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static-radio-ao3 · 1 month ago

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quick wash — 21 minutes

i asked si to give me a location, a keyword and a color, she gave me a swing seat on a porch, soft, forest green and it somehow turned into a jegulus laundromat meet cute (sorry) - 1.5k

a birthday gift for @poetskings <3

Regulus, unlike most people, likes the fact that his building doesn’t have a laundry room. He’s somewhat less fond of the lack of heating, but he quite likes the romance of going to a laundromat. Of sitting on those plastic chairs and staring at the dizzying spin of clothes in the machine, the way they tumble in the dryer.

So every Wednesday, which has been laundry day for about as long as he can remember, he packs up his laundry and walks down seven flights of stairs, because of course the elevator doesn’t work in his building either. He brings his headphones and lets the weight of loose change in his pocket ground him.

He greets the laundromat clerk, someone his age who looks like he’s never even heard of ironing his clothes. His hair always looks disheveled, like he rolls out of bed and goes straight to work, but he never tries to talk, which Regulus appreciates.

Regulus remembers hours spent sitting in front of the washing machine as a kid, watching it spin and spin and spin. It was equal parts dizzying and meditative.

He wondered, sometimes, if he could crawl in there. He was small enough (too small, his father's voice corrects). Maybe he could crawl in and spin and spin and spin and come out clean.

If he could not be new, he could at least be clean.

Because there's no washing off the person you are. No matter how hot your showers, no matter the fact that you scrub at your skin until it's raw and pink, no matter no matter no matter.

But sometimes, if you're lucky, you can wash off the person you are. Don a shiny new identity. Make everyone forget the person you were, make sure they only see the person you've become.

Sirius did it, once. Left and never came back and became someone new. Good. Worthy.

It was a Wednesday afternoon, probably, because Regulus had been sitting there, watching the machine spin and spin and spin. He heard Sirius' footsteps, despite his light tread. He heard the front door open. Heard it close again. He didn't realize, at the time, what it meant.

The tiny overhead doorbell jingles, and Regulus looks up almost instinctively. He knows the regulars on Wednesdays. The college student who exclusively wears Thrasher hoodies. The grandma and her dog who she dresses in human clothes.

But this time, it’s none of them. Regulus can’t help the way his heart stutters, a harsh thud, when he lays eyes on the man walking in.

He looks handsome even in the glaring lights of the laundromat. The tiled walls and floors don’t cut him into flat planes. Instead, they soften his edges, cast him in a dreamy glow.

Regulus faintly thinks the man looks like a detergent advertisement.

The man tugs his gloves off and unwinds his scarf from around his neck, the protection against the winter cold excessive in the heat of the laundromat. He’s wearing a dark green sweater, made darker still by the stain that covers most of the front.

Regulus forces his eyes back to the washing machine, watching it spin and spin and spin, until a heavy coat drops down on the seat next to him. The man peels off the sweater revealing a white t-shirt. Regulus sees a thin golden chain disappear under the collar of the shirt.

When the man catches Regulus staring, he lifts his shoulders in a shrug, a bashful smile on his face.

“There was an incident involving a child and hot chocolate and favorite sweater was the unfortunate casualty.” He shakes the sweater a little as if to offer proof. “Didn’t want the stain to set, so here we are.”

“Need a hand?” Regulus asks, but he’s already pushing himself out of his chair before the man has a chance to reply.

The man blinks, surprised. Fair enough, Regulus has never been accused of being polite or helpful. Something to do with the permanent frown of his face, the rigid line of his shoulders.

“Yeah, that’d be— Thanks.”

“You can just put it in,” Regulus says, inclining his head toward the machine. “I’ll grab some detergent.”

Because, sure, he wants to be helpful, but he’s not quite willing to offer up his own detergent, the vanilla cotton one that costs more than any detergent reasonably should. Thankfully this particular laundromat sells detergent by the dose for a few cents.

“Who’s your friend?” The clerk asks, leaning on the counter and glancing over Regulus’ shoulder.

“Not a friend, just helping him out,” Regulus says mildly, rifling through the different bottles of detergent until he finds the right one.

The clerk fixes him with a flat stare. “You’ve been coming here for months and never once have your tried to help someone.”

“Maybe because that’s literally your job,” Regulus quips. “Also ever heard of New Year’s resolutions?”

“It’s February. Little late for those, isn’t it?”

“Okay,” Regulus squints at the name tag, “Evan. Thank you so much for your input.”

“Oh, shit, wrong shirt again,” Evan (?) grumbles, fiddling with the tag on his shirt. “Boss is gonna kill me.”

Regulus opens his mouth to say— something, probably, but he decides he’s better off leaving it alone, so he fills a tiny cup with detergent, drops a few cents in the clerk’s hand and heads back to the machines.

He makes quick work of setting up the machine, selecting the shortest program, quick wash — 21 minutes.

“I’m James, by the way.”

Regulus settles back into his chair, offering his own name in return.

“Oh, like the star! That’s such a coincidence, one of my friends is also named after a star.”

Regulus’ mind flashes to another boy named after a star, but he pushes the thought away. “Yeah, well, you know what they say,” he mumbles awkwardly, unsure how to proceed and the floor unsteady under his feet even though he’s sitting.

“No?” James says, voice climbing and head tilted. He shoves his coat to the side, making space for himself next to Regulus. “What do they say?”

Great question. “Nothing, it’s— nothing.”

Spin and spin and spin, washing away sin and sin and sin.

“So,” James asks after a while, shifting in his seat to face Regulus. “You come here often? Wait, shit, that sounded like a bad pick-up line. I just meant that you seem to know your way around these things.”

“Yeah, my building doesn’t have a laundry room and this place is just down the street, so I’m here pretty much every week.”

“Cool,” James says, and the worst part is that he genuinely seems to find that cool. James pulls out his phone, and Regulus knows he should look away — privacy and all that, but Regulus isn’t looking at the screen at all. His eyes catch on James’ hands, big and veiny.

When James moves again, Regulus catches a whiff of his cologne. And Regulus tries to be normal about it, tries not to inhale too deeply and trap the scent into his lungs, but James smells woodsy and soft. Sunny pines, like forest green personified.

