- 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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꧁✧✧✧꧂
𝕽egulus chuckles, biting his lip at the scowl it earns him.
Romie was one with the carolling goblins, hobbling clumsily down the cobblestone streets of Hogsmeade village. In addition to dressing in his colour and being in his bed, recent discoveries evince Regulus also quite likes stealing her capacity to walk like a normally functioning human being. With every step taken, her thighs shake and her knees threaten to give out. The number of times she's scarcely missed suffering the fate of becoming a huge lump of snow is embarrassing.
And, of course, this provided heaps and heaps of nonstop entertainment for Regulus.
"Last chance to go on the train, give your lovely fucked out thighs time to recover" He mentions, reading the pivotal time on his pocket watch.
Romie didn't have to dip her chin over her shoulder to see with her own eyes the smirk worming its way onto his lips, she could hear it, loud and clear, in his smug tone. The notion is reciprocal for the mighty glow of determination when, most shockingly, she decides to persevere.
"I don't need time, I'm doing perfectly well. Sensational in fact"
"The goblin you nearly took out half a mile ago would wholly support that statement" Regulus replies sarcastically, using his wise sense of judgment and backing up a tad.
Because Romie's whirling around to where he's been happily sauntering behind, not at all admiring the fascinating view. Furiously, she stomps right up to him — or makes a cute attempt of one, biting back once up close and personal,
"Do you want to be taken out too?"
"Oh, yes please" He breathes, dropping his head back slightly and letting out a barely audible moan.
Lazily, from the tilted position, he peers at Romie, the anguish evident on her pretty face bringing the smirk back in full force. He lowers the shared trunk he's in charge of carrying to the snow dusted ground, hands itching to touch her. Romie jumps, having been too fixated on the priceless rosiness tinging his cheeks and nose to realise what he was up to.
She finds herself bumping up against his front, lead by the coaxing cupping at the backs of her thighs, just below the swell of her backside. Her lips graze against his chin, muttering,
"Before we go, you haven't made any daft deals have you?"
The Slytherin bristles a little, still to this day, resolute that no amount of time taken up by her company could be considered daft. Everything. Those three little weeks a year ago were the definition of everything to him. It had been difficult to believe his luck that he'd managed to secure another three, the hopeful invitation letter received a couple of weeks ago easily carrying the win of most re-reads. A slicing paper cut to the finger was sustained to prove the actuality.
