#regulus black x barty crouch jr x reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aetherraeys · 1 month ago

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evil twin !

regulus black x twinpotter!reader ⊹ 10.2k

(part ii)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It gave you both room to grow.

Individually. Distinctively.

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

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

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

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

And then there was you.

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

No less alluring.

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

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

They whispered about you long after you left a room.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Not until your hand touches James’ shoulder.

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

Every head turned.

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

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

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

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

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

Your smile fades instantly, its replacing expressing shockly serious.

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

He winces. “Define ruin—”

“James.”

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

You stayed silent, blinking at him, unimpressed.

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

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

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

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

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

The kind of smile that ruins people.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sirius only grins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel them. The eyes.

But you don’t look. Don’t need to.

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

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

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

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

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

Lily smirks. “We’ll finalise tomorrow?”

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

“No problem, Pop.”

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

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

You don’t look back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t comment, but you noticed.

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

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

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

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

Wandless magic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bloody hell!”

The room erupted with laughter.

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

“Under control, was it?” you teased.

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

“You flinched so hard you almost somersaulted.”

“Semantics,” Barty grumbled.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His gaze was fixed on you, unreadable and unblinking.

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

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

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

Subtle, magnetic.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The first time was in the library.

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

“Planning to sneak up on me, Black?”

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

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

Because Regulus was nothing if not purposeful.

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

Icarus.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then the door opened again, still not Regulus.

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

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

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

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

“Did you wait long?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Better,” you whispered, half to yourself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Teach me,”

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

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

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

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

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

All-consuming.

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

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

“Once—accidentally,”

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

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

“Try move the coin.”

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

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

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

Easier said than done.

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

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

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

Nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am breathing,” he argued weakly.

“Barely.”

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

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

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

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

And then—scrape.

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

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

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

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

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

And this time, it slid farther—too far.

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

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

Regulus was still watching you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Feel that?” Voice just above a whisper.

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

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

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

For a few long moment—nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bewitched.

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

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

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

“You’re a really good teacher,”

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a beat of silence.

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

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

You paused at the threshold.

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

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

He looked over his shoulder.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was staring.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It sounds extra pretty in your voice.”

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

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

“I think you’re pretty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That did it.

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

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

The curtains.

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

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

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

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

Then he paused.

Looked at you.

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

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

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

A beat.

His answer was just as quiet.

“…Too long.”

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

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

Dinner came and went. Neither of you moved.

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

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

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

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

Not that you weren’t complaining.

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

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

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

You closed your eyes, humming in contentment.

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

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

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

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

For a long moment, Regulus didn’t speak.

Just stared.

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

Just you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That was all the prompting he needed.

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

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

And that made him grin.

Actually grin. Wide and rare and perfect.

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

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

Didn’t notice the soft shuffle of footsteps.

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

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

You and Regulus froze mid-kiss.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Stammered.

You physically winced.

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

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

He paused just outside the curtain.

“…and just left her bag behind?”

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

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

But there was no time.

Because the curtain was already being drawn back.

Regulus didn't move. Neither did you.

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

You, still straddling Regulus.

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

And the flower, still tucked delicately behind his ear.

A beat of silence.

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

You groaned. “Junior.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re eating a teacake.”

“I’m grieving, let me be.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jun—”

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

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

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

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

Barty beamed. “That’s more like it.”

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

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

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unconventional-lawnchair · 3 months ago

Note

Okay hear me out poly!bartylus x reader

Animagus reader who can turn into a niffler and is constantly giving barty her findings because reg would make her return them! They also exclusively wear silver because she likes gold shiny things lol

A Bored Barty

Bartylus x Reader

Summary: Barty is bored, alone in his dorm room- until his darling treasure brings him a treasure of her own.

WC: 1.1k

CW: Nothing really. Kisses used as weapons of war. Dont write for Regulus much so forgive me ( Art cred: kprk_pkrs on Twitter)

Barty was bored.

A dangerous thing, really.

He laid sprawled across his bed, one arm hanging off the side, tossing a small, silver knut into the air, catching it, then throwing it again. He had already read through all the interesting books in the dorm, bothered his least favorite housemate, and debated sneaking into Slughorn’s stash for a bit of fun. But even that felt like too much effort.

He sighed dramatically, letting his head loll to the side. The dorm was still, the air thick with the kind of midday lull that made his skin itch- drew you down to this unbearable tired. He needed something. A spark. A game. A bit of madness to wake his bones.

And then-

A soft, skittering sound at the doorway. Tiny claws against stone. A flicker of movement in the corner of his vision.

Barty turned his head sharply, and his entire mood shifted instantly the second he saw that familiar teal coat.

“Oh, there’s my girl,” He purred, pushing himself up on his elbows as you- small, sleek, and utterly adorable in your niffler form- scurried towards him with purpose.

A purpose that gleamed between your paws.

Barty let out a delighted, wicked little laugh, eyes gleaming with manic glee as you proudly presented your newest prize- a golden ring, ornate and entirely not yours.

“Well, well, well,” He cooed, sitting up fully and reaching out to pluck it from your grasp. He examined it between his fingers, tilting his head as he recognized the engravings. “Now, this is entirely too big for you, innit?”

He grinned. You grinned (or, at least, you looked quite pleased with yourself). Preened? You preened.

Then-

The door slammed open.

Barty didn’t even flinch. If anything, his day had just gotten much better.

Because there, standing in the doorway, looking half-feral and wholly pissed, was Regulus.

Barty could kiss you for this. Truly, he could. And, in fact, he might.

Because what was better than both of his partners being in the same room? A pissed off Reg.

“You,” Regulus growled, storming forward, shoulders tense, hair slightly out of place like he had run here. “Tell me you did not let her steal from Avery of all people.”

Oh he just adored you.

Barty just tilted his head, considering. Then he smirked. “Define ‘let.’”

Regulus made an exasperated sound, reaching for the ring in Barty’s hand.

Barty, quick as a viper, yanked him down by the collar.

Regulus barely had time to blink before Barty’s mouth was on his, stealing away every single ounce of righteous anger in one swift, practiced move.

Regulus, like the absolute fool that he was, immediately squeezed his eyes shut. Barty always found it the cutest thing- Regulus unable to help himself. As natural as a moody cat flicking its tail, as a lion roars and as a cougar stalks- Regulus Black closed his eyes for kisses.

Barty smirked against his lips. Eying the cute way his nose scrunched up and he let out a sound close to a whine- protests he never truly meant. The adorable sight complete with him reaching for Barty’s pockets; already knowing what Barty was up to.

And somehow? His free hand still slipped the ring into his pocket without obstacle.

You, still perched on the bed, let out a soft hum of approval, tail flicking as you watched with an utterly smug sort of delight.

Barty deepened the kiss for just a moment- long enough to enjoy the soft, reluctant way Regulus gave in before he pulled back with a smirk.

“What was that you were saying, love?” He purred, tapping Regulus’s chin lightly with his fingers. “Something about our dear ol’ Avery?”

Regulus huffed, eyes fluttering open, already scowling as he reached for Barty’s pocket again. “Give. It. Back.”

Barty grinned. “Give what back?”

Regulus glared. “The ring, Barty.”

“The ring?” Barty echoed, feigning confusion. He patted his chest, then his sides, then even made a show of checking under the pillow. “Hm. Don’t seem to have it.”

“You-” Regulus cut himself off, jaw tightening. Then his sharp gaze flickered to you, still perched happily on the bed, tail flicking with amusement.

“And you,” he accused. “You know exactly what you did.”

You tilted your head, ears twitching, looking every bit the picture of innocent curiosity.

Barty’s grin only widened. “Oh, come on, Reg,” he drawled, fingers lazily tracing circles on Regulus’s waist where he still had him held close. “Look at that face- does that look like the face of a thief?”

Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose, as if trying to summon the patience of Merlin himself.

“Turn back,” Barty said suddenly, looking at you now, voice smug and expectant.

You blinked up at him.

“Go on, love,” he coaxed, a lilt of challenge in his tone. “Let’s see those totally empty pockets of yours, shall we?”

For a moment, you debated staying in your niffler form- safe, small, and easy to scamper away if things got sticky. Barty looked ready to bite- Regulus too. But both were looking at you like they already knew.

With a soft huff, you shifted back into your human form- warm magic rippling over your body as you transformed.

Barty let out a bark of delighted laughter the second he saw you.

Because, oh, you were full of it.

Your pockets bulged comically, weighed down with far too many treasures- little trinkets and stolen baubles pressing against the fabric, revealing shapes of coins, buttons, and Merlin knew what else.

Regulus made an outright wounded noise. “Oh, for Salazar’s sake-”

Barty grabbed your wrist and yanked you down into his lap, laughing as he did so. “You absolute menace,” he grinned, wrapping his arms around you tight. “Not a dull moment with you, hm?”

You wriggled slightly, but Barty just adjusted, pulling Regulus down with you in one smooth, easy move- trapping you both in his arms. Regulus made a sound of protest, but it was weak at best, his cheek pressed against your temple, caught between exasperation and reluctant affection.

Barty smirked against your hair. “Now,” he murmured, voice slow, teasing, “should we even bother to check her pockets? Or should we just accept the fact that our little niffler is a bloody menace and move on?”

Regulus groaned into your shoulder. “You both drive me mad.”

Barty just laughed, pleased as anything, nuzzling shamelessly against the two of you as you let out a small, smug hum of victory.

Because in a few hours, Regulus would make you empty your pockets and identify whose riches were whose. He’d likely scold you but give up half way through when he sees those pretty eyes of yours gloss.

He’d make you return them and Barty would be alone in his room again. Waiting.

But right now?

He felt alright.

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remuslupinlovebot · 1 year ago

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marauders era p links (18+)

all links lead to p0rn !! watch at your own risk and do not watch in public

check out:

part 2

part 3

REGULUS BLACK

regulus fingering you in his dorm

regulus bouncing you on his cock

JAMES POTTER

riding james when he visits you for summer break

james celebrating a quidditch win

james absolutely devouring you as if you were his last meal on earth (this is the hottest video)

james teasing you while you’re wearing his hoodie

james stuffing you full and showing how much you mean to him

james eating his pretty girl out

SIRIUS BLACK

sirius making his girl feel good

showing sirius what a good girl you are

69’ing with sirius

sirius using his long fingers to make you cum

morning fucks with sirius

sirius fucking you at your house

REMUS LUPIN

remus fucking your face

remus fucking you in the bathroom before a full moon

riding professor lupin

getting extra credit with professor lupin

BARTY CROUCH JR

bouncing on bartys cock

barty fucking the LIFE out of you

MARLENE MCKINNON

marlene riding the life out of you

marlene making you look in the mirror as she destroys you

marlene fingering you till you’re shaking

making a sex tape with marlene

marlene eating you out

making out with marlene

LILY EVANS

fucking lily with a d!ldo

intimate but intense foreplay with lily

fucking lily in the common room

sucking mommy’s tits like a good girl

roommate lily helping you out

car sex with lily

thanking lily for date night by eating her out

lily sitting on your face <3

using mommy’s tits to cum

MARY MACDONALD

mary bringing you to heaven with her fingers

mary sending you a video while you’re on a work trip

home alone with mary

fucking mary after coming home to her all dolled up

making mary cum

eating mary out by the pool

DORCAS MEADOWES

eating dorcas out till she’s whimpering

(doesn’t really look like dorcas but it’s hot so whatever) devouring dorcas on the kitchen counter

giving dorcas special treatment after a night out

dorcas riding you

RANDOM

marlene eating lily out to give her a break from studying

pansy parkinson riding the genuine life out of you

pandora, dorcas and barty having fun when the dorms are empty

foreplay with lily and nb partner (not RLLY p0rṉ)

PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF ANY DON’T WORK!!

find part 2: here

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uramakimochi · 1 year ago

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THE MARAUDERS & REGULUS + GIRLFRIEND!READER AS INCORRECT QUOTES

///

REMUS

Remus: Who ate my chocolate?? I'm gonna fucking ki-

Y/n: I did, i'm sorry Rem.

Remus: Kiss you and buy you some more, it's okay my love, you haven't been eating enough.

Y/n: You know, Remus always gives Sirius flowers, i wish you'd do that too.

JAMES

James: Okay.

- Later -

James: *gives Sirius flowers*

Sirius: ???

James: I don't know mate, i'm confused as well.

SIRIUS

Y/n: Siri, your hand is on my butt.

Sirius: It was an accident.

Y/n:

Sirius:

Y/n: It's still there.

Sirius: It's still an accident.

REGULUS

Sirius: Hey Reggie what are you looking for?

Regulus: My will to live.

Sirius:

Regulus:

Y/n: *enters the room*

Regulus: Oh wait, there it is.

> BONUS BARTY CROUCH JR BECAUSE WHY NOT <

Barty: Listen to me. Love is a scam.

Regulus: You're making a Valentine's Day card for Y/n right now.

Barty, pointing the glue gun at him: You're on thin fucking ice.

///

LEMME KNOW IF YOU WANT MORE^^

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alwaysanundertone · 8 months ago

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KINKTOBER 2024

Hey! This is my first time joining this challenge, so I’m asking you, once again, to be kind 💓

Anyways, here’s the prompts, I may change something along the way but I think that you can already have a rough idea.

If you want to be tagged on them, comment this post and I will tag you 🩷 sending lots of kisses mwuah

Day 1: oral (fem receiving) | James Potter x fem! reader

Day 2: food play | wolfstar x fem! reader

Day 3: multiple orgasms | poly!marauders + Lily x fem! reader

Day 4: wax play | rosekiller x fem! reader

Day 5: aftercare | poly! marauders + Lily x fem! reader

Day 6: sensory deprivation | Sirius Black x fem! reader

Day 7: daddy kink | Draco Malfoy x fem! reader

Day 8: first time | Regulus Black x fem! reader

Day 9: somnophilia | Jegulus x fem! reader

Day 10: choking | Barty Crouch Jr x fem! reader

Day 11: begging | Remus Lupin x fem! reader

Day 12: mirror play | Regulus Black x fem! reader

Day 13: overstimulation | Enzo Berkshire x fem! reader

Day 14: bet’s on | rosekiller x fem! reader

Day 15: sensation play | poly! marauders x fem! reader

Day 16: knives play | rosekiller x fem! reader

Day 17: being ignored kink | Theodore Nott x fem! reader

Day 18: spanking | Remus Lupin x fem! reader

Day 19: dirty talk | Sirius Black x fem! reader

Day 20: lap dance | Mattheo Riddle x fem! reader

Day 21: fingering | Blaise Zabini x fem! reader

Day 22: magic | Tom Riddle x fem! reader

Day 23: praise kink | poly! marauders + Lily x fem! reader

Day 24: temperature play | Sirius Black x fem! reader

Day 25: squirting | Lorenzo Berkshire x fem! reader

Day 26: public tease | James Potter x fem! reader

Day 27: breeding kink | Remus Lupin x fem! reader

Day 28: cockwarming | wolfstar x fem! reader

Day 29: orgasm denial | Jegulus x fem! reader

Day 30: bondage | Barty Crouch Jr x fem! reader

Day 31: mask | poly! marauders x fem! reader

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agreeewrites · 6 months ago

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What's My Name? - R.B.

Bully!Regulus Black x fem!reader

summary: you’ve befriended the emeralds and few other Slytherin’s. Regulus is drawn to you like a magnet, but knows you have no business associating with them or their families, so he tries to scare you off. It backfires spectacularly.

cw: MDNI 18+ Regulus tries to white fang you. degradation, bullying, toxic relationships and friend groups, future death-eaters, trauma, Black Family Angst, choking, dry-humping, p in v sex

an: Ik everyone has a different marauders!era slytherin group, so here’s a quick breakdown of my personal headcanon:

Inner circle: Regulus Black, Evan Rosier, Barty Crouch Jr., Pandora, and Dorcas Meadowes (the emeralds)

Outer circle: Severus Snape, Avery, Mulciber, Emma Vanity, Charity Burbage, Aurora Sinistra, and Wilkes.

Circle-adjacent: Lily Evans, Marlene McKinnon, and the Marauders

There is also the much darker group with Rabastan Lestrange, Thorfinn Rowle, and the Carrow’s, who actively prey on some of the others for Voldemort’s Cause.

────────────────────────

No matter how hard Regulus tried, you refused to leave his orbit. You had no business affiliating with him and his friends, and had no idea what that affiliation truly meant. It meant darkness. It meant bloodshed. It met imminent and very real danger. A war was brewing right under your nose.

Regulus had been born and bred for this, as had most of his friends, but you…you were an innocent. Intelligent, witty, trusting. As much as he tried not to care, he couldn’t stand to watch your light be snuffed out for simply existing around them: metaphorically or literally.

But no matter how many times Regulus tried to run you off, spare you from what came next, you would not heed. In fact, you seemed to take his animosity as a challenge, leaving him in the predicament of being your unwitting adversary.

