#regulus black x ofc | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

imnotoverlyobsessive · 6 months

Text

Don’t Blame My English Blood For This American Heartache

Prologue

AO3 info prologue one two three four five six seven eight nine ten

All my work is 18+.

I was born in America, but I feel like I was raised on Mars. No matter how hard I try, I still feel like an alien.- Forever the Sickest Kids, Ritalin (Born in America)

May 1974

Santa Cruz Mountains, Northern California

The first time Seraphine Malfoy used magic at the age of eight—or noticed it, at the very least—, it was entirely accidental. Most magic used by children is accidental, but this particular incident was especially unexpected because no one expected Seraphine to be able to use magic at all.

Or at least, Seraphine—Sera—assumed as much. Mainly because her parents never performed any magic, or if they did, it was never in front of her.

The family cottage was small, but it was high up in the Santa Cruz mountains of Northern California, and as such, despite the diminutive size of Sera’s bedroom, the chair beneath the slender window was perfect for reading with the sound of leaves rustling outside. This was exactly what Sera was doing when she reached for her glass of juice on the arm of the chair, exactly where her mother had always told her never to put it. Unfortunately, she was so engrossed in whether or not Arwen could ride fast enough to escape the RingWraiths that her hand bumped the glass instead of grasping it, and she looked up, horrified, to see it tipping over slowly, and then very suddenly, and all Sera could think about was how desperately she wished it wouldn’t fall, that it would just go back to resting on the arm of the chair, and then—

And then it did. In fact, the stream of juice that had started towards the floor went straight back into the glass, as if someone had rewound one of those fancy new video cassette tapes and Sera had never bumped the glass to begin with.

She stared at the glass, at the juice settling back into complacency. Her heart was racing from the adrenaline caused by the fear of her mother’s wrath, and it was several long moments before Sera realized her mother, Marianne, had opened the door at some point.

“Mama,” Sera greeted shakily. “Did— did you see—“

“See what, darling?” her mother asked, her eyes tight and voice a little bit off.

“I almost knocked a glass over,” Sera pointed out, “but then I wanted it to stop falling, and it did, and—“

“Sometimes things don’t weigh enough to fall all the way down, honey,” her mother explained patiently.

“No, no,” Sera rushed in, “but it was going to fall all the way down! The juice was coming out of the glass already, it was almost on the floor, and then it went back up into the glass, just like I wanted it to!”

Marianne tensed further, taking several deep breaths.

Her mother knelt down, took Sera’s small hands in hers and held them tightly. “You have a very active imagination, darling,” Marianne said, her smile not reaching her eyes, which looked almost afraid, Sera thought.

But that didn’t make sense, did it? No, of course not. Who would be afraid of stopping juice from falling with the power of one’s mind? Not her mother, surely. Her mother was fearless, Sera was fairly certain. In fact, several years prior, three different men went on killing sprees in the county they lived in, and Marianne’s response was to shrug casually and shove a small handgun into her purse before she went into town to get groceries, the same way she’d done every week for as long as Sera could remember.

“I wasn’t imagining it, Mom,” Sera told her with a frown.

“Of course you were,” her mother assured her. “That’s alright. But let’s not tell anyone, hmm? It’s a secret.”

She knew better than to argue with her mother, so she simply asked, “What about Daddy?”

Marianne smiled tightly. “I’ll tell Daddy.”

Sera’s frown deepened, as did her confusion. “Okay,” she reluctantly acquiesced.

“Good,” her mother said with a relieved-sounding sigh, then gave Sera’s hands another squeeze before she stood back up and turned back around to leave the room. “Run along now. I have to prepare Shabbat dinner before the sun sets.”

“Yes, Mama.”

Sera went outside, and the incident was largely forgotten.

That was, at least, until several years later when, shortly before her eleventh birthday, she was riding her bike through a trail amongst the redwood trees one afternoon.

There was a sharp turn, one she’d made dozens of times before without issue, but it had rained the night before, and so the mud on the ground made the wheels of her bike slide, and she went straight towards a tree that the storm must’ve knocked down.

The tree was huge— perhaps a foot and a half in diameter, and there were rocks on either side of it. If she couldn’t stop or jump it—and she certainly couldn’t manage either—she may hit her head on one of the rocks and die, just like Leslie Burke in the book she’d read earlier that month, and she wished desperately that she could simply sail over the tree instead.

And then she did. She sailed right over it, far higher than she ever could’ve managed to jump on her bike— four feet in the air, or perhaps even five, and she looked down at the ground in awe as she slowly moved over the tree, and then back down to the ground until the wheels of her bike met the dirt gently, far more so than they could’ve done had it been a normal fall.

Sera hastily leaned her bike to one side, planting her foot on the ground firmly so as not to fall.

What on earth had just happened? Adrenaline was pumping through her veins, and she could hear blood rushing in her ears, whooshing like ocean waves rising up from the surface.

She raked a hand through her blonde curls, pushing them back from her face as she tried not to hyperventilate.

“You’re okay,” a voice said.

Sera whipped her head around, only to see a girl about her age standing between two trees. The girl was small, much like Sera herself was, with dark skin and long black hair. Her clothes were well-worn and covered in dirt, the same as Sera’s.

“Who are you?”

“Taana.” The girl stepped forward, onto the path. “I’m like you.”

Sera blinked at her. “Like me as in… almost eleven?”

Taana smiled. “Well, yes, but I’m also a witch.”

Sera raised an eyebrow. “A witch? Like in Wizard of Oz?”

“I don’t know what that is,” the other girl admitted with a frown. “Did you not know you were a witch?”

“I’m not a witch,” Sera insisted indignantly, “and neither are you. Witches aren’t real.”

Taana laughed. “‘Course we are.” In lieu of an explanation, she lifted her hand, palm-up, and from her hand emerged a seaside daisy. Before Sera’s very eyes, it grew from bud to blooming flower. The last of the daisies would’ve died out earlier in the month. How on earth had this girl managed to grow one out of her hand?

“You really didn’t know?” Taana asked, picking up the flower with her other hand and holding it out for Sera to take.

Putting down the bike’s kickstand and dismounting it, Sera took a few hesitant steps towards the girl, accepting the proffered flower. “Alright,” she acquiesced, “you’re a witch, clearly. But that doesn’t mean I am, too.”

“This can’t be the first time you’ve made something happen,” Taana pointed out. “There must be something.”

Sera looked up from the impossible flower and into the girl’s dark brown eyes. “I… I’m not sure, I…”

“You must come and meet my parents,” Taana decided.

Sera didn’t have many friends. Other children found her parents’ British accents strange and off-putting. Tentatively hopeful for some companionship, she nodded, and off they went.

“Mama,” Sera said, bounding into the kitchen when she arrived home that evening.

“Yes, darling?”

“I made my bike fly,” Sera told her. “Right over a fallen tree, I imagined it happening, and then it did, just like when—“

Her mother rounded on her, a tight smile on her face. “Of course you didn’t, love. You imagined it. You must’ve jumped very high on your bike.”

Sera frowned. “No, I—“

“You imagined it, darling,” her mother insisted firmly. “Let’s not mention it again, yes?”

