Timothée's Tiny Soulmate
Timothée's tiny soulmate
Tiny hands, big love, and a dad wrapped around her finger.
pairings: Timothée Chalamet x Fem!reader
word count: 2.3K
warnings: Fluff, a bit of jerk Timothée for a few moments, childbirth
note: First chapter to my new series.. Girl Dad Diaries !
more here: Girl Dad Diaries masterlist, masterlist
You and Timothée had been married for two years, and today, December 27, just two days after Christmas, was his birthday. A week ago, you found out you were pregnant with his child. It hadn’t been planned, but neither of you was against the idea; if anything, it felt like perfect timing. To surprise him, you wrapped a small, slender box and tied a little bow on top. Inside, you placed five clean, positive pregnancy tests—your quiet, heartfelt way of saying, We’re having a baby.
You also got him a new iPad for his birthday.
Why not? Right? Were you spoiling him? Maybe just a little. In five days, Timothée Chalamet was getting a brand-new MacBook, an iPad, and, though he didn’t know it yet, a baby. So yeah, you were spoiling him. But if anyone deserved it, it was him.
You woke up bright and early, long before he stirred. The house was still dark except for the faint glow of the Christmas lights strung across the living room, and the soft scent of cinnamon and pine lingered in the air from the candles you'd been lighting all week. Slipping out of bed as quietly as you could, you tiptoed through the house, grabbing your slippers and hoodie before heading out to the garage. That’s where you’d hidden the gifts—you knew he wouldn’t think to check your car.
Moments later, you returned with both boxes in hand. One was a sleek Apple box, the other longer and thinner, wrapped with extra care and a little satin bow. You placed the thinner one 6to the side for now. That surprise would come last.
Carefully, you placed the iPad box on the bed and leaned over him, brushing the hair from his face. You kissed his forehead gently.
"My love," you whispered sweetly.
He groaned in protest, rolling over and tugging the blanket over his head. "Nooo..."
You giggled. "C'mon, birthday boy. Wake up."
He peeked out with one eye. His curls were a mess, his voice groggy. "What time is it?"
"Too early," you admitted, laughing softly, "but I couldn't wait."
He sighed dramatically. "This better be worth it."
You grinned and placed the gift on his chest. "It is. Open it."
He sat up slowly, yawning as he pulled at the wrapping paper. The second he saw the Apple logo, his eyes widened.
"No way..." he murmured. "You got me the iPad, too?"
You gave him an innocent shrug. "I mean, you need something portable for travel. The MacBook is for editing and writing, the iPad is for movies and drawing. Practical, right?"
He just stared at you. "You're insane."
"Maybe," you replied playfully, crawling back into bed beside him. "But I love you."
He leaned over and kissed you, lingering a bit longer than necessary. "I love you more. You really didn’t have to do this."
"I wanted to. You deserve it."
He was already powering it on, a boyish grin on his face. "Okay, yeah. This is amazing. You're amazing. I feel so spoiled."
You smiled to yourself, glancing at the still-wrapped box on the nightstand.
"Oh," you said casually, "there's one more."
He blinked, still distracted by his new iPad. "More? Babe, you already went overboard. What is it, socks? A sweater?"
You chuckled nervously. "Not exactly. Here. Open it."
You handed him the smaller, longer box, wrapped with a delicate little bow. He looked at you suspiciously but took it, tearing the wrapping slowly.
He lifted the lid and stared.
Five pregnancy tests. All positive. All clean. Lined neatly in a row.
His jaw dropped slightly. He didn’t say anything for a solid ten seconds.
"Wait..." he finally breathed. "Are these... are these real?"
You nodded, heart pounding. "I found out last week. I wanted to tell you in a special way. Surprise."
He looked back down at the tests, then up at you, eyes glassy with disbelief. "We're having a baby?"
You smiled, your voice soft. "Yeah. We are."
He let out a breathless laugh, dropping his head into his hands for a moment before looking at you again, overwhelmed but glowing. "Oh my god. I... I don't even know what to say."