You were in the Slytherin common room now, curled up by the fireplace with Pandora, Evan, Barty and a few others, doing more gossiping than studying despite the piles of books and parchment on the floor around you. The greenish light of the lake contrasted with the glow of the fire against your face, creating an otherworldly halo around you.

You hair was pulled back, revealing the slender curve of your neck, the dip in your v-neck sweater where a silver pendant rested against your clavicle.

You laughed at whatever terrible joke Barty made and Regulus rolled his eyes, turning back to the spell book in his lap. He was studying alone, having told Evan a number of times to fuck off and let him work on his assignments in peace.

“Regulus!” Emma called suddenly, and he cringed, pretending he didn't hear his Quidditch captain. “Reg!” She called again.

He closed his eyes, willing them all to disappear.

“Regulus fucking Black!” She hollered, loud enough for the whole common room to fall silent.

He clapped his book shut and stalked over to where you all were sitting, one hand in his trouser pocket, the other clamped on his book.

“Yes?” He droned, leaning against the arm chair Emma was sitting in.

“Can you help me with this?” Emma asked, holding up her Defense Against the Dark Arts homework.

Annoyance prickled along his skin. “What good is a genius pet if she doesn't help with your work?” He asked, leveling you with his coldest stare.

You tilted your head, eyes flicking from his black, curly hair to his leather shoes, and didn't respond.

“She said she wouldn't help me,” Emma pouted.

“I said I wouldn't do it for you,” you corrected.

“Barty, then?”

“No can do, Reg,” Barty responded, coughing up a lungful of pungent smoke, waggling a joint in Regulus’ direction.

Emma waved the smoke from her face. “Will you help, Reg? I have to get a good grade in the class or I could lose my spot on the team. And you know these lot are useless at spells.”

He sighed and took the assignment from her hands, flipping through the pages. It was rudimentary work, things she really should know in order to defend herself.

“Can't help you,” Regulus said, handing it back to her. “If you can't do this, maybe you should be demoted.”

The group ooooh’d at his dig.

“Reg!” Emma whined.

“Ignore him, Em. Not everyone takes to dark magic as easily as the ancient and most bitchy house of Black,” you quipped, narrowing your eyes at him.

Regulus resisted the urge to clench his jaw, feigning the nonchalance you wore like a second skin. The group swiveled to look at him.

“All magic, really. But thank you, darling,” he purred, winking at you.

“You should have seen Sirius in advanced Transfiguration last semester, he's a natural. Truly a gifted wizard,” you continued.

“Hot as fuck, too,” Evan added, just to dig the knife in a little deeper.

Regulus’ blood began to simmer, his temperature rising beneath his dark robes. He tsked under his breath, shaking his head. “I thought you'd be smart enough to not fall for his clown act.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Evidently not.”

“I wouldn't touch a Black with a twenty foot pole,” you replied, leaning back on your hands, stretching your long legs out in front of you, your skirt sitting high on your thighs.

“Who said anything about a pole?” Regulus replied, mimicking your condescending head tilt.

The group snickered, watching your verbal sparring like it was a duel.

“You sound a bit jealous, Reggie. Need a little attention?”

Reggie. His mask nearly slipped, he was so caught off guard by the nickname on your sharp tongue. “May as well, since you give it out so freely.” He glanced down at your shapely legs, punctuating his point.

Your head fell back as you laughed, your chest pressing up and tits bouncing, and he felt an irritating kick in his trouser as the heat of his anger took a new, sinful shape.

“It's the 70’s, love. Are you still so prudish?” You lifted your head, pining him with eyes fierce enough to cleave him in half.

He smirked. “Far from it. Just selective.”

“Don't see much of a selection to chose from,” you chuckled, earning another spike of laughter from the group. “What I see is a spoiled youngest son with nothing better to do than needle the people around him to fill the hole in his chest.” You got to your feet, shouldering your bag.

Regulus felt like he'd been punched clean through the sternum, your words never failing to cut to the quik.

“Spoken by a girl with nothing better to do than fish for a rich husband that might save her from her home in the gutter. Trust me, nothing can fill the hole of inadequacy, y/l/n.”

You stepped over Evan and Barty's tangled limbs and left without another word, leaving Regulus’ cruelty to echo off the glass and stone, the group silent.

Regulus turned on his heel and disappeared into the boys dormitory, guilt dogging every step.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

The Quidditch match was in full swing, Gryffindor versus Slytherin, and the score was neck and neck. It was up to Regulus and the Gryffindor Seeker now, since neither team could get a leg up through the rings.

You sat in the stands sipping hot chocolate with Marlene, Pandora, and Dorcas, Barty pouting to your left because he couldn't sit with Evan in the Slytherin stands.

Regulus hovered a few meters away, his eyes trained upwards, catching every falling leaf and ripple of air around him. You hated how handsome he looked in his Quidditch robes, his lean body relaxed on the broom despite the stakes.

That was Regulus, un-fucking-shakeable. And it drove you insane that you could never get a rise out of him, but he managed to needle one out of you time and time again.

He was as relentless as a northern wind, and you couldn't help but be swept away.

His dark curls framed his angular face, those perpetually sleepy eyes the most arresting green. Sure, everyone thought Sirius was hot, but Regulus was beautiful, ethereal almost, and he wrapped around your mind like a constrictor.

You watched as the other Seeker suddenly took off above the Hufflepuff stands, in pursuit of something, and the Gryffindor stands cheered. But Regulus remained motionless, watching his opponent like a cat trailing a mouse. Even as Slytherin urged him to take up the chase, he remained unmoved, bidding his time.

His bottomless patience would be awe-inspiring if it wasn't so damn frustrating.

You wouldn't have an issue with Regulus, maybe even could have been friends with him, if he hadn't taken issue with you first. You had no idea what his fucking problem was, whether it was because your family was poor, you had better grades than him, or what. He loathed you from the moment you showed up in the Slytherin common room, and you've yet to receive an explanation.

You'd been saddled with a one-sided rivalry, but you'd be damned if you let him defeat you now after a full semester of back and forth.

The other Seeker pulled up short, whipping his head around like he'd lost something, and you saw Regulus crack a smirk, his canines white and sharp.

Regulus turned his head suddenly, quick like a bird, and then he was off in a blur of motion. His opponent was all the way across the pitch, entirely too far to get there in time.

A moment later— “Regulus Black has caught the snitch for 150 points! Slytherin wins!”

The Slytherin stands erupted with cheers while every other house booed, including your own. But you knew a Slytherin victory meant a rager in the dungeons, so you kept your lips sealed.

Instead, you watched Regulus land at the center of the pitch, the golden snitch held lazily between his pointer finger and thumb above his head. Any other Seeker would have been parading around the field, or flying in wide circles over the stands, screaming their head off, but Regulus was silent. His victory spoke for him.

Although, you knew he'd still be smug as fuck later.

As soon as the stands began to drain, you, Pandora, and Barty caught up with the rest of your Slytherin friends, all of them buzzing about the victory, even melancholic Severus. By the time you all reached the dungeons, a party was already in full swing.

Music thrummed along the walls, so loud it caused ripples in the Black Lake, making the emerald-tinged moonlight shift and dance along the floor. You happily accepted a shot of gin, then another before letting Evan cajole you out onto the dance floor.

Sweat pooled along your spine as the music wore on, your hair wild and loose down your back as you danced, electric energy flowing through you.

A cheer came up from the entrance and everyone turned towards the commotion. The Slytherin Quidditch team strode into the room, black robes billowing behind them. Regulus stood at the front, of course. Even from several meters away, you could see the confident glimmer in his eyes, the arrogant tilt of his chiseled jaw.

Fucking Black’s.

Like a magnet, his eyes found yours across the room, and you nearly tripped over Evan’s feet at the venom they held. But he looked away as quickly as he found you, getting swept up by the crowd and disappearing from your line of sight.

You tracked down another shot and rejoined Evan and Barty on the dance floor, squished between them in a tangle of limbs. Impossible to tell who’s hands were where, just a mess of sensation and touch. The temperature in the common room was rising expontentially, so you shed your sweater, leaving you in your skirt and a white camisole, sweat making the fabric cling to your skin.

A few songs passed like that, and a blonde guy you barely know, Rowle, you thought, took your friends place when they tapped out to smoke. You rolled your body against his, enjoying the way his thick muscles felt beneath his robes, the hungry way he was staring down at you. But you were about ready to take a break yourself, the musky smell of weed calling your name from across the room, when the hair on the back of your neck suddenly rose.

You looked around, searching for the source of your bodies response, when you locked eyes, once again, with Regulus.

He was sitting in a circle of couches against the glass wall with your shared friends, a halo of smoke around his head, a girl perched on his lap, sucking at his neck while he took a drag off of a cigarette. But his eyes were glued to you, tracking every movement you made with the same intensity he tracked the golden snitch.

Confidence wafted through you, and you wrapped your arms around your dance partners neck, letting him dip you so low your hair pooled on the floor, your tits nearly falling out of your shirt. You rolled back up slowly, articulating every vertebrae in your spine until you were chest to chest with your partner, sharing the same breaths.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Regulus choke on the smoke, dislodging the girl from his skin, and you smirked.

You let your partner turn you, showing every angle of your body, and you dropped low, circling your hips in time with the resinous goth song as you rose back up.

Regulus' cigarette hung limp between his fingers, his perfect jaw a little slack.

Emboldened, you broke away from your partner, letting yourself get lost in the sensuous, thrumming beat. Your arms rose above your head, your shoulders and hips swaying in time. It felt like you were hypnotizing him, his eyes glued to every undulation of your hips, and you couldn't recall a time where you felt more alive.

Too soon, though, the music changed to a more electro-pop vibe, and you slipped reluctantly off the dance floor, the taste of smoke beckoning you across the room.

You sauntered over to the circle, pointedly ignoring Regulus as you approached.

“There she is,” Even cooed, extending an arm to you. “You looked amazing out there.”

You smiled, sliding into his lap and taking a drag from the joint between his fingers. “Thank you, lovely.” You smiled sweetly up at him, and you could have sworn he started drooling.

“Feels even better,” Barty teased, sprawled out on the couch beside Evan, clearly a little too inebriated already.

You winked at him, and he flushed a deep scarlet. Pandora, who was resting on the floor between Dorcas’ legs, chuckled at his expense.

Regulus was quiet, per usual, watching as the group chattered around him, turning the golden snitch he caught over and over in his long fingers.

The smoke made your mind a little hazy, your tired muscles from dancing going loose, and you sagged into Evan’s side, leaning your head on his shoulder.

Regulus’ fingers tightened on the snitch, his jaw feathering, and your stomach swooped with nervous excitement. You’d never been able to rattle him before. Had you finally knocked the monolithic Regulus Black off of his axis?

“Reg, why so quiet?” Evan asked, nudging his leg with his boot.

Regulus raised a brow. “What would you like to talk about, Rosier? Fucking Junior? Or eye-fucking y/l/n?”

“We can talk about eye-fucking y/n.” Evan winked down at you, and you rolled your eyes. Avery barked a laugh from his spot on the other side of Regulus.

“Yes, let's,” Barty added, raking his willowly fingers through your hair draped over Evan’s arm. You hummed under the attention, knowing it was all in good, hedonistic Slytherin fun.

Well, almost all in good fun.

As always, Regulus couldn't let your ego inflate too much. “It's hard not indulge in a little novelty, no matter how ineffectual.”

Ouch. His words landed like barbs on your skin, but you ignored him, leaning into Barty’s attention with light moan.

Regulus shifted a little in his seat, his hands falling over his lap, and you nearly smiled. Regulus may act all high and mighty, but he wasn't impervious.

“Look at you,” Even purred, blowing smoke over your heated skin, your decolletage exposed as you stretched towards Barty. “Prettiest girl at Hogwarts, stretched across my lap.” You flushed, squirming a little in his lap, and Evan groaned. “You're torturing me, baby.”

Barty tugged on your hair, sending a skitter of pleasure down your spine and craning your head back even further. “Oh, keep doing that. He loves being tortured.”

“What a good girl,” Regulus hummed, and your pussy throbbed, soaking through your underwear. It was a rush, being admired by the heirs of some of the most powerful families in the magical world. But hearing those sweet words from Regulus, twisted into degradation, did sick things to your mind. “She's on track to graduate with her perfect, filthy-rich husband, and spend the rest of her days as mindless, fertile eye candy.”

You flinched, not that the boys noticed, and sat up a little, suddenly self-conscious in your barely-there shirt.

“We volunteer,” Avery and Wilkes said at the same time.

Evan’s arm tightened around you. “You'll have to pry her from my cold, dead hands,” he replied.

Claustrophobia clawed at your throat, but you couldn't let Regulus know how thoroughly he'd flipped your night upside down.

Wilkes drew their wand, pointing it at Evan’s head. “That can be arranged.”

“A no-name isn't worth it, children,” Regulus sneered. “Save your Azkaban trips for nobler pursuits than cunt.”

That's it. You swung your legs to the ground and rose, stalking towards Regulus. The group whistled and hooted, excited by the oncoming storm of drama.

You climbed into Regulus’ lap, straddling him and stealing the golden snitch from his hands. He was warm and solid beneath you, his expensive, amber cologne swirling with the smoke to create an addicting combination.

His hands immediately fell to your bare thighs, the cold of his rings biting into your heated flesh. His green eyes darkened, lids growing heavy as he looked up at you, his ebony lashes casting delicate shadows over his cheeks.

“Regulus Black,” you murmured in his ear while loosening his tie. His hands tensing on your thighs for a split second before he relaxed them. “You will never find someone that can withstand your thorns the way I do.”

He loosed a breath, chin lifting a little closer to your face like a wilted rose tilting towards the sun.

“You will never scare me off.” You brushed your nose along his temple, feeling his heart rate increase, his breath turn shallow. “I will ruin you, and you will thank me for it.”

Before he could respond, you slipped away, taking his prize snitch with you all the way to Ravenclaw Tower. Unreachable, even for the boy that had everything.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Regulus turned your words over and over in his mind, an endless, torturous loop. The others seemed obvious to his torment, prattling on and on while he burned through cigarette after cigarette, his tongue raw and throat scratchy.

Nothing would numb the ache on his chest, the pulsing strain of his cock beneath his robes. He'd already been painfully hard watching you move, watching you stretch across Evan and Barty like a contented kitten, preening under their devoted attention.

But when you climbed into his lap…fuck.

He was a heartbeat away from coming in his pants. One roll of your hips and he would have been done for, and you had no idea.

Or, maybe you did.

I will ruin you.

It was a miracle that you'd climbed off of him and stormed away, because the only thought he could formulate was please.

Eventually, he couldn't fucking take it anymore. He didn't even say goodnight to his friends, just disappeared into the dormitory and locked the door behind him.

He shirked his robe and grabbed a spare Slytherin scarf from his drawer. He flopped onto his bed and freed his aching cock, the head and angry red and shiny. He wrapped the scarf around it, squeezing hard for a semblance of relief.

“Fucking hell,” he groaned, pumping his cock slowly as your voice filled his mind again, the feeling of your weight on top of him, your sweet breath on his neck, your perfume rewiring the synopsis in his brain.

His hand started to move quicker, breath coming out in desperate pants. He imagined licking across your dewy chest, tasting the salt on your skin, gin on your tongue. Blowing his cigarette smoke over your naked body, into your open mouth. So eager and flayed open for him to ravage—his innocent lamb to ruin.

“Fuck, y/n!” Your name wrenched itself from his throat as he came hard into his scarf, imaging it was deep inside your greedy cunt. His whole body shuddered with the force of it, his jaw hanging open as he pumped himself through the orgasm until he'd milked every drop from himself, wondering if your pussy, your mouth, would do the same.

He slumped back onto the pillows, completely exhausted, and shoved the scarf under his bed.

You were right, you would fucking ruin him, ruin his plans. And he wasn't sure if he hated or loved you for it.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Regulus avoided you for two weeks after that party, going so far as to skip your shared Potions class entirely. It was for the better really, you still felt a little raw after that night, the dull ache of his words combined with the unresolved arousal has left you out of sorts, to put it mildly.

If you ran into him, you weren’t sure if you’d throttle or fuck him to death.

Your friends were beginning to grow suspicious of his absence, and your squirrely behavior, and, unbeknownst to you, they set a trap to bring this stand-off to a finish once and for all.

Pandora chatted animatedly beside you as you walked together down the stairs to the dungeon, ranting about something Aurora did to piss her off. When you arrived to the dungeon, she suddenly paused to tie her shoelace, waving for you to go on ahead of her into the common room.

You did, and the large green door swung shut behind you.

“No! Fuck, Dora!” Regulus was right there, banging his fist on the door.

You looked around, bewildered, only to find the common room completely deserted. Except for Regulus, of course.