Sera looked at her feet, deciding it was best not to mention Ta, her family, or the fact that she was apparently a witch and had a friend who was, too. “Yes, Mama.”

October 1976

“You’re a remarkably fast learner,” Taana’s mother told Sera with a smile. “It doesn’t surprise me that your parents didn’t want to talk about it with you, though.”

“Do you think they don’t have any magic?” Taana asked her mother from across the kitchen table they were sitting at.

The woman hummed. “I’m not sure. Either way, we can teach you, Sera.”

“Really?” Sera asked, excited. She was a witch, apparently, and she had someone willing to teach her.

“Of course,” Taana’s mother assured her. “Can’t have you running around without any idea how to control your abilities, can we?”

Sera smiled brightly in excitement, eager to learn all there was about being a witch.

November 1976

A few weeks later, on Sera’s eleventh birthday, an owl perched outside the window where she and her family were eating breakfast in the kitchen.

Sera thought nothing of the hooting owl, but her father, Septimus, turned towards it with wide, horrified eyes, and quickly rushed outside for a few minutes before returning.

There was another owl the following day, and her father went outside to “deal with it,” as he said.

A couple days after her eleventh birthday, Sera awoke to see a woman in strange clothes walking out their front door. Her parents brushed her off when she asked about the woman.

This did not strike Sera as odd in the slightest until the summer before her nineteen birthday.

That was when everything changed.

I’m reposting this bc my bestie said that the tags weren’t working properly, so… repost it is, I guess.

Biiiiiig thanks to @lilmaymayy for betaing this one, it makes much more sense now lmao

Tag list:

@ellamaianderson @shika1200 @blackqueenstarseed1 @gatoenlaciudad @esmaada @mariaelizabeth21-blog1 @softhecreator @timolaurence @timmymyluv @oddlyenoughiamweird @leecrunchybones @s-we-e-t-t-ea @almostg @leespparker @bubblebuttwade @glizzymcguirex @starberry-cake @camille-1019 @lixzey

To be added, please ask 💗

25 notes · View notes

sayafics · 9 months

Text

Her Muse - Chapter III

Previous Chapter

Masterlist

Ophelia had not returned the next day, or the several days that followed. Every night she would find herself sneaking out of her dorm in search for the black door with the golden serpent handle, and each day she would return to her room sulking at her failure.

She wanted the halls and corridors of Hogwarts, returning to the same hallway she had found the Room of Requirements in, but it seemed her desperation to see the boy in the mirror was not enough to have the Room of Requirements open up to her.

The days had flown by, and the first task of the TriWizard competition hung over her. Death loomed over her, and it made her terrified.

Ophelia had thought that the Room of Requirements had brought her to Regulus because she needed help, but as her desperation grew, she found the room still denied her access. She had hoped the boy could help, but it seemed he was a momentary distraction she had been graced with.

There was only a week left now, until the TriWizard competition would begin.

It was a windy afternoon, the air was chill and the ground damp as Ophelia sat beneath a tree in the courtyard. The leaves had fallen off in clumps and laid beneath her in crumpled colours of brown and orange. She leaned back against the tree, forcing herself to focus on the words of the textbook in front of her and yet she found herself stuck on the same sentence for what must have been hours.

With the school day over, she didn’t have it within her to return to her room or walk around the school. She had just about given up reading, ready to put her book down and look out into the horizon instead, hoping to catch a glimpse of the sun setting before she was ushered inside by a frantic Filch.

Instead, it was Cedric who stole her attention away from the books her eyes roved over passively – he coughed sharply, and a glance up revealed his ashen face as he fiddled with his scarf. His eyes seemed to be looking through her, flickering between her brown eyes as though he was trying to seek some form of distraction himself.

“Cedric? Everything okay?”

He huffed, jaw clenching as he shook his head roughly. H walked closer, sitting at her side and leaning his head back against the tree.

“Harry spoke to me today,” she was surprised by that, she was sure that the boy would avoid Cedric after the horrible mockery he had been turned into thanks to a few Slytherins.

“Was he upset about the badges?”

Cedric let out a barked laugh, as though he was surprised by his own words, “no, he told me what the first task is.”

Ophelia’s brows raised in surprise, eyes wide as she turned to face him properly, “what?”

“I was as surprised as you, but that’s not why I’m here. The first task,” he rubbed a hand over his face in frustration, his voice lowering as he leaned closer towards her, “it’s dragons, Lia.”

A frown painted itself across her face as she felt her heart sink, dragons?

“You can’t be serious?”

Cedric leaned back, his face painted in its own version of fear, of worry and terror. He was just as scared as she was, how were they supposed to beat dragons?

“Dumbledore couldn’t have agreed to that. We could get hurt, we could die.”

There was a bitter smile on Cedric’s face, “that’s part of the contract though, isn’t it?”

Tears burned her eyes as she turned back to lean against the coarse bark, “are we going to die?”

Cedric answered her whisper with one of his own, his hand reaching out to hold her’s – “we’ll beat this. I believe in us.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, any thought of reading her book or watching the sunset had been violently washed from her mind as she thought of how she could survive the dragon.

Ophelia wasn’t sure there was a way, at least not with brute strength or powerful magic, but she wasn’t that strong or that advanced.

Ophelia didn’t return to her dormitory that night, had avoided Cedric’s pleading eyes and escaped Filch’s watchful eyes. She wandered the halls of Hogwarts once more, but this time there was no sense of desperation or overwhelming curiosity that had her searching out for the Room of Requirements.

There was a haunting sense of impending doom that loomed over her, a harrowing sensation that had her walk through the halls blindly as she tried to escape the feeling she was going to die.

Ophelia didn’t want to die.

That was when she heard it, the tell-tale sound of bricks shifting to reveal something more. She was afraid to turn, worried that the door that had been given was not the one she wanted, that the handsome stranger who lurked inside was once again out of reach.

She looked over her shoulder slowly, and there she saw it. The black door looked like a portal of shadows in the wisps of fire from the torches that lit the hallway, the golden handle gleamed under the light as she reached towards it.

She glanced at her hand as it came to rest under the serpent’s mouth, a thin scar replaced the deep scratch that had been inflicted upon her during her first visit.

The first time she had bled to access the door, it had been an accident. Now, she forced her eyes closed as she pressed her hand against the fanged teeth firmly, she inhaled sharply as she felt warm droplets tickle her skin before it dripped off like ruby pearls to collect in the mouth of the serpent.

The serpent moved, winding around to form a circular knob that she twisted with ease before throwing the door open.

The room looked jut as it had when she had first entered, it was a dark cobblestone room, the air felt humid and there was the barest of light streaming through unseen crevices.

She walked in hesitantly, eyes never straying from the reflective surface as she searched its every corner for a sign of him.

The door shut behind her, a quiet and ominous thud she prayed no one else had heard, her wand was out as she muttered a quiet ‘lumos maxima’.

“Regulus?”

Her voice was quiet as she rounded the chair to sit atop it, eyes wide and patient as she tried to look for him through her own reflection.

Ophelia heard him before she saw him, “you’re back?”

