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4ngel-inc · 4 months

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𝐎𝐒𝐀𝐌𝐔 𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈 — 𝑀𝒴 𝒩𝒜𝑀𝐸 𝒲𝒪𝒰𝐿𝒟 𝐿𝒪𝒪𝒦 𝐵𝐸𝒯𝒯𝐸𝑅 𝒜𝑅𝒪𝒰𝒩𝒟 𝒴𝒪𝒰𝑅 𝒩𝐸𝒞𝒦 ᰔ

notes: dazai replaces your favorite nameplate necklace with one of his own name—but that's just the beginning of him trying to make you his forever ‧₊˚ ⋅ 3k words.

warnings: fem reader. dc. yandere themes (but it's gentle). port mafia!dazai and port mafia!reader.

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

dazai isn't sure when he first fell in love with you—he thinks it may have been the moment he saw you add an ungodly amount of cream and sugar to your coffee.

"y'want some?" you'd asked, handing him the sugar shaker.

he smiled, taking it from your hand. "sure." of course he does, sweet and weak—that's how he likes his coffee. he thinks maybe that's how he'd like you as well.

it was only a passing moment, a gentle brush of your arm against his as you returned the small creamer pitcher to its rightful place before moving on, but it was enough for him—enough to have him carefully calculating how quickly he could make you fall in love with him, how long it might take to break you entirely and mold you into someone who wanted to be his everything—someone he could die with.

the low buzz of the port mafia headquarters had faded to nothing around him in that moment, sipping on his little coffee as the world emptied, only looking at you—all the little partially-healed bruises decorating your face painting a map for his fingers, the way your skin gave away the slight bite from the cold you'd just escaped—you were just utterly gorgeous. his mind was circling—it was that moment, he thinks, he knew he wanted you to be his and his alone, forever.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏

it's only been a few months since dazai fell in love with you, and although he was feeling confident when your relationship started, he now finds himself lost as to how to keep you. you've been distant lately, he can feel it in his bones—like you're a million miles away from him, and he doesn't like that.

"mmmh—dazai?" your sleepy voice always makes him melt. he brushes a few strands of hair from your face before kissing your forehead.

"go back to sleep, love."

"why are you staring at me?" your voice increases in volume the more you're tugged away from your sleep. you laugh a little, and he laughs with you—though he isn't sure why, it's almost just instinctive for his feelings to match yours perfectly. "you're so weird, babe."

"aww, don't say that, pretty girl—is watching my beautiful angel sleep really that weird?" he's pouting now.

"that face won't work on me, osamu. you were staring at me, i caught you." you giggle before resting your head on his chest once more, sighing deeply as your heartbeat slows—he can feel it against his chest, and it makes him think you're connected by something greater than just the endorphins and serotonin dancing around in both of your heads.

you're the one he fell in love with, the only one he'll ever give his heart to—he'd decided that the moment he saw you. but now he's scared—nervous. he's never fallen this deep into a relationship before. really, he's never actually had a real relationship at all. his numerous hookups never amounted to much, though he was never disappointed by the fact.

dazai admires the female form—he's been open about that. he's never been able to resist a beautiful woman, and though his intentions were never to hurt any of his previous partners, he knows he's broken a few hearts here and there along the way. but you, he could never hurt you—he'd rather die himself, but this newfound vulnerability has him feeling on edge constantly. maybe you aren't falling away from him, maybe it's just all in his head, he thinks.

"i could stare at you forever," he's talking to himself now, the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest telling him you've fallen asleep again already.

as the room fills with quietness again, he eyes the little rose gold necklace hanging around your neck—he's always hated that necklace. truthfully, he loves your name—it sounds so sweet each time he hears it, no matter whose lips it comes from, though he'd prefer it to be his own every time.

my name would look better around your neck, he thinks. dazai doesn't understand how he's fallen so helplessly in love with you, it wasn't even a choice. the moment he saw you, making you his just felt like the right thing to do—like the only thing to do.

he moves slowly so as not to wake you, unclasping the delicate chain and slipping it from your neck. this doesn't suit you, darling, he thinks as he examines the nameplate pendant hanging from his fingers, his other arm tucked under you tightly, wrapped around you and squeezing you to him. we'll get you something better, yeah? something prettier.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟐

"i got you a little something," dazai places the little silver box on the dinner table, "for my pretty girl."

you wipe your mouth with your napkin, smiling brightly before reaching over the table to grab the box, "you didn't have to do that, osamu—what is it?" you're only being polite—he knows you're excited. it's been six months, after all—he can get you a present, right? it's not too much?

"just open it, love."

you open the box to reveal a silver nameplate necklace—the word "osamu" spelled out in delicate cursive letters. you gasp, "ah, it's gorgeous, 'samu!" your smile fades quickly though, and dazai thinks maybe he's fucked up. a wave of disappointment washes over him when you close the box. "i can't accept this, babe. it looks really expensive." the slight frown on your face has something ugly bubbling up in dazai's stomach, and he's not sure he likes it. don't you want everyone to know you're his? you're practically the apple of everyone's eye in the port mafia—he can't have anyone else thinking they have a chance with you.

"no, no—i want you to have it, angel. had it made just for you. you lost your last one, right?" truthfully, dazai practically runs the port mafia, and has more money than he can spend himself. a gift like this won't even make a dent in his bank account—but the thought of you carrying a little reminder of him with you everywhere you go, that much is priceless.

you frown at that, opening the box again and looking down at the necklace, your eyes sparkling as they follow the little diamonds decorating each letter. "ugh, yeah, i still miss it. i still don't understand how i lost it—i never take it off." he knows you miss it, it was a gift from your parents, one you treasured—you'd told him so. but that didn't stop him from taking it. you sound annoyed now, but your eyes quickly soften when you glance down at the necklace again. "alright, 'samu, i'll accept it. it is gorgeous."

he smiles at that, "shall i put it on you, then, love?" you nod and he circles the table, taking the necklace from you and delicately placing it around your neck, clasping it as you hold your hair up for him before he kisses the soft skin beneath your ear.

"how do i look?" you beam, letting your hair down.

"gorgeous. beautiful. sexy."

you roll your eyes, "stop it, 'samu. you think i'm better than i am."

"i know what you are—the most stunning person in the world." he leans down to kiss your lips softly, and you welcome the taste of him by wrapping your arms around his neck, nibbling his bottom lip softly before pulling away.

"thank you, babe. it's perfect. a little reminder of you everywhere i go, i love it." your smile is enough to comfort him even in his darkest moments—you've always been that way. he kisses you again, deeper and more passionately this time, cradling the back of your head as he groans and presses his tongue deeper into your mouth, intermingling with yours. he picks you up, your legs wrapping around his waist. "bedroom," you breathe against his lips. "it's a special occasion, yeah? so fuck me like you mean it."

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟑

"dazai, it's our anniversary—why are you being like this?" he hates when you use his last name, it makes him feel even further from you than he already is in that moment—he never wants to miss a single beat of your heart, doesn't want a single breath to escape your lips without him—he wants to be there for all of your highs and lows, all of your happy and sad moments—everything.

and yet, you act like it's a bad thing for him to care so much—he only wants to keep you safe and warm, why can't you just give him what he wants? it was only a harmless question, why are you being so defensive? are you hiding something from him?

"being like what, exactly? you're covered in bruises, would you prefer i be indifferent to that? would that make you happier?" would that make you stay? his voice is so deep and hollow, it almost scares him how detached he feels from the world around him—he doesn't recognize any of it anymore. this isn't the life he wanted, this isn't the person you promised you would be. this isn't the person he swore he'd live for.

you told him you'd never leave, and he foolishly believed it.

it's almost as though he's not even living, but simply floating. "i guess loving so deeply is wrong in your eyes. . . perhaps you'd prefer i just not care at all." he feels utterly defeated, like he's talking to a mirror who can only stare back at him, can only replicate his emotions, but could never truly empathize with them.

he wants to die for a reason—that reason is because he's bored. he can't handle the indifference of everyone around him anymore—why doesn't anyone else realize we're all just playing a silly little game, afraid to show our true colors for fear our ugliness will have us sent straight to hell? this life is completely, and utterly, pointless—even more so now that he realizes you'll never truly understand him. he'll never have you the way he really wants.

it's tragic, really, how lost he feels without you. even still, he'll never let you go. even if you never love him the way he loves you, he'll stay—even if it means he can only share a few more breaths with you, that you'll only glance his way a few more times—he'll never, ever, ever leave you.

"it's not about the bruises, osamu—i've suffered plenty of bruises over the years working for the mafia. it's about the fact you think i fucked someone to get them." did you, angel? did you betray me? did you think of me when you were fucking him?

"they don't look the same as the other bruises you've had, that's all." he isn't looking at you now, he can't bear the look in your eyes—almost like you pity him, like you don't even want him in your world at all. is it all in his head, like all of the other times? he doesn't know anymore—he's lost, and confused, and it truly looks like you hate him.

"that's all you needed to say. you don't trust me, why? i've loved you with all of my heart, osamu—i don't know what else i can fucking do." you sound like you're on the verge of crying, and he doesn't understand why. you're the one leaving him, aren't you? aren't you the one who fell in love with someone else? or is he simply living in his head again, drowning in the nightmare he fabricated from nothing at all? "we can't do this forever, osamu. i'm tired. . . i'm just, so tired of this."

he's tired, too. tired of pretending. tired of hiding from you.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟒

"do you remember when we first met?"

