#creature fic

You try not to chuckle, despite feeling flushed already. “I should hope so.”

Adam smiles—yes, the both of you settled on the name Adam as it carried a certain appeal to him. It was his very own name, something of his own, distinguishable from his dreadful past.

Oh, how you adored his smile.

“No,” he clarifies, still smiling. “Something… more.”

The way he struggles to say the word ‘more’, as if it is something shameful, it pains me in a certain way. Although the more you look at him, the more you come to realize that it most likely comes from a place of curiosity instead of shame.

And then you start to realize what he means.

“Oh,” is all you can get out, feeling more flushed this time around. Truth is, that more has been something heavy on your mind as well—for quite some time. You didn’t want to broach the subject with Adam, fully aware that it is a foreign concept to him and that it is, perhaps, something out of his comfort zone and out of his line of interest.

It seems as if you were wrong.

“What did you feel?” you ask, taking his hands into yours.

“I felt… a twitch. Down—down here. When you kissed me, something ached. A need... of some kind.”

You don’t know how to react more than a playful chuckle, suppressed—you wouldn’t want Adam to feel ashamed in any way or to have him believe you would mock him in any way. But you also cannot help the flood of heat and desire that races through you, coursing shamelessly through your bloodstream. Adam is unlike any other man you’ve ever met; granted, the may not be quite human, not quite man, but everything about him is so curious and kind and untainted.

Yet you long to for a stain in his purity, something akin to pure hunger that you can call your own. To claim him as your own.

“That is normal,” you breathe towards him, your pulse an erratic beat behind your ribcage.

“It is?”

“Yes. When you care for someone, and when you… develop feelings for them… it manifests physically.”

“Physically?”

You subdue a chuckle yet again; everything about him is new and enticing and enthralling, and you want to savor this moment, cherish it, preserve it and freeze it in time.

A moment where there is only you and him, together, and not a single threat posed to either one of you.

You nod. “Yes, physically. The body sometimes responds before the mind—at least, in men’s cases.”

“But I am not truly a man.”

“You are more man than anyone I’ve ever encountered.”

You cup his cheeks, Adam exhaling restlessly inside your palm. You’re not quite  sure when it all escalates or how; all you know is that Adam radiates enough warmth for you to tiptoe and press a sincere kiss on his lips, pulling him closer. He’s shockingly vocal, but you suppose it makes sense given how everything is anew to him. That’s how he treats you as well: a blank canvas waiting to be explored, filled with colors you wouldn’t have even dreamt of.

The more you kiss Adam and hold him against your body, the more you feel what he told you about; he’s rock hard at this point, and while you’re quite surprised that all of his bodily functions are intact and normal, you still moan in his mouth.

Which acts as a catalyst for him to evoke the same sounds, more guttural by nature, and end up atop of you. He’s eager, yet restrained; the same restrained curiosity you’ve grown accustomed to. He’s not wearing many clothes, which works in your favor as you work to undress him hastily, all the while with Adam huffing next to your ear, his shock at the sight of you never wavering.

“You are breathtaking,” he tells you, and you shudder at the sound of his voice, the thought of him admiring you so thusly.

You believe him; there is nothing in this world that would make you not believe Adam. You kiss him everywhere, not just his lips, hoping to get a rise out of him as soon as possible: his neck, his collarbones, his arms, all of which are, admittedly, uncharted territory to him, but upon hearing his groans, increasingly more desperate, you figure you’re doing something right. You take it upon yourself to remove your own clothes, albeit your dress proving to be a challenge in and of itself. But haste has its perks, for you move faster than you ever have with the fabric, including undergarments, and soon you’re left bare before Adam, aching and pleading silently with a single lustful glare at him. Your eyes drop fleetingly to his manhood and you gulp, utterly flattered to notice that he is hard and surely aching by this point.

“How are you feeling?” you ask him.

“It’s strange.”

“What is?”

“All of this… desire.”

You fleetingly smile, your legs spreading open further for him. His gaze drops, swallowing harshly.

“How do you know it is desire?”  you ask, half curious, half flirting.

“What else can it be when it comes to you?”

You pull him in again and again, kissing him till your lips feel raw and as needy as you feel. Your movements feel rushed as your hands roam freely around his body—surprisingly, he’s never been one to shy away from your touch, regardless of how you proclaim it—and each tug, each caress earns you a moan or a gasp from his side.

“If it is too much, you should tell me,” you tell him, catching his eyes staring in wonder between your legs.

“I’m not sure… what to do. What do I do?”

With a smile, you reach and undo his breeches, keeping your surprise to yourself—you figured Victor would’ve made everything proportional and as beautiful-looking as possible but fucking hell, this was a pleasant surprise.

“Do you trust me?” you ask him.

Adam nods incessantly. “Always.”

“Okay. Touch me.”

You don’t want to overwhelm him, so you take his hand and guide it to your pussy, smiling when you earn a gasp and a surprised face from his side. He caresses you, dragging his fingers through your soaked folds, earning soft gasps from you.

“It’s wet,” Adam remarks.

You chuckle, the sound earnest and pleased. “Yes. That happens to women when they desire someone.”

“You… want me?”

He sounds more than shocked; quite trifled and astounded. You nod frantically, by this point dripping with need.

“Yes, Adam. Always.”

He takes a while to process your words, but he does so nonetheless. It’s almost as if your words become law to him, something to tether himself to. 

“What do I do now?” he asks, his voice betraying both curiosity and fear.

“Here.”

You guide your hand to his cock, now fully erect, and he groans as you give it a few strokes and guide it to your entrance. His eyes are fully blown, as if he cannot believe what is happening and what is in front of him as of now.

Adam watches enthralled as you guide him further inside you, a pleasurable moan escaping your mouth as he thrusts inside you. Inch by inch, you swallow him whole it seems.

Fully sheathed inside of you, your mouth remains ajar as you stare longingly at him, unable to suppress the moans escaping past your vocal chords. Your whole body is afire, your face a canvass of your love and appreciation for your beloved Creature, and his face a combination of shock and lust.

“How does that feel?” you manage to ask him.

It feels like you’re going insane, utterly maddened by his curiosity, his sensitivity and love for you, all of which are undoubtable.

“Ethereal,” Adam murmurs, and leans over to press a kiss on your lips and forehead.

His movements remain mechanical. It is clear he’s unsure as to how to proceed, but his eyes, oh his big, wonderful and pure eyes, they remain locked on the movement of his cock between your legs. They seem to be fascinated by the way he fits inside you, and you are no exception to said marvel.

