#regulus fic

You jab your own cheeks for emphasis, fingers pressing into the softness just beneath your eyes, and the room erupts into snorts and muffled laughter, your so-called friends delighting in your apparent delusion.

But you know the truth. You have seen them—the delicate crescents that carve themselves into his cheeks when he smiles in that unguarded way, soft and fleeting, like moonlight filtering through darkened leaves. It is a secret you hold close to your heart, something sacred and untouched, for Regulus Black is not supposed to smile like that. Not according to them.

To everyone else, he is sharp lines and cold eyes, distant and unyielding, a boy forged from winter’s breath and brittle starlight. His name drips from their tongues like a warning, a reminder of ancient bloodlines and whispered expectations. But you know better. You have seen the way his eyes soften when you laugh, the way his hands hesitate before touching yours as if afraid he might shatter something precious.

Regulus Black, to you, is soft edges and hidden warmth, tenderness folded into the corners of his smile, something gentle and achingly beautiful beneath the surface. They could not see it, would not believe it, but you did. You always did.

"Darling," James begins, slipping into his most condescending tone as he tilts his glasses down the bridge of his nose to peer at you properly, eyes alight with mischief. "I’ve known Reggie since fourth year, and not once have I ever seen a dimple. Not even a suggestion of one."

He is wrong, you think, pressing your lips together to keep the secret tucked safely in your heart.

They do not know the way Regulus looks at you when no one is watching, how his gaze softens like the edge of dawn, or how his laugh—rare and unbidden—blooms like a flower in the dark. They do not know that Regulus Black, for all his coldness, holds sunlight in his smile, and you are one of the very few who has ever been allowed to see it.

"That’s because you’re not paying attention," you shoot back, arms crossing defensively. "He does this little smile sometimes, it’s soft and kind of lopsided, and there’s this tiny dimple right here—" you poke your cheek again, more insistently, as if the physicality might convince them. "I swear, it’s like magic."

"Or madness," Remus suggests mildly, and Mary dissolves into laughter, her curls shaking as she leans further into him.

"I mean, we’re talking about Regulus Black here, right? My-face-is-carved-from-stone Regulus Black?"

"Maybe it’s just a shadow," Sirius chimes in, inspecting his nails with a grin that teeters on smugness. He hardly even glances up, as if the matter is too trivial for his full attention.

"A trick of the light. Or you’ve been hexed. Definitely hexed. I bet it’s a dimple jinx. You see fake dimples, fall madly in love." His grin widens, eyes glinting with mischief, and the others snicker at the notion.

"I have not been hexed!" you cry, voice pitching higher in your indignation, but your outburst only seems to spur their laughter further.

The sound spills into the room like the crackle of firewood, unrestrained and merry, and you stand at the center of it all, defiant and unyielding. "I’m telling you, I’ve seen them. He has dimples!"

"Right," James nods, his expression shifting to exaggerated seriousness as he claps a hand on your shoulder, eyes sparkling with that brand of Marauder mischief that rarely bodes well.

"And I’m secretly the heir to the Malfoy fortune."

"Stop it." you protest, your hands flying to your hips as if that might root your argument more firmly in truth.

"He has dimples. If you look closely, you’ll see them!"

They laugh again, the sound bubbling up like champagne flutes clinking together, indulgent and disbelieving. But you only hold your ground, chin tilted upward with all the stubbornness of someone who has glimpsed something magical and refuses to let it be reduced to smoke and shadows.

Because you know. You have seen the way Regulus’s face softens when he lets his guard slip, how those tiny, secret dimples blossom at the edges of his smile like something fragile and hidden from the rest of the world. It is not a trick of the light, not some fleeting mirage conjured by wishful thinking.

It is real. He is real. And maybe, just maybe, they have never looked closely enough.

"He does not," Sirius says flatly. "I would know. I’ve seen that miserable mug for seventeen years straight, and not once has it ever hinted at joy. If he’s smiling for you, you might want to check if he’s choking."

"You don’t know everything about him," you snap back, and it’s a bit more pointed than you intended, because Sirius’s expression shifts for the briefest moment, but then he’s back to smirking, one brow arched.

"Oh, I know enough. And I know that my miserable little brother is physically incapable of producing dimples. It would require smiling first. Which is practically illegal for him, by the way. Pretty sure he signed a contract with Death himself."

"He does smile," you argue. "Just... not around you lot."

Mary’s eyes light up at that, and she sits up a little straighter, nudging Remus. "Not around us, huh? Just around you?"

You hesitate, heat creeping up your neck. "Well… yeah. I suppose." At their expressions, you quickly add, "That’s not weird!"

"It’s a little weird," Remus says thoughtfully. "I mean, I’ve never seen him smile like that." He looks to Sirius for confirmation, who just shakes his head.

"Me neither," Sirius agrees. "And if he was going to be grinning like a lovesick idiot, I feel like I’d know. Or maybe you just have some sort of freaky dimple-seeing ability. Is that a thing? Can we get that checked?"

"Maybe he only smiles for her," Mary sing-songs, and you swat at her, cheeks blazing. "What? I’m just saying!"

You cross your arms tighter over your chest, frustration curling hot and sharp beneath your ribs. You know what you saw. It wasn’t magic or shadows or madness. It was Regulus, soft and unguarded in a way that felt almost secret. A piece of him reserved just for you, like a glimpse behind the curtain of a play only you were meant to watch.

But they wouldn’t believe you. They couldn’t. Because to them, Regulus was all sharp edges and cold stares, impenetrable as stone. But to you, he was something else entirely.

You saw the parts he kept hidden—the softness, the ache, the way his eyes would linger when he thought you weren’t looking. The way his fingers brushed yours just a bit too long when he handed you your books, the way he stood a little closer than necessary when you walked side by side. His dimples were proof of it. Proof of the parts of him that were gentle and real and yours.

"I’m not making it up," you murmur stubbornly, softer this time, almost like you’re telling it to yourself.

James leans back, stretching his legs out in front of him. "You know, I almost want you to be right. I’ve never seen Regulus with dimples before. I think it would break my brain."

The room is still shaking with laughter when the portrait door swings open. It is a subtle thing, just the soft groan of hinges and the hush of movement, but you feel it like an echo in your bones. Your gaze snaps up before you can help it, the breath stalling in your lungs as if caught between heartbeats.

There he is, Regulus Black, framed in the doorway like he has stepped out of a painting, shadows and light playing across his features in sharp relief.

He is ice and elegance, his gaze sweeping over the room with cool detachment, the sort of look that makes even Sirius go still. His brother’s grin falters, an instinctual pause as if the air has been sucked from the room.

Regulus’s eyes flicker over them, James’s raised brow, Sirius’s smirk half-frozen in place, Remus’s unbothered calm, but there is nothing there, not even a nod of acknowledgment. His expression is marble-carved, beautiful and unyielding.

But then his gaze finds yours, and it softens, melts like snow beneath the first touch of spring. His eyes brighten, lips twitching at the corners, and suddenly it is like you are the only two people in the room. The change is breathtaking, the kind of transformation that feels like stepping into sunlight after days of rain.

Without thinking, you are already moving, feet carrying you across the room as if pulled by some invisible thread.

"Regulus," you breathe, and the way his name falls from your lips feels like unspooling thread, like the first sigh of spring. His expression softens entirely, something delicate and aching sparking behind his eyes as you practically throw yourself into his arms. He catches you easily, arms winding around your waist, steady and certain, like he has been waiting for you his entire life.

Your hands are in his hair before you realize it, fingertips grazing the base of his neck as you pull back just enough to look at him properly. His smile is still there, still hovering at the edges, and it is soft and real and yours.

"I missed you," you whisper, half a confession, half a prayer, and as soon as the words leave your lips, it happens.

A tiny crease, delicate and almost imperceptible, blooms on his left cheek, like the first hint of dawn breaking over a dark horizon.

A dimple, soft and secret, there and gone in a heartbeat, as if it only exists for you.

"I missed you too, amour," he murmurs, his gaze flicking over your face like he is memorizing it. "You have no idea."

There is a tension in the room, thick and breathless, as if the very walls are leaning in to listen, the crackle of the fire muted under the weight of disbelief.

The Marauders and Mary are watching with wide eyes, suspended between fascination and utter incredulity, as if the scene before them is too tender, too impossibly soft to be real.

