Uncle Moony And Siri 🌟

Danny's turn

It's the start of Harry's fourth year and Danny is entering her first year.

[Regulus Black x Fem Potter! reader]

word count: 722

warnings: nothing lol

note: Three more chapters after this one

The summer before Harry's fourth year at Hogwarts was a whirlwind of excitement, nerves, and—as always—mischief in the Potter-Black household. But this year, the buzz wasn't just about the Triwizard Tournament. No, the bigger event—at least according to the family—was that Danica Potter-Black, their resident broody genius, was finally heading to Hogwarts.

"She’ll be in Slytherin," Regulus said one evening as the family sat around the fireplace. He leaned back in his chair, a book open on his lap. "Mark my words."

Harry, sprawled across the rug with Danny's legs resting on his back, snorted. "Yeah, sure, Baba. You said that about me too, remember?"

Regulus gave an exaggerated sigh. "Yes, well...you're James' child. No cunning bone in your body."

"Hey!" Harry protested as Y/N burst out laughing beside him.

"He's got a point, sweetheart," she teased. "You do tend to wear your heart on your sleeve."

"Unlike Danny here," Harry grumbled, tossing a pillow backward. It hit Danny squarely in the stomach, but she didn’t even flinch. The eleven-year-old had her nose buried in Advanced Magical Theory—a book meant for sixth-years.

"I’m still deciding," Danny said coolly, flipping a page without looking up. "Slytherin or Ravenclaw. They're both fine options."

Harry groaned dramatically. "You're such a little snob."

"And you're predictable," Danny shot back. "Hazzy, you practically begged to be in Gryffindor."

"I did not beg."

"Yes, you did," Regulus said with a smirk.

Y/N laughed harder. "You did, love. It's okay. We still adore you."

Harry dropped his head into his arms, groaning. "This family’s the worst."

Platform 9¾ was, as always, a chaotic mess of trunks, cats, owls, and frantic parents. Harry stood beside Danny, who was watching everything with her usual quiet intensity. She was dressed neatly in a crisp button-up and black jeans, her curls pulled back into a braid that Y/N had wrestled into submission that morning.

"See that kid over there?" Harry leaned toward her, nodding toward a nervous-looking boy holding a toad. "Neville Longbottom. Super nice. If you get lost, find him."

Danny arched an eyebrow. "You mean the boy who melted his own cauldron in first year?"

Harry winced. "He's improved."

Regulus crouched beside his daughter, adjusting the strap on her satchel. "Remember, starshine, you don’t have to decide who you are today. The Hat will know where you belong."

Danny nodded, though her lips pressed into a thin line.

Y/N kissed the top of her head. "And if you get nervous, remember that you know more spells than half the seventh-years."

Danny finally smiled. "Because Baba taught me illegally?"

"Technically, it was more of a loophole," Regulus muttered.

The train whistled, and Harry ruffled Danny's hair. "C’mon, Bug. Time to go."

As Harry led her toward the train, Danny suddenly stopped. She turned and ran back to her parents, wrapping her arms tightly around Regulus first, then Y/N.

"Love you," she whispered.

"We love you too," Y/N said, voice thick.

Regulus hugged her tightly, then cupped her cheek. "Go show them what a Black can do."

Danny gave a sharp nod and marched after Harry.

From the window, Harry waved at his parents as the train pulled away. Beside him, Danny stood on her tiptoes, her eyes already scanning the train for potential threats—or opportunities.

"First-year nerves?" Harry asked.

Danny smirked. "Please. I’ve been ready since I was six."

The Sorting Hat’s mouth opened wide as it sat atop Danica's head.

"Ahhh…interesting. Very interesting indeed. Ambitious…clever…calculating…but also…hmm…you love your family more than anything. Brave for them. Protective."

Danny gripped the edge of the stool. Not Gryffindor. Not Gryffindor.

"Not Gryffindor? Ah. Like your brother…though you wouldn't do terribly there either. You’ve got that same sharp mind your mother has…and your father’s…ah yes…his talent. So…where to put you…?

The entire hall seemed to hold its breath.

"SLYTHERIN!"

The Slytherin table erupted into cheers. Danny slid off the stool, her face calm but her heart racing. As she sat down beside a fourth-year named Gemma Farley, she sneaked a glance at the staff table.

Her mother gave her a wink.

Danny's lips twitched upward. She turned to the table of green and silver and thought, Yeah. This fits.

Meanwhile, Harry groaned across the hall at the Gryffindor table. "Baba’s never gonna let me live this down."

previous chapter <--> next chapter

i have a headcannon that paul was a goofy child growing up and often gave his parents headaches.

IG credit to shotbyorion 💥💥💥

Wow, he’s really good. Fantastic reflexes.💥💥💥

IG credit to redbullf1academy

A Hogsmeade date

Y/N struggled with insecurity, but Regulus, hopelessly smitten, finally took her on a date.

requested by @misskity1912-blog

Regulus Black x Chubby Fem! reader

words: 944

warning: mentions of insecurity

note: part two to Hidden in plain sight

find more here: masterlist, Regulus masterlist

Regulus sat at the Slytherin table, utterly dazed, his chin resting in his palm as he stared dreamily across the Great Hall at Y/N. His porridge had long since gone cold, but he hadn’t noticed—he was too lost in his thoughts, replaying the moment she had said yes to him over and over again in his mind.

“I still don’t understand how she agreed,” he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Barty groaned, throwing his head back dramatically. “Merlin, Regulus, this is worse than before! You’ve been staring at her for ten minutes straight. Eat your bloody food.”

Evan smirked as he took a sip of his pumpkin juice. “No, let him have his moment. It’s adorable, really.”

Regulus scowled, but it lacked any real irritation. “I just don’t get it. She’s brilliant, kind, beautiful—why would she choose me?”

Pandora sighed, ever the voice of reason. “Maybe because she sees something wonderful in you, just like you see in her?”

