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notnctu · 4 years

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push & pull | kim doyoung

❀ slytherin!doyoung x hufflepuff!femreader ❀ genre - SLOW BURN, smut, fluff, a bit of humor (idk not rlly) ❀ details - hogwarts!au, fwb to lovers?, y/n is a player lol, jealous doyoung, mutual pining, doyoung is a lil mean ❀ word count - 9.7k ❀ warnings - explicit language, possessiveness (a concept of marking), dom!doyoung, angry sex?, slight dirty talk, penetration, fingering, praise kink ❀ synopsis - in which a prideful slytherin and an oblivious hufflepuff play a clueless emotion game of tug of war.

❝I thought Hufflepuffs are to be loyal, so why do you sleep with other men?❞

❝People say Slytherins are ambitious, so why didn’t you pursue me?❞ ❀ a/n - i changed the plot a little bit as i was writing lol but hopefully it still fits everything! i said this in the teaser, but i want to preface and say that the magic/marking is not canon to harry potter, and that the only thing im using are the sectional houses/subjects. besides that, everything is made up LMAO also pls b lenient with me, i read hogwarts!au but writing it is very out of my comfort zone and am very bad at creating anything magical

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Kim Doyoung, the Slytherin boy of your dreams, mindlessly and imperfectly steals glances your way across the dining tables and under several hundred floating lit candles. He sits huddled with his few posh friends that wear the same green and silver tie situated so tightly underneath their necks. And you, just looking as dazzling as ever, with your yellow and black tie hanging loose and a few buttons undone from your dress shirt.

He hates how easily you catch his attention and his ability to spot your figure in a dense crowd. You barely even look his way in public now, often distracted by a broad Gryffindor that tries to make flirtatious advantages at you. And when he thinks it can’t get any worse, it does… as you’re flashing your bright beautiful smile back at him and the shift in your body language.

“You’re staring again.” Yuta flickers between his friend and the subject of his focus.

Doyoung clears his throat, smooths his tie and physically turns his body away from the horrendous scene. “It’s very hard not to stare when she’s flirting with other men in front of me.”

“Does she do it on purpose?” The silver haired boy raises a questionable eyebrow and Doyoung reacts before he can speak.

He perks up and narrows his eyes at Yuta. “Purpose? Like to make me jealous?” Doyoung scoffs, laughs almost at the ridiculous thought. “The answer is no. We’re not exclusive, we’re nothing.”

“If you two are nothing, then why are you acting like you two are something? Get a grip, it’s practically sickening watching you fume over a ditzy Hufflepuff.” As Yuta prepares to bite into his delicious soft bread roll, it flies out of his grip, down the long table and onto another person’s plate.

Both boys are quick to stand to their feet and face each other chest to chest. Neither one of them is intimidated by the other, but their other friends around them are rather shocked by the sudden discrepancy.

Doyoung forcibly brushes off an imaginary dust off his good friend’s shoulders and draws a perfectly strained fake smile, knowing that others may be watching and he is a Prefect after all. But most importantly, you could be watching. “Call her that again, and your dinner won’t be the only thing that’s thrown across the table.” His threat is loud enough solely for Yuta to hear.

Yuta, with glaring eyes, picks up his dinner tray and walks off with his chin held high and a brisk in his stride. Doyoung clears his throat in the midst of the brief silence and out of habit, fixes his tie back in place. He takes a seat back down and the chatter at the table resumes, but he’s beyond embarrassed and disappointed at his loss of temper that everything drowns out.

Almost everything. He feels a light tap on his shoulder and out of annoyance, he spins around hastily and sharply snarls, “what?” But his eyes land on your fearful wide eyes and the slight cower in your stance, knowing that you caught onto his bad mood. And he’s half in disbelief that you’re approaching him right in the center of the Great Hall, that you’re standing so beautiful a foot away from him.

Instant regret and guilt fills his chest, his sharp eyes soften at your pout and the concerned furrow in between your brows. Nonetheless, he doesn’t have any words to say… he can’t get himself to apologize for his behavior.

“Do you want to walk to Herbology with me?” The quiver in your voice made you seem so small, so desperate for him, that he can hear the reactions of his friends. They’re laughing, at him, at you, at the whole scene that’s unfolding. He feels mocked, being a laughing stock isn’t something he’s very fond of.

His lips form a tight line, and in a snarky tone, “you don’t know your own way, Puff? Mind you ask your own Prefect to guide you.” Fuck. He tried to find the nicest way possible to brush you off, but his friends laugh a bit louder and intensely. And you didn’t like that one bit.

Your lips part slightly in a frown, an eyebrow raised and a hand on your hip. You look as if you’re ready to attack him, to jinx him, to probably pinch at his skin. But he knows you, and you’d do none of the above. Instead, you say the one threat that causes his heart to sink into the pit of his stomach, “don’t talk to me in class.” You’re slipping away from him as you pick up your pace, exiting all the commotion in the Great Hall.

He tries to hide the disappointment that stems from his chest, and his heart beats with an inexplicable dull pain. All he can think about is the twist of your expression and he’s gathering his things rather quickly to follow after you, without even a bid goodbye to his clique.

