#i just love when barty is sick for him

[arviyya]

Pathetic, whining, crying, desperate, begging, pleading, Barty.

Gentle, licking up his tears, praising, calm, collected, Evan.

thats all.

[youleftmenochoicebut]

GOLD RUSH — regulus black x reader.

SUMMARY. — your secret relationship with regulus isn’t so secret anymore.

PAIRING. — regulus black x fem!pureblood!reader

WARNINGS. — reader has a 1st year brother; this is shitty;

A/N. — im desperately trying to write something coherent for reggie and it’s not working

“if you stare at that poor girl for a little while longer i’m pretty sure her head’s gonna set on fire.” Barty’s voice is quiet as he leans in closer to your ear, and you tilt up your head at him, quickly hitting his shoulder. you’re standing in front of the potions classroom, and out of your friend group it’s only the two of you - Evan back in his dorm claiming to be sick, Dorcas not every making any excuses as to why she didn’t show up, Pandora being a ravenclaw, and Regulus… well, Regulus.

Regulus is standing in the darkest corner of the hallway, having a conversation with some hufflepuff (a good friend of his who you have known of for a while) who’s batting her eyelashes up at him, and you wonder if he’s truly that oblivious to notice or just chooses to ignore it. either way you shrug, turning to Barty with a grimace on your face that’s supposed to be a smile.

“damn, babe, with that look on your face you might just scare away potential suitors.” he tugs at your braid, swiftly making it fall apart, and your frown deepens.

“not in the mood, Barty.” you roll your eyes with a scoff, leaning back against the wall, looking up at the ceiling. your parents have been bugging you about finding a suitable future husband to marry after you graduate ever since this school year started, and as it all nears spring you’re only growing more restless. of course they don’t know about your relationship with Regulus. sure, they would be over the moon at the news, the younger Black brother being… hot shit amongst the mentally challenged elders, as Evan described it once. which is exactly why you want to keep it under the wraps for as long as you can.

it’s been going pretty well you’d say, both of you not having much problem with acting casual, but lately you’ve been struggling with that. you’re not jealous, Merlin forbid, you’re just… well, maybe you are the tiniest bit jealous. in all honesty, who wouldn’t be? it’s Regulus Black.

you enter the classroom hand in hand with Barty once the clock strikes nine, splitting with him when you make your way to your desk. during this class you actually share your space with Regulus, and so you give him a small smile when he sits down beside you.

the whole day passes in a blur for you, as it usually does, and soon enough you’re in your favorite place of all Hogwarts. you’re sitting on a huge plush couch in the room of requirement, your head resting on your boyfriend’s lap as he runs his slender fingers through your hair. both of you dressed in some comfortable clothes instead of the everyday robes, your wands laying down on the wooden table in front of the sofa.

“i haven’t written back to my mother yet.” you murmur after a moment, eyes set on Regulus’ face, trying to catch every detail of it.

his skin is pale, sheer thin, and if you believed in them you could’ve said he’s a ghost. his lips are always so plump looking, now outstretched in a smile, his gray irises staring right back at you with that loving shimmer to them.

“have Alistair?” he asks, your younger brother’s name leaving his mouth so quiet it’s practically a whisper, and he raises his eyebrows. you shrug, and a moment later you shake your head.

“i’m not sure. i think so.” you reply, internally groaning at the mere thought of your sibling, and you push yourself up on your elbows then fully sit up, reaching out for one of the mugs standing on the coffee table. they’re both filled with hot chocolate, and you take the pink one into your hand, sipping on it slowly. “little bugger is snitching on me, i try to avoid him.”

you watch him chuckle and reach over for his mug, then the two of you lean back against the couch. you can feel yourself sinking into the cushions, and a delighted sigh escapes you, before you catch Regulus’ amused expression and purse your lips together quickly.

“i just can’t wait for all of this to end, so we could move away.” you mumble, setting your cup back down, and he nods. he leans in closer, his hands resting on either sides of your middle, and for a beat he only looks at you. then suddenly his smile widens, and he kisses the top of your nose.

“chocolate on your nose.” he whispers playfully, his lips brushing innocently against your cheek next, then your jawline, your chin, slowly trailing down to set on your neck for a longer while. “just three more months, ma chérie. and we’ll leave it all behind.”

his breath is hot against your skin despite the chilliness of his hands that wrap around your waist, helping you into a laying down position. his caress is gentle, soft, just so so loving.

“a cozy cottage somewhere in a quiet village. maybe wales?” you breathe out, your hands coming up to first rest on his shoulders, but you quickly move them up and tangle them into his dark curls.

“mhm, like we planned.” he nods, making you yelp in surprise as he suddenly sucks on your pulse point, and you swear you can feel him smirk against the column of your throat. “a whole lot of protective spells to keep us safe and hidden from everyone. and then maybe we can focus on what’s good. plant a tree and have a dozen of children.”

“well, i don’t know who’s gonna give you a dozen of children, cause it’s for sure not me.” you scoff, a chuckle escaping your lips as you pull him back from you, and he takes the opportunity to give you a kiss. it quick and sweet, and his hands start to wander under your shirt, ghosting over the outline of your bra teasingly.

you leave the room of requirement in the middle of the night, fingers intertwined, and your guard let down. your clothes are wrinkled up, hair messy and tousled, and there’s already a slight limp to your walk. you’re both sure no one’s going to see you, i mean come on, it’s 2am. but the moment you step a foot outside, and the magic door disappears behind you, you hear a victorious laugh.

your brother is standing right there, just a few strides away from you, grinning from ear to ear. you immediately groan, gaze locking with Regulus’ for a moment before you step forward.

“i swear to Merlin, Alistair, if you tell anyone about this…” you start menacingly, hand clasping on the boy’s shirt collar, but it gives you an opposite result of what you’ve hoped for.

“sod off, Y/N! i’m writing about this to mother right when i get back to my dorm!”

[peppermintkissesxoxo]

an afternoon stroll

rosekiller x gn!reader

cw: d/s relationship dynamics, little daddy kink towards the end, reader gets carried by Evan, mostly fluff

wc: 2.7k

𓆩♡𓆪

"Pet, hands to yourself," Evan tsks as his arm languidly reaches out, fingers pinching the back of your top to pull you back onto the path with ease. 

Your fingers were just a hair away from grazing the bush housing vibrant purple berries practically glowing in the dim forest light, just for a split second before you're firmly pulled away and tucked into your boyfriend's side. "Ev, c'mon!" You throw your hands up as you huff out a whine. "Wasn't gonna touch..." You lie. 

The blonde haired boy scoffs, clicking his tongue. "Yeah you're very believable. Don't throw a tantrum now, precious, you know I won't be on your side," he murmurs while doting a kiss to the crown of your head, a possessive hand placed on the fat of your hip to keep you close to his body, holding you captive. 

Your heart flutters at his usual blasé tone, affection seeping through your body as you snuggle into his side. You love how effortlessly dominant Evan is. It makes you feel taken care of, safe. And it's saved you from the many dumb decisions that have had you just a brush away from death upwards of 10 times throughout the duration of this walk. 

Evan has spent the better part of this stroll through the forbidden forest tugging you away from various flora and greenery that you like to call "pretty glowing plants," which are in fact poisonous and likely fatal to the human touch. Hence why they grow only in the forbidden forest. And he's spent the other part reigning in Barty when he wanders off too far or gets hit with a wave of boredom and starts acting a little too feisty with his wandering hands. 

Evan can't quite decipher if he's in his own version of heaven or if satan personally sent the pair of you up to him to compete for who could make him have a heart attack first. 

Up ahead a skipping Barty twirls around and comes sprinting back over, having heard you getting a scolding and alerted that you needed him to defend your honor, of course. 

"Rosie! Be nice! It's not Treasure's fault the berries are practically seducing us with their sick glow!" He reasons as he comes up to your side to hug your arm, jostling the pair of you in the process. 

It earns him one bored look from said boy. Evan's hold on you doesn't budge, but his eyes glimmer with a cruel playfulness. In a split second his free hand whips out to grab a fistful of Barty's shirt. He pulls the shorter boy against his body by the fabric, stopping you in your tracks simultaneously, now caught in the middle with wide eyes. 

Evan leers down his nose, eying up Barty. The light in his pupils carry just a hint of mischief, a deviation to his normal dead gaze. "Watch it, Bee. You're walking on thin ice today," his low tone rumbles the threat, though you all know it's actually affectionate. 

Barty tongues the inside of his cheek, fighting a toothy smirk, but it's inevitable. He gazes up at the blonde boy with hearts in his eyes. "Kay, Rosie. I can be good," he purrs in a sly manner. 

Your lips quirk up at his blatant lie, stomach heating at the heavy tension thickening between the boys. 

Evan scoffs, leaning down further to whisper against Barty's lips. "Liar." Then he claims Barty's mouth in a deep kiss, his tongue licking behind his teeth sensually, only for a moment, before he releases his shirt and lazily shoves him backwards, ending the kiss quick only for the sole purpose of leaving Barty on the tip of satisfaction. "Don't stray, idiot," he smirks. And then Evan turns back to the path and pulls you along with him. 

Barty is practically beaming with delight at Evan's shove, his cheeks tinted slightly red and his maniacal smile wide with adoration after that kiss. He catches up to you both quickly, hooking a finger into one of your belt loops and leaning down to dote kisses over your shoulder. 

You giggle softly, your shoulder traveling upwards at the ticklish pressure of his lips. 

Barty melts. "Gods, Treasure I swear an angel is born everytime a sound leaves your lips," he coos in between kisses, voice gooey like molten lava. 

Even Evan can't help but let a soft smile tug at his mouth. He can't get enough of your voice either. 

Then Barty's hand is rustling through his pockets to pull out a handful of something. Your eyes catch on the movement as he pushes his hand into your direct line of sight. "Found you something, angel," he purrs, eyes purely fixed on your expression. 

His hand unfolds to reveal a glimmering holographic crystal, a tiny skeleton crow head, and a stick with various colors of moss growing on it, all laid out on his palm. 

Your heart thumps hard in your ribcage. 

It's become a common ritual now for Barty to gift you random trinkets he's found while exploring. It's like he has a secret sense for the little beauties, a keen eye for anything pretty. He's been doing it just for fun since he was young, but once he found you, his Treasure, it made sense that he'd start gifting you the little gems he's found.

It finally clicked when you found out that his animagus is a magpie. 

"Thank you, baby," you coo, your heart flipping a thousand times over as he gently slips the little treasures into your palm. You pick up each one and admire them with equal appreciation, your heart full. 

Barty grabs a handful of your ass while you're distracted, kissing up the side of your neck. Heat creeps up your chest but you're too zoned into the treasures to be pulled from your task of examining. 

After you've looked them over, and Barty has sufficiently groped you till you're hot in the face and a good bit aroused, Evan scoops up the items to deposit into his pocket for safe-keeping until you return to the dorm. "I'll keep them safe for you, darling."

"Yeah you better keep them safe, Rosie. Spent an hour finding those beauties," Barty quips back with a smirk. 

Evan's silence is the only reply he receives, but you give Barty a quick kiss on the cheek to show your appreciation.

The three of you already started walking back to the castle a while ago, but you've still got a ways to go considering how deep into the forbidden forest you traveled. 

Your legs feel like they're turning to led, your body leaning heavily against Evan. You definitely didn't wear the right shoes for this kind of walk which makes it so much worse. The Doc Martins you picked out earlier, a recent gift from Barty, are beginning to rub against your heels with a sharp, unpleasant friction. 

Now, this is something in which Evan consistently reminded you would happen when you were getting ready to leave the dorm. He almost pulled you over his knee for your stubbornness but you held out and won in the end, i.e. Barty threw you over his shoulder and ran out of the dorm with you before Evan could get to you. 

"Ev..." You murmur, sagging into his side more heavily. 

A tired sigh escapes his nose. "Pet." He already knows where this is going. You want to be carried.

You groan softly, pulling away from both boys to cut in front of Evan and abruptly stop him in his tracks. He raises an unimpressed eyebrow. 

The sudden obvious height difference makes you a bit hot. Evan is effortlessly intimidating, he always has been. Nonetheless, it's not going to stop you from getting what you want.  You lift your arms and press your hands to his shoulders, pushing out your bottom lip in a soft pout and putting on "the doll look," as the boys like to call it. 

Evan's gazes down at you with a bored look. 

You scrunch your nose at him and suddenly his hand is gripping your jaw, his face inches from yours. 

"No," he murmurs gruffly, like one would when scolding their disobedient puppy. He's trying so hard to be stern and act like your cute little fucking face doesn't make him want to fall to your every whim. No, he's the one in charge in here, he will not let you get your way like a spoiled brat. 

He may give into you sometimes (a lot of times) but today he's less inclined to spoil you, particularly because said current issue is because you didn't listen to him earlier. 

Though your lips can't pull up into a smile because of your smushed cheeks, your eyes do all the talking. You know he won't be able to resist for much longer. Or... you think so. 

His dead gaze traces over your pretty face. "You're really testing the limits today, doll," he mutters gruffly. 

