╰┈➤ celano black (oc) x reader
❝ babe, there's something tragic about you. something so magic about you, don't you agree? ❞
FROM EDEN, in which the reader finds themselves engaged to the biggest arsehole they have had the displeasure of meeting.
𝙤...
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"her eyes look sharp and steady, into the empty parts of me." ----- foreigner's god
CELANO CORINA BLACK had a place among the stars.
arcturus. orion. celano.
and the innumerable appellations that preceded them. as tradition decreed, his existence, his ambition, and his very essence were shackled to the exalted spectre of the loftiest purity. the most noble and ancient house of black. since childhood, the halls of grimmauld place murmured to him. taught him what it meant to be a pureblood, to be better than all others. taught him how to be the perfect spare.
orion was the firstborn son, and hence the heir to everything that belonged to his father, arcturus iii. the estate. the mantle of their venerable name. the honored seat at the head of the banquet table.
celano, conversely, was conceived as an alternative. should orion perish from dragon pox, or meet a watery end by the hand of the giant squid for hurling stones at it (a prospect not beyond reason), celano would become the sole heir. not that he coveted such a fate; it had been made agonizingly apparent that his presence at the table was sustained solely by the virtue of his father's lineage. if he had not been celano black, perhaps a muggleborn by the name of josh, he would have been branded and thrown into the supple dirt, soaked with the incessant london drizzle.
harsh words. snickers, chortles, gaffaws had marred his childhood. he was not orion. he was slighter, frailer, with a perpetual pout to his rose quartz lips, blistered from incessant gnawing. those formative years were where he learned about himself. he hated pity. he despised bright smiles, and the floral scents that followed hufflepuff girls in the hogwarts halls.
he studied orion; his gallant stride, his voice slicing through the hum of the slytherin common room. if he could emulate his brother's cruel hauteur, become as unyielding and merciless, as masterful in subjugating his own thoughts, the whispers might cease. perhaps the voices would too.
by the time you had learned his name through a casual inquiry directed to andalusia, he had been reborn.
elegant. poised. skin as smooth as a slate of alabaster.
you would find yourself to have regretted asking for him, soon enough.
occy speaks !!
wow guys, another x reader i probably won't finish!! i'm kidding, i'll try my best. fair warning, celano is a bit of a bitch, slightly pathetic, and probably not the kind of lad you should be looking for. but i digress, please please please enjoy this book :))