Regulus opened his mouth to argue but found that he had no response. He turned his gaze back to Y/N, who sat alone at the Ravenclaw table, her head bowed as she picked at her food. She never seemed to talk to anyone, always lost in her world. His heart clenched at the sight. She looked so lonely, and yet, there was something about her solitude that made her seem untouchable, as if she had built walls that no one had ever tried to climb.

“I don’t deserve her,” he murmured, barely audible.

Barty groaned louder, slamming his fork onto the table. “For Salazar’s sake, if you start getting all tragic and brooding about this, I will personally hex you. She likes you, Regulus. Enjoy it.”

Regulus sighed, though a small, reluctant smile played on his lips. Maybe, just maybe, Barty was right. For once, he allowed himself to believe that Y/N truly wanted to be with him.

Evan chuckled, leaning forward. “You should see yourself right now. It’s like watching a lovesick puppy.”

“I am not lovesick,” Regulus retorted, but his voice lacked conviction.

“You so are,” Pandora teased, nudging his arm. “And it’s sweet. Honestly, I think Y/N would be surprised if she knew how much you admired her.”

Regulus tensed at the thought. “You don’t think she thinks it’s a joke, do you?”

Evan sighed. “Mate, if she thought it was a joke, she wouldn’t have said yes. Stop doubting everything and enjoy the moment. This isn’t a strategy meeting; it’s a date.”

Regulus frowned, chewing over Evan’s words. It was true—Y/N had said yes. That had to mean something. Still, the fear of somehow messing everything up gnawed at him. But as he glanced at her again, watching the way she absentmindedly flipped through the pages of a book with a soft, distant look in her eyes, he felt a strange sense of peace settle over him.

Perhaps, for once, things were exactly as they were meant to be.

-

Hogsmeade Day had arrived, and Y/N stood in front of her mirror, adjusting the fabric of her oversized sweatshirt. It was comfortable, long enough to cover her hips, draping over her arms in a way that made her feel hidden. Paired with a flowing, ankle-length skirt, it was the perfect outfit—not too tight, not too revealing. Just safe.

She smoothed her hands over the fabric, exhaling shakily. No matter what she wore, she still saw the same girl in the mirror. The same girl with round cheeks, thick arms, a body that felt too large for the world she lived in. A girl who had spent years believing that no one could ever look at her the way she looked at them.

And yet… Regulus had asked her out.

It still didn’t make sense. She had replayed the moment in her mind countless times, trying to find some hidden joke in his voice, some sign that it wasn’t real. But there was none. He had looked at her with a certainty that she couldn’t comprehend.

She swallowed hard and turned away from the mirror. If this was all some cruel game, she wasn’t sure she could handle it. But if it was real… if there was even the smallest chance that Regulus Black wanted to spend time with her, she would let herself have this day. Just this one.

-

Taking a deep breath, Y/N stepped out of the castle, her fingers gripping the edges of her sleeves. The cold air nipped at her cheeks as she made her way toward the entrance gates, her heart hammering in her chest. What if he changed his mind? What if he took one look at her and regretted asking her?

Her thoughts were silenced the moment she spotted him.

Regulus stood just outside, hands tucked into the pockets of his coat, his sharp, elegant features softened by the small, cheeky smile on his lips. His grey eyes lit up the second they landed on her, and for a moment, Y/N forgot how to breathe.

“There you are,” he said, his voice warm. “For a second, I thought you stood me up.”

Y/N swallowed, hugging herself slightly. “I… I wouldn’t do that.”

Regulus tilted his head, studying her for a moment before stepping closer. “You look beautiful.”

A rush of warmth flooded her face, and she instinctively glanced away, refusing to believe he meant it. “You don’t have to say that.”

His brows knitted together in confusion before something in his expression shifted—gentle, yet firm. “I say what I mean.”

At the Three Broomsticks, the air hummed with chatter and the occasional clink of glasses. The scent of warm butterbeer and cinnamon lingered, wrapping them in a cocoon of comfort against the autumn chill outside. Y/N curled her fingers around the warm tankard, letting the heat seep into her skin. She took a small sip, savoring the sweetness and spice as she glanced at Regulus, whose own fingers brushed against hers more than once as they rested on the table.

Neither pulled away.

“I still don’t understand how you find Quidditch interesting,” Y/N teased, tilting her head as she took another sip. “It’s just people chasing a ball.”

Regulus gasped, placing a hand over his heart as though she had personally insulted his family name. “Chasing a ball? Y/N, Quidditch is an art.”

She arched a skeptical brow, barely holding back a laugh. “An art of nearly falling to your death?”

He smirked, eyes gleaming with amusement. “Exactly.”

She huffed a laugh, shaking her head before reaching for the book beside her. Its spine was new, the scent of parchment and ink still fresh. She flipped through the pages with reverence, her fingers gliding over the words as if they held something sacred. “This, though,” she murmured, “this is art. The way the author describes magic, it’s beautiful.”

Regulus leaned in slightly, his interest piqued. “Read me your favorite passage.”

She hesitated, her lips pressing together before she exhaled softly. With a knowing smile, she turned to a well-worn page and began reading aloud, her voice weaving through the air with quiet passion.

Regulus watched her, utterly transfixed. He wasn’t certain if it was the words she spoke or the way she spoke them—her voice dipping with emotion, her fingers lightly tracing the lines, her expression soft with admiration. Either way, he found himself hanging onto every syllable like she was telling the most fascinating story in the world.

When she finally closed the book, she glanced up at him. “You’re staring.”

A slow, lazy smile curled on his lips. “You make it hard not to.”

A light blush crept up her neck, and she quickly busied herself with taking another sip of butterbeer. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Black.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he mused, twirling his tankard in his hands. “I think it’s working just fine.”