Regulus Black—aloof and unyielding, frost-kissed and sharp-edged—is holding you like something sacred, his arms wrapped around you with a gentleness that seems to contradict everything they thought they knew of him. His thumb brushes across your cheek, feather-light and reverent, as though you are made of something finer than bone and breath, something worth protecting.

And then he smiles—just a fraction more—but it is enough.

You do not even realize what you are doing; your body moves before your mind catches up, and you lean up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth, quick and soft and so achingly familiar it feels like slipping into an old memory. He blinks, eyes flickering with surprise, but you do not pull away.

You lean in again, pressing your lips to his other cheek, right where his smile deepens, and it happens—a twin to the first, blooming on the opposite cheek as if coaxed into existence by your touch alone.

A second dimple, tender and unmistakable, carved into his pale skin like it had been waiting there all along, hidden just beneath the surface.

You are not the only one who notices.

Behind you, there is the unmistakable sound of someone choking on their own breath, followed by a very loud, "What the hell?" from James, his voice pitched somewhere between awe and utter disbelief.

Regulus glances up, his gaze catching on James, who is staring as if he has just witnessed stone turn to gold, like magic itself has unfolded right in front of him.

Sirius is uncharacteristically silent, eyes narrowed in something akin to suspicion or maybe even wonder, while James’s jaw is completely unhinged, glasses slipping precariously down the bridge of his nose.

Remus is blinking rapidly, as if trying to clear away a mirage, mouth slightly parted in surprise. And Mary—sweet, sharp-eyed Mary—looks positively gleeful, her grin spreading slow and wicked as she nudges Remus sharply in the ribs, her eyes dancing with triumph.

"I told you," she mouths, lips curving around each word with delight.

Because it is true.

There is no need to look closely, no need to squint or peer beneath shadows—Regulus Black’s dimples are right there, clear as daylight and twice as warm, so stunningly visible that they might as well have been carved out of starlight.

They blossom wide and unguarded, softening the sharp lines of his face, and for a heartbeat, he is not the boy forged from winter’s chill and midnight silence. He is something brighter, something softer, and it is plain to see that with you, he is allowed to be gentle.

"I told you!" you practically crow, turning back to face them while still locked in Regulus’s arms. "I told you he has dimples!"

Sirius remains silent, watching with something like suspicion, but James looks like he has seen a ghost.

James is still staring. "I think I need to sit down."

"You are sitting down," Remus points out.

"I think I need to sit down lower," James clarifies faintly.

But you are not paying attention to them anymore, because Regulus is looking at you with that same impossible smile, both dimples still lingering like promises.

His hand cups your cheek, thumb stroking a gentle line across your skin. "You told them about my dimples?" he asks, voice low and edged with amusement.

You nod, breathless and unashamed. "I did. And they did not believe me."

His smile softens, stretching wider, and both dimples deepen like secret doorways to some hidden softness that only you are allowed to see.

He leans in, the space between you shrinking until his breath mingles with yours, and his voice drops to a low, velvety murmur meant only for you.

"You really should not spend so much time with Gryffindors," he whispers, his tone laced with quiet disdain that is more habit than heart, though his gaze remains warm and unyielding, crafted entirely for you. "I think they are starting to rub off on you." His eyes glimmer with amusement, but there is something else there too, something tender that settles in the quiet curve of his smile.

Your laughter spills out, bright and unrestrained, like the first crack of sunlight through winter clouds, and before you know it, your hands are tugging him closer, closing whatever space remains.

In that moment, it is just you and him, suspended in the fragile stillness that belongs only to the two of you, where the rest of the world feels distant and unimportant, something to be dealt with later.

For now, there is only this: his smile, his dimples carved like promises into his cheeks, and the gentle, unwavering warmth of his arms around you, holding you close as if he is terrified of letting go, as if this is a vow whispered into the spaces between heartbeats.

The truth is, Sirius had always known that Regulus had dimples.

He had known for years, had seen the faint creases carve themselves into his brother’s cheeks on the rarest of occasions, like fleeting whispers of a softer world beneath the ice.

But the thing is, those dimples only ever appeared when Regulus was around you, when your laughter spilled into the room like sunlight or when your name slipped from his mouth with that unguarded tenderness that seemed to unravel something deep and hidden in him.

Love is a funny thing.

Fickle and fleeting and conditional in Regulus’ opinion. He never held out for the fantasy, the make-believe kind of love that people spoke about, that poets wrote about, that singers sung about.

It all seemed silly—illogical, unrealistic.

And Regulus was never one to indulge in such pointless notions, he was smarter than that—and he certainly wasn’t holding his breath for someone to swoop in and miraculously change his life.

It was something that Regulus lived by, something he was proud of—he lead with his head not his heart and he would never be fooled by the grandure illusion of love, something so impulsive, unpredictable, volatile.

He was convinced—there was nothing in this world that could change his mind, it was an incontestible fact.

Regulus Black was never going to fall in love. Didn’t believe in it. Couldn’t fathom it.

And to his misfortune, that all came crashing down when he met you.

Gods, he didn’t think himself so disloyal to the beliefs he’d always had, the beliefs that carried comfortably all these years. And worst of all, you had no idea what affect you had on him.

Completely and utterly oblivious to the humungous spanner you threw into Regulus’ life.

Quite frankly, he didn’t know why he was so drawn to you. Maybe it was the way your expression was almost always serene, calmed like still water—reading a room like your knew every thought in it, or the way your voice was always so soft and hypnotic, captivating—having him hang on each syllable.

Or maybe it was how your eyes would light up during Divination or Charms classes, smiling to yourself when you had small break-throughs, or shaking your friends hand in excitement when their charm was successful.

Maybe it was how your lips twitched up before you made a sarcastic remark, or the way every time you spoke to him, he felt himself helplessly leaning to catch the way your eyes glimmered under the low light of the candles, unravelling under your sharp gaze and slow casual touches.

It didn’t really matter what it was, because he was shamefully putty in your hands—without you even trying. So when you accepted his rather poor, emotionally constipated advances—taking the title of his girlfriend, he couldn’t have been more relieved. Finally able to relax into your presence, let you settle the unrest that always thumped deep in his bones—knowing he’s yours and you are his.

Knowing you accepted him, judgement free—a constant anchor.

You were everything to him.

Perfect.

Kind, understanding, patient, had a sharp mouth and an ever sharper mind, fitting into Regulus’ life like the missing puzzle piece. It was shocking—unbelievable.

Too good to be true.

And that’s why things started to crumble.

Regulus was getting hung up on things he shouldn’t have. The minuscule, letting the invasive creeping thoughts control him, making him question everything. The more time you spent together, the more you melted and integrated yourself into his daily life—the more his mood, his day, his week started to depend on you, the more unstable Regulus got in his alone time.

Mind betraying him.

Forcing him to spiral endlessly—for weeks and weeks he would let it fester. Over analysing the way you instinctively just knew what he needed, had something ready to make him feel better—more himself, or how everything began to weigh on your presence. Or how you too easily broke down his walls.

The walls he spent so many years building. They were tall, so unthinkably tall and thick and thorned—but somehow, against all odds, you charted them. Like it wasn’t an insermisable task, like it didn’t endanger your own heart, and put everything Regulus believed in jeporady.

Because they were there for a specific purpose, to protect him—to keep him from getting hurt, to keep him from caring.

It was too much—too dangerous, getting too real, too unfamiliar, too impossible.

That’s what Regulus concluded on, whatever this was that he was feeling—the way he wanted to resign his soul into your open arms—it was wrong.

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

He shouldn’t be letting it happen, he was being weak—he was raised better than this. He knew better than this, than to be naiive and allow himself to get so dependant on someone else, when it had been drilled into him that he had no-one.

He was a Black, and that meant in the life, the only person he could count on was himself—it meant that he didn’t need anyone, couldn’t trust anyone.

His parents were right, everyone did eventually leave—it was only a matter of time.

A when, or why, or how—he just needed to wait, because it wasn’t real—you didn’t love him.

He didn’t believe in love, he didn’t even know what it meant. So how? How could he experience it, giving it back—accept it?

It started with the whiplash.

Regulus had suddenly regressed, closing himself off, pulling away from you one day and then the next being warmer—forgetting himself, allowing himself to bask in you like you were his own personal sunlight, pushing away the thoughts that stormed his mind.

But it never lasted long, the relief was not his, that feeling of peace didn’t belong to him.