"yes, of course."

"i wish we could go back to that." your voice trails off, and dazai's heart breaks at that. "what did you do, osamu? don't lie to me." your voice is commanding, but he's still too scared to tell you the whole truth—he's never lied to you, necessarily, he simply avoids the truth when he feels it could pull you further away from him. is he a bad person for doing so? he doesn't see it that way—it's just how his love for you pours from his veins by nature. what could be wrong with loving someone in such a beautiful and ugly way all at once?

"what do you mean, my angel? i didn't do anything." he didn't do anything he considers wrong, is what he means.

"yes, you did. you hurt someone."

"i've hurt many people. killed many people. it's never bothered you before." he doesn't raise his voice, but simply states it as a matter of fact—almost like it's something you should be numb to after over a year together.

"when we met, i thought you were the most beautiful person i'd ever seen. i knew you'd be the only woman i would ever love—that's what i remember."

"answer my question, osamu. or i'm leaving."

his heart clenches in his chest at the thought of you walking out, but he doesn't say a word in response—not because he doesn't have anything to say, but simply because he knows where this is going—and he wants to get it over with as soon as possible.

"he's my friend, dazai, and you hurt him." why are you calling him by his last name? do not you love him anymore?

"he hurt you," he responds flatly, as if he's done nothing wrong.

"it wasn't on purpose."

dazai doesn't want to hear any more claims of your partner's innocence—you got hurt on his watch, he deserves to die, as far as dazai is concerned. the only reason your partner got off easy was because dazai knew you'd be upset with him if he actually killed someone you care about. but actions have consequences, and hurting the person most precious to him suffers the most heinous—even when the perpetrator is one of his subordinates.

"i just want you to be honest with me," you state sadly. "what are you hiding from me?" your words surprise him as you step closer, "you should know by now, osamu. i'll love every side of you—the good and the bad. stop running from me."

"you don't want to see all of me."

"i do."

"you'll run, trust me, darling."

"i won't. i want you—i just want you, the real you."

how can he show you everything? how can he tell you everything? no one could love someone so cruel and heartless—so selfish and scheming and manipulating. ask any of his subordinates—he isn't a good man. he kills at the drop of a hat. he lusts after death. he disposes of those who are of no use to him. he loves you selfishly and disgustingly and desperately—taking all that you can give him although he knows he doesn't deserve it and never will.

"you took my necklace."

dazai flinches at that, "what?"

"you took my necklace, last year—i know you did."

he sighs at that.

"why? it was a gift, you know it meant a lot to me." you look confused and desperate, as if you've wanted to ask him this for a long time.

"because i'm selfish—because i wanted to claim you. because i want everyone to know you're mine. is that what you want to hear? i'm a disgusting person."

"dazai. . .?"

"i want to fuck you in front of my subordinates and let them all know you belong to me—i don't want anyone looking at you, i don't want anyone touching you or thinking about you or breathing the same fucking air that you do. shall i go on, princess? or have you heard enough?" he isn't angry, he's just tired, tired of pretending to be something he's not—tired of pretending he doesn't love you so much it rips him apart inside.

"no-" your voice stops him as he turns to walk away, "keep going. i need to hear everything."

"you're playing a dangerous game, sweetheart." he doesn't look at your face, afraid of what he'll see in your expression—fear, anger, resentment. he can't bear it.

"i need to know everything," your hand slips in his as you approach him, pulling his face to yours as your lips graze his, "i need to know you, osamu dazai—the real you. let me in, you won't scare me away."

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟓

dazai didn't think he could ever feel this good—not until this moment, when he's got you drunk on his cock and submitting to him the way he's always dreamt of—it's the filthiest sex you've ever had, and yet, the most gentle as well.

he has you bent in half in a mating press, something you've never let him do before—and your little body pinned beneath his, no way to escape even if you wanted to, has him rock hard, "ya like that, angel? y'wanna be mine, yeah? you're all mine."

"nghh- all yours, osamu. is this- w-what you wanted?"

"you're gonna love me now, yeah?" his voice is strained as he spreads your legs more, pressing deeper until he feels the gentle kiss of your cervix on the tip of his cock.

"g'nna cum again, 'samu, fuck." dazai is fucking you relentlessly—it's been this way for hours. once you told him you'd never leave, that you'd marry him and spend your life with him and die for him if he wanted you to. . . there was no hope left for him.

he can't get enough of you, he's never been able to get enough of you. he wants to breathe you in, wants to permeate your soul, wants to know what's going on in your mind—his favorite place to run and hide. he needs you, he lives for you, and in the end, he'll die for you.

"you're all i want, princess- nothing else, j-just you. . . just, fuck, love me. please love me. i need you to love me."

#— love notes: [dazai] ୧ ‧₊#dazai x reader #bsd x reader #osamu dazai x reader #bsd smut #bsd x you #bsd x y/n #dazai x you #dazai x y/n #bsd fluff #bsd headcanons

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weasleyreidstyles · 5 months

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Serendipity

chapter four

summary: it was only meant to be a purely transactional relationship. he would help her strengthen her abilities in return for her getting his friends out of his father's nasty path. he didn't mean to fall for her, but loving her was the easiest thing in his dark world.

no use of y/n, but your general nickname is Meadow. All characters are aged up to be over 18.

pairings: mattheo riddle x fem!ravenclaw reader; platonic!slytherins x fem!reader; platonic!golden trio x fem!reader

warning(s): fainting, hospitals, talk of dark magic and curses

series masterlist; previous part; next part

Mattheo guided you to an empty carriage with his palm gently grazing the small of your back. If you were in your right state of mind, you'd shove his hand away. Probably.

But at that moment, he was the only person holding you upright. You had no idea what was wrong with you, what this overwhelming feeling was.

It's just the adrenaline, tesoro. It'll pass. Theo had barely spoken to you since school started, not including the few nights you'd been on patrol with him late at night or in Ancient Runes and Transfiguration. Everytime you interacted with Mattheo he seemed to become agitated, as though it wasn't his idea to have his best friend teach you control.

You sat in the far corner of the carriage silently as they deliberated what to do about the necklace that was floating between you all, and for some reason you felt an odd tingling, cold sensation wash over you as it came closer to you.

"Should we take it to Snape? Or straight to Dumbledore?" Zabini asked as he used his wand to rotate the antique, looking at it with distaste. Theo and Mattheo seemed to debate this as Enzo nodded in agreement immediately.

"No we take it to Madame Pomfrey." Pansy injects. "She's going to need to see what cursed Katie. So she knows how to heal her."

"She could've died." you say quietly into the warmth of your scarf. They all turn to stare at you. "The necklace is famously doused with a death curse. Over a few dozen muggles supposedly died instantly when they touched it with their bare hands. Had she not had her gloves on, she would have died."

They look stricken, as if this had not occurred to them at all. The air in the carriage went frigid, suddenly. And not because of the chill.

"All the more reason to get it to Dumbledore." Zabini insists, but you vehemently disagreed.

"No, Pans is right. Madame Pomfrey needs to see the necklace. I doubt she'll be able to treat Katie here, Hogwarts won't have the necessary resources for this sort of thing."

Zabini seemed to think on this and in the end you all agreed; when you reached the Hospital Wing where Katie Bell was writhing helplessly in a bed, you all but collapsed into Mattheo's awaiting arms.

~∞~

You've discovered that fainting is an odd sensation. One moment you felt fine, fine enough to function normally at least, then the next minute everything is a hazy void of nothing.

You wake up in a bed in the hospital wing, Hermione next to you, reading a muggle novel with a furrowed brow. She jolts up when she sees that you're conscious.

"You're awake. I'll get Madame Pomfrey, hold on." And she's off down the aisle of warded beds, back seconds later with the matron in tow.

Madame Pomfrey fusses over you for a moment, asking you all the generic questions, that you answer only with half-truths, before leaving you alone with Hermione once again when you answered sufficiently enough.

"How do you really feel?" your best friend asked, her face full of worry. "Harry and Ron wanted to be here, Ginny too, but they have Quidditch practice."

"I feel like I got hit over the head with a hammer." you say, your voice rough and hoarse. "What even happened? The last thing I remember is walking into the Hospital Wing."

"Nott said you passed out when you came to hand the necklace in. Riddle got you settled into bed and let Madame Pomfrey do her work. But she hasn't said what is implicitly wrong with you." she explained and you stared up at her incredulously.

"But I only fainted? It's not that serious, is it?" your anxiety spikes and, not intentionally, you blocked out Hermione's voice in order to get some answers.

I hear helped me into bed? I could've sworn you don't have a nice bone in your body, guess I was wrong.

You're awake. He sounds surprised...relieved.

Obviously or I wouldn't be communicating with you right now, would I?

Funny. His voice is filled with mirth at your sarcastic response. How do you feel, sweetheart?

Do you want the lie I told so that I could leave the Hospital Wing quicker, or the real answer?

I'd hope that all the time we've spent in each other's presence would warrant the truth, Meadow.

I feel like shit, Mattheo. I don't even know what caused it, I felt fine when we were in the carriage.

Did you? He doesn't believe you.

I mean– I think so, I– My arm doesn't hurt as much. Do you think that has something to do with it?

Maybe. Is Granger still with you?

Yes, why?

No reason.