They lingered for a while longer, talking about books, Quidditch, and anything in between. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows along the wooden beams, but eventually, the golden sky outside signaled that the afternoon had begun to fade. Reluctantly, they stepped out into the crisp breeze rolling through the village.

Without hesitation, Regulus shrugged off his coat and draped it over her shoulders. The fabric was warm, carrying the faint scent of cologne and something distinctly him. Y/N blinked at him, startled by the effortless gesture.

“Can I see you again after this?” he asked, hands slipping into his pockets.

She tilted her head, studying him. “You… want to?”

He chuckled, shaking his head fondly. “More than anything.”

Eerie similarities

The eerie similarities between Danny and Baba, and, Harry and Mama

[Regulus Black x Fem Potter! reader]

word count: 779

warnings: fluff and a bit of humor

The Black-Potter living room was a study in contrasts. On one side, sprawled across the thick, emerald-green rug, Harry and Y/N lay on their backs, laughing breathlessly after what had been, according to them, an epic tickle war. On the other side of the room, Regulus sat on the couch, legs crossed, one arm draped casually over the backrest. Beside him, their six-year-old daughter, Danica "Danny" Potter-Black, mirrored his posture with unsettling accuracy.

Both father and daughter held books in their hands. Regulus was reading a dense, leather-bound tome about magical theory, his brows furrowed in concentration. Danny, meanwhile, had a picture book titled The Curious Cauldron Chronicles, but it wasn't the pictures she cared about. Her small finger traced the words on the page as she read quietly to herself, lips moving with every sentence.

"She's just like you," Y/N said from the floor, propping herself up on her elbows as she watched the pair. "Quiet, broody, and disturbingly good at everything."

Regulus glanced over the top of his book, a smirk pulling at his lips. "Disturbingly? I'm gifted, not disturbing."

"Baba," Danny said without looking up, "Mama's jealous that we're smarter."

Regulus chuckled. "That must be it."

Y/N gasped dramatically and flopped back onto the rug. "You hear that, Harry? Our broody geniuses think they're better than us."

Harry, sprawled beside her with his messy black hair sticking up in every direction, grinned mischievously. "Yeah, well, they probably can't do this." He scrambled to his feet and launched himself into a spontaneous, lopsided cartwheel.

Danny finally looked up from her book, unimpressed. "That's not hard," she said, setting her book aside and sliding off the couch. She attempted a cartwheel, landing with a heavy thud on her side. She scowled as her curls flopped into her eyes. "Okay," she muttered. "Maybe it is hard."

Y/N laughed and sat up. "It's okay, Danny-bug. We'll teach you."

"I don't need help," Danny mumbled, climbing to her feet and brushing herself off. "I just need practice."

"She's definitely yours," Y/N said, looking pointedly at Regulus.

"And Harry's yours," Regulus countered, tilting his head toward their son, who was now attempting to do jumping jacks while singing a made-up song about dragons.

"I'm like Mama!" Harry declared proudly, flopping down beside her again. "We're the fun ones."

Y/N ruffled his hair. "That's right, Hazzy. We cause the chaos while they sit around reading big boring books."

Danny crossed her arms, standing next to her father with an identical expression of disdain. "Books aren't boring," she huffed.

"Exactly," Regulus said, holding out a hand for a high five. Danny slapped his palm with the practiced precision of someone who'd done it many times before.

"See," Y/N whispered to Harry. "Broody, smart, and way too serious."

Harry giggled, but his eyes softened as he watched his sister sit back down beside their father. "I like it when Danny reads to me sometimes," he said quietly.

"Of course you do," Y/N said, kissing his temple. "She's your little sister. You're supposed to think she's cool sometimes. Just don't tell her that too often."

Harry nodded sagely. "Got it."

Across the room, Danny leaned into Regulus's side, her head resting against his arm as she picked up her book again. He angled the book slightly toward her, pointing out a tricky word when she hesitated.

Y/N smiled softly. "She's going to be just like you, you know."

Regulus glanced up. "Brilliant and devastatingly handsome?"

"I was going to say a stubborn know-it-all, but sure, let's go with that."

Danny, still absorbed in her book, gave a tiny smile at her parents' teasing. Harry, meanwhile, tugged on Y/N's hand. "Come on, Mama! Let's build a pillow fort!"

Y/N jumped to her feet with a conspiratorial grin. "Excellent idea, partner-in-crime."

As the energetic duo began dragging pillows and blankets from every corner of the room, Danny peeked over her book. "That blanket's mine," she said.

"Then come help us," Y/N said with a wink.

Danny hesitated. But when Regulus nudged her lightly, she stood and crossed the room, grabbing a pillow and placing it with calculated precision.

"We're going to have our hands full with these two," Y/N murmured as Regulus joined her on the couch.

Regulus draped an arm around her shoulders, watching Harry enthusiastically demonstrate the "proper" way to build a pillow fort while Danny corrected his measurements. "Yes," he agreed, pressing a kiss to Y/N's temple. "And I wouldn't change a thing."

Outside, the winter wind howled against the windows. Inside, the Black-Potter family remained warm, chaotic, and perfectly complete.

previous chapter <--> next chapter

my fav writer following me back?!? Ahhhhh

I can die happily now TuT

Also!! Hello new moot!!

Hi!! omg i can’t believe im being mentioned as a fav writer now ilysm 🥹🥹🥹 thank you for liking my stories!!

✮⋆˙ 𝙿𝚊𝚞𝚕'𝚜 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖 .ᐟ

╰┈➤ 𝐈𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞, Paul Atreides gets baby fever and pesters his beloved wife into having one

⊹₊⟡⋆ 𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟽𝟾𝟷 ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

⊹₊⟡⋆ 𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚎: 𝙵𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏 ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

The desert winds howled against the walls of their quarters, a steady rhythm that had become background music to Y/N's life. She was seated at their low table, sorting through a collection of reports from the sietch leaders. Across from her, Paul Atreides lounged on a cushion, his chin resting in his hand as he stared at her. She glanced up, feeling his gaze. “What?”

