Archive of Our Own

James Potter is whipped.

Not in a classic, swoon-worthy kind of way. No, James is whipped in a pathetic, desperate, entirely humiliating kind of way.

You see, most people—normal people—who’ve only been dating for two months are still getting to know each other. They’re cautious. Curious. Figuring things out.

But not James.

Because James spent months publicly simping for Regulus Black—on stream, in DMs, across platforms, to his chat, to himself, and possibly to God. So now, two months into officially dating him, he’s already past the honeymoon phase. James is in the say jump and I'll jump, say bark and I'll bark phase. In fact, he's pretty sure he started there. Scratch that—he’s pretty sure it isn’t a phase. It’s a lifestyle. A vocation. A divine calling.

He’s hopeless. Helpless. Head over heels. Pathetically, stupidly, dangerously in love.

And that’s a massive issue.

Because James Potter is a public figure.

He’s famous—Twitch front page, Twitter trending, permanently-memed kind of famous. He has millions of eyes on him, all the time. Which wouldn’t be a problem, if he were a YouTuber. At least then he could edit his own content. Cut things. Re-record takes. Be normal.

But no.

James, who was born without a filter, who narrates his every thought like a chaotic audiobook for the internet, chose the single worst career imaginable: live streaming.

And that used to be fine. James is a good boy, you see. He doesn’t say anything offensive. He doesn’t go on problematic rants or start Twitch drama. He plays games, tells deranged stories, and sometimes makes his viewers cry from laughter. It’s fine.

Except now? Now it’s a problem.

Because James is dating Regulus Black. 

Actually, officially, full-blown boyfriend-slash-boyfriend status dating him.

And it’s a secret.

Not because they’re hiding it. Not really. Okay, maybe a little. They just… haven’t said anything yet. It’s new, and Regulus says he’s enjoying the privacy. He says it with that calm, rational voice that makes James feel like a lunatic for even wanting to scream it from the rooftops. And he gets it, in theory. He does. There’s something nice about having this thing, this person, just for himself. Something soft and quiet and untouched by the internet.

But in practice? It’s torture.

There has been no press release. No Instagram soft launch. No surprise reveal on stream. Just a mutual agreement to let it be unspoken for now—a silence that somehow gets louder every day.

And sure, their fanbases have been speculating for months. The TikTok edits are full-blown conspiracies. Twitter is basically a war zone. Someone out there is running a spreadsheet tracking their every online interaction like it’s a crime scene. But until one of them says it out loud—until they actually confirm it—it’s still just that: speculation.

And James? James is barely holding it together. Because every second he has to pretend Regulus is just a friend, every time he has to bite back a smile or stop himself from saying something stupid and obvious and wildly romantic, it kills him a little.

So yeah.

James was doomed from the start.

What no one tells you about being publicly, humiliatingly in love is that it’s a process. A descent. A spiralling, freefalling kind of journey.

There are seven stages of public simping, apparently. James didn’t know that going in. He’s learning the hard way.

-----

Stage One: Denial (and its close cousin, Delusion).

Stage One is the part where James thinks he can keep it together. That he’s subtle. Normal. Casual. That just because he and Regulus are dating now doesn’t mean he has to act any differently on stream. That he won’t, for example, accidentally call him “baby” in the middle of a Valorant match or blush every time Regulus texts him mid-stream like he’s thirteen and in love for the first time.

Spoiler: he absolutely will.

Stage One is filled with good intentions and terrible execution. It's marked by awkward pauses, hastily changed topics, and a suspicious number of slip-ups that his chat documents with the precision of FBI agents.

It’s also where we find James now—live on Twitch, thirty minutes into a Just Chatting stream, already sweating under the soft glare of his ring light and the aggressive accusations flooding his chat.

LIVE: JamesPotter • 84,108 viewers

Category: Just Chatting 

Title: cereal discourse and good vibes only pls (i’m begging)

James leans into the mic, hoodie tight around his neck, curls a mess, and eyes wild with the kind of passion usually reserved for political debates or Mario Kart.

“I don’t care how many of you say it,” he announces, stabbing his desk with the end of a chewed-up pen. “It’s milk first, then cereal.”

[Chat]

BOOOOO.

Bro milk first is criminal.

You belong in cereal jail.

Regulus would put cereal first and you know it.

Milk first is how sociopaths start their day.

James scoffs dramatically, like the entire chat has just personally betrayed him. “Chat you don’t know that Regulus puts cereal first. I’ve seen—I mean he doesn’t always—He would totally agree with me…” He trails off. James blushes before adding, “Shut up chat, you’re annoying.”

Ding!

A soft chime cuts through the stream. James glances at his phone. Instantly, his face lights up. The kind of stupid, dazed smile that has absolutely no business being that tender in a cereal argument.

Reggie: Cereal first, you psychopath. You’re lucky you’re hot.

James doesn’t say anything. He just blushes and tries to bite back a large smile. He fails miserably.

[Chat]

WHO TEXTED YOU!

Look at him trying not to smile. I’m screaming.

He’s so GONE it’s embarrassing.

Blink twice if it’s Reggie.

If that’s not Regulus, I’ll eat my keyboard.

Bro is blushing at a phone rn… Reg for sure.

“I—okay. It’s not—can you all chill?” James huffs, pushing his phone farther across the desk like it’s the source of his downfall. “This is about cereal, not my personal life.”

Ding!

Reggie: Also, your left curl is sticking up like a cartoon character. Fix it, you beautiful idiot.

James doesn’t even pretend to be chill—he grabs his phone, grinning down at the screen like an idiot. His cheeks glow red as he lifts a hand to flatten the rebellious curl, heart doing something stupid in his chest because Regulus is watching his stream.

Regulus, his boyfriend, is watching his fucking stream.

“Okay. That’s—That text is unrelated,” he mutters, thumbing a reply against the screen way too gently for someone claiming indifference. “That’s just… my accountant. Tax stuff.”

[Chat]

TAX STUFF??? Yeah okay JAMES.

Regulus 100% just negged you and you folded like paper.

Chat, we all agree it’s Reg right?

Reg is texting you sweet nothings and we all know it.

Bro expects us to believe he is melting over his ACCOUNTANT. Dead.

James slaps a hand over his face. “MODS” he says loudly. “Do I even have moderators anymore? Hello? Are you all just letting this happen to me live? What am I paying you for? I’m being bullied, stop them.” 

[MOD: remuslupin has put the chat in a 60-second timeout.]

James breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank you. Thank you, Remus. MVP. Real hero. My favourite mod.”

There’s a beat of peace. Just him and the camera. Silence from the previously feral swarm.

Then James sighs. “Chat…I kind of miss you guys already,” he mumbles. “It’s too quiet. I feel abandoned. I feel like I’m the one being punished.”

He starts narrating dramatically to the void. “I just think it’s funny,” he says to absolutely no one, “that I defend myself, fight for what I believe in—milk first—and suddenly I’m the villain.”

[Live chat reactivated.]

WE’RE BACK!

James don’t lie you were texting your BOYFRIEND.

Anyway, back to the real topic—how do we get Reggie to reveal himself.

Stop changing the subject, this is about Regulus!

Wait but chat, what if it IS regulus. Like...actually??

“I hate all of you,” James says, bu he’s laughing. He hides his face in his sleeve, the way people do when they’re trying desperately not to admit they’re happy.

Ding!

 Regulus Black: You’re being so good at keeping those pretty lips sealed, Jamie. Maybe I’ll let you put them to good use later.

He doesn’t even pretend this time. His eyes skim the message, and immediately his hand flies to his mouth, failing to muffle the involuntary groan that slips out. His cheeks burn. His lashes flutter shut like the words physically knocked the wind out of him. Then, with theatric despair, he tips his head back, whining at the ceiling like it might offer him salvation.

Chat goes feral.

[Chat]

MODS!!?? MODS?? TIMEOUT JAMES FOR BEING FILTHY.

I think that confirms it’s Regulus texting him lmao.

Someone’s got it BAD.

SOMEBODY CLIP THAT RN.

Ummm, chat, did bro just cum in his pants?

James stares into the camera, eyes wild with urgency, hands flailing in a silent, chaotic panic—like he's trying to physically grab the words he’s not allowed to say.

“I’m ending the stream. I am. Chat you are bullying me on my own stream. I’m going to go cry into this hoodie now.”

Chat latches onto his words and he immediately regrets them.

[Chat]

WAIT… Chat, look at the hoodie.

THAT’S REGULUS’ HOODIE, ISN’T IT?

ISTG Reg wore that on his stream last week…

Bro just loves exposing himself.

Yeah… now that I’m looking, it’s WAY too small for you.

James freezes mid-flail. Slowly, painfully, his hands drop, and his eyes narrow into a glare that holds all the intensity of a soggy teabag. He’s already turning red. A furious blush blooms across his cheeks and spreads down his neck like wildfire, trailing down his chest with humiliating speed, as if his entire body has betrayed him.

“No. No. Absolutely not,” he says, voice cracking under the pressure. “This is my hoodie. I bought it. At a store. A normal store. Where people buy things. With money.”

He tugs the hood up, as if showing more of it will somehow help his case.

“It’s not his. It’s—shut up chat. You guys don’t know anything. It’s not like Regulus—It’s not—he doesn’t even—JUST STOP!”

But chat has tasted blood now.

[Chat]

He left it at your place, didn’t he? 

Tell us the truth, hoodie thief!  

Do you moan his name while wearing it too? 

DOES REGULUS KNOW YOU STOLE IT?!

James lets out a strangled scream, flailing so wildly he nearly knocks over his mic.

“That’s it! I’m done! I’m DONE! This stream is OVER.”

He slaps at his keyboard. The camera lurches sideways, catching a final chaotic glimpse of James sliding out of his chair in dramatic defeat, hoodie bunched around his ears, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like “I hate all of you” before the screen cuts to black.

And just before it ends, one final Ping! cuts through the silence—soft, barely audible, but more than enough for chat to latch onto. The stream dies only seconds later, the screen fading to black, but the sound echoes.

Twitter erupts within seconds. Not with questions of who the message was from (they all know), but with wild speculation about what, exactly, Regulus and James were texting about.

James doesn’t have to wonder.

Reggie: Oh my god, James. I was looking for that fucking hoodie all of yesterday! It doesn’t even fit you for fucks sake.