Mattheo?

He doesn't give you a response.

Hermione is snapping her fingers in your face and calling your name as if she'd been doing it for a hot minute.

"Are you sure you're alright?" she asks, concern written all over your face.

"You know, I feel a little fatigued, I might try and sleep it off." you feel like the worst person in the world for lying to your best friend, but you want answers, and Mattheo seemed like the only person who would be brutally honest with you.

"Alright. I'll come back tomorrow with the others if you're still here after lessons are over." she smiles at you and guilt eats away at your chest.

"Thank you for staying with me, Mione." She squeezes your hand affectionately before she stands up and leaves you alone.

~∞~

Half an hour later it's not Mattheo who comes to visit like you secretly hoped for (but you were denying this to yourself vehemently). Instead Professor Dumbledore walks into the Wing with his usual grace and grandure.

"Good evening, Miss Meadows." he says cheerily as he stands before you bed. "May I sit?"

Bewildered, you nod your head silently.

"There's no need for the confusion," he says, clearly using Occlimency on you. "I see you have a good grasp on your mind. When did you learn to do this?"

"I like to learn new things." you say, brows furrowing at him as he gets comfortable in the plush seat beside your bed. He hums at your answer, rubbing his chin with the fingers of his good hand.

"I believe you experienced something rather....odd this afternoon." he began, his usually twinkling eyes holding an emotion that you could not place. "Can you describe it to me?"

"Um...I guess it started when we got closer to Katie and Leanne-" you start before cutting yourself off. "Actually, how is she? Katie? What happened to her?"

Dumbledore sighs as he answers.

"She was taken to St. Mungo's for treatment. They have far better equipped staff for dealing with dark curses. Poppy does not do that sort of healing."

"But she'll be okay?" you ask.

"She'll live, miraculously." he says before he focuses on you again. "Now back to you, Miss Meadow."

"Right. We were walking down the lanes, behind them and then I think they had stopped walking while they were arguing and it felt like an eery shift in the air. I don't know how else to describe it but then Katie touched the necklace and went up into the air. When she started screaming that's when Matt– Riddle– that's when Riddle and his friends turned up behind us. Enzo and Blaise went to find Hagrid and Ron, Theo and Riddle helped pull her down. I tried to help but when I touched her, my arm started to burn." you can fell the sting like a phantom now that you think about the pain.

"Interesting." he says as he pulls an old signet ring from his deep robe pocket, holding it out for you to take. "Can you tell me what you feel when you touch this, please?"

You do as he says and take the ring into your hands. Twisting it around your fingers, allowing your magic begins to swirl around it before it burns your fingers. You drop it in an instant. That same cold, tingling feeling you felt when Blaise rotated the necklace washed over you right afterward.

"It's cursed?" you asked, looking up at the Headmaster for confirmation, who is staring at you with knowing, inquisitive eyes.

"Something like that, yes." he says, his decaying hand twitches in response.

"Is that why your hand is like...that?" you ask, motioning to the appendage.

"Yes, rather nasty isn't it?" he says, tucking his hand away from your prying eyes. "I'm not sure what it is cursed by, but that is why I have asked Harry to befriend Professor Slughorn. I believe it has something to do with Lord Voldemort and Horis is the key to everything.

He ignores the way you instinctively flinch at the name. But thats when you notice that the ring that is still on your bed, holds the Riddle insignia. Mattheo's family crest.

"Sir, what's wrong with me?" you croak, as you turn the ring in your hands once again, letting your magic wash over it and dropping it into your lap when it zaps you with another stinging burn.

Professor Dumbledore removes the ring from your possession as he answers carefully.

"You're an incredibly smart witch, Miss Meadows." he states. "Professor Snape tells me of your incredible non-verbal abilities, and am I correct in assuming that you are also talented with wandless magic?"

You flush at this. "Yes sir."

"It is no surpise to me that your magic picks up on things that other witches and wizards may not." he says, tilting his head at you. "I believe you would make a good Unspeakable in the future, my dear. Or perhaps a curse breaker."

"What?" you ask, completely muddled by how cryptic he seemed to become. "Why do you say that? Shouldn't I be worried that I can somehow detect dark magic?"

"On the contrary...I believe it will be the most important skill you learn in this life."

With that note, he stands and with a simple goodbye leaves you lying alone in the bed with a thousand thoughts running through your head.

None of them bringing you any closer to a solid answer to the biggest questions you have:

Why the hell can you sense dark magic? Why did it cause your skin to burn? Why did it cause you to lose your grasp on consciousness?

~∞~

aaand the plot thickens...🤭🤭🤭

this was quite short but there will be more mattheo and meadow moments to come in the next one i promise xxx

comment to be added to the taglist!

taglist:

(striked out users are ones that i couldn't tag)

@camille-1019 @lovelyygirl8 @xluansstuff @babeylover @thejadeazalea @undercover-smutlover @adhxmoony @dreamingofonceuponatime @thepassionatereader @urmomsgayforme5 @aphroditeisamilf @devotedlycrookeddonut @purplegirls-posts @nofacenonamelikekira

#mattheo x you #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #harry potter #albus dumbledore #serendipity series

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harrystylesfan2686 · 5 months

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Pieces Part 3

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: the aftermath of the break up has different effects on both, Azriel and Reader.

A/N: yall I'm sick🥲 the updates might be late but I'll try to post as much as possible. Hope you like this one!

Pieces Masterlist

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It's been one month.

One month of Healing.

When azriel left, I told myself that I will not contact him until I'm ready. Doesn't matter how much I'm missing him or wanting him. I will not talk to him until I know I won't take him back the second I see him again.

I gave myself two days. Two days to sulk all I wanted. I spent the whole time crying and feeling miserable about myself. Before Az left at least, I wasn't by myself. At least I saw him once a day.

Now? Nothing.

I am totally alone. His absence hit me Hard. Everything I saw, almost brought me to my knees.

The kitchen where we would make dinner together, laughing and joking with each other that many times ended with us covered in flour and syrup.

The couch where we would sit cuddling and talking until we fell asleep, always waking up with strained muscles.

His office where he would sit on his chair in front of his desk, writing out reports and whatnot while I sit in his armchair reading my book. Just enjoying each others company and occasionally taking breaks to make out on the very deck, and then some.

After those dreadful days though, I called Feyre and Mor and had a very much needed girls night. We took out a wine bottle and I spilled everything to them. My mind was too drunk to think my feelings about Elain might offend Feyre but she genuinely felt sad for me and embarrassed about her sister. The poor girl even apologised to my about Elain's behavior to which I immediately told her it wasn't her fault.

When I told them how lonely it got being alone in a big house like this, they suggested maybe I should get a job or something to keep my mind distracted and promised that they'll visit me often. So I did juat that.

I found a part time job at a local library. I have to admit, I'm really enjoying it. I'm the second assistant to the sweetest lady, Hilda, who owns the shop. I don't do much, just help her in small things like adjusting books on self or helping in shipping books out or in. Layla, the first assistant, handles most of the work around the shop. My job is basically doing what she asks of me. The salary isn't much but I don't care because it's never been about money.

The first week was very hard. Everyday after I came home, the silence felt like a slap on the face, reminding me of everything I lost.

But, slowly, I became comfortable with it. Now it's doesn't hurt me as it did before.

There were many times when I think of Azriel, tears filled my eyes, but I never let them free. I sucked them in and did anything else that didn't made me cry, like taking baths, baking my favorite chocolate brownies, reading in front of the fire place while drinking hot coco or calling my friends to take me shopping.

And as time went. I started to heal. I started to feel good, happier with myself. And without even realizing it, I started to love myself.

-☆-

Azriel

It's been one month.

One month of regretting everything I did to my mate.

I've spent my whole month sulking in this room, crying and regretting everytime I chose Elain over my wife. I haven't slept at all since I came here, just enough to keep me functioning. My appetite is gone. I don't eat unless Rhys come and force feeds me like I'm some baby.

I told Rhysand and Cassian everything the first morning i stayed here. Which earned me a flick to head by Cassian and a very disappointed look from Rhys. Even though they didn't give me any scolding(which I very much deserved), the flick and expression said enough.

Rhys has refrained me of any work, handling it himself or having someone else do it. While I have been sitting around here and hating myself. It seems like even my mind has declared itself an enemy, showing me memories of everytime I dismissed Y/N and hurt her in any way at most random times, cutting a deeper cut in my heart everytime.

"Hey Az, I was thinking if we could go out for dinner tonight? There is this new amazing restaurant I saw while walking near Sidra. I really want to try it." She told me as I put on my coat, ready to go.

"I can't, I have a mission for today. Rhys told me it's important so I can't skip. We'll go some other time. Okay?"

"Ok."

I could hear the excitement in her voice when she asked me and the hurt when I rejected her and promised to go another time. The time never came. She never asked again. And I never noticed.

"Az, are you awake?" She whispers in the dead of night. Both of us sleeping on the bed. My back to her, hoping to fall asleep quickly because I have early training tomorrow.

Cassian is spending time with Nesta more, so Rhys has told me to go to an illyrian camp to check how things are going. I have to wake and go there early to catch them off guard to see what's truly going on.

I can't do that if Y/N doesn't let me sleep.

I didn't answer her that night, hoping if i dont respond, she'll think im asleep and doesnt call me again. She really didnt call me again. I prioritized my sleep over her. Her voice sounded so small. She needed me. And I didn't care.