Regulus can picture him a swing seat on a porch on a cool summer evening, a breeze tousling his dark curls. Regulus blinks, suddenly back under the harsh glare of the laundromat lights.

“What about you?” James asks, expecting Regulus to know what he’s been talking about, which is a reasonable expectation, but there is unfortunately static in Regulus’ brain.

When Regulus is silent for too long, James laughs. It’s not a mean laugh, or a cruel one, like his mother’s laughter. It’s not at Regulus’ expense, like his father’s laughter. He feels warmed by the sound, and can’t help the bashful smile that appears on his face.

“I was just asking what you do for a living,” James repeats.

“Oh! I work at a bookstore. I’m the buyer for our children’s section, actually. And I have Tuesdays and Wednesdays off, hence the laundromat.”

“Do you have a favorite book?” James asks. Then he adds, “Personally, I’m a huge fan of Green Eggs and Ham.”

It’s a bad joke, really, but Regulus can’t help the amused huff that escapes him. James’ eyes brighten, leaning a little closer to Regulus as if desperate to hear it again. Like Regulus is the sun and James is a flower.

They talk while James’ sweater spins and spins and spins. Talk about books and movies and TV shows. They talk while Regulus unloads the dryer and folds his shirts, the fabric warm under his fingertips. He’s meticulous about it, moving slow despite the practice, desperate to prolong the interaction. Desperate to coax another laugh out of James, warm and low and rumbling.

Eventually though, he’s got all of his clothes sorted away in his bag, James’ sweater almost done washing and then needing a little while to dry, too.

But before Regulus can be too disappointed about it, James asks, “Same time next week?” His eyes are bright and soft behind his glasses, a tiny smudge right on the edge.

“Sure,” Regulus says. He tucks his smile away for safekeeping. When he gets back home, he drops it in the jar of pennies on his desk.

#james pulled a “looking confused at a laundromat” and it worked ://#happy birthday si!! hope you enjoy this little gift <33 #james potter #regulus black #jegulus #jegulus microfic #mil's microfics #mil's writing

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itsjaywalkers · 20 days ago

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nada que perder: the sequel

part 1

jegulus microfic (that isn't actually a microfic) | 7.9k (lol) | very questionable age gap (we're so back babeyyy) (nothing happens in this one either but do not fret . jegulus grooming we're getting closer) | unrequited love (OR IS IT..) | james has a gun in this one.. and considering his behaviour he really shouldn't | dedicated to my beloved @yipyipyap <3 number 1 fan of this au <3

James is hiding under the stairs in the courtyard, hoping that Andromeda won’t go out on the balcony until he’s done with his fag. She isn’t against smoking, exactly—she indulges in it whenever she drinks or is especially stressed, so it’d be quite hypocritical on her part. But still, he isn’t fond of James doing it around the kids. Andromeda and Alphard fight constantly over it, because Alphard just can’t quit it—although, it’s not like he tries—and James has seen how vicious they both can become. He refuses to be included, even if that means stepping outside and dealing with Manchester’s cold wind whenever he craves some nicotine.

The plan was to only have one and then go back upstairs, because they’re supposed to have lunch all together at The Marauder, the Lupins’ pub, but Tonks had been protesting, saying they already had plans with some friends. Ted didn’t seem too fussed about it, but James had noticed the look in Andromeda’s eye and he hadn’t liked it. You can never be sure, because she gives in very easily when her kid is involved, but it had felt like an argument was brewing.

He had thought it better to not be there for it. Tonks always tries to get him on their side, because James has always been a sort of ‘cool uncle’ figure for them and Regulus, even though he’s actually not related to them. It wouldn’t end well for James. He’s never been good under pressure, and Andromeda can be downright terrifying when she wants to.

Besides, there’s also the fact that he, Alphard and Frank are in the middle of a case right now. Stupid Lucius isn’t happy about the mess they made last time, even if they solved it in the end, so they’ve been trying to be on their best behaviour. Which, unfortunately, means they’re at his beck and call, making an effort to never talk back—James had almost slipped up thrice just that morning—and following protocol to a tee.

Orion has refused to give them anything with substance since they were transferred. He has refused to even acknowledge them during meetings, or when they run into each other in the halls of the station. And listen, James is definitely not complaining; that asshole hates his guts, and it’s very much mutual. But that doesn’t change that Orion is the superintendent and they kind of need his approval on almost everything they do.

Considering he probably just brought them to his station as punishment and to make their lives fucking miserable, they have no other option but to prove themselves by their own merits and climb up the ladder. That way, Orion will have no choice but to acknowledge them.

The issue is that they’ve never been very orthodox in their methods. And it had been fine, before, when most of their fuck ups were easily fixable and the good outweighed the bad. Now they’re being forced to work under harsh conditions. Having to answer to people like Orion Black and Lucius Malfoy.

Although, and if James is being honest, Lucius has been suspiciously merciful. Or, well, as merciful as someone like him can be.

James hates it, even if it works in their favour. He doesn’t want to feel like he owes anything to that man.

Lucius had allowed them to leave a bit reluctantly, after Alphard had lied about having a family emergency. The possibility of him calling them back to the station is quite high, however, and Andromeda never reacts well when lunch is interrupted by work matters.

He’s about to finish the cigarette, still debating if having a second one would be the smartest course of action, when he hears it.

“I swear, dude, he’s so fucking fit!”

James blinks, straightening up slightly before he takes a little peek from where he’s hiding under the stairs. The courtyard is open for everyone in the building, but the few times he’s come out for a smoke he’s barely seen anyone. Most people seem to prefer lounging on their own balconies, and apart from children playing around sometimes and the occasional old woman, it tends to be empty.

He catches sight of a couple of teenagers; they seem to be around Regulus’ age, but considering the leather jackets, the ripped jeans and all the piercings, they’re definitely not the kind of company Alphard would like for his nephew.