Without any knowledge of what you two do behind closed doors and the complex history that you two share, one may view your relationship as practically nonexistent; you two are strangers, barely passing acquaintances.

Doyoung does not approach you in the halls, in anywhere that necessarily has many witnesses. You smile at him, maybe even a wave depending on your mood, but no one questions it … as you wave at almost everyone who passes by you.

Classmates might see interaction during the one class you two share, if they pay attention close enough. However, you and Doyoung are much more to each other than passing acquaintances. Although he’s starting to see himself as another name on your list of individuals you sleep with, you are much more to him than you could ever know.

He’ll never forget the first time you two met. He was patrolling the halls for anyone lurking past curfew with his nose dug deep in his heavy book on magical creatures, when you walked right into him and caused the both of you to fall to the granite.

He was beyond ready to dock off points for whoever the rule breaker may be, but you took his breath away when you hovered above him and clasped your palm over his mouth before he can scold anyone. You looked a bit frazzled as your hair was all over the place and he noticed your minimal amount of clothing in the middle of a cold winter night.

He saw the signature Hufflepuff badge on your thin sweater and the sound of your voice completely threw him off his tracks.

“I’m so sorry.” You whisper at the stunned Prefect underneath you, whose body feels warm against your own. But your eyes remain frantically on the lookout for anyone else passing, despite the lack of light in the cobblestone hallway. You most definitely do not belong in this wing of the castle and knocking down a Prefect caused more of a problem in your escape route.

Quickly standing up, you lend your hand out for him to take. His long fingers accept your hold as he pulls himself up and dusts the dirt off his robe. His green emblem glows in the dim light and you’re internally screaming at the mess you just made for yourself. But you recognize his features: the sharpness in his eyes, the small curves of the corners of his lips, his neatly parted black hair.

“You’re in some deep---”

“---Kim Doyoung.” The boy freezes at the sound of his name and he blinks at you, curious as to where you know of him. Being a Prefect has its small perks of popularity, but he didn’t expect for it to go this far. “Y/N, we had brooms together.”

As he repeats your name and examines your pretty features, a light bulb goes off in his head. “The clumsy Hufflepuff that fell off her broom in the highest altitude?”

“If that’s how you remember me by.” You smile proudly, and he scoffs at how someone could possibly hold pride in something so silly. “It’s nice to see you around, you’re a Prefect! Wow! That’s incredible.”

“And you’re still as clumsy as you were a year ago. Falling all over the place.”

“Unfortunately, some things don’t change! But you certainly have.” Doyoung looks at you with hooded eyes and a cautious gaze, but you’re so outlandishly bold despite swaying with your hands behind your back. “Please, don’t take that the wrong way. I meant it as a compliment! I used to have a tiny crush on you, baseless, but you helped me catch my broomstick and I’ll never be able to forget that.”

Doyoung, unknowingly, lights up at your shameless confession and takes another good look at you. You're much more mature now, and if he stared into your alluring gaze any longer, he’d be completely mesmerized without the need of a love potion. “So you liked me over a meaningless chivalrous act?”

“I liked you because you were charming and yes, perhaps I am someone who finds attractiveness in men who are chivalrous. There’s nothing wrong with that.” You bat your sweet eyelashes at him so endearingly, and he’s a blushing mess all over the place.

Doyoung has had anonymous love letters passed on from his friends, but they were all Slytherins who yearned greedily to be associated with his status. So knowing that a Hufflepuff, with an innocent youthful approach to love, festered some form of infatuation with him does flatter him quite well. “I’ll let you go.”

You’re about to exhale an exasperated sigh of relief until Doyoung continues, “under one condition.”

“Okay, I’ll do anything.” Your gleaming eyes sparkle like stars paired with the night sky.

He rolls his eyes at you, “don’t be so quick to jump at conditions without hearing them first.” Doyoung groans and you passively brush off his comment.

“If it’s harmless, I’ll do it.”

And in the dead of the night, where only you two stand in the middle of an empty cobblestone hallway, Doyoung requests, “I want to see you again.”

Although that night marked the beginning of your friendship, public interactions were still scarce and this was mainly on the fault of Doyoung. The times you met were late nights past curfew where he was stationed at and he grew to enjoy your wondrous personality. This boy grew up in a Slytherin bubble his whole life, no one outside of his house ever dared approached him … at least, not with the warmest smile as yours.

You were everything he was not, but he liked it so much. You were a half that completed his whole, and there were growing pains he couldn’t confide in anyone else. Surprisingly, you knew his imperfections more than he did himself and yet, you still wanted to be around him to encourage him. Not to mention, you had a sudden growth in other parts of your body and formed into your features very beautifully.

He wasn’t the only one who noticed, as there were more male counterparts who smiled at you, talked about you, fawned over you. And he felt something heighten inside of him along with his existing romantic feelings, and that he began seeing you in a new light.

With you experiencing new things, like hand holding and being showered by love letters on Valentine’s Day, it was wrong of him to fester such envy over the ones who publicly adorned you. He was so blinded by his hot headed rage that he completely missed the fact that you never accepted anyone who confessed, maybe the hand holding, but everyone else was a complete rejection.