You leaned in and kissed his cheek. "You don't have to say anything. Just hold me."
He pulled you into his arms immediately, holding you tighter than ever.
"This is the best birthday of my life," he whispered into your hair. "A MacBook, an iPad, and a baby? I don't think anything could top this."
You laughed. "Well, don't get used to this kind of treatment every year."
He pulled back just enough to look into your eyes. "Too late. I'm officially spoiled for life."
The first trimester was a whirlwind of emotions and adjustments. You cried often—when your jeans didn’t fit, when nothing satisfied your hunger, or just because. Your body was changing fast, and so was your world. Timothée stayed grounded through it all, holding you close when you broke down, whispering soft reassurances. He even cleared out a guest room and began turning it into a nursery—the one with the big window you loved. Inspired by your love for stars, you both chose a space theme, spending countless hours researching baby essentials. Timothée was convinced it was a boy; you secretly hoped for a girl. You decided to wait until the birth to find out.
The second trimester brought a little relief from the nausea, but new aches took over. Leggings became your daily uniform, much to your embarrassment as a touring singer. Still, with Timothée’s unwavering support, you embraced the changes. You announced your pregnancy mid-tour, keeping the details private, and fans adored the mystery. Meanwhile, your craving for cucumbers spiraled—chopped, dipped, and topped with anything you could think of. Timothée kept a cooler of them backstage and even tried your wildest combos. You laughed, nested, your belly grew, and the nursery became a dreamy little galaxy.
By the third trimester, everything was harder. Sleep was a battle of pillows and shifting positions, and you were always too hot, too tired, or too emotional. Swollen fingers forced you to take off your rings—Timothée lovingly put them on a chain around your neck. Performing felt heavier, but fans cheered louder than ever when the baby kicked mid-song. Cravings got weirder, nesting became an obsession, and you repacked the hospital bag more times than you could count. Through it all, Timothée stayed close—singing to your belly, rubbing your feet, and reminding you how strong you were.
You were sore, swollen, and ready. Nervous, but full of love. The best part was just around the corner.
Then, the day finally came when your water broke. The hospital room buzzed with low voices and the steady beeping of machines, but all you could hear was your own heartbeat and the rhythmic sound of your breathing. Hours had passed in a blur of contractions and sweat, your grip on Timothée’s hand never loosening, even when your fingernails dug into his skin. He didn’t complain once. He stayed right beside you, brushing damp hair from your face, whispering encouragements through every cry, every wave of pain.
“You’re doing so good,” he kept saying. “He’s—uh—they’re almost here.” He still stumbled over the pronouns sometimes, trying to avoid guessing, but you could tell he hadn’t fully let go of the idea that it might be a boy.
You were too focused on surviving the next contraction to care.
Then, finally, it happened. One more push, one last scream—and the room exploded into sound. A sharp, high-pitched cry filled the air, and the doctor smiled as she lifted the baby up.
“It’s a girl,” she announced, beaming.
You blinked through your tears and turned to Timothée. But instead of the cheer or the gasp you’d expected, he went oddly quiet.
“A girl?” he repeated, more to himself than anyone else.
It wasn’t disappointment exactly—not in the way that stung. But for a moment, you saw the flicker in his expression. A beat of surprise. Of recalibration. He had been so sure. Had spoken to your belly like a boy was listening. Had joked about teaching “his son” guitar.
But before you could even speak, they placed her, tiny, pink, wailing, into his arms.
And everything changed.
Timothée looked down at her, and whatever expectation he had crumbled in an instant. His whole face softened, like someone had knocked the wind out of him in the gentlest way. His eyes brimmed with tears as he adjusted his hold on her, already protective, already in love.
“Elodie,” he whispered, like her name had been waiting on his tongue this whole time. “Hi, baby girl.”
Then he looked at you, and though he was clearly trying to be composed, his voice cracked as he admitted, “I thought I wanted a boy. But… she’s perfect. It was always supposed to be her.”
