#soul by soliloquy_dawn

[idle-soliloquy]

soul

Jegulus microfic - prompt: swear (august 1st), 827 words, @jegulus-microfic

Part 2, 3, 4, 5

CW: explicit, cheating

Regulus takes his shoes off before slipping soundlessly into the flat. His boots are heavy, their soles thick and black, covered in grime from trudging through the muddy field. The gig ended in a flash of lights and amidst blaring screams and whistles. The air smelled damp and the rain was thick, bucketing down relentlessly as they ran back into town and headed straight for the nearest pub.

Recklessly, he downed his first shot of tequila and hadn’t looked at the time since.

The clock hanging in the hall strikes 5 in the morning when he clicks the door shut, praying the sound doesn’t travel.

Wishful thinking.

Regulus is soaking wet. His black locks are plastered to his cheeks and forehead, but not as a result of last night’s deluge - that ended hours ago. This morning was crisp and fresh, not a cloud in sight.

He did take a quick shower at Barty’s place before leaving in haste.

Regulus gingerly places the shoes on the rack, fingers trembling in a weak grip, and tries to shimmy out of his jacket. The leather squeaks and rustles, no matter how he manoeuvres his body to avoid it.

“Where have you been?”

Regulus’ heart comes to a screeching halt, and then, it’s plummeting down to his stomach and lands at his feet. Or maybe he doesn’t have a heart. Blood rushes through his veins, screaming into the void left in his chest.

Contain yourself, he thinks. Don’t let it slip. Don’t.

He turns around, slowly, licking his lips. They taste of salt.

James is standing in the door to their bedroom, gripping the frame and swaying. There are bags under his eyes. Regulus knows he stayed up, keeping vigil. The last message James sent arrived at 2 AM. Reg saw it much later, when Barty went to get them a snack and a glass of water, and Regulus locked himself in the bathroom to wash come stains off his shirt.

“The gig, and then we were out,” he eventually responds, coughing into his clenched fist, throat tight as a string.

“It’s 5 in the bloody morning. I thought you were meant to come back-”

“I got a bit tipsy, stayed over at Panda’s.” Regulus shuffles on his feet, pulling the jacket off in one swift motion. No need to walk on eggshells anymore - James is already here, gaze piercing and pleading. Scared. Doubtful.

“Oh,” James hums, crossing his arms over his chest. He swallows, eyes tracking Reg’s every movement, searching for inconsistencies wedged between his words, or veiled by his actions. “Why are you soaking wet?”

“I showered,” Regulus huffs and shrugs dismissively. “Did you see the weather last night? We were absolutely minging after the gig, you should have seen it. Some girl pushed Panda over by accident and she decked it, landed face first in the mud, it was hilarious.”

James lets out a laboured sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. The silence that follows is stifling.

“Why are you up, babe?” Regulus tries tentatively. He starts picking on his cuticles. A nervous tic, nothing else. James won’t clock it. Regulus is a nervous person by nature.

“I couldn’t sleep till late. I was worried.”

“Worried about what?” Regulus prods, even though he knows the answer. He’s no fool.

“You know very well what, Reg.”

He hums in acknowledgment, brows slightly furrowed. He has to play out the part, acting disgruntled - it’s been months now. Hasn’t James regained some of the lost faith he had in him? Hasn’t he proven, consistently, that he can spend time with Barty and not end up on his knees, worshipping at another man's feet?

Or is it a lost cause? James will never fully trust him again and will monitor his every step and misstep alike. A tragic ending to an equally woeful story. Regulus has the answer to these questions at the tip of his tongue. His actions from last night speak for themselves.

“James.” His inner turmoil does not show on his fine features. James stares at him, eyes wide and gleaming in the morning light. “Nothing happened, all right? We were out, got a bit sloshed and then ended up in Panda’s loft listening to records.”

“You swear?”

Regulus shivers, fist clenching at his side. A beat of silence follows and he thinks James will suffocate - he’s been holding his breath, lips pressed into a thin line, eyes pleading. It’s a sight to behold. James Potter, begging. Begging Regulus not to ruin his life, once again.

“Yeah, Jamie, I swear.”

James lets out a ragged gasp, leaning on the doorframe heavily. The tension that built up in the air, layer after excruciating layer, dissipates like morning dew.

Regulus feels a hollowness in his chest, one that eats at his soul with jagged teeth. It hurts, but only a little. It’s a flesh wound, a scratch, a gentle prodding. A guiltless guilt.

Then, the teeth chip away at nothing.

[yourmom-isgay]

‘Devour me with certainty’ by WalkOnThroughARedParade

Dead or Alive by waririses vibes

Edge by pinkpalaceapartments

slow endings

by rweoutofthewoods.

-Regulus tell James, “you had my soul in your palm, your name written in my bones, drilled into the marrow. I can feel it there, at the base of my spine, every time I turn my head. I’ve never loved like I love you and I never will again”

Wisdom, Mischief, Beautv,

and Light by fullonbicrisis

-Regulus hyping James up even though James is about to pass the fuck out

'let me put my lips to something' by regiulusblack

— HOCKEY JEGULIS AU HOCKEY A U

I AM YOUR LOVER I AM YOUR JAILOR by

Soliloquy_dawn

-toxic Jegulus 🤭🤭🤭

i'll be seeing you

residentrookie

-2022 James and 1979 James switch universes

only the brave

solmussa

• here’s some of mine!! Lmk if you want the description of the ones that don’t have them

give me fic recs please i wanna read a jegulus fic rn

[idle-soliloquy]

burn and stimulate

Jegulus microfic - prompt: burn and stimulate (august 6th and 7th), 3589 words, @jegulus-microfic

CW: explicit, cheating, dubious morality (Reg's a little shit), gaslighting

Part 6 of soul: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

James places the phone under the pillow, the screen facing down, and leaves the bedroom silently. The shower is still running when he shuts the door and heads for the kitchen. 