“You’d look good with a baby in your arms,” Paul said, his tone casual, as though he were commenting on the weather.

Y/N froze mid-scroll, lifting an incredulous brow. “Excuse me?”

“A baby,” Paul repeated, his blue-within-blue eyes alight with something far too mischievous for her liking. “Our baby.”

She let out a laugh, shaking her head. “Paul, we’re fighting off assassination attempts, managing alliances, and trying to ensure Arrakis doesn’t collapse into chaos. And you want to talk about babies?”

“Yes,” he said simply, sitting up straighter. “Think about it, Y/N. A child of ours—someone to carry on what we’re building. Someone who could bring joy to the sietch, and to us.”

“Joy?” she repeated, her tone dry. “More like sleepless nights and endless crying.”

Paul grinned, undeterred. “It’s not all like that. Imagine teaching them about the desert, watching them grow, seeing the world through their eyes.”

Y/N sighed, setting the reports aside. “You’re serious about this?”

“As serious as I’ve ever been,” Paul replied, leaning forward, his gaze locking with hers. “We’ve fought so hard, Y/N. We deserve to have something of our own, something that’s not tied to prophecy or politics.”

She studied him, trying to gauge if this was another one of his intense whims. But the way he spoke, the way his voice softened as he described their potential future—it was clear he’d been thinking about this for a while.

“Paul, our lives aren’t exactly stable,” she said gently. “Bringing a child into this... it’s a risk.”

“I know,” he admitted. “But everything we do is a risk. At least this one would be for us, not for the throne or the Fremen or anyone else.”

Y/N tilted her head, lips twitching into a small smile. “You’ve really thought about this, haven’t you?”

“Every day,” he confessed. “Especially when I see the children in the sietch. They remind me of what’s possible, even in the harshest conditions. We could give that to a child—love, guidance, and a future worth fighting for.”

She leaned back, crossing her arms. “You’re romanticizing it. Babies are hard work, Paul. And you’re not exactly known for having free time.”

“That’s why we’d do it together,” he countered, his voice filled with conviction. “I know it won’t be easy, but nothing in our lives is. That’s never stopped us before.”

Y/N was silent for a moment, letting his words sink in. She couldn’t deny the warmth spreading in her chest at the thought of a child—a little piece of her and Paul, growing and thriving amidst the chaos. But practicality had always been her guiding force.

“Let me think about it,” she said finally, her tone measured.

Paul’s face lit up, his grin wide and boyish. “That’s not a no.”

“No, it’s not,” she agreed, shaking her head at his enthusiasm.

Over the next few weeks, Paul didn’t let the subject drop. He found ways to weave it into their conversations, whether they were discussing strategy or simply sharing quiet moments together. He’d point out how Y/N’s nurturing nature would make her a wonderful mother or muse aloud about what their child might be like.

One evening, as they walked through the sietch, Paul stopped to watch a group of children playing in the sand. Y/N followed his gaze, her heart softening as she saw the way his expression shifted—hopeful, almost wistful.

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” she asked, nudging him gently.

“Not a chance,” he replied, his voice warm. “But only because I know you’d be an amazing mother, Y/N. And because I can’t imagine anyone else I’d want to raise a family with.”

She sighed, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re relentless, you know that?”

“I’ve been called worse,” he teased.

That night, as they lay together under the dim glow of the desert moonlight, Y/N finally spoke the words she knew Paul had been waiting to hear.

“Fine,” she murmured, her voice soft but steady. “Let’s do it. Let’s have a child.”

Paul’s arms tightened around her, his breath hitching in surprise. “Are you serious?”

“Yes,” she said, turning to meet his gaze. “But you’re changing diapers.”

He laughed, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Deal.”

part two !!

Oooh ooooh! Timmy imagines!! Can you write a super fluffy one about Timmy and y/n spending the night together for the first time!

hello!!! ofc you can, i'm trying to make a name for myself as the fluff connoisseur so this is right up my alley! i hope you like it

“ahhh can i please get you something to drink? a soda? coffee? water?”

timothée’s standing in the middle of his kitchen, looking incredibly lost for somebody who had moved into the apartment two years ago.

it’s endearing, damn it, everything he does is endearing, and you wish he would just cut it out. just stop being so cute all the damn time.

“i promise i’m fine,” you say for what must have been the twelfth time that evening.

you’re cosy amongst the blankets on his couch and look a hell of a lot more at home than he does. yet he’s making you nervous with all his pacing.

he just can’t sit still.

“are you absolutely sure? it’s no pr—”

“timmy i swear to god, if you say it’s no problem one more time i’ll give you a problem.”

“i’m sorry!” he laughs, yanks the hood of his hoodie up, spins on the spot so you can’t see his face. you die on the couch at the sight, and kind of just want to climb all over him — is that weird? that’s really weird.

it’s the first time you’re staying at his place and every little thing he does is so him and so domestic it makes butterflies erupt.

you escape the flurry of blankets he threw on top of you and shuffle over to him. one hand gingerly places itself on his shoulder, the other on his lower back, turning him to face you.

he’s pulling his lip between his teeth, green eyes meeting yours then looking at his feet.

“you’ve made us dinner—” you start.

“well i ordered us dinner, that’s no effort—”

“you’ve tidied your place—”

“it was fucking awful before you came—”

“you’ve given me all the blankets, you’ve even bought that candle i told you i liked months ago.”

he laughs nervously, somehow playing footsie standing up. “i just want you to feel at home — and the least i could do is get you a fucking drink.”

is he seriously still worried he’s not enough?

“i’m fine,” you laugh, “how many times do i need to say it? would a different language help? what is it in french?”

he giggles, hands moving to hide his face.

pulling him closer by the waist, you continue, “the only thing i’m missing…”

he turns ashen.

“...is you.”

“what do you mean?” his face, total confusion, makes you smile.