His voice sounded surprised, but she couldn’t blame him. She had been gone for days after a silent promise to return. She had said ‘perhaps’ but they both knew it was a promise to return, they both knew their curiosities ran too deep to leave questions unanswered.

But when she hadn’t come back, Regulus had felt like a fool for having hope that he had been found, that he could be saved. He was a desperate boy with limited options, and at the time it had seemed the girl who had stumbled upon him by accident was his very best one.

“I’m back.”

Silence echoed between them as Regulus made his way to the mirror, standing before it so Ophelia had to crane her head to look up at him. She frowned slightly, thinking she should apologise for not returning before realising she did not have much to apologise for. It wasn’t her fault the Room of Requirements didn’t let her in until now.

Surely, he had to understand that.

He simply nodded, staring at her with an imperceptive glint in his eyes.

“No nightgown today?” He quirked a brown, lips twitching to form a mischievous smile. Ophelia felt her cheeks heat at that, she cleared her throat slightly, “you wish, Black.”

He raked his eyes over her form, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at her yellow and black scarf and gloves, “perhaps.”

There it was again, the stupid word. She scoffed but didn’t say much more. If she was being honest, it was because she didn’t know what to say.

“What brings you back now? You’ve left me alone for days.”

“How do you know it was days?”

His eyes dimmed a bit at those words, but he shrugged in a show of indifference, “it usually gets a little bit brighter in here.”

Her eyes flickered around the room she sat in, aware of how bright the room now sat because she had casted a spell but recalling how dim it had been when she first stepped foot into the room.

It must be horrible, to be trapped in such darkness with only your own voice as company. Ophelia was surprised Regulus hadn’t been driven to madness over the years he had spent trapped in here, marvelled at the fact he was still able to socialise and tease her despite the fact he had been left to stew in his own misery for over a decade.

Her pity must have shone in her eyes, because Regulus repeated his question again, “what brings you back here?”

She smiles tightly, “a distraction? An escape? I don’t know, I don’t think I want to find out.”

Regulus nods, irritated that she wouldn’t elaborate more, “something happen then?”

Ophelia watched as he began to pace around in front of the mirror, as though he was unsure of what to do with himself but knew he couldn’t avoid her with the lack of space he had.

“Dragons.”

Regulus paused; her voice was rasped dramatically but he could hear the way she forced her voice not to quake at the revelation- “dragons?”

She let out a shaky breath, “the first task. It’s dragons.”

Regulus laughed, a surprised laugh that melted into horrified chuckles as he repeated, “dragons? Merlin, you really are screwed, aren’t you?”

Ophelia rolled her eyes as she pushed herself from the seat, “you know what? Maybe it was a mistake coming back here.”

His laughs broke off, face still stretched into an expression of amusement as he raised his hands placatingly, “come on, don’t go. You have to admit it’s absurd, don’t you think? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say Dumbledore’s trying to have his own students killed off.”

The truth was Regulus did know better, and still he had managed to find himself surprised.

“It’s a game, a challenge.”

“Challenged don’t usually end up with someone dying.”

“I’m not going to die.”

“Yeah, right.”

She looked at him, fury in her eyes but there was also a speckle of doubt, “I’m not going to die.”

A pitying smile tugged at Regulus’ lips, his shoulders raised in bafflement as he realised he actually felt sorry for the girl – she was terrified. Anyone with eyes could see it, she was terrified of dying and she had no clue what to do.

Maybe it’s because Regulus understood the sentiment so deeply that he made such an offer, maybe it was because he had also feared death so fiercely that he had trapped himself in a state of isolation, that he was able to understand her apprehension. Maybe it was because he understood her desperation, or maybe it was because he wanted to help her in a way no one had helped him.

“Let me show you.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion, her lower lip jutting out as she titled her head in question. At the sight of her uncertainty, he continued, “let me help you win. Let me help you survive.”

She stood straighter at his words, they rang loudly in the quiet room, determination behind echoing in them, but they were also tainted by something more.

“But in return, you have to do something for me.”

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, “do what?”

“I’ll let you know when the time is right.”

“How do you know I’m not lying then, if I agree?”

“When you agree, I have a way to ensure you fulfil the terms of our agreement.”

“Why should I trust you?”

“You shouldn’t. But if you want help to survive those dragons you’re so scared of-“

“I’m not scared of them,” she huffed with indignation, crossing her arms as she took a step back.

“If you want help to survive the dragons you have to face,” he amended, “the I think you should agree.”

Ophelia thought about it, ran through everything good and bad that could come out from such a decision. She didn’t know much about Regulus Black, only that he was Sirius’ brother, and she had not spoken to the man long enough to learn more than his name too.

Regulus could ask anything of her, could ask her to perform the darkest evils in his name. But he could also ask her of the simplest favours. The truth was, regardless of what he asked, there was a possibility she would be alive to carry it out.

At least a greater possibility of being alive than she had right now.

If she were to compete in the first task of the competition as she was now, she was she would lose her life and be turned to ashes. Such a fate, feeling her skin melt off her bones, the sensation of fire in her lungs, of not being able to breath as she was turned to dust – it was a fear so horrifying; it made her eyes well with tears and her throat burn.

Ophelia didn’t want to die, not when she had barely lived.

She wanted to wake up hot and stuffy on a summer’s morning, to run her hands through fields of bluebells and primroses, throw snowballs with her friends and sit under the reddened leaves on a warm autumn afternoon.

Maybe that was why she had agreed so readily, maybe that’s why she was ready to do whatever it takes.

“Okay.”

A subtle smirk graced Regulus’ face as his watchful eyes never left her own, as though he was assessing her, looking into her so deeply that he could see all her secret desires and heartfelt dreams.

“How are we going to do this?”

Regulus had the grace to smile now, a smile so broad and bright that Ophelia felt her breath catch in her throat. When she had first seen the boy, she had likened him to a stoic roman statue, his face angled and precise - handsome. Now he looked as though he was a glowing portrait, a picture of someone’s happiest moments streaked across a canvas – he looked beautiful.

“We are going to make an Unbreakable Vow.”

Ophelia felt the blood drain from her face, Regulus watching her expression of curiosity melt into one of dread on her ashen face – she had heard rumours of such magic, powerful and binding. An Unbreakable Vow, if broken, cursed the one who disobeyed to an unspeakable death.

But she needed to do this, because if she didn’t, she would die anyway.

Ophelia didn’t want to die.

#regulus black x reader #regulus black fic #regulus black smut #regulus black #regulus black x you #regulus black x female reader #regulus black x ofc #regulus black x oc #harry potter #hp marauders #hp fanfic #hp fandom #hermione granger #ron weasley #draco malfoy #cedric diggory

23 notes · View notes

adharastarlight · 8 months

Text

The Marauders on a road trip:

Sirius driving at 90

James: slow down, mate

Sirius speeds up

Reg: slow down.

Sirius ignores him

Remus: Slow. Down.