James: But I like it :(

------

Stage Two: Backtracking. Or, the “oh no, I definitely said that out loud” phase.

Stage Two is where everything starts to unravel.

Denial? Gone. Delusion? Shattered. Plausible deniability? Absolutely obliterated.

At this point, James knows he’s in too deep. He knows he’s acting suspicious. He knows every time he smiles at his phone, someone’s screen recording it. But despite his best efforts to play it cool, something sinister has taken hold of him.

It’s called: being in love. A lot.

And it’s ruining his life.

Stage Two is marked by increasingly unhinged slip-ups—blurted pet names, continued suspicious hoodie sightings, offhand comments that sound way too romantic to be platonic. There’s no strategy here. No self-preservation. Just raw, unfiltered affection leaking out of him like a cracked faucet.

He tries to backtrack. Cover it up. Blame it on sleep deprivation, caffeine, the mods, literally anything but the truth.

But chat’s not stupid.

They’re watching. They’re documenting. They’re building timelines and running theories and slow-mo replaying every time James’ voice goes soft at the mention of Regulus.

LIVE: JamesPotter & RegulusBlack • 148,037 viewers

Category: Competitive FPS 

Title: playing ranked with Reg

They’re mid-ranked match, cameras tucked into the corners of the screen. Regulus is locked in—eyes sharp, expression cold, posture perfect. James, on the other hand, looks like someone’s distracted golden retriever: headset slightly askew, lip caught between his teeth, hands flying across his keyboard while also somehow not helping at all.

“James,” Regulus snaps, clearly stressed, “if you push mid again without pinging, I swear to fucking god—”

“I just thought I could flank them!” James whines, throwing his head back dramatically. “I was trying to help!”

“Well, you’re not. You’re completely throwing my rank.”

“Why is it always my fault. It’s called duos after all.”

There’s a long pause. Chat immediately loses it.

[Chat]

Lover’s quarrel lover’s quarrel lover’s quarrel.

James pls he’s trying to CARRY!

Dw Reg we are on your side.

JAMES APOLOGISE TO YOUR BF RN!

Regulus exhales sharply. “Stop talking, James.”

Moments later, James’ character drops dead…again.

Regulus groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Oh my god, for fuck’s sake, James. If you’re going to keep dying like this, we can’t play ranked. We need to do freeplay or—I don’t kno—.”

“I can’t focus when you’re mad at me!” James interrupts, voice cracking, eyes big and wounded. “You’re using your scary tone.”

“James.”

“I’m fragile, baby, you have to be gentle with—”

James freezes, then slaps a hand over his mouth like he can shove the word back in.

Silence.

Regulus’ eyes snap to him through the web camera—wide and startled. James meets his gaze, horrified. They both just stare.

Chat moves so quickly James can barely keep up.

[Chat]

DID HE JUST SAY BABY???????? 

Chat, do you think they even remember we’re watching?

Oh, so we’re just third wheels now huh.

Um bro, EXCUSE ME?!

James isn’t he just your “friend.”  

James flails, “I—I meant, like—not in a romantic way! That was—like a—it’s a term of endearment! No—wait—I mean—platonic endearment, like how you’d call a dog—no, wait, not a dog, that’s worse—like, uhm, like a friend you’d call—like—”

Regulus doesn’t even blink. “James,” he says, cutting clean through the word vomit, “I told you to stop flirting with me. This is just embarrassing for you.”

The silence is loud.

Regulus lifts one unimpressed brow at the silence. “Don’t you know what being friend-zoned means, James?”

[Chat]

LMAOOOOOOOO. 

Oh, he’s LYING lying. 

This is the worst coverup I’ve ever seen.

Not Reg trying to contain the situation.

James got friend zoned LIVE?? Someone get him a tissue.

James looks like he’s been personally assassinated. His mouth opens, face flushes and his eyes widen with panic.

“I wasn’t flirting,” he mumbles weakly, clearly trying to recover. “I was just—I’m expressive, that’s all.”

In his distraction, his character is shot in the head. James doesn’t even notice the shot—just the sharp crack of gunfire through his computer speakers, then the bold red letters flashing across the screen: MATCH OVER: DEFEAT.

What he does notice is Regulus.

His eyes flick down to his phone. Jaw tight. Thumb moving with precise irritation as he taps out a message. He doesn’t bother to hide it, doesn’t even try. His face is unreadable, but the frown etched into his brows says enough.

Not even three seconds later, James’ phone lights up.

Reggie: This is what happens when you get reckless with your mouth. I told you to be a good boy, and be quiet about us. Keep calling me baby on stream and I’ll make sure you regret it. Privately.

James snatches the phone off his desk without hesitation, reads the screen, and immediately lets out the softest, most pathetic little noise imaginable.

[Chat]

OH, THEY’RE SO TEXTING RN

Chat you saw that right??? 

Reg looked down THEN JAMES’ PHONE WENT OFF. TAKE NOTES CHAT.  

This is like watching two teenagers in class pass notes. 

Bro got roasted via iMessage I just know it.

James frowns at his phone and hunches in closer to type something back, fingers flying across the screen like he’s fighting for his life.

He doesn’t say a word to his stream, he lets the silence linger in the air.

He just types.

James: Reggggggie. Please I didn’t mean to… It just slipped out. I panicked your voice was mean and I got scared. You looked hot, I forgot we’re not supposed to say things 😭

And types again.

James: I’ll be good I swear, just please don’t be mad. I can’t focus when you’re mad at me. I’ll cry on stream.

And again.

James: Also like...what kind of regret are we talking about exactly 👀 (asking for a friend) (the friend is me) (I’m the friend) (because we are JUST friends) (NOT dating) (see I remember now) (but don’t forget I’m actually your boyfriend IRL okay?)

James lifts his gaze to the camera, bottom lip jutted out in a pout so dramatic it could win awards. He looks devastated—like someone just kicked his puppy and cancelled his stream in the same breath.

Regulus doesn’t so much as flinch. His eyes drop to his phone again, cool and unreadable. No smile. No smirk. Nothing.

Except, just barely, there’s the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

[Chat]

THAT. WAS. A SMIRK. IM COUNTING IT. 

CHAT, REGULUS JUST SMIRKED. ROLL IT BACK. 

I just KNOW that text said “regggiiie :(” 

Someone PLEASE give James a manual on how to behave on stream. 

Bet bro’s texting like “are u mad at me :(”

James shifts in his chair, visibly flustered, trying to pretend like he’s not watching Regulus’ every move for a reaction. When none come, he sighs, slumps even deeper, and whispers into his mic, “…stop ignoring me.”

[Chat]

I’m gonna need them to get together before I start crying.

James, BUDDY, I need you to listen to yourself for a moment. 

Bro is down SO PATHETICALLY BAD.

I give you permission to end the stream and have makeup sex.

Regulus sighs heavily, and says into the mic, “Chat, any tips on how to tell a guy I’m just not that into him?”

James lets out a strangled sound, somewhere between a scoff and a whimper, and slumps in his chair as if he’s been personally victimised.

“Oh my god,” he groans. “You’re actually mean.”

Regulus doesn’t even blink. “And you’re actually bad at ranked.”

James flails at his mic, hands waving in a chaotic manner, like he’s inventing an interpretive dance called ‘excuse me I deserved that but also stop I’m sensitive.’

“Okay, cool. Great. Thanks for roasting me in front of, oh look at that 148 thousand people.”

“You roasted yourself,” Regulus replies with a scoff. “I’m just trying to play the game.”

James sighs as he grabs his drink. He chugs it like it’s going to spiritually cleanse him. Then, very quietly—not quietly enough—he mutters, “…This is why I don’t date gamers.”

Regulus doesn’t even look at the camera. “You don’t date anyone, remember?”

James chokes. Coughs. Panics.

[Chat]

Yep, James is in SOO MUCH trouble.

Someone help James before he cries. 

Yall, just admit it already.

Oh, bro is in trouble toniiiiight.

James tries to recover, waving his hands around like that’ll clear the air. “Right, yeah, no—obviously. Not dating. That was—that was a joke. We’re joking. It’s all jokes here.”

“Uh-huh.” Regulus rolls his eyes.

James winces. “Can I end the stream now?”

“You can do whatever you want, James. You’re single.” Regulus raises an eyebrow, already exiting the game.

[Chat]

Soz James, I think this is how Reg breaks up with you.

Chat. CHAT. this is not a drill.

James is going to cry the second this stream ends. 

Why is this more tense than the actual game was lol. 

James stares into the camera, visibly dying. He pastes on a smile.

“Okay! Thanks for watching, everyone. I need to, uh… cry? And possibly re-evaluate my entire existence. Love you guys. Platonically. Like Regulus! Bye!”

He slaps at the keyboard.

Stream ends.

Black screen.

Twitter explodes.

------

Stage Three: Consequences. The stage where privileges are revoked. 

James had planned for the night to be perfect. He had everything figured out in his head. After the stream, he'd drive to Regulus' place, just like they had planned. It was a routine he cherished, and tonight was going to be no different. 

Going to Regulus’ apartment is one of James’ favourite things to do, for so many reasons. First and foremost, he gets to be with his boyfriend—his boyfriend—did he mention that? Because Regulus is his boyfriend, and he loves it. Second, he gets to be domestic, cooking for Regulus, because, honestly, Reg deserves to be spoiled. James loves looking after him. Third, he can touch him and hold him, without any interruptions—just the two of them, in the comfort of their own space. And finally, the fourth reason, his favourite part: he gets to lay Regulus out, all pretty and relaxed, and then finally make his way between Regulus’ legs, where he knows he truly belongs.

But Stage Three is different.

Apparently, Stage Three means James isn’t allowed to have all those privileges. Apparently, he was bad. Regulus isn’t having it tonight. The kind of night James had been anticipating—one filled with quiet comfort, tenderness, and intimacy—is slipping away from his grasp, and he is quickly learning just how serious Regulus is about making him pay for his little slip up

You see, Regulus had indulged James in point one—he was still his boyfriend. Check. He even allowed him point two: James got to cook for him, whispering sweet little nothings into his ear. Check. Then, Regulus allowed him point three. James was almost convinced that the night was proceeding as normal. Regulus let them cuddle on the couch, watching a movie together, before they both got ready for bed. Check.