“you’ve been running around all night making everything perfect when all i really need is you. you literally have not stopped moving since i came over.”

he scrunches his face, raising his eyebrows apologetically as a preempt to an unnecessary apology.

“don’t,” you cut him off before he can even try. “there’s nothing to apologise for. now please come cuddle me?”

he grins, all bashful and gorgeous. you pull him towards his couch and flop down onto it. he falls onto you, sandwiching you between his body and the back of it, then gathers the blankets around you both.

“finally,” you sigh contently, immediately snuggling into his chest.

he laughs. it’s a quiet rumble against your ear that thrums through your body, all the way to your toes.

timothée’s hands, always so expressive, slip slowly under your sweater and rest against your skin.

“this okay?” he murmurs, thumbs stroking patterns over your waist.

you nod, hooking a leg over his to tether him to you, never too close, never enough. his heartbeat picks up at this and you grin, your own quickening as he runs his hands to your back, tucking you impossibly closer.

“i can’t believe we could have been doing this hours ago,” he hums.

“instead you were rearranging the table for the millionth time. and we ate the takeout over here instead.” you giggle, running a hand through his hair.

he almost purrs at your touch, hugging you tighter, melting into you.

“that reminds me, we still have dessert in the fridge if you want—”

“nuh uh, no moving,” you cut him off. “been denied cuddles for far too long.”

he laughs, rolling over and taking you with him. “gah, can’t reach fridge! must get ice cream!”

“movie instead?” you compromise, wrapping your legs around him not unlike a koala. he nuzzles your neck, making you laugh, and tucks his nose there.

you reach for the remote and flick to the dark knight. you can feel his smile against your skin and run your hands over his back as he leaves kisses along your neck.

“god, how are you real?” he says, green eyes blindingly sincere as they meet yours. you squirm under his gaze, burying your head back in his chest as the movie starts.

several hours and a trilogy later, your arm is numb and timothée’s dead weight is trapping you against the couch.

your attempt to stretch ends up elbowing him in the face and he groans awake, one hand holding his nose.

“oh god, baby i’m so sorry,” you rush out, your hand caressing his cheek as he blinks sleepily.

“if this is how you wake me up each morning i don’t want it,” he mumbles, playfully nuzzling his nose back against your neck.

you snicker, resting your hand in his hair, undeniable warmth spreading through you at his half asleep musings. you can picture it too, lazy mornings together, coaxing him awake with promises of bagels and kisses, even just kisses, two bodies nestled together under soft sheets, messy hair, warm skin.

you check the time on your phone, shocked to find it’s 02:47am.

“tim,” you murmur, hand tousling his hair. there’s no reply and his breathing is rhythmic and slow.

“timmy,” you try again, other hand sweeping under his hoodie, up his back. “baby, wake up.”

he shakes his head and damn it if it’s not the cutest thing you’ve ever seen.

“come on, we can’t sleep on your couch,” you whisper, fingers zigzagging over his skin.

“yeah we can, is comfy,” he yawns, raspy voice making you want to dive into him.

“baby, there’s more room in bed,” you point out. “more room for cuddles?”

he groans, stretching out to his fullest and almost tumbling off the couch. you stand up, amused as he curls back into the couch only to find nobody to cuddle.

“yn?” he asks, rubbing his eyes to find you standing in front of him. “that was cruel.”

he pouts and you roll your eyes, holding your hand out to drag him up. “come on, sleepyhead.”

he grumbles as he leads you to his bedroom, flicking off the lights as he goes. when he turns to face you, nerves erupt in your stomach. it makes no sense, really, you were fine on the couch, sharing his space, limbs intertwined, breathing his scent.

but now his scent is overwhelming. it swirls in the air as he pulls the bed sheets back. it’s woven into the very sheets themselves. it’s everywhere, and so much more intimate, and suddenly your breathing shallows and you stand awkwardly against his doorframe.

“baby?” timothée turns when you don’t follow, sitting down on the edge of his bed.

“sorry, sorry, it’s stupid,” you say, covering your cheeks with your hands.

he shakes his head, reaching out for you. you stand between his legs.

“it’s not,” he says.

“i just… suddenly feel nervous?” you bite your lip. somehow his sleepy eyes soften further at your admission and you move to sit beside him.

“it’s just a bed, it’s just sleep,” he says, headbutting your shoulder.

“i know but there’s all this pressure to be intimate—”

“my only job is to make you happy and comfortable,” timothée says so earnestly, so safely, you can’t believe how worked up you were.

the tension leaves your body and you’re left as tired as he looks. you run a finger over the smudges beneath his eyes, leaning closer to kiss him.

“thank you,” you whisper against his lips.

he kisses you again, soft and warm, and when you pull away the nerves have transformed back into butterflies.

“okay, we need sleep,” you say, watching his eyes flutter.

he hums, pulling you backwards to lie down beside him. “this okay?”

you nod, cuddling closer. his heartbeat picks up again when you trace your fingers over his chest. there’s a few minutes of shifting around and getting comfy, and it’s as timothée turns onto his side for the fifth time that he declares:

“fuck, now i can’t sleep.”

“you’re kidding. i had to practically drag you off the couch.”

“yeah but now i’m overtired.”

“are you a toddler?” you tease.

timothée huffs, rolling over to face the wall. you smirk a few moments later when his hands find their way back to your skin like a magnet.

“do you ever think about space?”

“you’ve got to be kidding me,” you groan, hiding your face in one of his pillows.

“no but hear me out, it’s so vast, and we’re so tiny, but that doesn’t mean we’re insignificant. and aliens, why do we never see them? maybe they’re really shy, or disgusted by us, or have huge superiority complexes.”

“please please shut up,” you nose at his neck, kissing just behind his ear sweetly.

“okay, but last thing. what if we’re the aliens?”

“timothée…” you whine, turning over as he spoons you.

