cherrybarry
Cherry Tree
Average regulus KinHe/himMarauders era, percy Jackson, nerd shit
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I'm so mentally stable you can park a horse in my brain
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starting a little series <3 quotes from my friends as marauders textposts;
Barty :This is a lot of angst for a smut story.
Regulus : Please stop talking about my life like that.
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voice - @jegulus-microfic - word count: 294 - based on this post I saw!
It was one game. He could do this.
Regulus did his best to focus, to scan the area for the Snitch, to do his damn job, to not worry about James Potter for half a second.
Of course, that was too much to wish for.
Because ever since they'd begun sneaking around at night, Potter had become even more insufferable. And worse, Regulus had started to find it cute. (He really needed to be tested for Amortentia.)
So, even though he'd promised himself to stay focused during this very important Gryffindor v. Slytherin game, he should have known something would happen.
He was in the zone at first. Completely unaware of what Potter was doing. Until Remus Lupin's voice cut through his concentration.
"Aaaand James Potter has the Quaffle, he's headed up the Pitch!" Lupin commentated excitedly.
Regulus tried to ignore it, tried not to be excited for the boy on the opposite team, tried to drown out the noise.
But then Remus said nervously, "What- what is Potter doing? Is he- is he waving?"
Unable to resist, Regulus spun around to see what Potter was up to, only to see the scarlet-clad boy waving. At him.
"Hi, Reggie!" Potter yelled as he passed, almost dropping the Quaffle in his happiness.
"Potter! Fucking- pay attention!" Regulus snapped, gesturing to the goalposts nearby, only too aware that he was coaching Potter on how to score against him.
But James could only grin. "This one's for you!" he shouted, before spinning around and throwing the Quaffle wildly toward the goalposts.
And as everyone watched...it sailed about fifty feet to the left of the closest post.
Groaning, Regulus leaned forward, knocking his head on his broomstick. At least this meant Slytherin was still in the lead.
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@jegulus-microfic | april 26: aimless | 1,276 words | trans! regulus
james does regulus' tape binding aftercare <3
James lingers in the doorway, quietly observing Regulus in their softly lit bathroom.
He's perched on the ledge of the bathtub, seemingly lost in thought, his head bowed and fingers idle and aimless where they trace the rim of it. He's shirtless, clad in only boxers and socks. His bare thighs press against the cool porcelain, causing goosebumps to rise there. Soft, late evening light leaks from the window, casting gentle shadows against his frame.
Outside, the rhythmic passing of cars punctuates the stillness, their headlights casting golden beams that dance across the wet asphalt. The nearby stoplight's red glow mingles with them, creating a surreal mix of colors on the shimmering pavement.
There's a soft rustle of movement as James enters the room behind Regulus, moving to the sink. He sifts through the contents of their vanity, hands passing over their shared face wash and the cup holding their toothbrushes to retrieve the items needed for Regulus' tape aftercare. Deft hands gather oil, washcloths, cotton swabs, and salve before placing them on the bathtub ledge. He approaches Regulus with a tenderness reserved only for moments like these, for him.
"Ready, love?" James' voice breaks the silence with a mellow murmur. He settles his weight behind him.
Regulus turns his head, giving a small nod against his own shoulder. "Yeah," he says, voice crackling from disuse.
James leans in to press a kiss between Regulus' shoulder blades. He lingers there for a moment. This close, he can see the faint dusting of freckles that mark his back. They're spattered across the skin like spray from a wave on sand. Speckles in shades of russet, sepia, and chocolate dance across his pale skin, shifting as Regulus shivers lightly. As James' lips leave his back, the muscles beneath those pretty dots tremble.
James reaches for the oil, uncaps it, and warms it between his hands. He presses both his palms to Regulus, carefully smoothing the oil over the edges of the tape. His touch follows the span of the tape from Regulus' back, under his arms, to the front of his chest. His movements are slow and practiced, designed as much to reassure as to treat. The oil glistens slightly on Regulus' skin, catching the dim light as it begins to soften the adhesive.