Because all it took was a moment of solace, a sleepless night alone with his thoughts to go back to square one—and each day, each time he stepped back into you light and let himself thaw—it chipped away at him. And he became less and less free each time, more and more reserved.

Moments when you could see him—truly see him, becoming few and far between.

And you couldn’t do anything, couldn’t get closer without him withdrawing, couldn’t drag him out when he blocked out you out from all sides.

You just grinned and bared it, letting your loyalty, your devotion, your love for him push away the way your gut would wrench every time he gave you the cold shoulder. Ignore the way your eyes would burn when he began to sit further and further away from you.

Always so understanding of him, always making excuses, looking for a different way to look at the mistreatment—and it only made him more suspicious, more confused, more detatched.

It didn’t make sense, how you were still able to love him so earnestly, treat him so kindly—look at him with those same eyes that had his pulse skipping, brimming with warmth and patience when he’d been nothing cruel to you at this point.

For months.

An endless back and forth between giving you a slither of him and then recoiling away—cyclic and unforgiving in the way he’d lean into your touch, grant you a small peace of affection in the form of minimal touches, allowing you to rest your weight on him, letting you into his space, sitting on his bed like you used to. Before taking it all back, tearing himself away from you the second your skin made contact, like you’d burn him—saying your name with a scowl and venom on his tongue in a way that you couldn’t understand.

He once bared his mind, his soul to you so willingly and now you were hanging onto threads—grasping at whisps and tendrils of what you had before—getting crumbs and calling it dinner.

You stopped asking, what was wrong—stopped pressuring him, just stayed. Anchored, stubborn and unwavering in the way you stood by him. He didn’t deserve it, your friends told you—he told you.

When you’d knock on the door to his room, waiting to hear a low come in, from the other side—and today you’d bought him a small potion to help relieve the ache in his spine he didn’t even tell you about. You could just tell—could see the hunch in his back, the strain building in his neck as he kept every muscle in his body taut at all times—you didn’t just come with that. No, you also came with chocolate frogs and a butterbeer in a flask you’d charmed to keep warm.

Simple, yet thoughtful and he couldn’t find it in himself to push your touch away when you inched your way closer to him. Frown forming at the corner of his mouth as you handed him the small sack of goods with a light smile—it was hesitant, didn’t reach your eyes like it used too—didn’t glimmer in the way that it had before you met him.

Before he’d brought you into his shadows, tainted—infected you with the gloom that lived beneath his skin.

He’d done it all: bottled it up, pushed it down, pushed you away—and you still kept coming back to him, with that same sweet affection he didn’t deserve. And he knew why, knew what you’d say.

Didn’t believe it—but he knew.

That you ‘loved’ him, understood him, good days and bad days—bad weeks—included. Loved him so relentlessly, so unconditionally, so fearlessly that it made his heart revolt. The concept alone—the meer notion of it sickening and terrifying and all-consuming.

It couldn’t be real. Love like that doesn’t exist, at least not for someone **like him—someone who is broken, someone so cold and heartless, someone who breaks. This Regulus knew, this he was sure of.

He also knew you wouldn’t leave, wouldn’t prove him right—wouldn’t end it.

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

So he did what he did best.

Rejected it.

Rejected you.

Rejected everything.

Like a switch had flipped in his brain during one of his countless sleepless nights. He’d decided he couldn’t do it anymore, couldn’t handle it. Completely cracking under the pressure of your seemingly bountiless patience and love for him—he needed to get away from it.

From you.

He just didn’t understand, wouldn’t allow himself to understand that you didn’t need to justify your love for him, didn’t have a singular quantifying reason for why you never gave up on him, never ran away from his foul attitudes, never looked for someone better, someone more deserving of you.

Because even now, you were still fighting him—pushing and pushing and pressuring him to answer you, to tell you why.

Why now?

Why was he running?

Your voice split through the long, haunting silence that surrounded you both. Regulus could feel the way your gaze tunneled into him—but he couldn’t look up, couldn’t tear his sights from the stone beside his foot. The completely unimportant grey slab seemingly a thousand times more interesting than facing you.

“What?” It left you breathy, huffed out on an exhale like you’d misheard him.

He stood infront of you almost like it were any other day, just stiffer—face stony and emotionless as he spoke again. “I don’t want to do this anymore.”

Its like his words were of a foreign language, taking extra time to compute his them with confusion smeared across your face, brows knitting higher, spine straightening as you angled your entire body towards him.

“What do you mean?” They were more hesitant this time, quieter.

You still didn’t get it.

Regulus sighed slightly, shoulders raising just barely as he released the breath through his nose, lips pursing into a thin line while he swallowed—”I…I don’t want to…be together anymore, with you. I want to break up.”

For a moment, you waited—waited for him to say something, anything else. Waited for him to continue—say it was a lie, some sick, twisted joke, waited for him to take it back. But you were only met with that same expression, that same god-awful, closed off look on his face you’d become accustom to.

And silence.

More sickening, bone-crushing silence.

He didn’t take it back, he meant it.

And now you were sitting there, frozen. Blood all but curdling in your veins, lungs squeezing in your chest as you looked at him. The lack of movement, lack of response to his words unsettled Regulus, brain suddenly itching to fill the quietness that he’d left for you.

“It’s for the best.”

He spoke so solemnly, like it was already set in stone—final—like he’d already picked out the headstone and set down flowers. Like he was the only one in the relationship, like he was the only one this affected.

The space around you felt colder, larger—like you couldn’t be further away from Regulus if you tried, despite him being just an arms length away.

“Why?”

His stomach churned at the sound of your voice, finally lifting his gaze from the ground to meet yours—and what was worse?

You didn’t even look angry, you just stared at him, expression unreadable—like that face wasn’t yours. Because Regulus knew your face, each dip and curve and wrinkle like the back of his hand—but still he’d never seen it like this.

He couldn’t even begin to describe how you looked at him, how it made his skin burn—how he wanted to crawl out of himself knowing he caused it.

He didn’t even have an answer for your question, didn’t understand why you’d even asked, simply saying, “It just is.”

But that wasn’t enough, that’s not what you asked.

“No.” Regulus was struggling to hold you gaze now, watching your eyes gloss slightly and brows twitch faintly in their place. And yet, your voice was eerily levelled. “Break up—why do you want to break up?”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, wracking his brain for something—lies he couldn’t bring himself to say, words that were used simply to evade the truth.

“This isn’t what I want anymo—”

You cut him off before he could finish, “Don’t lie to me, Regulus.”

HIs lips pursed, swallowing the end of his sentence, he took a deep breath, let his lungs fill with air—shoulders rising and falling as they expanded to feul his words—doing exactly what you’d told him not to. Eyes flicking past you, to the wall, the bookshelf, the window—anywhere but your face.

“We’ve…we’ve grown apart.” It came out clipped, like a rehearsed line he barely believed. “It’s not the same anymore.”

You didn’t even blink. “That’s not true.”

Regulus flinched, and it was so slight anyone else would’ve missed it—but you didn’t. You never missed anything when it came to him. He felt his jaw clench, spewing out another cheap excuse. “We’re not working—we don’t work.”

Anything to avoid the truth.

“Say what you mean,” you still pressed, voice still painfully calm. “Don’t hide behind clichés.”

He took a step back, jaw tightening. “I’m not hiding—Merlin, can you just—” He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair, fingers tugging hard like the pain would tether him to something real.

“Can you just let me go?” His voice was rising now, cracking at the edges.

The response was almost instant, reflex, too honest—too much for Regulus. “I don’t want to.” He stared at you, stunned into silence. And then, like something snapped behind his eyes, like all the pressure became too much to bear, he said it.

Said another lie—his worst—voiced the opposite of everything he’d ever felt, of everything that was screaming in his body—denying what was so desperate to crawl out of his bones and be seen.

“I don’t love you.”

The words hit the floor between you like a dropped blade. The room seemed to lurch with them.

Your head tilted slightly, like you hadn’t heard him right. “Regulus, don’t—” you began softly.

He took a step back, eyes wide, voice louder now—firmer. “I don’t love you—I never did. I don’t want this.”

It was a lie so cruel, so blistering, it stung even him as it left his mouth. But he couldn’t stop—not now. Couldn’t turn around, not when he’d already thrown the match, not when he needed to cement the end—escape this, free you.

You just stood there, face slowly draining of anything warm or soft—anything you. Like you were being carved out by his words.

And you were still, completely and utterly still.

Too still.

