy x Reader: you talk in your sleep which leads to some revelations about your partner's sleeping habits
word count: 700
CW: none, fluff, short
“Did you know you talk in your sleep?” Lily said, head propped in her hand, looking down at you and playing with your hair. You four had just woken up, still in bed before you started your day.
“Huh?” you asked, still tired and eyes heavy.
“You talk,” she said gently, “in your sleep.”
You scrunched your brows, you don’t remember ever talking in your sleep, but how would you? You were sleeping. “Do I really?” you asked.
She smiled, bright and beautiful, her skin glowing in the midmorning light seeping through your sheer bedroom curtains. “Yeah, last night when I came to bed, you were chattering away and when I asked you what you were doing up, you just kept on blabbing, mostly nonsense. I was so confused and scared that you hit your head or something because you weren't making any sense, but then I realized you weren’t fully awake. You turned over and fell right back asleep.” She explained, wrapping your hair around her fingers.
“Our little chatterbox.” James mumbled, finally speaking up, voice still gravelly from sleep.
“I'd take her chattering over your jerking.” Regulus said jokingly, propped up against the headboard.
“Pardon me?” James asked, looking up at the raven haired boy.
“You do tend to kick…” Lily admitted, adding to Regulus’s initial thought.
James paused, he blinked, his brain trying to think back to a time he ever kicked one of you. “I… what?”
“It’s true,” you spoke softly, “sometimes when you're really tired, you jerk your leg and it results in one of us getting kicked.”
James looked guilty, dragging your body close to his, hugging your form into his. “No.” He groaned, his voice sad.
“Baby it doesn't hurt. Just wakes us up a little.” Lily giggles. It was true, if anything it just shocks the three of you.
You and Regulus laughed along with Lily, James still feeling bad. Regulus took this opportunity to recall a memory of his own. “You know,” he said, “Sirius used to tell me that I used to sleep walk when I was little. He said he’d find me in random rooms in the mornings or that I'd crawl into bed with him, fully asleep.”
“Aw,” you cooed, imagining a tiny Regulus padding into his big brother’s room and climbing in bed. “that's so sweet.
“It wasn’t just when you were little, love.” Lily giggled again.
“What?” Regulus looked over at her, confused.
“You've done it here once or twice.” James explained, smiling and finally coming out of his hiding place you call your neck. "Caught you making tea in the kitchen once.”
A tinge of red arose on Regulus’s face. “I thought I'd outgrown that.” This caused you to smile as well, he was so cute when he was sweet and soft like this.
“Do I do anything weird in my sleep?” Lily asked, wanting to join in on the sleep story fun.
“Oh yeah.” James laughed, not elaborating.
“What is it!? It’s not weird or anything right?” Lily panicked, trying to get an answer out of one of you.
“Oh it is weird but we find it endearing.” Regulus smiles, still not answering her.
You were the one to take pity on her, rolling your eyes slightly and explaining her little quirk. “You, very slowly, reach out and touch our faces when you're asleep,” you giggled, seeing her confusion and disbelief, “like a sloth.”
The three of you had talked about her little sleep peculiarity before, finding it cute, like she was reaching out to make sure her loves were still next to her and alright.
“What?” Lily asked, still not believing you, your explanation a bit too strange.
“Yeah, it's like a slow, gentle slap.” James chuckled, making Regulus smirk right along with him.
“Oh,” she said meekly, "I'm sorry.”
“It's fine, baby.” James tutted, rolling onto his back and winking at Lily.
“We usually just catch your wrist and move your hand back. You’ll keep your hands to yourself for the rest of the night” Regulus explained.
She smiled back at her boys, still threading her fingers through your hair, making you feel more relaxed in this lazy morning.
“Well,” she spoke up, moving off the bed and making her way to your closet to start getting dressed. You whined in her absence, hair now feeling neglected. “Good thing you don’t snore, or else I would have to not so gently slap you.” She winked back before disappearing into the closet.
I thought this was so cute and Lily's sleep quirk is mine because for some reason if my mom or partner or a friend is sleeping over in my bed, i just reach out and touch their face like a little creep.
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.
my little star
oct 31 ⋆ voyeurism / dubcon
stalker!regulus black x fem!reader
summary: regulus can't see the stars in the paris skyline, but he always can see you across the road ♱ 1.1k
warnings: 18+ mdni, stalking, voyeurism, dubcon (watching w out your knowledge), masturbation, spit, french!regulus, google translated french, takes place in paris
kinktober masterlist
note: the last one 🥹 thank you guys so so much for an amazing kinktober. i hope you enjoy this last one, im particularly excited for you to read it
Many people would deem stargazing a futile effort in the middle of a city as sleepless as Paris. It never truly goes dark here. A constant golden glow lights up the sky, swallows up all the stars Regulus loves so dearly.
Maybe that’s why he found a new star to admire.
With a soft creak, Regulus swings his window open, and his curtains billow as a gust of wind sweeps through his flat. With steady hands, he focuses the telescope, one eye squinted shut as he peers through the lens.
But it’s not the sky he points his telescope at. It never is anymore.
It’s you.
What luck that such a lovely soul like you ended up in the flat straight across the way from his. It must have been divine intervention that put you right in his lap, and Regulus thanks the cosmos every single day for it.
“Bonsoir, ma petite étoile,” Regulus murmurs, a small smile playing at his lips as he watches you move through your flat, flitting from window to window as you move between your rooms. “Will you put on a show for me tonight?” he hums knowingly. He knows what you’re doing as soon as you light the first candle.
You never draw your curtains. Maybe you foolishly believe you’re safe from prying eyes, up on the tenth floor of your building. Or maybe there’s some part of you that knows your nights don’t only belong to you, and your curtains stay open just for him. Regulus believes it in his soul that it’s the latter.
“Séductrice,” he muses as you slowly peel your shirt off, baring your back to the window.