Heat pools in your lower belly and you resist the urge to swallow as your heart starts to race. You're pretty good at catching Evan's tells by now, the little facial ticks or body language that reveals his true feelings and intentions under his stoney exterior. 

But right now, you're not quite sure whether you're about get a bruised ass or get scooped up into his arms. The uncertainty makes you tingly all over in the best way. 

You experimentally palm at his shoulders with your hands, maybe your touch will sway him. "Please? M'sorry, I'm being good now," you mumble sweetly. 

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, hand releasing your face and gently pushing you backwards in the process. "No. You ask me one more time and we're going to have a problem, pet. I told you not to wear new shoes for this kind of walk. Don't expect sympathy from me," he deadpans, side stepping you to continue walking on the path. 

You huff at his rejection, your stature deflating. 

Barty rushes to your aid, palms pressing to your waist, just about ready to scoop you up into his own arms and carry you instead. He can't have his beautiful Treasure's poor feet aching. 

"Don't even think about it, Junior! They can walk," Evan barks from up ahead, not even needing to look back to know what Barty's attempting. 

Barty freezes, locking eyes with you. You both know you'll be in trouble if Barty helps you. This is something Barty certainly doesn't mind, but you do, and that's the only reason he pauses, surveying your expression carefully. 

You smile softly, threading a hand through his messy brown locks and pulling him into a loving kiss. 

"Thank you for trying, Bee," you murmur sweetly as you pull away. 

It's then that Barty catches a certain twinkle in your eyes. His heart skips a beat. He knows exactly what you're about to do. You're going to pull out the big guns. 

It shouldn't be a surprise that due to Evan's dominant nature it's become a thing for you and Barty to casually call him Daddy outside of the bedroom. It started as a joke but then it stuck rather quickly. It's not sexual (most of the time), and it's not an all the time thing, but it is typically said when Evan's stern nature is especially prevalent. 

Hence, your choice to pull the Daddy card. You turn and call out to Evan, voice soft and airy, pleading, "Daddy, please!" 

Evan pauses, the name sending a familiar jolt through his body. He lets out a deep sigh and rolls his shoulders, of course you'd pull the Daddy card, little brat. But it has him turning around anyways, and he's no sooner striding back to you. 

"Sorry?" A raised eyebrow is directed towards you once he's a less than a foot away from both you and Barty. He crosses his arms over his chest and it only serves to make his tall build broader. 

You swallow harshly, resisting the urge to take a step back. Are you intimidated out of your mind and slightly regretting your choice to test him? Yes. Are your panties a little wet? Maybe also yes. 

Barty places an arm in front of you, shielding you slightly, his eyes locked on Evan. "Ev c'mon..." he laughs nervously, trying to diffuse the tension, and also trying to ignore how hot Evan looks when he's pissed off. He's got to defend his Treasure right now. 

Evan raises a hand to silence Barty. "No, no. If the little doll wants to go down that route I'd like to hear what they have to say." Evan smiles down at you with fire searing in his gaze, a warning. 

A harsh shiver dances up your spine and suddenly you're staring down at your shoes, heat creeping up your neck as you fiddle with the hem of your skirt. "W-Well um—" 

"No, head up. Look at me, you know better," Evan's bored tone interrupts your mumbling, his expression almost blank aside from his narrowed gaze.

Your head snaps up in a rush, wide eyes blinking at him sheepishly. "Sorry, Daddy." 

He clicks his tongue, eyeing your fidgeting hands. "Enough with the fiddling, and speak up properly. If you have something you'd like to ask, now is the time, pet. Don't bore me," his blunt tone is final. 

You nod your head quickly. 

Barty has migrated to behind you for support, letting you lean back on him while his hands rub soothing circles on your hips. He's drinking up the charged tension between you and Evan. That being said, his eyes are entranced with the expression Evan's wearing. The way he's looking down at you, like you're a just a pretty little doll that needs to be put back in their place. He feels dizzy with delight. 

You start, hesitant, "I-I'm really sorry I didn't listen to you about my shoes, Daddy. My... my feet really hurt and I don't think I can walk back without getting bad blisters. Will you... um, will you please carry me back to the castle, Daddy?" You bat your eyelashes up at him gently and make sure to keep your voice soft, your cheeks scorching. 

Evan's silent for a moment, but then you catch the proud glimmer in his eyes and you know you're in the clear. He rolls his eyes and then opens up his arms and gestures you forward. "Come, Pet. You're forgiven." 

Your face practically lights up. Barty gently pushes you towards Evan and you don't hesitate to step forward and press your palms to his shoulders. 

Evan bends at the waist and wraps an arm around your lower back, scooping his free arm under your bottom to lift you onto his hip as he straightens. You wrap your arms around his neck as he does, body buzzing with a warm tingly feeling you always get when you're touching either of your boys. 

"Thank you..." you murmur shyly. 

Evan presses a soft kiss to your temple in response. 

Barty barks out a laugh. "You've gone soft, Ev," Barty taunts said boy, itching for a reaction even though he's much enjoying the sight of Evan carrying you like a little doll. "All it takes is a "please, Daddy" and they've got you falling to their every whim." He smirks. 

Evan merely rolls his eyes. After all you and Barty have put him through today, he's exhausted about 90% of his usual will to bite back. "Quiet, Bee. I think we're all in need of a nap when we get back," he murmurs as he starts walking with you still in his arms. "Go run ahead, Junior. Your energy is quite the opposite of infectious." 

Barty beams, catching up to Evan to kiss him on the cheek and then doing the same to you. "It's like you read my mind, Rosie! I was craving a little run!" And then he's off, sprinting down the path, his figure getting smaller and smaller the more distance he catches. 

Evan tilts his head toward you, his nose brushing the side of your face. He sighs, hugging you tighter to him. "You two are going to kill me one day, you know that, precious?" His voice sounds tired, but fond. 

You laugh softly, turning your face so your nose brushes his. "Mhm. But you love it," you murmur back, eyes practically smiling at him, bursting with love. 

He presses forward to lay a soft kiss on your lips.

"I am quite the masochist, aren't I?" He muses when he pulls back, a soft smile pulling at his lips.

[my-castles-crumbling]

Marks

Hi all! I wrote this for @jeguluskinktoberr but it's not explicit so I decided to post it here as well! Slightly NSFW! TW for an unnamed character giving a nonconsensual lovebite, but it's very quick.

“Absolutely not,” Regulus admonished, pushing eager lips away from his neck, rolling his eyes frustratedly.

The boy who had been happily kissing him a second ago pulled back, sending him a glare. “What? Why?”

“No marks,” Regulus stated, frowning. “Absolutely not.”

The mood was lost after that.

-

It was a rule of his. He’d never, not once allowed a boy to leave a mark on his body. Perhaps it was some sort of unresolved trauma, founded from years of not having control over his own life. Maybe it was just stubbornness and not wanting to be ‘owned’ by anyone. Either way, he hated the idea of bearing a physical sign that he’d allowed another person that type of vulnerability and power.

Barty and Evan teased him. As they marked each other up for the sheer pleasure of seeing who could make a hickey stay on the other longer, unabashedly biting each other’s necks in the middle of the Slytherin Common Room, Regulus kept his skin pristine. 

-

Once, he slipped. Got a bit swept up in a drunken exchange and woke up the next day with a small bruise on his neck. 

The feeling was awful. His skin crawled and goosebumps formed on the back of his neck as he looked in the mirror. He felt sick. He was marked. What would people think when people saw? That he’d let someone else in so far as to be able to do something so vulnerable? That he wanted someone to do that?

He’d almost cried.

But instead, he just found Sirius, asked for some makeup to hide the mark and held his head high, vowing to never let someone touch him like that again.

-

James Potter was not someone, though.

As they grew closer, Regulus found that somehow, the Gryffindor was able to knock down walls he didn’t even know he had. Part of him hated it. How was it that this annoying, obnoxious, overly-extroverted boy was able to make him feel so ridiculously safe? How was it that he was able to make him feel loved and valuable and free? It was insane, and there had to be a catch.

But part of him melted with it. Wanted to soak up every bit of James and never leave his side.

Never before had he wanted to belong to someone. Wanted to be vulnerable with someone.

So as James kissed gently up his neck, making him moan and arch into the touch, he couldn’t help but whisper, “More,” his voice gruff and needy.

And when he awoke to a smattering of marks in the hinge of his jaw the next day, he didn’t hide them. He smiled to himself as he walked through the halls, chuckling at the whispers that followed him around. 

Let them stare. He was too busy looking at James, anyway.

[crescenthistory]

Hey darling, how are you? Hope your having an amazing day ❤️

So I saw your prompt list and I was thinking about b6 and b15 with Regulus Black and kinda Sunshine x Grumpy, like he really tries to keep the facade of being cold and unbothered but reader is just so kind and understanding with him that he just melts whenever it comes to her, the tipical "I hate everybody but you"

hi my love, have been a bit sick and stressed lately, but finding relief in writing, so thank you for your enrichment hihi<3 wishing u the best!

Prompts: B.6 "Are you falling asleep on me?" "..." "Alright then" & B.15 "How are you so cute right now?"

Words: 3k

Warnings: not proofread, use of y/n, regulus black is traumatised and mentally unwell, reader is surprisingly stable and supportive (congrats), trying to make reggie have a dynamic and complex personality, not yet established relationship but Clearly Something, falling in love and fluff, implied fear of (unrequited) love on reggie's part

Note: y'all realllllly love the sunshine x grumpy dynamic with reggie, huh? me too dw

The library was silent except for the soft rustle of pages turning and the occasional scratch of quill on parchment. A low fire burned in the corner, its light barely enough to keep the chill at bay, but the two of you had stayed long past the warmth’s welcome. The vast shelves of books loomed around you like silent sentinels, their presence familiar and comforting in the way only a quiet, deserted library could be.

Regulus sat across from you, perfectly composed, as usual. His quill hovered over a parchment filled with notes – meticulously neat, with that sense of perfection you had come to associate with him, exactly as he intended. His dark hair fell slightly into his eyes as he read, but he didn’t brush it away, too focused on whatever passage had captured his attention.

You admired him, hoping your tired gaze was not too obvious – though maybe it would be good for him to see it. The late hour was getting to you, but you didn’t want to leave, not yet. Nights like this, studying alongside Regulus, had become a routine your body craved. Though he rarely gave any indication that they meant something to him, you had come to peak far enough behind the cracks of his exterior to know he did. Should he wish to not be near you, he would have left, he never had any reservations for doing so when Barty got too many of his nerves or Sirius was too loud.

Yet here you were, both of you drowning in books, the silence broken only by the sound of your quills and the faint crackling of the fire. He seemed... content.

You shifted slightly in your seat, hoping to stifle a yawn as you stretched your stiff legs under the table. The movement caught Regulus’ attention, and he glanced up from his book, dark eyes scanning your face. 

“You’re tired,” he stated, his voice low and matter-of-fact. It wasn’t a question.

“Not really,” you lied, offering him a small smile as you looked back down at your notes, dried quill hovering over the page. You could feel his eyes on you for a moment longer before he returned to his book, but his silence spoke louder than any rebuttal. You weren’t fooling him, not for a second.

Regulus knew you as well by now, and he could easily see through your casual deflections. He was also sweet enough on you to not call you out on it yet.

Charms had never been so dreadful as it was tonight, all theory as you copied information from the textbook over onto your parchment. You felt yourself beginning to drift again, blinking only made you sleepier, and the words on the page blurring together in front of your eyes. You pressed your lips together, determined to stay focused, but the exhaustion clung to you like a heavy cloak.

You rearranged yourself to be more comfortable, bringing your legs up underneath you and leaning your head on your arm, taking up perhaps a bit more desk space than what is considered gracious.

Regulus’ quill still scratched against his parchment and you looked up at him through your lashes. He hadn’t glanced at you in a while, his brow furrowed as he scribbled something in the margin of the book he was reading. Upon your movements, though, you saw a small, soft smile tug on his lips, the kind that you weren't sure anyone but you would recognise.

It had become a familiar sight, both the smile and the way he hunched slightly over his work, his focus intense. It was like he was shutting out the world around him – around us, he had once absentmindedly corrected when you told him as much. His face blank then, not paying any mind to the giant grin growing on your own face.

“How do you do it?” you asked suddenly, surprising yourself with the question. Your voice was soft, but in the quiet library, it felt like a disruption. Regulus looked up, his quill pausing mid-scratch, abandoning his sentence.

“Do what?” he asked, his voice even, though there was a hint of wariness in his eyes.

“Stay so… focused,” you clarified, gesturing vaguely to the piles of books around you. “I feel like I’m drowning in information, but you’re always so… collected.”

There was a brief pause. Regulus stared at you for a moment, his gaze unreadable. Then he lowered his quill, folding his hands in front of him on the table.

“It’s easier that way,” he said quietly, his voice almost too soft for the stillness of the room. His eyes flicked to the side, avoiding yours as he added, “When you don’t let anything else in, it’s easier to focus.”

You studied him for a moment, noting the tension in his jaw, the way his shoulders seemed to carry more weight than they should. There was always something simmering beneath the surface with Regulus – something unspoken, something guarded. He never let it out, never gave anyone the chance to see what was really going on inside his mind.