You smiled through your exhaustion, through your own tears, and reached for him, your daughter tucked between you like the softest miracle.
A week in the hospital felt like a slow dream, both calming and surreal. The days blurred into each other in a haze of soft lullabies, nurse check-ins, and the gentle hum of machines that beeped and blinked with their rhythm. Every few hours, someone would enter the room to examine Elodie, check your vitals, ask questions, and smile politely. The food was bland, the lighting too harsh, and the beds not quite soft enough, but none of that mattered. You had her. She was here.
Still, by day seven, you were aching for your home. For the nursery you'd spent months perfecting. For the quiet comfort of your bedroom, your candles, your robes, your slippers. And maybe, selfishly, just a little bit of time without a nurse barging in with a blood pressure cuff when the baby had just fallen asleep.
Timothée was practically bouncing by the time the discharge papers were signed. He packed everything up with the energy of a man who had trained for this moment his entire life. The hospital staff wheeled you down in a chair, your arms wrapped around the infant car seat where Elodie blinked sleepily, her tiny hat pulled low over her forehead. Timothée walked beside you like a proud golden retriever, loaded with bags, snacks, and the biggest grin you’d ever seen on his face.
He double-checked the car seat straps before you left the parking lot. Triple-checked them before pulling out. And then turned in his seat a dozen times during the drive, just to make sure she was still breathing.
When you finally stepped into your home, everything felt different. The air was warmer somehow, the rooms no longer silent but humming with new life. It was like the house had been holding its breath this whole time—and now, with her inside, it finally exhaled.
And from that moment on, Elodie was never far from Timothée’s chest.
You thought you’d be the one who couldn’t let her go, but Timothée became completely, utterly inseparable from your daughter. She was always in his arms, swaddled against his chest in that soft gray wrap he insisted on wearing everywhere. He wore her while making breakfast. While reading. While pacing the living room as she napped. He even wore her while brushing his teeth once. “She likes the vibration,” he shrugged, speaking like he was some kind of baby whisperer.
You joked that you were officially the third wheel now. He didn’t even argue.
Every few hours, when it was your turn to nurse or rock her to sleep, he’d hover just a few inches away. And the moment you were done, he’d scoop her right back up with a breathless, “I missed her.”
You laughed, but you understood. Because watching Timothée fall in love with Elodie was like watching gravity find him again. He melted into fatherhood. The actor, the performer, the dreamer—all of it quieted, softened, sharpened into something tender and fierce. She made him gentler. And braver.
He danced with her often, barefoot in the nursery under the soft light of the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. He’d sway slowly, whispering, “You know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, right?” His voice cracked sometimes when he said it. As if he couldn’t believe she was real either.
One night, while you were still adjusting to night feeds and the ache in your body, you found him on the nursery rug with Elodie tucked on his chest. He was humming “Landslide,” eyes closed, tears glistening at the corners. When he saw you, he smiled and whispered, “She likes Fleetwood Mac. She's got taste already.”
He called her his tiny soulmate. You didn’t even mind that he barely looked at you anymore, because when he did, it was usually to say, “Look at her. Just look.”
He was so in love with Elodie that it was almost comedic. One morning, after pulling her gently from your arms, he sat beside you and muttered, “I’d throw myself in front of a bus for her.”
You blinked at him. “You just met her.”
He nodded, serious. “If there was a shooter, I’d use you as a human shield to protect her.”
You stared, speechless.
He gave a crooked little smile. “Don’t take it personally. You had your moment. This one’s hers now.”
But even in all the humor, you could see it. The way she had rewired something in him. His entire world now existed in the space between her breaths.
He wore her in a carrier everywhere: around the house, to the grocery store, even while standing outside in the backyard doing nothing but watching the sky. He kissed her head more times than you could count. He cried the first time she grabbed his finger with intention. He cried harder the first time she smiled.
And you watched it all—this beautiful, chaotic, overwhelming new rhythm of your lives—and thought: We’re going to be okay.