Regulus imagines how smooth your skin would feel under his touch. Under the trace of his tongue. He can almost taste your sweet flavor as he fantasizes about being in your room with you, cradling you from behind, trailing his lips across the back of your neck.
The last of your clothes drops to the floor. Regulus has seen you like this more times than he can count, and each time it takes his breath away.
You crawl onto your mattress. The fluffy duvet curls around your body as you lie on your back, resting your head on your fluffy pillows.
You spread your legs wide, and Regulus holds onto his telescope so tightly that his knuckles turn white. He tweaks the lens, magnifying the picture of your pretty pussy, so slick with your arousal.
His cock strains against his trousers as your hands dance across your skin. Regulus is glad that you take your time with yourself, worshipping your own body just as you deserve. It will suffice until you’re ready for him to enter your life. For him to become the one who worships you utterly.
Your cup your breasts in your hands, gently squeezing the supple flesh. Your thumbs brush over your nipples, and Regulus can see the shiver that runs through your body as you pinch the puffy peaks between your forefingers and thumbs.
Regulus bucks his hips against nothing, and he has to satiate himself with a palm over the bulge between his legs. But he won’t really touch himself yet. Not until you do. When your right hand drifts lower, he pops the button of his trousers.
Your delicate fingers tease your slick folds, spreading your lower lips as if you’re showing off your perfect pussy just for him. His mouth waters, and he would give almost anything to go over there now and bury his face in your folds. To taste your slick juices on his tongue.
But the one thing he would never sacrifice is how you’ll first meet. He can’t just barge into your flat, especially not now. That would terrify you. That would ruin everything. Not that he hasn’t been inside before, or lain in those very sheets when you weren’t home.
But, no. He can’t have you now, because it has to be perfect. He hasn’t worked out how he’ll do it yet. He’s sure it will come to him when the time is right.
Your lips part when your middle finger circles your swollen clit. Regulus clenches his jaw. He’d love nothing more than to hear the beautiful sounds you’re making. If only the bug he placed in your apartment hadn’t inexplicably died. Bloody cheap thing.
Regulus frees his aching cock from his trousers as you plunge two fingers inside of your pussy. He spits in his palm and takes his length in his hand. Breathless noises fall from his lips as he tries to pace himself, pumping his hand in time with the thrusts of your fingers.
The fat of your breast bulges between your fingers as you squeeze yourself. The heel of your palm grinds against your clit as you curl your fingers, nudging that soft, spongy patch in the way that always makes your legs shake.
Regulus can tell you're close by the crease in your brow. You writhe in your bed, hips jerking to meet the thrusts of your fingers as you chase your impending release. Your jaw goes slack, and Regulus can only imagine the trembling whines that fall from your lips as he nears his own end.
Your back arches off the mattress, your chest heaving, as your orgasm crashes over you. At the same moment, Regulus’s body tenses, and hot spurts of cum coat his hand.
He finds a special kind of beauty in getting to share these moments with you.
Regulus takes a minute to catch his breath, watching as you do the same. His breath slows, matching the rhythm of yours until his ears stop ringing.
He averts his gaze from the telescope to pluck a tissue from the box perched on the little wooden table by his window. He cleans his cum from his hand and his cock. And where it dribbled onto his trousers. He tosses the tissue into the bin.
Regulus returns to the telescope, peering through the lens again to check on you. You’re not in your bed anymore. With his thumb on the dial, he widens the telescope’s gaze, bringing the rest of your bedroom into view.
Regulus sucks in a sharp breath, head jerking away from the lens. For a moment, he stands frozen, heart thrumming in his chest. He looks back into the telescope only to find your curtains drawn shut.
He leans back again, swallowing hard. He shakes his head at himself, but can’t shake the image of you standing in front of your window, wrapped in a thin sheet.
For that brief moment, it almost looked like you were looking right at him. And it looked like you were smiling.
A coincidence, Regulus thinks.
every reblog and comment means the world <3 i’d love to hear your thoughts
cw ⟢ established relationship, miscommunication trope, slytherin!reader, lil bit sensitive!reg and reader, mild angst, touched starved!reg, hurt/comfort
summary: regulus would never be mean to you, especially on purpose, but a small miscommunication—a single word lost in translation makes the world of a difference.
a/n: not proofread! also i dont speak a word of french,,,and i couldnt think of a target language so use ur imagination pls x
It was a simple misunderstanding.
And although Regulus is a man of few words, most of them are accompanied with a bit of bite. Ever-so-slightly harsh in a way that wards of anyone who would take them as mean-spirited, or brand him as someone to avoid.
He doesn’t mind this.
Regulus is very aware that he could easily change this, change how people perceive him and make his overall disposition far more pleasant if he wanted to. But he won’t, already deemed it far too much effort for people who quite frankly don’t deserve it.
Though, there are a select few who got a sort of ‘special treatment’ from Regulus. He extended this to people like Barty, Evan, Dorcas, Pandora—his friends—and, because he wasn’t cruel by any means, to other just naturally kind souls; people who brought the best out of him even if he didn’t want them to.
People like Professor Mcgonagall, Lily Evans—you.
Its not like his personality did a entire 180 when he was around you, not at all—its more that, breathing felt easier, he never had to think too hard when you were around, like you were in sync. It was just so easy to be himself if you were there.
Never once did you shame him for being too gloomy, or too sarcastic or snarky, you just giggled behind your hand and breathe into his ears something just as sardonic. Entertained his playful banter and matched his wit word for word like it was second nature.
It was a little routine you’d built, la little secret for just the two of you. At first it was just in English, a game of sly mumbles and whispered words, teasing traded over textbooks and tea in the common room. Until your own little habits just sort of slipped into it, late one evening when you muttered under your breath at the sound of Barty barrelling through the common room. Regulus beside you, one of your legs draped over his—he’d heard you say something, and for a moment he thought he’d misheard.