But that’s when point four came into play.

This is the part James has been anticipating all night. The part where he, normally, would start with tender kisses to Regulus’ jaw, moving slowly down his neck, then to his chest, tracing over Regulus' scars with the kind of loving reverence that only James could provide. From there, he’d move lower, making his way to Regulus’ thighs, parting them gently before stripping him bare and devouring him the way Regulus deserves, the way James craves.

But that’s when it happened. That’s when Regulus stopped being nice.

James presses a soft kiss to the corner of Regulus’ mouth, testing. Regulus allows it—one kiss. A brief, fleeting brush of lips in bed. For a moment, James thinks he’s in the clear.

But then Regulus pulls away.

Silent. No explanation. No expression. Just a subtle shift, a cool retreat, as he rolls onto his side and faces away. Not rejecting him harshly—worse. Calmly. Deliberately. Like James hasn’t even earned the right to protest.

James freezes, lips still parted, brows drawing together in slow confusion. “Reg,” he murmurs, trying again, curling closer, draping an arm over Regulus’ waist.

Regulus doesn’t move.

James inches nearer, snuggling up behind him, breath ghosting against the nape of his neck. “Reggie,” he tries again, a little more pleading this time, “C’mon, don’t be mad…”

Regulus tuts, low and unimpressed. Then, finally, he speaks. “Do you really think you’re allowed to touch me tonight, Jamie?”

James flinches. His whole body pulls taut. “I—I just thought—” he flails, already panicking, trying to explain, backtrack, justify something—but everything’s tripping over itself in his brain. “You let me cook for you, we cuddled, and I thought maybe—maybe you weren’t that mad—”

Regulus turns slowly to face him, one elegant brow raised like he’s barely restraining the weight of his disbelief.

“I told you,” he says, voice perfectly calm, which somehow makes it worse, “I enjoy the privacy of our relationship. And then there you are… blurting out the word baby on a live stream.”

James makes a strangled noise of protest, immediately collapsing into a pit of awkward, desperate apologies.

“I didn’t mean to!” he whines. “It just—slipped out! You were mad at me in-game and your voice got all sharp and scary, and I panicked—and also you looked really good and I forgot we were supposed to be pretending—”

He leans forward, trying to kiss Regulus again, this time on the cheek.

Regulus pulls away.

James scrambles. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry—I’ll be good, I swear—I’ll be quiet next time, I’ll call you dude or bro or my platonic gaming partner—just let me—let me—”

He tries again—this time toward Regulus’s neck.

Regulus shifts, dodging it effortlessly. “Jamie.”

The warning in his voice is gentle, but final.

James whines, full-body flopping against the bed like a kicked puppy. “Regulusssss,” he drags the name out, muffling it into Regulus’ pillow. “I said I’m sorry. I’m suffering. I need comfort. I’m fragile. I cooked for you! I even used a recipe book.”

Regulus ignores him as he leans over the edge of the bed, calm and unhurried, his hand disappearing into the drawer of his bedside table.

James cranes his neck to look, brows pinched, still pouting into the pillow. “What are you doing, baby?” he mumbles, voice muffled by cotton and regret. “Reggie?”

No answer.

A moment later, Regulus straightens and sets something down beside him on the mattress, sleek, black, oblong and unmistakable. Something James knows intimately. Something he’s used on Regulus time and time again—usually after he’s eaten him out three times and needs a quick breather before going in for a fourth. 

It’s the toy that vibrates and sucks right on Regulus’ pretty little clit, the one that makes him come fast and hard with loud cries as his thighs clench and his fingers twist in the sheets.

James blinks.

Then blinks again.

And then flails upright like a man possessed. “Wait—wait, what? Reg, what—what are you doing?”

Regulus still doesn’t answer. Not with words, anyway.

Instead, his eyes stay locked on James, as he reaches for the hem of his sleep shirt and peels it off, slow and teasingly. He folds it beside him with care. Like this is routine. Like this is no big deal.

James scrambles to his knees on the mattress, horrified, big eyes going wide. “Wait—Regulus. Reg. Reg. I’m right here. That’s my job—please wait!”

Regulus hums softly, entirely unbothered, fingers already moving to the waistband of his pyjama shorts.

“Just because you’re not allowed to touch me tonight,” he says, voice silken and cruel, “doesn’t mean I don’t still want to get off.”

James makes a sound of pure heartbreak. “That’s not fair.”

Regulus strips the rest of the way with agonising grace, all slow movements and sharp glances. He stretches back against the pillows, legs slightly spread, the vibrator resting beside him mockingly. His skin gleams faintly in the warm light of the bedroom, all smooth planes that James has memorised a hundred times over.

“Fair?” Regulus repeats, the corner of his mouth twitching like he might laugh. “Jamie, baby. This is fair. It’s called consequences.”

James groans, inching closer across the bed like a man crawling through a desert. “Please,” he breathes, desperate. His hand moves forward to touch before retreating in fear. “Let me make it up to you—I’ll be good. I’ll be so good. I won’t say another word on stream ever again. I’ll delete the stream. I’ll fake a hacking incident. I’ll delete my entire Twitch. I’ll—”

“No.” Regulus’ tone sharpens just enough to shut him up. “You’re going to sit there like a good boy and watch.”

James stares, stunned as a desperate, pathetic whines roll off his tongue. “No. Please say you’re joking.”

Regulus turns his head slowly, gaze cutting like a blade. “Do I look like I’m joking, Jamie?”

James goes silent. His throat bobs with a swallow.

Regulus reaches for the vibrator—not just any vibrator, the fucking clitoral vibrator, the one that sucks and laps like James should be doing—and switches it on, the low hum of it filling the space between them like static tension. Regulus’ fingers brush his inner thigh, and James whimpers, the sound practically punched out of him.

“I’m teaching you,” Regulus murmurs, like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world. “Teaching you patience. Teaching you to listen. Teaching you how to be a good boy.”

Regulus shifts again, reclining fully now, knees drawing up slightly, thighs parting just a little wider—and James nearly dies on the spot. There Regulus is, bare, his perfect cunt on display. Pinks lips glistening with a layer of wetness.

“You can look,” Regulus says, eyes gleaming with quiet menace. “But you can’t touch.”

James’ fingers twitch in his lap. He nods, frantically, unable to tear his gaze away, his whole body is on fire with frustration and longing. He can feel his cock twitching beneath his pyjama pants, aching with every passing second. But Regulus told him he couldn’t touch—and while he’s pretty sure that rule only applies to Regulus’ body, James doesn’t dare risk it. He doesn’t want to be bad. So, he doesn’t touch himself either. He just sits there, hard and desperate, fists clenched in the sheets, trying desperatly to be good.

Regulus just smirks, slow and unforgiving as he presses the toy between his thighs.

He lets out a soft, breathy sound as the vibrator makes contact—something between a sigh and a gasp, quiet and frayed at the edges.

James watches, rapt, his whole body tense, like any sudden movement might ruin the moment entirely. He’s frozen at the foot of the bed, eyes wide, fists balled tightly in the sheets. Every cell in his body is screaming to move, to touch, to please. But he doesn’t. He can’t. Not when Regulus’ words are still echoing in his head like gospel.

You can look, but you can’t touch.

Regulus’ thighs twitch as he adjusts the pressure, lips parting with a soft whine that punches the air right out of James’ lungs.

“Reggie,” James begs, voice cracking as he shifts forward slightly on his knees, like gravity is pulling him closer against his will. His hands hover uselessly, aching to spread Regulus wider, to bury his face in his sweetness.

Regulus must sense it, because he shifts one leg outward, further apart, just to tease. Just to make James see. The gesture is deliberate. Casual. It’s entirely cruel.

James sucks in a sharp breath and presses his hands to Regulus’ thighs despite his warnings, gently holding them open, reverent like he’s worshipping at an altar.

“Please,” he murmurs again. “Please, Reggie, can I—let me help—let me use my tongue, you love it when I—”

But his words are swallowed by the soft, broken noise Regulus makes next.

A desperate, needy whimper.

The kind James knows only comes when Regulus is close. The kind that usually means he’s only seconds from coming apart.

James’ whole body tightens in response, knuckles white as he grips the pale flesh of Regulus’ thighs.

The vibrator’s hum is barely audible now, drowned out by the increasing sound of Regulus’ needy little gasps, his voice catching with every breath. His hips twitch, thighs trembling in James’ hands, and his eyes flutter closed as his head falls back against the pillows.

James leans in, barely resisting the urge to press a kiss to Regulus’ knee. “Reggie—tell me—is it—” he swallows, throat dry, “is it as good as my tongue?”

For a moment, Regulus doesn’t answer. His breath stutters as he chokes on a moan.

“Better than your tongue, Jamie,” he gasps, voice breaking on the words as he finally falls apart, thighs trembling beneath James’ hands, mouth open in a silent cry.

James dies.

Instantly. Fully. Right there on the bed.

He collapses forward with a whine, burying his face into Regulus’ thigh, not touching further, not daring, just breathing him in—hot, frustrated and pathetically in love.

Regulus lies there, flushed, gorgeous and smug, chest rising and falling like a calm tide after the storm.

James hates himself.

Stupid, stupid consequences.

-----

Stage Four: The delusional overcompensation phase.

There comes a point in every secret relationship where things begin to unravel. Not because of some big, dramatic revelation, but because of logistics.

Like toothbrushes. Or laundry. Or, say, accidentally moving in together.

Not that James and Regulus meant to move in together. That would’ve required a conversation, or at the very least, intentionality. But one day James brought his console over to Regulus’ place. Then his monitors. Then his plants. Then his entire gaming chair. And by the time he was sleepily padding into Regulus’ kitchen at 9AM in Regulus’ hoodie to feed Regulus’ cat and drink coffee from a mug that said, ‘I love my boyfriend,’ it was… kind of official.

They never said it out loud. Never had the talk. But Regulus cleared a drawer. James brought his shampoo. And now they live together.

They really fucking live together.

While still pretending to be “just friends” to the internet.

While choosing to not tell said internet that they live together.

It’s going great.

If by great you mean that chat has noticed everything: the familiar background, the matching furniture, the sudden uptick in accidental off-screen voices, blurry mirror reflections and Regulus' cat appearing like a jump-scare during James’ streams. 

