#malchai

[iamamonsterofverity]

⛪️ Kate 🔥

(A/N: A little project I did rewriting this savage song in first person. Just for funsies, ya know.)

I'm restless, I toss in turn, the duffle bag crammed under my shirt jabs my ribs, it's almost time. 

Finally, my watch vibrates 11:15, way past curfew but early enough to give me time to do what I need to. 

I slip carefully out from under my covers. The bunks in St. Agnes are 4 to a room and I have a top bunk, I wince as the ladder creaks and groans. Susan Brooke twitches, am I made? She tosses her face back into her pillow, safe . . . for now. I check the pocket of my jean jacket for the key I took from Sister Merilee's cupboard during a lecture on finding grace. It's still there, of course it is.

I cracked the window just enough before I went to bed so it won't make that awful dying cat noise. Now I slip out silently onto the grass. Apparently they used to call this the witching hour. According to Sister Rene it is "that dark time when restless spirits reach for freedom". Spirits and teenage girls trapped in boarding schools too far from home. I didn't bother changing into pyjamas tonight since I knew I wouldn't need them. 

What I do need, however, is alcohol. Good thing I know where to get it. The sisters quarter's are just across one of the manicured lawns from the dorms. The doors are locked, but I have the master key. Really someone ought to consult Mother Alice—our headmistress/nun whatever—on her attention to security. The first room is the main office where they keep confiscated goods, anything from video gaming tablets, clothing deemed 'inappropriate' or, in my case, a single pure silver lighter.

It only takes me a second of searching before I find the small cardboard box next to Mother Alice's desk. My lighter is right on top along with my cigarettes. It feels better already having it on me again after so long, I light a cigarette and get to work. The box is more helpful than I could've hoped for. I find two bottles of jack and almost a full fifth of vodka.

I pull out my duffle bag and place them gently in. Those are a good find but now for what I really want. Mother Alice's drawer is locked but the key is easy to find, a lump under her otherwise neatly stacked personalised stationery. I frown in disgust at the gaudy gold trim. It's just so ugly that I knock it from the desk, scattering it along with her other papers around the floor. 

I put the key into the cabinet. When I turn it, the drawer opens silently, implying it is used often . . . interesting. Inside are three bottles of house red, and a whiskey that looks decades old. I leave the office not bothering to cover my tracks. By the time they realise, it'll be too late. 

You're probably wondering why I'm doing this, and it isn't because I'm angry or drunk or mentally unstable. It's because I'm desperate. This is really a last resort. I've already broken a girl's nose, smoked in the dormitories, vandalised one of a kind vintage library books, cheated on my first exam, refused to do my second one at all, ditched every class for a week, and called three of the sisters things I won't repeat here. But no matter what I do, St. Agnes Academy keeps forgiving me. That's the problem with Catholic schools. They see me as someone to be saved. But I don't need salvation; I just need to get out of here. Where is here? We'll get to that later.

For now it's on down the hall to Sister Merilee's office, where she keeps her private store, all the good stuff. This door is open too. Damn, this is just too easy, I muffle a laugh and light a new cigarette. The old one isn't spent yet but I replace it anyway making sure to tap it out on Sister Merilee's religious teaching certificate. My master key belongs to Sister Merilee in the first place so it opens the closet easily. Up to now the bottles have all fit in the bag, but the vintage wine just won't squeeze in. It's okay, I won't be holding it long.

I make my way down the quaint little stone path that goes from the dormitories to the Chapel of the Cross, the mush of the damp grass under my feet, the clinking of the glass bottles and the sloshing of the alcohol mixing in with the sound of the midnight bells chiming soft and low, to make some kind of savage song in the night.

The bells are coming from the larger Chapel of the Saints on the other side of campus. That one is never fully unattended. Mother Alice sleeps in a room off the chapel, I would've liked to burn that building instead but I can't afford to add murder to arson. If this were twelve years ago, maybe I would've risked it, but not now. Then again; if this is like how it was twelve years ago I wouldn't be here.