As much as he wracked his brain, over and over repeating the phrase you had said, for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why he knew what you meant—how he understood your words without knowing them.
Turning to you with a tilted head, before he leaned over and whispered to you in French, eyes darting between you and Barty. Your lips split into a grin as the dots connected and it was a slippery slope from there—you didn’t understand every word he threw at you, but you caught enough—the tone, the rhythm, the smirk behind the syllables.
It wasn’t about exact comprehension, really. It was about cadence. Intention.
It was almost comforting, this back-and-forth; your own little world made up of half-understood words, endearing mockery and jest.
You started using it to your advantage—whispering phrases you knew sounded sweet but carried just enough mischief to make him squint at you suspiciously. Bickering back and forth, his brows would sometimes furrow when you spoke, but he’d recover quickly, responding as though he understood everything perfectly with just the right amount of bite.
Regulus would roll his eyes, feigning boredom when you would spew sentence after sentence, tongue tripping over itself in a stream of half-comprehendible words, but his lips always twitched like he was fighting a smile. You taunted him endlessly and he wound you up again and again—all harmless fun and games until well, it wasn’t.
The common room was nearly empty—dimly lit by the glim of candles, the soft hiss of the fire and faint crackle of the logs filling the room. One of the long days were the night took too long to come. Both you and Regulus had been occupied with assignments all morning and had hardly seen each other, lunch and dinner had passed by the time you were finally able to haul yourself away from your study group.
There was a faint smell of parchment that lingered in the room with just a hint of smoke, and Regulus sat quietly in the corner, tea still steaming, quill lying long forgotten on the table and a book open on his lap.
You moved on impulse, silent and fluidly drifting through the room and to the corner where your boyfriend sat. Plopping yourself practically on top of him with little grace, legs thrown over his as you curled into his side.
Regulus didn’t mind. He never said as much, and he didn’t pull away either.
So naturally, you mindlessly continued your little habit.
Leaving virtually no space between you whenever you’d gravitate towards him—it was second nature at this point. There was just something about how he held you, his affection was exactly grandious in any way; it shon in quieter moments like this. In the nonsense patterns the tips of his fingers make against your skin, or instead of a verbal greeting, Regulus would shift his body when he’d hear you coming, making room for you to slot yourself beside him like a lock and key. How when you settled he’d almost breathe out a sigh of relief as if there was a terrible weight on his shoulder and you’d come to ease it—like his bones were rejoicing at your presence,
It felt wrong to sit any other way.
To deny either of you the comfort of the other.
To act like this wasn’t a million times better than sitting without your limbs tangled together, almost inconviently so.
At least that’s how you saw it.
You could feel his heartbeat where your temple rested against his shoulder; calm and steady—it was almost hypnotic. The quiet metronome of his pulse making your eyes feel just that bit heavier. He must have noticed the way your lids sagged, or how every muscle in your body had given out and now rested comfortably on his side.
“Toujours collée à moi, toi, (Always stuck to me, you,)” he murmured suddenly, voice low and touched with that tired amusement that always found its way into his words when he was this relaxed. And you were almost asleep when his turned to you, leaning in and letting the tip of his nose graze the skin beneath your ear before planting the smallest, most gentle peck.
Then, under his breath, “quelle sangsue…(what a leech…)”
It wasn’t cruel.
Not really.
Well, not in his mind at least, it was teasing—a fond sort of complaint, the kind of thing that’s said with a cheeky smile, the kind of thing that would earn him a light swat had you been awake enough.
And if he’d let his linger on your skin for just a moment more, maybe you would have been able to feel the way they stretched upwards into the smallest of smiles. It was that downturned one that you loved, that was for him more than anything—he even fought the urge to press his lips to you again, in fear of stirring you, like he’d already been too indulgent with that one timid peck.
Though, he had stirred you, because you heard him. The words hung there, foreign and sharp-edged and they made your stomach lurch at the implication—you knew what that meant, or at least you thought you did.
Suddenly, your eyes were no longer heavy, and sleep was not so tempting. Still you didn’t move, kept your eyes closed and stayed curled up all but on top of your boyfriend, acutely aware of each and every point of contact your bodies were making.
Come to think of it, as you feigned sleep, you found yourself struggling to recall a single time when you weren’t completely invading his space—when your body wasn’t irritatingly close to his, a moment when your presence wasn’t entirely inescapable. How overbearing you must be.
Gods, maybe you were always stuck to him.
Regulus has always been someone who enjoyed his solitude, liked to be alone with his thoughts and here you were taking that away from him.
You just assumed you were exempt, that he didn’t mind you being constantly glued to his side. And not once did he complain, probably for your sake—how could you have been so inconsiderate?
The words replayed over and over until you couldn’t bring yourself to continue laying on him. So you shifted, slow and careful, as if your bones were still heavy with sleep. Regulus barely stirred, too lost in whatever quiet thought had softened his face earlier, and you used that mercy to your advantage. Pushing yourself upright just a little, enough to murmur in a voice still thick with faux-sleep,
“I’m—um…I’m gonna go to bed.”
You could still feel the warmth of his arm at your side, how his thumb ran over the fabric of your shirt. Regulus was barely able to get a word out before you’d stood up, it was all so sudden—there was no time to ask you to stay a little longer, no kiss goodnight, no lazy drape of your hand across his shoulders. Just a rushed, whispered ‘goodnight’ and the ghost of a smile he couldn’t quite make out in the dark. You slipped away quick and silent, padding up the stairs to your dorm and slipping under your own blankets as you struggled to swallow the tightness that was building in your throat.
The next morning was just as busy as the last few had been, but when you finally had a moment—the whiplash cruel. He greeted you with that soft peck and a “good morning” and a slight furrow between his brows when you didn’t lean into him the way you always did. You did smiled back, warm as ever, and that only seemed to confuse him more.