Your expression didn’t twist or crumple or break—it just…emptied. A blank slate, stripped. And the voice that rung in his ears was distant when it finally came, hollowed out and not quite yours. “Is that it?”

He hated it. Hated that tone. Hated the way your body hadn’t moved, how your shoulders were still, how you were barely breathing, hated the way your eyes had gone flat like something behind them had shut down. But he’d already come this far. He couldn’t crawl back now.

“This is what you wanted, right?” he said, voice trembling despite himself. “You didn’t want me to lie, so here it is. The truth.”

His words swimming along the surface of every crevice of your mind, playing over and over—each repeat louder and less forgiving than the last as they sunk in.

You blinked slowly, like it took effort to keep your eyes open. And the way you echoed them, it had his stomach churning, “You don’t…want me.”

Regulus hesitated—just for a second. Then he nodded, curling his trembling hand into a tight fist—fighting every urge in his body as he pushed this words out.

“I don’t want you anymore.”

And there it was.

The final blow.

Your shoulders didn’t drop. You didn’t stagger. But something in you recoiled, like a thread had finally snapped. Like something had fallen—collapse inside you, and you just stared at the stone floor like it knew the answer, like they would fix this.

“…That changes things,” it was more breath than words when you spoke, voice so quiet he almost missed it—even in the silence of the room.

You didn’t say anything else. Didn’t look at him.

Already somewhere else.

Regulus stood frozen for a moment, throat closing in on itself, nails digging into his palms like he could anchor himself to this—this version of events, this lie he’d chosen. Then he turned, slowly, and took a step back. And another. Like each step might hurt less than the last.

But it didn’t.

He couldn’t bear the sight of you anymore—still as glass, hollowed out and barely breathing—so he left.

Left you there—barely there.

The door shut behind him with a soft click.

It should have slammed, he thought. Something should have shattered. His feet moved without permission—down the corridor—carrying him through the castle, through each dimly lit stairwell —but his mind was back in that room. Still facing you. Still staring into those eyes, emptied of everything except the echo of what he’d said.

“I don’t want you anymore.”

The words clung to the walls of his skull like damp smoke. Lingering. Poisonous. He’d made it as far as the staircase to the dormitory before his hand gripped the banister too tightly, knuckles white with strain. His lungs were working overtime, dragging in air that felt too thin to fuel him, too think to drink in.

He leaned forward, pressing his forehead into the cold stone, trying—begging—his body to stay still. To stop shaking, to stop feeling like he was going to be sick.

He had done the right thing—that’s what he kept telling himself—he had done the right thing.

Hadn’t he?

You’d looked at him like a stranger. Not angry. Not crying. Just…gone. Like something inside you had been extinguished, like he had reached inside and snuffed it out with his bare hands.

Regulus exhaled shakily, jaw clenched so hard sharp pangs shot up the sides of his skull. He hated this silence, and how it followed him like a curse—haunting the stairwell to his room, ringing in his ears.

It was done. It had to be done.

That’s what he told himself as he descended the steps, a ghost of himself already, walking through the hallway—making it halfway down before he stopped, hand catching the wall like the weight of the lie had finally caught up to him.

“I don’t love you.”

His own voice. His own words. Playing over and over again like a cruel spell.

His lie. A necessary one.

He squeezed his eyes shut, chest tight, suffocating so. His body felt like it was tearing itself apart from the inside. All that control—his carefully practiced composure—was splintering now, cracking open beneath the weight of everything he hadn’t said.

It wasn’t meant for it to go like that. He hadn’t meant to hurt you. He’d only wanted to—

He didn’t even know what he’d wanted from saying that, from being so cruel, so harsh to you.

It was too late.

And you hadn’t cried.

That’s what scared him most. If you’d screamed, shouted, sobbed—he could have lived with that. Could have taken the pain you gave back to him and carried it like penance. But the stillness? The empty way you stared at the ground, how you wouldn’t look at him—silent in your surrender.

It haunted him.

Because he’d seen it before. In the mirror. In his brother’s eyes. In all the places love had gone to die. And now it lived in you.

Because of him.

He made it to the dorm room, collapsed onto the curtained bed like the weight of it all had finally won, hands were trembling in his lap—didn’t try to stop them anymore. Regulus just sat there, breath ragged, heart barely beating, watching the dust float in the late afternoon light like ash in the aftermath of a fire.

He thought he might be sick—he got what he wanted. He was completely alone.

────୨ৎ────

It was a nasty, grueling few weeks.

Regulus counted every single second, every moment since he left your room up until now—when he stood in front of it again.

8929 minutes.

148 hours.

43 days.

43 sunrises, and sunsets.

43 sleepless nights without you—spent tossing and turning, eyes wide in the dark, mind screaming with images of you he couldn’t unsee. The way your breath fogged in the air outside the castle, the way your presence had dimmed, barely there—the way you hadn’t looked at him.

That was the worst of it, maybe.

You didn’t look at him anymore.

Not like he was Regulus—not like he was anything.

He’d known silence before, well. And yet, the silence that you brought was so much worse, so much louder—deafening, aching. It rang in his ears constantly now, crawled down his throat and settled in his chest.

Not even the Dreamless Sleep potion from Madam Pomfrey could smother it. Not entirely. Not when he took it night after night and still found himself wide awake at three a.m, sweat on his brow and your name bleeding into the pillowcase.

He still went to class, somehow. Still turned up in uniform with ink-stained hands and perfectly prepared scrolls. But no one missed the way he stared blankly at the blackboard, quill frozen mid-sentence, or the way he hovered after lessons, like he didn’t quite know where to go anymore.

He hadn’t seen you in Potions for over a week, he’d overheard someone whisper that you’d missed Transfiguration too.

And when he did see you—it wasn’t you.

This version of you that walked around, was different, cracked down the middle, moving through the corridors like smoke, like a thought half-finished. Sitting at the end of the long table sometimes, always too far away, always picking at the food you rarely ate. Your friend leaning close, whispering softly, trying to get you to take a bite. You didn’t.

All but disappearing in front of everyone and no one seemed to do anything.

Regulus tried to convince himself he was different. He had done something. He’d protected you—from him. From what it meant to love someone like him.

But that didn’t stop the way his stomach twisted when he saw you shivering beneath the oak tree. The one you used to share. The one he’d kissed you under. The one you called ours.

The sky was a dull, iron grey—flat and heavy with the weight of another bitter day. Winter hadn’t even reached its full height, but the air cut deeper now, sharper, crueler.

You were curled up into yourself, and he hadn’t meant to walk toward you. Hadn’t decided anything.

His body just moved.

By the time he registered what he was doing, Regulus was already halfway down the hill. His legs moved faster than he meant, wind biting at his cheeks, breath catching in his lungs as he neared. Closer now—he could see you clearer. How your shoulders trembled, how your robes were no match for the wind. How your lips were cracked from the cold, cheeks pressed firmly into your knees. And still, you didn't move.

He stopped a few feet away, panting softly, chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. You didn’t look at him, acknowledge him at all, gaze stuck on the fields.

It sent a flicker of panic through him.

He hadn’t been this close to you in weeks. And now, standing here, he couldn’t find the words. He watched, swallowed hard, waited for you to notice him—but you didn’t—your eyes stayed still, didn’t even twitch, unblinking.

So he tried—quietly.

“…Y/N?”

Nothing.

Softer now, like a secret he didn’t deserve to say. “Y/N… ”

Still, nothing.

Regulus’ brows drew together, heart twisting painfully in his chest—its like you weren’t in your body anymorew, voice cracking as he said your name again, barely a whisper. He reached out then. Hesitant fingers brushing your shoulder—light and unsure. His hand hovered, then gently rubbed—wincing at the way the cold had seeped into you, coaxing a reaction he wasn't entirely sure would come.

Your name still heavy on his lips when finally—a shift.

Raising your head slowly, as though it weighed more than it used to, your skin was less vibrant that before, bags settling under your eyes—cheeks lined faintly with the texture of your robes. When your eyes met his, he nearly stepped back.

They were empty, hollow in a way that made his stomach churn, sucking in a quiet breath, his lips parting.

But your gaze didn’t last on him for long, you looked away—cheek back to your knees. Eyes back to the field. Turning from him as though he wasn’t there at all. His hand lingered above you, suspended, still colder from the contact, unsure what to do. “How long have you been out here?” he asked gently.

Silence.