"So, I saw a really cute baby in garden today and..." I drone out her babbling and try to quickly I can get out of here, I promised Elain to help in her garden today. She'll be disappointed if I show up late.

"Az? You're listening to me right?" She suddenly questions, I clear my throat and answer a small, of course, she nods and takes a deep breath, not saying anything anymore. I sign in relief of the silence.

I put my head in my hands and tug hard on my hair, wanting to feel hurt, hurt the kind that she clearly felt and I didn't care.

I hate myself more and more as memories flash through my mind. I can't even cry at this point. I wished she'd hit me when we fought. Slaped and paunched some sense into me. I don't blame her at all for not talking to me. Gods, I wouldn't even blame her if she left me. I deserve it.

How do I fix this?

○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●○●

Taglist: @cleverzonkwombatsludge @crazylokonugget @going-through-shit @wallacewillow0773638 @kalulakunundrum @cat-or-kitten

#acotar fandom #acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar angst #azriel #azriel angst #azriel x you #azriel x reader #pieces

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deadtired-highkeyenergetic · 2 months

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I Won't Lose You

I've been told by all my friends who have played bg3 that durge runs should not be the first run of the game but here I am, doing just that. In my defense, I want to go around as a fictional dragonborn trying to kill most things and save scumming on dialogue choices for approval ratings.

Summary: The dark urge takes over when Astarion gets injured in battle. In the aftermath, you flee, afraid of what the others think of you now but Astarion goes after you to bring you back to camp and reassure you that nothing has changed.

When the arrow pierces through his shoulder, all you can see is red. Blood roars in your ears, a scream tears itself from your throat and you change. You become a different person, your legs move of their own accord, the dagger in your hand twirls and you stab downwards. Over and over again you stab, blood splattering all over you but you don’t care. You’re not thinking, everything is a blur except the one word that rings in your head.

Kill.

And so you kill, your dagger tearing into flesh and drawing blood with each sickening squelch. The metallic taste floods your tongue and you grin. You feel alive, powerful, invincible. No one can stop you, no one can take anything away from you ever again. Laughter bubbles within your chest, bursting forth as you stand there, head thrown back. Blood drips from your clothes onto the floor but you barely notice it. Euphoria thrums through your veins, you’ve killed the being who tried to take the only thing you have left from you. It feels wonderful.

You feel as though a weight has been lifted from your shoulders and raise your arms towards the sky, laughing all the while.

“Try it! Try and take him away from me!” You yell. “I’ll kill you all!”

Adrenaline rushes through your veins as the goblins flee in terror from the figure covered in blood. Your legs begin to move, feet pushing off the floor as you hunt them down, a wild gleeful look in your eyes. Your dagger slices through their skin, ripping open arteries, tearing off limbs and you only laugh harder at their screams of pain.

You slam your dagger into the neck of the goblin leader, crouching on its back as the body falls to the floor with a loud thud.

“No one can take him away from me,” you growl. “Not even the gods.”

You look up to see your companions’ various reactions, but the only one you really care about is Astarion’s. As you take a step towards him, reaching out with a bloody hand, he takes a step back, ruby eyes wide with horror. For a moment, all he can see is Cazador, drenched in blood with a grin so wide it stretches his face, and then he blinks and you’re standing in front of him, a look of hurt in your eyes.

Before your name can fall from his lips, you’re gone, running into the nearby forest. Everyone turns to look at him, the same question in their minds: what did he do?

Back in camp, Astarion tries to ignore the gnawing feeling in his chest as Shadowheart heals his injury. He can’t shake the look you gave him before running away, the fear that filled your gaze. He recognised the look, after all, it was the same as the one he wore as Cazador’s spawn – the look of despair.

“I’m going out for a walk,” he says and leaves the camp before anyone can say anything. In all honesty, he has no idea how to find you, all he knows is that he has to. He can’t leave you alone to fend for yourself, especially not in that condition of yours. Letting out a sigh, he makes his way back to the battle site. He can try starting from there, track the scent of your blood and hopefully find you before anything else does.

When he reaches the site, he notices a lone figure sitting by the bloodstained rubble, their knees hugged against their chest.

“Y/N,” he calls out. You look up, and then quickly look back down, curled even more into yourself. Astarion feels his undead heart ache at the sight of your current state. You’ve always been the life of the party – cheerful, upbeat, optimistic. He’s the one who is broody, sitting in the corner and staring at everyone else and yet here you are, sitting all alone in the cold night with no fire to keep you warm.

“May I inquire as to why you have stolen my role as the broody rogue?” He seats himself next to you whilst maintaining some distance. You keep silent, staring into the distance.

“Come now, darling. Let’s head back to camp, the others miss you dearly, not as much as they miss me of course but –”

“Leave.” Your voice wavers. When he doesn’t move, you repeat your words a little louder. “I said leave.”

“But why, darling? You’re clearly cold and hungry, the camp has both fire and food. Don’t tell me you plan on freezing to death while starving? It’s not a very comfortable way to go,” he tuts. “You should choose a better way of dying.”

“I deserve it,” you mutter. “After what I did.”

“After what you did? You killed the goblins and protected the weak, I don’t believe any of that is deserving of such a slow death.” Astarion attempts to lighten the mood but your face remains sullen.

“You know what I’m talking about. I saw it, the way you looked at me. You don’t want me anymore, you shouldn’t. I’m a monster.” Your voice cracks, tears sliding down your cheeks.

“That’s not the worst thing I’ve seen,” his voice drops to a whisper. “And my feelings for you haven’t changed in the slightest. I still want whatever it is that we have, this weird relationship of ours. Nothing will ever change my mind about it. Your appearance simply…reminded me of something I’d rather forget in that moment, but the situations couldn’t be more vastly different.”

Astarion reaches out with a hand, simply holding an upturned palm towards you. A simple gesture, but one filled with so much meaning between the two of you. You stare at it, a hand slowly reaching out before pulling back again when you see how bloodstained your hand is.

Seeing as you are still in no mood to talk, he continues. “Whenever Cazador was covered in blood, it tended to be my blood. Usually it was after he had finished torturing me for whatever sick reason he had and he would smile at me, asking if I would be his good pet. You were covered in goblin blood, vowing to kill anyone even the gods if they tried to harm me. You were protecting me, not harming me, and I am forever grateful for that.”

Astarion takes your bloodstained hand and presses it against his cheek, leaning into the warm feeling, “I need you, Y/N.”

You feel a fresh wave of tears prick at the corners of your eyes, biting your bottom lip to stop the cascade. He shifts closer to you and leans in, ready to pull away should you flinch but you remain still, looking him in the eye and so he wraps himself around you, holding you tightly.

The dam bursts open and you weep, clutching at his tunic. Ugly tears dampen his sleeve, ruining his perfect appearance but Astarion doesn’t care. He’d do anything for you, just like how you’d do anything for him. The vampire spawn rests a reassuring hand on the back of your head while the other rubs circles on your back as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear. Right now, only you matter, and if you needed a shoulder to cry on, he would be that shoulder.

“I can’t lose you,” you sob through the tears. “I’ve lost everything else already, I can’t lose you too. WIthout you, I…I don’t know what to do. You’re the only one who keeps me going.”

Astarion presses his lips to your head, closing his eyes as he takes in your sweet scent, “I can’t lose you either, Y/N, and I promise, we will remain by each other’s side forever.”

His words make you cry harder and you bury yourself into his chest, crying until you have nothing left to give and lie there panting, cries reduced to sniffles. Astarion kisses away the tears that remain on your cheek, lips lingering longer than necessary with each kiss before pressing his forehead against yours.

“All these years, I’ve always wondered if anyone would ever care about me to the point where they would do anything to protect me, and now I’ve found my answer in you,” he murmurs. “I couldn’t be happier knowing that you would choose me over everything else.”

“I love you too,” you whisper back. “Thank you, for accepting me after seeing what I really am.”

“Any time, dearest.” He continues to cradle you in his arms, gently swaying from side to side. As your eyelids begin to flutter shut, he decides that tonight, it can’t just be you who is vulnerable. You trust him enough to drop your guard to this extent around him, he wants to repay the favour.

“I had a nightmare about you, just the other night.” He gently pushes your hair out of your face, tracing your jawline. He’s been wanting to keep this a secret, afraid of scaring you but since you had challenged the gods themselves, perhaps a vampire wasn’t that scary in comparison.

“Did I look hot in it?”

Astarion blinks in surprise. Maybe he was rubbing off on you too much. Amusement colours his face as he gives your cheek a poke and pouts. “First you steal my role as the broody rogue in the party and now you try to take my place as the residential flirt?”

“It’s all your fault,” you huff good naturedly, folding your arms across your chest. “You’ve been a terrible influence on me.”

He smiles softly, giving you a peck on the lips, “I suppose I have. Although I must say, you have a long way to go before you can ever reach my level.”

“I can’t possibly put you out of a job, can I? Whatever will I do to keep my vampire lover around then?”

“You simply need to exist, darling. That is all.”

Your gaze softens and you press your lips against his, kissing him deeply.

“Do you want to talk about your nightmare?” You ask once you reluctantly break away from the kiss to breathe. He nods, swallowing hard.