He bumps into the wall, disoriented, trying to blink away the haze. His hands are shaking, so violently he has to hold onto the hem of his shirt. Cold sweat streams down his back. There’s an ache in his bones that makes them feel fragile and brittle. He’s feverish; if it wasn’t for what he’s just seen, he’d think a sickness has settled in. 

Regulus is sickness, and James fears there’s no antidote, not for him at least. 

He can’t breathe. Spots dance in front of his eyes, and he tries to blink them away, focusing on the kitchen counter, the scattered utensils and dirty plates from last night’s dinner. The empty coffee pot and Regulus’ mug he must have used after he came back from the gym.

A wave of gruelling pain hits him like a freight train. Did he actually go to the gym? 

The espresso maker sits on the ring, so he takes it off and cleans out last morning’s coffee grains. The cold water from the tap splashes on his hands and it burns - he’s running hot, his skin flushed, prickling with sickly warmth that spreads from his stomach and spikes through his limbs. 

His back is turned when Regulus walks in, bare feet tapping on the tiled floor. The smell of James’ soap wafts over and he closes his eyes, tries to keep himself in check but his breath hitches, and he’s choking on the smell, on the air itself. 

He loves it when Regulus smells like him - when he comes out of the shower, squeaky clean and smelling like vanilla and chocolate. James fantasises he’s rubbed himself raw all over his body, permeating the skin, settling comfortably in his cells to blend the two of them together, possessively and eternally. 

Such folly. Blatant lies. He’s a fool, doltish and gullible. Blind and blindsided so severely he feels like his eyes have been gouged out with a spoon. A perfect swindle, with genius execution - he should hate Regulus for it, but he’s sickened with himself instead. He’s gagging on it, the inanity of his blind devotion, the absurdity of his blind trust. The illusion of his belonging. Regulus was never his to begin with. He’s no one’s. He belongs to himself and does as he pleases.  And James has so recklessly fallen, fast and heedless, in love, never second guessing himself. 

Why would he? Regulus was sweet, so sweet, like honey, sticky and addictive.

Why would he? James is trust personified, and no one’s every made him doubt the integrity of his naive beliefs. 

Maybe Regulus is doing him a favour, really. Time to grow up. Realise nothing is eternal. 

James fills up the espresso maker with freshly ground beans and puts it back on the ring. He watches the water boil, eyes wide, hypnotised. It’s easier to switch his brain off like this, stare and dissociate. Conveniently float away to a place where Regulus is not, so he can scream his lungs out, maybe punch a wall, and fall to his knees. 

Regulus' presence is stifling. He’s circling from behind, and James can feel him even though he can’t see him. His bare feet tap closer, and James holds his breath and jolts in shock when a pair of long arms wrap around his waist and squeeze lovingly, Regulus’ face pressed snugly against his back. He hums and it reverberates in James’ lungs, between his ribs, his brittle bones threatening to disintegrate, grind into dust.  

He can’t breathe. The air is not getting past his mouth, fluttering behind his clamped lips. He’s suffocating, and Reg’s tight grip makes his lungs compress and shrivel. He’s feeling faint.  

“James?” Reg murmurs, face pressed between his shoulder blades. “You all right, baby? You’re so tense. Are you sore after yesterday?” 

James snorts, blinking rapidly. He’s losing sight of what he’s doing, his mind skittering from one thought to another. Something clinks to his right. The air smells of burnt coffee. Ah, coffee. He’s making coffee. The water’s boiling. He can’t breathe, and his lungs burn - someone’s poured a corrosive substance down his throat that eats away at the fragile tissue. Maybe that’s why he can’t breathe. It’s eating away at him. 

Regulus is eating him alive. 

The betrayal clings to him like a cat, demanding attention, purring into his skin. He can feel the warmth of his breath, the dampness of his shirt where Regulus kisses alongside his spine, mouthing at his skin through the fabric. 

“James?” he repeats, his arms tensing around his waist, voice laced with apprehension. 

James wants to laugh, hysterically and desperately. Reg’s a gifted actor, an even greater liar. A top-notch performer. He’s trying to reconcile the cheater and the vicious liar with the Regulus he knows, the one that slipped into their bed late last night and fucked him fast but tender, lips grazing the back of his neck, teeth out, tasting him with reverence and praising him for how good, how delicious, how sweet he was.  

They’re one and the same — the Regulus that clings to his back now, his scheming exposed, and the Regulus who made him come last night, pouring promises of eternal love into his ear and fucking into him with an urgency and appetite of a starving man.  

He thinks of Regulus coming inside him, teeth sunken deep into his neck, when his hand reaches for the coffee maker. He’s mindlessly searching for the handle, but his eyes are misted over, so he misses. 

James yelps in pain, his fingertips seared from the scorch of the hot metal. 

“Fuck,” he gasps and recoils, dislodging himself from Regulus’ embrace. 

Regulus takes a step back and turns him around, concerned. He’s small and slim, but with a presence so imposing that he effortlessly crowds James against the counter, clutching his burned fingers to blow cool air at them. 

“Oh, baby,” he says, wincing, and examines the damage.

James wants to cry, but can’t utter a single sound. Words lodge in his throat. 

He can’t breathe. 

“Breathe, baby,” Regulus encourages, leading him to the sink and dunking his hand under a stream of ice-cold water. “It’s fine, it’s not too bad. The burn is superficial, see? Keep it here for a while.” 

“Stop,” James whispers, trying to retract his hand and slip it from his tight grip. Regulus holds him in place, unnervingly calm and determined.

“Stop wriggling,” he fusses, brow furrowed. James freezes, staring at an empty space above Regulus’ head, and then at the angered, red skin on his fingertips. It’s blurred and James doesn’t know if it’s the stream of water or his tears that distort his vision. 