You try to move so that you meet with more of his hips, and you catch Adam by surprise with those motions; he stares in awe, almost aghast, at the sight of his cock thrusting in and out of you, and you moan as he does so. He doesn’t pose any questions anymore, he simply watches and follows your sounds, your scent and your movements. Soon he catches the drift, especially after one of your hands sinks its nails deep into his back and pulls him forward.

Thank goodness he feels little to no pain from this.

You mean to inflict no pain, you simply wish to sink into him, to have him and own him in primal ways, in caring and loving ways, those of which have not been taught to him by his creator. You both move together in a set rhythm, albeit stunted by it being a first time, with Adam’s eyes alternating between your face and your glistening pussy.

“Is this—good?” he asks, his face dangerously close to yours.

“Yes—oh gods, yes… so… so good…”

Words fail you in this moment of need, but you do not need them it seems. Your hands roam aimlessly on his back, the staccato rhythm of his hips more than a distraction or a want—a necessity; an insatiable craving, a hunger to be held, one you are more than certain Adam shares it as well.

You are very much aware of how touch-starved he is, and in so many ways, you reciprocate the sentiment. But Adam’s curiosity and lack of experience make him the perfect lover. It causes a stir inside of you, a storm brewing all too dangerously to the surface and an ache you found only he can soothe.

You feel him tense above you, a clumsiness about him that is more than endearing. He watches your every move, listens to every sound you make, in awe of how tender and warm you are, how malleable and willing in his presence.

A fact which will never not surprise him.

“Adam, wait,” you breathe, cupping his cheek.

On command, Adam halts all movements, blinking inquisitively at you.

“Have I hurt you?” he asks.

You feel a tug in your chest, eyes a little bit teary. By gods, you couldn’t stand the thought of someone so utterly soft and attentive by nature.

“No,” you smile. “You are wonderful. Do you trust me?”

“With my life. Endless as it may be. But it only means I get endless lifetimes to learn you.”

Breathless, you rise a little and shift so that now you are the one atop of him. Adam is evidently taken aback—one of the many endearing things about him is how he cannot hide a single emotion he feels for the life of him, endless as it may be, as he put it earlier—and you smile widely at him.

The stretch is glorious; Adam’s giant hands reach to your hips, resting there tentatively. He gazes upon your body as if he were charting a map, studious and careful, his eyes never absent of intensity and admiration.

“More,” he groans, mouth agape. “Please.”

And more you give: you start to move up and down slowly, taking every inch of him in a stretch that heats your entire body and causes your head to spin; Adam groans, the sound low and nearly pained from deep within, yet you know by watching him it cannot be that of pain. Adam tries his darnest to remain still on the bed simply because watching you take pleasure from him this way is maddening, but he finds that he cannot do so. He reaches up to meet you halfway, his fingers grazing your cheek. You cling to him, anchoring yourself to his broad shoulders as you keep riding him, and pull him closer. You find his lips in a rushed take, the kiss careless and despairing.

There’s a rush throughout your extremities, a wave of heat impossible to contain in your chest. You have never felt a fire like this one, an affection quite as strong as the one you carry for Adam. It stretches beyond the physical—although gods beware, simply feeling his cock buried inside of you so intimately and sweetly is reason enough.

He feels you tense, your movements more rapid and messy. He tries to hold you steadily, but he fails. Just as he had previously failed. And yet he realizes he does not care. He wants to see you break, he wants to see you come undone before him, with him inside of you. Something tells him you can take it—just as you can take him—and that you want to take it.

“Oh fuck—I am so close—“

He wishes to ask you what you mean, but words fail him. He feels, simultaneously, whole and fractured. He watches your face contort in what he presumes is pleasure, untethered, unashamed and whole, and he feels you quiver around him. You seize, the warmth of your walls clenched all around him, squeezing his cock in a tighter confinement.

And then he breaks.

In this moment, gravity is not what holds him, but rather you. You are all that he sees, all that he smells, craves and wants—and all that he feels. You are all that he feels as he spills himself inside of you with a roar that shakes the room to its foundation. You are all that he feels when his head drops in the crook of your neck, kissing every inch of skin his lips can trail. You are all that he feels as your hands cradle his head, tender and poisoned with raw need.

When your eyes find his again, they are as soft and as kind as you know them, yet they seem to contain something else as well. Something which you can also identify as of now.

Pleasure.

You barely move now, having felt him twitch and convulse inside you mere moments ago. Neither of you seems eager to break the touch, but you suspect Adam is much less inclined to do so than you.

“Can I stay?” he asks.

“What do you mean? Of course you can.”

“I wish to stay like this. For a while longer, inside you. You are warm and welcoming and…”

You cup his cheeks in your hands, your palms feeling the small ridges and indentations of him.

“And what?” you ask, kissing his nose.

“Mine.”

You swallowed hard. His presence was a physical weight in the shadows—all heat and silent want. You were pinned by the sheer, dark intensity of him.

“I-I shouldn’t—”

“But you will.”

The lock surrendered with a heavy thunk.

Your breath hitched.

Chains clanked. ​

As you stepped inside, the atmosphere changed. The air near him was hot—unholy and thick with the scent of musk, old blood, and a strange, metallic sweetness. He didn’t lunge. Didn’t snarl or growl. He just rose with a terrifying, fluid motion.

He's a mountain of stitched muscle and dark, marble-slick skin. Veins like black rivers branched across his chest, pulsing with every heave. His dick—god, that thing hung heavy between his thighs, a thick ridge of thing that looked far too large for any human anatomy already half-hard from scenting you, already weeping pre-cum.

“You smell incredible ” His nostrils flared. “Come closer.”

You walked closer.

His hand closed around your wrist—massive, calloused, and shockingly careful. You expected the bite of claws, but his touch was… reverent, almost desperate. He caught your waist, his fingers digging into the meat of your hips as he lifted you. You felt like a doll, light and fragile against his strength.

“Let me taste you,” he said, voice shaking. “Let me worship what I’ve only been allowed to watch."

You straddled his lap, and the contact was an electric shock. He was a furnace. You felt the thick, heavy length of him against your folds, a hot weight that made your breath hitch, and when he dragged his split tongue up your throat, you shuddered.

He growled at the sound.

“You’re so soft,” he whispered against your skin. “So breakable.”

“You won’t break me,” you challenged, your fingers tangling in the thick, dark hair at his nape.

“I want to. I want to see if I can fit."

Your hips rolled slick against his cock and his head dropped back. His hands gripped your thighs, then your ass, then your ribs like he didn’t know what to touch first.

“Use me,” he begged. “Ride me. Fuck me. Come on, make me yours.”