The one who has apparently made the comment is tall and lanky, his eyes a dark green and a ring on his lower lip. He has light brown hair, a few strands dyed a hideous shade of green, and his clothes seem to be at least a size or two bigger than him. James can’t help but squint his eyes a bit at him. He had been no saint when he was younger, and it’s not like he is now, despite being fucking cop, but James doesn’t like his vibes.

The other bloke isn’t much better. He’s shorter but tall nonetheless, and bigger in size, even though James has a feeling the other one would be a lot more ruthless in a fight. He sports a buzzcut and his eyes are a light shade of blue, cold and lifeless. Both his right eyebrow and the left side of his nose are pierced, and if James didn’t know any better, he’d swear there’s a tattoo peeking from the collar of his shirt.

James can’t help but scoff under his breath. He shakes his head lightly, taking another drag of his cigarette and deciding that he’ll go back inside as soon as he’s done. But as he’s about to step from under the stairs, something in the kids’ conversation catches his attention.

“Mate, I know you’re down to shag everyone and everything, but c’mon, you gotta be making this shit up,” the one with the buzzcut is saying, eyes narrowed. “There’s no way a bloke can be that hot. There’s just no way.”

“Just wait ‘til you see him,” the lanky guy retorts, and for some reason, he tilts his head back, eyes jumping from one balcony to another. “He’s prettier than most of the girls I’ve seen.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good thing, mate—”

“Trust me on this, okay?”

“Crouch, I wouldn’t trust you even if you paid me—”

“You’ll understand when you see him. You’re gonna be eating your fucking words, Mulciber.”

“Whatever.” Mulciber (?) rolls his eyes. “Why are you so sure he’ll show up, huh?”

“We’re neighbours,” Crouch responds, all his attention on the balconies surrounding the courtyard. “He moved here recently, and with his whole family, I think. There’s so many of them. I’ve only seen him and his brother. And his mum. I think it’s his mum, anyway, but she looked very young.”

“Teen mum, probably,” Mulciber mutters with a shrug. “Wouldn’t surprise me if they moved to this shithole.”

Crouch snorts. “That’s what I thought too. Anyways, Regulus—that’s his name—likes to sit on the balcony to read. And I’ve caught him people watching before, so—”

James nearly stops listening after that name is so casually dropped. There’s a soft ringing in his ears, and his hands keep clenching and unclenching, clenching and unclenching, as if they can’t decide if they want to curl into fists or not.

He hadn’t cared much about what they’re discussing. Just kids being kids, right? Being inappropriate about another kid who they fancy, or want to shag, or whatever, just like kids their age usually do. Now, though? Oh, now it feels personal. And definitely not as innocent as James had originally thought.

“Regulus?” Mulciber repeats, a bit incredulous, before he lets out a laugh. One of James’ eyes twitches. “That’s a weird fucking name, man.”

“Well, he is a bit weird,” Crouch concedes with a tilt of his head.

“You talk like you know him.”

“I mean, not really, but we did talk a little when I helped him move some boxes the day he moved in. And Mulciber, dude, he was wearing the tiniest shorts I’ve ever seen. I thought I was gonna pop a boner right then and there—”

“You’re such a fucking perv,” Mulciber sniggers, elbowing Crouch on his side, who retaliates without missing a beat, a chuckle slipping past his lips.

James is gritting his teeth so hard his jaw is beginning to hurt, the rest of his cigarette practically consumed by now and crushed between his pursed lips.

“As if you aren’t worse than me,” Crouch retorts.

“I don’t know, mate, I don’t stalk any of my neighbours—”

“You’re gonna be changing your tune so fucking quickly when you actually see him—”

“Yeah, you keep saying that, but I’m not so sure. First of all, I don’t usually like blokes like that. And second of all, you don’t discriminate much, and you tend to have the weirdest taste ever—”

“Okay, shut up, he’s there,” Crouch hisses excitedly, hitting Mulciber on the side of his arm. “He’s actually there, fuck—”

“Wait, seriously?” Mulciber’s eyes widen and then he’s blinking quickly as he attempts to follow Crouch’s line of sight. He even slides closer to him, his gaze searching like mad until it finally settles. His mouth parts in a silent exhale. “Fucking hell, you were right.”

James is also following suit, head snapping up and eyes already zeroing on the balcony he knows to belong to Alphard’s flat. Like Crouch said, Regulus is there, and he seems to be looking for something inside of one of the couple of boxes lying on the floor. He has this little furrow between his eyebrows, the one that indicates he’s concentrating hard and that James has always found to be incredibly adorable, and his tongue is peeking from between his teeth.

The issue is that apart from an oversized shirt that probably belongs to either Alphard or his brother, and his underwear, Regulus doesn’t seem to be wearing anything else.

“I told you,” Crouch exclaims, gaze following every single one of Regulus’ movements. “I fucking told you.”

“You really did,” Mulciber breathes out, a bit in awe. He whistles softly. “Shit, look at those legs.”

“I know,” Crouch sighs dreamily. “And the waist, dude.”

“Yeah. He’s a bit feminine, though, don’t you think?”

“Just how you like ‘em.”

“Piss off. Thought you weren’t gonna share.”

“And I’m not.”

“Well, mate, you’ll have to because there’s no way I’m not tapping that at least once—”

A gust of wind lifts Regulus’ shirt up for a few seconds, and the boy seems too busy fighting off a shiver to bother pulling it back down. There’s a flash of the flat of his stomach, the paleness of his skin littered with moles, the dip of his hips. And worst of all, they all catch sight of his underwear, which is a light purple and adorned with a little bow, and looks suspiciously like—

“Panties,” Crouch murmurs, and when James focuses on him once again, he’s disgusted to find him almost drooling, eyes dark. “Holy shit, dude, he’s wearing panties.”

“What the fuck,” Mulciber says, shaking his head like he can barely believe it. James isn’t even sure he’s breathing. “What the fuck.”

“Fuck me, that’s so hot—”

“Mate, I’ve never been so thankful for the wind in my fucking life—”

“I know right—”

“What kind of bloke just walks around his house wearing panties? Not that I’m complaining, but—”

“Oh, dude, I bet he’s a slag, he’s basically asking for it—”

James spits his cigarette out and then he’s pushing his tongue against the inside of his cheek, a disbelieving laugh escaping his mouth. His eyes look up to the sky for a moment or two before he begins to make his way towards the two boys, a dangerous grin curving his lips.