Though, you kept your hands to yourself, as much as they itched and searched for his, kept your shoulder from brushing his, kept your body angled just enough away. It was subtle, agonisinglys so, an you though maybe he might not notice, and if he did, you hoped he’d be glad.
It was a slow withdrawal for the days to come. Like you were breaking a bad habit, weaning yourself off of him—you convinced yourself that this was necessary, because you loved him too much to suffocate him. The contrast was so stark. Cold yet warm, near by far—because you were still you just out of reach—still teased him in that half-formed jumble of languages, still whispered smart little quips that earned you the usual narrow-eyed smirk.
You still giggled at his sharp jokes, treated him the way you always had…just without the part where your bodies were tangled, where you rested your chin on his shoulder, where your fingers found his without thinking.
At first, he asked if you were coming down with something. It was the only possible reason in his mind for this odd behaviour you were displaying; why else would you be avoiding his touch like the plague?
But you laughed him off, shook your head and smiled, told him you were fine. Which wasn’t entirely a lie, but it still didn’t completely fool. He pressed, gently but worriedly, asking if something had upset you, you looked so genuinely baffled that he swallowed the rest of the question before it reached his tongue.
So, instead he watched—he was good at that.
Regulus knew he wasn’t crazy, he could see how your smile fell flat the second you thought he wasn’t looking or how you stared at the seat beside him for a second too long before choosing another. Saw that your hand twitched like it wanted to reach out but didn’t, it started to bleed into him.
The distance.
He was snappish, irritable, made him withdraw into himself like he’d been left out in the cold. Barty made a comment about him being moody and Regulus nearly hexed him. He didn’t know what he’d done wrong, couldn’t fathom why you suddenly treated the space between you like it was necessary, like being close would burn you.
Almost week went by—one of the longest, most miserable weeks Regulus had experienced in a long time. But he respected it—your strange newfound aversion to leaning against him, your insistence on walking side-by-side instead of arm-in-arm. He respected it not just because he loved you, because if you needed this space, he would never take that away.
But when the sun set and he found his bed that bit colder and the blanket suddenly far too much for one, he’d stayed awake staring at the ceiling, replaying every moment of the last month, searching for what could have caused this.
Regulus was smart—top of all his classes, skipped almost two full academic years, and yet for the life of him, he couldn’t figure this out. He kept coming up empty-handed every time, and it was really starting to get to him. And the spiral began, every sign pointed to the one thing he dreaded.
You were going to leave him.
This was your way of preparing yourself, preparing him.
He was unravelling by the end of the week.
And Gods did he just want to be selfish, to move across the room everytime you avoided him, to indulge himself in the one slither of solace he’d grown spoilt with—desperate for, lonely without.
Finally, when he couldn’t physically stand it anymore—when the ache in his chest had worn him down to the last sleepless night he could bear—he pulled you aside during a free period. Into his empty dorm room that you hadn’t seen in over a week. His hand closed around your wrist before he could think better of it, then dropped it just as quickly like he’d committed some unforgivable act.
When you caught a glimpse of his face, it was almost foreign.
His eyes were wide and frantic in a way you’d only seen a handful of times, and as much as he tried to steady his hand in tight fists by his side, you’d felt the way they trembled slightly as they let you go.
“Is something wrong?” he asked first, and when you opened your mouth he pushed forward like he was afraid he’d never have the voice to speak again and the words were getting out quickly enough.
“Did I upset you? Did I—did I do something? Do you—” His words got caught, stuck on his tongue like it physically hurt to get them out, and his throat bobbed. “Do you hate me?”
Immediately your face crumbled, brows knitting together as you rushed out words, “What? No. Reggie—no, never! What’s going on?” You grabbed his arm on instinct—warm and gentle, just like how he remembered; and the effect it had on him was instantaneous.
His breath hitched just slightly before he pressed his lips into a thin line as if to steady himself, but the tension in his shoulders visibly released. Even if he could bring himself to meet your eyes, his own flickered helplessly to where you held him.
“Then why do you treat me with such contempt? Why won’t you come near me? Did I do something to make you want to leave?”
Leave.
You blinked at him, actually stunned—lips parted to speak but words seemed to fail you, because never—not once—had the thought even crossed your mind. All you could do was shake your head, adamant, because how could he think that? He couldn’t possibly believe you’d ever leave him?
You grabbed his arms then, both of them, sliding your hands down slow and deliberate, like they were memorising the surface of his skin until they met his. And his fingers curled around yours like he’d been starving for the contact.
Emptying your lungs in one sharp exhale, you squeezed his hand firmly as you spoke, guilt burning at the base of your stomach.
”No. No, I—I never meant to make you feel that way. I’m not going anywhere. I was only doing it for you. I thought it was what you wanted.”
“What I wanted?” His voice pitched so sharply it almost echoed. “Why on earth would I want this? Why would I want you far?”
He relinquished his hold on your hand and ran a hand through his hair, pulling harshly at the roots as his lips spilled words faster than he could filter them. “I’ve spent the whole week thinking about this—about you, about the way you lean on me—what made you think I wanted any of this?”
Your cheeks burned, shame, hurt, frustration all mangled together, and then you were snapping, mouth twisting and voice sharper than you’d planned, on the defence.
“Can you blame me? It’s because of what you said, Regulus. I heard you that night.”
His name on your lips wasn’t soft anymore, it was brittle, trembling and cracking at the end. Regulus could see the sheen building on your eyes, how you breath skipped at you watched him in silence, waiting—while he wracked his brain yet again for what you could be talking about. His own brows knitted together high on his forehead and a wash of confusion painted his face, but he only shook his head as he spoke,
“What? What are you talking about?”
Your blood only festered warmer, frustration prickling up your spine as you took a step away from him, fists clenched at your sides. But he didn’t let you go far, hands reaching out to take yours again.