You sank down slowly—agonizingly—the friction of him stretching you until your vision blurred. Your body protested the invasion, your muscles tight and weeping as they tried to accommodate the sheer scale of him, like your body wasn’t built for it. And maybe it wasn’t. Maybe no human should take him this deep, but you did. You pushed through the burn, bottoming out until your pelvis slammed against his with a wet, heavy thud.

The Beast moaned, his head snapping back as his clawed hands gripped your ass, kneading the flesh like he was trying to memorize your shape through his palms.

“You feel good,” he choked. “S-so good.”

You rode him slow, grinding deep, your nails drawing red lines across his massive, scarred shoulders. Every thrust was jarring. A rhythmic, heavy rutting that filled the cage with the sound of slick skin and your own jagged moans.

“I dreamed of this,” he panted, his hips bucking upward to meet you. “Every night. You... on top of me. Calling me yours.”​

“Say it again,” you gasped, your mind a white-hot haze of lust and adrenaline. “Say whose you are.”​

“I’m yours,” he groaned softly, his voice a broken prayer. “Yours to ruin. Yours to fuck. Yours to cage.”

The orgasm hit you like a physical blow, a violent convulsion that left you sobbing into his neck. The sensation broke him. He thrust one last time, deep and brutal, his whole body turning to stone as he came. You felt the hot, thick ropes of his release flooding you, an endless, scorching stream that made you feel permanently claimed.

​He didn't pull out. He stayed buried in you, his heavy breathing the only thing breaking the silence. His hands, still shaking, stroked your back with a strange tenderness.

“I’ll stay in the cage,” he whispered, kissing your throat. “I’ll be good. I’ll behave. Just… come back. Let me have you again.”

You kissed him—a deep, filthy claim that tasted of salt and greasepaint—and left him in the dark.

⋆ ˚｡

One Week Later...

It had been a week since you last saw him.

Seven days since you unlocked the cage and let him split you open like you were made just for him.

You hadn’t gone back. Not because you didn’t want to—but because you couldn’t. Your father had tightened security after he’d noticed the silence. The Beast hadn't roared; he hadn't fought his chains. He had simply waited, and that stillness terrified the crew more than any rage.

But tonight, you walked the grounds with a different monster.

“Nice arms,” the knife thrower murmured, leaning into your personal space. His grin was boyish, practiced—all charm and calculated mischief. “You ever think about joining my act? I could teach you how to handle sharp things.”​

You laughed, a light, flirty sound that felt hollow in your chest. You let him stand too close. You let his hand brush your elbow.You didn't notice the golden eyes watching from the cracks in the canvas. You didn't see the way the shadows in the tent seemed to thicken and coil as he watched the knife thrower touch what he'd been missing.​

But the Beast remembered... and he was done being good.

⋆ ˚｡

You visited him again later, just before midnight, but the guards were gone, replaced by a silence so heavy it made your ears ring.

The cage was already open.

You froze. He stepped out of the shadows before you could run—barefoot, bare-chested, wild hair sticking to his temples. His golden eyes burned, they tracked you with a terrifying, possessive focus.

“You smell like him,” he said.

“Who?”

“The one with the blades." He closed the distance in a single stride. “You let him touch you. I smelled his steel on your skin before you even reached the lot.”​

You straightened your spine, though your heart was hammering against your ribs. “So what if I did?”​

His reaction was instantaneous.

He moved faster than a man should—slamming you into the bars with one hand around your throat. He didn't squeeze, but the weight of his palm was a promise. He held you there, his thumb resting over your pulse, feeling the frantic skip of your heart.

“You’re supposed to be for me,” he growled, his face inches from yours.​

“You didn’t come find me,” you gasped, the metal of the bars cold against your back.

“I didn’t need to. I thought you’d remember where you belong.” His mouth dragged over your jawline, his breath a scorching, unhinged heat against your skin. “Let me remind you.”

He spun you around with effortless strength, bending you over a weathered equipment crate. The wood was rough, smelling of old pine and dust. Your skirt was hiked up in an instant. No panties. You were bare and weeping for him, the cool night air a sharp contrast to the temperament of his body pressing into your back.​

He let out a low, vibrating growl that hummed through your spine. “Still wet for me. Even after touching him.”

His dick pressed thick and hard against your slit, already leaking, already twitching. You could feel how angry he was in the way he grabbed your hips—like they were handles made for his hands.

“You want me to ruin you again?” he rasped. “Stretch this filthy little cunt until it remembers my shape?”

You pushed back against him, your voice a wrecked plea. “Do it.”​

He slammed in.

The air left your lungs in a ragged scream. Your fingers clawed at the splintered wood of the crate, your whole body jerking forward as he bottomed out in a single, brutal thrust. “Fuucck,” he moaned, his forehead dropping against the nape of your neck. “Tight little hole forgot how to take me.”​

He didn't give you time to adjust. He began to fuck you with a deep, ragged rhythm. The silence of the night was shattered by the obscene, wet sounds of flesh clapping against flesh and your own high, jagged moans. His hands were everywhere—bruising your hips, gripping your ribs, claiming every inch of you as his territory.

“Bet you let him look at you like this,” he snarled, his thrusts turning erratic and violent. “But you didn’t let him have it, did you?”​

“No,” you sobbed, your head lolling back.​

“Didn’t let him stretch you out. Didn’t let him spill inside. That’s mine.”

He leaned down and bit your shoulder—hard enough to draw a sharp, iron-tasting bead of blood. You cried out, your thighs trembling as he licked the wound clean.​

“Mine."

He was relentless—a heavy, driving weight that learned your internal limits only to force its way past them. The friction was a white-hot burn, turning your mind into a hazy fog where only the weight of him existed.​

“Ughn... I should—mmghn—finish inside of you,” he grunted, his pace reaching a frantic, feral peak. “Breed you full. Stuff you so deep you never even think about another man. Your internal muscles clenched around him, a desperate, rhythmic pulse of approval.​

“Oh, you like that?” He let out a dark, breathless laugh. “Want me to fill this sweet little body until it’s dripping? Want me to fuck a baby into you?”

​“Yes—yes—ahn—!”​

He let go of your hair, his hands anchoring deep into the crate as he roared. He slammed in one last time—deeper than you thought possible—and came. It was a monstrous, messy release, hot ropes of cum gushing into you until you felt heavy and overfilled, the excess running in a thick, white stream down your inner thighs.​

He didn't pull out. He stayed buried, his body twitching with the aftershocks of his climax, his heavy chest heaving against your back.​

“I’ll kill him,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear. “If he touches you again, I’ll snap his neck.”