And yet, here you were, sitting across from him in a quiet library, long after everyone else had left, simply because you wanted to. So far, he had been brave enough to let you.

“And is that what you want?” you asked, keeping your tone light, non-confrontational. “To keep everything locked out?”

Regulus didn’t respond immediately. His eyes stayed fixed on the table for a long moment before he finally met your gaze again, his expression carefully controlled. “It’s necessary,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You leaned back in your chair, letting his words settle between you. Necessary. The way he said it felt heavy, like there was so much more beneath that single word. You didn’t push. You never did. Regulus wasn’t someone who opened up easily, and the last thing you wanted was to make him feel like he had to.

You wished more than anything that he could see himself the way you did. That he could let go, just a little, and realise that he didn’t have to carry everything alone.

“It doesn’t have to be,” you said softly, almost to yourself, as you turned your gaze back to your parchment.

Regulus heard you, though. He always did.

A small silence fell between you again, this one thicker with unspoken thoughts. You turned a book on its side to read it from your position lying on your arm, trying to ignore the heaviness of the atmosphere. Regulus hadn’t moved, his hands still folded in front of him, his brow slightly furrowed as though deep in thought.

“I don’t–” Regulus’ voice cuts through the quiet suddenly, making you look up. His jaw tensed slightly before he continued, “I don’t let people in because it is… easier. Safer.”

There was something vulnerable in the way he said it, as though he wasn’t used to sharing even that much. It wasn’t a full confession, not by any means, but it was more than he usually offered, and you understood how much it cost him to say even that.

“You've let me in, though, have you not?” you tried softly, offering him a small, understanding smile. “And so far it's been safe.”

Regulus blinked at that, surprise flickering in his dark eyes. He was not sure what he had expected you to say, but clearly not that.

It looked like he was at a slight loss of words, so you continued, smile still plastered on your face. "I understand what you mean, though. It's not easy to trust in general, and you have had it harder than most. Take everything in your own time, Reggie."

Regulus remained quiet, his gaze dropping back to his notes. You could feel him retreating, slipping back behind his mask, and you let him. You weren’t here to break down his defences, only to be there when he was ready to let someone in. His hand skirted closer to where yours was fidgeting with your quill – not quite touching, but close enough. Close enough.

You turned back to your book, allowing him his silence, trying to make sense of the words that felt increasingly foreign. The night was catching up with you, pulling you deeper into the edges of sleep.

“Y/N.”

Regulus’ voice brought you back to the present. You blinked, realising you had almost drifted off again, your head tilted dangerously close to the open pages of your book. There was a certain mirth in his gaze when it met yours, quickly subdued by what looked like a weary worry.

“I’m fine,” you said assuredly, straightening up in your chair with a slight wince. You could feel the stiffness settling into your back and elbow from sitting too long.

Regulus didn’t say anything at first, just watched you with that same quiet intensity he always had, his lips pressed into a thin line. “You should go,” he said after a moment, his voice softer than you expected. “It’s late.”

You gave him a sleepy smile, placing your head in your hand as you leaned on the desk. “I’m not leaving you here by yourself.”

Regulus exhaled through his nose, odd mixture of a sigh and a laugh. “I don’t mind being alone,” he said, though there was a hesitation in his voice that made you think he didn’t believe it as much as he wanted to.

“I know," you said, tone gentle, "but I do.”

"You mind being alone?"

"I mind you being alone."

That seemed to catch him off guard. He stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he looked down at his lap, his quill tapping against the edge of the table in an absent rhythm. 

"I don't really know what to say to that." His face was still partially shielded from you, but you could see there was no menace in his words – just confusion, maybe even... amusement?

"Admitting you don't know something is a good start."

He gave you the first genuine laugh of the night, albeit small. "Okay then." He looked up at you finally, slight smile still playing over his features.

You watched him for a moment longer, noting the contrast of his tense shoulders with his humoured face. He was trying so hard to hold it together, even now.

"I'll stay here for as long as you do, Reg, and I know you still have a few pages left in you."

You leaned back in your chair again, stretching and letting out a small yawn. Regulus eyed you carefully, as if considering something.

"I do," he started. "But if you're staying any longer, you should get more comfortable."

He nodded his head towards the place beside him. While you were sitting in a wooden chair, he sat in a comfy, cushioned love-seat with just enough space for you to join him in. Had you not been intent on studying, you might have sat there from the start, but the harsher chair usually helps you study.

Now, though, you did not hesitate to slip around the table and sink into Regulus's seat with a sigh.

He looked at you over his shoulder, body still angled towards his notes, smiling fondly at you. "Better?"

"Much better, though I hope you know you're playing a risky game right now."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah, I might fall asleep here and you will have to stay overnight. It would be rude to leave me."

Regulus just laughed, not dignifying you with further banter, as he turned back to his books. You had one in your lap as well, but the words were mostly jumbled by now.

The next hour trickled by with sparse conversation between the two of you, mostly just the comfortable silence you had grown between you over the months. You asked Regulus a question every now and again, about coursework or life, and he gave you his usual, short answers, though with a much kinder tone than he reserved for others who pestered him with interrogations.

He was halfway through an explanation of why the professor thought it necessary to make you write an essay that is essentially just restating the textbook when he felt something soft thud against him. He looked down and saw the top of your head, hair slightly messy from the hours in the library, lodged between his uniformed arm and back.

"Amour? Are you falling asleep on me?"

"..."

"Alright, then." Regulus couldn't help the smile that tugged on his lips, filled with more emotion than he would have let slide with anyone around. "You did warn me."

Careful not to startle you, he manoeuvred himself around so you were resting against his chest instead, and then slowly lowered you backwards to lean against the back of the chair. One hand cradled your head as he moved you, so you wouldn't get whiplash – there was no other reason, of course.

You were surprisingly soundly asleep for someone who asked him a question mere minutes ago, but then again, he suspected you had been fighting sleep for around two hours. To stay here with him. Regulus's heart clenched at that, and it did not go unnoticed by him that before he would have felt immense guilt for this moment occurring, and now he just felt... oddly soft. Warm.

He tried to place you in a comfortable enough position, still keeping some of your weight up with the left side of his body. With a tentative, slightly shaking thumb, he brushed away some hair that had fallen in your face

Part of Regulus ached to stay like this. To have an excuse to be this close to you, to feel so vulnerable without the overwhelming panic that often threatened to take over his body and mind. He basked in the sense of safety you were somehow able to provide him, but it would take hard work to be able to accept and embrace it. In the creeping darkness of the library, secluded just the two of you, it felt much easier.

Yet, despite your jokes about rudely waking you up, he did not want to risk detention for the both of you by being caught staying out past curfew.

"Y/N?" With a hand on your cheek, he tried to gently move your face to get your attention and draw you out from sleep. "Hey, amour, you need to wake up."

You let out an impudent groan, eyes squeezing as you turned your head a little – into Regulus's hand, he noted with hitched breath. "W'is it?" You slurred your words and he had to stifle his laughter.

"You need to wake up, darling. You fell asleep in the library, but we're done now. Time to get back to your dorm."

You just huffed at that, clearly trying to stay asleep by burying your face – still clutching Regulus's hand to the other cheek – into the cushion behind you. He tried to use his hand on your face again to lightly shake you, but you just grabbed his elbow and held it still in response. Eyes still decidedly shut.

This time, Regulus couldn't hold back his laugh, which in turn made you squint open an eye.

"What are you on about, Reggie?" Your voice was not only rough from sleep, but a bit annoyed, which in turn made Regulus all the more humoured. He never would have taken you, with all your painfully kind words and looks and understanding, to be grumpy in the morning.

"I don't even know," he said through a rather large grin. "How are you so cute right now?"

"Don't know, just am. Come sleep."

"No, no, darling. Time to get up so you can go sleep."

It seemed as if his words somehow seeped through your mind and you finally processed the situation. You opened your eyes and all-but-jerked into an up-right position – face now rather close to Regulus's, enough to see the whiteness of his teeth as he laughed at you. He was laughing at you. The bastard.

"Good morning," he teased, forgetting himself.

"Did you call me cute?"

The humour was almost washed from his face as he seemed to wake up himself, but an endearing smile still clung to his lips. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Mhm, sure you don't." Your smile now matched his. "How much do you have left?" You gestured to his books with your free hand – only now noticing that your other was still clutching his elbow. His hand dropped from your face the second your properly woke up, but you never let go of him. Maybe the sleep made you delirious or his comment made you brave, because you kept your hand on him.

"Oh, I'm finished." He gave you a look that you couldn't tell if was teasing because you clearly didn't or if he was lying about being done so you could go sleep. Either way, you accepted it.

"Great, let's get us to bed then, shall we?"

When Regulus got out of his seat, he held out a hand to you, to help you up. When you accepted it and ended up standing almost impossibly close to him, he didn't step back, and he didn't look away. He just smiled.

"Yeah, let's."

[oh-phoenixx]

"Dream" - Jegulus microfic @into-the-jeggyverse - 816 words

@abductedhiko

-

Regulus was unable to accept that he was worthy of good things, that they came to him and they stuck around. Inside of him festered evil, cruelty, and so much of his parents that he was scared every time he opened his mouth, that whatever came out would be their words and their voices and not his. So why, why would James Potter, a boy who embodied the sun, who had so much warmth and love to give, who could have whoever he wanted; why would he want Regulus? Some part of him feared it was one big joke, one of the Marauders’ pranks. He knew, rationally, that none of them would stoop so low, but it seemed more plausible to him than James Potter liking him.

“What are you thinking about, angel?” James asked. 

Regulus, who was resting on James’s chest, shook his head and buried his face deeper into his boyfriend’s t-shirt. His boyfriend. It didn’t make sense. This was a dream. It was the only explanation, in Regulus’s mind.

“Regulus,” James whispered, hand moving up to card through the younger boy’s hair.

“‘M fine,” Regulus said, not prepared to ever pull away from James.

James seemed to accept this, or at least accept that Regulus didn’t want to talk. But that voice in Regulus’s head just kept on going, getting louder and louder, overwhelming every other sense. 

“Why do you…” Regulus started, but his fear of vulnerability, of scaring James away, made him think better of it. “Nevermind.”

“Baby, talk to me,” James pleaded gently, tilting Regulus’s head just enough that he could see his face.

“Why do you like me?” Regulus asked quietly. “I’m…You could have anyone.”

James was perfect. He was kind, considerate, smart, talented, angelic, beautiful. He was everything that Regulus wasn’t. Regulus was… Regulus was mean and cruel and had to force genius upon himself. He wasn’t naturally gifted in any way; he studied for hours trying to be half as smart as Barty or Sirius or James. And yes, he was second in his class, but he could never do it based on intelligence alone. And he wasn’t…he wasn’t handsome like James was. It was something he had almost come to terms with. Everyone in the school liked Sirius, thought he was handsome or funny or whatever. Regulus could never be any of those things, not without working for it. It was always meant to be as such; Sirius, the brightest star, and Regulus, always so far behind.

So, why had James chosen him? Him over smart and pretty Lily Evans, him over his brother, him over anyone else?

“Because you’re the best person I know, Regulus,” James said, so honestly that Regulus thought he might be sick with it. “You’re perfect. You’re- You’re funny, even when you don’t mean to be. You remember every detail that people tell you about themselves. You act all guarded, but the second someone brings up a book you like or asks about what you’re reading, you have so much to say and so much excitement that you can’t even hide it. I love everything about you, Reg. I love how stubborn you are and how kind you are, even though you try to keep walls around you by being mean. I love your hair, but this strand especially because it falls in your eyes and it annoys you, and the little pout on your face every time you can’t get it to bend to your will makes me crazy. I love your eyes. I could spend the rest of my life just staring into your eyes and die thinking I accomplished everything I ever dreamed of doing. I love you, angel. You don’t see it yet, but you’re so good. You’re so perfect.”

Regulus had been making a list of protests as James spoke, up until the end. Up until, ‘I love you’. Once those words had left his mouth, Regulus had forgotten his list. He had forgotten everything else that James had said.

“You love me?” Regulus mumbled, quietly for fear that he had misheard.

“How could I not?” James replied, suddenly seeming nervous.

In response, Regulus finally lifted his head and captured James’s lips in an embarrassingly needy kiss that he had the dignity to feel at least a tiny bit ashamed of. This shame immediately dissipated when James responded by pulling one of Regulus’s legs over his lap so that he was straddling him, sitting up and grabbing his hips, his grip so tight yet so gentle. 

“I love you,” Regulus said into the kiss. “So much. Love you. Fuck. I love you.”

Those might have been the only three words spoken between them for the rest of the night, past moans and curses. 

Regulus still had a very hard time accepting that good things came to him and stuck around. This was progress, though. He was getting there.

[marauder-misprint]

hello there! i was binging your works, i couldn’t find a character list or guidlines so i was wondering if you wrote for regulus as well?

if so can i request for a whimsical!reader (slytherin preferably) who has collections of ‘weird’ things like she a pandora are besties and they wander around often and reader just collects pretty rocks, flowers, bug wings

if you dont write for regulus i’ll be prefectly happy with any of the other marauder of your choice! thank you, youre lovely have a wonderful morning/evening/night!