“Jamie.” Regulus turns the tap off, and gently, so gently, turns James around, pressing into him, pushing his hips against the counter. James lets him, eyes glued to his hand. The burnt skin pulsates, beats out a rhythm in tandem with his thundering heart. “What’s wrong?” 

“I-” he stammers. Stops and starts again. Opens his mouth only to clamp his lips back together. 

Regulus gets impatient, eyes narrowed, a vein popping on his temple. He’s fidgeting, burrowing closer, his nose brushing over James’ palm in a mockery of fondness. He mouths on his knuckles, tongue darting out. He purrs, eyes gleaming wickedly, as if a new, genius idea popped into his pretty head, and he leans over, taking James’ burnt fingers into his mouth, sucking on them gingerly and dragging the flat of his tongue over seared skin. 

“Fuck, that hurts,” James gasps, flinching away, but Regulus only slackens his mouth and lets the saliva pool in, cooling the burn and the pain. “What are you doing?” 

“I don’t know,” Regulus lets his fingers slide out of his mouth. A streak of saliva runs down his chin. His lips are glistening, wet and violently red. He’s biting on the skin there, pulling and taunting. 

James trembles in his grip, his injured hand curling into a fist. He’s hurting himself, raw skin rubbing on the inside of his palm. He clenches harder. The pain is negligible. Cannot equal the constant, debilitating anguish that shoots through his skull and stomps on his chest, crushing organs into pulp.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Regulus commands. His voice drips with poise, with strength and authority. Sangfroid. 

James should throw it all in his face, smash his composure into splinters and see how he fares without it, but something is stopping him. The fear of loss, of a clear-cut ending? As if he’s not lost him already, or lost a piece of himself that unequivocally belongs to Regulus anyway - it’s like shooting yourself in the foot. Breaking your own heart. Brandishing a knife, and plunging it between your own ribs. He has an inkling, a cruel premonition, that Regulus won’t falter, won’t even flinch when James takes the bloodied blade and turns it on him instead. Somehow, he’ll take it in stride and it’s James who will see his entrails being ripped from his stomach, his blood splattered at their feet. Regulus' cool composure will snap James’ neck like a noose, and his assuredness will tug on the rope for the sheer pleasure of it. 

The walk up the scaffold is excruciating. James wants to hang already.

The clock on the wall ticks away the time but he’s frozen, unable to move, or even flinch. The stool is right there, waiting for him to climb, but he’s stalling. 

Regulus doesn’t bother to ask again. Doesn’t spare a warning and sinks to his knees instead. 

James is not ready - he stumbles over the stairs of the scaffold, slipping on the fresh blood that’s there, while the rope swings in front of his face, awaiting patiently. It’s all happening too fast and too soon; he can’t let this go on. Regulus is thumbing over his hip and tugging at the hem of his boxers, staring at him imploringly through his obnoxiously long eyelashes. 

Stop it, James wants to scream but words, yet again, get lodged deep in his throat. He thinks they don’t really want to come out. 

Regulus drags James’ boxers to his mid-thigh in one sweep motion, and James feels so violently exposed and vulnerable, so viciously owned. Regulus licks alongside his length, tongue damp and warm and James stuffs his fist into his mouth. His burnt fingers protest, shooting sparks of pain down the length of his arm and to his elbow. His cock twitches in Regulus’ mouth, the pain somehow stimulating. 

“Stop,” James mumbles around his fist, able to find his lost words that cannot be formed into an accusation but don’t mind it if he uses them to beg. 

Maybe that’s what he needs to do, beg for mercy, before Regulus kicks the stool from under his feet and he swings on the rope like a puppet. That’s what Regulus must see him as - a mindless puppet that he can play with to fulfil his heart's desires and put back on the shelf when he gets bored or distracted, or aches for a different kind of pleasure. A puppet that will sit idly and wait, face split by an unwavering, drawn-on smile, while its owner peruses other toys. 

It must have been so eminently easy, with James sitting there, waiting patiently for Regulus to come back each time, unaware he’s a part of an intricate game. A toy doesn’t know it’s being played with. It doesn't know it’s a toy in the first place. 

He must not have been enough, or there’s something he can’t give Regulus that Barty can. James just wishes he was told, so he could try harder. It might be true Regulus comes back to him when the thrill of toying with others expires, but James doesn’t want him to walk away in the first place. 

“Fuck my mouth,” Regulus pleads, or rather, commands, the tip of James’ cock resting on his bottom lip, a sheen of saliva coating the head. Regulus licks him clean, gathering precum on his tongue, sucking it out of him greedily. His pupils are shot with black, and Regulus loves the taste, savours it - it’s so plain for everyone to see. For James to see, cause no one else is here to witness his unravelling. 

“I can’t move,” James chokes out, muscles lax, the only force that holds him up being the solid bulk of the counter behind him. 

Regulus hums around him, the vibrations so featherlight they should not make his stomach knot and churn, and his cock strain against his tongue. 

“That’s all right, baby,” Regulus pulls off him with a pop to say, “I’ll do the work. You deserve it. You’ve been so good to me last night. Good boy.” 

“Stop.” James feels his teeth chatter. His tongue is tingling. 

Regulus looks up at him darkly. “No,” he simply says. “Use the safe word if you truly mean it.” 

He takes him in, hungrily, devours him to the base, and James wonders where it all goes, tight and deep, obscured by his supple throat. He’s unhealthily fixated on coming inside Regulus’ mouth. His come leaking down his gullet and dripping into his stomach to be consumed and digested, and then absorbed. That’s all I need, James thinks deliriously. All he needs is to know that Regulus is strutting around with his come planted irrevocably inside him, soaking into the stomach lining. 

He briefly wonders if Barty’s come was there too, and he mocks himself secretly, in the safe confines of his scrambled mind - of course it was, very likely at the same time he was there, both of them staking a claim, unwittingly melding together. 