“Maybe you thought I was asleep but—” you swallowed before the words tumbled out,”—but you called me a parasite, Regulus. What else was I suppossed to think?!”
His mouth opened, then closed his brows pulling impossibly tighter, “I—no. **Never. I would never call you that.”
There was no attempt to conceal the scoff that left your lips, followed by another step back—but he didn’t let go.
“But you did.”
You were serious, he could tell, could hear it in your voice; the flat tone it took, just how adamant you were, that you were one hundred percent sure that he’d called you such a mean and nasty thing. “And you were right—I didn’t realise how overbearing I was being and I‘m trying to fix it!”
Regulus was still holding you, hand wrapped firmly around your wrist, his gaze weighty on your face and silence even heavier, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet his eyes. Not when you were trying to calm your pulse, trying to ignore the feeling of his skin on yours, not when you knew you’d be met with **those **eyes—soft and desperate and pleading.
It was already in motion, the tell-tale signs were there. That clogged, suffocating feeling in your sinuses, the tightness at the back of your throat and burning behind your eyes, the way each word was harder to get out than the last.
“…Sangsue?” you sniffed, “You really don’t remember calling me sangsue?”
The recognition visibly washed across his face and his other hand reached for yours before you had time to react, grasping both your hands, almost frantic. “Yes—I said that, but it doesn’t mean...I don’t think you’re—I’d never call you that.”
You still couldn’t be believe him, not fully. You’d heard the word with your own ears, in his voice, knew what that word meant to you.
“I meant it teasingly,” he speaking quicker, his fingers tightened around yours instinctively like he knew you’d try pull away, words rushing out to reduce the damage he’d done that night. “Endearingly. It’s—it’s like calling you clingy, but not in a bad way, in the way you…you cling to me. The way you hang onto me. It wasn’t an insult. I—”
He winced. “A leech. I meant leech.”
Your eyes roll back.
“Oh, fantastic,” you scoff, deadpanned. “because that’s so much better.”
Regulus nodded rapidly, almost too rapidly, as though he feared the apology wouldn’t land unless he offered it with his entire body. A helpless sound left him—something between a groan and a plea. “I know,” he blurted, voice thin and earnest. “I know it sounds awful. I know it does.”
He was tugging you closer, caution but insistent as he spoke—rambled, spilled out words trying to fix things, make the anger and hurt that was etched into your face leave.
“It’s all a misunderstanding. I’m sorry. I won’t—I won’t use that word again, not ever. I didn’t realise how it would sound, what it meant to you, I didn’t know you’d heard me, I—” His breath faltered, shoulders caving in a way that made your throat tighten all over again.
Step by step, he coaxed you forward until the backs of his knees hit the bedframe. The moment they did, he let himself sink down onto it, but he didn’t let go of you—not once. Instead, his hands slid to your waist, fingers splaying wide over your waist and hips as if he were trying to relearn the shape of you with his palms.
“I never want you far from me,” he said, voice quieter now, raw at the edges. He looked up at you, searching your face like he needed to analyse every flicker of emotion there.
When you speak your voice is baseless and brittle, “You don’t?”
“Not for a moment.” He lifted your hands to his lips and pressed small, desperate kisses to the backs of them.
”This last week has been—” He broke off, exhaling shakily. The breath collapsed out of him, “It’s been miserable,” he confessed, the word barely above a whisper. “Everything felt wrong. I couldn’t sleep, I couldn’t focus—”
When your hands find their way into his hair, he quiets without thinking. Eyes fluttering shut, like solace had finally been granted to him, and his thumbs drew unconscious lines along your sides, small, soothing, pleading motions that made you melt, made you forget, made you forgive.
“How could I ever not want this?” he murmured, leaning into your touch.
𝕽𝖊𝖌𝖚𝖑𝖚𝖘 𝕭𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖐 𝖝 𝕽𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖑𝖆𝖜!𝖕𝖚𝖗𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖔𝖉!𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖉𝖊𝖗
Summary : You, cornered by family expectations and Hogwarts gossip, agree to stage a relationship with Regulus Black. The motive is practical—shield yourself from pressure, control the narrative, and keep things strictly on your terms.
Tags : Fake Dating , Suggestive Content , mention about sex , manipulative , miscommunication (later on) , angst , hurt/comfort
author' note : Hello guys, so this idea has been on my mind for quite some time and I am so happy to finally start writing this, I promise part 2 will come soon cause I already have it planned. Enjoy!!
The Black family’s drawing room was a place designed to intimidate. Heavy velvet curtains blocked out the summer light, casting the chamber in a muted gloom. The air smelled faintly of polished wood and smoke from the ever-burning hearth, though the fire was unnecessary in the warmth of the season. Portraits of stern ancestors lined the walls, their painted eyes following every movement with silent judgment.
Regulus sat rigidly in the high-backed chair, posture perfect, hands folded neatly in his lap. He had learned long ago that any sign of restlessness was met with sharp rebuke. His parents—Orion and Walburga—occupied the seats opposite him, their presence commanding, their voices weaving through the silence with the weight of centuries of expectation.
The conversation had begun with pleasantries, the kind of brittle exchanges that masked deeper currents. But inevitably, it drifted toward the subject that always lingered beneath the surface: the family fortune. The Black legacy. The inheritance that had once been Sirius’s birthright, now stripped from him the moment he turned his back on their name.
Regulus listened as his mother spoke of investments, of properties, of the preservation of wealth that had been carefully guarded for generations. Her tone was sharp, precise, every word carrying the authority of someone who believed herself the keeper of tradition. Orion’s voice followed, lower and steadier, but no less commanding. He spoke of responsibility, of duty, of the necessity of maintaining the Black name untarnished.