James’ following has become less of a fanbase and more of a collective CIA operation.

And instead of coming clean like a normal person, James—sweet, impulsive, catastrophically in love James—does the only logical thing.

He tries to throw them off the scent by publicly thirsting over a random celebrity.

Which, in theory, should help. It should redirect attention and make him seem convincingly single.

In theory…

LIVE: JamesPotter • 98,294 viewers

Category: Just chatting 

Title: debunking conspiracy theories (not the ones about me you weirdos, real ones)

James leans back in his chair, grinning. The new green screen behind him shows a totally convincing, definitely-not AI generic loft setup—clean lines, tasteful bookshelves, a suspiciously well-framed houseplant. It screams single man with good taste. James is proud of himself.

It had been James’ idea to start using a green screen after he sort of, maybe, definitely, kinda moved in with Regulus—and honestly, he was very proud of himself. Genius-level deception. No one would ever know.

Behind the green screen? 

Regulus’ office. 

Technically, their office now, actually.

He’d spent three hours setting up the perfect shot, testing camera angles and lighting to make sure nothing incriminating could sneak into frame. He even thought to double-check that Cally, Regulus' cat, was locked out. Because Cally is not subtle. Cally is a demon disguised as a cat with very distinctive calico patchwork fur and a vendetta against secrets.

James is mid-groan at his chat, caught up in a passionate rant that has somehow spiralled into avian espionage. 

“Like, listen,” he says, gesturing emphatically, “if pigeons were actually government spies, how do you explain the one I watched walk headfirst into a glass door. Not just once, but for five straight minutes?”

It’s timed almost perfectly. 

There’s a sudden blur of motion, the flick of a tail across the screen, and then a loud thunk as Cally launches herself onto his desk with all the elegance of a falling brick. She skids across the mousepad, knocks over his water bottle, and plants herself in full view like she owns the place. 

Which, to be fair, she kind of does. Or did.

Chat doesn’t miss a thing. 

[Chat]

WAS THAT CALLY?!?? 

THAT’S REG’S CAT YOU ABSOLUTE LIAR 

BOYFRIEND CONFIRMED???? 

Bro really thought a green screen would work lmao.

Fuck. Okay, admittedly, James did check that the door was locked so Cally couldn't get in. Maybe he should have checked that she wasn't already inside first…

James sighs. Deeply and dramatically. Like a man who’s already accepted that he's lost the war but refuses to surrender in battle. He quickly but carefully ushers Cally off his desk, shooting her a look that’s equal parts exasperation and betrayal, like he can’t believe she’s just blown his perfectly crafted operation.

“Okay,” he says, pointing at the camera like he is in control of this situation. “Let’s all calm down. That cat? Totally not Regulus’ cat. That’s… That’s my neighbour’s cat. Yeah. I’m cat-sitting. Very normal. Very neighbourly of me.”

Cally, as if personally offended by the audacity of James’ lie, leaps back onto the desk and stretches out with theatrical flair, releasing a long, pointed yawn that somehow manages to sound judgmental. Then, with all the smugness of a cat who knows exactly what she's done, she hops down in a slow, mocking show and vanishes off-screen.

The stream descends further into chaos. Chat continues to go feral over the sudden and undeniable appearance of Regulus Black’s very recognisable calico cat.

[Chat]

CALLY SHIPS IT CLEARLY.

Bro really said cat-sitting like we’re stupid.

This stream is called 'debunking conspiracy theories' but I think one just got confirmed.

Drop the act and drop the boyfriend reveal already pls.

 James attempts to recover.

His posture is tense and his mouth twitches like he’s trying very hard not to start nervously laughing. He adjusts his mic and runs a hand through his hair with exaggerated nonchalance, as if he can just will the internet into forgetting what it just saw.

“Right,” he says, clapping his hands together, “moving on. Nothing to see here. Just a random cat, my neighbour’s cat, who definitely doesn’t belong to anyone I may or may not be living with.”

That earns another explosion of messages in the chat.

[Chat]

BRO, YOU’RE MAKING IT WORSE 

Confirmed. Cat was sent by MI6 to support the Jegulus soft launch.

Sir this is not the recovery you think it is.

Chat, he’s spiralling. Help.

James groans through a smile, just as something catches his attention out of the corner of his eye.

The door to the office—the one he made sure was closed—creaks open just slightly. A familiar silhouette lingers there, only visible to James, hidden from the stream’s carefully cropped frame. Regulus doesn’t speak, but James doesn’t need him to. The exasperated, knowing look says enough: You locked Cally in the office, didn’t you?

Regulus slips inside like a ghost, all quiet footsteps and deliberate movement, eyes flicking toward the camera setup as if assessing the angle. He doesn’t say a word. Just leans down and expertly scoops Cally into his arms like a well-trained cat burglar (literally).

James watches the whole thing unfold with a stunned sort of admiration, his rant completely forgotten. Regulus shoots him a look on the way out—half fondness, half we’re going to talk about this later—and gently closes the door behind him with a soft click.

It should’ve been a clean extraction.

It would’ve been, if not for James.

Because instead of snapping back into streamer mode like any reasonable person might, James turns slightly in his chair to watch Regulus walk away—and his face completely gives him away. His eyes soften, his features melt, and there’s this quiet, radiant kind of awe that settles over him, like he’s looking at something sacred. It’s not subtle. Not even close. His expression might as well shout I’m in love, that’s the prettiest person I’ve ever seen, his name is Regulus Black.

It lasts a beat too long.

Then two.

Long enough for Chat to absolutely lose it.

[Chat]

IS THAT REGULUS? WHO ARE YOU LOOKING AT?

Bro needs some acting classes ASAP.

Ten bucks that’s Reggie grabbing Cally lol

Who bets James is in trouble again LMAO?

James snaps his gaze back to the camera, ears tinged pink.

“What? I—no. That was nothing,” James says, far too fast to be believable. “I mean—sure, it was someone. But not, like, someone. Just… my neighbour. Yeah. He was just grabbing the cat. A cat. His cat! That I’m looking after. Because I’m cat-sitting. For him. My neighbour. Who I definitely don’t live with. Because I live next door. In my own place. Separately. Very separate.”

Silence. Then the chat blows up again.

[Chat]

IS YOUR NEIGBOUR NAMED REGULUS BLACK?

Do you share a bed with said neighbour?

Bro is the WORST liar known to man.

After this I think James will be sleeping on the couch tonight lmao.

James groans, scrubbing a hand down his face.

“Okay, fine, we’re changing the subject,” he declares. “No more conspiracies. No more fucking cats. We’re moving on to… um…”

He stares at the screen blankly, brain clearly buffering.

“…celebrity crushes,” he finishes, sounding deeply unsure. “Yeah. That’s right. Celebrity crushes. Because I’m extremely single and normal. Normal single people like to admire attractive celebrities and gossip about their attractiveness, right chat?”

Another wave of disbelief and mocking ripples through the chat.

He clears his throat, shifting in his chair. “Personally, I’m really, really into… um… Chris Hemsworth?”

It comes out like a question. Like even he doesn’t believe it.

The silence from Chat is deafening for a full two seconds before it explodes again.

[Chat]

James be so FR right now, that is NOT your type.

The panic in your voice is CRAZY rn. 

Bro tried to think of the least Regulus-looking celebrity lmao.

I mean same TBH.

James slumps in his chair, dramatic and defeated. “I hate all of you.”

From somewhere on the other side of the wall, there’s a faint, unmistakable laugh—Regulus’ laugh—and James doesn’t even have the decency to hide the smile that spreads across his face. 

Ping!

[SimpLikeJames] has donated $100: "For acting classes. Clearly, you need them."

James pouts dramatically, crossing his arms. "I usually thank you guys for your generous donations, but not this time. That’s just mean."

James desperately prays for mercy in Stage Five.

-----

Stage Five: The accidental soft launch (or why James should never be left unsupervised with Instagram stories).

By now, James and Regulus have given up pretending they don’t live together.

It was inevitable, really. There were only so many times James could “cat-sit” or his green screen would fail before the internet collectively decided to cross-reference the colour of their walls and the suspicious overlap of background noises in both their streams. Eventually, denying it felt more ridiculous than the truth.

So, they came clean. Sort of.

They confirmed they were living together. Just… as friends. Roommates. Bros. Two platonic gamers sharing a two-bedroom apartment in central London for totally normal reasons. Financial, obviously.

Which means, technically, they’re still not public. Not about that part. The part where James is deeply, stupidly in love. The part where Regulus regularly ruins his life by being hot in the morning while making coffee in nothing but a towel. The part where James wakes Regulus up with his lips between his legs and fucks him to sleep every night.

Yeah, that part is definitely still under wraps.

James is trying to be okay with it.

He is. Really.

It’s just… lately, he’s started to suspect that Regulus isn’t even doing it for privacy anymore. Not entirely. No, James is pretty sure Regulus is still keeping their relationship a secret because it’s funny. Because it’s entertaining. Because watching James unravel live on stream is the kind of emotional sadism that Regulus finds spiritually nourishing. At this point, it’s starting to feel like a bit. A long-con prank. A social experiment to test how long it takes for James to accidentally tattoo ‘Regulus Black is my boyfriend’ on his forehead.

So, in protest—or maybe as a cry for help—James starts to soft launch.

Not on purpose, of course. Well, not strategically. But in the clumsiest, thoughtless, most painfully James way imaginable.

It starts with laundry.

Which, to be fair, isn’t usually a trigger for uncontainable affection. But Regulus Black has never done anything halfway—not even folding socks.

James walks into the living room mid-afternoon, hoodie sleeves shoved up to his elbows, yawning into his fist as he stretches out the ache from sitting too long at his desk. He’s on break between streams, wandering out for a snack, maybe a cuddle, maybe both.

What he finds instead is Regulus.

He’s kneeling on the rug, surrounded by a mountain of laundry, curls falling messily over his forehead in that impossibly soft, sleep-rumpled way that makes James insane. He’s wearing tiny grey shorts and one of James’ old football hoodies—the hem swallowed by his thighs, the neckline slipping off one shoulder like it’s been claimed and broken in. Which, of course, it has. The name POTTER is stretched proudly across the back, half-obscured by the folds of fabric. A mug of tea sits beside him, steam curling into the late afternoon light, and soft instrumental music hums quietly from the speaker, filling the apartment with the kind of domestic serenity that makes James' chest ache.