“Cazador had you. He threatened to kill you unless I returned to him, threatened to turn you into one of his spawn just like me and make you suffer for an eternity while I watched. You swore and cursed at me, saying all this was my fault, that it was all because of me that you were now on the cusp of being turned into a vampire spawn, and I –” His fingers tremble. “I didn’t know what to do.”

“Star –”

“I hesitated! I thought about putting myself before you, and I –”

“I want you to do that.”

His eyes widen, “darling, you can’t possibly –”

“Star, you’ve spent far too long putting everyone before yourself. You need to start putting yourself before others from time to time, to stand up for yourself. I want you to live your own life, not someone else’s. And if Cazador ever comes for us, well I won’t let him separate us. We’ll have each other’s backs as we always do, and he won’t stand a chance.”

You say it with such certainty that Astarion almost believes you, but a nagging voice in the back of his head reminds him of how strong Cazador is. Yet, looking deep into your eyes and seeing your resolve, a small part of him dares to hope again. Maybe, he really could stand up against his master with you by his side. Maybe one day, he really could be free, but for now, he’s more than content to simply hold you in his arms, feeling your warm embrace and his undead heart soaring.

#astarion bg3 #astarion x durge #astarion x reader #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate astarion #bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion x you #astarion #astarion angst #astarion romance

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hopelessdazai · 1 month

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✿ 》 Will you talk to me again?

╰⧼ 🪻 note.. ⧽ ; I don't expect this to do well because its not smut but it'd be nice !! reblogs appreciated, support your creators :)

╰⧼ ☀️ features.. ⧽ ; @saelique angst collab!! dazai x gn!reader, WC ; 784

╰⧼ 🌙 contents.. ⧽ ; angst, reader isn't alive, letter from dazai. he's trying very hard to keep himself stable but it's not working™.

To my dearest ______ .

It's been a while, hasn't it? I hope you don't mind me writing to you like this, it's simply been too long. I'm sure you're still angry at me, so seeing you physically isn't my best interest right now! haha, I'm sorry. you know I'm just joking around, don't you? I'd love to see you in person. I'm sure you would've punched my arm if you heard me out loud right now, wouldn't you? I'm glad I'm spared of the bruises.

what does someone put in a letter? that's what I was asking myself before I even began writing. I decided that the best way to do something like this was to just write whatever I feel true as pen touches paper. I hope it makes sense to you, at the least. if I'm pouring my heart out on some paper only for it to be misunderstood, it feels like a waste, no?

though, i'd be lying if i said it wouldn't be rather cute to see you try to fathom what I mean. did you know you scrunch your nose like a bunny sometimes when you're reading? I'm sure you're doing that now too. you'll get wrinkles very at this rate ..

but anyway, I managed to prank kunikida the other day! you remember that hair dye trick I'd told you about? I managed to break into his apartment and swap out his shampoo, at last! he came into work the next day with black hair, it was hilarious, you should've been here! he was so angry with me. beat me black and blue!

oh, _____. I got a new heated blanket for our bed, you know? it took a while to save up for it, and I had to cut out some other necessities, sure. but it makes everything so much better! I hate cold beds, I'm sure you know that better then anyone. haha, back before we moved in together when I'd break into your apartment and crawl into bed with you. I'm sorry for the amount of locks I broke, but your place was so cozy!

... you know, it's been really hard without you here. I miss you so painfully, and I don't mean to call into the void without even an echo, but its killing me to pretend I'm fine about any of this. I'm not fine with this, how am I supposed to be? I wish it was just a bad dream.

I don't want to have to write letters to you anymore, ______. I don't want to have to buy heated blankets to try and stop my arms from aching for your warmth. I don't want you to be angry with me, I'm sorry I didn't apologise to you before you were gone. I shouldn't have been so stupid.

i had so many words on my mind that I was too afraid to say. maybe if I faced myself and told you 'I love you' it would've stopped you leaving.

have you met odasaku yet? has he told you any stories of his time? I wish I could hear your voice again. I wish you could answer my questions. even to hear you scoff at my stupidity again would heal me. I'm sorry I was annoying, I just wanted your attention. it stings knowing I'll never get it again.

I can't keep repeating to myself that you're not gone. I can't keep buying your perfume and pretending that you're in the next room over. your pillow doesn't smell like you anymore.

I wish I could apologise properly. I wish I could've stopped you from leaving the house that night. I wish I could kill myself to join you and yet I know we won't cross paths again in the afterlife. you were always too good for me, ______. i was nothing compared to you.

i picked up a homeless dog yesterday. you'd always wanted a puppy, I'm sorry I never let you bring one home. I named it after you. im trying to get used to them, I promise. if I couldn't save you, I'll save your name.

I'm sorry. if I continue writing, my throat will hurt more. its strange, isn't it? crying makes your throat sore. I forgot what it was like for a while, I remember laying in your arms wondering if I'd ever have a reason to cry again. now I can't seem to help myself.

keep your wings clean for me, white looks good on you. its a shame you couldn't wear the wedding attire i wished to see you in one day. you would've looked amazing.

I'll write again, missing you is the greatest honor.

sincerely, your osamu.

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howtofightwrite · 3 months

Note

If someone was shot through the thigh (Nothing major hit, clean entry/exit wounds if logistically possible, how long would it take before they could walk without an aid of some kind? I'm counting hobbling and limping as walking.

Follow Up Question: Any idea what kind of med care that would need without getting a hospital involved with it?

So, this is one of those times where the answer really is, “it depends.” While you can't walk off a gunshot wound, getting shot in the leg might not actually stop you from walking or running, though this comes with a caveat that you're not going to make it especially far. Though the answer to, “how far?” could easily be, “as far as adrenaline will carry you.” This includes cases where the bullet fractures the bone, but doesn't completely shatter it. Though, those cases are going to be extremely unpleasant (for obvious reasons.)

Actual recovery times will vary wildly depending on far too many factors, and you can end up with chronic pain that never heals. Best case, you're looking at a couple weeks before the wound heals, most of the time you're looking at a few months, and lingering pain could last for over a year (if it ever does go away.)

While this is an unusual example, the warning about not aggravating a wound still applies, and trying to hobble around after getting shot is a fantastic way to inflict more harm on yourself. Figure it will take roughly ten weeks for the meat to properly heal up, and while you might be somewhat mobile before that time, it's probably a good idea not to overly stress it before it has fully recovered.

As for medical treatment, most of that is going to be packing it with gauze and (ideally) getting dosed out of your gourd on antibiotics. Gauze is easy, and the only real concern there is keeping you from leaking blood all over the place (while also providing some protection against future infection. The gauze needs to be changed, at least, daily, and the wound will need to be packed with gauze (so, not just wrapping it around the leg.) Getting the latter without a hospital is going to be a lot harder these days. The rise of antibiotic resistant bacteria strains means that these kinds of antibiotics are kept on a much shorter leash today. Unfortunately, it's also kinda critical for the whole, “not dying,” thing.

It turns out that the whole part about a bullet being hot enough to sterilize itself is a myth, so any bacteria on the bullet, and of course, any bacteria that gets into the wound itself after the fact, will have a very easy path to infection. Deep tissue wounds like this are a hugeinfection risk, and these are the kinds of infections that can easily turn lethal.

Of course, a doctor will be better able to assess whether the injury was actually a clean through'n'through, or if something was nicked. A bullet can easily graze an artery, leading to persistent bleeding that will kill the victim without surgical assistance, but won't be fast enough to look worrying. It's just when it doesn't stop after several days of bleeding, that they might realize this is very bad.

So, again, they could potentially be on their feet immediately after being shot. How long it would take them to recover is a lot harder to assess, and if they did insist in walking around, that could make things much worse.

-Starke

This blog is supported through Patreon. Patrons get access to new posts three days early, and direct access to us through Discord. If you’re already a Patron, thank you. If you’d like to support us, please consider becoming a Patron.

#writing reference #writing advice #writing tips #how to fight write #starke answers #starke is not a real doctor

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ibbythebee · 8 months

Text

Hospital Wing Hermits

gif credit: @handknit on wattpad

pairing: Neville Longbottom x year younger!reader

summary: From Neville's second year at Hogwarts to his last, his most memorable times with you have been spent in the hospital wing.

genre: fluffiness all round, slight angst at the end... but only a little, slow-burny

warnings: this fic is so soft that you will potentially combust, slight swearing, SO MUCH hand holding, the reader is an oblivious goofball until she's not, kissing, talks about illnesses and injuries, blood and boogers

words: 6k

masterlist

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Neville's 2nd Year

Clutching onto Madame Pomfrey is nothing new to Neville. In the middle of the night, however, is a different story. The Nurse coos whenever the boy makes the slightest sound of pain, holding him up as not to put anymore pressure on his right foot.

"We're just about there, dear. Come on, just a few more steps..."

Leading him to the middle of the hospital wing's room, she then guides him onto an untouched bed, and immediately slides a pillow underneath his ankle. A spot of light on the opposite side of the room does not go unnoticed to either the woman or boy as soon as they had entered the room.

Neville rubs his eyes, squinting at the strange glowing mound of sheets. He watches as, with a sigh, Madame Pomfrey marches to the other preoccupied bed and pulls over the white covers to reveal you, a sheepish looking girl.

Under the light of your wand, your face looks puffy, lips and nose chapped, hair amuck. You cough into your elbow and smile a toothy innocent smile, batting your big eyes at the woman, silently pleading your innocence.