It takes them a few seconds to notice his presence, too busy ogling Regulus like the fucking creeps they are, but when they do, they both take an instinctive step back. Mulciber mostly seems to be taken aback, but Crouch is wary, a frown twisting his features.

“Hello there,” James greets them, hands slipping into the pockets of his denim jacket. “Having fun?”

“Hey, mate,” Mulciber responds a bit hesitantly. “We were just—”

“What the hell do you want?” Crouch asks him almost at the same time.

James’ smile widens, and he raises his hands in mock surrender. “So hostile,” he chastises with a disappointed shake of his head.

“You came out of fucking nowhere,” Crouch huffs out. “And you don’t look familiar. I don’t think I’ve seen you around—”

“I mean, you seem quite busy perving on that kid, so I’m not surprised you didn't notice me.”

Crouch stiffens immediately, a scowl taking over his expression, and Mulciber gulps, glancing at his friend briefly before he takes another step back.

“Didn’t know looking was a crime,” Crouch snarks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“It’s not,” James concedes, nodding slowly, almost considering. “But it’s fucking disgusting.”

Crouch scoffs loudly, and somehow, James’ grin spreads further at the noise. It also becomes considerably sharper.

“What’s it to you?” Crouch questions, moving forward, attempting to get in James’ space, intimidate him. He has the height, that’s for sure, even though James is convinced he has an inch or two on the boy. But knowing what he knows, the kind of training he’s undergone, and the fact that he’s currently armed, James kind of wants to laugh. “Huh? It’s none of your fucking business, dude. And it’s not like we’re harming anyone—”

“Maybe.” James shrugs with one shoulder. “It’s really pissing me off, though. And you don’t want to piss me off, kiddo.”

“The fuck?” Crouch mutters with an incredulous laugh. He tilts his head back just to glance at his friend briefly, who’s shooting daggers at him, before he focuses on James once again. “Who do you think you are? I don’t care about your feelings, dude. Did we offend you? What, are you two much of a pussy to deal with a couple of dirty comments?”

James arches an eyebrow, his fingers twitching at his sides with the need to reach for his gun. He isn’t going to. There’s no need to escalate the situation, and the kid is right, it’s not like they had been doing anything illegal, no matter how furious James is about the whole thing. Besides, he isn’t the type to use a weapon against someone who’s unarmed. That’s simply not the kind of person, or cop, James wants to be.

But god, does he want to.

“Listen, mate, I’m not looking for trouble, okay?” James tells him, doing his goddamn best to keep himself calm. “But I won’t tolerate you talking about him like that—”

“No one’s asking you to,” Crouch snaps, jaw clenched. “You weren’t even part of the conversation.”

“That’s not—”

“And besides, if he didn’t want anyone looking, then perhaps he shouldn’t be prancing around wearing fucking panties.”

James grits his teeth together so harshly he swears he hears something crack. “He’s at home. He’s allowed to wear whatever the hell he wants. That’s not an invitation for guys like you to stare like creeps—”

“He’s out on the balcony,” Crouch retorts, smirking at James, so annoyingly self-assured. “Everyone can see him. And he doesn’t seem very concerned about it.”

“He shouldn’t have to. He deserves to be comfortable around his flat without having to consider desperate lonely assholes who resort to stalking a kid to try and find some wanking material.”

Crouch blinks at him a couple of times, like he’s a little surprised by the sudden display of aggressiveness. Sure, James’s irritation had been noticeable from the beginning, which is probably the main reason why Crouch got immediately defensive.

But even James can admit that his anger is beginning to get away from him, and that’s never a good sign. It happens often, more than he’d like to admit, but he swears he usually has more self-restraint. Especially when teenagers are involved.

Crouch is just being this confrontational because his friend is with him. James knows the type a little too well; he’s encountered them a dozen times, arrested a handful too, and then let them go with just a light slap on the wrist. He always goes a bit soft on them, because they’re just kids being stupid, and he used to be as bad, if not worse, than them.

James is aware of all this, just like he’s aware of the fact that he’s overreacting, and he should’ve just given them a warning and gone back inside. He never meant to get derailed like this. Honestly, he’s taking so long he’s a bit surprised Andromeda or Sirius haven’t come out to get him.

But his brain seems very against cooperating. James can feel whatever little rationality he possesses slipping through his fingers, and truth be told, he isn’t even actually trying to grab it.

“You’re way too bothered about this,” Crouch unnecessarily points out after a beat, looking James up and down, searching for something.

James exhales loudly through his nose. “Just because you clearly lack some common decency—”

“Nah, don’t try to give me that shit,” Crouch interrupts him, waving his hand around lazily. “Who’s Reg to you? Because you definitely know him.”

James has to bite his tongue to stop himself from barking at Crouch for daring to use a nickname for Regulus when they barely know each other. Crouch merely helped him with some boxes, and he clearly had ulterior motives, anyway. If James has anything to say in the matter—and he fucking does—that’s as far as their interactions will go.

“You his uncle or something?” Crouch goes on, unrelenting. “Step-dad? Family friend?”

He rolls his eyes, and is about to tell Crouch to fucking quit it, because James has no intentions of entertaining this, or satisfy his curiosity, when Crouch’s mouth twists into something more sinister, a dangerous glint shining in his gaze.

“Or,” Crouch continues, voice going low, “maybe you also wanna shag him.”

James’ breath stutters in his chest, eyes widening in pure, unfiltered shock, his mind refusing to even consider processing the sentence that just left Crouch’s mouth. Part of James just wants to laugh until tears are running down his face, while another feels ill enough he worries he might be about to be sick.

He doesn’t even get a chance to decide on a proper reaction before Crouch presses on, acting like he’s oh so clever but clearly not enough to know when to quit it.

The kid must lack a sense of preservation. There’s no other explanation.