All this time, you had been waiting for him and when you two shared your first kiss together, you had an assumption that Doyoung was going to finally confess that he felt the same way. But he never did. You two did, however, further your relationship into something more intimate and taking each other’s virginities opened a whole pathway of possibilities --- none being one where you two end up officially together.

He was the first to sleep with someone else, that was his first of many mistakes that he was going to make in his relationship with you. It also became the drop of the needle for you to start seeing other people as well, to explore what Doyoung couldn’t offer, to rid yourself of the feelings you had for a boy that didn’t seem like he wanted anything more.

Chivalry was dead and Doyoung believed that the innocent youthful Hufflepuff love had disappeared from within you.

As his present day runs after you, you’re abruptly stopped by a Ravenclaw for a small chat. Damn you Hufflepuffs for being friendly and social. So, he rushes past the two of you and into the classroom to await for your arrival. The quick shade of green flashes by your side and you’re fuming incredibly at how Doyoung continues to play you like a harp.

When you slide into your assigned seat next to him, he goes off like a canon. Doyoung starts spewing backhanded excuses and endless shameless rambles about his behavior. “I told you. Don’t talk to me during class or I will jinx you. Won’t be able to talk with your tongue stuck to the roof of your mouth.”

“You’re not going to jinx me.” With a subtle flick of his wrist, your chair is pulled closer to his. “And if you were to do so, you wouldn’t do something so cynical.” Yelping at the abrupt usage of his magic, you’re irritably pressing your ink into your journal with a newfound annoyance.

“You’re right. I’d turn you into a duck, so at least, you’re still cute to look at.” The mindless scribbles on the paper make no sense in your head, as you’re primarily zoned in on the disrupted energy you have about your Slytherin companion. These ill feelings make you almost sick, wanting to shut out any bad replay of the moments before and forgetting about the attention you seek so much from Doyoung.

“For you to successfully cast a jinx on me, you must make eye contact first.” His finger lifts your chin and you’re eye to eye with his lustful dark stare. Doyoung licks his lips, a shine shimmers from his saliva, and he’s tempted to bring you into his chambers for an intimacy he’s been craving. “My, oh my. You’re looking very charmed today.” A grin curves up and taunts you, and you’re blinking away down at the table.

“Doyoung, we’re in class. Please, focus.” Your desperate whisper turns into a whine once his cold hand slyly smooths over your bare knee.

“Are you free later tonight?” Doyoung peers over at your side profile and your skin feels soft at his fingertips. He’s imagining your intoxicating scent mixing with his sheets, your light playful kisses along his neck, and gripping onto every naked part of you. For a whole minute, he’s forgotten that he’s in class with other no name individuals and a boring professor. He has tunnel vision whenever he’s with you.

“I have an arrangement.” The grip on your knee tightens at your quiet answer. An arrangement.

“The Gryffindor who had leafy greens in between his teeth?” Doyoung treads lightly, because you’re both well aware he’s made harsher insults than that. He retrieves his hand and picks up his pen as if he’s never touched you.

He sees your head shake out of the corner of his eye, you’re rolling your lips together sheepishly. There’s something odd about your stance and he’s growing a bit more curious…. A bit more spiteful at how closed off you are being. There’s something you’re hiding from him. “Then, who?”

“Is there something you’d like to discuss with the class, Mr. Kim? If not, I’d like for everyone to head over to the greenhouse.” As the class slightly snickers and the classroom empties, you and Doyoung are stopped by your professor.

Professor Sprout, wearing her worn out Dragon hide gloves and a thin lined smile, shoves a potted plant into Doyoung’s hands, “behave, you two. Your conversations are never very secret when spoken aloud.” She gives both of you a warning before proceeding out along with the rest of the class.

Doyoung scoffs at the absurd encounter and rolls his eyes. “Ah, you’re getting me in trouble with you now.”

“I’m sorry, Doyoung. It’s better that you don’t know.” You say this every time, when will you realize that keeping your hookups a secret only causes him more agony? He catches your wrist as you both exit the corridors, he barely ever has you alone now. And to say the least, he fucking misses you.

“Spare me some of your time after class.” He’s disgusted by himself, knowing that his eyes are begging for you to say yes. Him, a highly admired Slytherin, has settled for scraps and if anyone knew, they’d never let him live.

Your hand gently clasps over his and when you look up with your starry eyes, something inside him feels at peace. “Did you miss me?” He gulps at your question and blinks at you like a deer in headlights. If said by anyone else, he would not hesitate to snap his fingers into a malicious spell. But you ask the million dollar question so sweetly, there’s no taunt… there’s no mockery in your tone. It’s full of genuine curiosity.

So, he answers you with part of his heart that you know too well. “Unfortunately.” His body falls slightly in defeat, and suddenly the potted plant is alive in his hands. It’s wailing a dangerous and annoying loud cry, completely ruining the moment.