He let his hand drop down to yours, fingers brushing against knuckles frozen stiff and tremouring slightly beneath your grip. He flinched at the cold. “Gods, you’re freezing,” he breathed.

No coat. No jumper. Just your thin uniform and your stillness.

“Come inside,” he said, voice soft. “It’s too cold out here.”

Still nothing.

The wind picked up, hair whipping against your face. Regulus reached out again, carefully brushing the strands away. His touch was far too warm, too gentle. It made your body remember how cold it was, suddenly harder to ignore than before.

He tried again. “You’re shaking, Y/N. Come inside. The sun’s setting now.” Grimacing as another harsh gust of wind pushed through you both.

Your shoulders tensed, head lifting slightly, lips pursed, eyes somewhere far away. He was desperate now.

“…Please, love.”

He didn’t mean to say it, he shouldn’t have—but the word slipped out uninvited, naked and aching and wrong. And you stiffened beneath it, flinched even—and slowly, with effort, your force yourself to a stand. Legs trembling beneath you, too long in the cold, and you stumbled on the incline. Regulus caught you before you could fall, arm slipping instinctively around your waist.

But you recoiled from it, shrugging off his touch, taking cautious steps forward, arms crossed tightly against your chest—robes filling with another harsh whip of wind.

He followed behind, guilt burning beneath his ribs.

You made it to the stone arch, pausing with one hand braced against the column. Eyes squeezing shut, lips parted with shallow breaths as you fought off the dizzying headrush.

Regulus was beside you in an instant, too close, voice breaking with an unfair tone of concern. “Are you okay?”

You forced your head up slowly, and his hand was gentle on your back without thinking. But the moment he touched you, you recoiled—again, not once looking at him as you straightened and though you didn’t face him, he could see the deep frown etched onto your lips.

“Don’t touch me,” voice was quiet but cold as you hissed.

He froze, hand falling away from you like he’d burnt you.

You shifted forward slightly, eyes still distant, brows pinched as your forced in more air to your lungs, face still lacking its usual colour, voice dry and cold and cracked by the wind.

“I—sorr—” he stammered out, but his apology didn’t matter.

Becasue you weren’t there anymore—gone—lost to the passing tide of students, fading back into the castle like mist through stone.

────୨ৎ────

The common room was near silent, save for the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock and the low crackle of dying embers in the fireplace. It was well past two in the morning, yet sleep continued to evade you—as it had for days.

Sitting curled up at the base of the sofa, knees tucked tight to your chest, arms wrapped around your shins in a grip that made your wrists burn. The cold stone floor beneath you seeped into your bones, but it was easier to endure than your bed upstairs, tossing and turning fruitlessly—each time your closed your eyes, images flashing cruelly behind your lids. Couldn’t stay cooped up in your room where silence echoed too loudly and the memories stung sharper.

Your eyes were dry, unfocused as they stared through the firelight—each blink feeling harder than the last, body unmoving save for the subtle tremble in your hands. Unsure when you'd last slept. Or felt like a person.

Then—soft footsteps outside the common room door.

They didn’t stop. They paced. Back and forth. Four, five times—then silence. You didn't move, but your heart thudded once, hard. The door creaked open slowly, hesitantly accompanied with a whine from the hinges. And there he was.

Regulus.

He looked like a ghost of himself. Hair was disheveled, eyes red-rimmed, pale skin slick with sweat as if he’d just woken from a nightmare—or run from one. His shirt clung to him awkwardly, his robe unfastened and dragging along the ground.

He stopped short when he saw you.

You didn’t move. Didn’t even blink.

And yet the tension snapped taut like wire between you. Your breath caught as he stepped inside and let the portrait door close behind him with a quiet click. He stood still for a beat—like a trapped thing, staring at you like you were his captor and he couldn’t run even if he wanted.

Forcibly pressing his hands together before he ran one through his curls. Scratched nervously at the inside of his wrist. He didn’t look at you until his somehow brought him near the hearth, firelight catching in his eyes like shards of glass.

And he so desperately to be comforted by you, your presence—he had been looking for you—even if he didn’t know it, unconsiously seeking you out, but the way you looked. Eyes sunked in, skin dull, frown etched onto your lips—aimlessly staring into the fire. Though, he couldn’t be sure if he’d cause the frown or it was just permanently smeared across your lips—he hoped for neither.

Despite it all, all he could think about was how he couldn’t physically withstand being further away from you, how his soul was aching to be closer—to reach out and touch you, to make sure you were real—not one of his twisted nightmares that gave him false comfort before morphing into a sight that makes the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

Right now it felt torturous to be so far from you, and he was struggling to handle it—the fact that he was so weak, seeking you out in desperation. It starts with a small slip, a meer whisper—but you heard it, a quiet i miss you, slipping into the air between you. You do nothing, still sit there still—as though you’d been petrified in place—not looking at him, not acknowledging his words.

A small part of you hoping that maybe he’d just disappear again, put you out of your misery.

But no, the Gods were not kind enough to grant you a moment of peace, a second of solitude.

You hear it again, and you know Regulus won’t let it go—he voice cracking at the end despite being barely above a whispered tone, “…Miss you so so much,” The fabric of the sofa shifts as his back presses against it—settling onto the cold stone beside you.

Body angled entirely towards you.

All you could do was shake your head, push away what you’d heard, swallowing the lump in your throat as you make a move to get up—get away—because as much as you can’t sleep, can’t handle being between the four pillars of your bed.

This?

This was so much worse.

But he latches onto your wrist, almost pleading with you to just look at him, and it almost makes you break—the way desperation seeped into his tone, like he was asking for a slither of mercy from you.

Your other hand twitched at your side, tempted to tear his hand off of you—release yourself and run, but it was the way he looked at you, the way he wordlessly pleaded with his fingers trembling around your wrist, resisting the urge to pull you closer to him. You were still for a moment, brows knit high on your forehead as you looked at him—really looked at him, for the first time in weeks.

He was hanging onto you with everything he had, couldn’t bring himself to let go of you—just whispering you name, throat bobbing as he swallowed, saying it again—breathy on the exhale.

“…Y/N,”

This wasn’t Regulus, he looked like a broken man, a shell of himself—he looked tired. So so tired—the exhaustion evident not just in his face, but in his eyes in the way he helplessly stared at you. Forcing your gaze away.

And before Regulus could stop himself, before he could find it in himself to regret, or feel shame for how utterly pathetic he probably sounded, the words were already hanging between you—floating along the air warmed by the heat of the fire.

“Please stay—please don’t make me let go,”

Your throat all but closed up, drying in an instance as you resigned yourself to your fate silently.

Too tired to fight.

Because even though you knew why he was here, knew why he was doing this—he had no one else, he wasn’t doing this because he loves you, not because he wants you. It was still Regulus, and he still had a hold on you that you could never fight, never push away.

Pursing your lips together, after a short time sitting together in silence—a silence that was heavy and burning and unforgiving—you finally spoke. Deciding to bite the bullet after debating with yourself, because, for all his pride—why was he here now?

Saying softly, “Why are you here?”

Regulus noticed how you didn’t say his name, and it erked him—how much he missed the way it sounded on your lips, in your voice and his voice is hoarse, scratching its way out of his throat.

“Because I miss you,”

You hadn’t look at him since you sat back down, eyes trained on the fire—instantly shaking your head in denial, swallowing the sigh that built in your throat whispering back after a few beats,

“No, you don’t.”

So matter-of-fact, like you already knew, like there was no possibility of you being wrong.

And Regulus didn’t even let words settle into the air before he argued—voice too gentle, almost honest—almost like he meant it. “I do, Y/N—Gods, I really do.” He’s not just looking at you, he staring—boring a tunnel into the side of your skull, as if to make his words more earnest, more believable as he continued, like it was a confession.

“I can’t think about anything else. All I dream of is you. And it won’t stop. You’re everywhere.”

You stayed quiet, throat tight. His words burrowed under your skin, unwanted, unfair. Because he was the one who ended things. Who ran, who doesn’t want you, doesn’t love you.

Now there was no way you could look at him, acknowledge the way his touch still made the surface of your skin burn. Couldn’t bare to look at him when his words all but split you open, rubbing salt in a would that was still too fresh, still bleeding—aching and spiltering while he played whatever this was, this game of push and pull.

There was a short silence, as the words sunk into your skin—and your voice was so tired when it reach his ears, almost fed up as your sentence punched through him, bitterness seeping into your frown,

“You don’t get to say things like that to me anymore,”

It was true, he didn’t—he shouldn’t. Shouldn’t force to you sit with him.