James doesn’t move, fused to the counter, and Regulus does all the work, sinking down on him, sucking and puffing his cheeks out, teeth hidden, letting saliva gather in his mouth in such quantities he’s leaking all over the place, on the floor and down James’ cock. 

Regulus comes off with another loud pop, places a hand at the base and starts stroking, while swirling his tongue around the head, and James’ knees buckle. He thinks he’s going to stumble and fall but Regulus’ other hand holds him firmly in place, trapped against the counter and his unrelenting mouth. 

Between Regulus’ hand and his mouth, James doesn’t stand a chance, and comes with a pained whine, all over his tongue and lips and chin, and Regulus drinks it up and licks him clean right after with such fervour that for an infinitesimal moment James forgets. While the strength of his orgasm washes over him, his brain comes to a screeching halt, and his heart beats out a rapid rhythm, then stops. Freezes like a lake in winter, and there are cracks in it, the icing deceptively thin. The post-orgasm haze feels like mourning. James is grieving the last time he’s ever going to come all over Regulus’ eager face. 

“Are you feeling better, baby?” Regulus asks, voice innocent and laced with honey, dripping with it, so sickly sweet it makes James want to throw up all over him. 

“No,” he simply says. 

Regulus looks slightly miffed, unimpressed with his attitude, as if James was being purposefully difficult. What else do you want, Regulus’ eyes seem to be asking. James doesn’t know the answer. 

Regulus gets off his knees gracefully, yanking his boxers back on over his thighs. James trembles when the fabric rubs over the sensitive head. Regulus pats him on the hip soothingly, whipping his face with the back of his hand. There’s come at the corner of his mouth, pearly white and taunting James to lick it off, or smear it alongside his cheek. 

“I feel like I’ve exhausted my abilities to get it out of you. What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. I obviously cannot suck it out of you through your dick, so you’re going to have to use your words and spell it out for me.” 

James lifts his head. Their eyes meet, and it’s like a kick to the gut. 

“What’s wrong?” Regulus asks, unrelenting. “Are you sick?”

“No,” James whispers. 

For a fleeting moment, Regulus looks conflicted. A flicker of something foreign, worry or doubt, flashes over his face. A flush creeps up his neck and cheeks, or maybe it’s been there since he sank down to his knees. The drop of James’ come is still lodged in the corner of his mouth. 

“Well, what can I do to make it better? Anything? Please, Jamie?” 

“You could,” James’ throat is dry and it’s a miracle he’s able to form words into sentences that don’t come out as an incoherent babble, “not fuck other people.” 

“What?” Regulus’ breath hitches, and James feels a spark of virulent pleasure shoot down his spine  - he has him by the throat, even if it doesn’t last. Regulus is caught off guard and the unflappable veneer of poise drops. 

“What did you say?” Regulus asks again, after a moment of stifling silence. 

“You heard me.” 

“Where is this coming from?” Regulus asks calmly. He’s back to his usual composed self and James hates him for it.

“I picked up your phone this morning. Saw the messages.” Inexplicably, James is able to rig another bunch of words together. Force Regulus to look him in the eye and accept that, this time, he has the upper hand. Just this once. Please, let me have it, just this once, so I don’t feel like an utter fool for eternity, which you will not be a part of. I’m still mourning. 

“You were snooping through my phone?” 

James grits his teeth. “Is this what you’re worried about now? Me being nosy?”

Regulus shrugs and isn’t it the most heartbreaking thing James has ever witnessed? “If you weren’t, we wouldn’t be in this situation.” 

James can’t breathe. “You-” he stammers, throat constricting again. His own body is trying to bring him down. Regulus owns that body, no wonder it fights for its master. “You’re so fucking cruel, you know? How can you say this?! Are you not-”

“James,” Regulus raises his hand, speaking slowly and enunciating clearly, as if he’s scolding a child. “Let’s be reasonable. Let’s sit down, drink some coffee, and talk it over.” 

“No,” James growls, pushing himself off the counter. He sways on his feet and Regulus grabs him by the elbow, steadying him. His skin burns to the touch. James thinks it will scar, same as his fingertips. 

“Don’t touch me,” he begs. 

“You’re being unreasonable, James. Let’s talk.” 

“I said don’t touch me.” 

“I don’t think you really mean it.” 

“Red,” James whispers, and Regulus retracts his hand as if he got burned in return. James smirks triumphantly. He’s pleasantly surprised his lips remember how to curl upwards. 

“That’s low,” Regulus says menacingly, but James only shakes his head.

“I can’t look at you right now.” 

“But you had no problem with me sucking your dick five minutes ago?” 

“You cornered me,” James snaps, vibrating with anger. His stomach flips and knots again. The smell of burnt coffee is wafting over from the kitchen ring and it’s making him queasy. 

“You should have told me first thing in the morning, James.” 

“So it’s my fault?” James lets out a mirthless laugh. 

“You know what, I changed my mind. You’re not in the right state of mind to talk about this right now,” Regulus states, eyes narrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. 

James gapes at him. His heart is hammering so fast it’s bound to bruise itself on his ribs. “Stop it, stop fucking with my head!” 

“I’m not doing anything.” 

“Just stop it, stop telling me I’m not fit to talk about it. I know what I saw and what it means!”

Regulus sighs, shaking his head and looking at him with pity, and it’s so audacious it makes James want to shove him, make him stumble. Make him break the facade. Feel remorse. Anything is better than this. 

“Jamie, just breathe, all right?” Regulus says, and it’s almost gentle, almost caring. On the cusp of it. 

“I can’t look at you right now, it makes me sick.” 

“That’s fine.” Regulus nods pensively. “I think I should leave.” 

“What?” Now James wants to grab him by the shoulders and shake, elicit some response that’s not this infuriating assuredness. “You’re making me feel fucking insane!” 

“That’s why I should leave. We can talk it over later. I can explain.” 

“Don’t-” 

“James, just breathe.” 