Sirius immediately slows down to 50

4K notes · View notes

betweendyingstars · 2 months

Text

James, Regulus, and a field of flowers

927 notes · View notes

vomits0cutely · 26 days

Text

“Even when we fade eventually to nothing, You will always be my favorite form of loving” but its Regulus to James

#favourite form of loving <3 #I mean ofc he would be #it’s James “lover Potter??#james potter #regulus black #jegulus #james x regulus #regulus x james #marauders #marauders era #the marauders #song lyrics

65 notes · View notes

lilyofthevalleyys · 7 months

Text

Barty: How do you say ‘your brain is fucking stupid and I can’t understand the shit it comes up with’ but more formal?

Regulus: ‘Your mind works in such unusual ways that it is beyond one’s comprehension’. Why?

Barty: Nothing

-Later-

*Evan and Barty in a sort-of fight*

Barty: Your mine works in such inusual ways that it is before one’s com-pra-han-si-on!

Evan: (Heard nothing past ‘your mine’) *Blushing and laughing slightly*

Dorcas and Pandora: *Dying with laughter*

Regulus: *Gives up* Somebody stab me with a knife. And throw my body in the ocean.

228 notes · View notes

valoflunar · 7 months

Text

when marlene shouts what in the platonic friendship at regulus and James bc James just said that he was just rly good friends with regulus and denied all accusations of dating thrown to him by Marlene but marlene has just walked into them making out

46 notes · View notes

princesspuffle8 · 12 days

Text

What can’t the Black money buy

“So now that you’re an official Black… what do you want your uncle to buy,” Regulus asked a 3 month old Polaris who was cooing up at him from where he was perched in his baby rocker which Regulus had personally enchanted himself to play soft melodies for the sweet little bean.

“I know, I know it’s a sucky deal being apart of this family… but at least you have magic and money. Well you probably may have always been gifted with magic but money is a different story,” Regulus argued more to himself than to Polaris who just discovered he could blow spit bubbles and was fascinated by this fact.

Cringing at the gross but oddly sweet sight, a light bulb went off in the younger black brothers mind just as the baby's spit bubble popped. A devious, almost cheshire like, grin appeared on his face as he took a quick glance behind to see that you were pre-occupied and probably not paying attention to the two of them, as currently you were eating a snack and pumping breast milk to store for later usage.

“So… would you like uncle Reggie to buy you a condo in Paris… or a mansion in the countryside. There’s perks to both…”

“What was that,” you exclaimed, unbeknownst to Regulus you had been listening to his conversation with your baby. Mildly amused but super happy that Regulus was spending one on one time with his nephew. He had turned over a new leaf since leaving the death eaters and although he was still a bit aloof, the one person he adored more than anyone was his baby nephew… a little too much sometimes… like right now…

“I’m asking him what kind of mansion he wants in France,” Regulus replied rolling his eyes, before he went back to ignoring you.

“Now Polaris, Paris has its perks but there’s a lot of muggles so not a lot of chances to use your magic secretly but the art and the bakeries are nice…”

“Regulus!��

“And the country side is nice too. I like the lavender fields believe it or not. And you can practice your magic without anyone seeing. Would you like a manor by the sea? Or more inland?”

“Regulus! He’s not even one yet,” you exasperated unhooking your breast from the pump, attempting to get up from your seated position so that you could rescue your sweet ignorant child from his uncles weird ploy to buy him land in France.

“He’s a Black. Being a French lord is in his blood. Isn’t that right Polaris,” Regulus scoffed picking up baby Poly as he did so, who only cooed happily at being lifted out of his rocking chair.

“See, you tell that witch that you want your loving uncle to buy you a mansion in France…”

“Merlin’s sagging tits you are not buying MY son a mansion when he’s not even a year old!”

Just as Regulus was about to retort, baby Poly was snatched from his grasp by none other than his older brother, Sirius, who immediately showered the little man with kisses and cheek to cheek rubs before turning his attention to his wife and baby brother.

“Who’s not buying what now,” Sirius asked with a raised eyebrow. Truth to be told he caught onto some of the conversation but not all of it since he just got back from Auror training.

“Tell your brother that he is not buying our child a house somewhere in bloody France,” you plead with him hoping for some reason from your husband.

“She’s right Reg, a house is a bit much…”

“See!”

“At least wait until after I get him a motorcycle. I was thinking about getting one for him for his first birthday,” Sirius finished as both Black brothers shared satisfying smirks at the thought of spoiling their newest family member.

“Merlins sagging tits what is wrong with you both…”

“We’re Blacks,” the brothers replied in unison like it was the obvious answer to your question which was starting to give you a headache.

“I don’t care if you are the chancellor of magic himself. No means no! No houses. No manors! I know you’ll try to loophole your way out of this regulus but no property at all! And you,” you redirected your not so amused rant to Sirius who stood there innocently holding your son against his chest, “no motorcycles! He’s not even one yet. Buy him something reasonable like felt blocks or a pacifier.”

“… so a golden paci…”

“You know what, im done. Im done. This is insane,” you stated as your turned away from them both and headed back to your pumping station. There was no reasoning with them when it came to spoiling your child with things he didn’t need or couldn’t even use yet. And while you secretly thought it was sweet, both your husband and his brother tended to go WAY overboard and turn things into a competition. Which was something you didn’t wanna have to deal with again.

“alors quelle maison veux-tu acheter,” Sirius asked Regulus who gave him a full blown Cheshire grin.

“je n'aurais jamais pensé que tu demanderais. Nous allons devoir t'apprendre le français,” Regulus replied, directing the last sentence to Polaris who cooed at both of them cluelessly. As far as the little babe was concerned this was the best day ever as almost all his favorite people were in one place. What they were happily talking about he didn’t know, but he was just glad to be there and that’s all that mattered.

#harry potter #headcanon #fanfic #writing #sirius black #regulus black #uncle regulus #sirius black x you #sirius black x ofc #sirius black x y/n #polaris black #baby #france #french #blurb #one shot

9 notes · View notes

witchywomanrunningupthathill · 11 months

Text

Prelude to a Pounding | 18+ Minors DNI

minors dni this is for ADULTS ONLY, so if you’re not 18+ gtfo.

Pairing: Regulus Black x Fem!Reader

Warnings: this is porn.

Word count: 1556

A/N: Yeah, um...so this is my first time writing smutty smut. I'm just gonna leave this here.

“Dittany?” Regulus says, peeking up from the parchment he was reading off of.

“Yep.”

“Horklump juice?”

“Enough to last for the next month.”

“Fluxweed?”

“Stems, trimmed.”

“Knotgross Sprigs”

“Check.”

“Peppermint?”

“Check.”

“Lemon juice?”

“Check.”

“Lavender?”

“Check.”

“Elderflower”

“Leaves and flowers. Check.”

Regulus winces, dropping his quill to the counter and gripping at his left forearm.

You frown. “Wiggenweld still not helping?”

“Nothing is,” Regulus says, defeat evident in his tone. He places his palm over the mark in an attempt to soothe it. He dares to give into feeling bad for himself.

You sit down next to him and commiserate for a moment. Then you grab his aching forearm and brings it to your lips, pressing a kiss to the Dark Mark like one would their lover’s hand.

“Why don’t you ever tell me when you’re hurting?”

He doesn’t reply. Instead, he just looks at you with that same sullen expression he’s been wearing for the past couple of months since he received the mark. You cradle his face with your hands, kissing his right cheek, then his left, and finally his lips.