You looked back at him over your shoulder, your lips swollen and your eyes heavy with a dark, satisfied exhaustion. “You really think anyone else could take me now?”​

His grin was wild, his golden eyes obsessional.​

“Try me again, girl,” he murmured, dragging his length back—slow, agonizingly thick, and still rock-hard. “See how many rounds I can go before you break.”

He hauled you up, his fingers like iron clamps around your bicep. The air inside the bars was a familiar, suffocating cocktail of rust, old adrenaline, and the drying musk of his previous release. This was the dirt where he first unmade you, and the shadows here felt heavier, more permanent.​

He threw you onto the floorboards with a jarring thud that rattled your teeth. His grin was a feral line in the moonlight. "On your knees," he commanded. "Hands behind your back. Mouth open."

You obeyed without blinking, the splintered wood scraping your knees.

He loomed over you, his cock a heavy, veiny column, still glistening with the slick evidence of your last encounter. He didn't wait for your approval. He gripped your jaw—the pressure of his thumb nearly bruising—and forced himself in. Slow and tentive.

"Look at me while I fuck your throat, and don’t you dare hide from it."

Your eyes watered, the back of your throat protesting the sheer volume of him, but you held his stare. And then, you saw the shift in his focus.

His eyes didn't leave yours, but they sharpened, tracking something over your shoulder.

A silhouette detached itself from the midnight gloom outside the bars. A face of cracked porcelain greasepaint. A nightmare in black and white with four limbs that unfolded like a slow-motion prayer.

The Mime.

The oldest freak in the crew.

He stood there, silent as the grave, the red-painted tear marks under his eyes catching the faint moonlight.​

You tried to pull back, a spike of cold panic hitting your chest, but the Beast’s hand tangled in your hair, anchoring you. ​"No," he hissed, each movement stealing your breath. "Let him watch. I want him to witness every bit of this… You want him too. Isn’t that right?"

The Mime tilted his head, all four arms draped over the bars with an effortless, liquid grace. He was a statue of regal fixation.

"Show him," the Beast urged, slapping his pelvis against your lips with a heavy, wet thud. "Show him how well you choke on me."

​He pulled out, the sound of it loud and wet in the quiet lot, and spat into your mouth before hauling you up by your waist. "Get on your hands and knees. Face him."​

You trembled, your body a map of his touch. You turned, presenting yourself to the bars—to the silent, four-armed freak watching in the dark. The Mime’s eyes widened, a dark, glittering hunger reflecting the scene. Those ink-black pits for eyes traced the rhythmic shudder of your breath and the glistening trails of salt on your skin, never once blinking. Two of his hands gripped the bars; another slid down his own striped trousers in a slow, repetitive motion that needed no explanation.​

"See that?" the Beast whispered, lining himself up behind you. "He’s enjoying the show. Just like me."​

He slammed back inside, the impact wrenching a high, jagged yelp from your throat as you clawed at the floorboards for purchase. He began to fuck you with a renewed speed, his weight crushing you forward against the bars.

You were pinned in the heat of him, forced so close to the cage that the cloyingly scent of the Mime’s face powder filled your lungs, blurring the line between the body behind you and the silent observer in front.

"Louder," the Beast ordered, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin of your shoulder. "I want the whole lot to hear you."

You wailed his name, the sound bleeding into the humid night. He bucked with commanding, heavy strikes, his hands tightening on you. "You want them to hear? To know I'm breaking you in like a bitch in heat?"

​"Yes—yes—fill me—make him see—"​

The Mime’s black tongue snaked out, licking his painted red lips. His hidden hand moved faster now, a silent, frantic mirror to the Beast’s brutality.​ He seemed to savor the way you trembled, drinking in the frantic dance of your gaze as you struggled to keep both of them in sight.

The Beast flipped you onto your back, pulling your knees to your chest so you were completely open to the moonlight and the Mime's unblinking stare. He plunged into you over and over, his golden eyes blown wide, infatuated with your wreckage.​

"You like him seeing you like this?"

​"Yes—"​

He silenced you with a kiss that tasted of iron and salt. His tongue claimed your mouth as his length claimed your body. "Good little freak toy," he murmured against your lips. "Cum for the show."​

You shattered, the orgasm crashing you in long, violent waves that stole the air from your lungs. The Beast was right there with you. A low, guttural roar tore from his throat as his muscles locked into living stone, anchoring you in place. He came deep inside, a scorching, endless stream of heat that flooded your core and left you both trembling in the aftermath.

​You layed there, a wrecked heap of sweat and arousal.

The Mime stood slowly, his extra arms moving with sickening, bird-like grace. He pressed one palm to the bars, then raised his hands in a silent, mocking applause. He wiped his mouth, tucked himself away, and vanished back into the shadows without making a single sound.​

The Beast remained buried in you, his heart hammering against your spine like a drum. He kissed your temple, his voice a low, dark caress that promised no escape.​

"You liked that? Being our little show?"​

You nodded, unable to find your voice in the heavy air.

​He smiled. "Next time, we’ll let the whole crew watch."

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Dividers by @elleisdesigning and @cafekitsune

James blinked. “What—”

“Oh, you have got to be—”

“Oi—!”

The shout came from further down the corridor.

All four of them flinched.

There, framed in the tall arch of a window alcove, sat Regulus Black.

Except—

Not sat, exactly.

Folded, maybe. Criss-crossed on the windowsill like he’d forgotten how chairs worked, spine curved, shoulders hunched. His tie was loose, shirt half-unbuttoned at the throat, prefect badge slightly crooked like it had been slapped on without care.

And in his hands—

He was rolling something.

Slowly. Carefully. With the intense concentration of someone deeply, deeply invested in the process.

The smell hit a second later.

James blinked. “Is that—”

Remus inhaled, frowned. “That is—”

Peter squeaked. “Oh my God—”

Regulus looked up.

There was a pause.

A long, suspended moment where four Gryffindors stared at a Slytherin prefect.

And the Slytherin prefect stared back.

His eyes were wide.

Not sharp. Not cold. Not the usual cutting, distant grey.

Wide.

Glassy.

Completely, utterly—

“Are you—” James started.

Regulus blinked.

Slowly.

Then—

“Oh.”

That was all the warning they got.

“Don’t report us—!” Peter yelped, bolting forward a step. “Please don’t report us—!”

“Reg, don’t—” James added quickly, hands up. “We’re just—this is—harmless—”

“Absolutely harmless,” Sirius said flatly, not sounding convincing at all.

Remus pinched the bridge of his nose. “We will literally dismantle it right now—”

“You—” Regulus squeaked.

It was not a dignified sound.

It was high. Sharp. Startled.

Like a mouse being stepped on.

All four of them froze.

Regulus stared at them.

They stared back.

Then—

He vanished.