As they wait for the tape to loosen, a comfortable silence settles over them, punctuated only by the distant sounds of the city and their own quiet breathing. James doesn't stop his ministrations; his fingers continue to trace gentle paths along Regulus' shoulders, the back of his neck, following the delicate contours of his shoulder blades. These moments are so special to him; he wants Regulus to feel loved through his actions, to experience the same palpable surge of affection with each pass of his hands that James feels. There is so much trust that Reg offers him in these moments—it's intimate. James is the only person Regulus allows to see the most vulnerable parts of himself, and that knowledge alone makes James' heart swell with fondness and love. He has never loved someone as he does Regulus.
Regulus, Regulus, Regulus.
Sometimes, James thinks Regulus was crafted specifically for him; as if the cosmos themselves conspired to mold him to perfectly complement the contours of James' own body, his own soul. Looking back, it's almost silly to him now—he thought he knew what love was like before him. His heart was already overflowing with it for Sirius, his mum, his dad, his friends. He's always had big emotions, brimming with affection and fierce protectiveness for the people around him. He's always cared deeply and felt profoundly, but nothing could have prepared him for the depth of feeling that Regulus brought into his life.
James knows nothing, nobody else could ever make him feel like this.
He settles his hands on the edges of the tape on Regulus' left side. "Gonna take it off now, okay?"
"Yeah, okay James. Go ahead"
James pulls at the tape gently, easing it from the skin. He's careful not to pull too hard or move too fast, patient as he works. He grabs Regulus' bicep, thumb pressing into the underside, fingers curling over. "Lift your arm up, Reg," he instructs softly.
Regulus raises his arm, holding it aloft as James' hand moves back down to steady the skin being separated from the tape. He can't resist pausing to press a kiss to the underside of his bicep before continuing to peel off the tape there. When he encounters a tough spot, where the tape still clings to his skin, James reaches for more oil. He warms it between his fingers once again before lightly holding the piece back, rubbing it into the seam between Regulus' skin and the tape until it loosens enough for him to continue. He carefully removes the first piece, then works at a second, a third, before repeating the process on Regulus' right side.
There's still a faint trace of leftover adhesive where the edges of the tape once were. So, James takes a cotton swab, dips it in oil, and meticulously traces the outlines left by the pieces. He moves slowly, with deliberate delicacy, mindful of the soreness of his skin.
Once he's satisfied, James fetches the washcloth. He soaks it in warm, soapy water and carefully cleans the area, wiping away excess oil and any lingering traces of the day. Then he reaches for the salve—the last physical part of their routine, though James knows the comfort it brings goes beyond just the skin. Two of his fingers dip into the container, scooping up the soothing balm. James is so careful with him, his fingers so gentle as they spread the salve, taking extra care with the tender skin under his arms and over his ribs. He traces the rungs of them, then the dip of his chest, making sure no skin is left uncared for.
James then grabs what's technically his own shirt—a worn, soft thing that Regulus has claimed as his own, his favorite pajama top—from the ledge of the sink. He helps Regulus slip it over his head, taking advantage of every second he allows him to be so close, to take care of him.
"Feeling okay?" James asks once Regulus is settled.
He trails his hand at the hem of his shirt, slipping it underneath to rest gently on his stomach, careful not to brush the newly cared-for skin or his chest.
Regulus hums an affirmative, "mhmm." Eyes closing and head tipping back as he nods.
"I'm not just asking about your skin, love," James whispers. It's tough for Regulus sometimes, taking the tape off, sitting with his chest. It's a necessity though, for his well-being, despite the discomfort it brings. And James always does everything within his power to make it easier for him. He knows he can't fix everything, but he'd be damned if he didn't at least try to.