You rest your head in the crook of his shoulder, the both of you sitting in silence for a while, with only the sounds of the wind rustling the trees outside, the voice on the wireless saying to expect thunderstorms for the rest of the week.

Your eyes light up with an epiphany. “We could try a mint poultice! Hasn’t failed me yet.”

Regulus laughs. It comes out more as a huff. It’s good to see him smile. He never does these days.

“I’ll have to go pick more leaves though,” you say, your eyes on a sealed jar filled with water. The liquid had turned a faint shade of green from the herb you usually kept in it. You move to get up but regulus pulls you backward by your hips, spinning you around to face him once more.

“Not so fast, my little forager.” He can’t take his eyes away from your lips. He pulls you to him. You accept the invitation, straddling his lap and meeting his lips once again. It doesn’t take long for his neediness to take over. He captures your lips in an open-mouthed kiss.

You manage to pull away from his lovely lips. “We can’t—your arm.” Regulus simply pulls you back to him for more. You don’t retaliate. He hungrily pulls on your bottom lip with his teeth, his hands wandering from your chest, down your back and then finally running across your ass.

Regulus’ mouth is on your neck in no time, licking, biting, and sucking at your sensitive spot. You moan and take a handful of his hair, pulling at the strands. He loved that. Regulus gripped your ass fervently, causing you to grind into him. He continues his assault on your neck before going lower, unbuttoning the oversized shirt you had on.

He frowns. “Take that off,” he says impatiently in reference to your bra.

His hands stroke across your breasts. He squeezes them, pinches your nipples lightly before bringing his mouth to them. He runs his tongue in slow circles around your areola before sucking your nipple into his mouth and letting out a moan that quite honestly should be illegal. He stares up at you, worshipping you. He hasn’t stopped grinding into you.

You wiggle around in his lap for a moment trying to give some relief to your swollen clit. Your hand travels down and under his waistband, stroking him from his balls up to the tip, which elicits the desired effect. He unlatches from your tit to moan some more. His eyebrows knit together and he bites his lip.

“Fuck, feels good,” Regulus says.

“Yeah?” you say as you play with the precum dribbling down his cock, teasing the head and working up and down the shaft.

“Love the way you make me feel. Always taking care of me.” Your grip tightens on his cock and his raven locks.

“Then let me. “I want you,” you say, rubbing your clothed lower half over his.

You yelp and giggle slightly as Regulus stands up, your head only a few inches from the low ceiling. He sets you down into the seat, helping you strip down to your panties. Regulus gets down on his knees and pushes your legs back. He licks his lips at the sight of the rather large wet spot on your clothed cunt.

He starts from your knee, working his way down your inner thigh, kissing and licking, alternating sides, just being the tease that he is, before finally placing an open-mouthed kiss where you want it most. You can feel his hot breath through the fabric, and you attempt to grind against him, but he pulls back before you can. You lift your hips so he can finish pulling off your knickers.

He licks up the string of wetness that the fabric threatens to take with it.

“So fucking wet for me, love.” He licks lightly up and down both sides of your lips, grabbing hold of your hips as he does so, earning your sounds. Regulus gets into a rhythm laving his tongue against you as you grind into his face, letting yourself relax into his grip and allowing the pleasure to flow through you. Then he pulls your clit between his lips, sucking it. Your hand immediate finds his hair once more. The lewd, wet, suckling sounds that now permeated the air only turned you on even more.

He doesn’t stop, and you fear you might climax already, not ready for his ministrations to end just yet. He goes back to licking you, up and down, in circles, fucking you with his tongue. He ate your pussy like it was his last meal on this sweet earth. Oh, how he loved tasting you. Your juices ran onto his tongue and down his chin as he continued alternating between circling your clit and sliding his tongue in and out of your entrance.

“Fuck, Reg.”

You weren’t ready for what came next.

Regulus resumed his earlier assault on your clit, massaging his lips and tongue around. Back and forth, back and forth. An intoxicating rhythm that had you moaning curses and something that sounded like his name. Then he inserted two of his fingers. They glided in effortlessly and curled perfectly up against that spongy spot inside you. You always preferred him fingering you than you doing it yourself. His fingers were longer, thicker. His lips sucked at you while his fingers probed that spot that had you screaming and shoving his head into you.

“Cum for me.”

You hadn’t realized he’d been stroking himself this whole time, working himself up along with you. You could feel the still fairly-new feeling of liquid building up inside of you, almost like you had to pee. You tense around his fingers.

“Cum for me, darling,” he coaxed.

You let out a chorus of moans more akin to an incantation than exclamations of pleasure as you let go. As your body spasms, Regulus keeps stroking his fingers inside you, his hot breath fanning onto your cunt as he watches you come undone. Warm liquid squirts onto his face and down onto his shirt, which only provokes him further. He laps at your pussy, drinking you in, and praising you how you like.

“Yes, my love.”

“Squirt all over me.”

“Feel good for me, baby.”

As you come down, Regulus lets out a guttural moan and quickly gets back to his feet, towering over you as he jerks his swollen, pink cock. You don’t miss the way his balls draw up.

“Yes, Reggie cum for me. I want all of it.”

His eyes roll back. “Oh, fuck,” he says, hunching forward and dragging his hand rapidly up and down his spasming cock shooting rope after rope of thick, white cum onto you. It lands just about everywhere, your hair, your lips, breasts, stomach.

As he comes back to reality, he settles back against the counter, his hands landing atop some of their herbs, the pain from his Dark Mark long forgotten, at least for now. He lets out a long breath and takes his eyes over your spent, cum-covered body.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he says. You would try and say something witty, but you can barely think straight. The two of you share a chuckle at the thought of what you’ve just subjected the potions storeroom to. “C’mere” Regulus says. You get up slowly, checking that you can still stand. “Oh, come on, I haven’t even fucked you yet, darling. Your legs are fine,” he says as he wraps his arm around your waist. “D’you enjoy that?”

“Mhm,” you mumble. He presses a kiss onto your shoulder. You open your eyes to the herbs trapped under the Regulus’ hands.

“My elderflower leaves!” you yell, wiggling out of his embrace and taking his hand away from the countertop. Regulus just taunts you, earning himself a slap to the arm. “I have to go get the mint before it gets dark out,” you say, a hint of panic detectable in your voice.

“Love, I think I’ll survive a few more hours without your herbal treatments,” Regulus assures. You feel Regulus’ cock begin to harden again against your thigh. His fingers slide between your nether lips.

Perhaps the poultice could wait.

#regulus black smut #regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus black x reader smut #regulus black fic #regulus black fanfiction #regulus smut #harry potter #hp #regulus black x oc #regulus black x ofc #regulus x reader

1K notes · View notes

imnotoverlyobsessive · 6 months

Text

Don’t Blame My English Blood For This American Heartache

Chapter Four: Thorn In My Side

AO3 info prologue one two three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve

All my work is 18+.