Would I? I have to admit that even in the few flashes I can remember of my childhood the Harkers were never much of a family. Maybe my father would've shipped me off to baording school anyway. My mother would've protested, the way she did when she stole me away that night, and now she speaks no longer. (I think, I don't really know either of them.)

I quash the nostalgia and wondering before it can swell to much, but I allow myself, for only a moment, to wonder if my mother, the woman my father loved (did he?), had lived, would my father have been softer, kinder, a father. Or was my mother's death just an exuse for him to show his true colors? I'll never know and I remind myself that this is only one branch before I can let the image of a childhood in a small blue house in the tall grass under the bright stars take over.

I let myself into the Chapel and set the duffel down just inside the door. It takes me a second to adjust to the darkness in the chapel. I've never seen it this late and the stained glass is really something, but I can't back out now. It isn't the school's only chapel—it isn't even the nicest—and if the nuns at St. Agnes preach about anything, it's the importance of sacrifice. 

A dozen pews are all that stand between me and the altar. I crouch down on the wooden floor, unzip the duffle, and get to work. The night is eerily quiet now that the bells have stopped and my bad ear rings. Absently, I start humming a random hymn I don't even remember the name of, just to fill the void. Carefully I arrange the bottles on the closest pew before crossing to the prayer candles. Beside the three tiers of shallow glass bowls sits a dish of matches, the old-fashioned kind with long wooden stems. Maybe I should take them. Maybe I will.  There's relly no point, they'd probably just take them back when I'm caught.

Still humming, I return to the old carved liquor cabinet on the pew (it's a true antique, too bad it has to burn!) and unscrew and uncork the various bottles, spilling the liquid over each seat, doling it out so the contents last. I make sure to save Mother Alice's whiskey for something special. When I'm done I head up to the wooden podium at the front. A Bible sits open on top, and something about it makes me stop. I guess the teachings of St. Agnes have finally gotten to me because I decided to spare the old book, lobbing it out the open front door and onto the morning grass. It's large print and heavier than I expected or maybe that is just my imagination. When I step back inside, the damp, sweet smell of alcohol fills the air. I cough and spit the disgusting stuff onto the chapel's smooth wooden flooring.

At the far end of the chapel, a massive crucifix hangs above the altar, and I can feel Jesus's sad gaze on me, as if he's disappointed in me, and somewhere out there in the multiverse of Kates, I'm disappointed in me too. 

"Forgive me father for I have sinned", I think as I strike the match against the ornate door frame. 

"Nothing personal," I add aloud as the match flares to life, sudden and bright. For a long moment I watch it burn tendrils of fire snaking down the wood toward my fingers. And then, just before it reaches them, I drop it onto the seat of the nearest pew. It catches instantly and spreads with an audible whoosh. The fire consumes only the alcohol at first, then it takes hold of the wood beneath. In moments, the pews are going up, and then the floor, and at last the altar, soaked with Mother Alice's whiskey. 

The fire grows, and grows, and grows, from a flame the size of my metallic nail to a blaze with a life of its own, I can't help but stand and watch as it dances and climbs and consumes everything in plumes of red and orange heat, taking inch after inch until the heat and the smoke finally become too much. Coughing I throw the spent cigarette into the flames and exit out onto the dew-damp lawn. My feet beg me to run but I resist. Instead I sink onto a bench a safe distance from the growing fire, swinging my feet through the tall summer grass.

If I squint, I can see the light of the nearest sub city, a place called Des Moines on the horizon. To me, it's nonsense, but apparently it's an old fashioned name, a relic from the time before the reconstruction. There are half a dozen of them, scattered around Verity's periphery—but none have more than a million people, their populations locked in, locked down, and none of them hold a candle to the capital. That's the idea. No one wants to attract the monsters. Or Callum Harker. 

