if the marauders had twitter ?
James: Look, as a straight man, I think-
Sirius: Wait, what did you just call yourself?
James: …a straight man?
Sirius: Oh, so we’re just saying things now?
Sirius: As a toaster, I-
James: Shut up Sirius.
james: last night i married my best friend
james: lilys pissed but sirius and i were wasted and thought it was really funny
i still can’t believe we went from
"You'll always be my Reg,"
“I want you to be aware that I don't forgive you for this. I want you to be aware that whatever we had, whatever we were doing these last two days, that's done. Don't touch me. Don't sneak into my room and expect me to hold you, because I won't. Don't apologize, because I don't want to hear it."
hi! i loved you’re bodyguard james au sm! could i request something super fluffy with bodyguard james, maybe reader getting ready for bed and james doting on her <3
omg yes of course, thank you for your request! some mutual pining with bodyguard!james x fem!reader
"Do you think it's silly, sometimes, that you have to wait outside my door?" you ask James, hip popped against the doorframe, tired and lagging and wanting his attention.
He's thankfully deigned to turn to you, though his position is ramrod straight. "Not really."
"I understand when I'm out of bounds, but... you know, my door locks."
"You know as well as I do a lock won't stop some people."
"How about two locks?"
"Enough," he says. There's so much fondness there that you step forward. James gives you a stern look, which might be intimidating because of his general tall, lean shape if he were anyone else but himself. "Go get ready for bed."
"You can't boss me around," you say, and then turn into your room to get ready for bed anyhow. His laugh follows you.
You leave the door open and James doesn't move to close it. It's nice to have his company, to hear the lightest echo of his breathing. You live in such a quiet house, you'd almost think it was you and James alone.
But you're never alone.
"Jamie?" you ask, shrugging out of your soft cardigan.
He hums rather than answer.
"Do you get tired?" you ask, ducking down to look in the vanity's mirror.
You start to pull the jewellery from your hair one glimmering gem at a time, and then pull off the heavy, elegant chain of your necklace. Both easy enough. It's the bracelet you struggle with; the catch isn't manoeuvrable with only one hand.
"Sometimes. You know somebody swaps with me at one though? I don't stand here all night."
You approach him with a little more shyness than before and offer your wrist. "Can you help?"
His fingers slide over your skin obligingly.
"You work such long shifts. One to one. That's twelve whole hours. Don't you think that's excessive?"
"I'm head of your team. It's my job."
The bracelet unclips. James lowers it into your open palm, where it pools. A snake of tiny gems. You close your fingers around it.
"You don't think it's hurting you, all this working?"
You huff and head back into your room, dropping your bracelet into the mirrored tray you keep on your vanity. You'll put it away properly tomorrow in the safe jewellery box, but for tonight it'll live with your clips and chains.
"It doesn't hurt me," James says.
"Do you get all the sleep you need?"
"Eight solid hours."
You know he eats enough. He swaps out sometimes with other people to eat lunch, but usually he just eats it with you when you ask, and you always do. It doesn't exactly fit any professional boundaries.
James is your friend.
You grab some clean underwear and pyjamas and change right there in the middle of your room. James won't peek. If he did you wouldn't care. "You have enough time to yourself?" you ask.
"Interested in my private life?" he asks. You can hear his smile, his suggestive eyebrow raise.
"It's more hours than anyone should work, is all. Maybe you could change to eight."
"Ah, trying to get rid of me," he corrects himself.
You push your arms through the sleeves of a dainty nightgown and laugh. "Absolutely I am."
"Have to try harder than this."
You neaten the skirt and frown at your legs, wondering if they look a little dry, and decide some body lotion won't hurt. "Mandarin or lavender?" you call.
"You said the mandarin one made you itchy, last time."
"But it smells really good."
"That's the lotion eating at your skin."
You wrinkle your nose and bend at the waist to moisturise your legs. You wish you could brag and say it was an erotic, film worthy affair. It's mostly a scrabbling of your palms up and down. You sigh and work it up your thighs until you're soft to touch all over.