“Is that it?” Crouch shakes his head, tutting at James. “Oh, that’s hilarious. And fucking vile. You gotta be, at least, in your mid-thirties. I bet you only caught us looking because you were doing the same. Is that what does it for you? Pretty, seventeen year old boys wearing panties? Not like I can blame you. He’s definitely a sight for sore eyes. I don’t even wanna imagine how many times you’ve gotten off to—”

Crouch never manages to finish his awful spiel, because James is pulling out his gun, seeing fucking red, almost shaking with the fury coursing through his veins. His blood is boiling while he pushes the barrel of the gun into Crouch’s forehead, taking sick satisfaction in the way the boy pales, mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out of it.

Mulciber lets out what can only be a squeal, and when James lays eyes on him, the boy takes a couple of steps back, readying himself to turn away and run. James only needs to arch an eyebrow at him and shift his wrist a little, enough for the gun to be pointed at him instead, to make him freeze.

He isn’t one to enjoy a power trip, not under these circumstances, when he's basically threatening a couple of teens, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t delight in the fear in their eyes. In watching all that bravado vanish from Crouch’s expression, from his pose.

“Not so brave now, are you?” James asks Crouch with a quirk of his mouth. The boy just stares at him in silence, lips pursed and shoulders stiff. “C’mon, up against the wall, both of you.”

They both hesitate; Mulciber as if he’s struggling to get his limbs to cooperate, and Crouch in a last attempt at defiance.

James lets out a mirthless chuckle, his head giving a disappointed shake.

“I don’t like repeating myself,” he hisses, tone hard and cold. “I said up against the wall. Now.”

It still takes them a couple more seconds, but the moment James clicks his tongue, his hold tightening around the gun, both boys finally move, rushing to one of the walls in the courtyard. James can tell they’ve been stopped by the police before, with the way they stand facing the wall and immediately lift their hands and put them flat against the cold stone.

They probably have never been this close to a gun, though, if Mulciber’s trembling and the tension hanging off Crouch’s soldiers is anything to go by.

“Listen, man we—we didn’t mean to—” Mulciber starts, tripping all over his words. He sounds like he’s on the verge of tears, and James wishes he could feel any pity for him.

“Did I say you could speak?” James cuts him off, leaning forward until he’s sure Mulciber can feel the heat of his body, the barrel of the gun grazing the back of his head. “Shut your fucking mouth before you make this worse for yourself.”

Mulciber nods fast and urgent, pressing his lips tight together and shutting his eyes briefly.

“This time, I’m gonna talk and you’re gonna listen,” James goes on, shifting his attention to Crouch, who’s openly glaring at the wall in front of him. When James moves the gun and presses it against the boy’s nape, Crouch inhales a bit shakily. “I don’t want to see you around Regulus ever again. In fact, don’t even look in his general direction. For all intents and purposes, he doesn’t exist to you, okay?”

“You’re a fucking freak,” Crouch spits out through gritted teeth. “What would Reg think if—”

“You won’t finish that sentence if you know what’s good for you, Crouch,” James cuts him off swiftly, his tone eerily calm. “And while we’re on the topic, quit it with the nickname, will ya? It’s not like you’re ever gonna be close enough with Regulus to be allowed to use it, anyway.”

“I was right, you really wanna fuck him,” Crouch retorts in a snarl, turning his head a little, just so his green eyes can bore into James’ brown ones. “How aren’t you ashamed of yourself? I wouldn’t be able to look at myself in the mirror if I were you. You’re the one who shouldn’t be around him—”

James digs the gun into Crouch’s skin to the point he’s convinced it must sting, but the boy doesn’t so much as flinch. Still, it has the desired effect, and Crouch closes his mouth, his words dying in his throat.

“I’m a very reasonable man, Crouch, but you’re testing my bloody limits,” James tells him, using the weapon to tilt the boy’s head forward, until his forehead is pressed uncomfortably into the wall. “Take Regulus’ name out of your goddamn mouth or I promise I’ll put a bullet in your skull.”

Mulciber lets out a choked off noise, but James doesn’t even bother glancing at him. His eyes are fixed on Crouch, who manages a small grin that looks more like a sneer than anything else.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Crouch mutters. James doesn’t understand how he can still talk back when he literally has a gun to his head, and he can’t help but admire the boy slightly. You gotta be very bold. Or very stupid.

James chuckles lowly, fingers caressing the weapon, playing with the idea of cocking the gun just so Crouch can hear it. Actually feel the threat. “Fucking try me.”

“Barty, please—” Mulciber whispers shakily, voice sounding suspiciously wet.

James is opening his mouth, so furious he isn’t sure of what will come out of it this time, when someone else interrupts him.

“What the fuck!? James?” Regulus yells from somewhere to his right, and James nearly drops the gun.

He immediately steps away from the boys, his head whipping around in search of the owner of the voice. James’ eyes find Regulus already making his way down the stairs of the courtyard, and something inside seems to settle at the sight. He can hear Crouch and Mulciber murmuring to each other before they run away, taking advantage of James’ distraction, and he isn’t even annoyed about it. He doesn’t care, really. Not anymore.

Regulus is still clad in just the oversized shirt and those bloody panties, but he isn’t flashing anyone this time, which James—and his sanity—deeply appreciates. Regulus had also been smart enough to put on a pair of slippers before going outside. It wouldn’t be the first time Regulus decided to step into the courtyard barefooted and ended up hurting himself.

James rushes to his side, but Regulus takes a step back as soon as he reaches him, the frown twisting his features becoming more pronounced.

“Put the gun away,” Regulus snaps before James can ask. He blinks at the boy, and then down at the weapon, which is still between his fingers. He listens immediately, sticking it inside the waistband of his jeans and then raising both hands, showing Regulus his naked palms.

The boy appears to relax slightly, but the furrow between his eyebrows doesn’t disappear.

“Regulus, it’s too cold for you to be out like this. C’mon, let’s go back inside, and—” James begins, dropping his arms and extending one towards Regulus, who curls a little into himself to avoid the touch.

James swears he feels a pang in his chest at the action.

“What the fuck was that about?” Regulus cuts in, sharp and confused and bordering on upset. James has to make an active effort not to wince.