And as much as you words made his throat dry, at the end of the day, Regulus is selfish—and so stupidly, obliviously, carelessly in love with you he can’t bring himself to care—not anymore.

“Will you look at me?” You heard him, loud and clear in your ear, eyes still burning into your profile. But you didn’t look at him, couldn’t—almost angled your body away from him. Letting your gaze continue their endless bore into the ambers of the fire.

But he spoke again, in his voice—in that tone. That breaking, pleading edge that undid you every time, that would continue to do so.

“Please, Y/N,”

His fingers just barely tightening against your skin when you finally—finally—met his eyes. And Regulus had to actively fight against every single cell in his body not to lean into you. He knew he was being unfair to you, cruel even but it was only now dawning on him the extent to which he needed you, Desperately. Like he would simple perish if you hadn’t look at him, like every moment out of your sights was torturous.

And he didn’t say anything, just look at you—and with that same frown that made is chest ache, that same frown that had been on your lips for weeks, you asked, voice low and trembling, “Why are you doing this?”

But he didn’t answer. Didn’t know how. All but ignoring your words, his mind splintering under the pressure of how he feels, how he can’t ignore it anymore, how he can’t pass it off as anthing but what it actually is—your presence the only thing tethering him to anything real.

Instead he asked, brokenly, “Can you say my name?” All you wanted to do was look away. Wanted to stop feeling like you’d fall apart just from the weight of his gaze.

“…Please. Say it like you used to.”

He was looking at you like you were all he needed like, like you would save him, like you were all that tethered him to the room, to the earth—and every nerve in your brain was telling you to run, because look at what happened last time you gave in. But it was impossible—Regulus drew you in in a way you’d never be able to fight off.

It was barely a whisper, faintly pushed out on what felt like would be your last breath—surrending yourself to whatever will damn you as you let his name leave your lips, “Regulus.” Even just that light, faded whisper was enought to have him crumbling.

Because it was the first time you'd sounded like you in weeks, because it was his name on your lips, because it was you and he was already barely holding on, already so so weak.

Leaning into you unconsciously, eyes glued to yours and your breathing stuttered. If there had been any other sound that the fire cracking and your own breath you would have missed it, the vague, low whisper of his voice as his hands inched up your wrist—ghostly.

Almost like he was talking to himself, “Gods, I'm a coward—a liar,” he murmured, voice clawing its way out of his throat. “I lied—”

But you cut him off with a quiet plead, trying to stop him from saying something he doesn’t mean, to stop him from saying something that would break you, “Regulus, don't—”

But he couldn’t stop.

“I love you,” he said. Again. Again. Over and over like it was the only truth that had ever mattered, like a mantra that might save him from the damnation of not having you. “I love you so, so much. Too much.” He was breathless, like words spilling out like he’d never had any other thought in his brain.

“I can’t ignore it anymore. I can’t go on like I don’t breathe just for you. I’m sorry I ran. I’m sorry I lied.”

You were already shaking you head, even as he closed the space between you, even as your could feel his breath fanning over you—his hands trailing up into a delicate hold on your face, because you should’ve stopped him.

Should’ve pushed him away—set a boundary.

But you didn’t.

Couldn’t—couldn't fight the desire to relish in the warmth of his touch, in the press of his forehead against yours. His eyes were darting across you face, searching yours for the contempt he so rightfully deserved, but as always—there was none.

And though they were tired, sleepless eyes, they still look at him in a way that made his heart race, that made him aware of every cell in his bones, made him feel like he was drowing and floating all at once.

Regulus silenced himself with a tentative kiss to your lips—hoping, praying you wouldn't pull away, wouldn't let him break in your arms when he finally had a moment of peace, a moment of you after so long.

It was a desperate and yearning kiss, dizzying as , pulling you in closer as if he were trying to live under your skin, barely breaking away to whisper over and over, ‘I love you—I’m sorry.’ Hands cradling your face with such a painfully gentle, reverent touch as you pulled apart, breathless—but he didn't go far, pressing his forehead into yours again, internally fighting the urge to push his lips back into yours.

Just whispering endless apologies, “I’m sorry I hurt you—let my fear ruin us, m’sorry,” but you stopped him, shaking your head to silence him. You didn’t want to think about it right now—it would be too much, too taxing.

Simply bringing him to a standing with you and lying on the sofa you’d been leaning on, murmurming a small not now, under your breath. It was cramped, a tight-fit, practically on top of each other—but it didn't matter, you didn’t mind.

If anything regulus was thankful for the contact, for the skin-on-skin. Letting the unrest in his bones dissipate slowly as you rested your head in his neck, finger tangled into the curls at the nape of his neck, cardind through and twirling your fingers in them—his own hands restless against your skin, roaming gently—palming at you with shaky hands.

Like you weren’t real—as if making sure you wouldn’t suddenly dematerialise against him.

Sighing into your touches as he finally felt the quiet lulling call of sleep, for the first time in weeks. Because it he had you, because he was with you—his salvation, his love. And as much as he knew you had a lot to talk about, it could wait—there was always tomorrow.

He didn't care that he didn't deserve you, not right now—not when he had you in his arms, warming his skin.

There was a dark side to Regulus. A side that you took great delight in awakening. Tonight, you were more determined than ever to push your boyfriend to his limits. 

It was a typical Friday night. You and Regulus were at his dorm for your weekly study date. Except you really weren’t in the mood to study. You were laying on your stomach on his bed, absentmindedly flipping through the potions manual in front of you. The assignment was to translate the text from French, but you hardly had more than a few sentences transcribed on your parchment. You were much too distracted at the moment. 

While the manual failed to capture your attention, Regulus did not. Your boyfriend was sitting across the room reading some obscure tome about dark magic. He leaned over the wooden desk, the sleeves of his shirt rolled just past his elbows, which gave you the perfect view of the veins on his forearms. His green and silver tie hung loosely around his neck, exposing the perfectly kissable column of his throat. 

Unaware of your ogling, Regulus twirled his wand between his fingers as his features pinched in concentration. Those angelic curls grazed his impossibly high cheekbones, drawing your attention to the smattering of freckles across his nose. As he read, Regulus mouthed the words silently, his lips curving around the vowels in the most delicious way. His green eyes burned intensely, illuminated by the warm glow of the lantern beside him. 

Abandoning your assignment, you dragged yourself off of the bed and sidled up behind him. Regulus melted into your touch as you massaged his shoulders. He looked up and the light hit his eyes just right, golden spears bursting through the rich green hues like a kaleidoscope. 

Regulus grabbed your chin and dragged your face down to his, planting a sweet kiss against your lips. You hummed against his mouth, eager to deepen the otherwise chaste kiss. You felt him smile at your enthusiasm before he gently tugged at your hair, forcing you to look at him once again. 

“Did you finish your translations, my love?’ 

You shook your head. “No, I think I need a study break.”

Regulus tutted. “Come show me what you’ve done so far and I’ll tell you if you’ve earned one.”

You pouted. It wasn’t very often that Regulus denied your request. Usually, he bent over backwards just to make you happy, so when he didn’t immediately grant you what you wanted, you couldn’t help but act like an absolute brat. Patience had never been your strong suit and Regulus knew that. 

Your boyfriend watched with an amused smirk as you retrieved your manual and parchment with a little frown on your face. You set the studying materials down on his desk and crossed your arms. 

“Where am I supposed to sit?”

Regulus patted his lap. “Right here is fine, darling.”

He almost chuckled at how quickly your mood brightened after that, but he didn’t want to give himself away. Regulus knew exactly what you wanted and he had every intention of making you work for it. You made yourself right at home on his lap, rubbing your arse against his crotch. He would’ve been embarrassed at how hard he already was underneath you, but Regulus had absolutely no shame when it came to his girl. 

“Why don’t you read what you have so far, mon amour?”

You began by reading the ingredients, which listed the main components of the potion. Those were easy enough to translate given that the terms were quite similar in each language. Regulus urged you to continue and you had no choice but to fumble through the instructions, which you had undoubtedly mucked up after getting distracted by him. 

“Faire chauffer à feu doux,” you said reluctantly.

Regulus shook his head. “Faire chauffer à feu fort,” he corrected in perfect French.

It was rather pathetic how hot and bothered you were over boiling instructions, but you couldn’t stop squirming at how attractive it was to hear your boyfriend speak the language of love. Regulus bid you to continue, which you did rather distractedly. 