“Move,” you hissed, withdrawing your wand.

“I tried everything,” Regulus huffed, a hand raking through his dark hair.

“I said move,” you repeated, pointing your wand at him.

He rolled his eyes and stepped aside, walking back into the common room. He dropped onto the couch by the fireplace, retrieving his book.

You threw every spell you could think of at the door, but it simply wouldn’t budge. “What the fuck!” You shouted, nearly throwing your wand across the room out of frustration.

“They left us a note,” Regulus said, not looking up from his reading.

You stalked over to him, finding an open piece of parchment on the coffee table. Immediately, you recognized Pandora’s loping hand.

“Just bone already.” You read aloud, and scoffed. “What the fuck does that mean?” You glared at Regulus, as if he was somehow responsible, but he still didn’t look up.

“I suspect they’re tired of our bickering,” he replied, turning the page.

“And what does locking us in the dungeon together accomplish?” You couldn’t believe this was happening. Couldn’t believe they’d lock you in a dungeon with your fucking nemesis. Your school yard bully. The bane of your goddamn existence.

Regulus shrugged. “Maybe they think you’ll kill me.”

You let out an exasperated sound and stormed away from him, trying the door to the girls dormitory.

“Locked,” he called a millisecond after you tried the handle.

“Maybe I am going to fucking kill him,” you muttered to yourself. Resigned, you sat on a chair by the glass wall, as far away from him as you could possibly get, and sulked.

You had no clue how much time passed, the only light filtering in through the murky lake. The cold leeched through the glass, chilling you to the bone, but you refused to move closer to him. You’d freeze to death in here if you had to.

“Y/l/n,” Regulus said after the fifth full body chill wracked through you. “Come sit by the fire.”

“Go fuck yourself,” you bit back, and he snorted.

“Fine, freeze.” He returned to his book, not sparing you another glance.

Your hands started to ache from the cold, your jaw sore from your teeth chattering together. With a sigh, you got up and crossed the room. Regulus still didn’t look up, though you could feel his attention shift to you as you sat directly in front of the fire, holding your hands out to it.

“You really think they’ll leave us in here all night?” You asked, staring at the dancing flames.

“Absolutely,” Regulus answered, lowering his book to his lap.

You sighed, resigned. The only way out is through. “I’ll start.”

He tilted his head, dark brows drawing together in suspicion.

You cursed under your breath, and dove headfirst. “I don’t understand why you’re so shitty to me,” you blurted, refusing to look at him. “I’ve never done anything to you.”

He was quiet for so long, you finally caved and glanced over at him, only to find him staring back at you, expression unreadable.

“Regulus,” you huffed, frustrated.

“Y/n,” he mocked, and your stomach flipped despite his attitude. He’d never used your first name before.

“Just fucking talk to me.” You straightened your spine, folding your legs on the ground underneath you, the fire at your side.

He stared at you for a few more moments, his eyes dancing back and forth, before he leaned back against the couch and picked up his book.

“You’re a lot of things, Black, but I didn’t take you for a coward.”

His eyes flickered with anger, but he didn’t bite.

“Reg,” you murmured, softening your voice, and he rolled his eyes, the most unbelievably bored expression on his face. You shifted your weight, placing your hands on the ground, and lifted to your knees. Slowly, you began to crawl to him, being careful to not sway your hips too much, and he broke after only a few seconds.

“On your knees already, darling?” He teased, but the casual tone didn’t match his eyes. The fire in them, the way his hands tightened around the cover of his book, betrayed his true feelings.

Once you were directly in front on him, you sat back on your heels. “Be honest with me, Reggie, did it turn you on seeing me with Evan and Barty?”

He blinked, clearly taken aback by your question. In his lap, you saw his cock twitch, a small pulse along his right thigh.

Men are so fucking easy.

“What about when I was dancing with them? Sandwiched between their bodies?” You rolled your head on your shoulders, mimicking the way you danced and revealing the fragile plains of your throat, your hair falling around your face. “When Barty pulled my hair? When Evan blew smoke over my tits?”

Regulus swallowed hard, his eyes like melted jade.

“What about when I crawled into your lap?” You took the book from him and set it onto the table. Then, you placed your hands on his lean, muscular thighs and pushed yourself to your feet, straddling him the same way you did that night. His entire body was rigid beneath you, muscles coiled tight with tension. “Did you like when I whispered in your ear, Regulus? When I told you that I’d ruin you?”

“Y/n,” he rasped, breathing hard.

“Tell me the truth.” You were so close, your lips brushed the shell of his ear as you spoke. You committed to the contact, brushing your lips along his racing pulse, down his jugular vein. You fought to keep your thighs from clenching together, your own body responding to the feeling him slowly unraveling beneath you. “Do you hate me because you want me?”

“I don't,” he hissed through his teeth.

“If you say so,” you hummed, moving to slide off his lap.

He grabbed your waist, his grip bruising. “Don't you fucking dare."

“I thought you didn't want me?” You taunted, sitting back on his lap to look at him, a hand braced on his sternum.

When you shifted your weight, your pussy accidentally pressed against the hard outline of his cock. You had to force your hips to stay still, your pussy practically begging you to move when you felt him throb against your warm heat.

“That’s not what I meant,” he said. All the malice had drained from his voice, his eyes locked on yours.

Then what the fuck did he mean?

You rolled your hips, biting back the moan that crept up your throat as pleasure snaked through you. Regulus was less successful, a broken groan falling from his pretty mouth.

“It would be so much easier to just tell me the truth,” you purred, slowly rocking your hips over his twitching length, allowing a hint of breathlessness to bleed into your voice. “It would feel so good, Reg, to let it all go. To lose control.”

“Shit,” he crushed under his breath. “What the fuck are you doing to me?” He grated, sliding his hands down to feel your thighs flex with each movement, his fingertips dimpling your flesh.

“What did you mean by ‘I don’t’?” You asked, tilting his chin up with a finger.

His jaw went a little slack as he stared up at you, his eyes heavy-lidded and shining. “I don’t hate you,” he answered, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Then why do you say such awful things?” You stopped your movements, and he made a small noise in his throat, nearly a whimper, but didn’t answer. “Regulus,” you prodded, lifting yourself from him entirely.

“N-no, please, fuck y/n,” he stammered, lifting his hips to grind against you. Another moan threatened to spill from you, his body felt so fucking good against yours, but you managed to restrain yourself. “I did it to try and push you away, I—”

You lowered back onto him, your hips grinding in tandem, and his head fell back against the couch, releasing a throaty groan. You couldn’t hold back a small squeak of pleasure when the hard head of his cock grazed your clit just right, and a wave of pleasure crashed through you.

“Why did you want to push me away?” You started undoing the buttons of his dress shirt, revealing the pale expanse of his chest, lean muscles flexing as he thrusted up against you.

He shook his head, picking it up to look down at where your bodies met, a pool of your slick dampening his trousers. “Getting me all wet, lamb. You like toying with me?” he rasped, moving one of his hands to press a thumb against your clothed clit, his long fingers splayed across your pelvis. “Is that why I couldn’t scare you off?”

You nodded before you could stop yourself, a full moan finally breaking free with the added pressure. You were embarrassingly close to coming, to banter combined with the friction between your bodies was a lethal cocktail, a drug you weren’t sure you’d be able to quit.

You wrapped your hands around his throat, applying enough pressure that he gasped, the sound vibrating your hand. “Why are you trying to push me away?” You leaned closer to his face, his strained pants fanning across your lips. He was so beautiful like this, ravaged by lust and desperate.

“You know why,” he growled, grabbing your wrists. He rolled suddenly, flipping you beneath him and pinning your hands above your head. “What’s my name, y/n?” His free hand slid under your skirt, palming your soaked panties.

“Regulus,” you gasped, arching into his chest.

“Regulus what?” He started rubbing the heel of his palm over your clit, electric pleasure burning through you.

“Regulus Black.” You were on the brink of coming, teetering on that torturous edge.

“Tell me then, my clever little Ravenclaw. What does that say about me and mine?” He leaned down and dragged his teeth along your pulse point, pausing to suck a mark under your ear.

“Fuck, Reg, I’m going to come,” you whined, fighting against his hold as the feeling started to overwhelm you.

His hand stopped suddenly, ruining the orgasm you had just begun to crest. You cried out in frustration, tears springing to your eyes as the pleasure bled out of you, leaving you desperate and humming with tension.

“Answer me,” he demanded, grabbing your jaw with his slick covered hand.

“I’m not an idiot,” you snapped, eyes blazing into his. “I know what the fuck it means. And I don’t care.”

He fell still, eyes searching your face. “Then maybe you are an idiot,” he murmured, eyes softening now that the truth was finally out. “But so am I.”

He closed the final inch between you, connecting your lips in a searing, devastating kiss that you felt all the way to your toes. He released your hands and you tangled your fingers into his curls, finally feeling their softness for yourself as you pulled him closer. Your mouth parted for him, his tongue delving in to taste you.

“Reg, please,” you whined against his mouth, pressing your hips to his again.

“Tell me what you want, lamb.” He kissed down your neck, one of his hands sliding down to grip your thigh and draw it over his hip.

“Fuck me, I need you inside of me.” You clawed at his belt, flipping the clasp and tugging down his zipper.

“Merlin, yes.” He finished undoing his pants and freed his cock, pulling aside your panties to glide the head through your slick folds, lubricating himself. He notched the head at your entrance, hissing at the warmth already kissing him, and eased himself in.

Regulus wasn’t overly large, but the stretch was still divine, filling you until you went cross-eyed, an unholy cry ripping from your chest. He drew his hips back and slammed back into you, over and over again until your were in shambles, a moaning, shaking mess, on the precipice of coming for the second time.

“Come for me, love. I want to feel you break.” He cupped your face, kissing you as he finally pushed you over the edge, an orgasm ripping you apart at the seams. You screamed into his mouth, your cunt clenching around him as your body convulsed. “God, I love this fucking cunt. So perfect for me,” he growled, his hips losing their rhythm as your walls bared down on him, sucking him back in every time he pulled out.

“Reg,” you whimpered, sagging against the couch as the strength bled out of of you.

He pulled out suddenly, pumping his cock in his fist, your honey coating him. “Stay just like that, pretty girl. All fucked out and used. All mine—” a guttural groan broke the final word as he came in his hand, spraying ropes of cum over your rumpled skirt and Ravenclaw sweater, his head thrown back. He looked gorgeous milking himself for you, his muscles flexing with the effort, sweat beading along his skin.

He slowly relaxed, chest heaving, and looked down at you, ruined and covered in his cum. You stared back, completely starstruck by what just happened.

“I’m sorry,” he said, draping himself over you and pressing ksises to your forehead, your cheeks, your neck. “I’m sorry for everything I said. I didn’t mean any of it, I—”

“Me too,” you interrupted him, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I know how hard things are for you, at home, I mean, and I shouldn’t have—”

“No, no. I deserved it. I shouldn’t have brought up your family—”

“But I kept—”

“I never meant too—”

You both exhaled, laughing softly at your rushed confessions, the sudden, giddy nervousness that bloomed between you where there once was glacial wit and razor-sharp banter. He sat you both up, removing your stained sweater and straightening your skirt, then righted himself.

“What now?” You asked when he finished fussing, studying his flushed cheeks, his tousled hair.

He sighed, suddenly looking grim, and your heart gave a nervous thump. “We find a way to keep you safe, lamb,” he said, meeting your eyes. “But until then, we should act like nothing’s changed. Okay?”

Uncertainty coiled in your stomach, but you nodded. “Okay.”

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Thanks for reading!

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crescenthistory · 21 days ago

Note

I'm so excited to see you're having a celebration, congratulations on the followers lovely!!

could I get you to argue for the red strings of fate au with bartylus x fem!reader. Maybe Regulus can see the strings (not everyone can) and has at this point told Barty about the two of them (though i see him having been extremely reluctant to at first and getting all angsty about it). But there was always another string and they never figured out who it was while at school. Maybe they start new jobs as adults and Regulus realizes the third is getting pulled more often so they must be nearby, but they are constantly MISSING HER. Culminates in them meeting, yada yada yada

Okay, kind of a lot of details, I had thoughts lol. Feel free to trim or edit wherever you please ~

thank you so much my love, you are an angel<3 this one was the hardest to write for some reason, but wound up becoming one of my absolute favourites! so thank you for challenging me xx art by vidhic0re

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

i will ARGUE for prompt 65 "red string of fate AU" with poly!bartylus

carina's 2k celebration

✶・•・✦・•・✶・✶・•・✦・•・✶

cw: fem!reader, reg pov, established bartylus, suggestive scene, barty has abandonment issues (and thus is worried about a third soulmate), referenced mental hardship for them both, very fluffy, first-meeting

wc: 2.2k

Regulus had grown used to his life with an unknown string; comfortable, even.

When he met Barty at age 11 and could for the first time in his life see the end of one of his two strings, he had been too young to feel truly excited over it. Rather, it just became a fact of life for the two of them, something put aside for the time being and scheduled to be brought up again at a later point.

Barty couldn’t see the string, so he didn’t really get what Regulus meant all those years back when he mumbled “oh, we’re connected”. The scene he caused when someone explained it to him at a Yule Ball, and he barged up to Regulus, drunk out of his mind and confused, heartbroken and in love all at the same time, is one that still haunts them both. Just like untangling a knot, they talked it out in the hallway and then in the common room and then in the dorms and then in every other room they were in for the rest of their lives.

Because it was officially for life – and despite his jokes, Regulus would never have it any other way.

The only thing that was left itching on his curiosity was this still-strange string. The one he had told Barty about, only to have him blow it off, calling it unimportant because “all I need is you, baby”.

Regulus couldn’t disagree with that sentiment, but the curiosity still lingered.

It lingered over months and years as they broke away from their families and bought their own – rather cramped, now without their money – flat in the boroughs of London. It lingered as they settled down in their separate lines of work and tried to make a life worth living. It lingered as the string would be taut or slack, almost as if their third was out there, swirling close and then away, just outside their periphery. He never pulled on it, even when his mind swam with possibilities.

Regulus climbed the ranks and became the manager of a new quill and parchment shop to rival Scrivenshaft's and Scribbulus, while Barty jumped from job to job, having a suspicious amount of commitment issues for someone quite literally tied for life to his boyfriend and some stranger. He had dabbled in everything from freelance bountyhunter that took too much enjoyment in hauling in extremist bloodpurists, to stand-up comedian that made himself laugh more than anyone else. It made Regulus roll his eyes, but Barty’s adventures truly were his greatest source of entertainment.

Said entertainment was what brought them to a hotel room in Paris, lazily making out on the pristine white bed on the top floor. Barty had the wild idea of auditioning for a muggle circus there the day after – “just a momentary thing, Reg, c’mon, don’t you always call me a clown?” – and Regulus decided to make it into a faux couple's business trip to ensure his partner didn’t accidentally break the Statute of Secrecy. He told the higher-ups at his job that he was visiting their Paris branch for a few days to learn how to improve. Quite frankly, Regulus made them too much money for them to argue.

“Be honest, you only came along because you wanted me all to yourself before I become a world star,” Barty teased against his lips, body sprawled out over Regulus’, tattooed hand resting idly around his neck.

Regulus let out a breath in between kisses, fighting an indulgent smile. “I want to make sure I get to keep you without your arse getting thrown in Azkaban.”

“What about my arse, hm?” Barty murmured, lips divulging on a path down Regulus’ jaw that was bound to turn his brain off.

There was but one thing that could break through the delicious haze of Barty.

His string pulled.

Regulus’ hands suddenly shot up to Barty’s face, gently but firmly pulling him away as his lips parted in shock.

Barty’s brows furrowed, concern beginning to seep in already. “Reg, wha–”

Regulus hushed him. His gaze was fixed, almost hypnotically so, on the shimmery red string that stretched out from his wrist, the one that only ever he could see or touch. The one that was currently drawn taut and shaking as if someone… “I don’t believe it,” he whispered.

“Spit it out, Regulus.” Barty’s face was still filled with concern, taking on the tone of no-bullshit that was reserved for when he was worried his boyfriend wasn’t communicating with him.

Remembering himself, Regulus let his thumbs brush gently over Barty’s cheeks, soothing. “I’m sorry amour, it’s just… the string. They’re pulling on it.”

A wave of relief and slight frustration washed over his face. “Merlin, Reg, that’s it? You had me thinking it was something important.”

This brought Regulus’ gaze back to Barty’s again, and this time, it was his turn to furrow his brows. “It is important, B. They've never pulled before, never been this close.”

His boyfriend dragged his hands up and down Regulus’ sides, soothing in their own right, as if trying to reassure any emotive reaction out of him. “Well yeah, sure, it’s intriguing, but it’s not gasp-mid-snog-and-make-your-boyfriend-piss-himself important.”