Pomfrey, however, does not play games. "Turn off that incessant light, Miss L/N. Do you realise what time it is?"

Your lips shape into a pout, voice stuffy as you answer. "But Madame Pomfrey, it's so boring here. I'm bored."

"No, you should be asleep. Turn that off right now. I don't want to have to send another owl to your mother about you refusing medical help."

"Just a few more minutes please? I'll finish the page I'm reading."

"Absolutely not. It's basic manners and respect for your fellow peer." She motions to Neville, and you finally turn to him.

Despite the fatigue in your features, your eyes seem to glow, piercing through the dark room. Perhaps it's just his lack of sleep or absence of light, but there is something drawing him to you and he fails to look away. Nothing comes out of his mouth even though he knows he's probably supposed to greet you, but neither do you.

A second longer you stare at your new roommate and in eventual defeat, you pout. The light from your wand fades, as you mumble 'nox' under your breath and get comfortable under the blankets.

Satisfied, Madame Pomfrey clears the rubbish bin underneath your bed and turns back to Neville handing him a small flask of some sort of healing potion.

"All right. Off to bed now both of you. Good night, dears."

You both mutter a 'goodnight', closing your eyes, gingerly pulling the covers up to your chins.

It stays mostly quiet in the room, apart from the Nurse's shuffling. Though as time passes, shoes click and click away, and then the door creaks shut.

"Psst!"

Neville stirs.

"Hey, psst!"

"Huh?" Is all Neville can manage, lifting his head with a groggy squint.

"What happened to you?" You ask in a loud whisper and sniffle. Sitting straight, and staring right at him. Your eyes really are big, inquisitive.

"Well I... twisted my ankle," he finally says.

"How?"

"I... I'd rather not say. It's embarrassing, really."

"I won't tell anyone," you say as-a-matter-of-factly. "You can hex me if I do."

He looks at you through narrow eyes again and this time it's your teeth that glow. As you show no interest in falling asleep, Neville's neck admits defeat and his head crashes back down onto the pillow. "Can we just please go to sleep?"

"I caught a cold... or maybe a fever. Runny nose—" you sniff, wiping your face with your pajama sleeve "—wet cough, high temperature. My mum says I have a weak immune system."

"Well, that's not very good, is it?" He comments half-heartedly to the ceiling.

"No, it isn't."

Silence. For a moment, he believes that you've finally surrendered yourself.

"So how'd you twist your ankle in the middle of the night?"

Never mind.

"You don't seem like a rule-breaker," you say.

He carefully shuffles up to sit and sighs. Where on earth did you get your energy from? He hadn't met such a talkative first year before.

Neville takes a moment to answer, debating on whether or not you're harmless enough for him to be vulnerable. "I had a nightmare, okay? I fell off my bed and... landed badly."

"Well, that's not very good, is it?" You echo.

"No, it isn't."

Silence once again ensues, but this time Neville's ready for your chatterbox mouth.

"What's your name? I'm..." You suddenly stop and he nearly laughs when your silhouette jerks and you sneeze. It's loud, like his Gran.

"Nice to meet you, Achoo." He chuckles, holding a hand over his mouth.

You sniff again, face hot in a new wave of humiliation, and this time you wipe your face with more aggression. "Hey, that's not funny! My name is — A-ACHHHOO!"

"Isn't that what I just said?" He can't help but laugh again. Relishing in the groan you emit and how furiously you blow your nose.

With a poke of your tongue, you retort. "Whatever, Mr... mm... Fall-out-of-bed...n-nightmare-broken-ankle-boy."

"Wow, that's really fantastic, Achoo." He slides back down into his bed, closing his eyes with content and tries to hold in his giggles as you continue with determination to clear up your mistake.

Initially, Neville thought he wouldn't even be able to get in a nap, but now with the understanding that you bark more than you bite, he creates a silly image of you in the form of a puppy. As your voice rings in the background, the puppy image barks with you, and he feels his eyes grow heavy, falling into a content and nightmare-less sleep.

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Neville’s 4th Year

Ever since sleeping the night in the hospital wing, Neville knew he'd be seeing more of you. It was surprising to him that he hadn't noticed you before that night, especially seeing as you were such a social butterfly. And despite being in the year below, he'd always manage to catch your eyes in the Great Hall. And in the courtyard. And in the halls. And through a classroom window. You were everywhere and anywhere. And when you weren't, you were in bed in the hospital wing.

Just like you are now. The fourteen-year-old hadn't seen you for the past few weeks after the first task of the Triwizard Tournament, and needless to say, he had to see you.

And such a perfect opportunity had arose today, albeit a painful one, but an opportunity none the less.

Neville opens the door to the wing as gently as possible as not to wake you, however knowing you, you probably already were.

Entering the room, he clutches his sore hand to his ribs and cranes his neck to spot the nurse. Instead he finds your lying form under a mountain of blankets.

You stir, and Neville curses at his shoes for making so much noise. Sure, his intention of coming here was to see you, but he’d seldom seen you in such a peaceful state and didn’t want to ruin that for you.

“Neville?” He hears you say and then you’re facing him.

He smiles down at you, with a voice just as soft as silk. "Hey, Achoo. Didn't mean to wake you. How you feeling?”

“I’m feeling alright. Kinda headache-y, but fine. Ugh, what time is it?” You rub your eyes and stretch as you sit up.

The messiness of your bed-hair is incredibly endearing and the curve in Neville’s lips only grow at the sight.

“It’s third period.”

“Then… what are you doing here? Are you hurt?”

You’re suddenly on your feet, eyes round and wide, taking in the scene of the tall boy. He flinches, attempting to hide his hand in his robe sleeve.

You snatch his hand, bringing it close to your face. It’s a burn. All over the back of his palm. "Bloody hell— Where's Madame Pomfrey?"

"I was about to ask you the same question." A small chuckle falls from his lips as you examine him. Somehow, in some miracle he watches your big eyes grow larger as you twist his hand, move his long fingers to get as much information about his wound.

He feels like he’s going crazy, your touch is a new kind of burn on his skin. It doesn’t sting, but it is hot. And you don’t even know you’re causing it.

"She's always gone when you actually need her,” you huff.

"It's not as bad as it looks, really. Just hurts a little when I move it."

"What about when I...?" You drift off, as you slide a delicate thumb over his beet-red knuckles.

The tips of his ears turn the same shade of red. "Stings."

With no further words, he lets you pull him to one corner of the hospital wing, searching for a particular ointment on the many shelves of medical supplies. You don't let go of his hand, and he doesn't dare pull away.

"Let me guess how it happened—" you say, grabbing a round jar of blue gel to read the label.

"Seamus." You both state and then share a laugh.

Placing the jar back, you continue your search and Neville fills the comfortable silence. "It's Potions class. For once I thought I was doing pretty decent and then next thing I know, Seamus' cauldron blows up next to me and of course I get the damage."

His hand is held up to your face again and he watches as you grab a new jar with a less solid looking gel, creamy in colour.

"I suppose it's a good way for me to get out of the rest of the class," he shrugs.

"And get away from Snape," you quip and earn a chuckle from him. There was a time in Neville’s third year, when you had come to learn about his amusing boggart. He’d snuck into the hospital wing, claiming he had a nasty headache and ended up staying the night, neither of you getting a wink of sleep. It had also been revealed that the thing you were most frightened of was giants.

“Sit down,” your motioning to the mattress behind him.

He does so without question, still attached to you by your pinkie, making himself comfortable on the edge of a neatly tucked bed. He follows your every action as you place the ointment jar beside his thigh and open the lid. You scoop a teaspoon amount with your fingers and lifted his burnt hand again.

Before the cream touches his burn, you begin to tell him about what illness you've caught today and he barely feels the sting of the medicine. There's no better spell or potion to kill pain than your voice, that much was evident even back when he first met you.

Concentration laces your features and unbeknownst to you, your hips hit the edge of the mattress, unaware to the fact that Neville's knees are on either side of you.

The sight of you between him for some reason makes it difficult for him to swallow. The urge to trap you with his legs increases by the second. "Hey, Y/N?"

You wipe off excess ointment on your pajama top and turn your attention to him. He rarely called you by your first name. Something's up.

"Yeah?"

"Well, the erm... You know in a week or so?"

"Mhm?"

There's a pause as he searches your eyes for confidence, then he finally announces. "Would you say you're a good dancer?"

Creases form between your brows and you pout at the question, really thinking it over. If there was anything else Neville had learnt about you was that you always answered his queries with great interest and thought. You never treat his questions as though they're dumb, and he’s come to adore you for that.

As you ponder, he slides his non-burnt hand under yours, idly fiddling with your delicate fingers; tracing around the length of them, lifting them up and dropping them one by one, and eventually laying his palm flat on top of yours. Were his hands always this big?

The tips of your fingers tap-tap against his, as you finally answer. "I suppose... I would like to think I am."

"Well... that's good to hear."

"What about you?"

"Oh me?" He finds your face and swallows thickly. "I've been practicing lately, so I can only hope I've improved."

A giggle breaks free from your lips and it’s music to his ears. "Practicing? Whatever for?"

"The Yule Ball, of course."

"The..." The creases near your brows form again. "I've completely forgotten about that."

He squeezes a finger of yours. "So, no one's asked you yet?"

