- 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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꧁✧✧✧꧂
𝕿ickled.
What stirs Romie from the soundest slumber she's had in what feels like an eternity, is the unmistakable sensation of being tickled, the tingle too prominent to ignore. Whilst the rational part of her mind tells her features to scrunch, pull away all-together, her bolshie, little heart tells her something else. Something also impossible to ignore.
She leans in further, embracing with open arms the spreading tingles, blowing out a soft breath when the button of her nose prods against skin. Supple skin, pale skin, skin that she's had the privilege of marking. More than once. More than twice. Romie's not alone in that deed, though the intentions and motives are stark contrast. Her want to make him feel good, make him hers, theirs to make feel him bad. Make him hurt.
In all likelihood why he's not moved a muscle throughout the night, rooted in that curl up Romie's ended up adhering to at some stage. Lower limbs cosily tucked up, front, to the hilt, plastered against back, spooning.
It's not the only plastering taking place, the fore of her arm loosely draped over his torso, flat against the long length of his sternum. From how he's tucked it beneath his own, it's crystal clear there's been a possession stake claim, a full custody battle Romie's missed and subsequently lost.
She's not too miffed about the whole ordeal, especially when she registers another tickle to embrace with open arms. This one not the doing of debilitatingly handsome curls, but long, slick fingertips. Running so lightly up and down the back of her hand, into the tiny, hypersensitive gaps between fingers, she nearly misses it. Nearly misses the little peppering of kisses there too.
He's awake.
Mia's regurgitated words from experienced Sirius echo in the back of her mind, sparking up questions Romie's not certain she wants the answers to right now. Answers she has a hunch she already deep down knows. He might have been pretending last time. He's not so much this time.
Her eyes slide back shut after glimpsing through hair chinks a couple of his caressing cycles, basking in what she's fallen short of lately. Him there. Romie doesn't know how much time passes, only that he's just about kissed every inch of skin her hand has when he finally makes a sound, a vocalisation.
"Am I in it?"
It's so vague, so inexplicit that Romie reckons even if she wasn't half asleep, fresh as daises, she wouldn't have a single clue what the fuck he's on about now. A rather deep, groggy, elongated hum leaves her, the vibrations of which thrumming through his skin, his core. He blames his faint groan on sleepiness, explaining in a raspy morning voice that does unspeakable things to her,
"Last night — or well this morning, you said I was totally out of it. Am I in it now?"
Romie suddenly feels wide awake, recalling precisely what he'd slurred out moments prior to her announcing he was talking right out of his arse. He hadn't argued then because he planned to re-broach now, when there's a higher chance she might believe his every word.