You had your little girl.
And she had the man who would move heaven and earth just to keep her warm.
More Posts from Itsreallynotriri and Others
Mom and Dad.
While Regulus is at work, Y/N brings Harry to his parents' grave.
[Regulus Black x Fem Potter!reader]
word count: 558 words.
warnings: Angst, mentions of death
note: This is the fourth chapter of my Potter-Black series but Regulus is hardly mentioned. This is because the chapter is focused on Harry, Y/N, Lily, and James.
-
The morning was crisp, the air carrying the scent of damp earth as Y/N wrapped Harry’s scarf snugly around his small frame. The autumn leaves crunched beneath their feet as they walked up the familiar path leading to the graveyard in Godric’s Hollow.
Regulus was at the Ministry, drowning in paperwork, leaving Y/N with the quiet decision to visit her brother alone—well, almost alone.
Harry, bundled up in his coat and mittens, clutched her hand tightly. “Mama,” he asked, his voice soft, “why are we here?”
Y/N knelt beside him, brushing a few stray leaves from his curls. “We’re visiting your parents, love.”
Harry’s brow furrowed slightly, his young mind trying to piece it together. “My real mummy and daddy?”
Y/N swallowed past the lump in her throat and nodded. “Yes. Your Mama Lily and Daddy James.”
Harry’s grip on her hand tightened as he looked around. “But I never met them,” he whispered.
Y/N gave him a sad smile. “No, sweetheart. You were just a baby.” She cupped his cheek gently. “But they loved you so much.”
Hand in hand, they walked through the graveyard, past old, weathered headstones, until they reached the one she knew by heart.
Y/N let out a slow breath, kneeling before the headstone. Harry hesitated before mirroring her, his tiny fingers tracing the carved letters of their names.
“James Potter…” he murmured, then looked up at Y/N. “That’s my name too, right?”
She smiled softly. “Yes, love. Harry James Potter. Your daddy wanted you to have his name.”
Harry was quiet for a moment, then looked back at the grave. “Do you think he’d like me?” he asked hesitantly. “Daddy James?”
Y/N’s heart clenched, and she pulled him into a hug. “Oh, Harry,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “He would have adored you. You’re just like him—kind, brave, full of mischief.” She chuckled softly, stroking his messy black hair. “And you have your mama’s heart. So full of love.”
Harry’s little arms wrapped around her neck. “I wish I could meet them.”
Y/N closed her eyes against the sting of tears. “I know, sweetheart. Me too.”
For a long moment, they sat in silence, Y/N’s arms wrapped protectively around the little boy she had sworn to raise, to love, to keep safe.
After a while, Harry shifted in her embrace. “Do you think they can see me?”
Y/N let out a soft breath, glancing up at the sky. “I do,” she said firmly. “I think they watch over you every single day.”
Harry thought about that, then looked back at the grave. After a moment, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled something out.
A small, slightly battered toy stag.
His favorite.
Carefully, he placed it at the base of the headstone, patting it gently.
“You can have Prongsie,” he whispered. “I think you’d like him.”
Y/N had to bite her lip to keep herself from crying.
As the wind rustled through the trees, Harry turned back to her and asked, “Can we come back again?”
Y/N smiled, cupping his face. “Of course, love. As many times as you want.”
She took his hand once more, pressing one last kiss to the headstone before leading him away.
As they left, the autumn wind carried the sound of distant laughter, like a whisper of the past. And for the first time in a long time, Y/N swore she could feel her brother’s presence—warm, watching, proud.
-
previous chapter <- -> next chapter
How could anyone not love this silly little guy?
PROMPT LIST
I'm having writers block and I need you guys to help me. PLEASE.
-
A1: "I didn’t mean to fall for you… but here we are."
A2: "Stop looking at me like that; I might actually kiss you."
A3: "You're shivering. C’mere, let me warm you up."
A4: "I swear I hate you—no, I'm not blushing!"