You sneeze into your elbow and then for a second time, and your voice becomes stuffy to the amusement of Neville. "Asked me what?"

"Asked you to be their date, of course."

"Oh. No." Scoffing. "Being stuck in here means no social-life. And besides—" You spin around quick to grab a roll of bandage, and gingerly flatten it over his burn "—who's gonna want to dance with someone who sneezes every five minutes?"

"I would."

"That's what I thought — wait... you would?"

In an effort to look nonchalant, Neville shrugs, finding interest in a bird that's flying near the window. The tips of his ears poking out of his shaggy hair are giving you a different response, they're blushing.

You finish with his wound and step away from the bed, fingers feeling cold when you let go of him.

Upon inspection of your medical handiwork, he smiles gently. He hadn't felt a thing. "Thanks for this."

"I... I can't guarantee that I'll be completely healthy that day," you say.

"The Yule Ball?"

You nod in an almost embarrassed way, as you fiddle with the collar of your sleeping clothes.

Neville just shakes his head. "The suit my Gran got for me has a lot of pockets so I’ll carry all your tissues for you. Or anything else you might need, I'll keep them for you."

"That'sssss.... ACHHU!"

"Bless you. So what do you say? Would you... want to go with me? Maybe? I promise not to step on your feet."

"Miss L/N?! What on earth are you doing out of bed?!"

"MADAME POMFREY!" You both exclaim, faces and necks feeling hot.

"Come on, dear, why don't you ever follow simple orders?!"

Mumbles of pathetic protest fall from your lips as the woman drags you back to the other side of the room. You knock into Neville’s knee on the way and so he’s quick to follow behind you with his own incoherent babble about the burn on his hand.

You're settled under the blankets once again and watch as the nurse's eyes bulge at the sight of the tall boy's perfectly cared for palm. She inspects the bandage, inquires about the pain and what the cause was, all while Neville can't keep the flushed look off his face.

"She— well... Y/N helped me out. It doesn't hurt anymore, I'm fine now, Ma'am."

As the said woman keeps a hold of his hand, she turns to you with daggers. "What did you use? A potion? Spell, perhaps? Mr Longbottom could have severe side-effects if you're not careful."

"He won't," you grin toothily as you did back in your first year and point to the shelf in the right corner. "I used the ointment that you gave Theodore Nott not that long ago. Haha, Nott not."

Neville stifles a laugh, and isn't surprised when the nurse doesn't question you further. You might be the only student that can get away with arguing with Madame Pomfrey.

The nurse's face instead takes the form of an appreciative and impressed expression. It's only natural that with your ‘weak immune system’, you've gained as much medical knowledge as you have colds and flus.

"I'll admit, you've done a splendid job with Neville. However, you simply cannot use whatever you like, whenever you like, on whomever you like. Next time this happens you need to wait for me to return, alright? Is that understood?"

Taking a glance at Neville's sheepish state, you sigh and nod in response.

"And Neville dear, don't encourage this behaviour. Especially not from Miss L/N."

"Okay, Ma'am."

She gives the boy a goodbye and immediately turns to you, a full on lecture spilling from her mouth. He isn’t supposed to leave yet, not when he’s just finally had the courage to ask you out.

Neville finds your helpless gaze behind the woman’s shoulder, and sends you a sad sort of smile before turning on his heel to get to the door.

"I-I'll go with you!" You yell.

The tall boy pauses, heart flipping at your words.

"To the Yule Ball."

There’s no stopping the grin that forms, and he finally nods after a second, hair shaking with the action.

Your eyes speak to him as your own smile appears.

Meanwhile, the woman huffs and puffs, cleaning the area around your bed. "Not in this state, you won't."

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Neville's 5th Year

The last time Neville was in the hospital wing, he'd come to talk to you about his recent endeavours in Herbology and let slip that he's been secretly practicing defensive magic with a group of other students, being taught by none other than Harry himself. There was no doubt that you would also be trusted enough to join, however seeing as you were once again bed-ridden, it felt best to keep it a secret until you got better.

Now it wasn't a secret anymore, and each time he'd visit you'd ask him to put in a good word with Harry, with the group. Neville always said he would, but he never did, fearing that Professor Umbitch would eventually catch onto you and you'd have to pay the ultimate price.

Karma is an Umbitch, however, and now it looks as if the only answer to Neville's current predicament is to let you join Dumbledore's Army, despite all his worries and his efforts to stop you from doing that.

Today’s DA training has been cut short, due to the fact that the fifteen-year old is now incapacitated. Blood refusing to slow down from his nose.

Going to Madame Pomfrey would've required him to come up with a believable story as to what happened, so the next best thing was to send for you, someone who already knows about this secret group.

"Neville!" A Ravenclaw boy shouts, interrupting his thoughts. "Your Bogey Bug is here— ow!"

Someone smacks the kid, and then suddenly the Weasley twins are leading you into the Room of Requirement. You stand over him, adorning new pajamas he hadn't seen before.

"Hey Achoo," he weakly smiles. "Thanks for coming."

The DA gather around, as you crouch to his side and immediately take the cloth he's been holding to his nose. You make a face at him. “Oh Neville… what are we going to do with you?”

A fresh line of blood rolls down to his lip, so you let him leave the fabric there to sink it in.

"Keep your head steady, okay? Don't lean back, just let the blood flow for now."

"I think my nose might be broken?"

"Neville, I swear to..." your head spins sharply, and a few students flinch. "Who did this?"

"We were practicing stupefy," the familiar voice of Seamus answers and immediately your tense shoulders relax seeing his face emerge behind the twins. "I didn't mean to. I swear, Y/N."

"He really didn't mean to," Neville echoes.

You sneeze into your elbow and shake your head, palm making contact with your cheek. "See, this is why you should’ve told me about this secret army group thing so I could've joined and stopped something like this from happening.”

"I'm sorry."

You take Neville's hand again and lift the cloth, checking over the damage. There is damage, alright. You try not to make a show of wincing, fearing that the brown-haired boy would get anxious by your reaction, but his nose really does look quite out of sorts. Out of line. Broken.

He realises you haven't said a word in a while and smiles again, "you can fix, can't you, Achoo?"

"I told Neville I could treat him, but he kept refusing and insisted for your presence," Luna's soft voice interrupts as she crouches down beside you.

Someone amongst the crowd starts to coo and the tips of Neville's ears manage to turn beet red, more so when you turn your attention to him, expression unreadable.

Luna carries on, eyes focused on you. "He wouldn't let anyone touch him. Not until now, anyway."

"Okay!" A sudden clap startles even Luna, and you all turn to the perpetrator. Harry Potter's back is turned to your direction as he addresses the crowd, "I think we'll call it a day. Neville needs his strength and so do you."

The crowd murmurs, exchanging pouts and disappointed shrugs.

"Be proud of yourselves, you all did brilliantly today. Each and every one of you have improved. Next time we get to meet we'll continue with the Patronus Charm."

"What about Bogey Bug? How do we know she's not gonna rat us out?" A girl in Hufflepuff asks.

Neville sees you stand up, slapping a hand over your chest. "I swear on my life and the life of Neville—."

"Hey!"

"—that I will not snitch on this group or expose any of you. I promise to be loyal and keep my mouth shut about this."

Some faces don't seem convinced, as more murmurs and chatter erupt.

"She can be our nurse!" Neville exclaims, stealing everyone's attention. It's time to put in that good word for you. "We won't have to go to the hospital wing if Achoo— I mean, Y/N is here. She's really good at what she does. Plus, I accidentally told her about the army about a month ago and she hasn't told a soul since. I do..."

Your big eyes soften when he turns to you.

"...I trust her with my life."

"All right then," Harry claps once more. "All those in favour of Y/N becoming part of the army, raise your hand."

A few hands come up, whilst others whisper for a moment. One more, then four more, and then more hands raise faster than you can count them. You and the broken-nosed boy share grins, as you squeeze his free hand.

"That's it then. Y/N, welcome to Dumbledore's Army."

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Neville’s 6th year

Following the events of the previous year of school you and Neville had grown ever closer. Outside of the classroom you'd never be seen without the other. Inseparable. There'd even been a rumour going around that you were dating, but you always denied such claims and Neville could only comply. He hadn't yet told anyone about his feelings for you, although it seemed that those in his close circle were figuring it out on their own.

After having looked like a lost pygmy puff in the Great Hall, Luna found Neville and mentioned to him that you looked 'out of sorts' during class. He hadn't even asked about you. She just knew to tell him.

So, it’s only fitting for him to be by your side now, during lunch hour.

You’re shivering underneath all the sheets and blankets, and yet as Neville glides the back of his fingers across your forehead, you’re sweating as well.

“Hang in there Achoo, you’ll be fine in no time. The spell will take effect.”

You can only give so much as a nod, and groan when your lower abdomen tightens with a deep, stabbing ache.

“Shh,” Neville smooths his delicate fingers over your forehead again, tucking loose strands back to their place with the rest of your hair. “I'm here. Do you want me to distract you with anything?"

"Anything," you squeak, eyes shut tightly as if doing that would stop your cramps and make you fall asleep faster. "Please."

"Alright, erm..." He slides his tongue over his bottom lip and leans in closer to you, elbow pressing into the mattress. "I suppose I can tell you about a dream I had not long ago. You were in it."

"The Hippogriff one?" You tremble.