Instinctually I reach for my lighter already expecting disappointment but unlike these past two months it's actually there. I pull it out and begin turning it over and over in my hands, tracing the engravings, to try and keep them steady. When that fails, I draw a cigarette from my shirt pocket and light it, watching the small blue flame dance before the massive orange blaze. I take a drag and close my eyes. 

Where are you, Kate? I ask myself, playing my little game. It's something I've been doing ever since I learned about the theory of infinite parallels. That's the idea that a person's path through life isn't really a line, but a tree, every decision a divergent branch, resulting in a divergent you. I like the idea that there are a hundred different Kates, living a hundred different lives. 

Maybe in one of them, there are no monsters. Maybe that Kate's family is still whole. Maybe she and her mother never left home. Maybe they never came back. Maybe, maybe, maybe—and if there were a hundred lives, a hundred Kates, then I'm only one of them, and that one is exactly who I'm supposed to be. And in the end, it's easier to do what I have to do if I can know that somewhere else, another version of me gets the chance to make another, maybe better choice. Gets to live a better, or at least simpler, life. Maybe I'm even sparing them. Allowing another me to stay sane and safe. 

Where are you?

Lying in a field. Staring up at stars. The night is warm. The air is clean. The grass is cool beneath my back. There are no monsters in the dark. How nice. Meanwhile the chapel caves in, sending up a wave of embers. 

I burnt through two boarding schools (metaphorically speaking) in my first year of exile, another one in my second, hoping that would be it. But my father was determined (I have to get it from someone) to keep me away and he kept digging up more options. The fourth, was a reform school for troubled teens, had stuck it out for almost a year before giving up the ghost. The fifth, an all-boys academy willing to make an exception in exchange for a healthy endowment, lasted only a few short months, but my father must have had this hellish convent of a prep school on speed dial, a place already reserved, because I'd been packed off without so much as a detour back to V-City. Six schools in five years. But this is it. It has to be. 

Back in the present sirens wail in the distance, and I straighten up on the bench. 

Here we go. 

Within minutes the girls are pouring out of the dormitories, and Mother Alice appears in a dressing gown, pale face painted red by the light of the still-burning church. A string of obscenities leaves her mouth, I bet she's missing that whiskey. This time I don't bother suppressing my laughter, letting the cackling rise above the crackling flames, barely obscured by the deafening sirens as the fire trucks pull up.

The fire is put out and at last they find me smiling smugly, still sitting on my bench. 

"Up girl!" Mother Alice commands yanking me up off the bench and off toward the other sisters, "You've really done it this time. We've tried to forgive you but this time we may not be able to." 

Oh No! What ever will I do?

She continues, "At this point I'm afraid even our good Lord may not be able to forgive you." Her voice is stern and sombre like this is a terrible tragedy and I'm sure a more devout Catholic would be horrified but at this point I'm not afraid of Hell because I'm pretty sure I'm already here. So I just nod and say, "I'm very, very, very sorry" so she knows I'm mocking her.

And that seems to do it because her ringed hand comes crashing down hard against my cheek. I don't give her the satisfaction of a reaction.

Even Catholic schools have their limits. An hour later, I'm sitting in the back seat of a police car from the near by sub city, Des Moines, my hands cuffed in my lap. The cuffs are cool and sturdy against my wrists as the vehicle barrels through the night. After a while the comfort becomes crushing and I console myself by reminding myself that they are more to protect the officer from me than the other way around. These cuffs will be my power, a reminder to the driver that I am the dangerous one here.

The car cuts swiftly across the dark expanse of land, its headlights carving sharp lines in the dark land that forms the northeast corner of Verity, away from the safety of the periphery, and toward the capital. Verity while not the largest of the 10 territories, is three days across by car, and we must still be a good four hours outside the capital, an hour from the edge of the waste—but there is no way this local officer is taking a wimpy sub-city vehicle like this through a place like that.

