- ʀᴇɢᴜʟᴜs ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ғᴀɴғɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ
"You. Me. Hogsmeade. Tomorrow" Romie demands, leaving no room for objection.
Regulus slowly lifts his head from his book, briefly wondering if he's managed to land himself into a similar alternate dimension,
"Come again...
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꧁✧✧✧꧂
𝕽omie bites her lip to suppress her smile, pretending to pay attention.
When Lily had all but begged her to be the vital third opinion for potential date outfits, Romie accommodated. It's the least she could do considering the helping hand the red head's been for six years, adopting the older sister role Romie's missing. She counts her lucky stars to have the brother and hypothetical brothers she does, but sometimes the stairwell reads girls only.
"What do you think about this? Romie?"
Absent-mindedly, Romie nods, giving the seal of approval. It's a pretty bell sleeve blouse, hip daisies the colour of the sunrise flowing into a tie front that flaunts the cleavage of every girl's dreams. Or atleast every other girl's. Romie's dreams are occupied by something else, someone else, her thoughts too. Which is apparently crystal clear.
"You didn't even look!" Lily cries out, already wiggling out of the corduroy skirt previously approved by the distracted girl. Obviously her opinions aren't to be trusted today.
Marlene snorts from where she's reclining two feet away, chirping the observation she made a good five minutes ago,
"That's because she's too busy thinking about who sucked the life out of her neck"
Lily and Mary's eyes widen, widen to the size of saucers when Marlene quickly sits up and in one hand, gathers up Romie's waves, revealing Regulus Black's work of art. It's hardly anything for Romie to bat an eyelid to, a strong juxtaposition to Mary's expose. She huffs and reaches for the zipper yanked down, but it's too late. They've seen them. Love bites where only love bite makers with one destination in mind go.
Lily's freckled hands fly to her mouth, failing miserably at their job to muffle the loud accusing gasp,
"You shagged him!"
Whilst Mary bursts into excited squeals and victory dances, proposing they bake a cake for the special occasion, Marlene blatantly stares at Romie's bruised chest, declaring in a tone that loosely resembles impress,
"A man is responsible for that? You got one of the fair few"
"What's that supposed to mean?" Romie questions, frowning at the almost indignant matching expressions being worn by the older trio.
Mary lowers down onto her knees in front of the younger Gryffindor, adjusting the zip she'd carelessly thrust down as she replies,
"Men suck, Romie, yours sucks"
The dazzling emphasis on the last word makes the whole point. The vast majority of the male species suck in the sense they're completely and utterly useless in bed, the piece belonging to Romie knows exactly what he's doing. One of the fair few. Evidently not a universal experience.