Regulus couldn’t help but snort. He began to sit up, pushing a willing Barty back with him so that they were sitting facing each other on the bed. Tentatively, Regulus intertwined his fingers with Barty’s on the hand the strings were attached to, his free hand coming up to trace the strange string in the air.

It was hypnotising – even Barty, who couldn’t see the string, watched Regulus’ fingers tracing the air reverently with rapt attention. “They’re here, Barty,” Regulus whispered, looking up at him through his lashes. “I’m sure of it. That is important.”

For a beat, Barty didn’t say anything, eyes flickering back and forth between Regulus’ as he breathed out slowly. Then, he drew the air back in sharply between his teeth, as if pulling a decision in with it, and squeezed Regulus’ hand.

“Alright then – let’s go find the poor sucker.”

This time it was Regulus’ turn to be bewildered, trying to hold onto Barty who was already moving away from the bed, free hand reaching out towards the hotel door.

“I– wha– Barty!” Regulus all but hissed, trying to hold him back. “We can’t just– barge in, we have to think this through.”

His boyfriend scoffed and rolled his eyes, all while wearing his signature grin. He turned on his heel, dragging Regulus closer to him by their intertwined fingers so that he could caress his side all the way up to his face. The green in Barty’s eyes seemed to shine brighter as he gently cupped Regulus’ face, bringing their foreheads together.

“C’mon Reg. This is pretty straightforward. If we have another soulmate, that soulmate is close by and important to you. So I say we go find them. Yeah? No need to overthink or overprepare. Isn’t the point of a soulmate that they’ll like us for who we are? If not, then fuck them, yeah?”

Barty’s pep talks were always difficult to argue against, no matter how much fault Regulus found in his logic. Tonight he didn’t have it in him. Instead, he gripped the back of Barty’s neck and brought him down into a searing, deep kiss – one that Barty had no problem returning in an instant.

When they parted, both were smiling and panting. Barty looked endearingly at Regulus’ closed eyelids before they fluttered open to meet his gaze.

“Yeah, okay,” Regulus whispered. “Alright. Just– just let me grab my jumper.”

Barty released his fingers in favour of Regulus throwing on a jumper, feeling, despite his insistence, that he needed some layer of protection against whatever might face him outside this hotel door. An eternal love, a stinging rejection, or – perhaps worse – no end in sight.

Regulus’ fingers traced the taut string in fascination while his free hand grasped Barty’s once more before they spilled into the hallway, a many-limbed mythical creature of jittering nerves.

“You lead the way, babe,” Barty teased, squeezing Regulus’ hand reassuringly.

With bated breath, Regulus began following the string. It was still just as tight, but it hadn’t shook or shown any signs of being pulled for a few minutes. He was beginning to worry he had imagined it.

Until he rounded a corner and there – there the string ended. The string led straight to the door labelled with 117, disappearing in behind it.

Regulus stopped in his steps, making Barty almost run into him.

“What?” Barty whispered, sensing the change in tension.

“It’s that one there.” Regulus’ eyes hadn’t left where the string disappeared in between the cracks. “Room 117.”

Barty’s breath hitched and Regulus swore he could hear him whisper sick, but chose to ignore it.

With tentative steps, Regulus moved closer towards the door until he stood in front of it. There was a faint sound of rustling and some form of indecipherable melody seeping out through the door, and though it might have been placebo, he felt oddly at peace in front of it. Choosing to follow Barty’s sentiments – don’t overthink – he lifted his knuckles to rap on the door once, twice, thrice.

Any sound behind the door ceased.

Regulus remained staring at the silver numbers on the dark brown wood, holding his breath. The complete lack of sound from Barty told him that he was doing the same, but he couldn’t bring himself to check, too wrapped up in the consequences of this singular moment.

No sounds from the door – but the string pulled once, twice, thrice.

Regulus looked down at the fickle thing, heart pounding in his chest. For the first time in his life, he wrapped his hand around the buzzing string and pulled too. An agent of his own fate, he pulled three times himself. Unsure if that was what he was meant to do, wholly unaware of what else there was to do.

To his utter amazement and deepest fear, the string went slightly slack, almost as if the other person had let it go. Instead, the doorknob twisted.

With rusted screeching hinges, creaking wood and the screaming of Regulus’ heart, the door swung open to reveal – you.

You stood before them, in an outfit they would come to know as quintessential you, staring at them with slightly parted lips and wide eyes. When his gaze trailed down your every feature, they finally landed on what he never thought he would see; his final string reaching out from his hand and circling neatly around your wrist. Regulus’ eyes remained trained on that sight, digesting it.

“She’s beautiful,” Barty breathed out. Not one for silences, not even now. Your eyes moved from looking at Regulus’ own wrist to Barty’s and then up to his face, still equally rattled. Barty cleared his throat a little and Regulus looked up to see a spark in his green eyes that he had seen many a time but never aimed at someone else. “You’re beautiful,” he clarified, daring to smile a little at you.

To Regulus’ joy, you let out a laugh. It was an airy, almost teary laugh, one that summarised every intensity of this very moment.

“Well, thank you… erm, and, hi.” Your voice was melodic, creeping up over Regulus’ skin and into his ears.

“Hi, amour,” he whispered back, squeezing Barty’s hand reassuringly at the usage of his pet name. He tried to open his mouth to say more, but the words got stuck.

“I… I can’t believe…” You seemed utterly bewildered as a smile grew on your face, taking them both in rapidly.

Regulus had never considered what it would mean for their third partner that he and Barty found each other so long ago, that she had been without them both for so long, waiting, hoping. It made him a little choked up.

“This is the strangest fucking thing I’ve ever experienced.” Barty’s declaration and accompanying laugh zapped Regulus of some of his remaining nerves.

“Strange as in horrifying or… exciting?” Your voice was a bit small, but your expression was so encaptivating that Regulus saw Barty melting.

“Most excited I have felt in years. Certainly more than I will feel at the circus.”

A surprised bark of laughter escaped you. “At the what?”

Barty grinned – Regulus couldn’t help but do the same. “We have a lot to catch up on, love, but it… it would be an honour to do so. Mind if we come in?”

Your eyes shone with a glossy sense of endearment and mischief that Regulus knew would mould perfectly into their relationship. You took a step back and gestured inside. “Please do. Just don’t kill me.”

“Oh, he would never,” Barty said, already beginning to enter, suddenly more than eager to meet his last soulmate. He shot you a wink. “I might though.”

Regulus met your eyes as Barty’s hand dragged him in, milking the moment of eye contact for all its worth. “He won’t,” he whispered in passing.

“Oh, I figured,” you stage-whispered after him with a beaming smile.

You shut the door behind them, and a new chapter began.

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pommeauromarin · 2 months ago

Text

When I find a 10k+ words count, friends to lovers, where he fell first and harder, extra yearning, no smut, fluff + angst fic

#i love men yearning #marauders #dc #dick grayson x reader #eddie munson x reader #jason todd x reader #steve harrington x reader #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #james potter x reader #barty crouch jr x reader #regulus black x reader #clark kent x reader #peter parker x reader #bucky barnes x reader #marvel

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juleswritesstuff · 8 months ago

Text

Holy hands, will they make me a sinner ?

You seem to have a little secret. Regulus figures you out immediately.

regulus black x fem!reader

warnings: smut

“If you bore holes in them I won't be able to finish my essay, Y/n”

His voice brings you back from the apparent state of trance you had unconsciously fallen into. Blinking rapidly, you regain perception of the walls of your dorm room surrounding you and the myriad of books scattered across your bed. You shift your gaze to his gray eyes and you find them already set on you.

“Pardon ?” your voice has a confused edge that almost makes him chuckle.

“My hands” he explains, his tone as neutral as ever “You were staring”

Your eyes go a little wide, like you had been caught stealing the last chocolate frog of the stash. You swallow, trying to compose yourself as best as you can.

“I was doing no such thing” you declare, a bit too solemn and defensive to be the truth.

Regulus pins you with an unimpressed look, his left brow arching just enough to tell you that he isn't buying any of your bullshit.

A defeated sigh leaves your lips.

It is no use hiding something from Regulus Black. He will find out one way or another, and you got caught right with your hands in the jar.

“Ok, fine” you admit, lifting your shoulders to make it seem like the most casual thing ever “I was looking at your hands”

Regulus’ expression doesn't change, but the glint of amusement flashing in his eyes doesn't go unnoticed.

“More like ogling, I would say” even his tone has a playful bite to it.

You like this side of him. The Regulus who is able to relax a bit and let go when he is surrounded by the people he is comfortable with.

But carefree Regulus also means menace Regulus apparently.

“I wasn't ogling” you grumble, rolling your eyes “I was just admiring them”

His eyebrows furrow.

“Why ?” he seems intrigued as the question leaves his lips.

Why, he has the courage to ask.

Well the answer is that Regulus Black has the prettiest, hottest, most gorgeous hands you have ever laid eyes on.

They are elegant, slender, the little veins underneath the pale skin gracing your eyes with their presence with every movement he makes, every flex of his muscles, producing a delicious design that hypnotizes you.

They are smooth but decorated by light calluses, undoubtedly caused by Quidditch, that create a divine contrast with his otherwise untainted skin.

His fingers are long, lean, clad in silver rings that make your mouth water with how exquisitely sultry they make him look.

And suddenly, but not surprisingly, you find yourself imagining what it would feel like to have those hands on you, exploring every inch of your body, dancing on your skin like flames dance in the cold hair of the night. The cool metal of his rings being at odds with your scorching hot skin, making you hiss as his skilled fingers create a burning path over your body, traveling everywhere. Your legs, your thighs, your hips, chest, shoulders and stopping right at your neck, wrapping delicately, reverentially around it. Worshipping the sensitive skin, feeling the erratic pulse of your heart and-

“You’re doing it again” his words interrupt your spiraling for the second time that day, sounding dry and apathetic as always, but a hint of teasing twinkles in the otherwise coldness of his eyes.

“You have nice hands, that’s all” you manage to say without giving away all the less than pure thoughts flooding your mind in that moment. “From an artist point of view, obviously” you add, shrugging, trying to make everything less than obvious.

You really hope Regulus didn't learn to cast a Legilimes in his free time, otherwise you were well and truly screwed.

Bringing up your passion for drawing is futile and you know it. You know he knows the drooling over his hands isn't for the sake of art. You can't fool Regulus Black, not even if you try to.

Which is both extremely annoying and criminally hot in your humble opinion.

But pretending is the only thing you can do to not feel embarrassed, holding onto the hope that maybe he doesn’t have you all figured out.

“So you’re saying that your interest is purely artistic ?” he cocks a brow as his head tilts slightly.

There’s something in his voice, in his eyes, that you can’t quite figure.

Your forehead scrunches in confusion.

“Yes, of course” you answer, trying to hide the stutter of your voice as best you can.

You are pretty sure he knows that you aren’t telling the truth, he somehow always knows. He reads you like an open book, and, for someone who doesn’t engage in showing his emotions too often, he is pretty damn good at reading the ones of others.

So why that question ? You almost expected him to tell you to cut it out and get back to study because that essay isn’t gonna finish itself.

This is new, unexpected.

Interesting.

“Would you like to draw them ?”

Your eyes go wide in surprise.

Wait.

What ?

Never, in all the years you have known each other, had he offered to model for you.

He knew about you having an interest in arts, he even saw a couple of your drawings and paintings and he often asked about them and how they were coming up, but he never asked to be in them.

You never brought up the suggestion either. He is a reserved guy and he loathes having eyes on him, so you figured he would’ve never accepted even if you did.

That never stopped you from sketching him from afar, though. Those gorgeous features deserve to be portrayed.

But why the sudden proposition ?

You aren’t stupid. Regulus might know you like the back of his hand, but you could say the same about him. And this, whatever this might be, is not like him at all.

Regulus never does anything for nothing, there is always an explanation, a reason to his every move. You think even his breaths are perfectly calculated.

But this time the why gets lost on you, and the harder you try to understand the less it all makes sense.

“I can see the gears in your brain twinsting and turning,” he says, calm and composed as ever.

He is sitting on your bed, the quill he was using to write his Charms paper now abandoned next to him. His back is perfectly straight, leaning on the headbord to support his weight. The raven strands of his hair create soft waves that frame his face in a delicate and enchanting way. His lips are stretched in a rare, playful smile, curling up slightly on the left side.

He is beautiful. Dangerously so.

“It’s just-” you are confused, there is no doubt about that, but most of all you are intrigued “You have never asked me before”

“I know”

That’s his only answer. Simple, concise. Enigmatic.

Just like him.

“So why now ?”

The question escapes your lips before you can stop it. You can’t help it, curiosity is consuming you, and the possibility of learning a new part of him makes your skin tingle with excitement.

“Why not ?” he shrugs “There is a first time for everything, right ? So why not now ?”

There is still that glint of something in his eyes. You don’t know what it is, you don’t think you would be able to give it a name even if you knew, but it's there, and it’s strong.

“I’ll get my supplies then”

You slowly get up from the bed, feeling your heart in your throat in a mix of anticipation and nervousness, and you retrieve your album and a pencil.

When you sit back down you notice that the books have been neatly stacked in a small pile next to your bed and all the papers, previously scattered all over your sheets, are nowhere to be seen.

“Figured we might need the space” he says, like he read your mind.

“Thank you”, you give him a small smile before opening your album, turning the pages one by one, until you find a blank sheet, ready to be filled.

“Where do you need me ?”

The way he utters those words with the utmost nonchalance, apparently unaware of the effect they have on you, nearly sends you into cardiac arrest.

Everywhere, you think, before mentally smacking yourself.

You need to get a grip, for Merlin’s sake.

“Right there is fine,” you're able to say without your voice faltering “just angle your hands towards me, so the light is right”

He does as he is told, adjusting his position and moving his hands a bit to the right, veins on full display and rings shining under the warm rays of the sunset seeping through the window.

“That’s good” your mouth is suddenly dry as you gulp at that sight.

He is a bit far, and the light doesn’t hit as perfectly as you had expected, but you’ll work with it. If squinting your eyes a bit is the price to pay to maintain your mental sanity, then so be it.

Then you start drawing. The only sound filling the room is the gentle scraping of your pencil as your eyes focus on the white sheet in front of you, your gaze shifting to his hands ever so often to take a peek at them, like you haven't learnt every detail by heart.

You can feel his eyes on you. You try not to focus on it, but the shivers those pools of the color of a summer storm send down your spine are difficult to ignore.

“You’re straining your eyes” he blurts out of the blue.

Observant as always.

“It’s fine,” you assure him, your gaze never leaving the paper “this distance is good for perspective”

“But it’s a problem for the lighting”

Those words make you lift your head up, your brows knotted in a frown.

How does he-

“And what would you know about the lighting ?” you eye him suspiciously, a small grin curving your lips.

“I guess all your rambles about that muggle painter weren’t in vain” he says, and there’s a cheekiness in his tone that is completely new to you “Caravaggio, right ?”

Your grin turns into a full smile.

“Right,” you nod, your eyes widening a little “I can’t believe you actually remember”

“I remember a lot of things,” he remarks defensively.

“Only those important enough to you” the teasing in your voice is light, playful, as your pencil glides on the sheet swiftly, adding strokes and shadows here and there.

There’s a beat of silence.

One second. Two. Three. And then-

“Exactly”

Your hand halts every movement, freezing completely. You look up from your paper and you find his gaze already on you.

Suddenly you are lost. Your heart is beating so fast you wouldn’t be surprised if he was actually able to hear it.

The implications of that single word swirl in your brain, creating a hurracane of thoughts that almost gives you whiplash.

He doesn’t give you the time to even think properly about what he may have just suggested, because he decides to speak again.

“I can come closer if you need me to” his voice is lower, deeper, oozing with that same something he’s had in his eyes since he caught you staring at his heavenly hands.

You want to scream. You have no idea of what the hell is going on and it’s confusing the shit out of you.

You know he is asking for that forsaken drawing you still have in your lap, but it somehow doesn’t feel like it. The electricity in the room is so high it feels like an open cable sending sparks flying everywhere, setting the air on fire.

The only coherent thought in your brain is a chorus of yes, please and nothing else.

So you cave.

“You can,” you manage to say, because the necessity to protect your sanity might be strong, but the need to have him close to you is apparently stronger “if you want to”

His gaze is so penetrating you feel it in your soul, consuming you from the inside out and setting your whole body ablaze.

It’s compelling, hypnotizing even.

“This is not about what I want, Y/n”

Oh, the way those words leave his perfect lips, making shudders erupt all over your body should be studied.

Your world shifts on its axes and it starts spinning ten times faster. Because he knows.

He knows.

“We're not talking about art anymore, are we ?” you ask, swallowing soundly as your breath gets stuck in your throat.

“Were we ever talking about that in the first place ?” his question is rhetorical. He doesn’t need an answer because he already knows it. He figured you out, like he always does.

So what was the point in pretending anymore ?