Not in a dramatic burst of magic.

Not in a swirl of smoke.

Just—

Gone.

For half a second, there was nothing.

And then—

A tiny shape fluttered wildly upward.

A bat.

A tiny, dark little bat with too-big wings and a frantic, erratic flight path shot up toward the rafters, wings flapping in quick, panicked bursts before it tucked itself into the shadowed beams overhead.

Silence.

Utter, stunned silence.

James blinked.

Peter blinked.

Remus very slowly lowered his hand from his face.

“…what,” James said.

“WHAT,” Peter said louder.

Remus opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

“…I—”

“FOR FUCK’S SAKE—”

Sirius dragged both hands down his face.

“Regulus.”

There was a pause.

A tiny, muffled giggle echoed from the rafters.

Sirius’s eye twitched.

“Regulus,” he said again, slower this time, teeth clenched. “Get. Down.”

A small, upside-down face peeked out from the darkness.

Two bright, gleaming eyes.

Tiny ears.

Wings wrapped loosely around a very small, very smug-looking bat.

“Hi,” it said.

The voice was high-pitched. Squeaky. Completely wrong.

Peter made a noise that might have been a scream but got lost halfway out.

James pointed. “It—he—what—”

Remus whispered, “That bat just spoke—”

“I can always speak,” the bat said cheerfully.

Sirius looked like he was about to commit a crime.

“Regulus,” he said, voice dangerously calm, “I told you not to do this.”

The bat giggled.

Actually giggled.

Then flopped sideways, wings half-unfurled, dangling upside down from a beam like it had forgotten gravity was a thing.

“You’re so loud,” Regulus said, voice drifting down in that same tiny, ridiculous tone. “Why are you yelling.”

“I’m not yelling,” Sirius snapped. “You’re the one who turned into a—”

“A baby,” James whispered faintly.

“A bat,” Sirius hissed.

Regulus peeked at him from behind one wing.

Then—

Peeked away.

Peeked back.

Peeked away again.

Sirius went still.

“…are you playing peekaboo.”

“Maybe,” Regulus said.

He did it again.

Wing over face.

Wing down.

Little grin.

Giggle.

Sirius bared his teeth.

Not metaphorically.

His lip curled back, exposing sharp, unmistakable fangs.

“Get down,” he growled.

Regulus froze.

Then—

Flopped.

Completely.

Like someone had cut his strings.

He swung from the beam, limp and delighted, letting out a soft, breathy laugh.

“Oh my God, you did the thing,” he said, thrilled. “You did the face.”

James made a strangled noise. “The—what face—”

Peter was clinging to Remus’s sleeve. “Why does he have fangs—”

Remus, pale, whispered, “I think we’ve moved past the prank—”

Sirius dragged a hand through his hair, pacing under the rafters now.

“Regulus,” he snapped, “come down before I drag you down.”

“You can’t drag me,” Regulus said, voice sing-song. “I’m small.”

“You are not—”

“I’m very small.”

“You are not staying a bat—”

There was a pause.

Then—

Regulus dropped.

Not gracefully.

Not smoothly.

He just let go.

A blur of wings and motion, fluttering wildly before swooping low—too low—and then—

He landed.

Right on the windowsill.

Next to—

The blunt.

He picked it up.

Still a bat.

Tiny claws gripping it awkwardly.

And then—

He took a drag.

James screamed.

Remus made a sound like his soul was leaving his body.

Peter physically backed into the wall.

“HE’S SMOKING—HE’S A BAT AND HE’S SMOKING—”

Regulus exhaled.

A thin stream of smoke curled out from his tiny mouth.

“…nice,” he said.

Sirius looked like he was going to kill someone.

“Regulus.”

A pause.

Then—

The bat shimmered.

Stretched.

Unfolded.

And suddenly—

He was human again.

Still perched on the windowsill, legs loose, shoulders slumped, tie hanging undone. The blunt still in his fingers. His hair slightly messy, cheeks faintly flushed.

And—

His fangs were visible now.

Not hidden.

Not subtle.

Sharp against his grin.

“…hi,” Regulus said.

James stared.

Remus stared.

Peter stared.

Then—

They all screamed.

Loud.

Unrestrained.

Full-volume.

Sirius groaned.

“Can you not—”

“YOU’RE A VAMPIRE—” James shouted.

“YOU TURNED INTO A BAT—” Peter shrieked.

“YOU WERE SMOKING—” Remus added, horrified.

Regulus blinked at them.

Then started laughing.

Not quietly.

Not politely.

He laughed like it was the funniest thing he’d ever seen.

“You should see your faces,” he said, wheezing slightly, wiping at his eye. “Oh my God—”

Sirius rubbed his temples.

“I’m going to lose my mind.”

“Since when—” James started, gesturing wildly. “Since when are you—”

“A vampire?” Regulus supplied helpfully.

“Yes!”

Regulus shrugged, taking another drag. “Since birth.”

“THAT’S NOT CASUAL—”

“It is to me.”

Peter was still half-pressed into the wall. “You—you bit someone? Have you—have you killed someone—”

“No,” Regulus said, mildly offended. “I’m not an idiot.”

Remus, voice tight, “You just—live like this—normally—”

“Yeah.”

“And you never thought to—”

“Why would I tell you?” Regulus said, genuinely curious.

Sirius let out a long, exhausted sigh.

Then—

He looked at them.

Really looked.

At the panic.

The confusion.

The absolute breakdown happening in real time.

“…we’re born like this,” he said finally, voice quieter now. “It’s not a—curse or anything. Not the way people think.”

The others went still.

Sirius leaned back against the wall, arms crossed.

“Black family thing,” he muttered. “Old magic. Older than most of the pureblood nonsense they like to go on about.”

James swallowed. “So—you—”

“Yes,” Sirius said flatly. “Me too.”

Silence.

Peter made a small, distressed sound.

Remus exhaled slowly, processing.

“…and you just—hide it,” he said.

“Obviously,” Sirius said. “You think we’d get through a single day here if people knew?”

Regulus snorted softly. “We’d get staked before breakfast.”

“Don’t joke about that.”

“I’m not joking.”

Sirius shot him a look.

Regulus grinned back, unbothered.

James dragged a hand through his hair. “Right. Right. Okay. So. Vampires. Fine. Sure. That’s—fine.”

“It’s not fine,” Peter whispered.

“It’s happening,” James snapped.

Remus glanced between them, then back at Sirius.

“…does anyone else know?”

Sirius shook his head.

“No.”

A pause.

Then—

Regulus leaned back against the window, humming softly, eyes half-lidded.

“…well,” he said, voice light, “you do now.”

