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swampthingking · 8 months

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regulus black’s guide to face painting and falling in love

halloween au <3

struggling artist reg - dad james - baby harry

tw: regulus briefly reflecting on his childhood (u know how it be) and reg inquiring about harry’s scar

The thing about being a freelance artist is this; you take work where you can find it.

Unfortunately for Regulus, that means he’s found himself occupying the Halloween Fair from 12 to 5PM as the face painter.

Regulus didn’t understand people’s obsession around fairs.

Well, he understood them. The hazardous rides that are operated by people who are either half asleep, or recently graduated from high school. The funnel cakes and apple cider. The apple flavored everything. The pumpkin flavored everything (which Regulus can’t find it in himself to hate, despite his best efforts. He sips his pumpkin spiced latte and glowers.) The pumpkin carving, corn maze, haunted house, haunted hayride, haunted arcade.

And of course, the children.

Just because Regulus understands the appeal around fall festivals doesn’t mean he likes them. He likes autumn, of course. It’s his favorite season.

That doesn’t mean he wants to sit outside, under the flimsy protection of a questionable tent, painting the faces of squirming, sugar-addled children.

Regulus doesn’t dislike children. He just doesn’t quite know how to… interact with them. He tries, because in all honesty, kids are funny. But they don’t always like him. Regulus is grumpy; stoic. He tries to joke, but kids don’t love dry humor, sarcasm, or straight faced deliveries.

Would he like to share his life with a husband and a child or two? Of course. But he doesn’t want to raise a child just for them to despise him. He doesn’t want to marry someone just for him to be disappointed in the father Regulus might be.

But Regulus also knows he doesn’t have great parental examples to go off of. And he knows what not to do. Knows what made him feel small. He still feels the things said and done that stick with him; the scars he bears.

He’s spent hours painting pumpkins, bugs, princess masks, Spider-Man, those motherfuckers from Paw Patrol. More characters from the provided booklet he can’t remember, on so many faces he can’t remember either. But it’s money, and money keeps him paying his share of the lease with Sirius.

Regulus checks his watch. 4:53PM.

The fair wasn’t as busy as it was earlier this afternoon. The clouds were dark and scowling, but were far too cowardly to start actually crying. He stood from the cheap stool, stretching his back, reaching for the paintbrushes to start packing up.

The brushes had been provided by whoever hired him, but he still had an intrinsic need to clean them properly. He can’t stand the thought of paint cemented into the hairs of a brush. And these brushes are perfectly good still. Regulus wonders if anyone would notice if he stuck them in his bag—

“Do you have time for one more?” A deep voice asked from behind him.

Regulus turned to see a beaming child in the arms of a man, wearing the same smiles. The same dimples. The same curly, brown hair. Even the same glasses.

Regulus was absolutely freezing, and he was sure if he touched this kid’s face, he would start to cry because if it. He desperately wanted to beat the rain before it started pissing down, but the boy was grinning, and Regulus’ heart squeezed at the thought of taking that from him if he declined.

So he nodded and said, “Yeah, of course,” and rolled the table of supplies in between the chairs they’ll sit in.

The man set his son down, thanking Regulus while the boy hurtled himself into the rickety chair, climbing into it like he was scaling a mountain. One muddy, red Converse kicked up onto the seat to haul himself into it, his knee slipping as he planted himself on the cushion.

“This is Harry,” the man gestures to his son, who was busy inspecting Regulus’ paints, his nose almost touching the pallet.

Now that there was no line and the fair seemed predominantly empty, Regulus could relax. Could handle small talk. He paused gathering the brushes he’d been in the process of purloining to give Harry a closed lipped, but genuine smile.

“Hi, little love. I’m Regulus.”

The man slid some cash in the tip jar before sitting in the chair beside Harry, knees spread, elbows resting on his legs. “And I’m James.”

He reached out to shake Regulus’ hand, not seeming to care that it was covered in paint. It was warm and firm, long fingers nearly encasing Regulus’ whole hand.

Harry smiled up at Regulus as he took a seat in front of him, his knees bracketing the boy’s tiny legs as he kicked the air. He had a small gap between his front teeth, and after he clawed the hair out of his eyes in that aggressive way that children do—like they have a vendetta—Regulus saw a webbed scar on his forehead.

“Cool scar,” Regulus acknowledged.

No, Halloween Fair face painters aren’t mandated reporters, but he was dubious anyway. Regulus had been a child with marks. With secrets. Children Harry’s age love to talk about anything and everything. It was part of their development. Regulus wanted to see where Harry took him, or didn’t.