“No,” you admit “I guess we weren't” your trembling hands move the paper out of the way.

There is a spark in his eyes. It’s foreign, thrilling even, and it makes your skin prickle in the best way.

Suddenly he moves. He shifts his weight forward, approaching you slowly. The veins in his arms and hands bulging from the pressure and knocking the air out of your lungs in the process.

“So tell me” he whispers, crawling to you bit by bit, like a hunter advancing towards his prey. He seems to be calm, poised, totally in control of his body as he comes closer and closer.

It’s his eyes that betray him.

They have always been the window to his feelings, talking more than his mouth ever did. And right now they are burning, engulfed by a heat that makes your legs weak and your heart roar. The realization hits you, a rush of adrenaline running through your veins.

They are hungry.

“Tell you what ?” you stutter, unable to regain a hold of yourself. You can’t breathe, your palms are sweaty, you feel hot all over and he is close, so damn close.

He stops right in front of you, mere inches between your faces and a tension so heavy you can cut it with a butter knife.

“What you want” the warmth of his breath delicately caresses your skin. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, his eyes following the movement intently almost making you squirm under his gaze.

“You seem to know what I want” you murmur breathlessly, your body heating up in response to his proximity.

Those hands, protagonists of some of the filthiest dreams you’ve ever had, are right next to you. Close enough to graze the skin of your thighs with his knuckles, but never indulging in the act. Like he is teasing you, waiting for you to beg for it. You shift your gaze to them and you swallow hard, the need to feel them on you growing stronger every second that passes.

You are about to fucking combust.

His silver eyes are still fixed on you, intense and magnetic, as they follow your line of sight.

“I won't move a muscle unless you tell me to, Y/n”

Those words, mouthed so close to your lips and mixed with the low, velvet-like husk of his voice, make your legs clench and your stomach churn in the best way possible.

You can’t take it anymore.

You move forward, abandoning your position on the bed to place your legs on each side of his hips, almost straddling him. Your hands are on his shoulders, helping you to keep your balance, feeling the lean muscles underneath the shirt as you hover over him.

His head tilts up, eyes sharp and hot and glued to yours. You hear him suppress a hiss as your thighs brush his hips. His arms are still next to him, hands gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles turn white.

He is restraining himself. From touching you.

Your thoughts are clouded, your mind hazy and completely out of it. The only thing you want right now is for him to place those perfect fucking hands on you and never stop.

“Do it” your voice is so weak and breathy it’s a miracle he hears you.

“Do what ?” he mouths, so close to your lips it makes your head spin.

You’re needy, desperate even, but you don’t care. You don’t have time to think right now. You want to feel.

“Touch me” you beg.

“Where ?” he sounds just as gone as you are, and you finally crumble.

“Everywhere”

It’s nothing more than a whisper but it shakes the both of you like an earthquake.

You meet in the middle, your lips colliding and completely knocking the breath out of you.

His mouth is sinful, greedy, chasing yours with a hunger that almost makes you melt on the spot. You get lost in the softness of it, in the ungodly brush of your tongues making you moan breathlessly. You bite and nibble and lick and he follows you, matching the languid pace just as eagerly, as your hands tangle in his hair, pulling at the black strands delicately. The low groan that escapes his throat sends goosebumps all over you.

You are so focused on the filthy dance of your mouths that you almost miss the agonizingly slow graze of his fingers on the exposed flesh of your legs, gently tracing a path on your thighs.

The metal of his rings meets the hotness of your skin and you hiss.

Oh, it’s just as delicious as you imagined.

“Ah- fuck” you pant, millimeters away from him. Your head feels light, dizzy.

You feel like you’re dreaming, lost in your own fantasies.

But his hands running up and down your thighs feel too fucking good to be just a product of your imagination. They travel slowly, excruciatingly so, making you lose your mind with every new inch of skin they explore.

Until they sneak under your skirt, reaching your hips to gently knead the supple skin, applying enough force to bring you forward.

“Sit” It feels more like a plea than an order but-

Holy shit.

A gasp escapes your mouth before you can stop it.

Every cell of your body threatens to explode as he pushes your weight on him all the way, making you straddle him completely.

“Fucking finally” he curses, more to himself than to you, like he has been waiting for this moment his whole life.

His eyes are dark, fogged up by lust and need, and it's the lewdest thing you have ever witnessed.

“I have never seen you like this” you whisper directly on his lips, nibbling on the plush flesh.

He smirks, smirks for Salazar's sake, as his fingers move, reprising their mission to make you lose every ounce of control.

“It seems you were busy looking at something else”

His thumbs rub the skin of your inner thigh in a hypnotizing manner, sending bolts of electricity down your spine.

You whimper as they get closer and closer to your core, your grip on the junction between his neck and shoulder tightening in pleasure.

But he must take it as some sort of sign of discomfort because he halts suddenly.

“Want me to stop ?” his eyes search for yours, the veiled concern in them making your heart stutter.

“Don’t you even dare” you say, a mere breath away from him before you dive in, capturing his mouth again.

It's messy and dirty and you get addicted to his taste way too quickly.

His hands move up, massaging your skin at every caress of your tongues, until they reach the hem of your panties.

He moves away from your lips for a quick moment, and he looks at you.

The silent ‘Can I ?’ written in his eyes almost makes you swoon.

You nod your head.

“I need words, chérie” he whispers sensually.

The combination of his right hand so close to your most sensitive spot, his left one traveling up to your hip, holding it tightly, posessivly, and that fucking pet name almost make you cum on the spot.

“Yes” you practically beg.

Only then he resprises his journey of exquisit torture along your body.

“Shit-” you quiver as he kisses your neck, branding the sensitive skin with his lips and teeth. His hands move, fingers skilled and sinful as they reach your heat.

You mewl as they make contact with the light material of your underwear.

“Jesus Christ” hs hisses a groan “you’re soaked”

A series of choked out whimpers leaves your lips as he strokes his fingers over your panties, feeling your wetness through the fabric.

“Fuck- Reg” a moan ripples from your lips when his thumb brushes your clit tentativley, making you gasp. Your hands fly to his hair, lightly pulling the soft strands with trembling fingers.

“Look at you, all horny and needy over my hands” his voice is tantalizing but you can hear the breathlessness, the strain in it. He is affected by this just as much as you are and it makes you go almost feral.

“Please” you breathe. You don’t even know what you’re begging for. Your mind is too hazy, too fogged up by lust and need to have a single coherent thought in it.

But he sure does know, because his digits move your panties to the side, just enough to glide over your slickness, making contact with the tender skin of your folds and spreading your wetness all over.

Finally, finally the hands consuming your every thought are on you, right where you had craved and imagined them the most.

You arch your back in ecstasy, biting your lip.

And it’s when his middle finger eases inside of you, slowly breaching your velvety walls, that you lose it completely.

The air gets knocked out of your lungs, liquid fire engulfs every cell of your body, every nerve and muscle consumed by pleasure.

“Regulus-” it’s the only thing you manage to mewl as he slides in and out of you in a rhythm so sensual and sultry it makes you melt. The cold metal of his ring meets the warm, sensitive skin of your cunt with every prod, creating a delicious contrast.

You never break eye contact, your gazes locked together drinking in every little detail, every wave of bliss swimming in them.

“Is this what you fantasized about, love ?” he pants right on your lips “All the times I caught you staring, is this what you were imagining my hands doing ? Fucking you senseless, feeling how tight and needy you are ?”

His words are as dirty as his eyes as he slides another finger into you, making you inhale sharply and stretching you out so good you could almost cry.

“Ohmygodyes” you moan as your hips start moving to their own accord, meeting the prodding of his fingers eagerly, riding his hand like it’s the last thing you’ll ever do.

“But this is not the only fantasy you have, right chérie ?” he teases, going faster, harder, pumping mercilessly and leaving you a blubbering mess.

His left hand leaves its place on your hip and moves up, grazing the soft skin of your stomach, the supple and tender flesh of your breasts, the natural dip of your collarbones, worshipping every inch of your skin in their path, until they reach their goal.

“I bet you thought about this too, didn't you ?”

You were always sure this would remain just one of your daydreams, the kind of dirty thought that should remain in your mind and nowhere else. But Regulus Black was Regulus Black and reading you was one of his favorite hobbies.

It still comes as a surprise, though, when he delicately wraps his hand around your throat, resting it there, feeling every pulse of your heart, every pump of your blood and adorning your neck with the prettiest fucking necklace you could ever ask for.

“Yes” it’s nothing more than a breath, but it sends him into a frenzy. His right thumb rubs your clit relentlessly, adding to the unforgiving pace of his fingers sliding in and out of you with lewd, wet squelches. The whimpers coming out of your mouth are raw, filthy and downright pornographic as you feel your orgasm approaching.

Your head is in the clouds, a hundred thousands miles from earth as the only thing you can focus on is the feeling of his hands on you, fucking you to your release as the one on your neck squeezes the faintest bit, enough to almost send you over the edge.

His left thumb leaves its place right above your jugular, moving upwards to caress your jawline, your cheek and, lastly, your lips.

You can feel the digit caressing the red, bitten flesh, brushing it with reverence, worshiping it with his whole being. His heated gaze is bewitched, entranced by your mouth parting, welcoming him past your lips, and lightly grazing the pad with your teeth before enveloping it wholly.

“Bloody fucking hell, Y/n” he rasps, voice low and dangerously close to pleading as you suck on his thumb like it's the tastiest treat you have ever put in your mouth.

The hand on your cunt speeds its pace, pounding in and out of you like a fucking machine, the vibrations on your little bundle of nerves getting more intense by the second, sending you over the edge in a mess of moans and whimpers.

“Reg, fuck, I'm-”

You reach your release with his name on your lips, back arched and hips rolling to help you ride your orgasm on those unholy fingers of his.

Your vision is blurred, your brain fuzzy and overwhelmed by bliss as you slowly come back to your senses.

It takes you a few seconds to regain control of your body and mind, but when you do you are graced with a vision you are sure you will never forget.

The ever composed and collected Regulus Black is right in front of you with his expression contorted in pure lust, eyes bleary and unfocused, hair tousled by your hands relentlessly stroking them, lips red and glossy from the heated kisses, tie loose, crooked and shirt crumpled.

He is a mess.

The hottest mess you have ever seen.

You're still not fully out of your head space when he speaks again.

“You're loud” he grins, his tone teasing but still a little raspy.

“You're filthy” you bite back weakly, your voice hoarse and strained.

“Maybe. But I don’t think I'm the only one”

The fingers that have been inside of you not even a moment ago are now in front of you, coated and glistening with your essence.

He slowly brings them closer to your mouth, and you don't even think twice before eagerly welcoming them inside it.

The taste of yourself mixes with the metallic tinge of his rings as you suck leisurely, restraining a moan before he takes them out with a wet pop.

“Sale fille” he groans in french, lowly and right on your parted lips, before he dives in an alluring kiss. (Dirty girl)

It's slower than all the others you shared, but it's deeper, sensual and it almost gets you worked up all over again.

His tongue meets yours in a erotic dance and when the taste of your very essence coats his tastebuds a moan rumbles in his throat.

“You're sweet” his voice is nothing more than a whisper as his teeth nibble at your lower lip gently.

“Want me to find out if you're sweet, too ?” You offer with a teasing smile on your lips . His hands might be your biggest fantasy, but they sure as hell are not the only part of him you fantasize about.

“Eager, are we ?” he teases playfully, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear “Not today, chérie”

The little pet name creates butterflies in your stomach and makes your cheeks warm, but doesn't hide your disappointment.

“Why ?” you ask, your hands going to fiddle with his tie.

“As I told you, this is not about what I want” he explains, his arms circling you in a loose hug “and I don't know if you noticed, but it's pretty late”

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion, and only then you realize that the sun has already set and the room would be totally surrounded by darkness if it wasn't for the few magic candles lighting up automatically when twilight hits.

Your eyes widen.

“How long have we been here for ?” your voice has a panicked hint to it, making Regulus laugh.

“I'm pretty sure dinner is getting served right now” he says nonchalantly, like it's the most normal thing ever to engage in sexual activities with your best friend and miss supper because of it.

“Which might be for the best,” he adds.

“Why ?” you ask in genuine confusion.

“Because I’m the only one lucky enough to hear your dirty little sounds” he says with a shit-eating grin before kissing you again.

Thank you for reading 💖

2K notes · View notes

unconventional-lawnchair · 5 months ago

Text

Jealousy, Jealousy

Where the boys get jealous... (Feat. Barty, Regulus, Sirius, Remus, and James)

WC: ~3.5k

CW: Fem!Reader, a few cusses, obsessive and possessive boys, Remus and Moony are written as different characters.

Barty gets asked if you're single…

Barty leaned against the stone wall of the corridor, arms crossed and a lazy smirk playing on his lips as the boy in front of him tried to find his footing in the conversation. It was late enough in the evening that most of the students had cleared out, leaving the space quiet except for the faint echo of distant footsteps. The boy- what was his name? Probably irrelevant- was shifting his weight nervously, though he tried to mask it with a forced bravado.

“So,” The boy began again, licking his lips as though trying to sound casual. “You’re close with her, right? I mean, you two are always together.”

Barty raised an eyebrow, his smirk widening just a touch as he tilted his head- pulling the smoke from between his lips. “We’re friends,” Barty replied easily, though the word friends came out slow and deliberate, almost like a challenge.

The boy took a deep breath, seemingly bolstered by Barty’s nonchalant tone. “Right, yeah. I figured.” He hesitated, then plunged forward, clearly emboldened by the silence. “I was just wondering, you know… do you think she’d go for someone like me?”

Barty blinked. For the briefest moment, his expression was unreadable- like he hadn’t quite heard the question correctly. Then, like a switch being flipped, he grinned widely, his whole face lighting up as though the very idea had amused him to no end.

“You?” He repeated, laughter edging his voice as he uncrossed his arms and pushed off the wall. He took a deep breath of his smoke and let the ash slip onto the boy's shoe, who quickly shook it off. Barty gestured at the boy vaguely, as though considering his entire existence. “You’re asking if you would have a shot?”

The boy’s bravado faltered slightly at Barty’s tone, but he straightened his shoulders, forcing a confident nod. “Yeah. I mean, she’s nice to everyone, right? So I thought- ”

“Oh, that’s precious,” Barty interrupted smoothly, his voice warm but condescending. He stepped closer, his free hand sliding into his pocket, his green eyes glinting as he looked the boy over. “She is nice to everyone, isn’t she? That’s what makes her so…” He paused, pretending to search for the right word. “Enchanting, I suppose.”

The boy relaxed just a fraction at Barty’s seemingly complimentary tone, but Barty’s smile sharpened as he took another step forward.

“Here’s the thing,” Barty continued, his voice softening into something dangerously close to friendly. “You’re not a bad bloke, are you?” He flicked his robes, letting the smoke from his cigarette fill the boys senses. “Clean enough robes, decent enough grades- probably someone your mum’s very proud of. Real cookie cutter, yeah?”

The boy blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… I guess?”

Barty grinned wider. “See? Nothing wrong with you at all. And yet…” He trailed off, taking another hit before he blatantly blew the smoke into his face. Even then he still found himself leaning in slightly, his voice dropping lower. “She’s not for you.”

The boy coughed, shooing away the smoke, confused. “What do you mean? She’s not- ”

“Let me save you some time, mate,” Barty cut in smoothly, stepping around him as though they were taking a casual stroll together. “Do you know what she wants to be after she graduates? How she wrinkles her nose when she laughs too hard- how much she hates when someone brings it up? Or how she’ll hum to herself when she thinks no one’s listening? How to make her smile on her worst days?” He glanced back over his shoulder, his smile full of sharp teeth. “You don’t, do you?”

The boy shifted uncomfortably under the weight of Barty’s words. “No, but- ”

Barty whirled back to face him, the sudden movement causing the boy to flinch. “That’s the problem though, innit?” He said softly, his voice dripping with false sympathy. “You don’t know her. Not really. And she deserves someone who does.”

The boy looked frustrated now, his confidence cracking under Barty’s pointed gaze. “You’re just saying that because you think you’re better for her!”

Barty’s smirk vanished. The shift was subtle but immediate, the playfulness draining from his face as his eyes turned icy, pinning the boy where he stood. “Better for her?” Barty echoed softly, his tone devoid of its earlier amusement. “I’d destroy myself for her. I’d burn the whole bloody world down if it so much as thought about hurting her. I've spent years of my life making sure she'd never know fear when I'm around.”

The boy opened his mouth to respond, but no words came. Barty stepped closer, forcing him to back up until his shoulders hit the cold stone wall. Flicking out his cig and tossing it at his chest.

“You don’t understand devotion, mate,” Barty continued, his voice low, almost a whisper. “Not the kind that keeps you awake at night, wondering if she’s happy. Not the kind that has you ready to rip apart anyone who so much as looks at her the wrong way. That kind of love… it’s not for people like you.”