“I can’t, it fucking hurts,” James whines pathetically. 

Regulus takes a step back, pulling his phone from the front pocket of his hoodie and sneaking a quick glance at the screen. James wants to rip it from his hand and chuck it against the wall, smashing it to pieces. 

“Don’t talk to him,” James begs and this must be what it feels like to hit rock bottom. “Don’t fucking talk to him, ever.” 

Regulus looks at him again, eyes brimming with sadness. “Oh, baby.” 

“Don’t call me that!” 

“I can’t be here right now,” Regulus states, and now his eyes are hollow. The change is volatile, knocking James off his feet. “I’m leaving. Give me a call when you calm down.” 

He’s out the door before James can beg him to stay, and leaves him with the realisation that, given enough time, he indubitably would. 

[idle-soliloquy]

sweet

Jegulus microfic - prompt: sweet (august 4th), 1049 words, @jegulus-microfic

CW: explicit, cheating, dubious morality (Reg's a little shit)

Part 4 of soul: 1, 2, 3, 5

Regulus lives for the thrill of it - the sneaking around, the blatant lies, the half truths. Or that’s what Barty’s trying to convince him of. You’re loving it, he would say, while slamming his hips down, pinning him to the bed, or any random flat surface they found themselves in the vicinity of. 

“You fucking enjoy it, don’t you? God, I love that about you.”  

Regulus thrashes under him, begging for mercy, acting out the part, screaming bloody murder, and Barty assails him with rippling pleasure, crude words and rough hands that methodically pull him apart.  

It’s not really about Barty, Regulus knows deep down. Barty’s the catalyst that brings the worst out in him, always, without fail. Barty knows him, intimately and disturbingly, sees through his ploys and games and his superficial guise of sweetness. 

James fell hopelessly in love with that sweetness. He laps it up, sucks it out of his bones like marrow. And while James gets to lick off his sugary coating, Barty gets all the ugliness, the rough, jagged edges, and the raw, brutish want. He gets to taste the bitterness and ferocity of Regulus’ twisted mind. 

Barty doesn’t mind; he’s not a sweet tooth kind of guy, by his own admission. “I get the real you, you know? It’s so scrumptious, much more flavoursome,” he’d say to Regulus while still inside of him, licking sweat off his upper lip.

Regulus wonders if his sweat and come taste different, depending on whose tongue it lands on.

He loves James, he truly does. In his own peculiar way. Barty says Regulus loves being loved and that doesn’t amount to the same thing, but Barty’s a sadistic fuck who’s probably never loved anyone but his mother.

It’s pitch black outside when he gets back to the flat that night. He slips under the covers and coils his arms around James’ waist.

“Hello,” Regulus whispers into his ear, breathing in the lulling smell of home. James radiates such warmth Regulus has to fight tooth and nail to prevent his sweet duplicity from melting in its blaze. He can feel his heartbeat reverberating in his own chest, strong and unremitting, like a ringing of tower bells, always consistent and reliable, beating out a rhythm that Regulus got so accustomed to. 

Regulus doesn’t know it yet, but tomorrow morning James will find out. This transient moment is the calm before the storm, before James’ world shatters to pieces, the poorly concocted illusion dissipating when he finds out that Regulus is in fact, a lying, cheating, soulless monster and not the sweet boy James so desperately wished to be in love with. 

There’s still time left on the clock. Tomorrow might be the day of reckoning, but for now, Regulus jumps at the chance to ply James with sweetness one last time.  

“Hi,” James stirs, twisting in his arms to look over his shoulder. He smiles, eyes still glued together with remnants of sleep. It’s late. Regulus taught James, like a dog that loves to be shown new tricks, that his nighttime trips to the gym are nothing to be concerned about. 

It’s too easy. James trusts him, blindly. He'd give him the world if Regulus asked for it to be laid out at his feet. Maybe that’s what triggered his most sadistic appetites; there’s nothing sweeter than annihilating love that’s so freely given, turning your nose at it and watching it crumble into dust and ruin. There’s something delectably tragic about it. 

“How was the gym?” James asks, and Regulus hums quietly, pressing his lips into the back of his neck.

“Sweaty,” he says with a smirk that James cannot see but must feel mirrored on his skin. 

“You smell so good.” His voice is thick and drowsy. “Soapy.” 

“I showered, used your shampoo.” 

“I love when you smell like me,” James murmurs.  

They remain silent after that, their breaths in sync, skin brushing on skin with every minute movement. Regulus rubs his shoulders, massages his stiff back, raking his nails over his scalp. 

He smells sweet, Regulus thinks; like honey, or a buttery cake, or melted chocolate. The taste of him sits on Regulus’ tongue, taunting him to do more, to take the first bite. 

He slides his thigh between James’ legs and smiles smugly when he parts them instantly, grinding back with a pleading whine.  

“Are you tired?” Regulus whispers, teeth grazing the hard, protruding bone at the top of his spine. He wants to sink his teeth into it, and he has a tendency to do as he pleases, so he bites down. James yelps and goes rigid in his embrace, his thighs squeezing relentlessly, a hardness growing between them. Regulus cants his hips, pressing his hardening cock against his ass and back. It’s a preamble, a soundless request. 

“I’m fine, I’m awake now,” James gasps, rocking against him. “Fuck me, please.” 

“Is that what you want?” Regulus says, kissing the line of his shoulder. He knows what the answer will be. James could be swaying on his feet, on the verge of passing out, and he’d still fall on his knees and beg to be fucked if Regulus asked nicely.  

“Yeah, please. I want it.” 

Regulus makes quick work of stripping them bare. He opens James up, only spit coating his fingers when he buries them deep inside, coaxing broken moans from his parted lips. It’s rushed and so keen and earnest, each move punctuated with honeyed words that wring more sweetness out of James. 