“and that’s why we feel so alone? imagine if space had cliques, and earth is like the outcasts. because no other planet seems to have self destructive qualities.”

you make a noise, too tired for words now, as he rambles on about jupiter’s moons and civilization and whatever else goes on in that million miles an hour mind.

somewhere around the ten minute mark you tune out, blissfully close to sleep. he notices your muscles relax against him, and can’t help himself when he teases, just one more time:

“baby, are you sure i can’t get you something to drink?”

“i’m going to murder you.”

he grins as he holds you closer, one hand gently carding through your hair to send you to sleep.

Forever you

Lee is cursed with immortality, and he finds Y/N's reincarnation every time.

Vampire!Lee x Reincarnation!Reader

words: 3.5k

warning: mentions of death, blood, m*rder, reincarnation, abuse , war (brief)

note: school is taking up my time. Unedited

find more here: masterlist

It was the year 1060, the village sat on the edge of a dense forest, untouched by war but not by whispers of creatures that lurked in the dark. Lee had no business here, yet he found himself drawn to the small stone hut at the heart of it.

A storm had rolled in, and with it, the gnawing hunger he had grown to hate. He needed to leave before he did something unforgivable. But then, the door to the hut creaked open, and she stood there—Y/N, her lantern’s glow illuminating wide, cautious eyes.

“You look half-dead,” she remarked, stepping forward.

He nearly laughed at the irony. “I suppose I do.”

“Come inside before you freeze.”

She wasn’t afraid of him—not when he stumbled in with wounds that should have killed any normal man, nor when his skin remained ice-cold even by the fire. She asked no questions, only tending to him as her mother once had for wounded knights.

Over the weeks, Lee stayed close. He helped gather wood, watched her mix herbs, and listened to her hum old songs that stirred something ancient in him. Y/N was kind, but sharp-witted, never failing to call out his silences.

“You always look like you’re carrying a burden.”

He glanced at her, stirring the pot over the fire. “Maybe I am.”

“Well,” she huffed, leaning against the table. “You should set it down every once in a while.”

It happened by the river. The sun was dipping below the trees, setting the sky on fire. Y/N stood barefoot on the bank, watching the water swirl between her toes.

“You’re staring.”

Lee blinked. “Am I?”

She turned to face him fully, something unreadable in her gaze. “You always do.”

Before he could think, she reached for him, fingers curling in the fabric of his tunic. When she kissed him, it was nothing like the hesitant, fleeting gestures of courtly lovers. It was warmth, life, the taste of honey and herbs.

For the first time in centuries, Lee felt human again.

The night was still, but Lee knew danger when he felt it. He woke to the scent of blood, not Y/N’s, but the slaughtered lamb outside the hut. A warning.

He knew he couldn’t keep this from her any longer.

That night, he found her sitting by the fire, waiting for him. Her eyes followed him as he paced, struggling with the words.

“I need to tell you something,” he said, voice low.

She curled a brow. “Oh? You’re secretly a nobleman? Or—gods forbid—a bard?”

He almost smiled, but the weight of the truth held him back. “I’m not… like you, Y/N. I haven’t been for a long time.”

She tilted her head, curious but unafraid. “Go on.”

He took a breath, then met her gaze. “I don’t age. I don’t die—not in the way humans do. I… survive on blood.”

The silence stretched between them. Then, to his utter shock, she smirked. “You’re not about to tell me you sparkle in the sunlight, are you?”

He blinked. “What?”

“You know,” she waved. “Shimmering skin, brooding forever, that sort of thing.”

Despite himself, a laugh escaped him. “No. I avoid the sun because it weakens me, not because I… glisten.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” She leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. “So, are you going to eat me?”

His amusement faded. “Never.”

She studied him for a moment before shrugging. “Good. Then I see no reason to be afraid.”

“You should be,” he murmured. “You don’t understand what I am.”

“I understand enough,” she said, softer this time. “You’re Lee. You help me gather wood, you listen to my terrible singing, and you burn the stew when I let you cook. That’s enough for me.”

They stayed together after that. Y/N made jokes about his brooding and inhuman coldness, but she never feared him. They danced under the moonlight, shared whispered stories between breaths, and Lee let himself love without fear for the first time in his immortal life.

But time was cruel.

Sickness took her slowly. Lee tried everything; fetched herbs, stole medicines, pleaded to gods he didn’t believe in. Nothing stopped the inevitable.

“Stay,” she whispered, voice weak in the flickering candlelight.

Lee clutched her hand, pressing his forehead to hers. “I’ll find you,” he swore. “Every time.”

And as her last breath left her lips, Lee sat in silence, knowing this was only the beginning of his endless search for her.

He wandered for years, waiting for the pull, for the feeling deep in his bones that would lead him back to her. And then he found her again. Different life, different name—but it was her. It was always her.

He never told her, not at first. He let her fall in love with him the way she always did—slowly, sweetly, as if for the first time. But the truth always came out. Sometimes she laughed when she learned what he was. Sometimes she was afraid. But always, in every life, she stayed.

And always, in every life, she left him in the end.

And still, he searched.

The year was 1300s and this time he found her in the bustling market square, the scent of fresh bread and spices filling the air, the chatter of merchants blending into a steady hum. But it was her laughter that cut through the noise, clear and familiar, sending a shiver down his spine.

He knew her the moment he saw her. He always did.

For two days, he followed at a careful distance, watching the way she moved, how she spoke with ease, and how she tossed a playful remark to the baker’s apprentice. He wanted to approach, but how could he? How did one explain centuries of longing?

It was she who finally ended his hesitation. Spinning on her heel in a narrow alleyway, she caught him lingering in her shadow.

“Are you following me?” she demanded, hands on her hips. Her sharp stare knocked the breath from his lungs. It was her, through and through—that stubborn courage, that fire he had loved before.

“I was hoping to talk to you,” Lee admitted, voice low, almost reverent.

She raised an eyebrow. “Then speak.”