The boy swallowed hard, his eyes darting away as though trying to escape Barty’s unrelenting stare.

Barty tilted his head, the hint of a smile returning to his lips, though it held none of its earlier warmth. “But don’t worry,” he said lightly, taking a small step back. “I’m not angry. You’re harmless, really. Like a moth buzzing too close to something far too bright for you to touch. Happens to everyone who meets her.”

The boy shifted uneasily, his face pale as he tried to muster some shred of dignity. “You’re crazy,” He muttered under his breath.

Barty grinned at that, his eyes glinting with something almost feral. “Probably,” He admitted cheerfully, shrugging. “Just trust me mate. You wouldn't survive the competition.”

~~~

Regulus sees a guy trying to ask you out…

You were standing just outside the courtyard, the stone archways sheltering you and a nervous-looking Gryffindor boy from the cool autumn breeze. He’d stopped you after class, clearly trying to build up the courage to ask something. You were being polite, as always, listening with a soft smile while he stumbled over his words.

Regulus hadn’t been far, of course. He never was, though you hadn’t noticed him watching you from across the courtyard, his keen gray eyes narrowing slightly at the boy’s sudden presence.

“So, um,” the Gryffindor started, shifting on his feet and running a hand through his hair. “I was wondering if- uh- well, maybe you’d like to go to Hogsmeade with me this weekend? Just us?”

You blinked, surprised by the question. “Oh- ”

Before you could finish, Regulus moved in like a shadow, silent and swift. Without a word, he appeared at your side and leaned down, resting his chin casually on your shoulder. The gesture startled you, your breath hitching as his weight settled comfortably there, familiar but intrusive all the same.

“Are you busy, ma moitié?” Regulus asked smoothly, his tone soft, casual, and laced with just a hint of amusement. He ignored the Gryffindor completely, acting as if he didn’t exist.

Your face turned slightly to the side, startled by his sudden proximity. “Regulus? What are you- ”

“We have that thing to do, remember?” Regulus murmured, his voice low but perfectly clear. He tilted his head, the movement brushing his hair softly against your cheek.

The Gryffindor frowned, his nerves quickly shifting to irritation. “What thing? I was just asking her something- ”

Regulus finally glanced at him, his gaze lazy and unbothered but chilling nonetheless. “How generous of you to interrupt,” he said coolly, his chin still perched on your shoulder as though he hadn’t a care in the world.

The boy bristled. “I didn’t interrupt- ”

Regulus cut him off with a small, sardonic smile, as though he were correcting a child. “You didn’t mean to, I’m sure,” he drawled. “But, you see, we have plans. So unless you’re particularly fond of wasting her time…”

You frowned slightly, your hand moving to nudge Regulus’s shoulder as if to make him move. “Reg, that’s not- ”

“Isn’t it?” Regulus replied smoothly, tilting his head ever so slightly, the hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

The Gryffindor’s face flushed, clearly caught off guard by Regulus’s presence and tone. He looked at you, frustration in his voice. “Look, I just wanted to- ”

“I think you should go,” Regulus said, his voice as light and polite as ever, though there was no mistaking the ice beneath it.

The Gryffindor hesitated, but Regulus’s unwavering stare pinned him in place. It wasn’t a glare- Regulus didn’t need to glare to be intimidating. His calm, unwavering confidence was sharp enough. After another awkward pause, the boy muttered, “Maybe another time.”

He turned and walked off, shoulders tense and ears red.

Regulus finally lifted his chin from your shoulder, straightening up with a look of faint satisfaction. You turned on him immediately, pouting a bit with your bottom lip jotted out- eyebrows furrowing and your arms crossed. “That wasn't very nice, Black.”

Regulus shrugged and wrapped his arm around your waist as he turned you away from the courtyard. “He’ll live.”

~~~

Sirius seeing someone flirt with you…

It was a lovely spring afternoon by the Black Lake. The sunlight filtered through the branches of the nearby trees, dancing over the rippling water. A cool breeze swept through the air, ruffling your hair as you sat cross-legged on a blanket, deep in conversation with a Slytherin boy.

The boy- someone vaguely familiar, you thought his name was Marcus- had approached you earlier in the day, something about needing help with Potions. He was pleasant enough, a bit shy, though you couldn’t help but notice how often he looked away or scratched the back of his neck when you smiled.

“…and, you know, it’s just the stirring,” Marcus was saying, his voice faltering slightly as his eyes darted to yours. “I keep- well, messing it up. Slughorn says I’m overthinking it.”

You offered a gentle smile, always patient. “It’s probably just nerves,” you reassured him kindly. “You’re better at it than you think, I’m sure. Do you want me to walk you through it?”

Marcus blinked, visibly perking up. “Oh- yeah, that’d be great, I mean- ”

“Ah, there you are,” Sirius Black’s unmistakable drawl cut through the serene afternoon like a thunderclap.

Both of you turned toward the voice, and there he was. Sirius stood at the edge of the blanket with his hands shoved lazily in the pockets of his trousers, the sunlight making his dark hair shine like ink. There was an unmistakable mischief in his gray eyes as he looked from you to Marcus and back again.

“Sirius,” You said with a mix of surprise and mild annoyance, straightening where you sat. “What are you doing here?”

“What, can’t a man visit his favorite girl?” He replied with a grin, though his gaze sharpened ever so slightly as it flicked toward Marcus. “You know, it’s dangerous out here by the lake. Giant squids, rouge bludgers, snakes- all that. Best you’re not left alone with someone… inexperienced.”

Marcus’s face flushed, clearly thrown off. “I think she’s doing fine, thanks,” he muttered, trying to sound confident but failing miserably.

Sirius smirked, as though that was the response he’d been hoping for. Without any preamble, he dropped onto the blanket beside you- practically on top of you- his long legs stretching out as he sprawled back against the grass like he owned the entire lakeshore.

“Merlin’s beard, it’s exhausting being me,” he said dramatically, folding his arms behind his head. “You don’t mind, do you, sweetheart? Just needed to rest my bones for a bit.”

You rolled your eyes. “Sirius, I’m kind of busy- ”

“Oh, don’t let me interrupt,” he said innocently, though the smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth was anything but. “Go on, Marcus. You were talking about… stirring, was it?”

Marcus shot Sirius a pointed glare. “We were in the middle of something.”

“Were you?” Sirius replied, eyes gleaming with barely contained amusement. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You frowned, nudging him with your elbow. “Sirius, stop being difficult.”

“I’m not being difficult.” He purred smoothly, shifting just enough to rest his head against your shoulder, his hair brushing your neck as though it was the most natural thing in the world. “Just keeping an eye on you. Someone has to.”

Your face burned at the unexpected affection, though you tried your best to seem unbothered. Marcus, however, looked positively livid, his fists clenching and unclenching by his sides.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Marcus accused, glaring at Sirius.

Sirius blinked up at him, all mock innocence. “Me? What on earth would I be doing on purpose?”

“You know what- ”

“Marcus,” you interrupted, sighing as you tried to salvage the conversation. “Maybe we can pick this up later. It’s… getting a bit distracting.”

Marcus glanced at you, frustrated but resigned, his gaze lingering a moment longer before he nodded stiffly. “Sure. Later.”

He stalked off without another word, leaving you alone with Sirius, who was grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“You’re an ass.” You huffed, finally shoving him off your shoulder.

Sirius sat up with a dramatic groan, smirking as he stretched out his arms. “Merlin, that was exhausting.”

You glared at him, exasperated. “What was that?”

“That, my dear,” Sirius said, grinning cheekily, “was me doing you a favor. You don’t honestly want to spend your afternoon discussing stirring, do you?”

“That’s not the point!” You argued, narrowing your eyes. “He was just being nice, and you scared him off!”

“Good,” Sirius replied smugly, lying back down with his hands behind his head. “Couldn’t risk losing you to someone boring.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I could be practical- real practical. We can talk about stirring.”

You huffed, trying to hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

Sirius turned his head to look at you, his grin softening ever so slightly as his stormy eyes held yours. “Besides,” he added, voice quieter now, “it’s much better when it’s just us, don’t you think?”

~~~

Remus finds you asleep on someone he doesn't know…

The Gryffindor common room was dimly lit, the fire burning low, its golden light casting lazy shadows across the walls. Most students had gone to bed, and silence blanketed the space, save for the occasional pop of burning wood.

Remus hadn’t been able to sleep. He’d lain awake for what felt like hours, restlessness gnawing at him as Moony clawed at the edges of his mind, pacing.

She’s not where she's supposed to be, Moony murmured, insistent and low, like a growl rumbling through his chest. Go to her. Find her.

It was nonsense, of course. You were probably curled up in your dormitory, safe and warm, and yet Moony’s unease bled into Remus, like an itch he couldn’t scratch. He sighed, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed and padding barefoot to the staircase. Just to be sure. Just to calm Moony.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, the fire caught his eye first. Then he saw you.

You were curled up in a worn armchair by the fire, your head tilted to rest softly against the shoulder of a fifth-year boy Remus barely recognized. The boy sat stiffly, afraid to move, his expression somewhere between frozen panic and misplaced pride.

Moony stilled.

And then he snarled.

Get her up. She’s vulnerable.

Remus stopped in place, his breath catching as an instinct he couldn’t quite name surged through him. Moony’s anger wasn’t a loud roar this time- it was quiet, simmering like an ember. What’s he doing there? She’s asleep. He shouldn’t be near her. She's vulnerable.

Remus swallowed hard, his fingers twitching as he tried to steady himself. He didn’t want to startle you, and he didn’t want to scare the boy. He wasn’t angry- not really. But Moony… Moony didn’t understand manners.

Before he fully realized what he was doing, Remus moved forward. Quiet as a shadow, he stopped in front of the chair, his amber-tinged eyes fixed on the boy.

The younger Gryffindor glanced up nervously. “Oh. Uh- Lupin- she fell asleep. I didn’t want to wake her.”

Remus didn’t say anything at first, his gaze shifting to you. Your breathing was soft and steady, one arm curled loosely under your head. Moony quieted just a little at the sight, though the wolf’s presence still pressed against Remus’s ribs, heavy and protective.

“She’ll be more comfortable in her own bed,” Remus said finally, his voice low and calm. “I’ll take her.”

The boy blinked, confused. “I- what?”

Remus lifted his chin slightly, his tone firm despite the gentleness in it. “You can go. I’ll make sure she gets to her dorm.”

The boy hesitated, but something in Remus’s steady gaze seemed to settle the matter. “Right. Yeah. Sure,” he mumbled awkwardly, carefully shifting out from under you. He moved to stand, glancing one last time at you before hurrying up the stairs, his footsteps fading into the quiet.

Remus let out a slow breath, crouching down next to you. Moony settled just a little further, content now that the boy was gone, but still restless, still protective.

She’s too exposed, Moony murmured. Wake her. Take her where she’s safe.

Remus hesitated, watching the way your lashes fluttered faintly against your cheeks as you stirred, your lips parting slightly as though searching for the warmth that had left. His heart tugged in his chest, guilt biting at him.

“Dovie,” He called softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He reached out, his hand hovering over your arm for just a moment before gently brushing against your shoulder. “Up you get, lovely girl.”

You shifted with a quiet murmur, blinking blearily as your eyes fluttered open. “Mmm… Remus?”

“Hey.” He cooed, his lips curving into a small, careful smile. “You fell asleep down here.”

“Oh.” You blinked again, sitting up slowly and rubbing at your eyes. You looked around in confusion before your gaze landed back on him. “What time is it?”

“Late,” He chuckled, standing to his full height as he offered you a hand. “Come on. I’ll walk you to your dorm.”

You frowned sleepily, tilting your head. “You don’t have to do that.”

Remus’s jaw tightened faintly, and for a moment, he swore he could feel Moony’s growl rumbling deep inside him. She needs protecting. Don’t leave her here.

“I insist,” He said gently, his voice soft but brooking no argument. “You’ll sleep better in your own bed.”

You yawned, smiling at him as you took his hand. “If you say so.”

~~~

James steals the show from your newest admirer…

The Gryffindor common room was alive with its usual evening bustle- cards flying in midair from a game of Exploding Snap, the fire crackling merrily, and the low hum of chatter filling every corner. You were perched on the arm of one of the chairs, laughing softly as a chaser- Finn regaled you with a story from practice, his easy-going charm and dramatic hand gestures keeping you engaged.

Finn’s voice was lively, something about a Bludger mishap and the newest Beater, and you couldn’t help the bright smile it pulled from you.

James, sitting across the room with Sirius and Remus, had been halfway through a halfhearted game of Wizard’s Chess when he noticed.

“Prongs,” Sirius said, nudging him when his knight didn’t move. “Your move, mate.”

James didn’t hear him. His hazel eyes were fixed on the sight of you leaning just a little closer to Finn, laughing at something he’d said.

James sat up straighter, his jaw tightening.

“Earth to Prongs?” Sirius waved a hand in front of James’s face, earning himself a scowl.

“Do you lot know,” James said suddenly, his voice pitched loud enough to carry across the room, “about the time I stole Filch’s keys and locked him in his own office? Poor guy thought Peeves was after him.”

All at once, a ripple of laughter swept through the room. Students turned toward James with wide smiles and bright eyes, a chorus of, “No way!” and “You’ve got to tell us!” filling the air.

Finn faltered mid-sentence, glancing toward the growing crowd around James.

You shot Finn an apologetic smile, clearly torn between listening to the end of his story and the infectious energy that always followed your best friend. James’s grin was wide and charming as ever, his eyes twinkling mischievously- but when his gaze flicked to yours, something sharper lingered beneath the warmth.

He hadn’t stopped looking at Finn once.

“What happened?” One of the younger students urged eagerly, completely captivated by James’s easy charisma.

“Ah, you wouldn’t believe it,” James replied, leaning back in his seat as though he had all the time in the world. His voice was smooth, his confidence magnetic. “I’d hidden behind that big grandfather clock, you know the one? Filch swore up and down he’d heard a ghost- but he couldn’t figure out how the door locked from the outside. Poor bloke works at Hogwarts and still doesn't grasp magic!”

More laughter erupted, and James winked at you as if to say, See? Isn’t this better?

Finn glanced at you, clearly realizing he’d lost your attention entirely. “I, um… I guess I’ll finish the story later,” He muttered sheepishly.

“Oh, I’m sorry!” You said, genuinely apologetic, but Finn was already waving you off.

“It’s fine. James has a habit of stealing the spotlight anyway,” he joked, though his tone wasn’t without a hint of frustration. He wandered off toward his dorm room, leaving you to turn toward James and his growing group of admirers.

Later, Sirius confronted James about his little stunt. Calling him jealous, James scoffs dramatically. “Jealous? Me? Please. I’m just looking out for her.”

Sirius raises an eyebrow. “Looking out for her, or making sure no one else looks at her?”

James shrugs, a smug little grin tugging at his lips. “Same thing, really.”

2K notes · View notes

uramakimochi · 1 year ago

Text

THE MARAUDERS, REGULUS AND BARTY + GIRLFRIEND!READER AS INCORRECT QUOTES

previous / next

///

REMUS

Remus, carrying all the groceries:

Y/n: *offers a hand to help*

Remus: *aggressively moves all the groceries into one hand to hold Y/n's*

JAMES

- Y/N AND JAMES BEING HAPPILY MARRIED DURING THE GOLDEN TRIO ERA -

The Weasley Twins: So Harry, how old is your mom-

Harry: TOO OLD FOR YOU AND SHE'S MARRIED!

The Weasley Twins:

Harry: STAY AWAY FROM MY MOTHER GUYS!

The Weasley Twins:

Harry: STAY AWAY FROM MY MOTHER! SHE'S MARRIED!

James, possessively hugging Y/n: SHE'S TAKEN!

SIRIUS

Y/n: *yawns*

Sirius: Yeah being so pretty must be tiring.

Y/n, smirking: Then you must be exhausted~

Sirius, widening his eyes and mouth in shock but still smiling: yOU DID NOT-

REGULUS

Y/n: Sure is dark in here.

Regulus:

Y/n: I'm not scared of anything.

Regulus:

Y/n: I mean, who's scared of the dark these days?? Not me. Not Y/n. No sir.

Regulus:

Y/n:

Regulus: Love, do you want me to hold your hand?

Y/n:

Y/n: Yes, please.

BARTY

Barty: Has anyone told you you're really annoying?

Y/n: W-What? No🥺

Barty: Good because i'm not in the mood to fight anyone right now.

Y/n: *blushes* Oh...