And Regulus—silent, composed—sat as the heir. The weight of it pressed against his chest, heavier than the ornate rings that gleamed on his parents’ fingers. He was the one expected to carry the fortune forward, to embody the ideals Sirius had rejected. Every glance from Walburga reminded him of that truth. Every pause in Orion’s speech seemed to demand his agreement, his compliance.
Walburga’s voice was the first to cut through the heavy silence, sharp as the edge of a blade. She spoke of lineage, of the Black name, of the fortune that had been preserved through centuries of careful alliances. Her words carried the weight of tradition, each syllable dripping with expectation.
Orion leaned forward, his tone lower, deliberate, as though every phrase was carved into stone. He reminded Regulus of his position—not just as heir to the wealth Sirius had abandoned, but as the one who must ensure the family’s survival in the eyes of the pure-blood elite.
The conversation wound its way, slowly but inevitably, toward the heart of the matter. Walburga’s gaze fixed on her son, unyielding. “The fortune is secure,” she said, “but the name must be upheld.”
Orion’s words followed, steady and cold. “A suitable partner. From a pure-blooded family. That is the expectation.”
The implication hung heavy in the air. Regulus was to court, to present the image of stability and tradition, to prove that the Black legacy was unbroken. The partner was not meant to be cherished, not meant to be loved—merely a formality, a symbol.
Walburga’s lips curled faintly, almost satisfied. “You may discard her once the inheritance is sealed. What matters is appearances. The family name must remain untarnished.”
The fire crackled in the hearth, the only sound in the pause that followed. Regulus sat perfectly still, the words sinking into him like iron chains. He was expected to find a mistress to court, a pure-blooded woman to stand at his side until the fortune was his. Afterward, she could be cast aside.
Your presence in Ravenclaw was always marked by a certain sharpness—an intellect that cut through the noise of Hogwarts like a blade. You weren’t just another pure-blood girl with wealth and a respectable family name; you were known for the way you wielded your mind, for the way professors leaned forward when you spoke, for the way even the most confident students hesitated before challenging you in class.
Among the pure-blood circles, your family’s reputation was untouchable. Old money, old traditions, the kind of lineage that made the Blacks and Rosiers nod in acknowledgment. But unlike them, you refused to bow to the suffocating beliefs that had poisoned generations. You had no patience for the rhetoric that half-bloods and Muggle-borns were lesser, no tolerance for the whispers of superiority that echoed in Slytherin corridors.
That was why you kept your distance from the so-called Slytherin Skittles—Evan Rosier with his smug grin, Barty Crouch Jr. with his sharp tongue, Regulus Black with his quiet intensity, Dorcas Meadows with her sharp wit, and Pandora Rosier with her enigmatic charm. They thrived in their own insular world, bound by ambition and bloodline, while you carved your own path, refusing to be defined by the same narrow ideals.
Still, your name carried weight. In the library, in the classroom, even in the Great Hall, you were recognized. You gave Remus Lupin a run for his money in debates, matched Lily Evans in brilliance, and on occasion, even Regulus himself found his carefully constructed composure tested when you outmaneuvered him in Arithmancy or Charms. You were a Ravenclaw through and through—sharp, strategic, and unafraid to challenge anyone who underestimated you.
It was this reputation, this undeniable presence, that made you both admired and untouchable. You were respected among the pure-blood elite, yet you stood apart from their suffocating beliefs. And in the quiet corners of Hogwarts, whispers followed you: the girl who could rival the brightest minds, the one who might one day dismantle the very traditions she was born into.
The library was hushed, sunlight filtering through tall windows and pooling across the long oak tables where you and your friends had gathered. Sylvia leaned close, her elbow nudging yours, her whisper sharp with disbelief: “He’s coming this way.”
You didn’t even glance up at first. Lizzy was flipping through a Charms textbook, Heather scribbling notes, Mary half-buried in a stack of parchment. You scoffed under your breath, brushing Sylvia off. The Slytherins knew better than to tangle with you—it was an unspoken rule, a mutual understanding. You were Ravenclaw, sharp-tongued, untouchable, and they were the Skittles, a cluster of pure-blood ambition and arrogance.
But then the footsteps stopped at your table. The infamous Regulus Black, heir of the Black fortune, slid into the empty seat across from you. His movements were deliberate, precise, as though he had rehearsed this intrusion. He sat facing you directly, posture immaculate, and when his gaze lifted, it locked onto yours without hesitation.
The chatter of your friends faltered. Lizzy’s quill stilled, Heather’s notes forgotten, Mary’s eyes widened. Sylvia’s whisper turned into a sharp intake of breath. Yet Regulus didn’t spare them a glance. His attention was fixed entirely on you, as though the rest of the library had ceased to exist.
The moment unfolded with a strange inevitability. Regulus’s voice, calm but commanding, cut through the library’s quiet: “May I borrow your friend for a few moments?” His gaze never wavered from you, pinning you in place even as your friends exchanged startled glances.
Sylvia’s nudge turned into a hurried nod, Lizzy and Heather murmured agreement, and Mary shifted awkwardly, all of them conforming far too quickly for your liking. You blinked, confused, caught between scoffing at the absurdity and wondering what game he was playing. The Slytherins didn’t cross into your territory—not like this.
But Regulus didn’t wait for your protest. He rose smoothly, every movement deliberate, and you found yourself following as he led you out of the library. His stride was measured, his silence heavy, until the two of you slipped into a secluded corridor where the shadows stretched long and no curious eyes could follow.
The air felt different here—quieter, charged. The walls muffled the distant hum of Hogwarts life, leaving only the sound of your footsteps and the faint rustle of his robes. He stopped, turning to face you fully, the intensity of his stare sharper now without the buffer of your friends.
You stood there, irritation simmering, arms crossed as you demanded, “Alright, Black. What do you want dragging me out here?”