And somehow, he found himself walking her home that evening, conversation flowing as if they had known each other forever. In a way, they had.

Lee learned that Y/N was headstrong, witty, and too clever for her good. She spoke of faraway places with longing, of adventure and stories that she dreamed of living by herself. She was restless in this life, much like she had been before, though she didn’t yet know why.

He became her shadow, not out of fear but out of need. He couldn’t leave her, not again. He helped carry baskets when she let him, stole apples from carts to hear her gasp in feigned disapproval, and listened to her hum old songs that stirred something ancient in his chest.

“You don’t talk much,” she mused one evening as they sat by the river.

“I talk when it matters.”

“And when does it matter?”

He looked at her then, the last light of the sun catching in her hair. “When it’s with you.”

The spring festival soon came with laughter, dancing, and the scent of blooming flowers. Y/N had dragged him into the square despite his protests, her hand warm in his as she spun them into the crowd. The music was fast, the world around them a blur, but Lee only saw her—her flushed cheeks, the way she bit her lip when she laughed.

When the dancing ended, they stumbled out of the crowd, breathless. Lanterns glowed above them, flickering light casting golden patterns on her face. Without a word, she grabbed his hand and kissed him.

It was sudden, impulsive, her laughter still on her lips when she kissed him again.

“You’re trouble,” he murmured against her mouth.

She grinned. “Then why are you still here?”

Because I always am, he thought, but he only kissed her in response.

Summer turned to autumn, and as the leaves fell, so did the last of his resolve. He had to tell her. He owed her that much.

They sat by the fire in her family’s home, the warmth doing nothing for the chill in his bones. Y/N watched him, something unreadable in her gaze, as if she already knew.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he began. His hands clenched into fists. “Something about what I am.”

Y/N tilted her head. “You say that like you’re about to confess to murder.”

His silence stretched too long.

She blinked. “Lee?”

“I’m not human.” The words felt heavy, final. “I haven’t been for a long time.”

She studied him, quiet for a moment, before crossing her arms. “You’re not about to tell me you’re some kind of… what do they call them—creature of the night, are you?”

He let out a breath. “Something like that.”

To his utter shock, she only smirked. “You’re not going to start lurking in dark corners and calling me ‘mortal one,’ are you?”

He stared. “What?”

“I mean, if you start hissing at garlic, I might reconsider our whole relationship.”

Despite himself, he laughed, shaking his head. “You’re impossible.”

“But you love me.”

“Yes,” he said, softer this time. “I do.”

She reached for his hand, squeezing it. “Good. Because I know who you are now. And I don’t care.”

They spent that autumn wrapped in each other, in whispered words and secret smiles. She asked him endless questions—what it was like to live forever, if he had met kings, if he missed the taste of food.

“I don’t remember the taste,” he admitted one night, tracing patterns on her bare shoulder.

“That’s tragic,” she murmured. “I’d die if I couldn’t have honey cakes.”

He chuckled. “You say that as if you haven’t eaten five today.”

She gasped, shoving him playfully. “How dare you keep count?”

“I can’t help it. You get this look—like a fox that just stole from the henhouse.”

She laughed, burying her face against his chest. “Maybe in my next life, I’ll be a baker.”

He smiled, but the words sat heavy in his heart. There would always be a next life. And she would always leave him behind.

The winter was cruel.

She fell ill not long after the first snowfall. It started with a cough, then a fever that wouldn’t break. Lee tried everything; stole medicine, bribed healers, prayed to gods he didn’t believe in. Nothing worked.

He held her through the fevered nights, whispering stories she had loved, pressing cool clothes to her burning skin. He stayed when her strength faded, when her voice turned to a whisper.

One morning, just before dawn, she stirred. Her fingers curled weakly around his, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

“Lee?”

“I’m here.”

Her lips parted in the faintest of smiles. Her eyes softened, full of something deep, something knowing. “You’ll find me again,” she murmured.

Tears burned his eyes. He kissed her hand, pressing it to his cheek. “Always.”

And with a final, shuddering breath, she was gone.

Lee sat in silence, holding her long after her body turned cold.

The cycle would begin again. It always did.

And when it did, he would find her.

Because he always did.

It was the 1800s and in this life, she was a noblewoman.

Y/N.

Distant. Unreachable. A vision draped in silks and adorned with jewels, moving through candlelit halls as though she belonged to another world entirely. But Lee had seen her in every world, in every life. And even if she did not remember him, he knew her. He always did.

She was wed to another. A man of power, of wealth, of status. Someone safe. Someone human. Lee had seen him once, standing beside Y/N at a lavish banquet, fingers pressed possessively against the small of her back. It should have been him. It had always been him. But in this life, she did not belong to him.

So he watched from afar.

For months, he lingered in the shadows of her world, a ghost haunting the edges of candlelight. He caught glimpses of her in the garden at dusk, her face turned toward the dying sun. He listened to the sound of her laughter carried on the wind, a cruel reminder of all he had lost before. He kept his distance, even when the ache in his chest became unbearable.

And then he saw the bruises.

Dark, blooming things hidden beneath the high collar of her gown. The way she flinched when her husband reached for her at the next banquet. The hollow look in her eyes that had never been there before.

Lee had always told himself he would never interfere. That she deserved to live these lives as they came, untouched by the monster that lurked in the dark.

But this time, he couldn’t stay away.

He followed the man through the winding streets of the city, footsteps silent on the cobblestone. The nobleman was drunk, swaying as he staggered down a deserted alley, humming a tune that grated on Lee’s nerves. He reeked of wine, of expensive perfume, of cruelty. The kind of man who took pleasure in his power. The kind of man who believed himself untouchable.

Lee stepped out of the shadows.

"Who’s there?" the nobleman slurred, squinting into the darkness.

Lee didn’t speak. He let the silence stretch, watching as unease flickered across the man’s face. Then he moved.