"If I weigh it up," he says suddenly, seriously, more serious than you're expecting, "it's less work to take longer shifts with you. I'd rather spend the hours watching you than orchestrating other people to watch you... I quite like looking after you."
He clears his throat. "Not that I look after you," he says.
You pad out into the hallway. James has turned his back to you. His arm tenses almost imperceptibly under your hand as you reach for his elbow.
"You definitely look after me." His skin is smooth. It's so hot under your touch that you can feel it moving up into the heels of your palms.
"It's my job," he says.
You'd thought about kissing his arm. Thought about it. His comment snaps you into reality. A goodnight kiss in any form at all would be inappropriate. He might like his job, but it's still a job.
"Where would you be, if you didn't have to work?" you ask.
"Come and stand in front of me," he says gently.
You do as he says. His eyes follow over your outfit. You let yourself believe his expression softens, though your logical head knows it's not the truth. James might be sweet on you, and he may even know how you feel about him, but that's where it all ends. He doesn't like you. He's paid to be here.
"What are you thinking?" he asks.
"That my socks aren't doing their job. Is it cold in here?"
"What are you really thinking?"
He's very patient with you when it comes to stuff like this. It's confusing, because James has about as much patience as you have subtlety.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
"Well, you look lovely. What an incredibly short nightgown," he praises amorously.
You flush with heat but decide you'll feed into his dramatics rather than tell him what's really wrong with you, stepping back to do a clumsy spin. "Picked it with you in mind, handsome."
"Yeah? Anything else?"
You gasp. "You overstep your station, good sir."
"I can't be blamed. You always look your softest before bed."
Your breath catches. You stop your flaunting and flouncing abruptly to look into his warm face. He looks to you, letting his arms fall from their crossed position to either side of his defined chest. Your eyes flit between his beauty mark. One to the left of his hawk-shaped nose, one below his lashes, three down his left cheek.
It's weird to want someone and have them this close, and know you will probably never, ever have them.
"If I didn't have to work," James says, face as impassive as his stance, a closed book. "I'll show you."
He holds out his hand. You don't take it. He thrusts it forward again.
When you finally give James your own, he spends a moment rubbing the back of it with his thumb like he's never felt it before.
He leads you into your room. He's been in here before, of course, but still, it's a lot to be led. You don't have a clue what he's doing, you think Oh, he's taking me to bed. But he skirts around it and brings you to the first window, pulling the curtains to one side.
He points. "See there?"
You follow his finger. "The gates?"
"James, I don't understand."
"That's where I'd be, if I didn't have to work. They probably wouldn't let me in, but I'd wait right there by the gates for you."
"That's not funny," you murmur.
"I'm not joking."
You grow very still. James drops his hand into the curve of your neck and follows it over the slope of your shoulder. It's affectionate, sweet, and very, very soothing.
His lips touch the side of your head, though it might be accidental. You're tired enough to imagine he's kissed you. "Brush your teeth, shortcake. And then bed. You have a long day tomorrow."
"Oh, don't remind me," you mumble.
"Okay, I won't."
He squeezes your shoulder one last time, clears his throat, and returns to his post. You brush your teeth and try not to sneak glances at the back of his head through the gap of the ensuite door.
When Lily fell for James, she fell hard and she wanted everyone to know it!
"Do you think they'll understand that he's no longer available?"
"I think you made yourself perfectly clear, Red!"
a real photo of James Potter and Regulus’s cat
Idk if your taking requests but I was wondering if you can do one where James yells at reader to be quiet bc she’s talking a lot, and it’s just angst/fluff when he know that’s how the childhood of reader was and she’s self conscious if that makes sense (: if not just completely ignore this thanks love 🤍
cw: yelling, mentions of childhood t rauma, crying, weather metaphors
you were just excited to tell him about your week.
he hadn’t been able to come over because of rugby practice and now that he was finally here you wanted to catch him up on every thing.
being so excited, you were overcome with how much you wanted to tell james and couldn’t help the animation and the speed of you talking.
just as you were about to inform him of all the movies you’d compiled for the halloween season he took a deep breath before cutting you off.