The car doesn't have much in the way of reinforcement, only its iron trim and the UVR —ultraviolet-reinforced—high beams dutifully tearing crisp lines through the darkness. The driver's knuckles are white on the wheel. I think for a moment that I should tell him not to worry, not yet at least, —we are still far enough out; the edges of Verity are still relatively safe, because none of the things that go bump in the capital want to cross the waste to get to them, not when there were still plenty of people to eat closer to V-City. But then he gives me a look of utter loathing and I decide to let him stew. 

(A/N this part is unfinished but I will continue it)

[ecstarry]

@jegulus-microfic / tie / 248 words / @malchai

Regulus hates mornings. Sleeping in and going to bed late always felt the most comfortable for him. He made sure to go into a career that allowed him to work his own hours, and writing was perfect for that. 

James loves mornings. He’s an absolute romantic, and truly believes that the moment sunlight peeks through his window a new day, with new opportunities started. That no matter how bad the night was, he gets a new chance that day. 

Now, when Regulus wakes up, no matter how grumpy he is, the moment James starts giving him sweet kisses he can’t help but smile. He enjoys the rays that enter his room when the sun is still waking up too. 

He has no need to start his day early, but there’s nothing that he loves more than doing it with James. Regulus cooks while James prepares their tea and then he cleans everything up while James changes. And every day, James will come down with a tie and silently give it to him. 

“You always make them look nice, love.” Big golden eyes stare at him, lovingly. Regulus always obliges. 

Regulus started having fun and tried to play in different ways each time. His careful fingers are always finding ways to brush James’ neck while working on the last touches. 

“You look handsome,” Regulus makes sure to tell him. 

He can’t hate mornings. Not when they are so full of sun. So full of James. So full of love.

[sixlane]

james potter fan club

bartylily microfic | 785 words | NSFW | inspired by that one scene in challengers | this is my attempt to introduce the masses to jartylily. you may not see the vision yet, but you will.

special ty to renn @malchai and laurie @itsjaywalkers for letting me yell at you about this <3

“I saw James today,” Lily says from where she’s straddling Barty’s lap, running her fingers through his hair. It’s not overtly sexual, but Barty’s hoping he can get it there in the next two minutes.

“Yeah?” He lets his eyes close, lets himself focus on the sound of her voice and the feel of her soft thighs under his hands. She’s only wearing her underwear and an old t-shirt of his, which isn’t doing much for his self control.

“Mmhm,” she responds, lightly rolling her hips forward. “He was asking about you.”

“I just saw him a few days ago.” Barty moves his hands around to grab Lily’s ass, sliding his fingers under the thin fabric, encouraging the pressure building between them. “What was he asking about?” He’s not really paying attention to the conversation if he’s being honest, but sometimes if Lily is in a chatty mood during sex, the dirty talk can get really nasty, so he tries to encourage it as much as possible.

“Just asking if we’d see him again before you go. He misses you.” She tugs the hem of Barty’s shirt up and over his head, then starts kissing a trail down his neck all the way to his shoulder. She reaches up to run a finger around his nipple, something she knows always gets a shiver out of him.

Barty lets out a groan as Lily rocks into him harder this time. “Fuck me too.” He doesn't even really know what he’s saying, just whatever will keep Lily talking.

“I know baby, I know you do,” Lily says, planting a hand on Barty’s chest to push him down on the bed. She leans forward to kiss him, and it’s slow and smooth as she slides her tongue into his mouth. He just feels himself getting lost in it when she pulls away. “Tell me how much you miss James.”

“Lily—” Barty starts, but he’s cut off as Lily’s hand travels down to his briefs, slipping under the waistband just a bit, teasing. “You want it?” she asks.

“Yes,” he says, grabbing her wrist, always so greedy about the way she touches him. “Come on, princess, no games.”

“No games.” She shakes her head, dips her hand even lower, just grazing the tip of his cock. “Tell me how much you miss him and you can have whatever you want.”

God, she’s intoxicating when she gets like this. Bossy and determined. And Barty is powerless to it.