///

lmao please i need milf!Reader x James fics y'all

2K notes · View notes

aetherraeys · 1 month ago

Text

evil twin ! (ii)

part 1

regulus black/barty crouch jr x twinpotter!reader ⊹ 7.0k

cw ⟢ eventual poly!bartylus, swearing, pining!barty, fluff, mild internal conflict, secret relationship

summary: keeping two secrets at once didn't seem like a hard task. barty kept you and regulus under wraps, and the other secret? it was unravelling in him in an all-consuming way he cant avoid; and thought the penny still hadn't dropped for you. regulus saw right through him.

a/n:this is turning out more slowburn than i expected itching to write the next parts heheheh

What Barty lacked in tact and aptitude he made up for in loyalty and devotion.

Because he truly was a devoted friend, to both you and Regulus—loyal to a fault infact, even when he pretended not to be. And while he did banter that it comes at the low, low price of frequent trips to Honeydukes and occasional ego-fluffing, the truth was: he didn’t need to be bought. Not by you. Not by Regulus.

Which is why, despite discovering the two of you tangled up in Regulus’ bed with no room for misinterpretation, he didn’t say a word to anyone. He didn’t need to be told to know that the recent developments between you and Regulus were to be kept exclusively between the three of you.

The next morning was telling enough, when you silently settled into your usual place at the dining table—beside Pandora and Regulus stayed at the far end, comfortable opposite him, buttering his toast composed as ever. But he didn’t miss the way Regulus’ eyes linger on you for a moment when he tucked himself into the bench, or how they helplessly flickered to you whenever you laughed at something Evan said.

Catching on to the minute touches you granted Regulus when you left the table early, fingertips hidden under your robes as you glided past him, just barely skimming across his arm, or how you would perk up slightly whenever Regulus’ voice rung lowly through the Ancient Runes classroom—paying extra attention to his careful tone.

Barty didn’t say it, but he noticed everything.

Because Barty was good with secrets—He’d carry them like crown jewels.

He even had a small one of his own brewing.

It was a lazy sort of evening—the kind where the light filtered through the windows in hazy streaks and time didn’t seem to press down so hard. You were in the boys’ dorm, perched in your usual spot: stretched halfway across Barty’s bed, legs tangled over the edge, head propped up on a pillow you’d stolen ages ago and never returned.

He sat cross-legged beside you, flipping through some half-finished notes, though he hadn’t turned a page in at least ten minutes. Instead, he’d tilted toward you slightly, cheek resting on his fist, watching the way your fingers absentmindedly threaded through his tufts.

It wasn’t new, really. Casual touches had always been your language with Barty. You ruffled his hair when he was being smug, smacked his arm when he teased you, leaned against him when you were tired. It was natural, familiar.

But the way he was looking at you now—quietly, fondly, like you were made of something softer than the world deserved—you didn’t notice.

You rarely did.

“Regulus is going to combust when he walks in,” Barty murmured, lips quirking faintly.

You didn’t even glance up. “Why?”

He shrugged. “Because you’re you.”

Before you could answer, with a dramatic roll of your eyes, the door creaked open behind you.

Speak of the devil.

Regulus stepped in, shirt slightly damp with sweat and sleeves rolled up, hair a bit disheveled like he’d run a hand through it a few times on the way back. His bag slung low over one shoulder before he let it drop to the floor with a thud.

“Well, well,” Barty said with that unmistakable glint in his eye, “look who’s returned from war.”

Regulus didn’t rise to the bait, just shot him a look as he moved to the other side of the room, unbuttoning his cuffs with precise fingers.

Barty’s gaze slid over him with playful deliberation. “Didn’t know you glistened, Black. I feel like I should be offended no one warned me.”

Regulus ignored him, unsurprised.

But his eyes drifted, just for a second, over to where you were sprawled across the bed—completely unbothered, still playing with Barty’s hair like you didn’t even realise you were doing it.

Regulus noticed. Of course he did.

The ease of your touch, the way your hand curled lazily in the soft brown curls near Barty’s temple, the way Barty leaned into it slightly—eyes half-lidded, like it was the most natural thing in the world. And the worst part?

The look Barty gave you, when he thought no one else was watching. Unapologetic. Unfairly fond.

It was obvious to everyone. Everyone but you.

Regulus didn’t say anything, but when Barty looked back up at him, he was met with one raised brow.

Barty smirked.

Then sighed, long and dramatic, as he shifted upright on the bed. “Honestly, Reg,” he muttered, stretching his arms above his head, “you really ought to learn how to share. I was here first, you know. She’s been my friend since—”

“Since you failed to con me into writing your essays?” you interjected, still not lifting your head.

He waved a hand. “Details.”

You groaned as Barty moved, your hand falling away from his hair with a grumble. “You were warm.” Barty gave you a faux-apologetic look.

“I know. I’m perfect. It’s a curse.”

“What’s the problem then, J?” you muttered lazily, stretching like a cat.

He only nodded his head toward Regulus.

And just like that, your whole face lit up.

Pushing yourself up in a heartbeat, a slow, sly grin crawling across your lips. “Well, well, well…” you said in a sing-song, teasing tone, hopping off the bed and padding toward Regulus, who immediately straightened up, gaze sharpening.

Unknowingly, parrotting Barty.

Your eyes flicked over him—his rumpled hair, the damp collar of his shirt, the flushed look lingering on his cheekbones. You let out a low, appreciative whistle.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you to knock me out before you walk around looking like that?” you murmured, all candied mischief. Leaning in close, one hand brushing lightly up his arm as you rose onto your toes, lips ghosing against the his jaw on the way up, whispering into his ear.

It had immediate effect.

Regulus flushed. Like someone had set a match to the base of his throat and let it crawl up slowly toward his ears—frozen, standing there with his shirt clinging to his chest and his lips parted like he’d forgotten how to breathe. His entire expression was somewhere between awe and absolute crisis.

“Next time you want to sweat like this, I have a feeling I’ll be able to help with that.”

You pulled back, utterly delighted with yourself, smile too sweet to be innocent—before he could respond—a smug undertone to your deceiving light expression, eyes glinting like you’d just cast a spell that only he could feel. Which, to be fair—you had.

Humming quietly to yourself as you turned on your heel—grabbing your bag from beside Barty’s bed, and skipped out of the room like you’d done nothing more than offer a weather update.

Whispered straight into his bloodstream and just walked away smiling.

The door clicked shut behind you.

Regulus stayed planted where he was.

Across the room, Barty flopped backward onto his bed again with an exhausted groan, flinging an arm over his eyes. “Merlin’s balls, I need a drink.”

It was fine at first.

But morning after morning, day after day, *week after week—*it was getting harder and harder for Regulus to keep a bottle on himself. He was trying so hard to be discrete.

But he wasn’t very good at pretending.

He found himself looking for you in every corridor—eyes flicking up automatically whenever laughter echoed ahead. He lingered by doorways longer than necessary, shoulders tensing the moment your voice drifted out of a classroom.

He stuck close, sometimes without realising it. A shadow trailing behind, just out of sight but never far. At meals. In common spaces. During shared patrols. It was almost embarrassing.

Almost.

Because you didn’t seem to notice.

Or if you did, you didn’t let on.

You were maddeningly unaffected—floating through your days with your usual rhythm: charming and unbothered, joking with Evan, flicking ink stains off your notes, sharing your scarf with Dorcas in the chilly corridors, and once, falling asleep in the common room with your legs draped across Barty’s lap like it was nothing. Like Regulus wasn’t trying very hard not to combust in public.

Like you didn’t spend most evenings together in the confines of his four pillar-curtained bed, sharing lingering touches, whispers, glances—things that didn't belong to the outside world.

There were lines, invisible but firm, that neither of you crossed outside the sanctuary of shadows. A glance too long could mean a rumor. A touch too light could start a wildfire.

And it was starting to grate on him.

Hated the way he had to steel himself every time your hand brushed his in passing, hated pretending your teasing didn’t undo him thread by thread. You were so casual about it—bold, insufferably charming, the very picture of unbothered. Like you hadn’t spent the previous night tangled up in his sheets with your fingers pressed into the nape of his neck and his lips mapping out constellations against your throat.

Like you weren’t his.

And yet, in the corridors, in the classroom, in the halls where words echoed and eyes lingered—he had to keep his distance. He couldn’t give himself away.

Not yet.

He told himself it was fine. That this secrecy was necessary, that he didn’t mind. But then you'd do something—like pause beside him at the common room just to trail your fingers across his shoulder with faux-innocent mischief—or catch his gaze across the courtyard and bite back a smile, and it would wreck him.

He wanted to be next to you. Always. Not just at night. Not just behind closed curtains or locked doors.

You’d caught him in the library, quiet and golden-lit under the sparse candles, the smell of old parchment lingering in the air. He was tucked well away into one of the dark empty corner that no one else ever went near with a stack of dense tomes, hoping to distract himself with some heavy reading. Movements like still water, imperceivable—he hadn’t seen you enter, hadn’t heard your footsteps, but then—

You were just there.

Sliding into the narrow alcove beside him with that familiar glint in your eyes, a whisper of jasmine trailing after you. His breath caught before you even said a word.

Your hands found his collar first—fingers curling into the soft fabric, pulling him in as you leaned forward. He barely managed a startled noise before your mouth found his, plush and eager and so deeply familiar it punched the air from his lungs. Kissing him with a delicate vigour, like you had every right to—like you were claiming him all over again, and Merlin help him, he let you.

He gripped the edge of the table like it could anchor him, heart hammering wildly as your lips brushed down to the corner of his mouth, then along the curve of his jaw, peppering kiss after kiss like a spell cast only for him.

Breathing your name like a prayer.

“Someone could—” he whispered hoarsely, even as his hand found your waist. “Someone could see.”

Your only response was another kiss. Then another. His restraint frayed with each one, chasing your lips with his for more—

It was whiplashing the way you’d tempt and then pulled back, smile honey-sweet and cruel with mischief.

“Bye, Reggie,” you whispered, and then you were gone—vanishing around the corner with a bounce in your step, leaving Regulus flushed and dazed, chest heaving.

He blinked. Ran a hand through his hair with a sharp exhale.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered under his breath, eyes flicking toward the exit like you might reappear.

You didn’t—Not until the evening in his dorm.

Moonlight was casting small pale ribbons of shadow across the dungeon floors, the room was quiet, just the two of you, enjoying your momentary slither of privacy with each other. Pressed against Regulus, your hands warm against the bare skin of his chest, your mouth finding his again and again like you were starving for him. Like he was the only air you needed.

He kissed you like you were a secret he never wanted to share—fingers tangled in your hair, other hand at the small of your back, pulling you closer. He couldn’t get enough.

Didn’t want to.

And for once, there was no hiding. No room for restraint. You were curled up on his bed, tangled in his sheets, soft gasps and laughter muffled into each other’s mouths.

His lips brushed your throat, then your cheek, then your temple.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” he whispered into your skin.

“Then I’ll die with you.” smiling against him.

It was perfect. Warm. Safe.

Until the door creaked open, you both froze.

Barty.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t stumble or act surprised—just stood there in the threshold for a moment, eyes unreadable, lips twitching into something that tried to be amusement, respectfully averting his gaze as the door shut behind him with a soft click.

“Merlin,” he drawled, voice light, “I swear if I walk in on you two one more time, I’m going to start charging admission.”

You laughed, easy and unbothered, slipping off the bed as if nothing had happened. Regulus sat up slower, watching you grab your wand and stretch with that infuriatingly charming grin.

“I should head down, two rolls of parchment on the effects of Stinksap won’t write itself,” words accompanied with a heavy sigh.

You leaned over, pressed a lingering kiss to Regulus’ jaw—too long for propriety, too short for satisfaction—before slipping past Barty with a pat to his shoulder.

“See you at breakfast, Junior,” you called over your shoulder.

The dull click of the door was the last sound in the room for a while, Regulus’ fingertips ghosted over where you lips had been, resting at his jaw, eyes fixed on it for a moment too long. Then looked back at Barty as he flopped onto his bed without a word, arm flung onto his forehead like usual. But the rhythm of his thoughts was different now. Louder.

And what Regulus saw it—saw right through him.

It wasn’t irritation. Or jealousy.

Something quiet and aching and hidden—floating behind his eyes as he stared up at his ceiling aimlessly—almost unblinking, and unaware of Regulus subtle watchful eye. Then abruptly sitting up, legs swinging over the edge of his bed carrying the motion of his swivel as his feet hit the floor with a soft pad—but not once did he lift his eyes.

Even look at Regulus.

Lips pursed into a tightline, head hanging for a moment before he rose to a stand—collecting and organising some items, uncharacteristically quiet. Taking his towel and drapping it over his shoulders stalking over to the door.

“You alright, B?”

The words rung clearly through the short stillness that had veiled the room, and it had Barty stop in his tracks, hand hovering over the doorknob.

He could hear the low rustle of fabric, could feel Regulus’ eyes boring into his back, unable to mask the way his shoulders rose and fell with the sigh he let out through his nose. “Yeah, gonna go take a shower,”

With that, he slipped out of the room.

Leaving Regulus perched up on his elbows, gaze once again, lingering on the door. Running a hand roughly through his hair, he sunk back against the sheets—rolling onto his side and burying his face into the pillow you’d laid on.

Trying to push down the almost dejected expression Barty had on his face, trying to quiet his mind with the lingering scent of you.

Groaning inwardly as he failed, replying the moment Barty frozen at the door—eyes scanning over both of you, shoulders sinking faintly. He knew too well what Barty sounded like when he lied, and the words he spoke at the door were most definetely not true.

Barty had no reason to shower—he already had during his free after Lunch, but he just needed an excuse, a second to compose himself. Even as he tried to walk casually, quietly—down the stairs and through the common room, your laughter floated around the room. Hung in the air in a way that had his throat tightening.

It seemed the odds were not in his favour today.

Because as he padded wordlessly behind the sofa, ignoring the way he struggled to swallow, fighting the urge to let his eyes fall on your turned back. You clearly had a sixth sense, perking up slightly at the sounds of his footsteps, voice light and teasing.

“Where you off to, Junior?”

You still hadn’t turned, but he could already picture the sly smile on your face from your tone—and he still didn’t stop his walk, mustering up as cheery a voice he could manage.

“Drain diving, Tres. Someone needs to keep Reg’s hair at bay,” he said, without missing a beat.

It was good. Solid. The kind of line he’d use any day of the week—and as sarcastic as it was, it lacked it’s usual dramatics. He was gone before you could say anything, before you could point out the lack of energy in his voice, or how he didn’t turn to you.

The water hit too cold at first.

He let it.

Let it numb the way his stomach was twisting in knots, the way the image of your mouth on Regulus’ jaw wouldn’t stop replaying on a loop behind his eyes. He tilted his head back, let the droplets soak through his hair, tried to will it all away.

Because he saw it—every time Regulus reached for you like he couldn’t help himself, Barty saw the same yearning reflected in himself.

An ever present slight burning ache settled under his ribs, aggressive and invasive, and impossible to ignore whenever you were in the room. It wasn’t that he was envious exactly—more like he was mourning—grieving.

Barty wasn’t stupid.

He knew it wasn’t your fault.

You were the same. Completely, achingly the same.

Still laughed at all his worst jokes. Still tugged at his scarf when it was crooked. Still looped your arm through his like gravity didn’t apply to your affection. Still smiled at him with that easy, unguarded brightness that made people fall in love with you in the first place.

And it killed him.

Because you hadn’t changed.

He had.

And now every time your hand brushed his in passing, every time you leaned into his side on the common room sofa or knocked your forehead against his in mock exasperation, he felt like he was drowning in a tide no one else could see.

He’d always known you were tactile—warm, generous with your affection. With your attention. Sometimes your fingers would still find his hair. Still ruffle it with a grin. Still tug affectionately at his sleeve. And he hated that it made his breath catch. You’d always loved easily, freely, and it had never meant more than that.

He found himself reeling in silence from touches that were meant to comfort him. From the way you reached for him like he was still safe to you, like nothing had shifted.

Until it did.

Until he started wanting it to.

Because he loved you. But not just the way he was supposed to. Not just the way a best friend does.

And you didn’t know, couldn’t—he’d made sure of that.

It was late the next afternoon when you found him on the edge of the Quidditch pitch, where the grass flattened beneath old boot tracks and the air carried the smell of damp leather and wind.

You plopped down beside him with a soft sigh, pulling your legs to your chest and letting the golden haze of the sunset warm your face. Shoulders bumping his lightly, and you didn’t move away. Just tilted your head toward him, lashes fluttering as you smiled, eyes squinting at the last light.

“So,” you said, lazy and light, “if you had to choose between fighting ten Blast-Ended Skrewts or one McGonagall-sized Bowtruckle—what would it be?”

Barty scoffed. “Are you serious? The Skrewts. At least I’d die with dignity.”

You burst out laughing. Loud and bright and so carefree it made his chest twist. Turning your face toward him, sun-warmed and glowing, and he couldn’t breathe for a second. Not with how close you were. Not with how your eyes crinkled when you smiled at him like that.

Just like you always had.