Hi! Thank you for this request! ❤︎ My first Reggie request 🥹

Not sure if I captured Whimsical!reader as well as some other writers do, but alas! The more I write, the better I get, right?

And I will work on writing request guidelines soon ❤︎

A fancy rock

Regulus Black x Whimsical!reader

1.5k words

cw: fluff

Regulus was sitting on an armchair by the fire in the common room when you entered with Pandora. The two of you were talking in low voices. Excited voices, but low enough that your words were indiscernible. You two had been off somewhere, doing something, as you tended to do. All of your mutual friends unanimously decided to stop keeping tabs on you. Your activities never made sense to them and you rarely went out without Pandora, so at least you had backup in case something were to happen.

You approached the chair Regulus was sitting in, but he didn’t notice. After your original arrival back into the common room, he returned to reading his book. 

“Regulus,” you said in a singsong voice.

He looked up at you through his eyelashes. You held out a smooth rock. It was opaque with a warm, dark grey color. He took it in his hand and you smiled.

“Thank you,” he said, although he wasn’t exactly sure why you were giving him a rock, but your smile made him feel warm inside so who was he to deny your gift. 

You went back to Pandora, who was waiting for you outside of the girls’ dorms. Once you were gone, Evan and Barty leaned forward to see what you had given him.

“Well, what is it?” Barty asked and Regulus held it up.

“A rock.”

“Lemme see,” Evan said, plucking it from Regulus’ hand and holding it up to the light. “Not a rock. Crystal.”

Regulus laughed through his nose. “Fancy rock.”

“I mean, essentially. Looks like quartz,” Evan said, tossing the crystal back to Regulus. 

“Cool?” 

“Dora has a few of that color. Think it wards off evil or some shit.”

“Wards of evil? What does that mean?” Barty asked as he reached for the crystal himself.

Regulus slid the crystal into his pocket, ignoring Barty. 

“Doesn’t matter. I’m protected from evil and you’re not.”

Barty leaned even further toward Regulus, almost falling out of his seat as he tried to get to Regulus’ pocket. However, as soon as he brushed against the material of Regulus’ pants, Barty yelped and pulled his hand back. 

Regulus laughed. “Ha! It works!”

Evan joined his laughter, discreetly tucking his wand back into his own pocket. He grew up with Pandora and had learned a few tricks of the trade. And you seemed to fall right in step with his twin. 

---

The next time that Regulus ran into you, you were taking up an entire table in the common room. He ran his fingers over the crystal that you gave yesterday; he had kept it in his pocket. He stood next to the table for a minute without saying anything. He just observed you and listened to you hum a bright tune. You, seeing him approach through your periphery, continued your task at hand: pressing flowers in a journal. 

“Feeling alright?” Regulus asked.

“Quite well, thank you.” 

“Thought you might be sick. Haven’t seen you since lunch.”

You shrug, turning a page in the journal and reaching for another flower. “I decided a walk would be good for me. Certainly more so than History of Magic.”

Regulus chuckled as he pulled up a chair and sat down next to you.

“Are you admitting skipping class to a prefect?” he asked, his tone more teasing than accusatory. 

You tilted your head and gave him your sweetest smile. 

“Can I show you something else I found while I was out?” you offer.

He nodded and you reached for a small box that you had placed off to the side. You opened the clasp. The seemingly sprung to life, different drawers and panels opening to create a much larger containment system. After putting that in front of Regulus, you took out a secondary journal and flipped to the pages you needed.

Regulus inspected some of the compartments of the storage contraption. One drawer had an assortment of rocks and crystals, which he assumed had various properties like the stormy quartz he had in his pocket. 

“Oh, um, it’s this compartment, actually,” you said, pointing higher in the compartment. 

You opened the small door and tiers of preserved bugs and various bug wings popped out. Then you tapped the edge of one of the tiers with your wand. The wings began to flutter, filling the air with a subtle buzz. 

“Fascinating, isn’t it?” you said, voice dripping with awe. 

“You collect all of these?”

“Mostly. Pandora’s found some of them.” You point to a silvery blue wing. “That’s one she gave me a few weeks ago. And-” You place the secondary journal in front of Regulus. “-she said that Evan will help me identify some of the ones I don’t know.”

You pause to let Regulus look over the notes. It’s less of a jumble of identification and more of a detailed catalog. 

“I know that Evan’s more of the bug guy. But I know you like to read and was curious if you’d read anything about any of these…” 

Regulus scanned the list, frowning.

“‘Fraid not… I’m sorry.” He looked up to see that you were also frowning. “But, I mean, I can see if I can find anything? If you’d like.”

Your face suddenly brightened, your previous smile returning.

“Oh, would you? I love Pandora, don’t get me wrong, but her brother… He can be a bit… off putting? I’d much rather work with you.” 

Regulus steeled his expression, trying to not show how much that tidbit of information affected him. He cleared his throat loudly.

“Then maybe you’d consider attending the classes we have together?” 

“Okay, but if I did that, I wouldn’t have all of this,” you said, gesturing to the dozens of flowers still laying on the table. “It’s very tedious.” 

Regulus clicked his tongue. “Let me help you. An extra set of hands will make it go faster, and then we can go over my notes. And if anyone asks, you were sick. Too sick for Binns, but not sick enough for Pomfrey.”

“Deal,” you said. 

---

To Regulus’ delight, you stopped skipping class as much to collect whatever you were looking for at the time. At least, you stopped skipping the classes you had with him. After a few sessions of flower pressing, bug wing preserving and bug infodumping, you invited Regulus to go on one of your walks with you. 

Before heading too far down the path you’d selected, you collected some sweetgrass to braid as you walked. 

“Are we looking for anything particular?” Regulus asked as you bent down to pick up a purple-looking stone. 

You hummed noncommittal. “Just whatever catches your eye.” You held up the stone. “Amethyst.” 

You placed the crystal into your bag and started to weave your strands of sweetgrass. Regulus shoved his hands into his pockets. He tried to watch the ground, to see if he found anything pretty that you might like, but he found himself watching you time and time again. 

“What’s the braid for?” he asked. He didn’t mind the quiet of nature, but he liked hearing you talk about your interests more.

“It has a few. It can be used for healing, especially if burned. It can represent a connection to Mother Nature. The braid itself… when it’s for me, I like to think of it as the entwining of mind, body and spirit. But the stands can really represent different aspects of the human condition.”

“The human condition?”

“Yeah. You know, kindness, honesty, respect, humility, courage, love.”

You went quiet as you tied off the end of the braid. Then you held it out for Regulus. 

“It’s for you.”

He took it and inspected it. 

“So, when it’s for someone else, what do the strands represent?” 

You avoided looking at Regulus as you said, “Kindness, respect, love. Or at least, that’s what it is for you.”

“For me…” he muttered as he gently tucked it into his pocket. “So you’re giving me kindness and protecting me from evils… And asking me to read about bugs for you…”

“I told you, I like spending time with you more than Evan.”

Regulus chuckled lightly. “I don’t think you need to say ‘more than Evan.’ Or am I overthinking this?”

“No… I do like spending time with you.” 

He reached out for your hand and you didn’t pull away. 

“I’ve noticed you don’t invite Pandora to come with when you invite me.”

“Three can be a crowd.”

“Or,” he said, “you like spending alone time with me. And you wouldn’t be alone in that.”

“Oh,” you breathed softly.

“Oh!” Regulus exclaimed, dropping your hand to bend down and pick up a yellow stone. “Is this something?” 

Your eyes went wide, telling Regulus that it was something.

“Citrine!”

“What does it do?”

“It helps attract love and happiness.”

Regulus looked at you with a soft expression that you hadn’t seen on his face before.

“I don’t need a fancy rock to help me find that. You’re right here.”

[nightsmarish]

Summary: after talking to Regulus, you both decide to take the offer to stay with the Potters, and barty gets thrown across the slytherin table by Evan

Pt1

A/n: very focused on Reg for some reason, not 100% sure why, but it's lovely, also we love bestie barty. ALSO ALSO, reader is aggressively, very aggressively, hinted to be slytherin

Poly!moonwater x reader (Remus lupin x regulus black x reader) | 1.4k words

Tw: toxic family, running away? Family disappointment, ect. Barty jinxing Gryffindors for sport and an owl flying into a chess game

Asked to be tagged: @misacc08

★⋆｡°⋆𖦹✮₊★⋆｡°⋆𖦹✮₊★⋆｡°⋆𖦹✮₊

It's finally two weeks until the end of this year at Hogwarts. Class times have been filled with going over study guides and reviewing for the final exams only a few days away. 

Neither you nor Regulus have said yes to staying at Potter Manor this summer. Despite James being very adamant about it.

“I’ll just mention you blokes might be joining us.” James told you when you visited Gryffindor table one morning, as he wrote his parents. 

“James-” 

“No, no, let ‘im. No harm in it? Is there?” Sirius cuts you off, feet extended to rest on the bench across the table from him. 

“But Mrs. Potter shouldn’t prepare an extra room if neither of us will be joining.” Your points are acknowledged when James hums to confirm he heard you, but his quill never stops moving.

Remus has been looking at you the whole time. Not in a creepy way, you're both pretty sure not in a creepy way at least. Just in an undivided attention way. Practically ignoring the other two boys to admire you, other than when he occasionally slaps away Sirius’ hand on his fifth attempt to grab Remus’ food. 

You look down to where Remus sits as well. Honestly, he's not that much shorter than you sitting down, but wherever. Your hand that's not holding the strap of your bag gently scratched the hair at the base of his head before kissing his cheek, mumbling a small promise to see him during your study time later. 

ᯓ★

It's not like you don’t want to go to stay with everyone else. It’d be amazing; it really would. But the idea of going when Regulus stays at the Black House feels wrong. You know being with your parents won’t help him, nor will being at James’ house, but it feels wrong. 

Remembering how destroyed he was when Sirius left. When he came back to school, you two hadn’t known the Marauders like you do now. The anger he knew was misplaced, but he couldn’t help but feel abandoned by Sirius. You remember it—the crying, the way he couldn’t focus until a month into school. And you remember Sirius being disowned.

And maybe that's part of it too. The idea of being disowned. Even if you know they are horrible people, people you don’t wish to be related to. The idea still makes you sick. Their horrible and evil, but dear Salazar, parent approval is so addicting and you hate how much you still want it. 

So which is worse, feeling like you betrayed one of your boyfriends, or your parents disapproval? 

“Regulus?” You keep your voice low in the library. The aforementioned boy looks up from his textbook sitting across from you. Remus, next to you, pauses, moving his quill to focus on you two as well.

“Yes?” His voice matches yours, despite being a little more stiff. 

“I wanna talk about it again. About James’ house.” You rush the words out. Probably because you know Regulus will want to shoot it down immediately.

“Love, you know I’m not going.” He sighs, sitting up straight in his seat. 

“Why? Why not go?” 

"Dove-" Remus tries to interject, not sure how well direct confrontation will go after Regulus has already denied it far too many times.

“What would I do?”

Both you and Remus pause, looking right at Regulus. Who stares right back at you.

“What do you mean?’ Remus says what you think.

“I leave, I get disowned, I lose the family fortune.” There are unspoken words there; everyone knows. He loses the Black name, he loses the reputation, and he loses everything he ever knew. Sirius had always wanted to leave; he had dreamed about it long before the possibility ever even crossed Regulus’ mind. The older Black had an idea of what would happen long before he left. Regulus hasn't gotten that right. 

“We can figure it out when we get there, love.” Remus rests his quill in the small ink pot, reaching both his hands to cup Regulus’ hands between his own. 

All three of you stay silent for a second, Regulus looking down at Remus’ hand covering his own, you staring at Regulus, and Remus looking between the two of you, trying to figure out what to do. 

"If..." you sigh, shifting in your seat, “if... you go... I’ll go, and we can figure it out together.” 

Gray eyes shoot up to yours. “Are you serious?” His voice is unsure, like you're going to take your offer back for no apparent reason. 

“Yeah. I’m scared too, but I don't think I can bring myself to go back, not this time. But at the same time, I won’t be okay with going if you don’t go.”

Remus takes a deep breath, one hand still holding the younger boy's hand, other moving so his arm wraps around your shoulder, gently rubbing your upper arm. “So, it's settled. I can tell James.” 

“Thank you,” You whisper, and Regulus takes one of his hands from the lycan to intertwine your fingers. 

ᯓ★

The letter felt wrong to write. Less than a week before you're off to Potter Manor is when you get a response.

You're sitting at the Slytherin table in the morning when the letter holding their response arrives. Your owl landing smoothly, unlike the poor Hufflepuff owl you see sly head first into a game of Wizard Chess.

The seal of the letter belongs to your family, and it's painfully obvious. Regulus had gotten his response within a few days. Hurtful and harsh, despite never reading it yourself.

Looking around, Regulus is watching Barty, who is sitting on the long table rather than at it, cast small, mostly-hopefully harmless jinxs on a few older Gryffindors who haven't seemed to notice who's doing it. While Evan is whispering more and more jinxs for Barty to use.

Deciding that you might as well get it over with, you break the wax seal. The letter was nothing but vile, as you expected, the threats, the anger, the disappointment. Yet, you are honestly relieved. Like a huge, bolder is off your back. Sisyphus would envy you.

