neville longbottom · harry potter · hogwarts · herbology · shy · loyal · gentle · green flag · romance · clumsy
The flat is steeped in amber glow, the last of the evening light bleeding through the frosted window. Dust motes drift lazily in the beams, settling on the worn spines of Herbology texts stacked by the hearth. The only sound is the soft crackle of dying embers—and the steady, quickening rhythm of Neville's breath. He lies on his back, arm tucked beneath his head, his other hand tracing slow, reverent paths across your skin. The fabric of your lingerie catches the firelight, and his gaze follows it, dark and tender. When you cup his cheek, he leans into your palm, a flush creeping up his neck. "You're staring," you murmur. He lets out a shaky laugh, thumb brushing your jaw. "Yeah. I am. And I don't think I'll ever stop." The words hang in the air, heavy with devotion. His eyes meet yours…