Doyoung quizzically ponders the monstrous green plant and its magical capabilities puzzle him, possibly reminding him to pay more attention to the actual curriculum than on your unbuttoned shirt.

Moreover, your giggle surprisingly calms him in this stressful situation and you lightly pat his hand that’s still gripping your wrist. “I’m all yours after class.”

Taking the wretched plant, you hurry off toward the greenhouse to find someone to diffuse the crying creature. Doyoung laughs in disbelief at your comical animated figure running around with a pot over your head and shouting for any student to help you. So you’re not paying attention in class either?

Doyoung takes you to your favorite place, despite the rule that you’re not allowed access to it. The Prefect Bathroom remains spotlessly clean and fresh paired with an immediate scent of rosewater and wild honeysuckle. The white polished marble gleams prettily under the twinkling diamond chandeliers and you’re twirling enthusiastically in the center of the large undressing area.

He observes and smiles widely to himself at the sight of your happiness and cute giggles. It’s always a risk to have you use their bathroom, but he is always abusing his privilege to seek your enjoyment that he truly doesn’t care about anything else. Your morality has beaten him enough and he’s heard plenty about his wrongdoings, yet here you are… sweetly dancing in the one place that’s absolutely wrong. Perhaps, you two have rubbed off a little too much on one another.

“I can never get sick of this place.” As you plead to Doyoung to cast a bubble bath, you’re already stripping out of your skirt. He shields his eyes to give you some privacy and recites the charm to run hot dazzling water in the ginormous pool. A nice soothing bath is exactly what you two need after a stressful day playing in the dirt.

“This is your favorite place.” says Doyoung with a matter of fact edge to this tone.

“It’s my favorite place because I only get to come here with you.” You jump on his back and he hoists you up by your thighs. His heart skips a happy tune. “I refuse for you to tell me the password, even if you do wish for me to enjoy the simple pleasures of a bubble bath.”

“You and your right and wrongs.” With eager hands, you’re loosening his tie from around his neck. “You stripped so fast that you’re going to get a cold.”

“It’s going to get steamy really soon. Plus, I know you like me best without any clothes on.” Your hot breath tickles the shell of his ear and a blush scatters across Doyoung’s cheek. Button after button, his open shirt exposes his toned build. He sets you on the edge of the elevated step before the bath.

Doyoung smirks at your nakedness and your hot lustful expression. Leaning in until he’s practically breathing against your lips, he stares straight into your eyes. “My Puff knows me best.” And dives into you with all his soul. Fruitful drags of his lips along yours, his long tongue enters your mouth. His large hand carefully caresses your cheek to pull you further into the kiss, noses pressing into skin and with a desire to never part.

His heart swells lovingly, kissing you feels like the best thing in the world. There are no tricks, no spells, no recited charms, but you are more than magical. The same surge of energy runs through his veins, but unlike his impressive ability as a notable wizard, he can’t control it. You make him lose control. As meticulous and cautious as he is, you’re the first thing he doesn’t think through.

Your needy hands push off his dress shirt and he hurriedly unbuckles his belt. When you break the kiss, he automatically pouts and pulls you back in for one more lingering peck. “Are you going to scrub my back for me?” You smile, dragging him closer to the overflowing bathtub.

Large puffs of white bubbles spill from the rims and disappear with your every step. It reminds you of sea foam that washes upon the shore, with a floral fragrant that fills your lungs. “That’s quite an intimate gesture, but yes.”

After removing all his garments, he joins you in the large pool of glossy bubbles and the clouds of steam that rises from the water suffocates him warmly. He sits with his back against the wall and eyes unwavering on your alluring expression.

The bubbles do a great job at covering your breasts, but his sneaky hands snake under the water to grip them. Doyoung grabs a full tit and thumbs over your erect nipple, all while he holds the most sensual gaze with you. Slowly, you naturally end up in his hold and your wet back relaxes against his chest.

The beating of his heart is too loud and surely, you can feel the way it jumps out of his chest. Doyoung attaches his lips on your skin and as you’re melting at his harsh suckling. However, you perk up and snap out of your dazed arousal at the realization of his purposeful licks. “You’re trying to mark me?”

His hand continues to rub and twist your aching nipples. The sensation stimulating the growth of pleasure to sprout below and your mind to wander.

“Possibly.”

A lovers’ mark is the ultimate testament of mutual love. Engraving the skin with your beloved’s Patronus, wherever the giver chooses to mark. Love emblems are meant to be something sacred to the couple, a way to make someone completely untouchable to everyone else. Not only does the symbol glow with an iridescent shine whenever love is felt, it also numbs any romantic feelings for all others besides the partner.

Besides the use of possessiveness, it’s a beautiful way to discover one true love since the engraving of their Patronus shows up on the skin under the conditions that both individuals must be madly in love with one another. And if it doesn’t end up forming, the receiver is left with a bright, sparkling star hue in its place before fading away completely. If it does appear, it fades when both fall out of love.

“Doyoung--” His name falls from your lips as a moan and he’s running down to explore the beauty between your legs. “--can’t do that unless you actually want to commit to me.”