And Regulus is—swear to god—folding socks.

Delicately. With intention. Sorting them into neat, colour-coded little piles.

One foot tucked under his thigh. Bottom lip poked out in concentration.

James stops dead in the doorway.

His entire body short-circuits.

He actually makes a small noise—a strangled, overwhelmed kind of sound—then pulls his phone out of his hoodie pocket with the urgency of a man witnessing the second coming of Christ.

He opens Instagram. No hesitation. No filter. Just a three-second video: the socks, the sunlight, the tea, the music and Regulus, beautiful and soft and entirely unaware of James.

James types over the video: Just look at him. He adds a tiny white heart, taps ‘Post to Story’, locks his phone, and walks away grinning—soft, stunned, and completely lovesick.

It isn’t until hours later, curled up in bed with the lights off and James half-asleep beside him, that Regulus finds out.

Regulus is curled beneath the duvet, phone in hand, hair still damp from the shower, and cheeks tinged pink from James’ earlier goodnight kisses—the kind that start at his top lips and end, very intentionally, at his bottom ones.

James is beside him, flopped face-down into the pillows with his phone in one hand and a lazy smile painted on his face as he watches TikTok.

It’s perfect.

Until Regulus says, sharply, “James Fleamont Potter.”

James blinks as he lifts his head. “Huh?”

Regulus doesn’t even look up. His mouth is slightly open, frozen in disbelief, eyes locked on the screen of his phone where James’ Instagram story is glowing accusingly.

“You posted me folding socks?” Regulus says, voice flat. “On your story?”

James winces. “Okay, but listen, it was cute. You looked domestic and radiant and a little sexy and I blacked out and couldn’t think from the sheer sight.”

Regulus turns his head. Slowly. Eyes narrowed.

“Delete it.”

James groans. “Noooo. Baby. It’s sweet! It’s aesthetic! It’s soft-launch coded!”

“We’re not launching anything,” Regulus says firmly, locking his phone. “Soft or otherwise.”

James flops dramatically onto his side. “But you looked so good, Reg! I had to share you with the world!”

“I folded socks, James.”

“Yeah, but you did it beautifully.”

Regulus doesn’t respond. Instead, he grabs one of the pillows from behind him, yanks it free, and wedges it between them like a brick wall.

James gapes. “Are you building a pillow wall right now?”

“I’m establishing boundaries,” Regulus replies, voice chilly. “Since mine were clearly disrespected.”

James sputters. “You’re fake mad. I can see it in your face. You’re trying not to smile.”

“Delete it, or I’m sleeping on the couch.”

“You hate the couch.”

“Then I’ll sleep in Cally’s cat bed.”

James looks at him incredulously. “Okay you’re small, but not that small.”

Regulus glares over the pillow wall. “Delete. It.”

James sighs dramatically, like he’s being asked to sacrifice a limb. He rolls back onto his side, unlocks his phone, and deletes the story.

Then, with the performative flair of a man suffering, he opens a new story post.

Black screen. No context. Text: “sorry guys I got in trouble for that last post 💔”

Within seconds, replies start rolling in.

[Instagram Comments]

YOU GOT IN TROUBLE???? 

NOT HIM DELETING IT 💀 

JEGULUS SHIPPERS ARE SCREAMING RN. 

Regulus saw the sock post, didn’t he?

Someone start a gofundme for James’ freedom.

James reads them out loud, giggling.

Regulus lifts the pillow wall just long enough to hit him with it.

------

Stage Six: The hard launch, courtesy of Regulus Black.

There comes a moment in every secret relationship where one partner—usually the one with more impulse control, better fashion sense, and an allergy to public displays of affection—decides to stop hiding.

That moment, for James Potter, arrived entirely unannounced, mid-stream, and without warning.

To be clear, James had envisioned their hard launch countless times. He’d pictured a sweet, carefully worded announcement on Twitter, or perhaps a candid, slightly blurry photo of them together posted to Instagram with a subtle caption. Maybe even a soft-focus TikTok set to a romantic song. Something gentle and cinematic, equal parts affection and aesthetics.

What he hadn’t anticipated was being publicly outed, officially, by his own boyfriend, on his own stream, without so much as a warning, let alone a conversation.

But this is what happens when you date Regulus Black.

Regulus, who thrives on chaos. Regulus, who enjoys James’ suffering the way normal people enjoy brunch. Regulus, who apparently decided, with zero consultation, that today would be the day.

James wasn’t warned. He wasn’t prepared. He didn’t even have time to fix his hair.

Stage Six is public affection, on-camera kisses, and 105,000 people watching you fall even deeper in love—live, unedited, and in real time.

LIVE: JamesPotter • 105,402 viewers 

Category: Just Chatting 

Title: therapy is expensive so I’m ranting here <3 

James is mid-rant. Hoodie sleeves bunched around his elbows, hair a mess, one curl flopping aggressively over his forehead. Behind him, the once-reliable green screen is nowhere near upright. It’s crumpled in the corner of the room, torn straight through the middle thanks to one chaotic demon cat named Cally, now abandoned and forgotten like a failed science project.

“I’m just saying,” James huffs, gesturing wildly, “if your idea of a date is walking through a fucking forest and calling it romantic, we are fundamentally incompatible. That’s not love, that’s mosquito roulette.”

Chat is howling.

[Chat]

Not mosquito roulette LMAO. 

Bro has never touched grass.

Is this about Regulus? Blink twice if he made you hike. 

James waves the chat off, grinning. “No. This isn’t about anyone in particular. Not everything’s about Regulus, okay? God, parasocials these days.”

It happens in the middle of everything—mid-ramble, mid-handwave, right as James is passionately insisting that nothing he’s saying has anything to do with Regulus. That’s when the door creaks open with theatrical timing.

James doesn’t notice.

But chat does.

[Chat]

WHO JUST WALKED IN?

WAIT. WAIT. CHAT. 

HI REGGIE!!!

REGULUS BLACK IS IN THE ROOM I REPEAT REG IS HERE.

Regulus steps into view like it’s the most ordinary thing in the world. Shirtless. Damp curls falling over his forehead. Sweatpants riding low on his hips. In his hand is a mug with bold block letters declaring, BEST BOYFRIEND EVER. The very one James had given him far too early in the relationship. Two weeks in, to be exact. He takes a slow, deliberate sip, eyes locked directly on the camera, fully aware of what he’s doing.

James doesn’t notice him at first. 

He’s too wrapped up in a hypothetical rant about woodland trails and incompatible love languages, gesturing wildly as if he's trying to win an imaginary debate. It isn’t until he catches the sudden shift in chat—dozens of all-caps messages flying by—that he pauses, frowning at the screen. 

“Why is everyone yelling? What did I say now?” 

He glances over his shoulder. 

And then he freezes. 

Every inch of him goes still. His soul, visibly, departs his body. 

“OH MY GOD—REGULUS?!”

Regulus raises a single eyebrow as he takes another slow sip from the mug. He makes no move to leave.

James’ gaze drops right onto the mug. The mug. Blatantly, horrifically visible and now forever captured on his livestream. A jolt of panic shoots through him. He spins around like he’s just caught someone committing a crime, instinctively throwing himself between Regulus and the camera in a desperate attempt to shield him from view.

“That—That wasn’t— I mean, he’s—That’s not Regulus!” James blurts, voice pitched high. He lets out a laugh that’s anything but convincing. “Just kidding. Ha. Joke. Got you guys!”

Chat goes feral.

[Chat]

BRO STOP WE LITERALLY SAW HIM. 

The mug. The MUG. 

BEST BOYFRIEND EVER!!???

JUST KISS ALREADY!

We already know you live together dumbass.

James is sweating. Visibly unravelling under Regulus’ stare and chat’s messages. “That was—uh—my brother! Yep. My very real brother just… dropped by to say hi. He’s super into his boyfriend. Big fan of love. Totally normal. Just... sibling stuff. Familial. Yep.”

He stalls, eyes narrowing like he’s trying to fact-check his own lie mid-sentence.

“…Wait. I don’t have a brother.”

A long, painful pause follows.

“Okay. Cousin! That was my cousin. Visiting from… Spain. Doesn’t speak English. That mug? Not a mug. That was—uh—cultural. A cultural artifact.”

Behind him, Regulus lets out a snort.

James whips around, whisper-yelling like a man hanging on by a thread, “Get out of frame! Reg, seriously—what are you doing—move the fucking mug!”

Regulus doesn’t move.

Instead, with the slow, deliberate grace of someone who knows exactly what he’s doing, he steps forward. One hand reaches out and—oh—he turns James’ chair, just slightly, just enough to angle him perfectly toward the camera.

James stiffens. “Regulus—”

But then there’s a knee pressing onto the chair between his legs, close enough that James instinctively grips the armrests like he’s bracing for impact. Regulus leans in, calm and collected, the very picture of smug chaos, until his face is mere inches from James’.

With one hand curled under James’ jaw, possessive and firm, he pulls him forward and kisses him.

Not a quick, innocent kiss. Not a peck that could be passed off as European custom.

No, this is heated. Hungry. The kind of kiss that’s all teeth and tension, like Regulus has been waiting all fucking day to make a point and has finally found the loudest, most out-of-character, most perfect way to do it.

James makes a helpless little noise—a half whimper, half moan—and forgets, for one blissed-out second, that he’s still live.

The chat detonates in a flood of all-caps hysteria.

When Regulus finally pulls back, he doesn’t step away. Doesn’t even blink. Just hovers there, inches away, eyes locked on James’ wide, wrecked expression. His cheeks are flushed a furious pink, lips parted like he’s still trying to remember how breathing works.

Regulus smirks.

“Hi, chat,” he says smoothly, voice low and maddeningly calm. Deadpan. Smug as sin. “Guess it’s official now, huh?”

Chat. Explodes.

[Chat]

I’M SCREAMINGGGGGGG 

OMFG JAMES DIDN’T EVEN KNOW.

REG JUST HARD LAUNCHED THEM.

HE KISSED HIM ON STREAM I’M GONNA SOB 

DO IT AGAIN! DO IT AGAIN!

For a beat, James just stares.

Then he short-circuits completely.