“yn, for gods sake, please shut up!” maybe he didn’t mean it to come out so harshly, and maybe he didn’t mean to yell- but you shrunk into your seat on the sofa swiftly and without another word.
james didn’t seem to relax in the silence though. no, his back was straighter and he looked wound tighter than before.
“angel,” his voice is quieter now, not so gruff and rough; but you don’t trust yourself to answer.
not when you can feel your vocal cords being drowned by all the emotion.
“i didn’t mean to shout.” he says softly and you nod, mute and water logged from the tears burning your eyes.
james wants to pull at his hair or spin a wheel and send time back when he notices your tears.
was i really talking that much? do i always talk that much? maybe i shouldn’t have waited all week to talk to him.
the words swim in your head like a whirlpool, fast and relentless.
“baby,” he’s all apologetic now and you feel awful. you don’t want him to apologize just because he’s seen the tears.
they fall fast at the idea of guilting him and james can practically hear your thoughts at your breathing goes uneven.
“c’mere?” he suggests lowly and you nod, struggling to climb into his lap. “m’sorry for yelling and telling you to shut up, wasn’t nice of me.”
james’ hands are rubbing the length of your spine, trying to settle you while he makes his amends. “was a dickish thing to do, i’m really sorry angel.”
his eyes are earnest and sincere but the words have sent you back to a place where you don’t talk for the fear of exactly what james did.
he can see it looming over you.
“hey, i was listening baby, and i want to know about the movies, i do.” your eyes flit up to his amber ones and he gives you a gentle smile.
“maybe after a bath?” you say softly and james almost blinds you with his megawatt smile.
“yeah,” he presses his forehead into yours, “i didn’t mean to yell, i promise ya. won’t ever fucking do it again, angel. never ever.”
james keeps his promise well after that, always calm and letting you know when he needs a minute to himself or just a little slice of quiet before you both share about your days.
I have a headcanon that while Sirius is the hot headed and impulsive one of the group and has to be held back by his friends, Remus is the same way but he doesn’t go after people physically but rather verbally. He will say the most unhinged and out of pocket shit that leaves his friends horrified.
Snape (sneering at Sirius): I know a whore when I see one
Remus (looking up from his book)
James (whispering): Don’t do it, don’t do it-
Remus: What did you say to Sirius?
Snape (sneering): I said, I know a whore when I see one
James: Remus don’t choose violence-
Remus (scowling): Yeah probably because you were raised by one
Sirius (collapsing to the ground in laughter)
James (hiding his face): Oh my god
the fact that sirius volunteered for reg and then 30 seconds later reg volunteered for james makes me laugh
Peter: ..... what's that thing he's holding onto?
Sirius: Oh that's just his emotional support knife for when he sleeps
Peter: His what?!?!?
James: Don't worry, he always sleeps with the knife sleeve on so he's safe.
Peter: ......ooookay then *both concerned and terrified*
headcanon that there has Never been a bad picture of james potter. it makes both black brothers go absolutely batshit because they have been going through preparations and posing for family pictures their entire life and that’s a habit neither of them really ever breaks; sirius still swears the camera always has his bad side when he isn’t paying attention to it. it is now their mission to take an ugly picture of james potter. (remus watches their antics and sighs deeply “it is not that serious”)
Remus: So how many brothers do you have, exactly?
Sirius: Biologically, legally or emotionally?
Feel free to argue about Remus’ accent but I don’t want to hear anyone say that he didn’t have a raspy voice.
𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐟𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐏𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫
summary: You felt overwhelmed by everything going on & try to hid it from James. But your boyfriend knows you better than anyone.
You sat on the floor of the restroom of whoever’s party this is. Well technically on your jacket on the floor, your not sure how clean in was.
Tears stained your cheeks as you continued to cry. Everything was overwhelming you. The music, James friends (who are very talkative), and the light, & it’s hot in there. All of it pushed you back ver the edge.
You excused yourself to the bathroom, hoping for a moment to breath. But once you closed the door, you started crying.
You felt pathetic. James was so good to you, the least you could do is hang out with him & his friends.