But Harry’s smile only grew, like he was eager to tell the story. An abused child probably wouldn’t do that.

“I was running through the forest, and allullasudden, I just knew—” Harry’s eyes were wide, demanding Regulus not look away. “I was around, surround—” he looked up frustratingly at James for help, and James only started to whisper the word before Harry cut him off, the word coming to him. “—sur-rounded by these guys! They were in these black coats. And I was running super fast because I was ini-vib-sible, and then I tripped. There was this tree. I fell. My head hit the ground so hard, and I fought them off and escaped and the guy really wanted my ring, and he was really weird looking. And then, I have a scar.”

So, the entire plot of the Lord of the Rings, with a personal spin.

Regulus liked him.

“Tripped and fell into a table,” James mouths, exaggerating his words so Regulus could read his lips. His hands cupped around his mouth so Harry wouldn’t notice him spoiling his story.

“Hmm,” Regulus ponders, draping a paint-stained rag over his thigh to distract himself from a smile. “I think I’ve heard about that. That was you?”

“Yes,” Harry says with conviction. James is looking at his son with such adoration that it makes Regulus’ stomach hurt. He has to turn away.

“I can’t believe I’m sitting in front of the boy who saved the world.” Regulus mock bows to him just because he knows it’ll make him laugh. “Thank you for allowing me the honor to paint your face. Unfortunately, little love,” Regulus puts on a sulk. “the glasses will have to come off.”

Harry ripped them off one handed, throwing his arm out to James who was already reaching to take them. He folded the temples, tucking it into his shirt and letting them hang off the collar.

Regulus’ eyes may have lingered on the tan skin, and James may have seen him. The corner of his mouth was quirked when Regulus glanced back up at his face.

Oh, God. He was hot.

Regulus looked away, hoping the chilled, autumn air disguised the heat in his face. He turned to Harry, even as he felt James looking at him still.

“What are we painting?”

“Sméagol,” Harry says without a beat.

Regulus purses his lips. He would not laugh at this child. He would not laugh.

He sucks his lips into his mouth, his cheekbones aching.

“Really into Lord of the Rings right now, as you’ve probably guessed,” James offers, looking equally as affected as Regulus.

Regulus nods, turning away from them in attempt to turn his laugh into a cough. He fails.

He takes his phone out instead and pulls up a reference picture of the creature, then sets his phone on the tray off to his side. Harry glances down at it and smiles excitedly, legs pumping.

“Sméagol it is,” Regulus declares, mixing a grayish-tan into the pallet. “Ready?”

Harry flinches at the first few swipes of paint, but sits fairly still after he gets used to the temperature. He kicks incessantly, but they don’t land on Regulus, so he doesn’t mind. At one point, James asks permission to take a video to send to Harry’s mum.

Regulus hadn’t really let himself hope, but he was still a bit disappointed. He would get over it, he knew, but—

“Her wife is the one who’s been reading the books to him. She’s gonna be beside herself when she sees what he’s done.”

Oh.

Well, that changes things.

“Hm,” Regulus says, trying to keep his focus on Harry, and making him into the best Sméagol there could possibly be. But when he turns to look at the reference photo, he glances at James, who’s looking at him. James smiles softly, head cocked. Wondering.

Jesus Christ.

By the time Regulus finished, the sun was setting. He checked his watch. 5:26PM.

He wasn’t upset he’d stayed late.

Harry was the spitting image of Sméagol. Regulus has painted his entire face a warm grey, his nose a rosy pink, then added the wrinkles in darker grays and black, shading his face to take on the shape of Sméagol’s. He’d gently splattered brown freckles onto his face to look like sun spots. He even painted thin black tendrils of hair down Harry’s neck.

He was magnificent. Regulus’ favorite piece yet, truly.

James took more pictures, and Harry’s penchant for theatrics came to fruition as he crouched, feet and hands on the grass, crawling towards James like Sméagol does in the movies.

Regulus offered to take some photos of Harry and James together. James excitedly handed Regulus his phone, then scooped Harry up and propped him on a hip. Harry grabbed James’ hand, which was sporting many rings, and pretended to bite his fingers. It was futile, but James attempted to look terrified. He ended up cracking and breaking into a heart-stuttering smile, eyes squinting and cheeks giving way to dimples.

The pictures were adorable, naturally.

Harry broke character suddenly, gasping, a hand slapping on the top of his head. Regulus saw a raindrop sliding down from his hairline and wiped it away, just before it could drip onto his face and smear the paint.