It was over in seconds. A hand around the nobleman's throat, squeezing just hard enough to feel his pulse thrumming beneath his fingers. The man barely had time to gasp before Lee struck, fangs piercing flesh, warm blood spilling over his tongue. It had been so long since he had fed. He had denied himself for so long.

But this kill was not for hunger.

It was for her.

When the man finally went limp, Lee let his body crumple to the ground, blood staining the stone beneath them. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, but the coppery taste lingered. The taste of vengeance. Of justice.

Then he looked up—and saw her.

Y/N stood at the mouth of the alley, candlelight from the street casting a golden halo around her. Her expression was unreadable, her eyes locked on the lifeless body at Lee’s feet. Then, slowly, she met his gaze.

"You killed him," she murmured.

Lee swallowed, his throat thick with something he couldn’t name. "He hurt you."

She stepped closer, unafraid. "You’re dangerous."

"I am."

She should have run. She should have screamed for the guards. Instead, she looked down at the man who had tormented her for months, the man she had been forced to smile for, to obey, to endure. And then she exhaled a long, shuddering breath, as if some unseen weight had been lifted from her shoulders.

When she looked back at Lee, her eyes were softer. "But you’ve saved me more times than I can count."

Weeks passed, and the rumors of her husband's mysterious disappearance faded into whispers. Y/N remained in the estate, and Lee remained in the shadows, always near, never too far. But this time, he did not watch from a distance.

One evening, beneath a sky heavy with rain, she found him waiting on the balcony of her chambers. The city stretched below them, lanterns flickering against the darkness. The air smelled of wet stone, of lavender, of her.

She stepped closer, the silk of her nightgown whispering against the cool night air. "You always find me."

"Always."

She reached for him then, fingers tracing the curve of his jaw, as if memorizing him for the first time. And then, slowly, deliberately, she kissed him.

It was not rushed, not desperate like their first kisses in other lives. It was steady, filled with understanding. As if she had known him for years rather than weeks. As if, deep down, she had always known.

Lee stayed with her.

As the years passed, he remained by her side, a silent guardian in a world that did not know what he was. He held her at night, pressing kisses to her skin as she murmured dreams of other lives. He traced the lines of her face, memorizing every expression, knowing one day, he would lose her again.

And when time finally caught up to her, when the silver in her hair outnumbered the gold, he never left.

He sat at her bedside when she grew frail, holding her hand, whispering stories from their past. Some she remembered. Some she did not. But she listened all the same, her fingers curled around his, as if afraid to let go.

One night, as the fire burned low in the hearth, she turned to him, eyes heavy with sleep. "Will you find me again?"

Lee pressed his lips to her knuckles, breathing in the last traces of her warmth. "Always."

And when she passed, he kissed her brow one final time before slipping away into the night, the cycle beginning once more.

It was now the 21st century and Lee hadn’t meant to talk to her. He had spent months ensuring that their paths never truly crossed, keeping his distance like he always did.

But fate had a cruel sense of humor.

It was late, the city washed in a misty drizzle, the glow of neon signs reflecting off the wet pavement. He had been trailing her like always, keeping a careful distance.

Then, without warning, she turned around.

Lee barely had time to react before she was standing before him, eyes bright with something unreadable.

“Hello, Lee.”

His breath caught.

No.

She couldn’t have just—

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

The world tilted.

It took everything in him to stay still, to keep his expression unreadable even as his mind reeled. His name. She had said his name.

She remembered.

For centuries, it had been the other way around—him searching, him finding, him remembering while she moved through life unaware of their past.

But now…

Now, she was the one who had been looking for him.

Lee’s pulse pounded in his ears, though he knew it was just a phantom sensation, a habit leftover from when he had been human.

He forced himself to meet her gaze, searching for some sign that he had misheard. That this was just some cruel coincidence.

But her expression held no doubt. No hesitation. Only quiet certainty.

She knew him.

Truly knew him.

“Say something,” she teased, tilting her head. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He let out a shaky breath, barely managing a smirk. “Funny. That’s usually my line.”

Her lips quivered in amusement, but her eyes remained steady, waiting.

“How?” Lee finally asked, voice hoarse. “How do you remember?”

She hummed, crossing her arms. “Not all at once. It started as dreams—flashes of things that didn’t belong to this life. You were always there, though.” She smiled softly, like she had finally solved a puzzle that had been plaguing her for years. “Your face was the clearest thing.”

He couldn’t breathe.

For so long, he had carried their past alone. Shouldered the weight of lifetimes of love and loss, knowing she would never share the burden.

But now…

Now, she was standing in front of him, looking at him like she had been waiting for him just as desperately as he had been waiting for her.

“You were watching me,” she said suddenly, breaking the silence. “Every night. Weren’t you?”

Lee stiffened.

Caught.

He should lie. Should tell her she was mistaken. But what was the point? She already knew.

“Yes,” he admitted. “I was.”

She didn’t look surprised.

“Why?”

Lee swallowed, debating how much of the truth he was willing to give her.

Because I couldn’t help myself. Because I’ve lost you too many times. Because I swore I wouldn’t get close, and yet I can’t seem to let you go.

Instead, he settled for, “Old habits die hard.”

Her gaze softened, seeing right through him.

Lee hated how easily she had always been able to do that.

“Will you keep running?” she asked.

The question settled between them, heavy and unspoken for far too long.

Lee had run for centuries—run from getting too close, from the pain of losing her, from the cruel hand of fate that always wrenched them apart.

But this time was different.

This time, she remembered.

And she had been the one searching for him.

He exhaled slowly. “I don’t know.”

Y/N reached out then, her fingers curling around his in a way that felt so natural, so achingly familiar, that it nearly unraveled him.

“Then let me find you,” she said, her grip steady. “For once, let me be the one who stays.”

Lee looked down at their joined hands, at the warmth seeping into his skin.

For the first time in lifetimes, she wasn’t slipping away.

And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to let go.