A5: "You remembered my favorite flower?"
A6: "If we get caught, I’m blaming you."
A7: "Dance with me… just once."
A8: "Your hand fits perfectly in mine."
A9: "I’ve never seen you look so happy."
A10: "Do you think we’ll always be like this?"
-
B1: "You can't leave me now—not when I just realized how much you mean to me."
B2: "Is it too soon to say I love you?"
B3: "I bet you can't catch me!"
B4: "Wait, are you jealous?"
B5: "You’ve always been my safe place."
B6: "Please, don’t let go of my hand."
B7: "Do you trust me?"
B8: "You're an idiot—but you're my idiot."
B9: "I’m scared… but I know you'll keep me safe."
B10: "I didn’t know you could dance like that."
-
C1: "You look beautiful when you laugh."
C2: "Are we really doing this?"
C3: "You stayed up all night waiting for me?"
C4: "I dare you to kiss me."
C5: "I’ve never felt like this before."
C6: "Don't make promises you can’t keep."
C7: "You’re covered in mud—what happened?"
C8: "You always know how to make me smile."
C9: "I didn't think you’d remember."
C10: "You wore that just to drive me crazy, didn’t you?"
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D1: "I think I fell in love with you somewhere between the arguments and the laughter."
D2: "You're my best friend… and maybe something more."
D3: "Can I kiss you?"
D4: "You look ridiculous. And adorable."
D5: "I made this for you."
D6: "Promise me you’ll come back."
D7: "You're ticklish? Oh, you’re in trouble now."
D8: "You’re the one thing I can’t lose."
D9: "This feels like home."
D10: "I've seen you at your worst, and I'm still here."
-
E1: "I saved you a seat."
E2: "You're staring."
E3: "That was my last piece of chocolate, and I gave it to you. That’s love."
E4: "Don’t leave me hanging—what were you going to say?"
E5: "You’re seriously going out dressed like that?"
E6: "I can't stop thinking about you."
E7: "You call that a snowball? Watch this!"
E8: "I’ll be right here when you wake up."
E9: "You're not getting rid of me that easily."
E10: "We’re not just friends, and you know it."
-
F1: "I’ve never seen you without your glasses before."
F2: "I didn’t think you'd notice."
F3: "You showed up… you actually showed up."
F4: "We’re a mess, but we’re our mess."
F5: "You’re freezing. Here, take my jacket."
F6: "Why do I always end up cleaning your messes?"
F7: "I thought you'd forgotten me."
F8: "You're the best thing that's ever happened to me."
F9: "We should do this more often."
F10: "I didn’t kiss you because I had to. I kissed you because I wanted to."
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G1: "Hold my hand. They’ll never suspect a thing."
G2: "You were talking in your sleep… about me."
G3: "I thought you hated me."
G4: "Why are you looking at me like that?"
G5: "I don’t care about the risk. I care about you."
G6: "You're really bad at this, you know."
G7: "I wish you could see yourself through my eyes."
G8: "Let's run away together."
G9: "You remembered."
G10: "You're not just my partner-in-crime. You're my everything."
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H1: "You’ve got something on your face—here, let me."
H2: "I can’t stop smiling when I’m with you."
H3: "You said you'd catch me. So catch me."
H4: "Are you cold? Or are you just using an excuse to cuddle me?"
H5: "I made you a playlist."
H6: "We always end up like this, don’t we?"
H7: "You make even the worst days better."
H8: "I didn’t mean to say that… but I meant it."
H9: "I’ll fight anyone who makes you cry."
H10: "You’ve always been the one."
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I1: "I dare you to kiss me… again."
I2: "Is that my sweater you're wearing?"
I3: "I’ve never been this happy before."
I4: "Come on, slowpoke!"
I5: "You did this… for me?"
I6: "I can't believe you made me a mixtape."
I7: "You know I hate goodbyes."
I8: "You're the first person I want to tell everything to."
I9: "Stay. Please."
I10: "You’ve ruined me for anyone else."
