secret-writer-boy

[secret-writer-boy]

bro i need to stop writing self indulgent oneshots lol

i want to write plot guys🙏🙏🙏 i know it's possible to write something of substance i can do it trust

[secret-writer-boy]

(Regulus holds James's arm like it’s something precious. Everything that's James’s is precious. Once upon a time, Regulus used to be precious, too.)

bad idea right part 2 in progress!

read part 1 here

[secret-writer-boy]

jegulus bad idea right au

exactly what it seems.

“Bloody hell,” says Barty, incredulous. “Did he really?” 

“Three hundred and sixty-five roses!” Regulus shouts. “For every day we’d been together! And they were all different colors!” he rubs his eyes and leans across the table to reach his cup of vodka. “Stupid arsehole-”

“Alright, Regulus, let’s not,” Dorcas moves the cup out of his range. “Don’t overdo it.”

Watching the cup, Regulus suddenly feels a stirring of irritation under his skin. “You’re not my keeper,” he says, rolling his eyes, a buzz of satisfaction suffusing him. He itches for a fight. “I can bloody moderate on my own without your mothering, Dorcas.”

“Well!” Dorcas rears back, clearly offended. “Someone’s got to make sure you don’t kill yourself.”

“And that’s you, is it?” Regulus glares at her. “You aren’t good for much of anything, then,” he barbs.

“Alright, Regulus,” Dorcas snorts, mocking for a moment before her features shift back to rage.

“Dorcas,” Evan sighs.

“No!” Dorcas cuts him off. “Reg always gets like this, and it’s always the same. We go out, he gets too drunk because he doesn’t know when to stop, someone has to interfere, and he’s awful about it!”

“Fuck you, Dorcas,” Regulus hisses. His chair gives a metallic scrrrrreech! as he shoves it back and gets to his feet. “I’ve got to use the loo.” Stalking away, Regulus tries to ignore his friends’ murmuring behind him. 

He knows it’s not healthy to still obsess over a relationship that ended months ago, and meant nothing anyways, nothing at all—”Oh, yes, tell Sirius all about this! Tell him everything, anything you haven’t already, you fucking liar”—he should have seen the breakup coming, really. Nothing good could have come of—

Regulus pauses. His phone is buzzing. Unknown Number, it says. 

Cautiously, he picks up. “Hello?”

“Regulus,” a voice replies. 

Regulus freezes. Even distorted by static, there’s no mistaking that voice. His voice. Oh, Regulus knows this voice. He’s heard it delighted; he’s heard it overjoyed; he’s heard it screaming; he’s heard it in ecstasy; he’s heard it in rage. Oh yes, oh yes, he knows this voice.

“James?” Regulus can hardly believe it—no, he can’t believe it. “James?” his breathing becomes slow and shuddering. 

“Hi,” James says, voice low and husky, and Regulus just wants to savor it forever, and maybe rip out James’ throat while he’s at it. Pent-up rage from their break up comes back to him in waves, and he wants to throttle James, really. But he won’t; Regulus is going to hang up right now and block James’ number and tell him to shove whatever he has to say up his arseh—

“Check your texts,” James tells him. 

Between one heartbeat and the next, Regulus thumbs to his texts. It’s James. How can he not?

Unknown Number: [Image Attached]

He opens the image and forgets how to breathe.

It’s him. It looks like he’s in bed—his eyes, his eyes are soft and light and oh so pretty and they’re difficult to see behind his glasses but Regulus manages (he always has) and his face is perfectly sculpted and his hair is so dark and silky and it’s short now, shorter, and still fucking messy and oh Regulus just wants to run his hands through—

“You got a haircut,” he says numbly.

“I miss you, Regulus,” and Regulus remembers the way James used to say his name like a prayer. Regulus remembers how deep and smooth his voice is—why oh why does he still have to want him so desperately?

“I—you do?” he hates how desperate he sounds.

“With everything in me,” James promises. Regulus knows it meant nothing. It meant nothing to either of them. None of it. He recalls the fights, and the rage, and the anger, and what came after—James against the wall; his hands on Regulus’ waist—it all meant nothing. Except…James doesn’t sound like it meant nothing.

“I miss you too,” his voice is hoarse, words slurring, and all he can think about is how warm James’ skin used to feel against his, and how his gorgeous hazel eyes would darken at night, and how he thinks he might die to see them do that again.

Ping!

There’s another message.

“James,” he whispers, horrified, maybe awed. “Is this your address?”

“Maybe,” and there’s no mistaking his tone; that’s his—that’s his flirty tone, is he really— “Want to find out?”

And later, Regulus will swear up and down that he thought it through, really he did, and decided it was the best decision—

I should probably, probably not. I should probably, probably not. I should probably—

“I’ll be there in ten,” Regulus says, and hangs up the phone.

What the fuck did I just do?

He’s almost numb as he texts his friends. Leaving now. I need to get some sleep. He ignores the texts, the questions that follow. All he can think of is James. James, James, James, who makes him want to die and scream and also explode from sheer frustration. Oh, he hates James. Oh, he wants James so desperately he thinks he might die if he doesn’t have him immediately.

(Nothing good could have come from fucking his brother’s best friend behind his back. Especially when said best friend was everything to him. Especially when—)

Now he’s getting in the car, wrecking all his plans, and he knows he should stop (but he can’t). He’s speeding a bit, and it doesn’t take long before Regulus is there at James’ fancy apartment (just like his old one), taking the elevator to the second floor, and standing by—

It’s him. 

James is smiling his gorgeous smile, his blinding smile that stretches from one corner of his face to another. 

“Reg,” and Regulus is on him, pushing him through the doorway and attacking his lips with a fervency. James opens his mouth between kisses, seeming to want to say something, but Regulus stops him.

“No talk, Potter,” he whispers, something in him burning with an intensity. “Show me how good you are.” 

And James, falling apart, does just that.

---

part 2?

[secret-writer-boy]

me: ok so you know harry potters dead dad?

therapist: i do

me: ok and you know harry potters godfathers emo little brother?

therapist: ...sure

me: theyre actually dating

therapist: can we please talk about your mental heal-

me: they kiss and stuff

[secret-writer-boy]

Black sisters

[secret-writer-boy]

pinned post

welcome to my marauders writing blog! i like to say words.

name: star

pronouns: he/they

total multishipper

favorites to write: sirius, lily, james, regulus, pandora

favorite ships to write: jegulus, jily, jegulily, regulily