A knock on the door startles you. You tell them busy hoping they would go away.
“You ok sweetheart. You’ve been in here for a while.” You quickly wipe the tears from your eyes, and attempt to make your voice less shaky.
“I’ll be out in a minute”
James let out an ok. You assume he left.
You work to make it appear like you weren’t crying, but every time you attempt to leave the door the tears start to flow. Them you start to cry at the fact your crying. It was a viscous cycle.
“Sweetheart, it’s been ten minutes. You still ok.” His voice soft like he scared to spooke you.
“I’m ok” You hope didn’t betray you & revel your current state.
“Can you unlock the door for me.” James knows. He always knows when your upset. He knows everything about you.
You refuse to move. Refuse for him to see you like this. You’re ok. You were just being dramatic.
“Sweetheart please” he pleads. You reluctantly agree unlocking the door while sitting on the floor.
James instantly comes in. His eyes softening at your current state.
He sits on the floor across from you. “James it’s dirty. Stand up.”
Instead of answering he opens his arms, waiting you to hug him. Instantly your in his arms holding tightly to his chest. James runs a hand across your back in a comforting manner.
“I’m sorry. I tried. It was just too much. Give me a couple minutes & I’ll be ok.” You tell him your voice full of sadness.
“Your ok, sweetheart. It’s ok for it to be too much. Don’t force yourself to do anything you can’t do”
“I can though. Cause I really like your friends. Just give me—“
“Don’t force anything you don’t want to do.” He corrects. You slump in defeat. Your whole body resting at him.
“Cmon Sweetheart. Let’s go home.” He starts to gently move you up to stand with him. “No Jamie, I don’t want to ruin your night. It’s fine.”!You protest.
“What ruin my evening. Spending time with you is the best part. Watching movies & listening to you point out everything they did wrong sounds perfect to me.”
For the fist time that whole night. Which cause James to smile twice as much in accomplishment.
“You sure, because if not—” You ask just in case. But James just kisses you in response.
You let out a laugh in response at his actions. “There’s my girl” He says placing his hands on your cheek & softly kissing your tears away.
“Love you” You whisper to him. “Love you more.”
“Ugh no way I love you more” You say in mick offense.
“Don’t fight a battle you can win, sweetheart.” He says kissing you again.
Regulus: Look at this new dagger I got! Sirius, can I stab you with this?
Sirius: What? No!
Regulus: Ugh, you’re such a buzzkill
James: I love you
Sirius: Prongs stop that!
Can you please do one where Regulus and the reader hate each other, but they have a drunken encounter and end up laughing with each other and running around Hogwarts. Like fools but Regulus kissed her and they end up making out. But a professor comes so they run away and things get steamy in the readers room.
Please and thank you!!! Also I love your writing.
hi!! thanks so much for requesting, hope you enjoy!
regulus black x gryffindor!fem!reader
warnings: swearing, alcohol, both reader and regulus are sober enough to consent, implied sex at the end
On a reasonable level, you should be the guest of honour at your own birthday party. It had certainly started that way; you’re dressed as an angel, white swirls drawn all over your arms and shimmery dust on your face- everyone said you looked beautiful. But then another girl had shown up in the exact same costume, looking as radiant as always, and somehow it became a party where you were taking all the photographs and nobody wanted to really talk to you. Also, you’re probably more than a little drunk.
You aren’t angry with the other angel. She’d looked perfect, and it should’ve been her costume all along, but you felt silly and loud and clunky next to her. You suppose that feeling this way is a part of birthdays, and the party's still going. You’ll go back soon, you promise.
Now, you’re sitting on a flight of stairs with a bottle in your hand, practically inviting trouble as the stairs swing back and forth. You’re just sober enough to keep your wits about you.
“There’s a ghost I haven’t seen before.” You jump about a foot off the ground at the sound of a smooth voice just behind you. You turn around and come face to face with none other than the prince of Slytherin, Regulus Black. “Ah. It’s you.” He says, with obvious distaste.