Regulus’s composure didn’t falter, though his voice carried a quiet tension. “Everything,” he said simply. “My parents have made it clear—the Black fortune, the legacy, it all depends on appearances. They want me to find someone. A partner. Pure-blooded, respectable, untouchable. Someone who can stand beside me until the inheritance is secured.”
Your brows shot up, disbelief sharp in your tone. “You’re telling me this like I should care? Sounds like your problem, not mine.”
You scoffed, incredulous. “So you want me to fake-date you? Pretend to be your partner so you can inherit your fortune, while I get dragged into your family’s mess?”
Regulus’s jaw tightened, but his voice didn’t waver. “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m asking. Not because I want to, but because I have no choice. And you’re the only one who could make it work.”
The silence stretched, heavy, pressing against the stone walls. His confession hung between you, audacious and desperate all at once.
You couldn’t help it—the laugh burst out before you could stop yourself, sharp and incredulous, echoing in the empty corridor. The look on his face only made it worse.
“Regulus Black,” you said, shaking your head, amusement curling at the edges of your voice, “you actually think I’d want to be seen with you?”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t interrupt. He just stood there, gaze steady, as if waiting for you to soften.
But you didn’t. You straightened, the laughter fading into something colder. “No. Whatever scheme you’re plotting, whatever neat little arrangement you think I’d agree to—it’s not happening. I don’t care about your fortune, your family name, or their ridiculous demands. I won’t play along.”
You turned on your heel, the sound of your footsteps echoing against the stone floor as you strode away. The rejection had been sharp, final, and you didn’t bother to look back.
But you felt it—the weight of his gaze, dark and unyielding, following you down the corridor. Regulus didn’t call after you, didn’t try to stop you. He simply stood where you had left him, silent, his eyes fixed on your retreating figure.
There was something in that stare, something that lingered even as you disappeared around the corner. It wasn’t just annoyance or wounded pride—it was calculation, quiet intensity, the kind of gaze that promised this wasn’t the end.
Dinner in the Great Hall was its usual blur of chatter and clinking cutlery, the long tables buzzing with energy. You sat beside Everett Vale—Evei, as most people called him—half-listening to his easy banter while your mind still lingered on the strange encounter earlier.
The scrape of a bench pulled your attention, and Sylvia slid into the seat beside you. Her expression was sharp, eyes gleaming with curiosity. She didn’t waste time with pleasantries. One word, low and insistent: “Spill.”
Your stomach tightened. This was the first time you’d seen her since Regulus Black had cornered you in the library, and the memory of his dark gaze still clung to you. Your brain raced, flipping through excuses, searching for something that would sound believable without giving away the truth.
Finally, you settled on one. You leaned back, forcing a casual tone. “It wasn’t anything dramatic. He wanted to ask about the Arithmancy assignment—something about the formula Professor Vector gave us. I told him to figure it out himself.”
Sylvia narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced, but she didn’t press—at least not yet. The excuse hung between you, flimsy but serviceable, a shield against the truth you weren’t ready to share.
The corridors of Hogwarts were quiet after dinner, the hum of voices fading as students drifted back to their common rooms. You walked alone, the path toward Ravenclaw Tower familiar, your mind still half on Sylvia’s probing questions and the flimsy excuse you’d given her.
Then, suddenly, a hand seized your arm. Before you could react, you were shoved through the door of the Potions classroom, the heavy wood slamming shut behind you. The lock clicked, sealing you inside.
Your protest rose sharp and immediate, but it died on your lips when you saw him. Regulus Black. His expression unreadable, his movements deliberate. He advanced without hesitation, wand raised, the tip pressing lightly under your chin. The cold touch forced your head up, your back hitting the edge of the table behind you.
The room was dim, shadows stretching across shelves lined with jars and vials. Regulus leaned forward, lowering the wand but not the intensity of his stare. His hands gripped the table on either side of you, caging you in, the closeness suffocating.
Your breath caught, irritation and confusion colliding with the undeniable weight of his presence. He didn’t speak yet—just stared, dark eyes fixed on yours, as though daring you to laugh again, daring you to dismiss him.
Regulus’s voice was low, steady, but there was a sharp edge to it as he leaned closer, wand no longer pressing but his presence still suffocating.
“You think this is about me needing you to go forward with my plans?,” he said, eyes locked on yours. “It’s not. It’s about what happens if you don’t play along. You know how these families work—your family included. They’ll push you toward alliances whether you want them or not. They’ll try to tie you to someone worse, someone who won’t give you a choice.”
His grip on the table tightened. “Being linked to me—even if it’s fake—keeps them off your back. It makes you untouchable. No one questions the Black heir’s partner. No one dares interfere. You get the freedom to breathe, to keep control, without committing to anything real.”
He paused, letting the words sink in, his tone quieter now. “I’m not asking you to believe in their traditions. I know you don’t. I’m asking you to use me as a shield. A buffer. Temporary. Nothing more.”
“You’re starting to see it, aren’t you?” Regulus murmured, voice smooth, almost smug. “I’m not saying you want this. But think about it—linked to me, you’re untouchable. No family breathing down your neck, no worse matches forced on you. I’m a buffer. Temporary. Clean. Easy.”
You narrowed your eyes, refusing to let him think he’d won. “That doesn’t mean I’m convinced.”
His smirk deepened, the arrogance sliding into something more teasing. “Oh, come on. I can’t be that bad. Better than half the dreary options your family would throw at you. At least I’m not boring.” He leaned closer, voice dropping. “And I promise, I’d keep you entertained—in more ways than one.”
You scoffed, heat rising despite yourself. “You’re insufferable.”
Regulus chuckled, his tone dipping into suggestive territory. “Maybe. But admit it—you’d rather spar with me than be shackled to some dull pure-blood who thinks a good time is reciting family trees. At least with me, you’d never be bored. And who knows…” His gaze flicked down, deliberately slow, “…you might even enjoy yourself.”