Sirius sighed.

“Brilliant.”

James let out a slightly hysterical laugh.

Peter slid down the wall.

Remus just stood there, staring at them like he was trying to rearrange reality in his head.

And Regulus—

Regulus took another drag, exhaled slowly, and smiled, fangs catching the low torchlight like something dangerous and amused and entirely, completely unbothered by the fact that the world had just tilted on its axis.

The corridor did not recover.

It simply… shifted.

Like the castle had inhaled too sharply and forgotten how to exhale.

For a long moment, no one spoke. The torchlight flickered. Smoke curled lazily from the end of the blunt in Regulus’s fingers. Somewhere far away, a portrait coughed in its sleep.

Then—

James Potter stepped forward.

Slowly.

Like one might approach a wild animal.

Or, more accurately—

Like one might approach something small and adorable that had just turned into something else entirely and back again.

“…you were tiny,” he said, voice soft with something dangerously close to awe.

Sirius made a noise under his breath. “James—”

“No, wait,” James said, not taking his eyes off Regulus. “No, wait—because that—”

He crouched slightly, leaning in, eyes bright.

“That was the cutest thing I have ever seen.”

Peter choked.

Remus closed his eyes briefly, like he was bracing for impact.

Regulus blinked at him.

Once.

Twice.

Then—

His mouth curved.

Slowly.

Dangerously.

“Oh?” he said, voice lilting, amused.

James nodded, utterly sincere. “You were—your wings were all—” he gestured vaguely, “—and your face—and you were so small—”

Regulus made a soft, pleased sound.

A squeak, almost.

Sirius stiffened.

“James,” he said, sharper now, “don’t—”

But James had already reached out.

Careful.

Gentle.

His fingers brushed through Regulus’s hair.

Regulus froze.

Then—

Melted.

Completely.

His shoulders dropped, tension dissolving like sugar in water. His head tipped—just slightly—into the touch.

Another soft sound slipped out of him. Higher. Warmer.

He leaned.

Just a little.

James blinked.

“Oh,” he said softly.

And then—

He did it again.

Ran his fingers lightly over Regulus’s hair, slower this time, deliberate.

Regulus made a noise.

Not quite human.

A soft, vibrating purr threaded through it, low in his chest despite the way his voice pitched high with it.

He leaned further.

Closer.

Until his forehead nearly brushed James’s wrist.

And then—

He nuzzled.

James went utterly still.

“Merlin—” he whispered, breathless, “he’s—”

“I told you not to—” Sirius snapped, stepping forward.

But Regulus—

Regulus was gone somewhere else entirely.

His eyes had gone half-lidded, unfocused, lashes casting soft shadows over his cheeks. His mouth curved into something small and open and unguarded.

And under James’s hand—

He preened.

Actually preened.

Tilting his head this way and that, pressing into the touch, chasing it when James’s fingers shifted. A soft, pleased hum kept slipping out of him, broken up by little, breathy squeaks whenever James hit a spot just right.

“Hey—hey,” James murmured, completely enchanted now. “There you are—”

Regulus made another soft sound, almost a chirp.

And then—

He pressed closer.

Nose brushing lightly against James’s wrist.

Breathing him in.

Something in his expression flickered.

Softened.

Changed.

His voice dropped, quiet and hazy and… younger.

“…warm,” he murmured.

Sirius went very still.

James didn’t notice.

He laughed softly. “Yeah? You like that?”

Regulus nodded, slow and loose, eyes still half-shut.

“…used to,” he said, words drifting together, “—used to sit like this—”

His hand came up, lightly catching James’s wrist, guiding it—like he already knew where it should be.

“—Mum would—” he swallowed, smiling faintly, “—stroke here—”

James followed instinctively.

Gentler now.

Regulus exhaled softly, melting further.

“—and Sirius—” a small, breathy laugh slipped out of him, “—you used to hold me—”

Sirius flinched.

Regulus didn’t see it.

He pressed his cheek against James’s wrist now, eyes closed completely.

“…and let me—”

His lips brushed skin.

Soft.

Testing.

“…feed,” he finished, barely audible.

Sirius’s head snapped up.

“James—”

Too late.

Regulus’s mouth opened.

A quick, instinctive motion—

A nip.

Sharp.

Clean.

Not violent.

Not even aggressive.

Just—

Familiar.

James yelped. “—ow—!”

Sirius lunged forward. “REGULUS—!”

“—what the hell—” Peter shrieked.

Remus grabbed his shoulder. “Don’t—don’t move—”

Regulus froze.

Immediately.

Eyes snapping open.

For a split second—

He looked confused.

Then—

Sirius’s voice cut through, sharp and furious.

“What did I tell you?” Sirius snapped, grabbing Regulus by the shoulder. “You don’t just—”

“I didn’t—” Regulus started, blinking, dazed. “I thought—”

“You thought wrong—”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Regulus.”

James, very abruptly, stopped reacting.

There was a beat.

Then—

“…oh,” James said.

Sirius paused.

Everyone paused.

James looked down at his wrist.

Then at Regulus.

Then—

He softened.

Completely.

“Oh, you poor thing,” he cooed.

Sirius stared at him. “No—no, don’t—”

James gently pulled his wrist free from Sirius’s grip and held it out again.

“Is that what you wanted?” he said softly. “Yeah?”

Regulus blinked at him.

Slow.

Uncertain.

“…I—”

James smiled.

Warm. Easy. Entirely unbothered.

“Go on, then.”

Sirius made a strangled noise. “James, if you let him—”

“He didn’t hurt me,” James said simply.

Regulus stared at him.

Then—

Very carefully—

He leaned in again.

This time slower.

More cautious.

His teeth grazed skin.

Paused.

James didn’t pull away.

“…okay,” James murmured. “Yeah. That’s alright.”

Regulus exhaled softly.

And then—

He bit again.

Gentler this time.

A small pull.

A soft, steady rhythm.

Sirius dragged both hands down his face. “I’m going to kill you,” he muttered.

James let out a quiet, almost dreamy laugh.

“Merlin, that’s—oddly—”

“Don’t say it,” Sirius snapped.

“—nice,” James finished anyway.

Regulus made a soft, pleased sound against his skin.

A purr.

Low.

Content.

His shoulders dropped again, tension bleeding out of him as he leaned fully into James now, one hand loosely gripping his sleeve.

Peter looked like he might faint.

“Why is he—why are you—why is this happening—”

Remus, somehow managing to stay the calmest, though still visibly rattled, looked to Sirius.

“…explain,” he said.

Sirius exhaled sharply.

“…fine.”

He leaned back against the wall again, glaring at the ceiling like it had personally offended him.