You stand and smooth out your skirt. “What are you doing here?” Your eyes find the silver flask in his hand. He wasn’t at the party, was he?
He ignores your question. “What are you wearing?”
You narrow your eyes. “I’m an angel.”
“Fuck off, Black.” You take a swig of your drink and cough, eyes watering. The taste never seems to improve. When you regain your ability to see, Regulus is clearly masking a smug smile. He drinks from his flask, and seems to take pride in the lack of visible reaction- for all you know, it’s butterbeer in there. You glare.
“I heard there was a party somewhere in the castle.”
“Yes, it’s my birthday.” You cross your arms, sounding sadder than you want to. You’re not even really sure why you said it; he isn’t worth any time, the prick. Always so goddamn superior.
“And yet you’re not attending your own party?”
You shrug, swaying as the staircase begins to move again. “It wasn’t really my party anyway.” Before he can reply, you turn and step onto the landing of a hallway you don’t think you’ve seen before. “Who cares? It’s more fun without me.” You mean to sound nonchalant and unaffected, but it just comes out as a bit pathetic.
Regulus follows you.
“Where’s that incessant self-confidence you usually have?” His legs are longer than yours, so he’s able to keep up annoyingly easily.
“Ha.” You deadpan. There’s probably nobody else in school who’d call you confident.
“Where are we off to, anyway?”
You open your mouth, but find his hand clapped across it before you even make a sound. Miffed, you stick out your tongue, but all Regulus does is pull you close to him and behind a corner. A moment later, you hear Filch’s rasping breaths.
The two of you are dead silent until the old caretaker retreats, which is about when you realise how closely you’re pressed against him.
He pushes you off him around the same time you pull away, wiping your mouth while he glares at his hand. “Did you really just lick me?”
For a moment, you want to hex him, but the expression on his face is so comical that you start laughing instead. Giggles, then louder and uglier laughter that makes Regulus shush you. You’re almost sure that he’s trying not to laugh himself, which is as confusing as it is satisfying. Finally, an emotion besides contempt.
“You’re drunk out of your mind.”
You roll your eyes exaggeratedly. “You’re drunk, too. And it’s sadder, ‘cos you’re drinking alone.”
He glances at the flask in his hand, then you. “I’m hardly drunk. Hardly alone, either.”
“With the pleasure of my company, you mean?”
“Exactly.” He says flatly. You watch him drink again.
“You’d usually have jinxed me by now.” You comment lightly. It’s a silly thing to say, to remind him of previous habits that he could all-to-easily fall back into, especially when you’re without your wand.
He rolls his shoulders, breathing out through his nose in what could almost be a soft laugh. “And you’d usually have told me you hated me. Suppose we’re both in odd moods.”
Your lack of sobriety gives you a rare surge of confidence, and you step closer without really thinking about it, hand on one of the firm planes of his chest. “I only hate you because you’re such a twat.”
It’s meant to be genuine, but all it does is surprise Regulus enough to split his face into a grin. He laughs, eyebrows raised and eyes brighter than you’ve seen them. “What, is that the only reason?”
You smile back, excited to have pulled such a reaction from him. “Sort of. You spout a lot of pureblood shit I hate.”
He flinches in a way that seems involuntary, and his fingers go an even paler white around his flask. “Want to hear a secret?”
“I don’t actually believe any of that.”
“Then why’d you say it?”
“My family.” He supplies, and doesn’t elaborate. You don’t need him to- the rumours about what the Blacks do to their children are commonplace at Hogwarts. “D’you want to go somewhere?” He says suddenly.
You think of the other angel, and the photographs being taken without you and without anyone to mind that fact, and you reach out for his hand before either of you can really understand what you’re doing. “Well?”
“You’re holding my hand.”
“It isn’t illegal.”
Another laugh, just as startlingly clear as the first was.
“What?” You demand.
He doesn’t answer, instead tightening his grip and tugging you toward a staircase that’s just attached itself to your level. The two of you get on just as it lurches away, and with a start you drop your bottle of firewhiskey. It’s all you can do to watch as it falls over the edge of the staircase and plunges down, down, down (missing a multitude of moving staircases on its way) until you hear an echoing crash. Your lips pull downward.