Regulus reaches back, his palm sliding from James' elbow to his hand beneath his shirt, their fingers intertwining at his stomach. Their faces are so close that Regulus' cheek drags against James' as he turns his head, planting a soft kiss on James' cheek. "I do, I feel okay. I promise," he murmurs, giving James a warm smile.
Leaning back into James' frame, Regulus lets his weight settle comfortably against him. "You make it easier," he breathes out, words floating into the space between them. Another kiss, "Thank you. I love you."
James holds him a moment, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath, heart swelling just a little bit more. "I love you too."
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Sucks that “sleeping together” refers to sex. Sometimes a fella just wants to snooze with a pal.
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Wolfstar
biting someone's muzzle is a love language
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pov: you’re harry being born to a bunch of 21 year olds
their thoughts and doodles below the cut <3
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T4T jegulus has been on my mind recently and it honestly brings me hope for my own love life <3
#marauders era#the marauders#marauders fandom#marauders headcanon#jegulus#james potter#regulus black#t4t jegulus
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“I’m not sorry I left” EXCUSE ME PAY FOR MY THERAPY
“i’m going to marry you someday,” james says, running his fingers through regulus’s curls. regulus smiles, his ear pressed to james’s heart.
“yeah?” he asks. “when?”
“as soon as you graduate.” james’s heartbeat stays steady, like this is a regular conversation on a regular night.
“yeah?” regulus asks, glancing up, meeting james’s eyes. his eyes are gray like a storm, and they’re so, so beautiful. “how?”
james smiles. “in the fields behind my parents’ house,” he says. “in summer. we’ll have everybody there — sirius and moony and peter and the girls, and all your friends, too. it’ll be perfect.”
regulus settles his head on james’s chest again. “you have this all planned out, don’t you?” he asks. james stares up at the sky, searching and finally locating regulus’s star. his star.
“of course i do,” he says. i love you, he almost says, but he leaves that for another night.
~
“i’m going to marry you someday,” james says, pulling regulus closer. his laugh lights up james’s world.
“tell me about it,” regulus says, intertwining their fingers.
“we’ll dance like this,” james says, placing his hand on regulus’s waist. “all night. with everybody, all our friends. and we won’t get tired.”
regulus laughs again. his eyes are closed, and he’s pressed his cheek to james’s chest. “how will we manage that?” he asks.
james thinks for a moment, still swaying them back and forth across the floor of the astronomy tower. he’s never been good at multitasking.
“potions,” james decides. “and firewhiskey, probably.”
“mm,” regulus hums. “i won’t drink any.”
“no?”
“no.” he pulls back, opening his eyes, and smiles up at james, gray eyes twinkling. “i want to remember every second of it.”
~
“i’m going to marry you someday,” james whispers, trying to ignore the way his voice cracks. “and then i’ll get you out of here.”
regulus gives him a weak smile and scoots closer, turning around and pressing his back to james’s chest.
“tell me where we’ll go,” he says quietly. “when we run away.”
james swallows thickly, glances down at the mark on regulus’s forearm.
“away,” he says. “where they can’t hurt us.”
where i’m free, he doesn’t say, from you.
~
“i wish i was a coward,” james says, his eyes fixed on the sky. on that star — not his, after all. he looks away, but it doesn’t matter. tears cloud his vision. “i wish i didn’t have to run away from you.”
there’s no response. he’s not surprised. there’s nothing for the headstone to say anyway. james bites back a sob, wiping the tears away just in time for more to appear.
“i wish i didn’t have to run away,” he says, setting the ring down in the grass, “but i’m not sorry i left.”
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debating on if my headache comes from lack of water, lack of food, lack of sleep, too much alcohol, from staring at my screen all day, or all of the above!
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Do you think when Annabeth had to leave for her quest in mark of Athena that Percy thought of the little 12 year old version of her who wanted so desperately to go on a quest and prove herself? Do you think he thought about how proud she would have been?
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jean moreau being french and afraid of drowning is so regulus black omg
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