“Reggie—”

“No, stop it. None of that. I want you to explain.”

James slips a hand under his glasses to rub at his eyes, a soft sight making it past his lips. “It was—nothing, Reg, you don’t have to—”

“Nothing?” Regulus repeats with a scoff, disbelieving. “Really? Because it didn’t look like nothing. You were threatening two guys with your bloody gun in the middle of the courtyard, for fuck’s sake—”

“It was just—just a tiny misunderstanding,” James attempts to excuse himself, hating how high-pitched he sounds. He’s usually decent at lying; mostly, because his job requires him to do it often. “We were talking, and then, then the conversation got a bit out of hand—”

Regulus snorts, but the noise lacks amusement. “Oh, it got out of hand alright. That was my neighbour you were about to shoot—”

“Please, you know I wouldn’t have,” James sighs, rolling his eyes, and he means it. In a perfect world, he'd be able to shoot assholes with no consequences. Unfortunately, this isn’t a perfect world, and James is a bit too aware of what lines can never be crossed.

“I’m not so sure,” Regulus murmurs, the beginning of a pout pulling at his lips. “What has Barty even done to you?”

James’ face immediately twists into a scowl, both at the reminder of his whole argument with Crouch and at the casual manner in which Regulus says his name. From what James knows, Regulus and Crouch have only interacted one time, and it wasn’t anything purposeful, or memorable. He doesn’t like the familiarity in Regulus’ voice, or the use of a first name. Crouch isn’t the kind of friend James wants for Regulus.

“Barty,” James repeats, chewing the word, its taste unbearably sour. “Didn’t know you were so close,” he mutters a bit darkly.

“We’re not,” Regulus retorts without missing a beat, squinting his eyes at James.

“Well, it bloody seems like it—”

“James,” Regulus snaps, making him pause. “Answer the question.”

He blinks down at the boy a couple of times, but then he ends up letting out a quiet huff, scratching at the back of his head as he briefly averts his eyes.

It’s a bit ridiculous, the power this kid has over James. He can’t help but be embarrassed, sometimes, because Regulus shouldn’t be allowed to speak to him like this, to demand answers like he’s owed something, like James is at his fucking beck and call.

He is, though. And James is painfully aware that he’s the main responsible for that spoiled attitude of Regulus. He encourages it, even. Because no matter how much he chastises himself for being so lenient, so soft when it comes to the other boy. James can’t stop. He’d give Regulus the world if he asked.

“Crouch was being a fucking creep, okay?” James tells him, still avoiding the boy’s gaze. “Apparently he’s been stalking you, trying to get a peek. He even brought his friend with him.”

“What?”

“Yeah. They only came to the courtyard because they were hoping to catch you out on the balcony at some point.”

There’s a moment of silence, and when James finally chances a glance at Regulus, he finds him wrinkling his nose.

“What a weirdo,” he mumbles, but he doesn’t appear to be half as upset as James believes he should be. “It’s not like there’s much to see, anyway—”

“You’re basically half-naked,” James deadpans, staring pointedly at Regulus’ pale legs before his eyes settle on the boy’s face once more. “Not to mention, you’re wearing—”

James closes his mouth so fast his teeth click hard enough to make him see stars momentarily. Regulus tilts his head at him, mostly confused but also slightly wary, and James’ stomach turns uncomfortably.

“I’m wearing what?” Regulus questions, before he takes a step closer to James.

“It’s—it doesn’t matter.” James shakes his head.

“It clearly does, if it got you all worked up like that, to the point you pulled out your fucking gun,” Regulus presses, taking another step. And then another. And another. James has to force himself to stay put, to stop his face from doing anything weird, to keep his voice level.

“It doesn’t matter,” James reiterates, so fucking relieved at how calm he sounds. “Just make sure you keep your distance from those two. It’s clear they’re only interested in you for one reason, and that’s not the kind of company you wanna keep.”

“And how would you know that?”

“I just do.”

“Less than a week ago you were encouraging me to meet more people my age and make friends—”

“Not them,” James hisses, a muscle spasming on the side of his jaw. “Not them, Regulus.”

The boy raises an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s your choice.”

“I’m not claiming it is,” James sighs, unable to hide the exasperation in his voice. He never forgets the fact that Regulus is only seventeen, petty and stubborn and childish, but moments like these are quite the reminder. “I’m simply trying to look out for you, Reggie.”

“Of course,” Regulus scoffs, looking offended, and James can barely suppress the urge to throw his hands up in the air. What did he say now? “Because you always know better, right, James?”

“Um,” he begins, a little unsure, his palm rubbing at his stubble distractedly. “Kinda, yeah?”

Regulus’ mouth twitches until it curls into a snarl, and James curses himself inside his head, already itching to take it back, to fix it before Regulus can get properly angry at him.

“Not like there’s anything wrong with that!” he rushes to clarify, before Regulus even has the chance to open his mouth. “It’s just—well, natural, innit? It’s not because you’re stupid, Reggie, quite the opposite, really, and you know I trust you enough to know that you’ll make the right decisions—”

“But?” Regulus prompts, impatient, openly glaring at James. There’s nothing intimidating about the boy, and yet, James does feel the odd urge to cower under his gaze.

“But,” James goes on, doing his best to keep his tone soft and gentle, “I’m older than you,” he explains, not surprised in the slightest when Regulus rolls his eyes so hard his head tilts back. It doesn’t deter James. “I’m more experienced. That’s just life, love. Nothing wrong with that, and it doesn’t mean that you don’t know what you’re doing. You’re just a kid—”

“I’m not a fucking kid,” Regulus snaps, and it’s harsh, bordering on vicious, and James is so taken aback it takes him a handful of seconds to manage a reply.

“You are,” James argues, careful but firm, wrinkles all over his forehead. “You are a kid, Regulus.”

The boy makes a derisive sound. “Only when it suits you.”

James furrows his eyebrows slightly even though his lips make an aborted attempt at curving into a small smile. He tries to swallow, but a knot seems to have settled at the back of his throat, uncomfortable and impossible to get rid of.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks Regulus, and he goes for lighthearted, almost teasing, he really does. James doesn’t think he quite manages it, however. Mostly, because he’s a bit terrified of the response.