"And what do you have? A secret admirer? Are you planning on finally leaving the wild beasts you call boyfriends?"

Barty turns his attention to you as you finish reading, snatching the letter to inspect it.

"Ew, is that from your parents?" Evans nose scrunches up, noticing the names signed at the bottom of the parchment when he leans over Bartys shoulder.

"Yeah, I wrote them last week that I'd be staying with the Potters this summer, and they finally got back to me." Your voice remains surprisingly even, despite feeling somewhere between calm and like you're going to vomit, cry, and punch a wall.

Evan and Barty continue to scrutinize the letter, the phrasing, and how your mother writes the letter S weird. While Regulus leans closer to you.

"Everything okay?" His quite, a stark contrast two the boys sitting acorsd from you as Barty pushes his boyfriend off the seat for something or another and Evan kicks a little too close to Bartys dick.

"Yeah, it'll be okay." You hum, scooting closer to the pale boy, "would you and Remus want to come stay at my dorm tonight? At least for a little? Serenella and Iris are both going to be out all night."

"Of course, love. I'll grab Remus after charms and we can meet you there before dinner?" A soft kiss is placed on the top of your head when he finishes his sentence.

"That sounds good."

The peace of the situation is cut off by Barty falling off the table towards you, taking you down to the floor with him.

"God damnit Barty!" A smile far to big for the situation paints your face face.

"Evan threw me, gem! He tried to kill me! I'm wounded." Barty sits half on hus knees, half laid out on the gross Hogwarts in such a pathetic manor Regulus chuckles under his breath.

"And I'll do it again idiot!" Evan sits back on his spot at the long table. Huffing while smoothing out his hair and uniform.

"Oh God, gem, I won't make it." Barty throws himself onto you, your back to the ground as you laugh. "If I die will you leave your loser boyfriends to join me and Evan?"

"Okay, junior, that's enough." Remus appears in your vision, slightly nudging Bartys side, like touching him too long will make whatever is sodding wrong with the boy rub off on him.

"Hello, big boy." Barty stands up and takes you with him, dusting off his and your clothes. "You know, both of you could leave Regulus and-"

"Okay Barty!" Regulus pushes Barty to sit back down, shutting him up as he begins to bicker with Regulus next.

[lupiinist]

barty is a great cook.

like, not only because his mum taught him how to cook (gets even better if you hc him as italian or spanish [or latino, too]), but also because his friends can't cook even if their lives depended on it

regulus is a menace in the kitchen, he once burned a kettle trying to make tea, evan is too lazy to try to learn, pandora was banned from the kitchen after making something (no one really knows what it was) that got them all sick, and dorcas can do the basic, but she likes having barty cook for her

it surprises a lot of people when they learn it that that goth, punk, edgy, slightly off guy with too many piercings and tattoos to count could be the chef of his own restaurant if he wanted to. his specialty is main dishes, he's superb with pasta and meat, but also rocks the desserts

he bonded with james over food, because james is also the cook of his group of friends (he makes the most amazing desi dishes [which i won't go into much detail because honestly it's 3 am and i can't research properly right now])

opposite to what many people think, the skittles rarely order food when they're hanging out together. barty almost always cooks. more than knowing how to, he likes to cook. it's something he shares with his mum, something his father never had any influence over (after all, he was never home during supper)

most of all, barty loves to cook for evan. evan is the type of person who tends to either get into hyperfocus and forgets to eat or has a very bad week and forgets to eat. either way, he doesn't take good care of himself. barty helps by popping up in his house, making him get up from the couch and help him in the kitchen. evan doesn't cook, but he sorts the ingredients out and occasionally chops a tomato (not onions though, he hates how they make him cry). he makes barty company, and they both have slightly better weeks just because of that

so, in the end, barty loves to cook.

[coyotelip]

``☆|| rosekiller microfic: vampire || @rosekillermicrofic || vampire!evan & ghost!barty, doomed by the narrative || wc: 605

The rumble of an empty stomach breaks the silence of the dusty room in the old mansion.

“I didn't know you could do that,” Barty's semi-transparent head pokes out from among the cushions on the worn wine-colored sofa.

Sprawled out on the same chair next to him, Evan doesn't look up, continuing to stare at the ceiling and not at all surprised by the sudden appearance of a ghost in the room.

The boy's stomach reminds him again of the piercing hunger that he has been trying to ignore for the past few days. Finally he replies, “Well, be glad you learned something new. A vampire stomach can also wail with hunger, what a revelation,” the vampire's voice is not so much sarcastic as tired. Today he is not in the mood for joking with his pet ghost.

“Well, it's just… so… human, you know? To make stupid noises when your body is unhappy about something,” Barty's semi-transparent body floats out of the pillows completely, he folds his arms on the back of the couch and rests his head on them, looking at Evan.

Evan wonders if he should tell him that he can also fart. But he decides to leave it for when his insides aren't pierced by raging hunger. “Unfortunately, I'm quite humanly dependent on food, even if we have different diets.”

“Then go and catch some poor bastard walking along the canal looking for a booze, what's the problem?”

A heavy exhale escapes Evan's dry lips, and he flicks his tongue over them to moisten it, “I'm already sick of the idea of touching their dirty bodies, let alone putting my mouth on them.”

Evan longs for the glorious years when vampires were like the nobility of society and the carriers of the most delicious blood in all of England came to his house voluntarily, giving their blood and being honored. But at these memories, Evan's stomach only responds with another rumble.

“Then drink from me,” Barty says, and suddenly he is standing right in front of Evan. His weightless body is hovering above the floor, and a little more and he would have ended up in Evan's lap or passed right through him. With one hand, Barty pulls back the collar of his shirt, revealing a thin, pale neck.

A neck that Evan would love to sink his fangs into if he could. But, “You're a ghost, you dumbass. You have zero nutrition or even fluids. I can't even touch you, because if I could, I'd have ripped your throat out long ago to shut you up,” and the hunger makes Evan's tone sound harsher than he would have liked, but there is no offense in Barty's eyes.

On the contrary, the smile on his lips widens, “Oh, I wish I could feel that,” Barty's voice sounds as casual and playful as ever, but it's impossible not to notice the wistful notes of a boy that hasn't felt a single touch in years.

Evan has become used to the fact that of all the mansions around him, Barty has chosen his dusty and empty home to haunt him for the rest of their immortal existence.

But still, once again, he is pierced by the bitter feeling of how irrational their union is. The vampire who would like to bite into that thin neck and never touch the other, but is doomed to only watch the semi-transparent body he can not feel. And a ghost who would like to feel someone's hands on him again, but the whole world around is now nothing but a thickness of water through which he swims endlessly.

heyyyyy that's a full fic now, check it out ☆

[bri-cheeses]

| Rosekiller microfic | Word count: 396 | tw: slight mentions of homophobia, but it’s pretty light |

-

Barty sniffled in his mound of tissues, pulling yet another one out of the box. He had already used up two other boxes and was now on his third as he waited for Evan to get home from work, feeling distinctly abandoned. Like, yes, work was important, but so was Barty.

Oh, who was he kidding. It was ridiculous to think like that.

But still.

The sound of the door to their apartment opening caused Barty to perk up, because that could only mean one thing.

“Evan?” he called hopefully, voice stuffy.

A laugh sounded.

“Geez, Bee, you’re really sick, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Barty pouted. “And you abandoned me in my time of need.”

Evan hummed thoughtfully and rounded the corner of the couch, coming into view. Barty glared at him balefully.

“That doesn’t sound like me,” Evan responded.

“Doesn’t it?”

“Nope. I’m providing for you, actually, by going to work. As my dad would put it, “being a real man.’” Evan deepened his voice and made a face, and Barty had to laugh at his antics.

“I doubt your dad would consider much about this entire arrangement as being a “real man,’” Barty said, gesturing between Evan and himself. He raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

“Excuse you, I am the realest of the men,” Evan responded. “But seriously, Bee, I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

Barty shook his head. Sure, he had felt left behind when Evan walked out of the apartment this morning, but he also understood. Besides, he knew that Evan would never actually abandon him. They were too tied up in one another for him to even think about it.

“It’s fine, Evs, really. Just tell me you got me some medicine.”

Evan cracked a relieved smile and drew out some medicine from his work bag, presenting them to Barty, who took them gratefully.

“Now budge up,” Evan said, kicking Barty’s legs to the side and sitting down next to him. “And come here.”

He opened his arms, inviting Barty to cuddle up next to him.

“Love you,” Barty told him, leaning his head on his shoulder.

“Love you too, Bats,” Evan said in a soft tone. He pressed a kiss to Barty’s head, who sighed contentedly in response and leaned into Evan’s warmth even more.

He may be sick, but being in Evan’s arms was truly the best medicine in the entire world.

-

[mybutcheredtongue]

I'll Love You 'til the Grass Around My Gravestone is Deceased

post azkaban sirius black x fem!reader

CHAPTER THIRTY (see full series list here)

warning: bit of an emotional start, sorry

October 31st, 1981

“Hey, love, are you feeling any better?”

After a lot of straining and groaning, you manage to turn your head just enough on the pillow to be able to take in the person who’s just entered the room: Sirius, your husband — and for the past two days, your servant, practically.

You sniffle, one of your nostrils completely blocked, giving a wry smile. “Not at all.” Your voice comes out raspy and it grates against the back of your throat. “I don't know what I did to deserve this but fuck I am never doing it again.”

He chuckles softly, gently stroking your hair out of your face. “Look on the bright side. At least you're not in St Mungo’s.”

“Not yet.” You blink lethargically at him, fighting the urge to drift off to sleep, sighing. “Have we gotten any trick-or-treaters?”

He raises an eyebrow, chuckling. “What are you on about?”

You raise a hand lazily, waving it about in front of him in strange explanation. “It’s a Muggle thing…kids dress up and come to the door…give them sweets…”

Sirius listens while you babble incomprehensibly about Halloween and Muggles, and places a cold wet cloth on your forehead, relieving the immense heat emanating from your skin. You breathe a sigh of relief.

“We don't have any pain relief left,” he says gently, as if he’s worried talking too loud will irritate your body even more. “I’ll pop out and get you some in a little bit.”

You shake your head vigorously, alarm bells going off in your head. “No, no, stay here. Don't leave tonight…have a bad feeling…”

“Probably because you’re sick,” he answers with an amused smile, placing a fresh box of tissues on your bedside table. “I won't be long.”

But you really do have a bad feeling, and you know it's not from the illness. You have a sinking feeling in your stomach of worry, a sense that something bad will happen tonight. You want him to stay by your side just in case.

“No, stay, Sirius, please,” you say weakly, your body betraying your brain as your eyelids get heavier and you have to fight to keep them open. “Please, don't go…something bad will happen.”

He continues stroking your hair soothingly, wiping the cloth across your forehead. “Nothing bad will happen, I promise. I’ll be back before you know it.”

You grab his arm with what little strength you have, your body aching with the movement. “Please, please don't go. I’m being serious, stay here, please…”

He stands up, tugging the covers closer to your body. “Get your rest, love. You’ll feel better when I have your medicine.”

You open your mouth to say more, but this time the words don't come out. You bring a hand to your throat, feeling it burn each time you try to say anything.

“Sirius…”

But he's gone. He's left the room and soon, as your eyelids finally shut over your eyes, you can hear the revving of his motorbike outside and the sound of him driving off into the night.

Bright light when you’re jolted awake by someone shaking you vigorously tells you it’s morning. Your eyes snap open, feeling extremely disoriented, and peer up at the unfamiliar face above you.

“Come on, get up now…”

“Huh…?” You blink, bringing a hand to your eyes and rubbing them, your head pounding. When you open them again, Barty Crouch is wide-eyed, staring back at you. In a mixture of sickness and shock, you let out a string of rattly coughs and he jerks away from you, wrinkling his nose. “Mr Crouch?”

“Get up.”

With effort, you manage to sit up against the headboard and take in your surroundings. You realise that what you had taken for the morning sun streaming in through the windows is actually just the lights in your bedroom, making you squint. Crouch isn’t the only one here — there’s about six other official-looking people — a few other Aurors you recognise from the Ministry.

What the fuck is going on? Are you dying? What was in that medicine Sirius got you?

“Mr Crouch what — what are you doing here?”

“You didn’t hear what happened, then.” He looks back at his co-workers, and they start muttering to each other conspiratorially. Can’t they just leave? Can’t they see you need rest right now? This must be a dream because if it were real Sirius would keep them out of your room.

“You’re going to have to come with us.”

“What?”

Crouch leans to say something to another man, and you manage to catch the end of his sentence: “ — no state to answer questions, we’ll have to take her in.”

You groan, reaching for the water on your nightstand and gulping the glass down. You feel sick, and you don’t know if it’s from anxiety or your flu.

“Where’s…where’s Sirius?” you say, craning your neck to look past the people in case he’s hidden behind them.

Crouch bites his lip and exchanges a glance with the workers, another set of mutterings passing around the group.

“Just…come with us, and we’ll explain everything. We’ll get you a potion for your illness.”