“Regulus,” he breathes, dazed and smiling like a man concussed by love, “what the fuck.”

And before Regulus can respond—before he can smirk or retreat from the room—James grabs him by the hips and tugs him down.

Regulus lets out a surprised little grunt as James yanks him forward, stumbling slightly. In seconds he’s suddenly there, straddling James’ lap, knees planted on either side of his thighs, arms instinctively braced on James’ shoulders to keep balance. The movement knocks James back slightly in his chair with a squeak of protest from the wheels, but neither of them care.

The camera is still very much on. The chat is feral. They both ignore it.

James is beaming. Fucking beaming. His hands settle naturally on Regulus’ waist, just like they always do in private, and he tugs him back in with an audible sigh of fondness.

This kiss is nothing like the first.

It’s messy, clumsy even, because James can’t stop smiling into it. He keeps laughing, soft little huffs against Regulus’ mouth, too full of joy to manage anything suave. Their noses bump. Regulus curses under his breath. James kisses him anyway.

The chat hits a new level of unhinged.

[Chat]

OMFG JAMES IS GIGGLING INTO HIS MOUTH. 

I’VE NEVER SEEN HIM THIS SOFT.

REGULUS IS SITTING ON HIS LAP I’M NOT OKAY. 

LOOK AT THE WAY HE’S LOOKING AT HIM .

GET MARRIED IMMEDIATELY!

Regulus pulls back just far enough to glare, though it lacks any true anger. “You’re smiling, James” he accuses, like it’s a crime.

James is practically glowing. “I am, yeah. You kissed me on stream. What do you expect?”

Regulus rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t move from James’ lap. Instead, he shifts just enough to get comfortable—ridiculously at ease, like he hasn't just hard launched their secret relationship to 105,000 people mid-Tuesday without consulting James first.

James, still grinning like he found out his crush likes him back, twists slightly toward the camera, one arm slung casually around Regulus’ waist.

“You see this mug, chat?” he says, holding up the now-iconic BEST BOYFRIEND EVER mug like it’s the damn Olympic torch. “It’s true. It’s all true. Reg is the best fucking boyfriend ever. Like, objectively. Don’t argue with me. I will ban you.”

Regulus hums. “That mug was a gift from you. Two weeks into dating. Bit premature.”

James snorts. “Yeah, and I was right, wasn’t I?”

Chat responds exactly as expected.

[Chat]

I’M CRYING STOP THIS IS EVERYTHING 

THE MUG!!! PLS SELL IT AS MERCH.

THIS STREAM IS HISTORY. PUT IT IN A MUSEUM 

THIS IS FANFIC LEVEL LORE.

And somewhere, deep in the flood of messages and screaming usernames, James rests his forehead against Regulus’ shoulder and whispers away from the microphone, just for him, “do I get a reward tonight for being good?

Regulus’ reply is a quiet kiss to his cheek. “You talk too much.”

“So, yes?”

“Maybe.”

------

Stage Seven: The Reward Program. 

Also known as the stage where James earns the privilege of worshipping Regulus.

This isn’t about soft launches anymore. Not about secrecy, or restraint, or the desperate little smiles James used to bite back on stream. That’s over. That part is done.

Because Regulus told the world. Finally. In his own way, in his own time. He kissed James in front of 105,000 live viewers. He kissed him knowing millions of people who couldn’t tune in live, will watch in the days to come. He smirked into the camera and called him his boyfriend.

And James?

When the stream ended James thanked him. Verbally. Many, many times between kisses.

Because that’s their dynamic, and James wouldn’t change it for anything.

See, James Potter is a service top. Completely. Unapologetically. Enthusiastically. He doesn’t just want to please—he lives for it. It’s how he breathes. How he loves. His greatest ambition in life is to make Regulus Black moan.

And Regulus? Regulus is a power bottom to his core. Spoiled. Sharp. Impossibly composed. He knows exactly what he wants and precisely when he wants it, and he never rushes for anyone. Not even James.

Especially not James.

Because James is like a golden retriever. He’s obedient. He’s eager. He waits until he’s told, until he’s allowed, until Regulus gives him permission to touch. To taste. To serve. Every time Regulus parts his thighs, it’s a gift. Every time he lets James press his mouth to his skin, it’s a blessing. Not expected. Not guaranteed. Earned.

And tonight?

Oh, James earned it.

He was a good boy. Patient. Respectful. He let Regulus take the spotlight, let him make their relationship public on his own terms. No pressure. No pouting. Just unwavering, lovesick support.

So now, Regulus is going to reward him.

Not with words. Not with praise. But with access.

With permission.

With his body.

Stage Seven is when Regulus decides James has been good enough—devoted enough—to be allowed back between his thighs. To touch. To taste. To worship.

And he makes that perfectly clear.

He’s already waiting on the bed when James walks in, sprawled against the pillows like a spoiled prince, dressed in nothing but soft cotton briefs and the lazy, satisfied smirk of someone who knows they’re about to be adored. His legs are spread. Just slightly. Just enough to make James falter in the doorway.

Regulus doesn’t look up at first. He drags a hand slowly down his own stomach, the movement casual, teasing, utterly deliberate. Then he speaks—quiet, smooth, and devastating.

“Take off your shirt.”

James obeys instantly. No hesitation. No need for clarification. He peels the fabric over his head and lets it drop to the floor without looking away.

Regulus hums, eyes flicking over his chest. He motions with his pointer finger, “Come here.”

James does. He crosses the room on instinct, movements slow and measured. There’s no rush. Not tonight. Not when this is a reward. He stops at the edge of the bed, waiting for further instruction.

Regulus finally lifts his gaze, meeting James’ eyes with quiet command. “On your knees. On the mattress”

James sinks frantically onto his knees.

He settles between Regulus’ thighs on the mattress, hands resting on the sheets, spine straight, mouth parted. His gaze drops automatically to the damp wetness of Regulus’ briefs, and then lower to the pale stretch of thigh revealed by the way Regulus is sitting.

“Touch me,” Regulus says, voice like silk. “But only your hands, for now.”

James’ fingers tremble slightly as he lifts them, reverent and slow, brushing up Regulus’ calves, over his knees, and onto the bare expanse of thigh. He doesn’t grip. Doesn’t grope. He just holds, fingers splayed wide, thumbs sweeping gentle arcs across Regulus’ skin like he’s mapping sacred ground.

Regulus leans back a little further, legs falling open more generously now.

“You’re allowed to look,” he murmurs. “You’ve earned that.”

James does.

His gaze drags slowly and hungrily, up the line of Regulus’ body, over the sharp ridge of his hipbones, the soft dip of his stomach and the flush blooming beneath his chest. His mouth waters.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers, like it’s a prayer.

Regulus smiles. “I know.”

Then, slowly, he lifts his hips just enough to hook his thumbs into the waistband of his briefs. He doesn’t tug them down immediately. He waits.

“Beg me,” Regulus says—low, cruel, and sweet like poisoned honey.

James nods instantly, frantic and breathless, already unravelling. “Please, Reggie—please let me. I was good, remember? I was so fucking good. I waited, I didn’t push, I let you have it the way you wanted.” His voice cracks as his eyes flick down to the waistband of Regulus’ briefs. “I earned it. Let me show you—let me please you, baby, I need to. But you have to take them off. Please, I can’t do it right if you don’t—please let me do it right.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then, mercy.

“Take them off for me, Jamie.”

James surges forward like he’s been unleashed, but still, he’s careful. He peels the fabric down slowly and delicately, like unwrapping a gift he doesn’t quite believe he’s allowed to have. And when he finally bares Regulus fully, he actually moans under his breath.

Because Regulus is already wet.

Glistening and flushed and fucking perfect.

James swears under his breath. His hands slide reverently over Regulus’ thighs again, as if to steady himself, as if just looking is too much.

Regulus raises one brow. “Well?” he says softly. “You’ve waited so patiently. Go ahead.”

That’s all it takes.

James doesn’t dive in—not yet. He leans forward and presses a kiss to the inside of Regulus’ thigh first, just above the knee. Then another, and another, trailing slowly up. His mouth moves with worship, not hunger. Soft lips, open-mouthed kisses, his breath hot against damp skin.

“Thank you,” James whispers between kisses. “Thank you, thank you—”

Regulus hums, one hand threading lazily through James’ hair. “Don’t thank me yet, Jamie,” he murmurs. “You haven’t even started.”

James finally reaches the top of his thigh, breath hot against Regulus’ cunt, he still doesn’t dive in. He pauses. Looks up.

“Can I baby?”

Regulus tilts his head, like he’s amused that James even asked.

“You’re allowed everything tonight, eventually” Regulus says, voice dropping—low and dark, with that wicked little edge he saves just for James. "Use your mouth. Isn’t that your favourite way, Jamie?” He leans back slightly, thighs spreading just a little wider. “Don’t you live for it? Sucking on my clit, tasting me on your tongue? You love it when I grab your hair and hold you down. You love it when I grind against your face like you’re nothing but my toy.”

James makes a sound—somewhere between a whimper and a prayer—and it vibrates deep in his chest. Regulus’ words hit him like a blow, curling around his spine, settling low in his stomach like heat and lightning. He can feel his cock twitch painfully in his sweatpants.

“Fuck,” James whispers, hands twitching in the sheets, knuckles gone white. “Fuck, Reggie.”

But he doesn’t rush.

He doesn’t dare.

Instead, he leans in slow, lips parted, eyes fixed on the wet heat between Regulus’ thighs like it’s something holy. He kisses the inside of Regulus’ thigh again. Then again, higher, closer, heat rising in his cheeks as Regulus’ breath hitches just slightly above him.

Another kiss. Then another. Until his mouth is hovering right there, the scent of Regulus filling his nostrils.

“Thank you,” he murmurs, lashes fluttering shut.

Regulus hums in amusement. “That’s sweet,” he says lazily, “I would call you a good boy, but you haven’t earned my praise yet. Hurry up.”

James moans.

And then, finally, he lowers his mouth and licks.

The first swipe is slow, deliberate, flat-tongued from base to clit. He savours it, breath stuttering at the taste. He groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating against Regulus’ skin.

Above him, Regulus exhales a soft, pleased breath and tilts his hips slightly forward.

“Again,” he says.

James obeys. He licks again and again.