From the moment I met you, your arrogance and conceit, your selfish disdain of the feelings of others, made me realize that you were the last man in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to marry.— Pride & Prejudice (2005)

Mid August, 1984

Malfoy Manor

Wiltshire, England

“Nuh uh,” Sera told Taffy, who was tightening the laces of Sera’s corset. “Nope, this sucks. I don’t even want to see him, why do I have to be stuffed into this thing—“

“Mistress Ursa says to Taffy that Miss Sera has to wear an informal dress for Lord Black,” the elf told her, tying off her corset strings and handing her her dress.

“I don’t want to see him,” she repeated.

“Lord Black is a good man,” Taffy assured Sera, helping her step into the pale pink empire waist dress. “Taffy knows his house-elf, and Lord Black is taking very good care of him.”

“Oh yes,” Sera said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “He’s good to his slave. Give the man a medal.” She’d been beyond horrified to learn that house-elves were slaves. “Are you sure you don’t want me to pay you, Taffy?”

“Taffy is honored to serve the Malfoy family,” the little elf assured her for the umpteenth time. “The Miss has already given Taffy fabric to make her own clothes. Taffy is grateful.”

Sera sighed. “You deserve freedom, though.”

“If Taffy were free, Taffy would stay here and look after the Miss.”

She smiled down at the elf. “If you gotta. But I insist you tell me if you need or want something, alright?”

“As the Miss asks.” After a moment, she added, “Not all Masters are good to their elves. Lord Black is making sure his old elf is getting days to rest and see healers. Lord Black is kind to his elf.”

“Hm,” Sera hummed, adjusting the bodice of the dress to where her breasts didn’t bulge out of the square neckline quite so much. “At least there’s that, I guess.”

She fidgeted with the pearl on a chain around her neck, shifting anxiously from foot to foot in her Victorian-looking low heels.

“I don’t want to see him, Taffy,” she confessed.

“Taffy knows, Miss Sera,” the elf told her gently, “but he will be kind to the Miss.” Taffy looked around, checking for observers, before adding, “And if he’s not, you call for Taffy. Taffy will get rid of him.”

Sera smiled down at the little elf gratefully. “Thanks.”

Taffy nodded, stepping back from her.

She took a deep, shuddering breath and exited her bedroom, making her way down the hall, into her TV room (she’d managed to convince Aunt Ursa to let her get a TV, which Sera had spelled to work without electricity or cable), and down the spiral staircase. From there, it was just across the main hall and down the steps to the drawing room, a house-elf—Toffee was the elf’s name; all the elves at the Manor were named after candy—pouring Regulus a drink.

Upon seeing Sera come in, Toffee the elf bowed deeply. Sera winced. “Don’t do that, please, Toffee.”

“Yes, Miss Sera,” the elf agreed immediately. “Would the Miss like something to drink?”

Sera pursed her lips, glancing at Regulus, who was looking at her with a great deal of interest he didn’t even bother to attempt at concealing, and quickly decided, “Some wine, if you would.”

“Bit early for that, isn’t it?” Regulus chided gently. “I don’t want you to get drunk.”

“I’m not going to get drunk on a few sips of wine,” she snapped in annoyance. “Why are you here? I told you not to come.”

He shrugged. “I told you I was going to.”

She glared at him. Then, when he took a sip of what appeared to be the wine he’d just scolded her for requesting, she accused, “You’re drinking wine and criticizing me for doing the same?”

“You’re younger than I am, yes?” he drawled, leaning back against the couch he was sitting on as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “I have a better alcohol tolerance than you do, I would guess.”

She glared harder, striding across the room to the couch across from him. “You’re not that much older than I am. Unless you’re thirty.”

“I’m twenty-four.” He hummed, swirling his wine as he watched Toffee pour Sera’s own wine into a glass and hand it to her. On the wall above him was a fancy painting of one of Sera’s ancestors—or so she’d been told—and Regulus looked very much as if he could’ve walked straight out of it. “You’re hoping to go to Hogwarts for a seventh year, aren’t you? That would make you seventeen.”

“I’m eighteen,” she snapped, sipping the wine and nodding gratefully at Toffee, who looked like he was going to bow again before thinking better of it and scurrying off to a hidden door that led to a butler’s pantry— or elf’s pantry, rather.

“Eighteen?” he asked, surprised. “Interesting. They must’ve given you special permission to apply despite your age.”

Sera bristled in irrigation at his assumptions, no matter how accurate they were. “Why are you here? What do you want?”

He huffed a breath of amusement. “I want to court you, obviously.”

She stared at him unblinkingly in bewilderment. “You want to what?”

“Court you,” he drawled, his tone far too casual for her liking.

“As in, like… romantically?”

“If we suit, yes,” he drawled.

Sera grimaced. “You assumed I was seventeen.”

He raised his eyebrows. “I did.”

“You would pursue a seventeen-year old?”

He swirled his wine in his glass idly. “If I fancied her, I don’t see any reason not to.”

Sera looked at him like he’d gone insane. “Because seventeen is too young for you, maybe? Did you ever think of that?”

Regulus frowned. “Seventeen is of age,” he said slowly. “As long as she’s an adult, I don’t see why a woman would be too young for me.”

“Since when is seventeen an adult?”

He shrugged. “I’ve no idea, honestly. Is it different in America?”

“Yes,” she informed him. “It’s eighteen.”

“Which is your age,” he pointed out. “So what, pray tell, is the issue with me courting you?”

There were a lot of issues with that, if she was understanding him correctly. “Isn’t courting done with the intention, to, like…” She gulped. “Y’know.”

He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“You know,” she enunciated, not wanting to say the words aloud, lest it make the idea real.

“A courtship is generally in preparation for a betrothal, if that’s what you mean.”

“How can you decide you want to marry someone right after meeting them?!” she demanded, her voice shrill.

“I haven’t decided,” he told her, his tone as nonchalant as his posture. “That’s why I want to court you.”

“I’m not gonna agree to that,” she said sharply. “Not to you courting me or whatever, and definitely not to marrying you.”

“Technically, your consent is not required,” Regulus pointed out. “Pureblood marriages are generally arranged.”

“I think you’re confused about which century we’re in,” she snapped.

“I don’t know how marriage contracts work in America, but here, in pureblood society, they’re binding and only require the signatures of each Head of Household. In this case, that would be your aunt and myself. In the case of, say, the Rosiers, it would be Titus.”

“The Rosiers are my cousins.” She took a swig of her wine, distressed at the notion of marrying her cousin.

He shrugged. “Irrelevant. My parents were cousins.”

She grimaced. “No wonder you’re… like this.”

He arched a brow at her. “Like what?”

“A dickhead.”

He huffed another laugh. “You are the first pureblood lady of my acquaintance that disdains me.”

“I may be a pureblood,” Sera said lowly, “but I’ve never been a lady.”

He hummed. “A lady by birth if not upbringing. Regardless, as the heir to a pureblood family, you are subject to the same expectations as the rest of us.”

“Which are?”

“Namely? Marriage—to a man of your station or above it—and reproduction.” He paused, looking her up and down. “Regardless of who it is, you will be expected to marry. I am, to be perfectly frank, an excellent candidate. Marrying me would be beneficial for your family as well as for you personally.”

Sera lifted her chin defiantly. “And why is that?”

