Arkieve - The First Poem In The World Is; "i Want To Eat." - Tumblr Blog
coz they were a secret
and at the end of the day James couldn’t even mourn him publicly.
"meow meow meow" –Regulus Black, at some point, probably
these are most of the pocket reggies I've done so far!!
The multiverse could also hurt you.
Props to my perre with who I have brainrotted about this story for so many times @sequinhaze te amo estupide 💕
@jegulus-microfic / disagree / 187 words / @star4daisy
“Can you do it again?” Regulus murmured, barely intelligible.
“As many times as you want, love.” James brushed his thumb against Regulus’ forehead, then with the tip of his index finger he traced his nose, and continued the path all the way down to his lips and then his chin. James placed both thumbs on top of Regulus’ eyebrows at the same time and brushed them gently, then slowly began pressing soft kisses on each cheek, he would rotate from one side to the other and each would get closer to Regulus’ lips.
“One day you will get tired of doing this,” Regulus said in a sleepy voice, a giggle adorning his raspy morning voice.
James finally pressed their lips together and held between his hands his most valuable treasure. “I disagree.” James kissed him again. “I could never get tired of you.” Another kiss. “I love you.”
Regulus pulled him closer, “I love you too.”
Silences between them were easy, never empty, filled with a comfortable love that they had taken their time building.
“Jamie?” Regulus whispered into James’ warm chest.
“I’ll do it again, love.”
بلدي القمر ل – to my moon who has always guided me to greatness with grace and patience; who has always loved me not only in spite of my plights, but because of them; and to whom I admire the most out of any soul I’ve met in the whole wide world. happy 5, lulu <3
Constellation | @jegulus-microfic | word count: 439
Regulus wakes up to James’ watchful gaze. Slow and bleary-eyed, he moves to face him. James is looking down at him, arm propped up, and cheek pressed against the palm of his hand.
There’s something about that look. Regulus is slow to realize the weight of it, but once it settles, he goes still.
“What is it?” He almost wants to cover James’ eyes and tell him to stop looking at him like that.
“Nothing,” comes James’ response and his voice is infinitely clearer than Regulus’, bearing no trace of sleep. Exposing him.
James has been up for a while, watching Regulus sleep.
It’s early morning. The birds are chirping their song and the sun is slanting through the blinds, painting the walls of their bedroom and bringing its warmth into their bed.
James runs a hand through Regulus’ locks, softly, reverently, moving an errant lock from his face and behind his ear. It’s futile work, as it falls right back where it was. Regulus blows air at it in response, and James smiles.
He moves, running his hands through Regulus’ hair, past the nape of his neck and settles on the vast expanse of his exposed back.
James traces the spots and freckles scattered across Regulus’ back with a careful finger, barely touching as he moves it along.
“Even here,” he breathes, “there are constellations.” It’s barely a whisper, entirely to himself, as he continues to thread the marks together along his path.
Regulus leaves him to it, suppresses the where else in me do you see stars? that burst through the tingling in his stomach at James’ ministrations.
After a while, James starts tracing a familiar pattern, less soft now, covetous rather than reverent.
J F P
“Stop that,” Regulus says, failing to keep a reprimanding tone.
“Stop what?”
“Marking me.”
“I’m not marking you. I’m connecting the stars.”
J…F…P
“How awfully convenient that the freckles on my back spell out your initials.”
“It’s not all freckles; there are a few pimples here.”
Aaaand the show is over. Regulus rolls onto his back and pushes James down onto his pillow. He goes without a fight, a stupid grin on his face.
“Good morning to you, too.”
“I hate you.”
“You should tone down the sappiness, it’s getting to be too much even for me.” And before Regulus decides to chuck his pillow at him: “Breakfast?”
“Pancakes.”
James snorts. “Not if you’re making them.”
Regulus helps him off the bed with a push of his foot on James’ ass, and cocoons himself.
“You burn them one time,” he grumbles to himself, burrowing into the pillow that smells like James.