You struggled through the next few sentences, pressing your thighs together every time Regulus corrected your pronunciation. “You have to roll your tongue, darling. Like this.” 

After Regulus demonstrated by rolling his tongue and sounding out the word flawlessly, your skin felt so hot that you were surprised you hadn’t burst into flames. As you stuttered over the next few sentences, you felt Regulus shuffle underneath you. He slowly unbuckled his belt and slid off his pants. You stopped mid-sentence when he lifted up your skirt. 

Regulus slapped your thigh so hard that the action made you jerk in his lap. “I didn’t say you could stop. Keep reading, love.”

“Trancher de la racine aux pointes—“ you stammered lamely through the words as his hands roamed underneath your skirt. 

You held your breath as he palmed you through the cotton fabric. Regulus smirked when he felt how wet and needy you were for him. He pulled your panties to the side, not bothering to take them off as he caressed your slit. Coating his index and middle fingers with your arousal, Regulus spread your wetness all along your folds. 

A pathetic little whimper escaped your lips. Regulus grabbed your chin and turned you towards him. “I told you to keep reading,” he growled. “Start that section over and don't stop or I’ll make you regret it. Do you understand, princess?”

With a nod, you continued to decipher the next section. Regulus hummed in approval as he lifted your hips. You gripped the parchment as your boyfriend positioned you over his length before thrusting his cock inside of you without warning. 

You bit your lip to keep your moan in. “What are you doing, Reg?” 

Regulus chuckled darkly. “You didn’t think I’d let you get away with acting like a spoiled fucking brat, did you?” You gasped as he sheathed himself in your warmth, filling you to the hilt and nearly making you squirm with pleasure. “You wanted my cock so I’m giving it to you, but I’m not moving until you finish your assignment.” 

The whine that escaped out of you made him smirk. “Now be a good girl so you can get your reward, yeah?” 

Your boyfriend stayed true to his word. Every time you translated a phrase correctly, Regulus rewarded you with a slow thrust. He grunted as he drove deeper into you, whispering praises of encouragement in your ear. 

“My smart girl,” Regulus declared proudly, littering kisses against your neck. “Keep going, baby. You want more, don’t you?” 

The growing need for him distracted you. When you pronounced a word wrong, Regulus pulled all the way out until only his tip teased along your folds. You whimpered at the loss, loathing the hollow and empty feeling it left you with. 

Regulus grabbed you by the throat. “Salé means savory, sucré is sweet. I’m disappointed. I know you know this, darling. Let’s refresh.” He pressed his lips against yours and you ached to kiss him, but you knew that he wouldn’t be pleased if you did so without permission. “Say it with me. Salé.” 

You swallowed thickly as he spoke the words against your mouth. The smooth way that the word rolled off of his tongue made you clench around him. Regulus smirked as you repeated the word, slightly stuttering while you struggled to stay still. 

“Salé.” 

“Does it turn you on when I speak French, mon amour?” You nodded silently, not trusting yourself with words at the moment. “I know it does, gorgeous girl. I can tell by the way your pretty little pussy is clenching around my cock. Poor thing, you must be aching to be fucked, aren’t you?” 

Tears pricked at your eyes. You wanted him so badly that it actually hurt. Regulus wiped the errant tear away with his thumb. “One more, darling. Surely you can manage.” He tilted your chin up and spoke the last word against your lips. “Sucré.”

“Sucré,” you repeated obediently.

“What does it mean?” 

“Sweet.” 

“Just like you, pretty girl.” Regulus kissed your cheek. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now you can have your study break.” 

You sighed in relief when Regulus finally kissed you. The chaste kiss from earlier was gone. Instead, he claimed your mouth with his tongue, leaving open mouthed kisses that had you tugging at his curls for more. He smiled as you grinded into him, making him grunt in pleasure as you lowered onto his length.

“So eager, aren’t we? Where do you want me, mon amour? Here or on the bed?”

“Neither,” you gasped into his mouth before glancing at the desk behind you. 

He chuckled when he realized what you meant. “Is this what you were thinking about, love? Couldn’t focus on your work because you were imagining me bending you over that desk?” 

You nodded. “Yes,” you breathed. “Please, Reg. I need you so bad.” 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty when you beg.” Regulus shifted and patted your thigh. “Come on, darling. Bend over for me. Let me fuck you on this desk until you cry.” 

Regulus watched with lust blown eyes as you bent over the wooden desk. He flipped your skirt up and palmed your ass, the cold bite of his rings sending shivers down your spine. You bit your lip as Regulus loosened his tie. He smirked as he slid it off his neck. 

“Put your arms behind your back, mon cœur.” 

You eagerly obeyed his command. Regulus pinned your wrists together and bound you with his tie. Pressing your cheek against the wood, he stripped you of your shirt and kissed along your spine. Regulus leaned over and slipped a hand underneath your lacy bra, squeezing your tits as he positioned himself behind you. His other hand guided his cock at your entrance. Regulus slipped in slowly, giving you inch after delicious inch. 

“Merde,” Regulus cursed. “You feel so fucking good, princess.” 

Once he started moving, you were reduced to a blubbering mess. Regulus was relentless as he fucked you from behind, his fingers digging into your hips while he drove in and out of you. The parchment and quills that were neatly laid out on his desk clattered to the ground with every slam of his hips. The desk rattled against the wall while he fucked you into oblivion. 

You pressed your cheek against the wood, the sound of your moans bouncing off the walls while you begged for more. “Baise-moi fort, Regulus.” 

Regulus hissed, thrusting into you with force just like you asked. The line between pain and pleasure blurred. Warm tears coated your cheeks as he pushed your body to the limit. Regulus pulled your hair and tugged him towards you for a sloppy kiss. Your legs shook underneath you as he slapped your ass. You could feel the imprint of his rings brand itself into your skin. He timed his thrusts with each smack, making you wetter and wetter by the second. 

He brushed your hair back, kissing your cheek. Regulus placed his hand on your stomach and pressed down just as he rutted into you. “Feel that, princess? This is what I think about all day. Burying myself so deep inside you that you can’t even form words.” You babbled in response, whatever words you were trying to form came out entirely incoherent. “Have I fucked you dumb, darling? You should know better than to ask me to fuck you harder. You know I have no control when it comes to you, Y/N.” 

You cried as he slammed into you. “S’too much, Reggie. I—I can’t take anymore—“

Regulus only laughed. “That’s too fucking bad, princess. You begged like a whore, so you get fucked like one too.” He licked a stripe against your neck before leaving love bites on every surface of your skin. 

There was nothing your boyfriend loved more than claiming your body like this. He smiled as you whimpered, knowing that you’d be marked and bruised for days to come. Though your cheeks were stained with tears, Regulus knew you could take more. Your body told him everything he needed to know. The way you fluttered around him indicated that you were close. He was definitely pushing your limit, but Regulus had a habit of coaxing you out of your comfort zone to provide the most mind-blowing orgasms that you’ve ever experienced. 

“Cum for me, mon amour.” 

White hot heat surged through your veins. You moaned his name while the orgasm crested like a wave, washing over your body like a biblical flood. For a second, it felt like your soul had left your body entirely. The phrase la petite mort flashed in your mind. The little death, the French called it. 

Just when you thought that the high was finally leveling out, Regulus picked you up and placed you on the desk. He untied your wrists before kneeling between your legs. Regulus smirked as he kissed along the inside of your thighs. Those pretty eyes flashed with mischief as he bit into your flesh. 

“Hang on, pretty girl. I’m not done with you yet.” 

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as Regulus lapped up your arousal. He kissed and sucked at your wet cunt like they were hauling him off to Azkaban at any given moment. Your boyfriend grunted when you tugged at his luscious curls, utterly turned on by your roughness. When Regulus looked up at you through thick, dark lashes with his mouth dripping with your cum, you couldn’t help but shiver at the sight. 

You loved seeing Regulus like this. You loved knowing that only you could awaken this dark and dangerous side of him. 

“Oh god, Reg,” you keened, arching against his mouth. “Fuck, I love you.” 

Regulus hummed in approval, spelling out his initials against your folds. The curve of R.A.B. branded itself into your core in the most erotic way possible. The message was clear. You belonged to Regulus and Regulus alone. 

As he worked, Regulus pumped himself between his fingers. You could feel him edging towards release just as a second orgasm washed over you. Regulus looked up when you tugged at his hair. 