“I am a well-off pureblood,” he began pragmatically, “and I’m the Head of my House, which is a particularly high ranking one. I hold six seats in the Wizengamot and therefore have a considerable amount of political influence.” A breath. “Regarding me as an individual, I am above average in both intellect and appearance, I’ll not ever strike you or otherwise cause you harm, nor will I mistreat you or disrespect you. I am not inexperienced, so you will certainly enjoy our time in bed together, and I will be faithful to you. You would have jewels, gowns, and more money than you could ever spend. You would have a devoted husband who would pleasure you to no end and give you anything you desired.” Another breath. “Finally, our children will inherit our magical talent, and they will not be unintelligent. They will never be mistreated or neglected and will have the best of everything.”

Sera stared at him, almost impressed by his overconfidence. “You think I’ll want to marry you because you’re rich, hot, not stupid, and won’t be absolutely garbage to me or the kids I most definitely will not be having with you?” She scoffed. “Maybe that argument would work on other pureblood girls, I don’t know. But I wasn’t raised around this sort of thing. I don’t find any of that impressive.”

He frowned slightly, the expression almost imperceptible. “Not even the bit about my extensive sexual experience?”

She made a face, somewhat disgusted. “Why would I be impressed that you’re a slut?”

His frown deepened momentarily before his face smoothed out again. “No matter. I can make you fancy me.”

She narrowed her eyes. “I highly doubt that, fancy boy.”

Regulus hummed thoughtfully, then withdrew his wand and, with a wave of it, he conjured a large bouquet of roses. He stood, holding it out to her.

She stared at the bouquet for a good long while, and when he showed no signs of withdrawing his hand, she finally accepted them. “I’m not agreeing to anything,” she told him firmly. “I just don’t want to waste the flowers.”

He smirked down at her. “Adorably confident, aren’t you?”

“Not in much,” she admitted, “but in this? Hell yeah.” With that, she called, “Taffy!” The elf appeared with a crack! and Sera said, “Out with him.”

“Yes, Miss Sera.” Before Regulus could so much as blink, Taffy took him by the sleeve and relocated them away.

With a self-satisfied smile, Sera downed the rest of her wine.

Oh, Regulus. You ridiculous man.

Tag list:

To be added, please ask 💗

24 notes · View notes

sayafics · 10 months

Text

Her Muse - Chapter I

I just finished re-reading Harry Potter and somehow found myself in a Regulus spiral. I've always wanted to write about Regulus, but I don't know enough about the Marauders' era to be able to do it justice, so this was my solution.

This takes place during Goblet of Fire.

Anyways, I do hope fellow Regulus lovers enjoy this, and if anyone has any ideas on how I can bring this beautiful man back to the land of the living in this series please comment it or message me! Thank you, and enjoyyy <3333

Prologue

Next Chapter

Masterlist

Ophelia was rushing through the halls after curfew, her hands trembling as she hid them deep in the pockets of her night gown, stumbling through the dark in misery.

The cold chill of the night could not stop the overwhelming rush of thoughts bounding through her mind, even as a harrowing breeze sent goosebumps running up her bare legs.

She pulled her robe tighter around herself, her mind running over the events which occurred only hours ago.

Her name had been chosen by the Goblet of Fire.

Her stubbornness had gotten the better of her – at Blaise’s goading and hooting, she had surrendered to the urging pleas of her classmates and placed her name in the Goblet.

From the moment the slip of paper escaped her grasp and sunk into the Goblet, she had been praying.

Praying that it would not be her name which was selected.

After all, the Goblet would select the best student as a representative for the school.

And that was simply not her.

Relief had flooded her body when it was Cedric’s name that had passed Dumbledore’s lips in place of her own, and she celebrated for her friend as he smiled with fearful excitement.

After the three representatives for the TriWizard competition had been chosen, Ophelia felt her shoulders sink as she relaxed in her seat.

Dumbledore had only turned his back on the Goblet for a moment, and then it began to bubble and burst in a furious torrent of blue before releasing two scraps of paper.

As Dumbledore snatched the slips from the air, the hall descended into silence waiting with bated breaths.

Dumbledore glanced down at the papers in his hands, his eyes closing in sorrow before he rolled his shoulder back and announced with restrained fury the name ‘Harry Potter’ and then her own.

It seemed she had the luck to be chosen as collateral damage in the game to take Harry’s life.

At the sound of her name being spoken purposefully, she felt as though the relief which had engulfed her body only moments ago churned into a vicious ocean of terror, drowning her in silent fury.

Her eyes flickered to meet Blaise’s and she sae the Slytherin boy’s face crumble with guilt.

Ophelia had shuffled across the hall in reluctance, joining her fellow Hufflepuff and finding comfort in his solid presence next to her.

The fear which rushed through her body, forcing her breaths to sputter and hands to tremble, must have been more obvious than she thought, tumultuous thoughts rushing off her in waves causing Cedric to look at her in concern before throwing an arm over her shoulder. He drew her into his side, garnering every effort he could to make her feel safe and supported, but her mind raced with the possibilities of how she could get hurt or die in this tournament.

It would have been different, perhaps, if only her name had been chosen. Because then it truly was no one’s fault but her own.

But no, Cedric’s name was the one chosen.

And then Harry’s.

She just so happened to be selected by accident.

Ophelia feels like she should be grateful she was not the only Hogwarts student competing, but a part of her was full of anger and dead – knowing her fate was sealed by a magical contract which guaranteed death, all because the followers of the Dark Lord were out to get Harry.

Ophelia was collateral damage.

Or at least, she would be soon.

But she couldn’t blame Harry, not really. It wasn’t the boy’s fault he had been marked by death.

Yet she found herself unable to look into his pleading eyes, reluctant to accept her fate had been sealed because of the cards Harry had been dealt as an infant.

And it was after hours upon hours of writhing restlessly in these troubling thoughts that Ophelia had left her dorm and began sneaking through the dark, hoping to find some help in the secrets that lurked in the shadows of Hogwarts.

She had been walking for some time now, managing to escape the frenzied patrol of Mr. Filch and his dreadful cat, when she heard it.

It was the sound of rocks sliding against each other, as though they were being shifted around. The sound sent a shred of fear through her, causing her to pull out her wand and whisper a quiet “lumos”, and her surroundings to become illuminated.

And there, she could see it. The walls were shifting in front of her to reveal a door. Confusion painted across her face – she had never seen such a thing in all her years at Hogwarts, she doesn’t believe she ahs heard of such a thing exist either.

The door was grand, the surface smooth, painted with a glossy black with ridges swirling around the border with floral trimmings at each corner, and a gold handle – the handle shaped like a serpent’s body.

Curiosity had gotten the best of her, and she reached towards it. Her hands wrapped around the handle, and the head of the serpent rested on the skin of her hand, between her forefinger and thumb.

Ophelia pushed on the door, but it resisted against her – “c’mon, are you serious?”

She blew out a frustrated sigh, disappointed she had not gotten her way. She pulled away from the handle harshly, ready to march away from the door that filled her heart with intrigue and stew in misery once more.