You look around at all the sets of eyes staring at you. One man standing near the back is glaring at you as if you’ve just killed someone.

“No, where is he?” You pull back the covers and feebly swing your legs over the side of the bed, sitting up. “Where the fuck is Sirius?”

The man who’s been glaring at you steps forward from the back of the group to speak to Crouch, though he makes no effort to hide his words. “Stop being so nice, Crouch. Let’s get this over with.”

Crouch looks down at you, frowning, as he takes in your appearance: dishevelled and in your pyjamas, nose and eyes red.

“You’ll need to get dressed.”

You stare around at them, shaking your head. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

“You’ll find out. Get ready.”

“Tell me what’s going on or I’m not going anywhere.”

Crouch hisses in frustration but before he can get another word out, the angry man steps forward and produces his wand. “This isn’t a fucking tea party, Barty. Stupefy.”

When you wake, you're sitting in a chair. Blinking rapidly, you take in your surroundings: Crouch’s office. He sits across from you, hands folded in front of him as he stares at you.

“You're awake.”

You groan, your limbs stiff and sore. “Fuck — barely.”

Crouch sighs and looks behind you, and when you turn around you notice Moody standing behind you, leaning on his staff with a grim expression.

“Sir?”

Crouch pushes a tall glass of water towards you across the desk. “Have a drink.”

Your heart is pounding — what is going on? Have you done something wrong? Oh god, what about that paperwork you forgot to file last week? It was a complete accident, you just lost track of time —

“Go on.”

Nervously, you pull the glass towards your lips and gulp it down, grateful for how it soothes your throat. Oddly, you don't feel sick anymore — your headache is gone, your nose is clear and you don't feel the urge to cough and sneeze every ten seconds. They must have given you a potion while you were out. How long were you out?

Crouch waits while you drink and doesn't speak until you've finished every last drop. Then he clears his throat. “Last night, James and Lily Potter were murdered by He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named.”

The monotone way he says it makes you feel like you've heard him wrong.

“What?”

“They were betrayed by their Secret-Keeper. By Sirius Black.”

You don't say anything. You can't say anything. James and Lily are dead? This can't be happening. This is just a nightmare, right? It's a horrible, terrible nightmare. There is no way that in the real world, your best friends are dead. There is no way that in reality, your best friends are dead and your husband is the reason why. Sirius would never do that, you know he would never do that — he wouldn’t even tell you anything about where they were hiding, he would never compromise their safety like that —

“Sirius Black killed Peter Pettigrew and twelve muggles in one blast.”

Wake up, wake up. This is just a nightmare. Your brain is just playing a cruel trick on you — maybe it was the medicine…yeah, that sounds about right. Potions and medicine always make your brain act funny —

“You got all that?”

“No, I – I don’t underst—”

“Harry Potter survived. No one knows how. He destroyed the Dark Lord. They are calling him ‘The Boy Who Lived’.”

This is all too much for you. You don’t understand — what does he mean James and Lily are dead? And — and Sirius is the reason why? And how could Harry survive, he’s barely a year old — it can’t be real. How could they be dead? And where is Sirius? You need to see him, you need to talk to him, you just need him right now —

Slowly, you look over your shoulder at Moody, still standing silently against his staff.

Your lip trembles and when you speak it's barely audible. “Tell me I’m dreaming. Please, please, please tell me this is a fucking dream.”

His magical eye swivels and stares back at you, studying your face. It feels like he’s analysing your face, like the answer is written on your cheeks as plain as day. There are dark, ashy bags under his eyes. His lip is cracked and split on one side, crusty with dried blood. Did he sleep at all last night? Probably not — Moody never sleeps. But this looks different, not the usual after-effects of his insomnia — it’s worse than that.

He shakes his head and your stomach lurches.

This is happening.

Crouch’s expression remains the same. “I have no tolerance for Death Eaters or anyone who aids a Death Eater in any shape or form, Mrs Black, so I am going to waste no time playing nice. Are you, or have you ever been, a part of the Dark Lord’s following?”

“No.”

The answer comes out of you before you can think — you barely even register the question in your head before your mouth is blurting out the word — oddly monotone for your current state: trembling from head to toe, trying your best not to vomit, eyes stinging.

“Did you know of your husband’s involvement with the Dark Lord?”

“No.”

Again, you don’t even realise what he’s asking when the word falls out of your mouth. It’s like you have no control over what you’re saying at all.

“What — what the fuck — “

“Did you ever cover for Sirius when he was spying for the Dark Lord?”

“No.” You stop, hissing in frustration. “No, no — Sirius, he — he wasn’t a Death Eater, he isn’t a Death Eater, he would never — “

“He is,” Crouch says. “Whether you knew it or not, he has been working with the Dark Lord for quite some time now.”

You shake your head, unable to stop yourself from crying. “N-no, no…Sirius was James’s best friend, they were like b-brothers — he would never sell them out like that —”

“Then how did the Dark Lord find out where the Potters were hiding?” Crouch says sharply. “No one knew that information but Sirius. No one was able to reveal that information but him —”

“No,” you sob. “No, no, no, no, no —”

“The sooner you accept it, the sooner you can move on.” Though his words might seem sympathetic and comforting to some, he says them with little to no sympathy whatsoever.

“There must be a mistake,” you sniffle, skin burning from the tears streaming down your cheeks. “That’s not what happened, Sirius, he — he was just gone to the shop —”

A hand comes to rest on your shoulder. “There were witnesses. They saw him kill Pettigrew and those Muggles.”

You shake your head, sobbing. “No, no, no, no, no! T-that’s not what happened, that can’t be what h-happened —”

“Have you ever acted on orders given to you by the Dark Lord, or any of his followers?”

“No.”

Your hand flies to your throat instinctively, as if there’s something wrapped around it that you want to release, and you stare back at Crouch, the light on his desk pulsing in the corner of your eye. Your eyes wander to your empty glass on the desk.

“Did you — d-did you give me fuck — fucking truth serum?”

A vein bulges in his neck, his lip twitching. “Of course I did. Did you expect me to just take everything you say as truth? You’re married to a Death Eater.”

A million different emotions are coursing through you. You feel like getting sick. “Sirius isn’t a Death Eater, he isn’t — and I’ll p-prove it to you, let me show you his arm, he doesn’t have the m-mark —”

“That is no surprise. He was a spy!” Crouch snaps, voice raised. “If he had the mark he would never be trusted by the Potters!”

This is too much. You can’t think in this — it’s too warm in this office, your clothes are sticking to your skin and it's suffocating, your throat is burning, you need some fresh air —

“Where is he?” You gasp. “Sirius. Where is he? Please, let me talk to him, please —”

“He is on a one-way trip to Azkaban,” Crouch spits. “And he will never return. For what he has done, he deserves no better.”

“When can I see h-him?” you say desperately. “His trial, his trial, when is his trial — “

“There won’t be one.”

Your heart feels heavy and you close your eyes, falling back in your chair as you sob. “What? What do you mean there won’t be one?”

“He is a mentally deranged and dangerous criminal,” Crouch says, hatred in his eyes. “We have an eye-witness account for what happened, there is no point in arguing when the verdict is clear. It is a waste of time.”

“No, no, that’s not fair, he deserves a trial just like everyone else.” You’re breathing heavily and suddenly it feels like there isn’t enough air in the room to fill your tired lungs. “You — you can’t just send him to Azkaban like that!”

“I can.”

“But — “

“The man has murdered thirteen innocent people!” Crouch bellows, his face red with anger. “Poor Peter Pettigrew, he was your friend! He tore after Sirius, told him just what he thought of his betrayal, and was murdered for it! Twelve innocent civilians, victims of his sick and twisted mind! James and Lily, betrayed by their closest friend — Harry Potter, betrayed by his godfather!”

His eyes are bulging out of their sockets and his fists are clenched on the desk. The room goes silent but for your uncontrollable sobs and Crouch’s heavy breathing across the desk from you. You screw your eyes shut and silently beg anyone listening to take it all away, to make this day never happen. To turn back time and keep your friends alive. Anything to get rid of this obliterating feeling.

“You got what you wanted, Barty,” Moody grunts from behind you. “Give the girl a break.”

When Moody takes your arm and pulls you out of Crouch’s office, you can barely see straight. You desperately try to process everything that’s going on, but it’s impossible. The very notion that James and Lily could be dead is inconceivable to you. Not your best friend, not your Lily, who promised you’d be best friends until you were old and frail. How could someone so sweet and wonderful, so full of life — how could she ever die? How could someone ever snuff out that perfect, unending light that was her soul? She always told you that your kids would grow up together, that they would be the best of friends just like you were — how can you ever come to terms with the fact that she will never get to see that become a reality? How will you ever adjust to life without James’s grins, without his constant jokes and laughter — who will you and Lily laugh at, how will you watch the way her face lights up when he enters the room if he’s dead?

Workers stare at you as you pass through the halls with Moody, they turn and anxiously whisper with their colleagues, but you don’t even notice. When Moody sits you down in his office, he doesn’t say anything. He says absolutely nothing and lets you stare at the chipped wood of his desk, lets you sob and weep and scream and wail, lets you mutter and babble incoherently.

The next day the Minister of Magic, Millicent Bagnold, gives you more Veritaserum and interrogates you with similar questions to Crouch. You scream and roar about Sirius — you just want to talk to him, you just want to see him — and when it gets you nowhere Moody takes you back to his office and silently lets you stew for hours again.

This routine continues for a week. Every day someone seems to have a new question to catch you out — one that will finally reveal that you knew something, or you helped someone — each new person bringing a fresh glass of water laced with a hefty dose of Veritaserum. You've actually gotten good at tasting the difference between the water they give you and the water Moody gives you, which is clean and potion-less, straight from his hip flask.

When you get home it doesn’t feel like home. You step in the door and cry, hot tears stinging your eyes. You spot a photo on your kitchen counter — it’s you and Sirius, on your birthday. You're sitting at the kitchen table, and his arm is around your waist while you lean into him, a gleeful grin on your face. It sets you off and in a fit of rage you throw it against the wall, shattering it. The second the photo hits the floor you’re filled with regret, and you rush to assess the damage. You try and repair it with your wand but you can’t focus properly on the spell, and spend an hour trying to carefully glue it back together with shaky hands.

You can't do anything. You feel bad doing the things you enjoy, like listening to music or reading a book — Sirius can't do these things in Azkaban. James and Lily can't do these things in death. You have no appetite and the days seem to blur and blur until you have no idea what time it is.

Why did this have to happen to your family?

♡*⁠。♡*⁠。

December, 1995

You don’t think you’ve ever been as excited when Christmas break finally arrives. The last two years have been spent at Hogwarts, and the others at your parents’ house with Remus. Your parents love Remus — he’s like a son to them. And now you finally get to spend it with everyone you love, especially Sirius. However, getting to Grimmauld Place for the holidays isn’t as easy as expected.

A few days before the end of term while you’re helping decorate the entrance hall, Umbridge approaches. “Excited for Christmas, professor?”

It takes you a second to get over the initial shock of her actually speaking to you, and you turn back to your decorations. “Yes.”

“And where will you be staying this Christmas?” she asks. “As Hogwarts High Inquisitor, it is pertinent that I know where all staff are over the period in case I should need to contact them with anything urgent.”

She smiles at you and you resist the urge to gag at the sight of her.

“I’m going to my parents’ house,” you reply, lifting some tinsel in the air with your wand and lining it along a portrait of an elegant woman standing beneath an apple tree.

“How festive!” the woman in the portrait comments.

Umbridge cocks her head with interest. “Your parents? But I have heard that you usually stay at Hogwarts.”

You shrug. “Thought I’d switch it up this year.”

“Is there any particular reason this sudden change was brought on?” she asks, smiling condescendingly.

You pick up the box of decorations with one hand and turn to her. “I miss them.” Before she can interrogate you any more, you march away from her, fixing boughs of holly and mistletoe branches as you go.

You join the rest of the students on the Hogwarts Express back to King’s Cross, taking the time to carefully wrap presents and write cards. It’s a lot of work to get home. You’re not going to risk heading straight to London to Grimmauld Place, not with the chance of being followed — which you expect every time you leave Hogwarts. You go to the house first, pick up some extra clothes, before getting on another train to your parents’ house. You have dinner with them there and trade gifts until nightfall, when you pack up your things again and, disguising yourself as best you can, make your way to Grimmauld Place with Dubh sleeping soundly in your bag as you go.

“Well, you better be honoured that I went through all that zig-zagging across the country just to see you,” you say when Sirius greets you at the door. You don’t think the grin on his face could be any wider when his eyes meet yours. Remus follows him through the corridor, smiling.

“Believe me, I’m more than honoured,” Sirius says, striding forward to place both hands on your cheeks and bring your mouth to his, kissing you desperately. You drop your bags in surprise, chuckling against his lips. When you pull back, his head follows you and you laugh, putting your hands on his shoulders to gently push him back.

“Easy, Sirius, we’ve got company,” you tease, nodding at Remus, who rolls his eyes.

Sirius turns to Remus, grinning. “Can’t let me have a moment, can you?”

He shrugs. “Guess not.”