He had to look away. Had to force his eyes back to the sky before they gave too much away.

You leaned your head on his shoulder, completely at ease. “You’re still my favourite person to be stupid with, you know that?”

Gods, it burned.

Because that meant everything to him. And not enough.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “I know.”

And you didn’t hear the break in his voice. Of course you didn’t. Because you hadn’t changed. Because this was normal. Comfortable. The two of you, tucked into each other’s space like you belonged there.

Like he wasn’t burning alive from it.

You reached for his hand without thinking, absently fiddling with his fingers the way you always did. He froze—just for a moment—and you didn’t even notice.

But he did.

He noticed everything.

The way your thumb brushed over his knuckles. The softness in your touch. The way his heartbeat thundered at your smallest movements. And how much it hurt, knowing it was just another day to you. Just another friend to touch and lean on and love in your way.

You didn’t know what it was doing to him.

Didn’t know how he went to sleep every night wondering when it had changed for him, wondering why he couldn’t seem to undo it.

You were with Regulus now. And you looked so good together. There was a softness to him around you, a steadiness you brought out that Barty had never seen in him before. And he was happy for that. Honestly, he was.

But somewhere inside, he was still quietly grieving.

Grieving the could-have-been.

Because before Regulus, before the stolen glances and secret kisses, before the whisper of your name like prayer from someone else’s mouth—he’d let himself think that the swirling in the pits of his stomach was nothing.

And now, looking at you—one of his best friends, his light, his treasure, the person he was closest to—and knowing that nothing had to be different between you, but everything was different in him…it made him feel like he was quietly rotting from the inside out.

He gave your hand a gentle squeeze. Let you keep holding it.

And didn’t say a word.

The first Quidditch match of the season had finally rolled around, Hufflepuff V Slytherin.

Slytherin had, of course, won.

The match had been a brutal thing, all wind-lashed faces and thunderous roars from the stands. Hufflepuff had held their own for the first half, but once Regulus caught the Snitch, there was no denying it—the green and silver crowd had erupted.

And you, in the middle of it, had clapped with gloved hands and a too-wide grin. Not just for the House victory. Not even for Barty’s wildly impressive Bludger send-off or Evan’s smug little mid-air feint.

But because Regulus had looked up into the crowd moments after the win, and you knew he'd been looking for you.

He had asked you the night before, voice low, lips brushing your ear in the quiet of the library—

“You’ll come tomorrow, won’t you?” “I need my good luck charm,”

Your smile had been immediate.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” you replied in a hushed tone.

So you came. Because he asked. And because you believed in him.

Now, you stood just outside the changing rooms, shoulder-to-shoulder with Dorcas and Pandora—hands buried in your coat pockets. Holding a chocolate frog for Barty, your usual offering of victory—it had become what of a ritual. A quiet constant. A way to be there without being seen.

The door creaked open and voices spilled into the hallway, bright and loud, energy buzzing off them in waves. Evan walked out first, hair still damp, dragging his broom behind him and already mid-laugh at something Barty had said.

And Barty—flushed, sweat-damp, beaming—was in the middle of some animated retelling of a mid-air collision, wild gestures slicing through the air like a Bludger. Regulus followed just behind them, quieter, polished, composed in that effortless way only he could manage—even after an hour in the air.

You felt the pull in your chest.

Regulus’ eyes found you immediately. That quiet, private smile cracked through his usual composure, like the sun peeking through mist. It had your fingers twitch at your sides. Thought, just for a second, about running to him—throwing your arms around his neck, kissing him full and proud, like you wanted to.

But you didn’t.

Couldn’t.

Not yet. Not when everything between you still lived in the shadows.

Before the longing could settle, Barty was already on you. Half-charged and grinning, still vibrating from the rush of play, arms thrown around you without warning.

“Oi—Barty!” you laughed, half-gasping, “You’re soaked!”

He only laughed louder, pulling you into a tight, jostling hug that had you wriggling with a grimace. “Victory sweat, darling—it’s sacred.”

You rolled your eyes, but your laughter was genuine, echoing down the corridor. Subtly flicking your gaze toward Regulus in the midst of it, catching the slight stiffening in his shoulders—watching the smile he’d worn moments ago dulled at the edges. He wasn’t angry—Regulus didn’t do anger—but you knew that look.

A barely visible twitch of disappointment. A small ache he couldn’t say out loud.

Still, he said nothing. Walked quietly beside Evan as Barty slung an arm over your shoulder with little fanfare, prattling on.

“I swear this is the real reason I play.” Barty crowed, accepting the chocolate frog with the reverence of a trophy.

“Not the glory? The House Cup?” you teased, resting your head against his damp robes despite yourself.

“Nope. This,” he said, holding the chocolate frog aloft like it was a prize. “My muse. My reward. My one true love.”

An exasperated snort built in your chest, and you let your gaze wander—back to Regulus. He was a step behind, his hands shoved in his pockets, the shape of his lips pressed thin. He looked at you again and your heart tugged.

The win didn’t feel like a win to him.

Not when he had to keep his distance. His eyes lingered a moment too long on where Barty’s arm wrapped around your shoulders, the casual intimacy of it—the way your body leaned toward him like it had done a thousand times. There was nothing scandalous about it. You and Barty had always been touchy, always unguarded.

Regulus didn’t see nothing.

He saw what he wanted to be doing. And what he couldn’t.

You slowed your pace, letting Dorcas and Pandora pull ahead with Evan and Barty leading the charge in boisterous celebration. When you felt Regulus fall into step beside you, you let your hand drift close—barely brushing his knuckles.

He relaxed.

Didn’t need to look at him to feel it, the subtle melting of tension.

“You were incredible,” you said softly, glancing sideways, smile tugging at your lips. “So controlled. So cold-blooded. Honestly, it’s terrifying how attractive I find that.”

His lips twitched, eyes dancing with restrained amusement. “I missed two passes.”

“You caught the Snitch.”

“Hufflepuff’s Seeker is twelve.”

“Hufflepuff’s Seeker cried.” you added with a snort.

He tried not to smile. Failed.

You slipped your arm casually around his shoulder, light and teasing—and Regulus very nearly stopped walking. He wasn’t used to this—getting to have even a fraction of you in public. It still made his stomach twist in the best way.

You scanned the hall. No one looking. Heart fluttering.

“A win’s a win,” you whispered, leaning in close, lips ghosting against the shell of his ear before pressing a soft forbidden kiss—too quick, too daring—to the corner of his mouth.

And just like that, you were gone again, dashing up the corridor with a light giggle, calling out to Dorcas and Pandora to wait up.

He stood stunned for a moment, flushed redder than the post-match sprint had made him, hand half-raised toward where you’d been—then with a grinning groan, he shoved it through his still slightly damp hair, picking up into a jog to catch up.

Because damn it, if he couldn’t hold your hand in front of everyone yet, the least he could do was walk beside you.

Even if his lips still burned where yours had kissed him, moments like that made it worth it.

And he’d chase you anywhere if you let him.

The Slytherin common room pulsed with victory. Music thrummed low through the stone walls, enchanted vinyl humming in the corner while the fire crackled with an almost celebratory ferocity.

The air buzzed with laughter and lazy conversation, bodies tangled across couches and sprawled across plush carpets.

Someone had dragged the green velvet cushions off the window seat; a pile of them now acted as makeshift thrones in the middle of the room.

Evan and Mulciber had charmed the fire to flicker house colours. Barty was lounged across the sofa, hair still wet, cheeks flushed, talking animatedly with Dorcas about some ridiculous midair save he’d supposedly made.

Pandora was upside down on an armchair, feet kicked over the back, humming absently to herself and passing a bottle of firewhiskey to the next person without lifting her head.

You were nestled near the hearth, legs tucked to one side on the thick rug, eyes glowing in the light. Comfortable. Warm.

A half-full glass was handed to you—offered with a wink by Avery, already slurring as he tried to convince you to toast to their clean sweep victory. But you just smiled and held up a hand, shaking your head. “I’m alright.”

That was all you said. Casual. Offhand. But Regulus, seated just across from you on the low couch beside Barty, didn’t look away.

His eyes flicked toward you, narrowing just slightly.

And you could feel it, of course you could—that quiet little thread tugging between you two again, subtle as a breath. He knew your tells. The slight purse of your lips. The measured tone. You were fine—but he was still watching. Barty noticed the flicker of scrutiny in Regulus’ gaze and raised a brow, curious.

“She doesn’t drink firewhiskey,” he offered with a lazy grin, nudging Regulus with his shoulder. “Too much of a Potter. Neither of them can handle wizarding liquor.”

“Oh, sod off,” you rolled your eyes, stretching out with a dramatic sigh. “It’s not that I can’t handle it—just that if I do, the night takes a turn.”

A few people snorted, but it was the way your eyes lingered—just a beat too long—on Regulus that made his throat go tight. A subtle, sly smirk danced on your lips. No one else saw it. No one else ever really did.

But he felt it, and it forced him to look away, ears tinged pink—the heat of your gaze—an unspoken thing sparking between you like flint and steel, hand curling around his glass tighter.

Dorcas let out a dramatic boo. “That’s exactly why you should drink.”

“Come on!” Evan bellowed. “What’s a party without a little chaos?”

The chants started immediately. First Dorcas, then Evan, then Wilkes and Pandora, all falling into a rhythm of exaggerated pleading.

“Drink! Drink! Drink—”

“Oh, fuck’s sake—” you groaned, laughing as Dorcas elbowed you, almost toppling you into the fireplace. “You lot are so dramatic.”

Rising to a stand, slow and measured, the room quietened slightly for a moment. And Regulus frozen, he knew that look. That wicked glint in your eye that always spelled trouble. That smirk that made his pulse stutter.

You walked toward him like you had no plan and every plan all at once. And that was the thing with you—you were unpredictable.

Devastatingly so.

Stopping just in front of him, gaze locked on his, and his breath caught.

Barty shifted beside him, watching with vague amusement, but Regulus was still, glass in hand, eyes tracking your every step like a storm was about to break.

Wordlessly, you reached down, plucking the glass of Firewhiskey out of his hands, fingers ghosting over his, and he remained still blinking—brows raised in mild surprise.

And with a swift turn on your heel, your facing the room like a performer stepping into the spotlight, and chugged.

The room erupted.

A chorus of shouts and laughter exploded around you as you tipped your head back, throat bobbing as you drained the glass with barely a wince. The firewhiskey burned—harsh, bitter, like swallowing heat—but you didn’t stop. When the last drop was gone, you lowered the glass, wiped the corner of your mouth with your thumb, and bowed with a theatrical flourish.

Pandora let out a shriek of delight, accompanied with a war cry-esque noise erupting from Evan. But it all faded into the back, because your eyes were not on them at all.

They were on Regulus.

And the look you gave him made something in him unravel. Slow and deliberate as you leaned down—just enough to press the now-empty glass back into his palm. Touch warm and lingering against his, forcing saliva to unconsciously pool in his mouth—swallowing hard, Adam’s apple bobbing visibly, heat rising to the tips of his ears again.

Because you looked at him like he was something worth devouring.

And Regulus, for all his control, felt undone.

There was a tingle beneath your skin now, the firewhiskey spreading quick and heady in your bloodstream, setting your nerves alight. So, naturally, you went where you felt safest—chaos be damned. There wasn’t enough space on the couch between Regulus and Barty.

But you didn’t let that stop you.

With a smug grin, you yanked a cushion halfway out from under Barty, ignoring his protest, and dropped yourself to the floor between them, legs crossed, back pressed to the couch, arms draped lazily over both their knees like you owned the space.

Barty let out a mock offended noise but didn’t move.

Regulus, however, had gone entirely still.

Your head tilted back until it rested gently against the edge of the cushion behind you—just under Regulus’ knee. You looked up at him with a lazy grin, mischief written across your features, and the firelight caught in your eyes like gold.

He looked down at you, lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling with a little more effort than usual.

“Comfortable?” he asked, voice low.

“Mmm,” tongue darting out to wet your lips as they stretched into an even wider smirk. “Getting there.”

And the tension between you buzzed, humming through the floor like a livewire, tucked beneath laughter and music and the haze of firewhiskey.

The alcohol licked like lightning down your spine, curling hot and fast through your chest until your cheeks were flushed and your limbs were loose with warmth. You weren’t drunk—not really. Just dizzy. Buzzing. Drunk on the music, the magic in the air, the heat of laughter blooming all around you.

You’d had just enough to drink for your thoughts to feel dreamy and untethered, a honeyed buzz settling into your chest and behind your eyes. Like gravity had decided to let go of you for the night. Your inhibitions drifted somewhere behind you, too far to reach back for.

You burned bright—laughter sharp and sweet in the air, cheeks warm, movements fluid. James-like, someone mumbled. Dorcas maybe. You didn’t catch it, but Regulus did. The way you were sparkling now, a little unhinged, that same Potter edge—chaotic and captivating.

The games had started at some point—card games from both worlds, charmed cups floating in midair, enchantments that made losing feel like something more than embarrassment. You and Barty had teamed up for the next round of some ridiculous Muggle game that Evan swore he remembered the rules to, though no one was really convinced he was playing it right.

You were curled up beside the couch again, cross-legged, giddy and unfocused, blinking down at the set of cards in your hand like they might start speaking if you stared hard enough.

And Barty—unapologetic as ever—had been peeking at your cards, barking out a laugh when you hissed at him.

“Oi!” you yelped, jerking your cards to your chest. “Cheater.”

Barty threw his head back with a laugh, completely unbothered. “We’re on the same team, you lunatic.”

You blinked. “Oh. Right.”

On the other side of you, Regulus was watching—shoulders relaxed, expression unreadable but for the faint twitch of his lips.

And when you leaned back against the couch again, huffing dramatically about your “genius being under appreciated,” the floor just…felt wrong. Cold. Hard. Unfair, really.

So, without warning, you wormed your way up into the impossibly narrow space between Regulus and Barty on the couch, folding your legs up to your chest, half-sinking into both of them as you settled like a cat who had decided the whole world belonged to you.

Barty snorted, shifting his hip to give you just a bit more space.

Regulus, ever composed, didn’t move.

But his gaze lingered on you—soft and slow, too fond for anyone who might’ve been watching not to notice. You were humming some nonsense to yourself, tapping the edge of the card deck against your shin, and it was like the whole world had dulled for a moment, the only sharp point left being you.

The game stretched on. Someone cheated. Someone else hexed the cards. You were lost.

And by the time the game ended, your spark had dulled to a flickering glow.

Barty elbowed you when you sighed dramatically, cards falling from your grip. “You’re a sore loser.”

“Stupid game anyway*,*” you mumbled into your knees, the top of your head now resting against your arms, voice muffled and sleepy. You didn’t even react when Regulus’ hand brushed gently down the slope of your spine—once, then again. Reassuring. Instinctual.

Head lifting slightly at the contact, lips parting to murmur something incoherent, but then you slumped again, boneless.

“She’s out,” Barty chuckled, shifting slightly.

There was a pause—silent and unsure—before he glanced at Barty, something unreadable in his eyes.

“I can’t—” he started. He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t finish the thought.

Couldn’t risk being the one to carry you up. Not in front of everyone. Not when they’d notice. Barty rolled his eyes, already pushing up from the couch. “Yeah, yeah. I know.” He bent down and picked you up like it was nothing, an effortless thing, your head instinctively tucking against his collarbone. You barely stirred.

No one batted an eye.

It wasn’t strange, not with you and Barty. Not anymore.

Regulus stayed behind, surrounded by friends, laughter bouncing somewhere far off as the warmth of your body left his side. He sat with the echo of your absence in the space where you’d been, hands limp in his lap, teeth clenched, a bitter ache pulsing low in his ribs.

When he finally made his way upstairs—after the room had nearly emptied, after he’d made sure no one would follow—he opened the door to his dorm quietly.

You were there.

Curled in the centre of his bed, arm tucked under your cheek, chest rising and falling in slow rhythm. Barty was lounging on his own bed, one arm draped lazily over his stomach, the other supporting his head.

Regulus crossed the room without a word, sinking onto the mattress beside you, hand reaching out instinctively to brush a strand of hair from your face.

And Barty was watching, the way Regulus’ touched you with the most fragile of hands—looking at you like you were made of moonlight. Like you’d hung the stars in the sky—a fond, unguarded tenderness in his gaze. He pushed down the lump in his throat with a hard swallow, detering the dull ache in his chest with a teasing tone;

“You could at least try not to look so in love with her in front of everyone,” Barty said lazily, voice cutting through the silence with a dry chuckle.

Regulus didn’t respond at first.

Just kept staring.

His hand hovered for a moment longer over your temple, finally pulling back like it hurt to let go. Then, finally—quietly, tiredly—he turned to look at Barty.

“Don’t you think that’s a bit hypocritical?”

part (iii)

feel free to reply to be on the taglist for the next parts mwah x

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