“That was mine.” You say, more upset than you should be.
“Here,” Regulus digs his nail into your palm until he has your attention. He offers his flask. “This stuff’s better quality, I promise.”
“You would think that, you snob. I don’t want your pity-alcohol.”
“Birthdays make me feel charitable.”
You scowl, but take it anyway and realise that he’s right about the quality. It doesn’t taste half as bad, but you can feel it burning in the back of your throat as you pass the flask back to him. “What is it?”
“That’s a secret. Come on.” You’re off again, stumbling after him as Filch’s telltale lamp illuminates the walls of the corridor you just left.
“Who’s out of bed?” He wheezes. “You’ll be-”
You miss the next part of what he says because Regulus breaks into a run, and you realise you’re much closer to the old caretaker than is safe. Luckily, the boy in front of you is fast, and he makes up for your clumsy steps with his own determination. It’s almost funny, which is enough to have you laughing loudly
“Regulus!” You giggle, tripping over your own shoes. “You’re going too fast!”
He stops suddenly, and you crash into him with a soft oof. “Take off your shoes.”
“Are you stupid? They’re slowing you down.”
Begrudgingly, you accept this, and slip off the heels, looping the straps over one finger. “Alright. Now what?”
“Take off the wings.”
You put your hands on your hips. “Are you trying to undress me, Mr Black?”
He scoffs. “Unlikely. I’m trying to make you less identifiable.” You don’t move, and he huffs. “I’m not particularly interested in detention for the rest of the term, angel.” He says it like the word in itself is a joke. “Take them off.”
“Why don’t you take them off?” It’s one of the stupidest things you’ve come up with all night, and it doesn’t even work in the insulting way you’d meant it. Regulus gives you a Look.
“You’re a child.”
“A child that you’re trying to undress, you pervert.”
He pinches the bridge of his nose. “Merlin’s fucking-”
“I’ll only take them off if you wear them.”
“I like these wings, I don’t want to lose them, and I’m already carrying my shoes.” You shrug off the straps and hold out the feathered wings.
“Fine, I’ll carry them.”
He reaches for the offending costume, and you pull it back. “No. I want you to wear them. I feel overdressed, anyway, so you may as well get on my level.”
“I’m not responsible for your questionable fashion choices.”
“And you’re the king of outfit choices, are you? Mr I-Take-My-Surname-Too-Literally.”
You both pause to stare at his clothing which is, indeed, all black.
“If I wear the wings will you stop being irritating?”
“Potentially. You’ll never know if you don’t-”
“Shut up.” He pulls them on and looks appropriately uncomfortable. Almost satisfied, you stretch your hands over his shoulders to adjust them. “What are you doing?”
You startle, surprised at how close his mouth is to your ear. His shoulders are tense where you rest your forearms on them. “Making the wings look nice.”
“I do that already with my roguish good looks.”
You pull back, hands still on his chest, and give him a sceptical glance. “They’re hardly roguish.”
“But you admit I’m good-looking?” He cocks his head, and you feel yourself flush, pulling back.
“I didn’t say that either.”
“Pretty sure that’s almost exactly-”
“You’re a prick.”
“A handsome one, too.” He’s teasing you again. You make a short sound of frustration and push him, turning to walk quickly in the direction of… well, you aren’t sure. Away from Filch. His footsteps confirm that he’s following, doubtlessly laughing at you. “Having fun, birthday girl?”
“Bucket-loads.” You reply sarcastically over one shoulder. “You know, I think you’re even worse when you’re drunk.”
He gasps, veering in front of you and effectively forcing you to stop in your tracks. It’s a narrow corridor you’re in now. “Take it back.”
“Filch is going to catch us.”
“He won’t. The man’s dumber than a flobberworm.”
You pretend to frown. “That’s unkind. What did the flobberworms ever do to you?”
“It’s not something I want to talk about.” He says, mock-defensively. You try very hard not to smile, and the result is a muffled huff of amusement which you do your best to hide behind your hands. Something crosses Regulus’ features as quickly as a gust of air.