You give Remus a hug before heading into the kitchen, where Mrs Weasley is busy preparing dinner. There are bags under her eyes when she turns to greet you, the stress of Arthur’s injuries clearly getting to her.

“Let me give you a hand, Molly,” you say, and though usually she would tell you not to be silly, this time she accepts your help gratefully, allowing you to take over most of the workload while she busies herself with setting the table.

Sirius is in a brilliant mood, singing Christmas carols as he sets about the place putting up decorations. You don’t think you’ve seen him this happy in a long time and it calms your anxious heart. He works tirelessly up to Christmas Day, determined to make the house unrecognisable — and he actually manages to do a pretty decent job of turning the dusty old place into a warm, cheerful home. Garlands of holly and gold and silver streamers hang from the chandeliers, and a great twinkling Christmas tree, acquired by Mundungus, hides the Black family tree from view. Mistletoe branches are placed over the entrances to different rooms, and every chance he gets Sirius is pulling you under one to steal a kiss. Even the elf heads on the wall are wearing little Santa hats and beards.

He wakes up early on Christmas Day like a child desperate to unwrap their presents and shakes you awake, much to your annoyance.

“Sirius, this better be good —”

“Just look.”

He points at the window, grinning, and after rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you turn to look at what he’s pointing at.

There, at the window, is a brand-new telescope, aimed at the sky above. A glittery gold bow has been stuck to the top of it.

“You were complaining about not having your telescope here over the summer, that the one at home is too difficult to transport, so —”

You beam, throwing your arms around him gleefully. “Oh, I love it, Sirius!”

You kiss him, lingering for several moments to relish in the feeling of his lips on yours, unable to fight the smile on your face while you do. You thread your fingers through his hair, giggling.

“How did you even buy it? Don’t tell me you left —”

“I didn’t leave the house, no,” Sirius says with a roll of his eyes. “I sent Remus to get it and gave him the money.”

You smile good-naturedly at him. “Poor Remus.”

He snorts.

You kiss him one last time. “You are the absolute best. I love you.”

He smiles and you pull away to reach under the bed and produce his present, neatly wrapped in red and gold wrapping paper. Curiously, he unwraps it to reveal a small bottle of dark blue liquid, turning it around in his hands before his eyes widen in shock, laughing.

“I — how did you get this?” he says in disbelief. “I thought it would be discontinued by now.”

You beam. “I never reveal my secrets.” You nod at him, smiling. “Go on, test it out. I want to see if it’s actually the same.”

Sirius pulls the cap off the bottle, aiming the nozzle at his wrist and spraying it, rubbing it in with the other before holding his wrist out to you to test. Leaning forward, you sniff and laugh, grinning at him. It’s the cologne he used to wear for years before his capture, he used to say it was his signature scent. The same cologne you remember smelling inside your Amortentia potion in sixth year.

“Perfect.”

He smiles at you, pulling you towards him to kiss you again. “Thank you,” he breathes between kisses, smiling against your lips. “You’re perfect. I love you.”

When you finally disentangle from each other, you get dressed and head downstairs — though not before you’ve thoroughly inspected your new telescope, delighting in the cleanness of it and the crystal-clear focus of the untouched lenses.

In the kitchen, Harry, Ron, and Hermione are peering into Kreacher’s den opposite the pantry and Mrs Weasley is standing at the stove, sniffling when she wishes you both Merry Christmas. You’re about to check what’s wrong when Sirius taps your side, silently shaking his head.

“Percy,” he whispers near-imperceptibly into your ear, and you nod in understanding. Then he raises his voice, “I’ll get the turkey.”

He heads into the pantry and you make your way over to the kids, smiling. “Happy Christmas, guys. What are you up to?”

“I have a present for Kreacher,” Hermione explains, laying a package on top of the rags and blankets in the dingy cupboard, right beside the glass photos Kreacher hoards of Sirius’ family. She frowns. “But he’s not here…I guess he’ll find it later, it’s fine.”

“Come to think of it,” Sirius says, emerging from the pantry carrying a large turkey as Harry closes the cupboard door, “has anyone actually seen Kreacher lately?”

“I haven’t seen him since the night we came back here,” says Harry. “You were ordering him out of the kitchen.”

“Yeah…” Sirius frowns. “You know, I think that’s the last time I saw him, too…he must be hiding upstairs somewhere…”

“He couldn’t have left, could he?” Harry suggests. “I mean, when you said ‘out’, maybe he thought you meant get out of the house?”

Sirius shakes his head. “No, no, house elves can’t leave unless they’re given clothes, they’re tied to their family’s house.”

“They can leave the house if they really want to,” Harry contradicts. “Dobby did, he left the Malfoys’ house to give me warnings two years ago. He had to punish himself afterward, but he still managed it.”

Sirius looks slightly disconcerted for a moment, meeting your eyes, before he shakes his head. “I’ll look for him later, I expect I’ll find him upstairs crying his eyes out over my mother’s old bloomers or something…of course, he might’ve crawled up into the airing cupboard and died…but I mustn’t get my hopes up…”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, though Hermione looks reproachful.

“Thanks for the presents, by the way,” Harry says, smiling at the two of you.

You beam back at him, thinking of the book on defensive spells and the treats from Honeydukes you had left at the foot of his bed last night. “You’re very welcome!”

You receive an assortment of different kinds of magical teas from Remus, noting with interest the box of earl grey that apparently makes the drinker see everything in black and white for a few minutes, and the green tea that gives levitation. In return, you buy him a set of expensive oil paints which he delights in, promising that you will be the first person to get a painting made with them.

After you have dinner, the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione, head to St Mungo’s to visit Arthur along with Moody and Remus to escort them. You had intended to go, but upon seeing the look on Sirius’s face when everyone leaves, you decide against it.

Before they go, you shove two small bags into Remus’ hands. “Give these to Frank and Alice, will you? Oh, and give this to Arthur.”

You hand him a paddle with a ball attached to it by a string — another Muggle game you hope will keep him entertained in St Mungo’s.

“Of course.”

The place is oddly quiet without everyone else, and you feel a rush of sympathy for Sirius at how lonely the house feels without anyone in it. It reminds you of the silence in your home without him there.

But at the same time, it’s nice. You stand side-by-side as you wash the dishes, handing them to him so he can dry them with a tea towel, and relay all your grievances about Umbridge.

“And then she said, ‘I know you’re hiding something…or should I say someone?’ and she smiled — you do not want to see her smile, by the way, it’s unnerving — but she thought she was well clever, as if she’s the first person to ever think that I could be hiding you away somewhere —”

“Well, you are, to be fair.”

“Yeah, but she doesn’t know for sure. She just thinks I am,” you say matter-of-factly, handing him another plate.

The scene is so domestic, that it’s almost foreign to you. You went over a decade without him and strangely, it’s little moments like this that you missed the most. Quiet, everyday things.

“Oh, and Mam and Dad said to tell you they said hello,” you say, smiling. “I think my dad misses you quite a lot — or maybe he just misses having someone to order around.”

Sirius chuckles, plates clinking as he returns them to the cupboard. “He always made me work every time we visited. And it’s not like I could say no, either — don’t want to get on the wrong side of the in-laws.”

“A flawless plan, really.”

He hums in agreement, sighing. You hand him the last few cups and he places them in the press before dusting his hands off. “I suppose I should look for Kreacher, before he decides to turn our bedroom into a shrine for my mother…”

Later, it's revealed that Kreacher had been hiding up in the attic — Sirius found him covered in dust, no doubt searching for more Black family relics.

When everyone else turns in for the night, it's just you and Sirius left in the kitchen. You let out a yawn as he drums his fingers on the table, before his face lights up with intent and he stands up and moves away from the table. Curious, you watch as he produces an old record player and blows the dust off of it, then he carefully pulls the needle onto the record and with a crackle, soft music starts playing.

Sirius extends a hand to you, smiling. “Care for a dance?”

You laugh, looking up at him in disbelief. “Oh, you're not serious…I haven't danced in forever —”

“That doesn't matter. Neither have I.”

He pushes his hand further to urge you, and you hesitantly place your hand in his and allow him to pull you out of your seat and into the middle of the floor. The space you have in the kitchen is limited, but it doesn't seem to bother Sirius at all.

Gentle but firm, he places the hand not holding yours on your lower back, and you place your free hand on his shoulder, your face inches from his.

He starts to lead you in a slow sway, and strangely enough you find yourself moving without thinking, muscle memory kicking in. Sighing contentedly, you slot your head into the crook of his neck. You can smell his new (or old?) cologne on his skin.

“Do you think we would’ve been good parents?” you ask softly. “If we had got the chance.”

You feel the nod of his head as he hums. “We would’ve been the best parents, love. And our kids would be lucky enough to inherit all our incredible genes.”

You chuckle, reaching your hand up to his hair to gently pull at the soft strands. “I think they would get your hair.”

“And your eyes, I hope.”

“They’d be clever.”

“And funny — and they'd all be Gryffindors, no doubt.”

You raise an eyebrow. “They’ll all have my smarts, you know. They could be in Ravenclaw.”

Sirius laughs. “Oh, really? Well, if you were so smart then why weren't you placed in Ravenclaw?”

You shrug, biting back a grin. “I look better in red.”

He gently spins you around to the music, and your eye catches on one of the Weasleys’ scarves on the kitchen counter, red and gold sparkling in the light.

“Everyone would love them,” you say, smiling sweetly. “They'd ace every subject and brag about how cool their parents are.”

“They'd dress cool and have incredible taste in music.”

You chuckle, heart aching at the what-ifs. The what could have happened. “They’d be kind to everyone.”

“But not afraid to stand up for themselves.”

“They'd be like you.”

“They'd be just like you.”

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

On the very last day of the holidays, you sit at the kitchen table beside Sirius, the room completely silent, as he glares across at Snape. You're not sure, but you think he might be trying to incinerate the man with just his eyes — though so far he has made no progress.

Harry enters the kitchen, looking quite puzzled and nervous to see Snape sitting there. “Uh.”

“Sit down, Potter.”

“You know,” Sirius says, leaning back on the rear legs of his chair as far back as he can and looking up at the ceiling, “I’d prefer it if you didn’t give orders here, Snape. It's my house, you see.”

An ugly flush rises in Snape’s face. Harry sits down on Sirius’ other side, the three of you facing across at Snape.

“I was supposed to see you alone, Potter,” Snape says, a familiar sneer curling his lips, “but the Blacks — “

“We’re his godparents,” Sirius says loudly.

“I am here on Dumbledore’s orders, but by all means stay, Black, I know you like to feel…involved.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Sirius lets his chair fall back onto four legs with a bang.

“Merely that I am sure you must feel — ah — frustrated by the fact you can do nothing useful for the Order.”

Snape's lip curls in triumph and your fist clenches under the table.

“Asshole,” you mutter under your breath, though still loud enough for Snape to hear, based on the way his eye twitches slightly.

Snape turns to Harry. “The Headmaster has sent me to tell you, Potter, that it is his wish for you to study Occlumency this term.”

“Study what?” Harry says blankly.

“Occlumency, Potter. The magical defense of the mind against external penetration. An obscure branch of magic, but a highly useful one.”

“Why do I have to study Occlu — thing?”

“Because the headmaster thinks it a good idea,” Snape says smoothly. “You will receive private lessons once a week, but you will not tell anybody what you are doing, least of all Dolores Umbridge. You understand?”

“Yes,” Harry says, thumbing the sleeve of his jumper nervously. “Who's going to be teaching me?”

“I am,” Snape answers.

“Why can't Dumbledore teach Harry?” Sirius says aggressively. “Why you?”

“I suppose because it's a headmaster’s privilege to delegate less enjoyable tasks,” says Snape silkily. “I assure you I did not beg for the job.” He gets to his feet. “I will expect you at six o’clock on Monday evening, Potter. My office. If anyone asks, you are taking Remedial Potions. Nobody who has seen you in my classes could deny you need them.”

He turns to leave, his black travelling cloak billowing behind him.

Sirius sits straighter in his chair. “Wait a moment.”

Snape turns back to face you, sneering. “I am in rather a hurry, Black…unlike you, I do not have unlimited leisure time…”

“I’ll get to the point, then,” Sirius says, standing up. “If I hear you're using these Occlumency lessons to give Harry a hard time, you'll have me to answer to.”

“How touching,” Snape sneers. “But surely you have noticed that Potter is very like his father?”

“Yes, I have,” Sirius answers proudly.

“Well then, you’ll notice he's so arrogant that criticism bounces off him.”

Sirius pushes his chair aside roughly and strides around the table towards Snape, pulling out his wand as he goes. Snape whips out his own. They square up to each other, Sirius looking livid, Snape calculated, his eyes flicking between Sirius' wand to his face.

“Sirius!” You say loudly, but he appears not to hear you.

“I've warned you, Snivellus,” he says, face barely a foot from Snape’s, “I don't care if Dumbledore thinks you're reformed, I know better —”

“Oh, but why don't you tell him so?” Snape whispers venomously. “Or are you afraid he might not take the advice of a man who has been hiding inside his mother’s house for six months very seriously?”

You would jump in but before you can even think about opening your mouth, Sirius is biting back at him.