Then he shifts, lips parting as he closes them gently around Regulus’ clit and sucks—careful and controlled, his tongue flicking slow patterns over the sensitive bud.

Regulus moans, throwing his head against the pillow.

“Mm. That’s better.”

His grip in James’ hair tightens—not cruel, but firm, commanding and possessive. He uses it to guide him, shifting the angle, adjusting the pressure, dragging James forward until his nose is pressed into the soft skin above Regulus’ cunt, until his whole face is buried. Like he doesn’t even care if James can breathe.

“Right there,” Regulus murmurs. “Just like that. Good boy.”

James moans, needy and grateful, and the vibration pulls another soft gasp from Regulus’ mouth.

He picks up the rhythm, mouth working eagerly, tongue moving in smooth, practiced patterns. His hands curl under Regulus’ thighs, holding him steady, keeping him wide and open.

He doesn’t think. He just serves.

James thrives off the reaction of Regulus’ body. He notices everything. The twitch of Regulus’ thigh. The way his breath stutters, then catches. The tiniest, involuntary roll of his hips as James drags his tongue slow and firm over his clit.

“That tongue of yours,” Regulus breathes, eyes half-lidded, voice gone soft and floaty. “So fucking good at this. It's almost pathetic how much you love it.”

James moans again. He shifts his grip, spreading Regulus wider. Holding him open.

He flicks his tongue fast now in tight little circles and Regulus gasps.

“James,” he warns, voice sharp. “Don’t you fucking stop.”

James doesn’t.

He wouldn’t dare. He wants to be good. He needs to be good.

James focuses, letting one finger press deep inside him, slow and steady, curling just right. He lets Regulus grind forward onto his face, lets him ride his tongue, lets him use him like a toy, like a thing, like a mouth and hand made solely for his pleasure.

“God, you’re good,” Regulus moans, breath catching on the edge. “So fucking good for me. Good boy, going to make me cum. Keep going.”

James can feel Regulus’ thighs shaking. He imagines his toes are curled against the mattress.  His grip in James’ hair tightens, just short of painful. Regulus’ body locks up and then with a loud and breathless cry, he cums.

Regulus’ hips jerk, uncontrolled, as he grinds his cunt against James’ mouth, fingers tightening in his hair and dragging him closer and deeper, like he’s trying to fuse them together.

James whines, low and wrecked, his tongue still working as Regulus rides it out, trembling around him, every muscle tight with release. He keeps going, chasing the aftershocks, licking him through it until Regulus finally tugs and pulls him off with a breathless, satisfied exhale.

James gasps, blinking up at him with swollen lips and flushed cheeks, panting hard.

He looks dazed. Wrecked. Grateful.

Regulus leans back against the pillows, chest rising and falling in slow, satisfied waves. His skin glows in the dim light. His legs are still wide and open as he looks down at James with that same spoiled, dangerous smirk.

“Fuck,” he says, voice soft and wicked. “I don’t know if I want your cock in me next or your tongue on my clit again.”

James swallows hard, still kneeling, cock straining against the soft cling of his sweats, every muscle taut with need. He’s aching, trembling with it, but he doesn’t speak. Doesn’t beg. He just waits, quiet and desperate, eyes wide and hungry, obedient to the bone.

Like a good boy.

Waiting to be given permission to want more.

“Take your clothes off,” Regulus says, voice soft but immovable. “All of them. I want to watch.”

James moves immediately, hands shaking as he pushes to his feet and strips fast but careful, like he’s unwrapping himself for Regulus’ eyes only. His socks hit the floor. His sweats follow. Then his briefs, damp with need, are peeled down and kicked aside.

He stands there, bare, flushed and leaking, chest rising and falling in an uneven rhythm.

Regulus hums, slow and pleased, letting his gaze drag over every inch of him. “Good,” he says. “Now get on the bed.”

James moves fast—too fast—and Regulus clicks his tongue once.

“Slowly, Jamie.”

James freezes mid-climb, then swallows and adjusts, crawling up onto the mattress with careful, deliberate movements. He settles on his knees at the foot of the bed, hands resting lightly on his thighs, trying not to stare at the wet spot still gleaming between Regulus’ legs.

Regulus shifts, he sits up slightly against the pillows and reaches out to trail one finger down James’ chest—light and teasing, until it brushes the head of his cock. James shudders, his hips jerk just slightly and a moan slips past his lips.

“You want to fuck me, don’t you?” Regulus asks almost mockingly.

James nods, fast. “Yes. God, yes—please.”

Regulus tilts his head, feigning thought. “And you think you’ve earned that? Just from making me cum once?”

James breathes out a laugh, soft and breathless. “I—I don’t know. I hope so. I’ll earn it. Please, Reggie, I’ll do anything.”

Regulus smiles as he leans back again, knees spreading.

“Well then,” he says, eyes flicking toward James’ cock before returning to his face, “come show me.”

James scrambles forward, crawling up the bed like it’s instinct—like his body knows where it belongs. But just as he reaches for Regulus’ waist, eager to press their mouths together, Regulus raises one hand in the air.

“Stop.”

James freezes. Eyes wide. Hands hovering mid-air like a scolded puppy.

Regulus hums in approval. “Good. You remember how to listen.” He tilts his head, considering, then gestures toward the nightstand. “Lube. Bring it here.”

James moves quickly—too quickly—and Regulus clicks his tongue. “Slower.”

James visibly reins himself in, movements deliberate now as he retrieves what he’s told, laying the lube reverently beside Regulus like offerings at an altar.

Regulus smiles as he stretches back against the pillows. One leg remains bent, the other draped lazily to the side. Open. Glowing.

"Start with your fingers," he says, utterly casual. "Two. No more. I want you to prep me slowly, James. Worshipfully.”

James nearly moans. “Yes. Fuck. Thank you.”

He slicks his fingers with trembling hands, kneels between Regulus' thighs, and eases one finger in with soft, reverent care. Then two, gently scissoring, watching Regulus’ face for every twitch and exhale like it’s scripture.

He makes sure his thumb rubs continuous circle against Regulus’ clit.

Regulus lets out a quiet sigh, lids fluttering.

“Mm. There you are,” he breathes, voice warm and indulgent. “You’re always so good for me.”

James leans in, brushing his mouth against Regulus’ inner thigh as he works his fingers deeper. “I’d do anything for you.”

“I know.” Regulus’ smile is sharp. “That’s what makes this fun.”

He clenches down briefly around James’ fingers and watches, delighted, as James lets out a strangled gasp.

“Look at you,” Regulus murmurs, watching his cock bounce painfully between his legs, completely untouched. “All that cock… and I still prefer your mouth. So desperate to please, aren’t you?”

James nods frantically, breath caught in his throat. “Yes. Please, just let me—”

“You’ll wait,” Regulus cuts in smoothly, dragging his fingers down James’ chest, light and slow. “Until I decide I want your cock.”

James’ entire body tightens.

And then, just when the tension is unbearable, Regulus slowly pulls his legs apart further, reaches forward to take James’ cock in one hand and guides the head to his slick, stretched entrance.

“But since you’ve been so good,” Regulus murmurs, voice syrupy with control, “I’ll let you put it in.”

James groans like he’s been given absolution. But just as he begins to push forward, just as the head slips past Regulus’ wet, leaking hole, he tuts in a mocking admonishing tone.

“Ah,” Regulus says. “No thrusting. You don’t get to fuck me yet.”

James freezes mid-motion, his whole body trembling with restraint.

“I’ll tell you to move when I’m ready,” Regulus says softly. “You stay still. Understood? I just want a nice warm cock in my cunt keeping me full.”

James nods—wild, desperate and obedient. “Yes, baby. Yes. Anything.”

Regulus smirks, and then, inch by inch, pulls him in. He guides James forward until he's fully sheathed inside, until their bodies are flush and James is gasping, helpless and overwhelmed.

And James doesn’t move.

Not even a single thrust.

Just as he’s been told.

He stays perfectly still, kneeling between Regulus’ spread thighs, cock buried to the hilt, trembling with restraint. Regulus lies beneath him like something decadent and untouchable, head tilted, curls a halo against the sheets, eyes heavy with satisfaction.

James feels like a toy—just something to keep Regulus warm. To keep him full and satiated.

It’s a reward. It’s a punishment.

And it’s fucking perfect.

“See?” Regulus whispers, leaning forward as his fingers curl into James’ hair. “You don’t fuck me, Jamie. I let you be inside me.”

Regulus stretches beneath him, long and languid, deliberately clenching around James just enough to make him flinch.

James chokes on a moan, fingers digging into the sheets beside Regulus’ waist. His hips thrust forward involuntarily.

“Fuck—Reggie—”

“What did I say about moving?” Regulus interrupts.

James stills instantly. “Sorry. I’m sorry—just—feels so good.”

Regulus hums, unbothered. “I know it does. That’s the point.”

Regulus shifts, just slightly, rolling his hips the smallest fraction of an inch. James immediately shudders and a wrecked sound escapes him, like he’s a fucking virgin who has lost it just from having his cock in a tight hole.

“You look so pretty like this,” Regulus murmurs. “All flushed and shaking. So desperate to fuck me, but too well-trained to even try without permission.”

James moans again, low and entirely pathetic.

Regulus reclines further against the pillows, one leg lazily bent, the other now hooked around James’ hip keeping him there.

His fingers trail slowly over his own stomach, featherlight, drawing idle shapes against his skin. Like he’s bored. Like being stretched around James’ cock is casual background noise.

“You’re shaking,” he says, lips curling as he glances down at James. “Is it really that hard to hold still?”

James whimpers. “You feel so good—so warm—I just—”

Regulus cuts him off with a quiet hum, then clenches around him again, just to be cruel.

James throws his head back, groaning toward the ceiling.

“I already told you. You’re not fucking me,” Regulus says calmly. “You’re keeping me warm. That’s it. That’s all you get until I say so. Just because this is a reward doesn't mean you can be greedy.”

James bites his lip, nodding frantically. “Yes. Okay. Yes, baby. I’m sorry.”

Regulus’ hand slides lower, fingers brushing his own clit, slow and idle, teasing himself—not for James. For himself.

James watches, wide-eyed, his breathe catchers in his throat as his mouth falls open

“Oh?” Regulus says lazily, noticing. “Do you want to help?”