“First of all—” he started, gesturing vaguely toward Regulus, who was currently very occupied, “—that is not how that’s supposed to go.”

Regulus made a soft, offended noise without letting go.

Sirius ignored him.

“Second—no, we don’t go around biting people for fun,” he continued. “That’s—family thing. Or—it’s supposed to be.”

James hummed faintly, distracted.

Sirius pointed at him. “You’re not family.”

“Feeling pretty special right now, actually,” James murmured.

Sirius looked like he wanted to hex him.

Remus cleared his throat. “You said—you were born like this.”

“Yes.”

“And the—blood—”

Sirius grimaced slightly.

“…isn’t what people think,” he said. “We don’t need it. Not really.”

Peter blinked. “Then why is he—”

“Because he’s high,” Sirius said flatly.

Regulus huffed.

“And because,” Sirius added, quieter now, “it’s… instinctive. Sometimes.”

He ran a hand through his hair again.

“…it’s like—mosquitoes, alright?” he said. “The women—if they’re pregnant—they need blood. Helps the baby. That’s it.”

Remus frowned slightly. “And the rest of the time?”

“We don’t need it,” Sirius said. “We can drink it. But we don’t need it to survive.”

James tilted his head slightly. “Then what do you—”

“Tree sap,” Sirius said.

Silence.

Peter blinked. “I’m sorry—”

“Tree sap,” Sirius repeated.

Regulus made a soft, dreamy noise, still pressed against James’s wrist.

“Sweet,” he mumbled.

Sirius rolled his eyes. “Yes, thank you, Regulus.”

Remus stared. “…you’re serious.”

“Yes.”

“You—drink tree sap.”

“Yes.”

James huffed a quiet laugh. “That’s—”

Regulus pulled back slightly, licking his lip, smiling faintly.

“Maple’s best,” he said.

Sirius pointed at him. “See? That.”

Peter stared like his brain had stopped working.

“…you’re joking.”

“I am not joking,” Sirius said. “We grew up on it.”

He glanced at Regulus.

“…he used to bite trees,” he added.

Regulus perked up slightly.

“I did,” he said proudly.

“You did,” Sirius said. “And you snapped one of your baby fangs doing it.”

James lit up. “You had baby fangs—?”

“Yes,” Sirius said.

Regulus frowned faintly. “I cried.”

“You wailed,” Sirius corrected.

“I did not—”

“You did. Mother had to—”

“I was small—”

“You were ridiculous—”

Regulus huffed, then leaned back into James again like none of that had happened.

James, still very much petting him, grinned.

“You’re unbelievable,” he murmured.

Regulus made a soft, pleased noise.

Sirius sighed.

Deep.

Long-suffering.

“…this is a disaster.”

Remus rubbed his face. “You’ve been keeping this secret for years.”

“Yes.”

Peter pointed weakly. “He turned into a bat.”

“Yes.”

James, still smiling faintly, said, “He’s adorable.”

Sirius glared at him.

Regulus purred.

Sirius did not look like someone having a good time.

He looked like someone one inconvenience away from committing several felonies in rapid succession.

He dragged a hand down his face, exhaled hard, and then—very deliberately—straightened, fixing the other three with a look that said if you interrupt me I will actually bite you.

“Right,” he said. “Since apparently this is happening.”

James was still half leaned forward, Regulus loosely draped against him, eyes hazy, mouth curved in a lazy, pleased smile. Peter looked like he was about to pass out. Remus had that thinking too hard about this look that meant he was trying to categorise something that refused to be categorised.

Sirius pointed vaguely between himself and Regulus.

“First—myths are mostly wrong. Shockingly. We don’t burst into flames in sunlight, we don’t sleep in coffins, crosses don’t do anything unless you hit someone with one hard enough, and garlic is just annoying.”

Peter blinked. “…that feels illegal.”

“Everything about this feels illegal,” Sirius snapped.

Remus cut in, quieter, focused. “Ages.”

Sirius nodded once. “We age differently. Slower. Staggered.”

He jerked his chin toward himself. “I’m—by our standards—adult. Properly. Settled phase.”

Then, toward Regulus.

“He’s not.”

Regulus made a soft, sleepy noise in protest, pressing his face further into James’s wrist like he disagreed with the concept entirely.

“He’s about a hundred years younger than me in actual developmental terms,” Sirius went on. “Which is why—” he gestured vaguely upward, “—that.”

“The bat?” James said faintly.

“The baby bat,” Sirius corrected. “That form isn’t… finished. It won’t be for a while.”

Regulus huffed, muffled. “I like it.”

“I know you do,” Sirius muttered.

Peter pointed weakly. “You’re telling me he’s—”

“Yes,” Sirius said. “Don’t think about it too hard, it gets worse.”

Remus frowned slightly. “Abilities?”

Sirius ticked them off with his fingers.

“Shifting, obviously. Enhanced senses. Healing. Fangs—clearly. Strength, speed, all that expected nonsense. And—”

He hesitated.

Then sighed.

“—feeding is… not what people think it is either.”

James, still distracted, murmured, “Feels alright to me—”

“Shut up,” Sirius snapped instantly.

He pushed off the wall, pacing once before continuing.

“Feeding isn’t about survival most of the time. Between vampires—it’s social. Familial. Bonding. That sort of thing.”

Regulus made a soft, pleased hum like he was proving the point.

“And between vampires and non-vampires—” Sirius paused, clearly annoyed he had to say this out loud, “—it’s usually tied to… other instincts.”

Remus tilted his head. “Define ‘other.’”

Sirius made a face.

“…sexual,” he said bluntly. “Or mating-related. Depends. It’s—complicated.”

James blinked.

Then very slowly looked down at Regulus.

“…oh.”

Regulus blinked back at him, equally slow.

“…hi,” he said.

Sirius pointed sharply. “Which is exactly why—”

He cut himself off, eyes narrowing.

“…James.”

James looked up. “Yeah?”

“Stop letting him feed.”

There was a beat.

James glanced down.

Regulus had not stopped.

If anything, he’d settled more comfortably, one hand loosely curled in James’s sleeve, expression soft and distant, completely absorbed.

“…he seems fine,” James said.

“James,” Sirius said, voice flat with warning, “he will forget to stop.”

That landed.

James frowned slightly. “What do you mean—”

“I mean,” Sirius snapped, “he gets carried away. He doesn’t do it on purpose—he just—loses track.”

Regulus made a small, indignant sound against his wrist.

“I don’t—”

“You do,” Sirius cut in. “You always have.”

Remus’s eyes sharpened. “He could seriously hurt someone.”

“Yes,” Sirius said.

Peter squeaked.