“Miss him so much, Lily.” It’s not even untrue. It’s been months since he’s come to visit James, and now Lily since they started seeing each other. They call and text here and there but it’s nothing like it used to be, when they were attached at the hip as teenagers.

“Good boy.” She grabs his cock, collecting the precum with her thumb so her palm slides easily over him. “That feel good?”

Barty’s eyes roll back and he bucks his hips up into her hand, always needing more with Lily. “Mmhm fuck, so good. Keep talking, baby.”

Lily smiles, huffs a laugh. “You think about him a lot?” Her hand speeds up, just the right amount of pressure. She’s so fucking good at this.

Barty can barely think through the haze so he just says the first thing that comes to mind, not that he has much of a filter anyway. “All the time.”

“Yeah you do,” Lily says, rewarding him by reattaching to his neck, licking up to his ear where she bites at his earlobe. “Thinking about him right now while I’m touching you.”

Barty moans, letting his mouth fall open as he lets his mind wander. Lets himself imagine just for a second that it’s James on top of him instead of Lily. “Ngh, yeah, fuck. Don’t stop.”

But Lily does stop, just for a second to tug Barty’s briefs down and out of the way, freeing his cock, putting on display the mess she’s made of him.

She sits up over him, hovering just above his hard length. “Now, I want you to imagine, when you’re inside me, that it’s James you’re fucking into. Can you do that for me?”

Barty’s hands squeeze hard at her hips as he takes her in with hungry eyes, but he’ll do what she says. He always does, in the end.

He nods, licks his lips, seals the deal. “Wanna be inside him so bad, Lily.”

Lily reaches down, uses one hand to pull her soaked underwear to the side, and uses the other to line up Barty’s cock with her dripping cunt. “Whatever you want, baby,” she says with a devious smile before sinking down on him.

[v7lgar]

midweek snippet

thank u for tagging me @honeybcj and @mothbart

“Fuck,” James murmured before sliding his tongue between Regulus’ wet folds, “So fucking pretty.”

Regulus continued moaning softly, he missed the way James was talking about his cunt. He knew exactly how to make him wet even more. He knew every weak spot and how to take care of it. 

“‘s for you.” Regulus bit his bottom lip and spread his legs wider, “He missed you as well.”

He could see how these words affected James. He started sucking his wetness out of his pussy like a starved dog. And he probably was. 

James used his tongue like a flat paint brush and painted Regulus’ hole with his saliva, sucking it and adding new flavors. Regulus’ pussy was already red, he had sensitive skin and James always knew how to use it in his advance. 

“James—“ Regulus’ whisper tainted with his moan and he arched his back, tipping his head into the pillow, “James.”

“So delicious,” James said to himself, “You are the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”

Regulus was going insane, all of his senses were paralyzed with desire and hunger. He pressed James’ face onto his pussy and almost screamed from pleasure. 

“Even better than your girlfriend?”

James replied, “Better than everything.”

The confession tipped him from the edge and Regulus couldn’t bear it.

np tag: @ecstarry @star4daisy @rottin6 @a-lilypad @sanguineerose @spacexcowgirl @malchai @bellaxisworld @salty-wench

[starchaserwrites]

favorite character game✨

choose 4 of your favourite characters from 4 pieces of media as options and let your tumblr pals decide which one most suits your vibe, then tag 4 people.

thank you @malchai baby for the tag <3

np tag: @c0mbatchameleon @a-pine-cone @theheartofthestar @prongsfish <3

[prongsfish]

tysm for the tag @malchai !! <3

rules: answer & tag people u want to connect with and get to know better

fav colour: yellow

last song: baby’s on fire by brian eno

last film: velvet goldmine

currently reading: i have a lot of things i’m partly through but haven’t touched in a while, but most accurately i’d say a doll’s house by henrik ibsen and dante’s inferno

currently watching: heartbreak high s2

currently craving: zero sugar original mother

coffee or tea: i like both but drink tea more often

np tags:@official-j-dog @official-e-money @crvida @saturnsconstellation @sapphos-queer-kid and anyone else who wants to!! i get nervous about tagging people but i want to hear everyone’s thoughts… you’re all tagged in my heart ok

[theicarusconstellation]

sunday snippet

thank you @malchai for the tag!!