“Tell me, how is Lucius Malfoy these days? I expect he's delighted his lapdog’s working at Hogwarts, isn’t he?”

“Speaking of dogs,” Snape says softly, “did you know Lucius Malfoy recognized you last time you risked a little jaunt outside? Clever idea, Black, getting yourself seen on a safe station platform…gave you a cast-iron excuse not to leave your hidey-hole in the future, didn't it?”

Sirius raises his wand.

“No!” You yell, moving to try and get between them. “Don’t be stupid —”

“Are you calling me a coward?” Sirius snaps at Snape.

“Why, yes, I suppose I am.”

The door opens and the entire Weasley family, plus Hermione, enters the kitchen, all looking very pleased with Mr Weasley walking proudly in their midst, dressed in a pair of striped pajamas.

“Cured!” he announces brightly to the room. “Completely cured!”

He and all the other Weasleys freeze when they take in the scene before them: Sirius and Snape with their wands drawn and pointing into each other’s faces, and you and Harry beside them, watching on in shock.

“Merlin’s beard,” says Mr Weasley, the smile sliding off his face. “What's going on here?”

The two men lower their wands, both wearing twin expressions of the utmost contempt. Snape pockets his and sweeps across the room, saying nothing to the Weasleys as he passes, and pauses at the door.

“Six o’clock Monday evening, Potter.”

He leaves, and Sirius glares after him, wand held tightly in a white-knuckled grip at his side.

“But what's been going on?”

“Nothing, Arthur,” you answer, stepping forward to greet them, “nothing to worry about.” Over your shoulder, you shoot Sirius a reprimanding look, before turning back and plastering a smile on your face. “So, you're cured? That's brilliant, Arthur, really! Great news, honestly…”

“Yes, isn't it?” says Mrs Weasley, leading her husband into a chair, beaming. “Healer Smethwyck worked his magic in the end, found an antidote to whatever that snake’s got in its fangs, and Arthur’s learned his lesson about dabbling in Muggle medicine, haven't you, dear?” she adds, rather menacingly.

“Yes, Molly, dear,” Mr Weasley responds meekly.

Dinner that evening is a cheerful one, though you can tell that Sirius is far from the happy face he's putting on at the moment. When he's not laughing at loudly at Fred and George’s jokes, or offering everyone more food, he falls back into a sour expression.

When you get ready for bed that night, taking off your jewellery, you look over at him.

“I thought you would know by now not to listen to Snape’s goading,” you say. “He only says that stuff to rile you up.”

“I know, I know—”

“Didn't seem like you knew that,” you say, a bitterness lining the edges of your words.

“You heard what he said about James, about Harry,” he mutters angrily. “What kind of person would I be if I didn't defend them?”

“You don't need to defend them with your wand. He only wants to get a reaction from you, and you're giving him exactly what he wants. Leave the wand in your pocket next time. He has nothing on you.”

With a clink, you drop your earrings into the little ceramic plate on your nightstand.

He huffs in disagreement. “He's right about one thing: I’m of no use to the Order sitting here.”

You turn to him sharply, moving forward to sit on the bed beside him. “Forget the Order. Sure I'm not much use to it either, staying at Hogwarts all the time, am I?”

He opens his mouth to refute this but you continue talking before he can say anything.

“You’re of use to Harry. You don't realise how much he needs you,” you say softly, pulling a lock of hair behind his ear. “He really loves you, Sirius, and he is a lot better off now that you're in his life. Nevermind what Snape said — he might be doing the most for the Order, but that doesn’t automatically make him a good person. He is cruel and enjoys ruining the happiness of others. You do not, and for that you are a million times better than him.”

He leans into your touch, sighing. “I would have killed him.”

You snort, laughing. “He would've killed you. You might've been good with your wand when you were twenty, but Snape’s got a decade of practice over you while you were in Azkaban.”

He moves against your hand to press a kiss to the inside of your palm, before falling back on the bed with a loud, exasperated sigh.

“I hate him.”

You laugh. “Me too, Sirius, me too.”

⁠✧⁠*⁠。✧⁠*⁠。

>>read chapter 31 here!

→ all kinds of interaction greatly appreciated! ♡

not to sound like a broken record...but sorry for the delayed upload. also sorry for the sad start to this chapter, hope i made up for it later on :) happy christmas everyone! I can't begin to describe how kind everyone who has read this series has been to me. You have all been absolutely lovely and writing this would not be possible without all your endless support. I love you all ❤️

As always, the biggest hugs and kisses to my taglist loves:

@mothraantics @wholelottalove05 @izuoyarmin @devoid-swanky @carpe000diem @mooonyxoxo @navs-bhat

@hyperspeedo @idkman5335 @elanna-elrondiel @murielisacertifieddilf @penelopied @imgondeletedis @wooyoungsrightsock @jennifer0305 @wolfdragon0424 @lovemesomevesey @aylinnmaslow @boiolay

[graydagay]

Barty "love sick" Crouch Jr

I think Barty (before rosekiller) would have been the biggest fucking flirt with everyone but when it came to flirting with Evan he couldn't do it, Barty would get so flustered and he wouldn't be able to say anything in fear of ruining his friendship but Evan was just as love sick over Barty. This is how I imagine it went down.

Barty:"Hey Ev" (has this flirty smile on his face)

Evan: (he would have a flower crown on his head that panda made for him) "Hey Bee whats up mate" (he would have a sweet smile on his face)

Barty: (flustered would zone out just admiring Evans features) "I um do you wanna I mean oh fuck"

Barty runs off down the hall embarassed and would hide in the dorms the rest of the day.

[ecstarry]

@rosekillermicrofic / freckles / 551 words / for @star4daisy i truly hope you like it babe, be gentle this is my first time writing them

“You two will not leave this room until you fill out that list. I am sick and tired of your bickering and fighting.” 

Evan and Barty did not have time to question their professor as she loudly shut the door and left them alone in an office with a paper sitting at the center of the table. They looked at each other and both of them quickly tried to grab it. Evan was faster but Barty loved to play dirty, he launched himself across the table and bit the paper out of Evan’s fingers. 

“Savage!” Evan snapped, yanking his hand back. 

“Prude!” A smirk spread across Barty’s face. 

“Just read the fucking instructions so we can get out of here, Crouch.” Two minutes alone with his classmate had been more than enough for Evan, he was desperate to finish their “bonding” session as quickly as possible.

His train of thought was interrupted by Barty’s laughter as he handed the crumbled piece of paper back. 

“I’m actually excited to see what you come up with.”

Evan’s eyes widened as he read the instructions: name three things you like about the other person. 

“This is stupid,” Evan argued, “You couldn’t even say one-”

“Your freckles,” Barty interrupted. 

Evan felt a blush creep through his neck as the boy in front of him looked at him with something resembling sincerity in his eyes. Just as the redness reached his cheeks he witnessed Barty’s teasing smile growing. 

“You’re fucking with me,” Evan insisted. 

“You are actually nice to look at when you’re not trying to make my life miserable, Rosier,” Barty replied. With the tip of his shoe he pulled Evan’s chair closer to him. “Your turn.”

“Fine. Your ass.” Evan muttered as his heart beat grew louder with the proximity of someone he had felt anger and absolute desperation towards for as long as he could remember. 

“I thought you were a gentleman.” Barty’s excitement only evoked more confusing emotions on Evan. 

“Your turn, Crouch.”

“Fine, you’re kinda smart when you want to be.” Evan once again searched for the signs of sarcasm behind Barty’s dry tone, but there was nothing. For the first time there was no deceiving intention behind the boy’s gaze. Evan’s heart was racing at a concerning speed as his mind tried to make sense of why Barty’s flattery was getting him flustered. 

“What is your endgame here, Barty?”

“I got bored of our little game we’ve been playing.” Barty leaned closer to Evan’s face and grabbed the collar of Evan’s polo shirt with his index finger. “I want to play a new one. Your turn, princess.”

The last words echoed in Evan’s mind. He couldn’t think. He wasn’t thinking. He threw himself towards Barty’s lips and pressed them together. They were soft. Barty Crouch had soft lips. Oh. Evan had kissed girls before, even a boy once, but nothing came close to this. Barty had one hand on Evan’s face and the other hopelessly holding onto Evan’s shirt. Soft moans echoed in the small room as they learned new ways their lips could communicate. He would continue to fight with Barty every day for the rest of the year if it meant he would end up here, under the undivided attention of this boy. 

He liked this new game.

[oh-phoenixx]

"Diary" - Jegulus microfic @into-the-jeggyverse - 377 words

-

James was very aware that Regulus wasn’t one for admitting his feelings, or displaying affection very openly. He didn’t mind, really. They had been dating for a little over a month, and James knew that it meant more to Regulus than he was comfortable letting on.

Currently, they were holding each other in James’s bed. Regulus had stayed here for the past few days after getting sick of Evan and Barty. James’s arms were wrapped tightly around Regulus, and the younger boy had his head buried in James’s neck. 

“I love you,” James whispered into Regulus’s hair. He knew Regulus wouldn’t say it back. He could tell by the way he tensed up, pulled away ever so slightly. It was okay. James didn’t mind. It was enough for him that Regulus didn’t leave.

It wasn’t until the next day, when Regulus went back to his own dorm for the night, that James knew Regulus felt the same. He’d had his suspicions, his hopes, that Regulus was just too nervous to say out loud that he loved James, too, but he couldn’t be sure. If it wasn’t for his insecurities, his fear that his overwhelming love for Regulus was one-sided after all, he wouldn’t have read it. He would have given the diary back to Regulus without even opening it. But his curiosity got the better of him, and he had to look.

Flipping through the leather-bound notebook, James couldn’t see much of interest, at first. There were drawings of Regulus’s friends, some of James, little notes about classes and essays. More than anything else, there were many poems. James didn’t think much of them at first, not wanting to pick apart Regulus’s writing. It felt so personal. But as he read over more and more of them, he noticed a recurring theme. Regulus talked so often of the sun. There was doubt in James’s mind, at first, that this sun was meant to be him, but he felt reassured the more he read.

These were love confessions. To James.

James knew that Regulus felt for James so strongly. If it was another month, year, before Regulus could admit it, if he could never admit it at all, it wouldn’t matter to James. He knew. That was enough.

[fianne-0123]

MARAUDERS and also other HP headcanons because I'm very sick about them

pisses me off that voldemort calls peter wormtail so id like to say that sirius black names a rat, after he gets out of azkaban, wormtail just for the fun of it. he raises it and lets it get extremely fat but he never feeds it cheese. "that's the only difference between him and pete" he'd joke, "peter always ate cheese, when i knew him."

james potter has some crazy pansexual vibes; he wouldn't know he's pansexual like ever because he's too busy being in love w lily evans, but pan james is my canon always 'cause he seems like he just wouldn't give a fuck.

sirius black thinks blokes are hot. and when he says it in a platonic way, everyone thinks 'ey its just typical pads!' but its not typical pads because he's a homosexual god damn it.

james'll never tell anyone this, but he actually suggested sirius be called "padfoot" because he makes a little "padpadpad" sound when he walks. Barefoot, padpadpad. Socks? padpadpad. His feet could be dry, the floor could be cement, he could be wearing shorts and it'd be padpadpad.

lucius and narcissa? guess you could say she's his.. beard. because idk something about the malfoys that give me that 'im a pent up homo!' vibe. im sure you know what i mean?

lily evans had a huge crush on severus snape growing up, and thats the only reason why severus snape ever reciprocated it (but never worded it out); the warmth of her love kind of burned through his emotional constipation aura and made him feel things in return.

but then him calling her a slur was kind of a dealbreaker.

also lily thought her type was emo and mean but then james potter strutted 'round the corner and suddenly she was the one being mean/j

regulus black writes poetry. free-form, raw, hurtful and then stuff salt in your wound type shit. it's in his face structure, you know? mother's son, because fuck all if walburga didn't write a poem or toe, i'd eat my own toenail

ok so yeah i do think peter pettigrew eats cheese. and yeah, maybe sirius black sheds hair from his head. AND yeah, maybe james potter would scent things. and if anyone dares to tell me that remus lupin does not vocally growl at people when he's pissed then you've got another thing coming at you !!

to add to my agenda, and this deserves its own bullet, is that minerva mcgonagall rubs her hands on the table makes biscuits when she's extremely happy.

pansy parkinson, after everything, goes to muggle london and gets a cup of coffee at a cafe. she asks someone what to do when she doesn't know what's wrong with her. when they tell her to go to therapy, pansy does. so yeah, i do hc her as a reformed racist, classist, elitist, and wtv the fuck.

albus dumbledore is kind of a bitch, I KNOW its not a hc it just kind of pisses me off and i feel the need to broadcast this to everyone who has every glorified him. kinda pmo that harry names his kid after him considering that he is indirectly the reason for harry's struggle in childhood.

that said, albus dumbledore makes a morning announcements about homosexuals with the endnote of "but keep out the broom closets, maybe?"

maybe if evan rosier and barty crouch jr looked a little less sheepish then they'd have convinced everyone that it was sirius black and one of his homie-os.

bill weasley romanced fleur by yapping about curse-breaking spells like a little weirdo and he is, in fleur's words, "a man with passion."

ok thx goodbye