James stiffened slightly. “Right—okay—”

“Not maliciously,” Sirius added quickly. “He just—he’s still learning control. He’s not fully grown. His instincts override things sometimes.”

Regulus whined.

Actually whined.

High, soft, annoyed.

James blinked. “Oh—”

“Don’t—” Sirius warned.

But James had already softened again.

“Hey,” he murmured gently, shifting his wrist back just slightly. “C’mon—break time, yeah?”

Regulus made a protesting noise, clinging faintly.

James huffed a quiet laugh. “You’re alright, I promise—”

Very carefully, very gently—

He pulled his wrist away.

Regulus froze.

For a split second, something flickered across his face—confusion, instinct, something sharp—

Then it melted.

He leaned back instead, blinking slowly, lips parted.

“…rude,” he mumbled.

“You’re fine,” James said, still soft.

Regulus huffed again.

Then—

Without thinking—

He leaned forward.

And licked the bite.

Slow.

Deliberate.

James inhaled sharply.

Sirius swore under his breath. “—fuck—”

Regulus pulled back, licking his lip once, satisfied.

“There,” he said.

The marks—

Faded.

Quickly. Smoothly. Like they’d never been there at all.

Remus blinked. “…healed.”

“Saliva,” Sirius said shortly. “It does that.”

James was not listening.

James was staring at Regulus.

Very still.

“…that was—” he started.

Then stopped.

Regulus grinned at him.

All teeth.

All fangs.

“Thanks,” he said lightly.

James smiled back.

Helplessly.

“Oh, you are gone,” Sirius muttered.

“I’m fine,” James said immediately.

“You’re not fine,” Sirius snapped. “You’re—”

He stopped.

Eyes widening slightly.

“…oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Remus frowned. “What.”

Sirius pointed at James. “Vampire bites have—effects.”

James blinked slowly. “Effects.”

“Yes.”

“…define effects.”

Sirius stared at him.

“…aphrodisiac,” he said flatly.

Silence.

Peter made a choking sound.

Remus closed his eyes. “Of course they do.”

James looked between them.

Then at Regulus.

Then back at Sirius.

“…oh,” he said again.

Regulus tilted his head, amused.

“You look funny,” he said.

“I feel funny,” James admitted.

Sirius let his head fall back against the wall with a dull thud.

“I cannot believe I forgot that,” he groaned.

Regulus giggled.

James laughed softly.

And somewhere between chaos and quiet, Sirius Black reconsidered every life choice that had led him to this exact moment.

The shift is immediate.

Subtle at first.

Then—sharp.

James goes very still.

Not frozen—focused.

Something in his expression changes, tilts, settles into something slower, heavier, heat curling low behind his eyes. His mouth pulls into something familiar—his usual confidence—but it’s edged now, dipped in something darker, something hungrier.

“…right,” he murmurs.

Sirius straightens instantly.

“No—”

James doesn’t look at him.

His gaze is on Regulus.

Still close. Still soft. Still open in a way that makes something in Sirius’s chest tighten like a fist.

James reaches up.

Two fingers, gentle but deliberate, sliding under Regulus’s chin, tipping his head up.

Regulus goes with it immediately.

Melts.

A soft sound slips out of him—low, vibrating, content.

A purr.

His lashes flutter, eyes half-lidded again as he leans into the touch without hesitation, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

James watches it happen.

Smirks.

“There you are,” he says quietly.

Sirius’s teeth flash.

“Potter—”

James hums, barely acknowledging him.

“Reckon I’ve got a solution,” he says, voice smooth, almost lazy. “You’ve already started something—might as well see it through, yeah?”

Sirius’s eyes flare red.

“Don’t—”

James tilts his head slightly, thumb brushing along Regulus’s jaw.

Regulus leans into it, nuzzling the contact instinctively, another soft purr slipping from his chest as he presses closer, completely uninterested in anything else happening around them.

James’s smirk deepens.

“I’ll just have him help me with it,” he says.

There’s a beat.

Then—

“I can shag him.”

The air snaps.

Sirius moves before the words have even settled.

A low, vicious growl tears out of him, sharp enough to echo against the stone. His fangs are fully bared now, eyes burning red in the low light, something feral and furious and protective flaring up in a way that makes even Peter stumble back.

“Try it,” Sirius snarls, voice dropping into something dangerous, “and I will rip your throat out.”

James finally looks at him.

Unimpressed.

Flat.

Annoyed.

Regulus, meanwhile—

Is not listening.

At all.

He’s pressing closer into James’s hand, nuzzling again, soft and insistent, chasing the touch like it’s the only thing that matters.

Sirius’s chest heaves once.

“Absolutely not,” he says, voice sharp. “You’re not allowed—”

“Not allowed?” James cuts in, one brow lifting.

“Yes,” Sirius snaps. “He’s—”

He jerks a hand toward Regulus.

“—a child by our standards.”

James’s eyes narrow.

“Excuse me?”

“He’s sixty-eight,” Sirius bites out. “In vampire years, that’s barely anything. He’s not fully grown, he doesn’t have full control, and you are not—”

James exhales sharply through his nose, irritation flashing now.

“Right,” he says, voice going dry. “So we’re doing that, are we?”

Sirius glares. “Yes, we are.”

James lets out a short, humourless laugh.

“Because if we’re going by your logic,” he says, tone cutting now, “then he’s still older than me.”

Sirius falters for half a second.

James doesn’t miss it.

“In human years?” he continues, ticking it off on his fingers. “He’s, what—one year younger than me?”

Sirius’s jaw tightens.

“And if he’s old enough,” James adds, glancing briefly at the still-smoking blunt, “to be doing that, then I think he can make his own decisions, yeah?”

Sirius’s eyes flash again. “That’s not the same—”

“Looks the same to me.”

The words land hard.

Flat.

Final.

James doesn’t wait for a response.

His attention slides back to Regulus like Sirius isn’t even there.

The shift is immediate again—sharp edges softening, voice dropping back into something warm, coaxing.

“Hey,” he murmurs.

Regulus hums.

Leans closer.

James’s fingers tighten slightly at his jaw, guiding his face up again.

“You wanna?” he asks, voice low, almost teasing. “Yeah?”

Regulus blinks up at him.

Slow.

Soft.

Then—

He purrs.

A clear, content, yes threaded through it.

His head tilts into James’s hand, nuzzling again, completely unguarded.

James’s grin turns sharp.

Smug.

“Thought so,” he murmurs.

His thumb brushes along Regulus’s cheek, almost affectionate.

“Good boy.”

Sirius’s growl cuts through the corridor again—low, furious, barely restrained.

And for the first time—