“You got me a charm?” James whispers, cradling the box between his palms. Regulus nods.

James removes the lid from the box as if opening a case enclosing a precious jewel. Red tissue paper is taken apart by steady fingers to reveal a golden Leo constellation with stars of white diamond. It gleams in the starlight, with the Regulus star particularly bright due to its enhanced design.

James releases a soft, “Oh,” and picks it up with care, turning it over at eye level.

“Regulus, this is…”

Too much? Too soon? Too expensive?

“...beautiful. It’s beautiful.” James sets the charm back down in its box, patting it for good measure, and takes off his charm bracelet. “Would you help me put it on?”

fic: ylb <3

[bloodbruise]

friday snippet

thank you for the tags @ecstarry & @honeybcj <3 sending u both kisses !!

here's a lil something from a microfic i'm editing literally right now :)

His fingers dip into the container, scooping up the soothing balm and then smoothing it over Regulus' skin. 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. James then grabs what’s technically his own shirt—a worn, soft thing that Regulus has claimed as his favorite pajama top—from the ledge of the sink. He helps Regulus slip it over his head, taking advantage of every second Regulus allows him to be so close, to take care of him. "Feeling okay?" James asks once Regulus is settled.

np tags: @regscupid @jewishregulus @malchai

[fxreflyes]

thank you so much for the tags @kaaaaaaarf and @malchai <333 it was fun listening thru your songs :)

Rules: shuffle your music library for 5 songs & ask ppl to vote for which they like best

(I did not choose my music library I chose my july playlist… u do not want me to shuffle my music library) (link to these songs in case u don’t kno them or just r curious :))

Open tag!!! (Please use it :))

but also tagging: @cosmmicdancer @polaroidcats @shipsnsails @magneto-manifesto @ethercain @belleandsaintsebastian

@fatemy-friend @pretentiouswreckingball @dieonysian @fruityindividual @somerubberband

@angelfruittree @faggylittleleatherboy @kaleidoscopexsighs @sugarsnappeases @all-yourn @dickggansey

[pretentiouswreckingball]

let’s be penguin buddies!

thank you for the tag @blossoms-and-possums I loved your little penguin!!

no pressure tags (sorry if you’ve already been tagged!): @whorerific @static-radio-ao3 @arsonfaerie @spacexcowgirl @bellaxisworld @poetskings @fruityindividual @moongays @a-fiery-fox @deermessrs @inevitablestars @malchai @fxreflyes @likeprongstostars @courfee and OPEN TAG!!!

[licnheartedd]

wednesday snippet

thank you @drowninginthoughts27 my beloved for the tag <3

“Please,” he begs, but he’s getting tired. He can’t keep putting up this fight, not when James is showing no signs of giving in.

When James reaches out to pull him closer, he doesn’t fight it. His head drops onto James’ chest and strong arms wrap loosely around his waist. If he tips his head up, follows James’ gaze, he can see the sky through a gap in the rubble. If they lie here long enough, they’ll be able to see the stars again.

“The world will still be there tomorrow,” James whispers, far too optimistic for a man lying in his own grave. But that's always who James has been, hasn’t it? His James; a guiding light through even the darkest of times. “Let’s just…rest. Please. I’m so tired.”

And who is Regulus to argue with that?

no pressure tags !! @theicarusconstellation @ecstarry @malchai @elysiren @buttfaceingtons and anyone else who wants to join in !!

[ecstarry]

"The one with only one bed" for you baby @malchai, for always inspiring me

“James, this is not what I had in mind when I said I wanted to live in a book,” Regulus quipped as he stared at the only bed in the middle of their hotel room. 