“I am committed to you.” The more your neck cranes off to the side and exposed to him, the more he wishes to etch the symbol of his love for everyone to see. A hand is hooked under your thigh to keep your legs spread open and you’re gasping at the slight pressure from the water.

“Romantically committed to me.” You remind him, but your train of thought is cut fairly short as Doyoung begins rubbing circles on your needy clit.

“You’re afraid of it showing up?” He’s lathering your breasts with bubbles and dragging his long finger along your slit. His greediness overtakes him and with wandering hands, he’s gripping every part of you that they can reach. Doyoung’s guilty pleasure is always going to any form of physical affection from you specifically. When he finally gets ahold of you, it’s hard for him to let go.

Your warm skin is delicate and smooth beneath the very tips of his fingers and every exploration of your terrain makes him feel inexplicable explosions of fondness. Perhaps, you’ve captivated him and although he believed it would take something as extreme as the Amortentia to have him falling for someone, you did it as easily as being yourself. His better half.

So, he’s impressed by your genuineness and how he’s willing to give up parts of his reputation to unapologetically be himself around you. No one else matters, nothing else matters, but why must it be so difficult to tell you that?

“I’m afraid of it not showing up.” You’re more than convinced that Doyoung has confused his strong sense of lust with love and there would be no possible way his Patronus would appear. It’s better to save the embarrassment for the both of you.

Spinning in his arms, the water twirls to the curves of your body and he’s admiring parts that expose above the surface. He’s matched with your beauty before him, resemblance to the stained glass window that situates above the large bathroom.

However, the doubt in your statement finally reaches his ears and he’s grabbing your ass as you settle over his thighs again. His furrowed eyebrows bring together a rather upset expression --- lip pout and all.

“Why wouldn’t it show up?” Doyoung puzzles, bringing your arms to wrap around his neck. Leaning into him, your pruney fingers trace his smooth chin and he notices your quick flicker between his eyes and his lips.

While your gentle kiss reassures him of your subtle endearment, your next words do the opposite. “You tell me.” All you do is push him away with your vague doubtfulness, like you’re constantly testing him and using his poor guessing skills to your own advantage. He can pull you close after any altercation he wants, but you push him away in any emotionally romantic sense.

“You’re rather mischievous and mysterious today,” Doyoung squeezes your ass and smacks it lightly, causing ripples in the water. “I liked it better when you told me everything you felt.”

Suddenly, his fingers poke at your entrance and his other hand drops in between your legs again. Your mouth opens in shock when his long fingers enter slowly and he enjoys the pleasurable contour of your reactions. “Like this, for example.” The pad of his fingers working rapid flicks against your sensitive bud. “How does this feel?” His whisper dances across your shoulder, landing a kiss at the end of his question.

Your moans echo in the lavish bathroom, bouncing off the marble walls and encouraging Doyoung to keep a steady pace. There’s no worry about how loud you may be, Doyoung charms every room before every lustful encounter. This allows you to let go, let free, let him know how he makes you feel.

He curves his fingers into you, pumping and dragging into your tightness until you’re practically screaming. He only has one thought, as his eyes trail down your intoxicated needy figure, how beautiful you are as a moaning mess under his control. Your head is thrown back, eyes are squeezed shut and opening them to see nothing but tiny yellow starlight.

Dainty kisses line your exposed neck line and his ego swells with so much pride. Doyoung has mastered every flick of his wrist to have you under his trance, spewing nonsensical words and forgetting anyone else that exists. He gives your erect nipples harsh licks and with a faint drag of teeth, the sensation pushes you to your end.

Sporadic pleasurable convulsions cause your legs to close around Doyoung’s hands, but the strength of his knee keeps them apart. “Doyoung… I’m going to free fall.”

Leave it up to you to beautifully announce your climax. He snickers, applying more pressure on your clit and a rubbing motion against your walls. “I’ll catch you.”

Moon crescents embed into his skin as you’re holding onto him with your whole life. As your scream hits every octave, the massive collection of bubbles that cover the surface of the bath fly and splatter every corner of the pristine room.

White and wet bubbles drip down from the walls, falling from the diamond chandeliers, and coating every steamy mirror. Doyoung’s eyes light up from the chaos, making sure you’re riding out your high for as long as he can provide.

Your body trembles with euphoria, falling forward into Doyoung’s chest and squeezing around his lazily pumping fingers. For a brief second, your mind is wiped and nothing in the world feels better than being in this perfect moment with the one person who’s Patronus you hoped would etch your skin.

If one possesses feelings that are practically unbearable to contain, one should confess… right? For all your life, you’ve lived by this statement. Friends do not hear the end of it and most surely, one should follow their own advice… right?

So why do you yearn for Doyoung in your gaze as he stands across the Great Hall as if he doesn’t know of your existence? As if he wasn’t kissing you in the Prefect bathroom a few days prior?

It’s not an understatement to say that you catch the attention of almost every person in the room, but the one head that refuses to turn your way… the one who’s looks you wish to steal… is the one person who looks right through you.

Feelings have become a nuisance ever since the first time you confessed to him and it was worse than landing on cobblestone after falling off your broom. The reason why you’ve buried them deeper than any chamber is that you’re positive that the prized Slytherin would rather be with another, preferably one from his own house.