You rolled your eyes, but he pressed on, relentless. “Besides, think about it. You get freedom, I get my parents off my back. Win-win. And if anyone asks, well…” His smirk sharpened. “You can say you settled for the best of bad options. I’ll even let you insult me while you’re at it.”
Your lips parted, half-annoyed, half-amused. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously better than the rest,” he countered smoothly, leaning just close enough that his breath brushed your cheek. “And if you’re worried about appearances, don’t. I look good on your arm. You’d look even better on mine.”
The banter hung heavy, sharp and charged, his arrogance daring you to push back, your irritation tangled with the faintest flicker of intrigue.
The tension in the Potions room was thick, his smug grin still lingering as you finally exhaled, the words slipping out before you could stop them.
“Fine,” you said, voice sharp but steady. “I’ll agree.”
Regulus’s eyes lit with triumph, but before he could move, you pressed a hand against his chest, forcing space between you. “But don’t get ahead of yourself, Black. There are terms and conditions.”
His brow arched, amusement flickering. “Terms and conditions? You make it sound like a contract.”
You held his gaze, unyielding. “It is a contract. If we’re doing this, it’s on my rules. First—kissing only in public. That’s it. No private theatrics, no blurred lines. Second—you don’t get to parade me around like a trophy. We decide together when and where we’re seen. Third—this stays temporary. When your family’s satisfied, it’s over.”
Regulus leaned closer again, hands gripping the table, his smirk deepening. “Kissing only in public? That’s cruel. What if I want to practice?” His tone dipped, teasing, suggestive. “You wouldn’t want me to embarrass you with sloppy technique, would you?”
You rolled your eyes, but the heat in the air was undeniable. “Don’t push your luck.”
He tilted his head, eyes gleaming. “Luck has nothing to do with it, and if you’re setting conditions…” His voice dipped, teasing. “…I’ll enjoy breaking them one by one.”
The heat in the air was undeniable, your irritation tangled with something sharper, something you refused to name.
You lay sprawled on your bed, staring at the ceiling, the weight of it all pressing down on you. Regulus Black. Of all people. A pure-blood supremacist, whispered about in corridors as a future Death Eater. You groaned, burying your face in your pillow—oh my god, it couldn’t get any worse.
But then the thought hit you, sharp and electric. If you’re going to do this—if you’re going to fake-date him—you might as well have your fun. You’re not just going to play along. You’re going to dig. You’re going to peel back every layer of his carefully constructed mask.
Every secret he’s hiding. Every weakness he doesn’t want anyone to see. You’ll find them. You’ll use this arrangement not just to shield yourself from your family’s pressure, but to unravel Regulus Black himself.
And suddenly, the situation didn’t feel quite so suffocating. It felt like a game. Dangerous, yes—but thrilling.
The morning was ordinary enough—you were bent over your Transfiguration homework with Peter and Remus, the three of you muttering about wand movements and formula corrections. Peter was scribbling furiously, Remus calmly pointing out where he’d gone wrong, and you were mid-sentence when warmth brushed your shoulder.
An arm draped gently around you, steady but not forceful. Then—soft, deliberate—a kiss pressed to your cheek.
You froze, quill hovering above parchment, as Peter nearly dropped his notes. “Wait—did he just—?” His voice cracked in disbelief.
Remus’s brow arched, his expression unreadable but his eyes sharp, flicking between you and the boy behind you.
Regulus Black stood there, calm and composed, his touch light, not controlling—just enough to make his presence known. His voice was gentle, teasing, but not mocking. “Morning,” he said, lips curving into a faint smile. “Thought I’d remind you I exist.”
The heat rose in your cheeks, not from embarrassment alone but from the sheer audacity of it. He wasn’t smug in that moment—he was careful, almost tender, though the timing was deliberate enough to leave Peter gaping and Remus quietly studying you both.
By the time the bell rang for the end of third period, Hogwarts was practically vibrating with whispers. It was everywhere—echoing in corridors, spilling across staircases, even drifting through the Great Hall.
Students swarmed around you and Regulus, eyes wide, voices hushed but eager. Some were bold enough to ask outright, “Is it true? Are you two really together?” Others just stared, giggling behind their hands, nudging their friends as if they’d spotted the scandal of the year.
Everywhere you went, heads turned. The rumor had already twisted itself into certainty: you and Regulus Black were dating. And Hogwarts wasn’t just gossiping—they were shipping you two. Hard.
Girls in the common room were already debating your “ship name.” Boys in the courtyard were joking about how Regulus had finally been tamed. Even professors seemed to raise their brows when you passed, though they said nothing.
Regulus, of course, handled it with maddening calm. He didn’t smirk or flaunt it—he simply stayed close, his presence quiet but undeniable. That gentleness only made the whispers louder, the story sweeter in everyone else’s eyes.
Regulus had barely sunk into the green leather armchair in the Slytherin common room when Evan and Barty swooped in, grins sharp and voices loud enough to draw attention.
“Oi, Black,” Evan started, smirking as he sprawled across the couch. “So it’s true then? You and [name] ? Damn, finally. Half the castle’s been waiting for this.”
Barty leaned forward, eyes gleaming with mischief. “You should’ve seen the way people were talking at lunch. Shipping you two like it’s the next great romance. Honestly, I’m impressed—you managed to break Hogwarts without even trying.”
Regulus tried for calm, his usual mask of indifference, but the firelight betrayed him—just the faintest flicker of warmth in his expression. He didn’t snap back, didn’t deny it. He only let their teasing wash over him, quiet, thoughtful.
Because the truth was, they weren’t wrong. He had been harboring feelings since fifth year. Watching her from a distance, keeping it buried beneath duty and expectation, never daring to let it surface. And now, with the rumor blazing through the castle, it felt like the world had caught up to what he’d been hiding all along.
Evan nudged him again, laughing. “You’re not even denying it. Merlin, Reg, you’re gone for her.”