“Don’t cum yet, baby,” you said hoarsely. “Not until you’re inside me again.” 

“Mon dieu, you kill me when you say things like that.” Regulus hissed as he wrapped your legs around his waist. The groan that escaped his lips as he slipped inside of you again was downright vulgar. “My filthy fucking girl. I love being inside of you.”

You whimpered in response, bringing him closer as he pounded into you again and again. “I love when you fill me up, Reg. You’re the only one who can make me feel like this. You’re the only one who can fuck me like I need. Gods, you’re perfect.” 

“You feel so fucking good,” Regulus whispered against your lips. “Gods, I’m so close.”

“I know, Reggie. I know.” You kissed him, sighing as you canted your hips to match his rhythm. “I want to feel you cum inside of me, pretty boy.” 

Regulus grunted, his thrusts growing sloppy and desperate. Your words sent him over the edge and he came with a gasp, biting into your shoulder to keep himself from waking up the dungeons. You held him as the orgasm seized his body, whispering sweet nothings into his ear and following the praise with adoring kisses. 

Your heart warmed as he gazed lovingly up at you. He pulled out slowly, peppering kisses all over your face but never taking his eyes off of you. The way Regulus looked at you made you feel like you were the only girl in the world. 

“Reg?” you murmured. 

“Yes, my love?” 

“I think I like studying after all.” Regulus chuckled against your skin, his curls tickling your neck. “You’re excellent at inspiring motivation.” 

“Anything for you, mon amour. I was a goner the second you called me pretty boy.” 

“Is that so?” You teased, kissing the tip of his nose. “Well, you are, you know. You’re my pretty boy.” 

“Don’t say that unless you’re ready for another round.” 

“I’m always ready for you, Reggie. I can’t get enough.”

Regulus picked you up bridal style and carried you to the bed. “Je t'aime de tout mon cœur, my cheeky girl.”

“I love you too, Regulus Arcturus Black.” You smiled and kissed his temple. “With all my heart.”

“Yeah, m’just getting a little tired” you whisper, and you watch as he lays down on his front, chin propped up on his elbows. He looks down at you and there’s something in his expression that melts you completely.

He leans down to press a kiss or two against your jaw and then another to the corner of your mouth, smiling into the small peck. Regulus never fails to make you go all giddy, the small touches and his love-filled eyes, that have you hiding your face behind your hands.

You can hear him 'tut' slightly as his fingers wrap around your wrist, the warmth of his hand against yours as he guides them away from your face.

“There we go,” he says with a smile, the sight has your chest blooming with warmth. He leans into you once again before whispering, “Tu es tres jolie” his lips peppering kisses against your face, and you swear your heart is skipping beats.

The words leave his mouth so beautifully and even if you haven’t the slightest idea of what they mean they still seem so heavenly. In all honesty, he could be insulting you, the thought makes you chuckle.

You watch as he frowns slightly, tilting his head with slight confusion. “You could be insulting me, I would never know,” you tell him, Regulus shakes his head, his curls that frame his face bouncing as he does so.

“I would never” he gasps with fake offence, a hand over his heart, “Je t'aime tellement” he whispers, his hand resting on your hips as he lets his head fall against your shoulder.

“I still don’t understand” Your fingers thread through his wind-tussled hair and you can feel him chuckle against you.

“Do you want me to tell you?” He asks, sitting up slightly as he kisses your cheek, you nod with a small ‘Mhm’

He smiles, excitement flashing through his eyes as he pulls you up, both sitting crossed-legged on top of the soft blanket he whispers a quiet ‘Okay’ before he speaks again, “Tu es tres jolie” he says slowly, breaking down the words for you.

And for what you lack in knowledge of the language you make up for with passion, and he stifles his laughter behind his hand, “Hey! Don’t laugh, I’m trying” you tell him with a slight twinge of embarrassment.

“I’m not laughing at you,” he says taking your hands in his, fingers entwined as he rests them on his lap, “Now listen carefully” he tells you as he repeats the words even more slowly.

“Tu es tres jolie” You give him a weary smile and he nods.

“Perfect” he praises you, his thumb smoothing over the bumps of your knuckles, “It means, you are very pretty” he leans forward pressing his lips against yours, your noses bumping slightly with the action, and his gentle words leave you feeling all floaty.

He doesn’t have time to pull away before your arms wrap around his shoulders pulling him back into you as you kiss him, although it doesn’t last too long as you both end up smiling, which makes you both break out in a fit of giggles.

“Teach me more?” You ask, forehead resting against his.

“Of course beautiful,” he says, and he spends a good hour teaching you, enjoying how interested you seem to be. The sun will eventually set, and both you and Regulus pack away your small picnic into a basket before walking back to your quaint little village house, arms linked.

He’d shown his face. That was enough. Any longer and someone would corner him into another empty conversation or offer him a drink like it was currency. He didn’t want any of it tonight. Not the noise.

Besides, his usual trio with Barty and Evan has broken up when those two disappeared to Salazar knows where doing Merlin knows what.

But then he saw you.

Half-hidden in the far corner, sat on the floor with your back to the wall, legs drawn up and a half-empty bottle of Firewhiskey clutched in one hand. Your head was tilted back against the cool stone, eyes closed - but not asleep. Not relaxed either from the looks of it

There was a tightness in your shoulders, a furrow between your brows, like the whole world was pressing down, and you didn’t know how to stop it.

Regulus paused.

Then he crossed the room - silent and deliberate, the way he always moved. When he dropped into a crouch beside you, your eyes flicked open.

“Thought you left,” you said hoarsely.

“I tried.”

A breath of a laugh left your lips, tired and thin despite the alcohol loosening you a bit. “Bet it’s better out there than in here.”

“Doubtful.” He glanced at the bottle in your hand. “Celebrating?”

“Unravelling,” you said, with a wry tilt of your head. “There’s a difference.”

He didn’t reply, and you didn’t expect him to. That was the thing about Regulus, you never really knew what he was thinking. But you liked that about him, too.

“I’m breaking,” you said suddenly, voice low. “Like, actually breaking. Everyone keeps talking about N.E.W.T.s and internships and bloodlines and what happens after, and I - ” You stopped. Swallowed. “I can’t breathe most days. And I don’t know how to say that without sounding weak.”

Regulus sat beside you, legs stretched out, back against the wall. Close but not close enough to touch.

“You don’t sound weak.”

That surprised you. You turned to look at him, but he was staring straight ahead.

“Thanks,” you said quietly.

A beat passed. Two. The room around you buzzed with noise, but here in this corner, it felt like a different world.

“Wanna play something dumb?” you asked.

Regulus finally looked at you. “Like what?”

You tipped your head, a crooked smile forming. “One truth. You shared one, I shared one. Let’s keep going.”

He considered. Then nodded once.

You started. “One truth: I’m terrified I’ll disappoint everyone who expects me to be more than I am.”

His turn. “One truth: I hate who I have to pretend to be.”

That landed heavy. You felt it settle between you like smoke.

“Your family?”

He gave you a look. That was your answer.

“Okay.” You exhaled. “One truth: I didn’t think anyone would notice if I disappeared tonight.”

Regulus’s head turned sharply toward you.

“I would’ve,” he said, without hesitation.

That stunned you into silence.

He glanced away again, voice quieter now. “One truth: I notice you more than I should.”

Your pulse jumped.

“Do you want me to stop?” he added, and for the first time, you heard a trace of uncertainty in him.

You shook your head. “No.”

You both sat with that for a while. The room spun on around you, voices blurring into nothing.

“One truth : I could say the same. Your turn,” you said softly.

Regulus drew in a breath, long and slow, then turned fully to face you.

“One truth,” he said. “I wanna kiss you so bad, right now.”

You stared at him.

Your chest felt like it was collapsing and expanding at the same time.

And it must've been the alcohol. Any other time and you wouldn't have been as bold, your robes were green for a reason and what you're about to do did not comply - you leaned closer.

“Then one truth,” you whispered. “I want you to.”

And he did.

The kiss was warm and slow, deep and grounding - like finally coming up for air after weeks underwater. His hand came up to your cheek, the other bracing against the wall behind you, and it felt like something old and inevitable slotting into place.

When he pulled back, your foreheads still touching, you whispered, “One truth.”

He hummed. “Hmm?”

“I’m really glad you didn’t leave.”

He smiled, just a little. “One truth: I never would’ve.”

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