"No, this is a new one," he smiles when you meet his gaze, finding your fingers peeking through the sheets and taking them into his hands. "It's really stupid, as dreams usually go, but I really like it."

Your fingers are stretched out, as Neville begins to trace over your palm. First he draws a circle and you giggle a little at the feeling.

"This is me," he draws a triangle, "and this is you. It seems like any ordinary day, except you and I have the same classes. In the dream we're both popular. Everyone cheers for us when we get good marks, and even Professor Snape smiles at you."

"No way."

He laughs and traces a shape with lots of spikes. "Yes way. It really seems too good to be true, because there's even a moment where we successfully sneak out at night, we're just in our pajamas and we're watching the stars from the astronomy tower."

"I'm waiting for the 'but'."

"But — here comes the stupid part — you just start flying out of nowhere. One second you're next to me, the next you're just in the sky. I'm freaking out trying to reach for your hand, but you're just so calm about the fact that you mysteriously gained the ability to fly."

You're giggling again, especially as he slaps your palm a few times to emphasise the story. "Accurate reaction."

"And then it just ends with me being able to breath fire."

"What?" You laugh, brows pulling together in amusement. "I wonder what Professor Trelawney would say about that. What all of it might represent."

He draws a line on each of your fingers, slow and tickly. "If it's anything like I've been told before, it probably means bad luck."

"Well I was also in the dream with you, so we'll go through the bad luck together." To his surprise, you thread your fingers through his and squeeze. You're not trembling anymore, you haven't been for the past minute or so, and it doesn't feel like you're being stabbed over and over in the stomach.

"Think you can sleep now?" He asks, fingers hesitantly unravelling.

You nod, grinning at him, those eyes of yours finally shining as bright as they usually do.

"Want me to go get Madame Pomfrey?"

You shake your head. And then your arms are around his neck, head tucked in the space between your bicep and his jawline.

It feels like a millennium till he returns your gesture, arms securing around your waist and back, pulling you in tightly and desperately. The mix of the wing's clinical scent and the smell of baked desserts fills his nose. He could've sworn he'd smelt something like this during Potions class.

"Stay with me," you purr. "Please."

He knows he has class in ten minutes, he knows he can't skip, he knows he'll get in trouble.

So with your arms determined to remain wrapped around each other he bends over, moving till your head meets the pillow. He kicks off one of his school shoes. Then the other.

You feel his knees dip into the mattress beside your thighs, and then you have to part for a moment as he slips under the blankets, his head settling on the pillow right beside yours.

When he's comfortable, you take one of his hands and lower it until he brushes over your clothed belly.

Keeping the heat from entering his ears and cheeks is impossible, as his hand flattens over your stomach, shock evident in his features from your bold action.

"Could you keep it there?" You say, when you feel his uncertainty. "It'll help if the cramps come back." Your own hands smooth over his, trapping him there.

"I will." He swallows thickly. "Are you comfortable?"

You nod. "Are you?"

"Absolutely. Yes. I am."

A content breath passes your lips and you smile, all giddy like, at the ceiling. "Thank you for being here. For being with me always. For not making fun of me being sick all the time. Not calling me Bogey Bug. For... for just being you. For being my most favourite person ever."

"I could really say the same about you." Both your voices are barely above a whisper, seeing as your faces are so close together.

"Thanks Neville," you turn to him, and tap the back of his hand on your belly.

You stare at each other for a moment, and for some reason it doesn't feel wrong. It's not awkward.

Neville breaks the silence. "You... you know how everyone keeps saying that we're... you know going out?"

"Yeah."

Neville pauses for a second, you're staring so intensely, pupils large and beautiful. He tries to swallow past the lump in his throat and squeezes the material of your clothes. He can talk to you, he can ask you the question. He's battled against Bellatrix Lestrange before, he's been put in Gryffindor for a reason. He can ask you. "What do you say we make those rumours... not rumours anymore?"

The corners of your mouth twitch. "You-You mean... you mean like...?"

"Yes. Like that. Like... I want to spend the rest of my life with you, sort of way."

You don't say anything.

He continues, with a small bite of his lip. "Like... I'm completely mad for you and if I don't tell you now I don't think I'll ever get the chance to again."

"This... isn't a dream, is it?"

"Can I prove to you this isn't a dream?"

"Okay."

And it really feels like a dream, as his face leans in and you feels his lips press against the corner of your mouth.

"Did that help?" he whispers.

You twist around to lay on your side, guiding Neville's big hand up to your waist. "You missed, Neville."

"What?"

"You missed."

This time you both lean in, and this time Neville doesn't miss.

»»————-　⌁　————-««

Neville’s 7th year

The last Horcrux has been destroyed, Voldemort's killed, the Death Eaters have fled. New life has been brought to Hogwarts, sun pooling through the shattered windows of the Great Hall.

People sit on broken stools, torn and ashy blankets, chatter quiet and solemn. A few people manage to tell jokes and liven the mood, others cuddle, kiss, crying tears of relief. Nurses scamper around tending to the badly wounded.

Only...

As Neville limps his way through the hall he desperately scans over the crowds only to realise you're not here. You're not by Madame Pomfrey. You're not by Luna either. Neville finds Ginny's tired but hopeful figure and before he can tap her shoulder, she's already turned to him with a gentle smile.

She shakes her head before he even has a chance to speak. "I haven't seen Y/N. Not since... well not since she took care of Freddie. 'M sorry Neville."

"No," he shakes his head and gives the girl a gentle hug when her voice wavers and her bottom lip quivers. "No, I'm sorry."

"You helped kill Voldemort. That's hardly anything to be sorry for," she smiles again as they part, softly pushing at his shoulder to leave. To keep searching for you. "Don't worry, I'll keep an eye out for her."

Neville sends her a purposeful nod and turns to leave, the sword of Gryffindor still snug in his hand. At times he uses the weapon as a crutch, the pain in his everything starting to take a toll as previous rushes of adrenaline begin to fade. The only thing keeping him going is the thought of you. You and your sneezes, your messy hair, your often nasally voice, your big eyes and equally big grins. You.

He passes what looks to be remnant of the hospital wing's door, merely a pile of wood chips and metal beams now. He hears the distant tweet of a bird, the pitter-patter of loose rubble and someone's sneeze.

The sword clangs to the ground and he's sprinting. Neville rounds the corner of the entrance to the wing and he stops, breath heavy, vision blurry.

You're there, and you're already staring at him, your grin so large and your eyes even more so and you're holding onto something familiar.

"N-Neville?" your voice is soft and so stuffy and gorgeous.

"Achoo, good Godric." His sore legs carry him to your side, and you're running toward him, arms open. And then you jump and he completely forgets about how much pain he's in when he catches you.

You cling to his sweater, to his shoulders, to his neck, to his waist, squeezing him with every bit of strength you've got left.

He's grasping at your hoody, your waist, your hair, your skin, he's touching all of you, scared that if he'll let go you won't be there anymore.

"I love you so much," he says through a trembling voice.

You pull away slightly and return your feet to the ground, legs unwrapping from his hips. You crane your neck to kiss his jaw, and then you kiss his cheek and his other and then finally his lips. And it sets your heart on fire, full of adoration and care and relief. You don't ever want to stop feeling him here, his supple lips against yours, especially as his hands cup your jaw, reeling you in for more and more.

"I love you Neville," you cry when you finally have to pull away to catch your breaths. "Ever since I first met you. You and your twisted ankle."

He chuckles, tenderly wiping a tear from the apple of your cheek with his thumb. He scans over the room for a moment, as he feels your fingers come to dance over the dry trail of blood from his head wound.

"I don't think we're ever gonna leave this place," he says with a caress of your jaw.

Following his gaze, you giggle. Those beds you spent countless nights on, those countless concoctions and medical supplies you've had used on you, they're all here, scattered and battered around the room.

"That's why I came here instead of the Hall," you say, keeping one arm around your boyfriend's waist and unravelling the other to reveal an intact jar of creamy coloured ointment. "I'm so sorry, I must've scared you nuts."

"Scared me to death more like, but all I had to do was listen out for your sneezes. Turns out it isn't that hard to find you."

You poke your tongue out and he laughs. "That's so embarrassing. Always comes back to me being a Bogey Bug."

"Yeah," he smoothly pulls you in for an ardent kiss, "my Bogey Bug."

"You know what else I am?"

You're leaning against his arms that are wrapped around you and he watches as you take off the lid of the jar. Just like his fourth year, you use your fingers to scoop up a teaspoon of the cream.

"What? What else are you?"

You step out and take one of his hands, letting his palm sit over the top of yours. And then the cream is applied over the burns on the back of his hands. In spite of these burns looking way worse than his wound from Potions class back in his fourth year, the pain is still barely felt once the ointment's smoothed over. What's also killing the sting is looking at your breathtaking eyes. He's lost in them, distracted completely.

"I'm also your nurse," you finally say, wiping the excess over your hoody.

Neville's mouth curls into a smirk, snaking his arms around you again and pressing your bodies tightly together. "Well, nurse. My lips are feeling kind of sore, do you think you can fix them?"

You hum, eyes twinkling with mischief as your hands link behind his neck.

His gaze dips to your mouth, trying to fight the heat flowing to his cheeks and ears. There will never be a time when you won't make him nervous and giddy.

You mirror his action, eyes taking their time stare at his lips. "You know what, darling? I think I've got just the thing for you."

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