He comes faster than he wishes to, buried deep inside him. James writhes in his arms, his back arched and nails biting into the pillow. Regulus leaves streaks of saliva and vicious scratches across his broad back. So much to explore, swathes of skin still left unmarred, so he licks and sucks bruises into it, rubbing his lips raw. He bites into him ravenously and his mouth is full of James; he tastes so sweet, melting on his tongue like sugar. 

All that sweetness turns to ash the next morning. 

When James lets him back into his bed and Regulus gets an opportunity to taste him again, James’ sweetness has an undertone to it, a rotten aftertaste, which Regulus comes to recognise as a distinct flavour of a broken heart.

[idle-soliloquy]

reputation

Jegulus microfic - prompt: reputation (august 3rd), 866 words, @jegulus-microfic

Part 3 of soul: 1, 2, 4, 5

CW: explicit, dubious morality (Reg’s a little shit)

Regulus is nineteen when James sees him. The shift is not gradual; it’s violent and precipitous. Regulus wakes up one morning, and feels James’ eyes follow him across the room. His gaze burns and penetrates, licking alongside his spine and skinning him to the bone, awaking a fire inside him that blazes like a beacon.

Regulus reels him in, like a hopeless moth to a flame. He revels in the attention, the accidental touches, the not so accidental closeness; James invades his space, casting him burning glances and grazing his shoulder with his, their thighs pressed close under the table. Regulus responds, brazenly and audaciously. Doesn’t give James space to breathe, or reconsider. He has him wrapped tightly around his little finger in the blink of an eye.

Coming undone under James’ touch feels like a revelation, a homecoming after years of stumbling blindly through darkness. His lips taste like a victory, a triumphant conquest.

They’re in the back of his car and James takes him apart with his tongue, opening his throat for Regulus so sublimely, and begs him to use him, fuck his mouth. Regulus likes to use and be used, so he abides. He covers his face in an ephemeral brand of white streaks running down chin and coating his tongue. James truly looks like he belongs to him, face buried between his thighs and begging for more.

He makes him come twice, holds him through the aftershakes, steady hand pressed into the hip bone, fingers meticulously spreading him open. Regulus lets him explore. He lies back, body trembling, sparks of pleasure shooting down his back at every push and prod, every salacious bite.

After, they lie in a tangle of limbs, sweat and come sticking their bodies together. It’s hot and clammy inside the car. The windows are fogged up, and Regulus laughs deliriously, dragging his fingers through the dampness clinging to the glass, painting an image of a desperate hand reaching out in ecstasy. James snickers into the crook of his neck, peppers it with fervid kisses, tongue ravenous and scalding each time it drags across the expanse of his skin.

“How did you know I wanted you?”

Regulus hides his face in James’ unruly curls, smiling.

You were so obvious, he thinks, but doesn’t say it. It’s like you were trying to eat me alive, the way you looked at me. I could smell it off you.

“I just knew.”

“Am I that transparent?”

“You’re intense. I like that about you.” Regulus cards his fingers through his hair, teasing out a tangle that coils around his index finger. James rests his head on his chest, breathing erratically. He sounds blissed out, struggling to form words into coherent sentences. Regulus relishes the power, the obedience, the devotion. James gives the reins over so freely, Regulus almost pities him, but the sentiment doesn’t linger. He’ll make sure to cage and capture James so profoundly he’ll forget he was born free.

“I don’t know when and how it happened. Something snapped and I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

“Do you not care about my-” Regulus hesitates. His fingers keep stroking mindlessly through his hair. He’s learning. James reacts to the scrape of nails on his scalp with a soft gasp and Regulus commits it to memory.

“About your what?” James encourages.

“My past.”

James props himself on his elbows. He’s so utterly debauched, a streak of come sticking to his chin, his lips raw from kisses and from holding Regulus deep down his throat.

“What past?”

“You know what past. I have a reputation.”

James scoffs, giving him a sharp, almost scolding look. “I don’t care about gossip. I don’t care what people say, Reggie. You’re mine now.”

Regulus lets him collapse back onto his chest, nuzzling into his neck. James whispers sweet nothings into his ear and licks the side of his face. “You taste so good. I want to eat you whole.”

Regulus invites him to the table again and again that night.

He phones Barty the next morning, after James disappears in the bathroom. The splash of water from the shower drowns out their voices.

“I can’t see you anymore,” Regulus says as a greeting.

Barty doesn't respond, lets him stew for a while, mulling it over. Barty likes to keep Regulus at the edge of his seat.

“Did you finally get him to fuck you?”

“Yes.”

Barty chuckles into the speaker and Regulus twists in the bed sheets, peeking over at the bathroom door. “Congratulations are in order then.”

“Sure, thanks. Like I said, we can’t keep doing this.”

“Sure, whatever you say Reggie,” Barty says mockingly and Regulus bristles, fingers clasped tightly around the phone.

“I’m serious,” he adds coolly. “I’m keeping him.”

“And I said it’s fine, Reg,” Barty says listlessly. “I’ve heard this story time and time over. I wish you good luck, but you know where to find me if-”

Regulus disconnects, heart hammering in his chest. Barty doesn’t call him back.

“Who were you talking to?” James asks curiously, strutting into the room a minute later.

“No one,” Regulus says with a contrived smile, but James doesn’t notice it. He’s already blind.

[idle-soliloquy]

constant

Jegulus microfic - prompt: constant (august 2nd), 724 words, @jegulus-microfic

Part 2 of soul, 1, 3, 4, 5

CW: explicit, cheating, slapping

“I love you.” 

James soaks him up, devouring him with his inexorable gaze, pupils black as night, no speck of brown left to witness. Regulus feels consumed. Ripped into little pieces and digested. 

“You’re so beautiful.” 

Regulus knows he is. He’s covered in sweat and come, his cheeks flushed crimson, eyes wet with unshed tears. He slides his thighs together, relishes in the smooth glide, and a ragged breath escapes his parted lips, his tongue darting out invitingly. James kisses him, slow and languid. 