-
J1: "You have no idea how much you mean to me."
J2: "You're the best thing that’s ever happened to me."
J3: "I don't need the stars when I have you."
J4: "Are you seriously tickling me right now?"
J5: "You're the only person who makes me feel like this."
J6: "You remembered my favorite movie."
J7: "I never believed in love at first sight… until I met you."
J8: "I could get used to this."
J9: "I didn’t want to need you… but I do."
J10: "We’re writing our own story now."
Wow, he’s really good. Fantastic reflexes.💥💥💥
IG credit to redbullf1academy
as a catholic, i find this so funny
*In a church*
Sirius: Why are you looking at me like that?
Regulus: I just don't wanna miss it when you burst into flames.
Harry's post-Hogwarts
Harry's life after the battle of Hogwarts.
Regulus Black x Fem Potter! reader
word count: 1.8k
warnings: mentions of war, death, nightmares, PTSD
note: A Regulus and Harry moment hihi
The house felt quieter without Danny.
It wasn’t something they ever said out loud, but they all felt it.
Y/N noticed it in the way Regulus lingered by the breakfast table, drinking his tea a little slower, his sharp eyes drifting toward Danny’s usual seat. She noticed it in the way he took a few extra minutes in the morning to check the post as if expecting an owl from her—even though they’d just received one the day before.
Harry noticed it in the way the house felt less chaotic. No more exasperated sighs when he tried to rope Danny into one of his antics. No more cutting remarks that were both brilliant and scathing. No more of her curling up in the chair across from Baba, nose buried in a book far too advanced for her age.
Regulus would never admit it, of course. But Y/N caught the way he looked up expectantly every time the fireplace flared, just for a second, before masking it with that cool indifference he’d perfected years ago.
“She’s only been gone a week, Baba,” Harry said one evening, arms crossed as he leaned against the doorway. “You act like she moved across the world.”
Regulus, sitting in his usual chair, turned a page in his book without looking up. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Harry smirked. “Right. And you totally didn’t check for an owl three times today.”
Regulus flicked a glance toward Y/N, who was smirking into her tea. “I was checking for Ministry correspondence.”
“Sure you were.”
Regulus exhaled through his nose, closing his book with a soft thud. “Is there a reason you’re standing there, or did you just come to irritate me?”
Harry shrugged. “Mostly the latter.”
Y/N chuckled, setting down her cup. “You two are hopeless.”
Regulus sighed, rubbing his temple. “If this is what I have to deal with when Danny is gone, I’ll just send a Howler telling her to come home.”
Harry snorted. “She’d ignore it. Or worse, she’d send one back telling you to stop being dramatic.”
Regulus didn’t argue, which meant he knew Harry was right.
It was strange—this new phase of life. Hogwarts had always been a part of their routine, but now, with only one child at home, the house felt just a little too still.
Y/N reached over, placing a hand on Regulus’s. “She’s fine. And she’ll write again soon.”
Regulus hummed, squeezing her hand lightly before pulling away. “I’m aware.”
Harry smirked. “You miss her.”
Regulus shot him a look. “Shut up, Hazzy.”
Harry’s grin widened. “You miss her so much.”
Regulus glared. Y/N just laughed, shaking her head.
The house was quieter. But they’d adjust. They always did.
-
It was strange—falling back into a routine that hadn’t existed in over a decade.
With Danny at Hogwarts, the house felt smaller in a way. Not physically, of course, but something about it brought them back to the days when it was just the three of them—Regulus, Y/N, and Harry.
So, they decided to lean into it.
One evening, Harry came home from work at Chuddley Cannons, stretching his arms over his head. "It's weird without her here," he admitted, dropping into his usual seat at the dining table.
Y/N chuckled, setting down the plates. "You mean it's quieter?"
"Exactly," Harry grinned. "No broody six-year-old correcting my spelling or outdueling me in chess."
Regulus raised an eyebrow, taking a sip of his tea. "She hasn't been six in quite some time, Harry."