The motion was careless and caused the teeth of the serpent to scratch deeply into her skin, the edges sharp and easily drawing fresh blood.

Ophelia inhaled sharply, bringing her hand to her chest to cradle it gently as she looked at the door in betrayal, “really? Haven’t I been through enough?” her whispers were furtive, “I’m already going to die in that foolish competition, I don’t need to be injured too.”

She closed her eyes in embarrassment, realising she must look like a lunatic as she whispered angrily towards an inanimate object. She prayed Mr. Filch or one of the professors would not find her in such a predicament, otherwise she was sure she would be sent to St. Mungo’s for a prolonged visit.

It seemed, however, that the door had heard her murmured pleas. Or perhaps it was the blood that pooled in the mouth of the golden serpent instead.

The serpent began to shift in its place, twisting in upon itself to loop into a rounded shape before going still. Ophelia looked at the door in scepticism, wondering if another attempt to pry it open would cause her to lose more blood.

Although it seemed her curiosity had grown stronger than her need for caution, and she reached out with a bloodied hand to twist the newly shaped handle gently.

The door gave in easily this time, and despite its grand size it was light to push as she stepped into the room it had revealed.

The room was small, made of cobblestone, and only a sliver of light was able to enter the threshold, but she was unable to tell what the source was. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dark, and within it, she could see a lonesome dressing table. She felt her lips pull downwards as she stared in disappointment. Was that all this room held?

A dressing table?

It was not the adventure she had been hoping for. The thought brought an incredulous smile across her face, she had been spending too much time with Hermione and the boys.

Ophelia stepped towards the mirror nonetheless, hands brushing against the pristine, black surface of the table as she rounded the chair to sit upon it. The table held no drawers, just a single large mirror ornated with gold vines as a border.

She looked into the mirror, her wand being her only source of light. Ophelia traced her features in the mirror, her eyes coursing the way her hair flowed freely down her back in careless waves, the way her eyes were red and tired, the permanent look of fear that had been stretched across her face from the moment her name fell out of the Goblet.

She had become so distracted by the signs of her dread and anguish that she had failed to notice a figure materialise itself behind her shoulder.

The figure cleared their throat harshly, the sound causing Ophelia to jerk in surprise as she feared she may have been caught. She had only caught the sight of pale hands at the level of her shoulders before her head whipped around to look behind her, an apology already present at the tip of her tongue.

An apology she never had the opportunity to make, because behind her there was nothing.

She felt goosebumps scrape their way across the plane of her neck, feeling the power of a glare rip its way through her skin. Confusion took the place of dread as she turned back towards the mirror only to see the same hand. Her eyes dragged their way up, wondering if she was seeing a ghost or an apparition, or worse – her fears had personified themselves into a being that was ready to haunt her every move.

Her eyes eventually met those that were painted a dull green, eyes that were lifeless and drained. She dragged her eyes across the man’s face, taking in the curls that brushed against his forehead, the furrow between his brows, the way his lips twitched with irritation as his face became screwed with suspicion.

Ophelia’s heart stopped for a moment, finding her way back to those green eyes.

“Who are you?”

Her words were quiet, filled with intrigue at the sight of a person standing in the mirror in front of her. The man’s lips simply curled in disgust, his eyes narrowed as his voice rose, cold and sharp, “how did you find this room?”

It seemed that the man who his in the mirror was just as perplexed as she was.

“I asked first.”

“It is you who is invading my space. If anyone requires an answer, it is me.”

His accent was distinct and elegant, but his words were seething and dripping in fury.

Ophelia scoffed in return, “not until you answer me first. I’ll wait for as long as I need to, I doubt you have anywhere to go anyway.”

Her words were smug, but he could make out the worry in her eyes as she tried to determine just who he was, and what he is.

His hand came to his face, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he deliberated his choices. He hasn’t had a visitor in years, and truthfully, he needed to know what changes had passed after he commenced his plans.

His hands came to rest by his sides as his eyes met her’s once more, Ophelia found that she had to crane her head to meet his gaze as he stood lumbering over her in the reflection. There was a fraction of defeat in his face as he realised in this moment, he needed her more than she needed him. And the thought alone frustrated him to no end.

He sighed, grievously, “my name is Regulus Arcturus Black, and who might you be?”

Regulus’ head tilted in genuine curiosity, and Ophelia likened the action to that of a cat. The thought brought a sense of amusement to her, a feeling she relished in as it provided an escape from the confusion that riddled her.

Regulus was intrigued, desperate to learn how she was able to find his secrets and access them with such ease.

“I’m Ophelia Luminita.”

#regulus black smut #regulus black #regulus black x you #regulus black x female reader #regulus black x reader #regulus black x y/n #regulus black x OFC #harry potter #hermione granger #ron weasley #draco malfoy #blaise zabini #canon divergence

47 notes · View notes

adharastarlight · 8 months

Text

James: oh, go to hell.

Regulus: fine! but I'll be running it in a week.

James: ...yeah, I don't doubt it

75 notes · View notes

multishipperofgaydeadwizards · 2 months

Note

I need you to tell me more about emmeline x evan 🥹

please please please

i was thinking about them.

imagine where emmeline and regulus are bestfriends and they are at a concert where barty and evan are, thats like how they meet

oh my, I'll gladly tell you abt them!! they're like my number 1 obsession!!

Hsjsoebei yessss omg them meeting at a concert!!!

barty and emmelije immediately click and become super good friends. evan and regulus not too much

the concert is of bartyem's favorite band. regulus and evan are just there so that they don't have to be alone

emmeline and barty exchange numbers and start hanging out in private two (obviously, they drag evan + reg along)

their hang outs are just: bartyem being besties and evan/reg glaring at each other thinking that that what their crush is into (evan is judging reg; reg is judging evan)

(they misunderstand that reguline and rosekiller are dating 💀💀. after all, they always go to the meet up's together and barty/emmeline would definitely tell them (evan/reg) if they were seeing someone)

emmeline and barty are completely oblivious. they actually think reg and evan are the bestest of friends (they will be once they get over their misunderstanding)

so, erhm, eventually they finally get over it. bith are outraged by the sole idea of dating their best friend. ("how could you ever think I was dating EMMELINE???" "you two are always together, and she speaks of you so fondly") ("BARTY??? you thought I was dating BARTY???" "well, yeah")

they work together to finally get together with the other. they plan hangouts. once they're there, they - by pure coincidence ofc - separate. evan and emmeline end up alone together and bartylus end up alone together

the time of pathetic flirting has started (it's not effective bc bartyem are oblivious idiots)

somehow, emmeline is the first to notice reg's crush on barty. she brings it up, reg confesses to it. she ends up talking to evan about helping her to get bartylus together

she has the same plan as evan/reg had

eveline get together first bc by hangout number three emmeline realises that she likes evan. girl has no shame and just straight-up asks him. evan is like: "I didn't know one could do that???"

she gets bartylus together by asking reg how long they've been dating only for barty to answer with four months (since they started hanging out)

turns out barty thought they were dating the entire time... man never clarified that they're dating... sigh

~ The end :) ~

lmao. I hope this satisfies your eveline wish :) thank you for the ask <3

8 notes · View notes