While you try to remain optimistic and playful for the time being, you’re simply replaceable to him. He can barely care to acknowledge you in public when Gryffindors boast about you in their arms like winning a trophy. You’ve kept good relations with every Ravenclaw you’ve slept with. You’ve kindly rejected every romantic gesture another Hufflepuff has offered.

But if there is one thing you’ve learned about him is that he’s lived in his Slytherin circle for as long as he lives. And it will stay that way. You’re his sweet Hufflepuff that he’ll push away at no cost, then pull you back in secrecy.

Now if one feels as if they’re wasting their time, one should leave… right? Wrong. Kim Doyoung has skewed with your morality… and your feelings remain loyal to him since the day he confessed to see you again.

“Lemon-drop, I’ve been looking all over for you.” An arm slings around your shoulders and the notable red and gold tie is the first thing you see. Jung Jaehyun, Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, flashes his deep dimples at you. “Walk with me.”

He extends his palm out for you to take and your friends painfully elbow your sides to wake you from your hesitation. Taking his hand, you get up from the dining table and follow him out the Great Hall.

Doyoung sees the scene unfold before him and rolls his eyes at how Jaehyun’s dimples are all it takes to have you wandering off with him. Despite every wicked intent to follow you two, he heads out in the direction of the dormitories to fume in his room.

“It’s such a nice and sunny day today.” Jaehyun runs a hand through his luscious brown locks. You both exit into the front courtyard as other students are scattered on the lawns mingling with one another. When you peer up at the sky, the sun is barely seen past the layers of clouds.

“Jaehyun, is there something you needed to speak with me about?” His laughter roars, full of hefty song and amusement.

“Listen, lemon-drop. I like you and I have a feeling you feel the same way. I want to mark you if you’d let me.” Jaehyun smirks and just as he brings your hand up for a kiss, you gently let go. “Am I coming off too strong? We don’t have to do it today, I just wanted to see if it would show.”

“Jaehyun, you’re going to find an extravagant person one day. A person who is going to know all your favorite castle balconies to swing from and how you like to be kissed on the nose.” His ears grow a bright red and for once, his gaze drops to the ground. “I am, unfortunately, not that person for you so I must kindly reject your confession.”

As you turn on your toes, Jaehyun lightly holds your wrist to stop you. “But, you know all those things about me. Is there anything I can do to prove that we belong together?”

“I know them because I care enough to remember things you tell me, not because I loved you enough to observe these things about you. I give you my word that there is nothing you can do to prove me otherwise.” The corners of his lips dip downward and you’re running to the one person that will erase this sad rejection from your memory.

When you’re scanning the Great Hall for any sign of him, he’s not there and it leads you to his only hiding place. Doyoung loves to shut himself out from the rest of the school whenever he gets the chance. However, a lost Hufflepuff wandering outside the entrance of the Slytherin dormitories is rather an odd sight to see and you haven’t had the chance to form many connections from this house.

The sparse amount of Slytherins you know aren’t going to be passing by, unless with some stroke of luck, someone will be kind enough to open the door for you. Every person passes by you with questionable stares until a silver haired boy blinks at you with wide eyes.

“Who is it that you’re trying to see?” He asks abrasively, but softens his tone when he realizes that you mean no harm.

You bid him a small grin, “your Prefect.”

“And what for?”

“There is an urgent matter that involves him and he’s practically unreachable when he’s hiding away in his private room.” The boy narrows his eyes at you, but beckons you to follow him down to the Slytherin dungeon.

Excitedly, you hurry behind him and whisper over his shoulder, “what’s your name?”

“Nakamoto Yuta. No need to tell me yours, I’ll doubt he’d want me to know.” He spits and then, mutters the enchanted password to reveal the large green common room. “Come this way.” He leads up the boys’ dorms and walks briskly. Although you never mentioned a name, Yuta seems to already know who you’re here to see and it makes you wonder how he must know.

“Open up.” Yuta stops and knocks at the wooden door, Kim Doyoung written in a fancy penmanship on the center. “You have a guest.” He looks your way before rolling his eyes at Doyoung’s irritated tone through the other side.

“Tell them to leave.”

“He wants you to leave.” Yuta repeats, mostly to satisfy Doyoung’s nag.

“That’s fine. Thank you for bring---” The door swings open abruptly and Yuta almost loses his balance. Doyoung frantically turns his head side to side to comprehend what he is seeing. His ears felt deceived, hearing your voice through the door, he had to make sure it wasn’t you.

But you stand before him and Yuta. Here you are approaching him whenever he least expects it. “What are you doing here?”

“I came by to see you. I’ve been here plenty of times.”

“What are you doing bringing her in?” scolds Doyoung and the other boy shrugs carelessly.

“What was I supposed to do? Let her bat puppy eyes at several other Slytherins and have her telling everyone who passes her that she came here to see our Prefect? It was also getting cold out.” Yuta mumbles, but finds great entertainment at seeing how frazzled Doyoung has gotten by your presence.