“You tell me,” Regulus murmurs, shrugging lazily. “Were you looking?”

“Looking? At what?”

“You said Barty and his friend were basically perving on me. Were you, too?”

A wave of nausea assaults James’ entire body, and for a moment, he’s sure he’s about to start gagging. He shakes his head furiously, and a few times at that, just to make sure to get his point across, despite Regulus’ expression never changing.

God, James is dying to put some distance between them, but he doesn’t—he worries about Regulus misinterpreting it—

“No,” he states slowly, his tone not leaving any room for argument. “No. Fuck, Reggie, you know I would never. You’re—shit, you’re a child and I’m not—I wouldn’t—I don’t see you like that—”

“You sure?” Regulus crosses his arms over his chest, unimpressed by James’ distress. “Because you seemed very bothered about my outfit choice.”

“Not like that,” James groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I just—they were being creeps, and I don’t like people seeing you like—like this and making such inappropriate comments, but it’s not—it was never about me, or how I feel. I don’t care about what you wear—”

“You don’t care that I’m wearing these?” Regulus interrupts him softly, and a second later he’s lifting his shirt, showing off the goddamn panties and part of his belly in the process.

A wave of unbearable heat begins to climb up James’ neck, and he doesn’t allow himself more than a brief peek—mostly due to his lack of preparation—before one of his arms is shooting out, fingers wrapping tightly around Regulus’ wrist.

“Regulus,” James whisper-yells, glancing around in mild panic as he moves impossibly closer to the younger boy, attempting to cover his body with his own as best as he can. “What the actual fuck are you doing, anyone can see—”

“Come on, no one’s outside, it’s just us—” Regulus protests with a roll of his eyes, but when James digs his fingers in just the slightest bit harder and tugs insistently, he doesn’t resist, allowing his shirt to be pulled back down.

“Yeah, I bet you thought that too when you were on the balcony,” James grumbles, not letting go of the younger boy even with the panties finally out of sight. He knows better than to trust Regulus when he gets like this.

"You're being so dramatic," Regulus says with a tilt of his head, hands still playing with the hem of his shirt. "So what if they looked? It's not illegal."

"It should be," James grunts, his hold on Regulus' wrist never faltering.

"Okay, but it isn't," Regulus insists. "They didn't try anything, they didn't say anything to me, they didn't—"

"You weren't there, Reg." James shakes his head, trying to get rid of the whole encounter, vanish every single one of Crouch's disgusting words, all of his false accusations. "You don't—it was fucking awful. Made me sick to my fucking stomach."

"Jamie," Regulus mutters softly, delicately, like he's speaking to a spooked animal. James should hate it, should shut it down immediately, because he's the one that's supposed to do the comforting. Always the protector, looking after his Reggie. "It's like you say. They're just kids. Kids being kids."

"Don't excuse them—"

"I'm not! I'm not. You just seem very upset, and I don't like that. I'm fine, yeah? I don't care about what they said. It doesn't matter—"

"But it does!" James explodes, raising his voice and hating himself a little for it. He runs his free hand through his hair, messing it all up, pulling at the roots. "It fucking does. No one should fucking dare to even think that kind of shit about you. You're—you're so good, Reggie, so very lovely, and I don't—I refuse to let you go through that. I'm not gonna let anyone make you feel like you're some—some kind of object—"

"James—"

"You're too young, you don't get it just yet, but it's not—I won't fucking stand for it, Reggie. It may be innocent now, or harmless, but it won't always be. And you deserve only the very best, okay? I'll make sure those assholes stay far, far away from you even if it's the last thing I do."

Regulus' eyes widen as he stares up at James, so bright they look like liquid silver.

"Is that why you seemed so angry?" Regulus questions, sounding a bit out of breath for some reason. "Why you pulled out your gun? For me?"

"Not my proudest moment," James sighs. He'd probably do it again, but that doesn't mean he isn't aware it's wrong. James doesn't doubt that Lucius would take his gun away if he ever found out. "But yes, of course it was for you. I didn't mean to lose my cool like that, I just wanted to—to scare them off so they'd leave you alone, but they—" James pauses to swallow, his mouth dry and his tongue tasting something bitter. "Crouch is fucking vile, Reggie. Please, stay away from him."

"Okay," Regulus agrees with astounding ease. James is convinced he's heard wrong at first, because after all the fight he's put up, he can't quite believe he's suddenly giving in. "You really did it for me?"

James raises both eyebrows. "Yes, Reg. There's no one else I'd risk my badge for."

Regulus giggles, giddy and slightly pink in the face, and James is helpless to the grin that takes over his expression. He still hasn't let go of Regulus' wrist, but his hold loosens considerably, his thumb caressing the skin slowly.

"Would you have shoot them, too?" the boy wonders, batting his lashes. "If they hadn't stopped?"

Yes.

The response comes unbridled, nearly tumbling out of James' mouth against his will. It feels quite overwhelming, the knowledge that he'd be willing to go that far for Regulus, turn away from his morals and everything he believes in without a second of hesitation.

It's a bit of a struggle, keeping it from slipping past his lips and swallowing it back down before it gets the chance to cause some damage.

"Obviously not," he lies with a teasing roll of his eyes. "That'd be fucking insane."

Regulus pouts at that answer, and James can only chuckle fondly, giving his wrist a light squeeze before he finally lets go.

"But I'll always be there to protect you, Reggie," he goes on with a smile, reaching out to twirl one of the boy's curls between his fingers. "I won't let anything bad happen to you."

"I know," Regulus sighs, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Good. Now let's get you back inside, yeah? It's freezing, and you're gonna catch a cold at this rate, dressed like that."

"Can we wait five more minutes? Andy and uncle Alphard were still arguing when I went to look for you."

James looks up at the sky and groans dramatically, dragging a tiny laugh out of Regulus. He ends up nodding a second later, because he really doesn't want to get involved in whatever it is that's going on inside that flat. He just wants to get some lunch. After that altercation with Crouch and Mulciber, and then Regulus' interruption, James is fucking starving. Pub food will surely fix this mess of a morning. Especially if said pub food is made by Hope Lupin.