Regulus bites back. “Stop it.” 

“Stop what?” 

James’ nails bite into his thighs and he forces his legs open, diving back between them, back into familiar terrain. He starts licking him clean, from the head to the base, drags the flat of his tongue over his stomach, dipping into his belly button to scoop out the come that gathered there. 

Regulus feels groggy, woozy and detached from it all. He keeps his legs parted, knees pulled up high. His fingers skim over his nipples and pull callously - a spark of lingering pleasure pierces his gut and travels down the length of his splayed limbs. His foot arches, toes curling in the air. Every nerve lights up, connecting pathways in his brain, the ones that Regulus works hard to keep apart and severed. Regulus prays they disconnect soon. James has to stop. It’s too much, too good, too perfect. 

James bites the soft inside of his thigh, bruising the skin. He licks again, tentatively, and then once more; the rough surface of his tongue tickles and soothes all at once. 

“I love you,” James repeats, dipping his tongue inside him, and Regulus thrashes in his grip, grinding his teeth, biting on his lip with fervour. 

“Stop,” he gasps. “Too much.” 

James ignores him, refuses to abide. “Use your safe word if you want me to stop.”

He nips at the skin there and it’s sore, agonising even. Regulus squirms away, back arching off the bed. “Fuck, stop.” 

“No,” James licks into him again, penetrates him with words and flesh, digging deep and tasting him so thoroughly, Regulus thinks there’s nothing of him left, nothing else to savour. He’s becoming bland, an empty vessel. James chips away at the void. His love is seeping through his pores, slathering over Regulus. It itches when it sticks and melds into his skin, and like acid, burns off the protective layers Regulus worked so hard to assemble and against all odds, maintain. 

“I love you,” James murmurs between bites and licks and slides of his hot tongue and Regulus cannot take it anymore. 

“Red.” 

James stops immediately, choking out an apology. He crawls from between his legs, chest heaving. His eyes are full of excruciating remorse.

“I’m sorry.” He cups Regulus’ cheeks into his trembling palms. “Fuck, sorry baby. You always like this, I didn’t think-”

“It’s fine,” Regulus breathes out. His stomach twists and knots. He wants to bolt, shroud his face in shadows so James can’t penetrate him anymore, with his gaze and hands, and his soft, sickeningly sweet words. “I’m fine. It was just a lot.” 

“I’m sorry,” James whispers, contrite. Like a beaten dog, he drops his head and begs for forgiveness, resting his forehead on Regulus’ bare chest. 

“Stop saying that,” Regulus says. 

“Saying what?” 

That you love me, Regulus thinks. It’s a constant reminder, a gruelling pain, but one with blunted edges. It doesn’t cut, it rubs and chafes and grinds down, until it rips through his skin and rearranges his insides. 

“Stop apologising.” 

“I’m sorry,” James says, and then laughs, desperately and frantically, and Regulus rolls his eyes. He plays into it, turns it into a joke, a quirky misunderstanding. A tender moment shared between lovers. 

Later, when he rides Barty on the kitchen floor, moaning shamelessly and screaming his lungs out, he hears the same accursed words repeated in a sadistic parody of James’ sweet confession. 

Regulus hits him, hard over the face, and sits back down, feeling the cock inside of him glide over his prostate, making him come in white streaks and rivulets all over Barty’s chest and neck. 

“Don’t you dare,” he gasps, voice ragged, pleasure coursing through his veins like poison. “Don’t you dare say it. This is not love.” 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, darling,” Barty replies with a cruel smile.

[idle-soliloquy]

pain

Jegulus microfic - prompt: pain (august 5th), 1638 words, @jegulus-microfic

CW: explicit, cheating, dubious morality (Reg's a little shit)

Part 5 of soul: 1, 2, 3, 4

James is still a kid, fresh-faced and guileless, when he starts believing in fate and accepts its mercurial nature. Good things come in its tide. Like Regulus. 

Regulus comes to him early on, and stays forever.

The first time James saw him was when Sirius invited him over to the sprawling Black mansion for a playdate after school. Sirius was about to turn eleven in a couple of days, James recalls that with startling clarity. He and Sirius were a menace, running wildly around the back garden, tripping over freshly fallen autumn leaves and kicking an old football in haphazard circles. 

A tall woman stepped out of the house and onto the patio, a little boy trailing after her. James came to a halt, the football suddenly forgotten, insignificant. Sirius kicked him in the shin but James barely flinched. Reg was small and slender, a little wisp of a kid, vulnerable and shy, cowering behind his mother’s leg. James yearned to reach out and lock his arms around him, shielding him from whatever monsters made him skitter to the side when he proffered a hand towards him in a gentle greeting. 

James knew his brotherly instincts were misplaced - Reg already had an older sibling who’d jump in front of a bullet for him. James had no right to subjugate that cherished role and responsibility for his own selfish enjoyment. In hindsight, it must have been his undeveloped brain’s way of justifying the rushed beating of his heart and the clammy palms that he had to wipe on his shorts. 

It didn’t click for a torturously long time. James grew up in denial, and in denial he remained until Reg turned nineteen and started flaunting his scandalous relationships and a neverending string of hookups in front of James whenever he dared to put his foot inside the Black residence. One faithful day, James snapped. He might be a fool, but he’s no coward, quickly admitting to what was so painfully obvious. 

Hook, line, and sinker, James got dragged under the surface never to reemerge again. He’s merrily suffocating under the deceptively sweet taste of young, eternal love that met him head-on with a sultry smile and a beckoning hand. Reg welcomed him between his legs right away, and shortly after, he cracked his heart open, letting James in.