"Yeah, but she still acts like she is sometimes. Always reading, always judging me—"
"Wonder where she got that from," Y/N muttered, smirking at her husband.
Regulus scoffed. "I do not judge."
Harry and Y/N both gave him a look.
Regulus rolled his eyes. "Fine. Perhaps occasionally."
That night, it was just the three of them for dinner—like it had been all those years ago. It didn’t take long for them to slip into old habits.
Regulus and Y/N sat beside each other, discussing their respective days—her work at Hogwarts, his at the Ministry. Harry, ever the troublemaker, stirred his soup absentmindedly before blurting, “Remember when I used to sit on the table instead of a chair?”
Y/N groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
Regulus pinched the bridge of his nose. “You were a menace.”
Harry smirked. “Still am.”
They spent the rest of the evening reminiscing—about the time Harry had insisted on flying inside the house and knocked over an entire bookshelf; about the time Regulus had tried to teach him etiquette, only for him to use a soup spoon to launch peas across the dining room; about the nights when Y/N would return home from Hogwarts, exhausted but still determined to tuck Harry in.
After dinner, Regulus and Y/N sat by the fireplace, Harry sprawled across the floor like he was still a teenager instead of a grown man.
"You know," Y/N mused, watching the flames flicker, "this is nice."
Regulus glanced at her. "What is?"
"Just... us. Like this. It reminds me of when Harry was little."
Harry, lying on his back with his arms crossed behind his head, smirked. "So you do miss me being a little kid."
Y/N rolled her eyes. "I miss you being manageable."
Regulus chuckled. "He was never manageable."
Harry grinned. "True."
They sat there for a long time, basking in the warmth of nostalgia. The house may have felt quieter, but it didn’t feel empty. cv
Because no matter how much things changed, they were still them. And that was enough.
It was strange—falling back into a routine that hadn’t existed in over a decade.
With Danny at Hogwarts, the house felt quieter. Not empty, just… different.
Harry, now a professional Quidditch player, had been staying over for the week while he had a short break between matches. It almost felt like old times—just the three of them, like it had been before Danny was born.
Y/N leaned against the kitchen counter, watching as Regulus sat at the dining table reading the Daily Prophet, his usual cup of tea in hand. Across from him, Harry was stretching out his sore muscles, rolling his shoulder as he groaned.
"Merlin, I feel ancient."
"You’re twenty," Regulus said flatly, not looking up from his paper.
"Exactly. Ancient."
Y/N smirked, setting plates down on the table. "Try being in your forties and teaching a bunch of teenagers Ancient Runes every day. Then we’ll talk."
Harry grinned, rubbing the back of his neck. "You love it."
"Most days." She sat beside Regulus, nudging his arm. "And you? Still terrorizing the poor souls at the Ministry?"
Regulus didn’t dignify that with a response, merely taking another sip of his tea.
Dinner felt like stepping into the past, their usual banter slipping back into place effortlessly.
"Remember when I used to run around the house with my toy broomstick, knocking things over?" Harry mused as he dug into his meal.
Regulus exhaled sharply, setting down his fork. "You were a menace. Nearly took my eye out when you were six."
Y/N laughed. "Oh, and that one time you crashed into the Christmas tree—"
"That was one time!" Harry defended himself.
Regulus smirked, crossing his arms. "And then you joined professional Quidditch. Clearly, you learned your lesson."
Harry grinned. "What can I say? I'm consistent."
After dinner, they moved to the living room, the fire crackling softly in the hearth. Harry sprawled across the couch like he owned the place, tossing a Quaffle into the air absentmindedly. Y/N curled up in her usual spot, while Regulus sat beside her, a book in his lap that he had no real intention of reading.
"You know," Y/N said after a moment, watching the fire, "this feels nice."
Regulus turned to her. "What does?"
"Just us. Like this. It reminds me of when Harry was little."
Harry smirked. "So you do miss me being small."
"I miss you being manageable," Y/N corrected with a roll of her eyes.