“It was a bit chilly.” You admit and Doyoung groans, pulling you into his room and shutting the door on Yuta. “Thank you, Yuta.” You whisper through the crack between the door frame.

“It’s too risky for you to be searching for me around other Slytherins.” Doyoung paces the room and you notice his tie is loose and shirt is unbuttoned around his neck. “Why are you here?”

“A Gryffindor blew me off. I thought I’d come and see you with all the free time I can get.” Taking a seat at the end of his neatly made bed, your legs swing adorably and Doyoung almost doesn’t hear you.

“Jaehyun? Does he think he’s too good for you or something? That cocky dimple Gryffindor, with the draw of my wand---” Doyoung whips out his intricately customized Dragon Heartstring, and you’re on your feet to calm his temper down.

“Will you put that thing away? I’m here for you.” Your giggle warms his tight chest and puts out the fueling flame for anyone who dares to hurt you in any way. “It’s not a big deal and it’s not the first time it has happened.”

Doyoung uncomfortably clears his throat and withdraws his wand. Buttoning up his shirt, he fixes his tie back in place. To say the least, your words erupted his festering jealousy and this may have been a small tipping point.

Before you had entered, he was so frustrated with himself and you. You can just walk away with another man without a second thought, in front of him too. He remembered the soft feeling of your body and how he’s not the only one who’s needy hands ran their course over you. That may be the one pain he can never get rid of.

“I never understood why you give other men the time of your day when they just brush you off undeservingly.” He stings and you’re slightly surprised at his sudden attack. When you respond in silence, he continues.“I thought Hufflepuffs are to be loyal, so why do you sleep with other men?”

Crossing your arms, your weight is barred on your left leg and there is a shift in your overall mood. With an eyebrow raised, you sass him back, “People say Slytherins are ambitious, so why didn’t you chase after me?”

Doyoung swallows hard and blinks at you speechless. A clammy hand runs through his black strands as he tries to find any possible explanation without confessing his feelings. If he had a plan to confess, it would never be in the middle of an inquisition with you.

“I guess you didn’t think before acting on your desires.” And how he hated how correct that statement is. He doesn’t ever think whenever he’s around you. All his actions are conducted with his emotions and the feelings that overtake him.

Doyoung scoffs, rolling his eyes at your rash comment. “Aren’t you supposed to have the strongest morality among all the houses?”

“Sleeping with multiple men isn’t morally wrong. There’s nothing wrong with it…” The slight hurt from his question is difficult to ignore, but you must remember one thing if you want to protect your heart on your sleeve. This is nothing serious to be bickering over. You two aren’t anything serious, so why feel the need to squabble over nonsense? “... it would only be wrong if someone liked me and wished to commit to me.”

Your eyes meet and Doyoung blinks at you with wide eyes. His Adam’s Apple bobs as he gulps again, completely whiplashed at how the conversation has turned. “And if that’s the case and you like me, would that make you jealous, Doyoung? That’s why you’re trying to poorly attack my character?” He’s never heard such a strong taunt in your tone and he’s baffled by it, slightly aroused, but shocked.

“I don’t like you.” His voice is small and he pouts his lips at you. Doyoung crosses his arms and perhaps, his sad expression reveals a little more than it should have. Your heart softens at his ridiculously cute response, had you expected something much more angry and vindictive.

“Then this conversation is over, right? I’ll be on my way now. I have herbology.”

“We have the same class.” He grumbles, grabbing his robe from his desk chair.

You open the door to make your exit, “but since you don’t want to be seen with a Hufflepuff, I’ll go ahead first.” When you stumble out into the hallway, a recognizable face brightens at your appearance.

“Haechan! Hello, I haven’t seen you in a while.” You’re cheering and Doyoung chews the inside of his cheek. His pride is left at the door and along with all the things that hold him back from you, he doesn’t want to push you away anymore.

“My favorite Hufflepuff, are you just leaving?” Haechan walks up to open his arms, wishing to embrace you in the longest hug. However, Doyoung quickly takes you by your hand and rushes past him.

“She came to walk with me to class. Bye Haechan.” And Haechan is left standing in the middle of the hallway, confused and watching your backs as you’re both briskly walking out the common room.

Doyoung looks back at you, “you think I’m going to let you walk out of my room and have another Slytherin walk you to class? Don’t be so foolish.”

But you are foolish. Your heart beats foolishly and loudly for Kim Doyoung. And may you be foolish enough to wonder if his heart does the same for you.

And it does. Foolishly. Loudly. Lovingly.

You both wonder if this vicious cycle will ever meet its end. Doyoung pushes you away by ignoring your existing relationship, but pulls you back into his embrace as if it never happened. You push him away by running off with other men, but come back to him as if he’s the one person you’re loyal to.

But on this particular night, after mass circulation of rumors reaches the ears of the lovesick Slytherin, Doyoung is pulling you away from your huddled group of friends in the middle of the long corridor hallways. Without any greeting, any spoken words, he’s dragging you to his room right in front of everyone to see. His hand around yours like it was two days prior, but with an expression so grave on his sullen face.