For a moment, you’re caught looking at one another without saying a word. You’re the first to break the silence. “We should go.”
“Yes, we should. Filch.”
“He’ll kill us if he finds us.”
“We’ll have to be quiet.” He cocks his head. “Think you can manage it?”
“So long as you stop bullying me.”
“No promises, sweetheart.”
“Sweetheart.” You echo, so softly that he barely hears it.
Neither of you move for a moment, and then Regulus moves very quickly but not at all in the way you’re expecting him to. He darts forward, covering your mouth with his own and holding your cheeks with his cool hands. His thumbs press into your cheekbones.
You say something along the lines of ‘mm’ and then kiss him back, forced to bend backwards slightly with how forcefully his mouth is meeting yours. As things go, he’s a very good kisser, though that thought is barely a blip on your radar when his fingers float downwards and squeeze your waist. Your hair tickles your temples. Regulus catches your lower lip between his teeth and tugs ever-so-gently. Your dress is pulling where he’s grabbing with his big hands. You gasp, and he lets go of you.
“Thought you said you could be quiet.”
You frown, blinking slowly. “Right.” Another pause. “Okay, question-”
“How drunk are you, really?”
It doesn’t seem to be the question he expected. “Moderately. Enough to manage your presence.”
“It doesn’t quite have the same scathing effect after you’ve just kissed me.”
“I’d do more if you could shut up for two seconds.”
“Shut up? Unlikely. You’ve just-”
“Kissed you. You mentioned.”
“You did it, prick.”
“Let me do it again.”
“Will you remember any of this?”
He looks at you with an annoyed little glare, unfortunately handsome. “I’m not a blackout drunk, sweetheart. I have some class.”
“What about me? I’m definitely drunker than you.”
He pressed his wand into the side of your head, and a strange cold hardness envelops your mind for a moment. It’s not unpleasant, though you’re a little surprised at how easily you let him perform magic on you. He’s not someone you’re usually inclined to trust.
“What was that?”
“You’re now only tipsy, if it makes you feel better. I’m not taking advantage of you.”
“I knew that.”
He gives you another look, softer around the edges. “Good. Now-”
You’re fully aware of what he’s doing this time, which somehow makes the experience even more enjoyable than it had been (though that is something you will never say out loud). Your arms fall easily around the back of his neck, pulling him toward you and arching your back so that he is practically leaning over you. His own hands grasp your waist, your hips, then your backside. Your eyes pop open and Regulus feels your surprise, pulling back for an aching moment to wait for you to initiate the kiss again. You do, of course, and you can feel him laughing at you all the while.
You bump into the side of the thin corridor one time too many. With a frustrated sigh, Regulus’ hands slide under the backs of your thighs and pull you into his arms, lips finding a spot just below your jaw that makes you shiver. You’re sure he’s smiling.
“You’re too smug.”
“You’re too chatty.” He retorts against your soft skin, refusing to cease his ministrations until you’re squirming away and kissing him again. “Let’s go to your dorm.” He says suddenly.
You nod without thinking, allowing him to put you down and take off toward the tower at a frightening pace, veering around corners and into passageways you didn’t know existed and pausing abruptly to kiss you whenever he pleases.
He laughs when you stumble, which in turn makes you laugh as well, until you’re both smiling idiots piling through the portrait-hole. The party’s still in full swing- the fact of his identity strikes you only seconds before he reveals his face to the group of dancing students. You snatch a mask off a table and plant it on his face, then lead him through the audience.
“The stairs.” You say uselessly. He rolls his eyes behind the mask and casts another wordless spell.
“Most of the castle’s magic is unbelievably simple. Gryffindors just don’t know how to think inside the box.”
“That’s a muggle phrase!” You exclaim, reaching the top of the stairs and finding yourself immediately pushed into your dormitory with the door locked and several silencing spells cast. You flush. “What now?”
“You’re going to tell me when you want to stop.”
You swallow. “Don’t you mean if I want to stop?”
He hums his approval, and kisses you again before pushing you onto the bed.