“I swear this was an honest mistake,” James said, though his words were far from convincing as laughter filled the room.

“I’m not sleeping with my brother’s best friend,” Regulus said firmly, except his mind couldn't help but entertain the scenario of a night sharing a bed with James.

“You should never say never, Reg,” James replied with an exaggerated wink. “It’s just one night. Get over yourself. Besides, you’re not my type.”

“Fuck off, Potter. I’m everyone’s type,” Regulus said, a cocky grin spread across his face. 

“Not mine, though.” James was clearly trying to start a game with Regulus. He knew it, but Regulus Black was prideful, he was always hungry for a victory. 

“Really?” Regulus dropped his bag to the floor, and slowly walked towards James. He could tell that even closing the distance was enough to make the mighty James Potter blush. 

“Yeah,” James said with a sudden shy voice. 

“So you don’t mind if I take my shirt off, right? The weather is kinda shit here.” Regulus stepped closer, their proximity was a territory they had only ventured into while drunk, never sober and never alone.

“Yeah.”

“Since when are you a man of few words, Jamie?” Regulus grabbed the back of his shirt and pulled it over his head, ruining his perfectly arranged curls, almost as if someone had run their fingers through them.

“Are you getting hot too? You look flustered,” Regulus said as his eyes traveled to James’ crotch, he was wearing a pair of sweats that did very little to conceal the bulge forming underneath. 

James took a deep breath and looked back at Regulus with a challenge, or a proposal even. Regulus couldn’t tell yet, but he was curious enough to see where this went. 

“Actually, I am hot. I think I also need fewer layers.” James was wearing a linen white shirt and, instead of giving Regulus the satisfaction of a quick reveal, he slowly started unbuttoning it, allowing Regulus’ gaze to savor every detail of his body.

The sight of that god-like body was enough to make Regulus forget what the game even was. Any coherent thought left his mind as the last button of James’ shirt was undone, revealing the most delicious man he had ever seen standing shirtless in front of him.

“Eyes up here, love,” James teased with a low voice. 

Before Regulus could even process James’ comment he heard a knock on the door, he quickly avoided meeting James’ eyes and walked over to open the door. 

“We are truly sorry for the misunderstanding, we have a room that matches the description you asked for, if you would-”

“This one is fine, thank you,” Regulus replied and closed the door. 

He turned around and saw James waiting eagerly for any sign that confirm exactly what Regulus’ last words meant. Regulus returned to his previous spot, close to James and reached for his own pants and started unbuttoning them, an action mimicked by a very excited James. 

“Rethinking the ‘not sleeping with your brother’s best friend’ thing aren’t you?” James teased. 

“Rethinking the ‘you’re not my type’ thing aren’t you?” Regulus quickly snapped back as James pulled him closer and held Regulus’ face between his hands. 

“Just let me fucking kiss you, Reg.” 

I win, Regulus thought. 

[sixlane]

wip (it out!!)

share whatever project you're working on right now, except 'project' is incredibly open ended. It could be fic, original writing, playlists, art, crafts, whatever it is you're doing!

ty for the tag @quillkiller !!!

some get him back ch. 3 action. i promiseeeee this will be out soon <33

“What were you expecting?” James asks, sitting back in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest in a cocky display. His legs are spread and if Regulus were looking he’d probably see the faint outline of his cock through his joggers. Which would make him think about the time it was hard and inches away from his face while he licked along James’ v-line. Which would bring back thoughts about what James tastes like. But he’s not looking. So he’s not thinking about any of that.

Regulus shrugs. “I don’t know. Business or something.”

“Business?” James asks through a laugh. “Why?”

“Aren’t all assholes business majors?”

Regulus thinks it’s a fair question but James just rolls his eyes and smiles. “If you think I’m such an asshole, why are you internet stalking me and staring at my dick?”