“Yes,” James says instantly, “God, please, let me—please, I can make you cum again, I want to, just tell me how—”

Regulus smirks. “Beg prettier.”

James’ voice cracks. “Please, Reggie. I need it. I need to make you feel good. I’ll use my fingers, my mouth—anything you want. Please let me touch you.”

Regulus considers him for a moment, then lowers his hand from his clit and taps it twice against James’ chest.

“Go on, then,” he says, voice soft and indulgent. “Make me cum again. But don’t you dare move your hips.”

James lets out a noise that borders on a sob, then immediately drops one hand between them, sliding his fingers through the slick mess where they’re joined. He finds Regulus’ clit easily, circling with practiced care, eyes never leaving his face.

Regulus sighs, head tipping back, lashes fluttering. He doesn’t even move. He doesn’t have to. He just lies there, basking in attention, letting James fall apart trying to pleasure him.

“That’s it,” Regulus murmurs, voice going breathy. “You’re good at this, baby. Always so eager. So desperate to make me cum.”

James moans, fingers working faster, cock twitching inside him with every pulse and whimper Regulus gives.

“Fuck—you’re squeezing me,” James gasps, almost sobbing. “You’re so tight, so fucking wet—please, let me move, just a little—”

“No.”

Regulus’ hand shoots up, grabs James’ jaw, and holds him there.

“You’ll move and cum when I let you,” he says, voice deadly quiet. “Not before.”

James whimpers like he’s been struck, hips trembling with the effort to obey.

Regulus just smiles, smug and golden, cunt fluttering around James’ cock, moaning softly as James rubs him just right.

“That’s it, Jamie,” he breathes, eyes fluttering shut. “Make me cum again. Prove you’re good enough to fuck me.”

Regulus is close. James can feel it—his body tightening, breath catching, cunt fluttering around him with every precise circle of his fingers against his clit. He watches Regulus unravel slowly, beautifully, from beneath the weight of his own stillness.

James moans, leaning forward desperately against his body, entirely helpless. “You’re so perfect—so fucking tight, I can’t—I can’t take it—”

“Shh,” Regulus whispers, voice slipping into a tremble. “Don’t talk. Keep rubbing my clit.”

So he does. Reverently. Desperately. His thumb presses just right, his whole body strung tight with the effort of staying still, of being good.

And then Regulus gasps—sharp, high, and wrecked.

His thighs clamp around James’ hips as his back arches off the bed. His lips part in a loud whorish moan as he cums from James’ fingers and completely still cock pressed up inside him. He looks fucking gorgeous like this, with his legs trembling, head tipped back like a god being worshipped and adored.

James nearly sobs, because as Regulus cums he squeezes so desperately around his cock.

And then—finally—Regulus opens his eyes.

Still flushed. Still trembling. Still glowing with the kind of satisfaction that only comes from being thoroughly worshipped. He exhales slowly, like the world is moving at his pace alone.

“Now you can fuck me.” He says, voice low and gravelly.

James’ restraint shatters like glass.

He surges forward with a broken sound, hips pulling back just barely before snapping forward again, and again, and again. Desperate, clumsy and reverent. Like he’s trying to fuse their bodies together.

Regulus takes it. He lets him thrust into the heat he’s been denied for so long. It’s only seconds before he opens his mouth and filthy words spill from him a smug and degrading tone.

“Aww sweetheart. Look at you.”

James moans, already close.

“So pathetic. So f—fucking easy. You’ve lasted, what, thirty seconds?”

James’ head drops, hips stuttering.

“I spread my legs,” Regulus whispers, voice low and cruel in his ear, “and you forget how to breathe.”

“I can’t—I’m trying—fuck, Reggie—”

“You begged to—ah—fuck me and now you’re already going to cum? That’s all it takes?”

James whines—wails, really—burying his face in Regulus’ neck, thrusting deeper and messier as he chases his building orgasm.

Regulus wraps his arms around James’ shoulders, nails biting into his skin just enough to sting.

“Go on, then,” he murmurs, breath warm and wicked against James’ cheek. “Come inside me, baby. Be a good little thing and let go. Show me how easy you are.”

That’s all it takes.

James breaks with a strangled cry, hips jerking helplessly as his orgasm hits—sharp and blinding, pulled from the base of his spine with humiliating ease. He spills deep inside Regulus, shaking, gasping, whining into his neck like he’s being torn apart by pleasure.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t pull out. Just slumps forward, trembling with the aftershocks, still buried to the hilt.

Regulus runs a slow hand through his hair, fingers threading through the sweat-damp curls at the nape of his neck.

“Fuck,” James whispers, broken and breathless. “I love you.”

Regulus smiles lazily, a breathy laugh slipping past his lips.

“I love you too,” he says, fondness painting his tone.

James thinks he’s forgotten how limbs work. His nose is tucked into Regulus’ neck, breathing him in like oxygen, and the only sound he’s making is a soft, broken whimper every few seconds. Like he’s trying to come down from a high, but doesn’t know how.

Regulus hums, fingers sliding lazily through his hair. “You did so well, Jamie.”

James shudders, moaning quietly against his neck.

“I mean it,” Regulus murmurs. “You were perfect. Listened so well. Touched me exactly how I like it.”

James nods, whimpering again, clutching at Regulus like he’s afraid he’ll be taken away.

Regulus tilts his head, kisses the top of James’ damp curls. “Made me cum twice,” he says softly. “Did everything I told you. You’re such a good boy for me.”

Another noise tears out of James, an almost sob. “Say it again.”

Regulus smiles, the tiniest, fondest thing. “You’re my good boy.”

James groans, full-body and pathetic. “Fuck Reggie baby, please, just keep talking.”

Regulus huffs a laugh, then shifts slightly under him, stretching one leg out and pulling James in tighter. “You made me feel so good,” he whispers. “You’re so perfect. So eager. Always begging to please me, and you always do, don’t you?”

James nods frantically, too wrecked to speak.

“And now you’re all soft and ruined,” Regulus continues, brushing a thumb down James’ cheek. “So desperate for my praise. It’s adorable, Jamie. You’d live in my cunt if I let you, wouldn’t you?”

James lets out a wrecked groan, then immediately turns it into a desperate plea. “I would. I want to. Please let me.”

Regulus rolls his eyes, but there’s no bite to it—just affection.

“Tomorrow,” he says. “Right now, you're going to lay here and cuddle me.”

James hums like he’s being drugged—boneless, blissed-out, held and praised and completely done for.

Regulus threads his fingers back through his hair again, slow and rhythmic.

“My good boy,” he whispers, one last time.

James, after some convincing, eventually pulls out.

He falls asleep smiling.

-----

LIVE: JamesPotter • 125,875 viewers 

Category: Just Chatting 

Title: answering questions because the internet won’t shut up 

The camera turns on. 

James grins. “Alright, alright, we’re live. God chat. Calm down, stream just started.”

James has been live for 30 seconds, chat is already feral.

[Chat]

OMFG LOOK AT REGGIE! 

UH BRO, THAT’S A WHOLE MAN IN UR LAP.

Ahhh chat did I miss a chapter?

FUCK I SHIPPED IT SINCE DAY 1.

Oh this better become a habit.

“Hello,” James says, laughing as he leans back slightly in his chair. “So. Uh. Apparently the internet has a lot of questions.”

He looks down.

Regulus is curled sideways across his lap, head propped against James’ shoulder, hoodie sleeves pulled down over his hands. He’s scrolling on his phone like he’s not currently one half of the largest trending topic on Twitter. Like he isn’t just casually perched on James’ lap, live on Twitch

“You good if we do a little Q&A?” James murmurs. His mouth is close enough to brush Regulus’ hair.

Of course, they’d talked about it already—but James, ever the sweetheart, still wants to make sure Regulus is completely at ease.

“Sure,” Regulus says lazily. “As long as I don’t have to pretend to be nice.”

James snorts. “He’s kidding chat.”

“I’m not.”

James rolls his eyes, scanning the chat for questions.

“Okay. When did you get together? That one’s everywhere.”

Regulus doesn’t look up. “You know it’s probably been like six months now...”

James smiles, slow and stupid. “Aww you’re keeping track baby.”

[Chat]

I KNEW IT! 

HOW DARE YOU HIDE THIS FOR 6 MONTHS!

Lines up with the convention lmao.

Somebody totally hooked up at said convention hahah.

“Next one. Who said I love you first?” James asks.

There’s a beat of silence. A long one.

Then Regulus says, without looking up from his phone, “Obviously James did. After only two weeks actually. He said I love you the same day he gave me that best boyfriend ever mug.”

“I did not say it after two weeks,” James says instantly, his voice rising in a defensive tone.

Regulus turns just enough to raise an eyebrow at him. “Oh, when did you say it then?”

“I—um—I—ah.”

James groans, hiding his face in Regulus’ hair as chat explodes.

[Chat]

TWO WEEKS!! JAMES FLEAMONT POTTER.

Say psych right now.

James DOWN BAD Potter since the start. 

Yep, that checks out.

Another question pops up.

“Does Regulus love you back” James reads, voice softer this time.

Regulus finally looks up from his phone. His expression is deadpan, but his eyes are warm.

“No,” he says flatly. “I just sleep here every night, in the same bed as him and wear his clothes for the aesthetic.”

James kisses the side of his head. “He’s in love.”

“I’m tragically obsessed,” Regulus corrects. “Get it right.”

They’re quiet for a moment. James looks at him like he invented the sun. Regulus pokes at the drawstring on James’ hoodie, like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

James looks back at the camera. “We’ll probably do a proper video or something later. Tell the whole story. For now, though…” He shrugs.

Regulus tucks himself in closer.

“We’re just going to take this whole being public thing slow. We’re learning,” James says, a pink blush coating his cheeks.

[Chat]

IM DYING. THE CUTENESS

THIS IS MY OTP RIGHT HERE.

I feel like I’m watching the conclusion of a rom-com

Love exists after all.

James answers question after question, grinning through the chaos. Regulus teases him mercilessly. So does chat. It’s basically expected by now—and honestly, he wouldn’t change a thing.

When the stream finally ends, Regulus stays curled in his lap, perfectly content. And James? He wraps his arms around him and thinks, not for the first time, that this—this exact moment—is what he wants, every day, for the rest of his life.