Or so James thought. He put blinders on his eyes and sprinted to the finish line the moment Reg touched him and begged for a touch in return. James stumbled and fell like a fool that he is, so rapidly and recklessly, unbridled in the intensity of his love, and hasn’t gotten up since. He likes it down here. He takes sick pleasure in crawling on the ground for Regulus’ love. He has James eating out of his palm, ravenously and insatiably. James was famished and Regulus fed him till he was bursting at the seams. He lets him lap and bite and suck on his skin, teeth sinking in at the joints, as often as James wants to, as much as he desperately needs to. It’s a gnawing need, a crippling addiction; his next hit and the antidote alike, both at his fingertips, squirming under him on the sheets, eyes wide and pleading, lips shining with spit and begging for more.  

He should prepare for eventual withdrawal, but Regulus swore he’d never leave him. James has always been quick to love and slow to lose. Regulus belongs to him now, irrevocably and wholly, his diamond in the rough, maybe a little jagged at the edges, a bit ruthless and reckless at times, but never with James’ heart. 

That’s why he is so blindsided. In his poor, deluded mind, James concocted a story, a fickle fantasy built around what little scraps of himself Regulus graciously allowed James to perceive. The rest hid in the shadows, scheming and playing him like a fiddle. A hopeless puppet on a string. So easily fooled. So dumb, so stupid. It was child’s play for Regulus - James turned a blind eye to it all, no exceptions. Later, he’d spent countless nights cradled in Sirius’ steady arms, sobbing into the crook of his neck and recounting recent events, dissecting the early signs, the convoluted cover stories and sins of omission. The blatant lies that James blanked on, because he’d never even entertain the thought of Regulus being unfaithful. 

It pains James to drag Sirius into it, but he refuses to have it any other way. “Lay it on me,” he says. “For the sake of this conversation, he’s no brother of mine.”

Bring it on, the tears and the sorrow and the rancour. I can take it, brother.  

“Not him, not Reg,” James rambles on, and Sirius strokes his hair and avoids looking him in the eye, stone-faced and silent, up to a point.

“Jamie… I don’t know. Think about it... He’s always been-”

“No,” James cuts in, swallowing. “Don’t say it.” 

“It’s going to get better. I know it doesn’t seem like it now, but I promise you, it will.” 

“How? How do I even start? I feel like I’m fucking drowning right now,” James says, staring blankly at the ceiling. 

“You have to pick yourself up first, James. Come on, get off the floor!” 

James fights to stand up or crawl away, but he’s fused to the floor, right where Regulus left him. 

If James thinks he’s a fool then Regulus surely holds the same opinion. The damning proof of that comes on that fateful morning, when Regulus leaves his phone buried in the sheets and saunters away towards the bathroom, stretching and yawning. James flips to the other side, grinning widely, reminiscing. His mind lingers on last night - Regulus, crawling under the duvet and wrapping his arms around him so tightly, pouring sweet words into his ear while fucking into him in a broken, frantic rhythm. It happens often these days, Reg coming home full of fraught energy, eyes gleaming with mischief, with some fleeting emotion that evanesces after Regulus collapses into his arms, satiated and purring like a cat, fingers caressing the bridge of his nose, or his bottom lip, in a loving, doting manner. 

James' mind is filled with love when he adjusts his pillow, patting it into shape. Reg’s phone slips from between the white fabric and rolls onto the sheets, and James would not think much of it, ready to let his eyelids shut again and drift away into a peaceful, morning slumber. The screen lights up with a slew of notifications and James reaches over languidly, yawning just as he picks up the phone, all the while planning to put it in sleep mode and stick it on the bedside table.  

His fate is decided in a split second. If that new notification came a fraction of it later, James would have clicked the sleep button and remained blissfully unaware.

He sees the words ‘hurts’ and ‘hit’ and ‘pain’ flash on the screen, and involuntarily, his eyes skim over the messages. 

He’s hit with a wave of nausea so strong he keels over the side of the bed, stomach churning, bile sticking to the back of his throat. He doesn’t throw up but the bad taste in his mouth lingers. 

He blinks and looks at the message again, dread coiling in his chest and cracking his ribs like twigs, splintering into his heart and bleeding him dry, and he can’t fucking breathe. Someone’s sitting on his chest, crushing him into a pulp. It hurts. The pain is worse than anything he’s ever felt. He watched his mother on her presumed deathbed, thinking he’d lose her at the age of fourteen to cancer. Weeks later, she was in remission and has been ever since. He watched Sirius hit his head on the swings when they were twelve and fall unconscious in his arms, but all it came to was a couple of stitches and close observation in the hospital wings, with James keeping vigil at his bedside. That pain was gruelling, all-encompassing and frightening, but James knew how to respond because the call didn’t come from inside the house. It was cruel fate, or coincidence, that declared war on him or his loved ones. James can face that and come out victorious. 

His friends love him, they’d never hurt him wittingly. Pain is something that strikes from the sidelines, never from within. Never from his own bed. 

Seems pain was curled up at his side all night long, its warm hands carding through his hair and plying him with sweet love. 

James scrolls through the messages again. There are so many of them. His head is swimming, eyes brimming with tears and blurring his vision. Barty’s name comes into focus. It’s blaring at him, Barty’s imaginary voice, bouncing off the insides of his skull like a dull ache, an echo that only grows louder. 

Barty (9:01): I know. So fucking good, the way you do it for me. 

Barty (9:01): The way you beg on your knees. You’re shameless, if only people knew how fucking deranged you are. You make me blush sometimes.  

Barty (9:02): Are you still coming to Evan’s thing tonight? James tagging along? 

Barty (9:02): Cause if not, I know Evan would not mind us sneaking off to his room at some point. He fully supports my wrongs, if you know what I mean, and by extension, yours. 

Barty (9:02): We can fuck all we want and shower after. I know you are obsessed with the smell thing. 

Barty (9:03): James won’t smell me off you if he hasn’t already, but whatever. 

Barty (9:03): Also, that slap, fuck’s sake, Reg, I’m still in pain. You hit like a pro. 

Barty (9:03): You know I like it when it hurts.