“My paint!” Harry yelled, face contorting. Regulus had to look away from this glassy-eyed child with the grotesque face of Sméagol. The last thing Regulus wanted them to think was that he would laugh at a child’s sorrow.

To Regulus’ relief, James was also stifling his laughter as he set Harry on the ground, removing his own jacket to implement it as a shield above his son. The rain was picking up now into a light sprinkle. “Forgot an umbrella, babe. We’re gonna have to run super fast.”

“Daddy.” Sméagol-Harry looked up to James, sounding close to tears. “My paint,” he said, dejected.

Regulus absolutely didn’t think this through before he did it, but he said, “We won’t let your paint get ruined, love.”

He walked to his bag and rummaged around for his umbrella. He opened it and handed it to Harry, whose chubby hand wrapped around the handle, but wasn’t strong enough to hold it up against the breeze.

James and Regulus grabbed it at the same time, all three of their hands piled on top of each other. James’ was over Regulus’, so he couldn’t just pull away without ripping the umbrella from Harry, and he was absolutely not doing that.

James removed his hand with the barest hint of pink on his cheeks. He put his jacket back on now that his son was protected from the rain, thanking Regulus for holding the umbrella.

“Do you have another umbrella?” James asked once his jacket was zipped.

“Uh— no. But I can find one. I’ll ask someone. I’m alright.” He attempted to wave it off, despite knowing that he is anemic, and his fingers are already freezing.

“Okay, take this back, please. I can’t have you walking back in the pouring rain.”

“I’ll be fine. You guys take it.”

“Let us walk you to your car.��

Regulus cringed. “I… took the bus.”

James’ eyes widen. “You were going to walk to the bus stop, and then all the way home with no umbrella?”

“Yyyes?”

James raises a brow at him. He really hadn’t thought it through.

“Take your umbrella.” James goes to hand it back, then had to stop because of Harry’s death grip around the neck of it. James starts to, presumably, ask him to let go.

“What umbrella?” Regulus turns to pack up his supplies, avoiding looking at James. He knows playing this card probably won’t work but hopefully if he’s annoying enough, it will convince James to just take it. “I didn’t give you that umbrella. You came with it.”

James deadpans. “Okay, if you’re going to do that, we’ll just have to give you a ride home.”

Regulus spasms. “What? No, that’s— you don’t have to do that.”

“I didn’t do anything. You asked me for a ride.”

Regulus gasps, but he’s smiling. Damn it. “Oh, you’re good.”

Regulus lives fairly close, about 10 minutes away. The ride is almost silent. The radio is low, and Harry talks all about their day, sparing no details. What they saw, what they did, what he ate, who he talked to, what he thought about the corn maze (“Why can’t I eat the corn? Why is it there then?” to which James responded, “It’s not for us to eat.” to which Harry responded, “Why?” to which James responded, “I don’t know, babe. I just know they asked us to not eat it.” to which Harry responded, “Why?”).

His little thoughts bounced around the car until they abruptly stopped. Regulus peeked into the backseat to see him sound asleep, his mouth open, head lulled to the side. The blue eyes Regulus had painted on his eyelids stared back at him, and Regulus began to regret his artistic choice.

As they drove, Regulus couldn’t help but sneak glances over at James. He almost doesn’t want to look at him, but he can’t seem to stop. He’s stuck between wanting to remember him and not wanting to look at him so he can forget his face easier. At one point, James glances back, the gold frames of his glasses glinting from the streetlights.

Regulus’s house is dark, the porch light Sirius left on for him flickering, when they pull up to the curb. Sirius has gone into a Halloween frenzy, and it looks like a Spirit Halloween vomited all over the front porch and yard. Jack-o’-lanterns line each step, the carvings depicting various faces. Waterproof fairy lights in the shape of ghosts hang from the oak tree, twinkling like the flames of a candle.

“Thank you for—”

“Maybe I could see you again?” James says quickly, like he’d been thinking of saying it for a awhile, but hadn’t had the nerve to.

Regulus looks over at him, wide eyed. James ran a hand through his mussed hair, looking endearingly nervous.

Regulus grins, all teeth, and James returns it. “I would love that.”

#jegulus #jegulus au #jegulus oneshot #jegulus halloween vibes #i love them so much :D #gonna die :D #dad james #starchaser #sunseeker #james x regulus #swampy writes #fic: regulus black’s guide to face painting and falling in love

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