Regulus chuckled. "You were never manageable."
Harry tossed the Quaffle in the air again, catching it easily. "True."
The night stretched on, filled with warm conversation and laughter. It wasn’t often that Harry had time to stay home like this, and even though things had changed over the years, some things never would.
They were still them. And that was enough.
However, the nightmares started again.
Flashes of green light. Screams that were cut short. Rubble and fire. The feeling of losing people, of not being enough.
Harry woke up with a sharp gasp, his breath coming in ragged, uneven bursts. His chest ached like he’d run a marathon, and the darkness of his childhood bedroom felt suffocating. He pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes, willing the images away.
He wasn’t at Hogwarts. He wasn’t in the war. He was home. Safe.
But his body didn’t believe it.
A knock at the door made him flinch. He didn’t answer, but the door creaked open anyway, the hallway light casting a long shadow as Regulus stepped inside.
"Another one?" Regulus's voice was quiet, steady.
Harry exhaled shakily and nodded. He didn’t need to explain. Regulus had always known.
Without a word, Regulus crossed the room and sat on the edge of the bed. It reminded Harry of when he was little—when he would have nightmares about his parents, about loud thunder, about monsters under the bed. Regulus would always be there, brushing his hair back, sitting with him in the dark until he calmed down.
Harry hated that he still needed this. After everything, he still felt like that scared little boy in the dark.
“I should be over this by now,” Harry muttered, his voice thick.
Regulus let out a quiet breath, the ghost of a sigh. “You don’t just ‘get over’ something like war, Harry.”
There was a moment of silence before Regulus reached out, hesitating for only a second before resting a hand on Harry’s head, running his fingers through the messy black strands. The touch was grounding, familiar.
"You used to do this when I was a kid," Harry said quietly.
"You used to calm down when I did," Regulus replied simply.
Harry let his eyes drift shut, focusing on the steady motion, the way it slowed his breathing. The memories of battle still lurked in the corners of his mind, but they felt a little further away now. Less sharp.
They sat in silence for a while.
Eventually, Regulus spoke again, his voice softer. "You are not weak for feeling this way, Harry."
Harry swallowed his throat tight. "I just... I feel like I shouldn't—like I should be moving on."
"You are moving on," Regulus said. "But healing isn’t the same as forgetting."
Harry took a shaky breath. He wanted to believe that.
Regulus stayed with him until his breathing evened out again until the tension in his shoulders finally eased.
Just like when he was a child, Regulus didn't leave until Harry was asleep.
previous chapter <- -> next chapter
So handsome🌻🌻🌻🌻
Credit to Vanity Fair
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.”
Timothée Chalamet on the Spanish steps in Rome✨
IG credit to holycolorfulpig
𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 😙
🌟 = Fluff, 🪐 = Angst, ✨ = mild spice, 🎬 = hurt/comfort
{𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝} → open ! || requests are usually open unless they get too much, then I will turn them off so that I could finish other requests ! ||
HARRY POTTER - MARAUDERS :
REGULUS BLACK
SIRIUS BLACK - (N/A)
REMUS LUPIN - (N/A)
JAMES POTTER - (N/A)
HARRY POTTER - (N/A)
DRACO MALFOY - (N/A)
DUNE :
PAUL ATREIDES
FEYD RAUTHA - (N/A)
LETO ATREIDES - (N/A)
CHANI KYNES - (N/A)
DUNCAN IDAHO - (N/A)
PRINCESS IRULAN - (N/A)
OTHERS :
TIMOTHÉE CHALAMET
WILLY WONKA
LEE (BONES AND ALL)
ELIO PERLMAN - (N/A)
KYLE SCHEIBLE - (N/A)
YULE (DON'T LOOK UP) - (N/A)
HENRY V (THE KING) - (N/A)
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⊹welcome! ⊹ ࣪ ˖✦.──ᝰ.ᐟ | riri or rhia | 15 | wonka lover | entp | hufflepuff |
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