Shit. Regulus’ eyes snap up. What does he even say to that? He can feel his cheeks heating but decides to make the most of his slip-up. “Assholes can be hot James. The two aren’t mutually exclusive.” And for good measure, “that’s why I’m still fucking Barty.”

np tags: @honeybcj @veryinnovative @moon-seas @malchai @ecstarry @foursaints @rottin6

[v7lgar]

sunday snippet

thank you for tagging me @ecstarry @godsofwoes @soreddieforit @orbitfalls @honeybcj @certifiedl0verboy

; where you go, i go

“Just because he is my best friend, it doesn't mean I'm gonna listen to him all the time.”

“You never listen to anyone, Barty. You just act like it. Anyway, it doesn't matter anymore,” He put his glass down right next to his knee and squeezed the bridge of his nose.

“It isn't?” Barty asked, there was something in his voice. It wasn't a cocky reply, it was genuine.

Regulus slowly turned to him, knees touching Barty’s. He could cut the tension with a knife, he could climb on his lap and settle there too. There were many choices he could make.

He slowly raised his hand and touched Barty’s cheek, he could feel his stubble poking his skin but he didn't care, he slowly caressed his cheek and Barty closed his eyes, slowly melting under Regulus’ touch.

“I missed you,” Barty whispered, eyes still closed.

Regulus trailed his thumb under his eye, he was being careful as if he was touching something that could break any minute. There was nothing that could break Barty, not even Regulus. He was sure of it, but Barty didn't seem to acknowledge that.

“Did you, now?”

np tags: @salty-wench @star4daisy @ninety-two-bees @veryinnovative @sommerregenjuniluft @orchideous-nox @bellaxisworld @spacexcowgirl @malchai @a-lilypad

[starchaserwrites]

thanks for the tag @malchai and @ecstarry <3

make yours!

no pressure tags @pretentiouswreckingball @a-pine-cone @c0mbatchameleon @weirdtinkerbellversion @dickmastersfruit @sixlane @theapocryphaofantares <3

i hope you guys are not sick of me tagging you on these lol

[prongsfish]

wip (it out!)

share whatever project you're working on right now, except 'project' is incredibly open ended. It could be fic, original writing, playlists, art, crafts, whatever it is you're doing! thank you @malchai for the tag!! <33

considering i am currently right in the middle of exams season i SHOULD be telling you i haven't done much writing lately but uh that is not the case... this is for an upcoming fest so i'm not sure how much i'm allowed to tell you, but i will say that i'm not even sure if this is going to make it into the actual fic lol (//minor nsfw mentions)

“Still, if anyone should be sharing a bed, it should be us. Your friends shouldn’t have to move around for our sake.” Sirius’ eyes narrowed. “No.” Oh, was that how he wanted to play this? Well, Regulus could narrow his eyes too. “Why not?” He asked through gritted teeth. “Because I don’t trust him.” “Wow,” Regulus scoffed. “No shame about it, huh?” “Oh come on, you knew how I felt about him. I want to trust you, and I want to trust your friends, but him, of all people? Really? It’s one thing for him to be here at all, but he’s not staying in the same bed as my little brother.” “Would you care if I was born male, hm?” Sirius rolled his eyes. “This may come as a shock, Reg, but I of all people am aware that two people with dicks can have sex.” “Ew, don’t talk about your dick–” “You were asking for it–” “If anyone is asking for details of the other’s sex life right now, it’s you, and you are incredibly lucky I’m not giving them–” “You don’t have a sex life, you’re like twelve–” “I am eighteen!–” “Child! Child! Child! Child!–” “Alright.” Lupin said, causing Regulus and Sirius to quickly fall silent. Snapping out of their argument, he saw everyone else staring at them with varying expressions. Lupin's was somewhere between amused and fatigued, Pettigrew's vaguely concerned, and Potter's absolutely terrified. Only children, Regulus thought.

no pressure tags: @messymoony @godsofwoes @crimsonlovebartylus and anyone else who may want to!!