"Yeah, sure, I'd rather avoid it, if possible," James mutters. As soon as the sentence is out of his mouth, a shiver rattles Regulus' entire frame, both his hands coming up to rub distractedly as his upper arms. James' expression twists in a frown. "Reggie, you can't—wait, lemme just—"

He shrugs his denim jacket off and rushes to wrap it around Regulus' shoulders, who flinches in surprise before he relaxes once again. It seems to take him a second, but then he's slipping his arms through the sleeves, the garment way too big on him. Regulus is basically swimming in it, and James has to swallow down a laugh while he adjusts the jacket as best as he can.

"But what about you?" Regulus questions, concern seeping into his words as he watches James fuss over him.

James shakes his head with half a smile, tugging the jacket as low as it'll go. He doesn't button it up, but he makes sure to close it slightly, so Regulus is as covered as possible.

"I'm fine," James reassures him, even with goosebumps breaking all over his now exposed arms. "You're the one who's barely wearing anything. Besides, if you get ill your uncle will kill me."

"Why would he?" Regulus grumbles, burrowing into the jacket. He gives the collar a little sniff, and James is sure he intended to be discreet, but he notices it anyway. It makes his smile widen slightly. "It'd be my fault."

"Maybe. But I can't just stand by and watch. You're shaking, love—"

"Only a little!"

"Please," James snorts, hands grazing the hem of the jacket before they slide lower, fingers settling on the boy's thighs, feeling the goosebumps all over Regulus' skin. "If you're gonna lie, at least do it well. I know you're freezing cold, Reggie, I can feel it."

A small, high-pitched noise escapes Regulus' lips, and his face seems to become a bit redder. James assumes the cold must be really getting to him, so with an amused huff, he begins to stroke up and down Regulus' thighs, hoping to help the boy warm up slightly.

Regulus makes another sound, and then he's pressing even closer to James, clutching at his chest and resting his forehead against James' sternum. Another shiver wracks his small body, and James grips at his thighs, fondling them a bit more harshly. He shushes Regulus when the boy whimpers softly, and James lowers his head enough to drop a kiss on top of his curls.

"Don't worry, love, we'll be back inside soon," James reassures him quietly, hands stroking and squeezing without pause. His fingers slip under the jacket and under the shirt, trying to reach as much skin as possible. "Honestly, only you'd think that coming outside in just a top and your underwear is a good idea. I hope you've learnt your lesson."

"You sound like—like uncle Alphard," Regulus retorts, stuttering all over his words and filling James with fondness. "He's always scolding me about my outfit choices."

"I'm inclined to agree with him this time."

"Well, don't. You're supposed to—to be on my side. Always, Jamie."

James exhales loudly through his nose, grinning, helplessly endeared.

"You make it a bit difficult sometimes, love," he says to the top of Regulus' head. "I mean, look at you, you can't stop shivering—"

"It's not because of the cold," Regulus murmurs. It comes out too low and slightly muffled; James doubts he would've heard it if it weren't for how close they're standing.

"No?" James asks, a teasing edge to his voice.

Regulus shakes his head a couple of times, and then he's looking up, his eyes a little glazed as he glances at James. He's quite red, and his breathing appears to be slightly uneven, panting through parted lips.

"You're—you're touching me," Regulus explains, and there's something about how he says it that makes James tense up immediately, stomach twisting. There's nothing wrong with the word in itself, but the way Regulus pronounces it, so full of implications… Well, it sounds dirty. "It feels very nice, Jamie."

"So? I touch you all the time," James points out, his tone carefully neutral. He hasn't pulled away just yet, but his hands have stopped all movement.

"Not like this," Regulus whispers, and James swallows with some difficulty.

"Regulus—" he starts, a little strained.

"Is it because of the panties? You like 'em that much?"

James jumps away from him as if burned, and without giving the boy a single second to react, he begins to make his way towards the stairs, desperate to put some distance between them, to find some witnesses, anything to stop whatever it is that's wrong with his fucking brain.

He thinks he hears Regulus calling after him, but James barely acknowledges it, curling into himself as he climbs the steps two at a time.

"Sorry, Reg, this wind is killing me, I can't do it, I'm going back inside!" he announces without even bothering to turn around and look at the boy, his voice close to breaking at the end. "Besides, if we don't leave soon, the pub is gonna be rammed!"

James can't tell if Regulus says anything in response, too busy trying not to trip in his haste to return to the flat. His face feels like it's on fucking fire, and his hands won't stop trembling where they're resting at his sides.

When he finally opens the door and a screaming match between Alphard, Andromeda and Sirius welcomes him, James can only let out a relieved sigh. He isn't even annoyed when Sirius notices him and decides to include him in whatever stupid fight they're in the middle of.

By the time Regulus slips inside, eerily silent, the argument is over, and everyone is getting ready to go to lunch. Andromeda takes one look at him and rushes him to get dressed, threatening to leave without him if he isn't ready in the next fifteen minutes.

James can feel Regulus' eyes on him the whole time. While the boy walks towards his room to get ready, on their way to the pub, during the meal, when Alphard stands up to take a call from, presumably, Lucius. Even while James sends a quick text to Frank, telling him to meet them at the station, and Sirius leans closer to his brother to make a very inappropriate comment about Remus, who's pouring a pint behind the bar.

He doesn't look back a single time.

#silly little drabbles #everyone point and LAUGH #using the word drabble should be illegal in this context #it's an ongoing joke atp here in itsjaywalkers city #it's long enough to be posted on ao3 #and tbf i am considering it #but not yet!!#this au is staying as a tumblr exclusive . for now #anyways i'm so obsessed with them..#this is probably quite messy but well im writing it for fun and without an actual aim and/or end in mind so #u take it or u leave it baby #anyways I HOPE U GUYS ENJOY ANYWAY!!!#pls be freaks about it with me..#how long do we think it's gonna take james to break #let's make a bet!!#nqp

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