The silence between you two brings no comfort, but you don’t dare say the first words. Doyoung, finally, approached you first in public and it is possibly for a greater reason. Perhaps you’ve done something horribly wrong, and the moment you two step into his room that you’ll hear a mouthful.

However when he closes the door to his room, your hand immediately drops from his embrace and he turns to face you. There is a darkness in his eyes, one that light cannot touch, and his lips are tight in a line.

There is an eerie silence that fills the dark room and the murky windows paint the area an ominous green. Doyoung focuses on your confused, yet adorable expression. “Why did you lie to me?”

The door catches your slight stumble and you’re blinking cluelessly at him. “About what?”

“Jaehyun.” He breathes the name in spite and aggressively loosens his tie. “He didn’t blow you off. You rejected him and he’s telling everyone it's because you’re in love with someone else.”

You scorn at such a ridiculous rumor and for the fact that it’s even made its way around to Doyoung. Another realization hits you. All it took for him to approach you in public is a meaningless rumor.

So in response, you laugh and it mocks him further. “This is not a laughing matter, y/n.”

“I’m sorry, but why are you so upset at that? Fine. I did lie to you, but I never told Jaehyun I was in love with anyone else.”

“Are you in love with someone else?” Doyoung says with balled fists at his side. There is a mixture of anger and sadness running through his veins and he’s so sick of feeling this way.

Your hesitation speaks for you, “It’s better that you don’t know.”

“You say this every time and it does nothing to ease my conscience.” Doyoung throws his hands in the air and stares at you with sharp eyes. “Is that why you were afraid that my emblem wouldn’t show up? Because your heart belongs to another. Yeah, I heard Jaehyun wanted to mark you too.”

Men and their constant want to prove something to themselves with their marks. Everyone has a twisted reality of markings now. There have been many others who have tried to mark you, feeling as if lust would be enough to suffice its appearance. As one's Patronus is special to their own protection, a beloved’s Patronus mark holds the same value.

You’re quite at a loss for words, “I was afraid that it wouldn’t show up, not because of myself, but because of you.”

Doyoung points at himself in disbelief. Him? He loves you more than anyone he’s ever encountered, even if you didn’t know it. “I wouldn’t have almost tried it if I wasn’t sure of myself.”

“You don’t love me, Doyoung. I don’t even know if I can even say you romantically like me.” Those words hurt the both of you and it lingers in the room for longer than you’d like.

“Do you think I fuck you meaninglessly like all those other losers you sleep with?” Doyoung steps forward, pulling you into his chest and admiring everything he’s fallen in love with. A pain spreads across his heart as he thinks of you with another person, of someone else kissing you, of someone else making you happy.

“You really don’t feel it in the way I kiss you?” He asks once more and your own stare drops to his shoulder, a bit ashamed to maintain eye contact with such pained eyes.

“And if I did? How would you explain that? That you are actually in love with me?” Your questions pelt him like rocks. As he pushes you on his bed, you pull him down with his tie.

Doyoung drinks you up like fresh water, a crisp and refreshing love that encourages him to reach heights. His hand cups your face and his feather touches reminds you of his gentleness. Your lips taste like sweet honey, dripping and coating him with a sticky sugar.

He’s happier with you and he’s the happiest kissing you. Perhaps, it’s hard for him to express with words, but he’d always hope his actions speak louder. So, his lips press against yours with a whirl of passion and every good feeling that grows in his chest.

The collar of his shirt is wrinkled in your fist and you’re holding him as if you’re afraid of him letting go. Doyoung runs a hand down your torso and lifts the end of your skirt up. A warm hand pushes your legs apart and a finger presses your clit through your cotton panties.

Your mouth opens into a moan and he takes this opportunity to shove his long tongue inside, lapping with your own. As a wet spot forms on your panties, he pulls them to the side and gathers the slick to gently rub your erect clit. His name is lost and muffled in the kiss, but you tap at his chest.

When he breaks away and halts all movement, he looks down over you with a fire burning in his dark orbs. And a confession falls from his swollen lips, “may I mark you?”

“And if it doesn’t show up?” Though, you’re wishing to the most powerful wizards that it does or else your heart would shatter into a million pieces beyond repair.

He bites his lip and every possible outcome scatters his thoughts. It’s too hard to concentrate, so he doesn’t at all. He focuses on your pretty lips and the way you look at him like he’s the only person that matters. “Then, we’ll deal with the consequences later.”

With your quick nod, Doyoung attaches his lips to your neck and harshly sucks at your skin. For the most part, it’s a pleasurable feeling and sends a shiver down your spine. So, he licks and nibbles until he can barely breathe. Your faint scent of patchouli and ginger intoxicates him, wraps him up in a fuzzy coziness that is unmatched.

Your hands unbutton his shirt and a final gentle bite seals his mark. If the love is reciprocated, the emblem would take a moment to form. Doyoung is rather hopeful and excited, as he’s never seen his Patronus before. “You look beautiful.”

“And you look dazed as if someone charmed you.” You giggle and kiss his red lips.

“You’re quite the powerful one, my Puff.” He smiles against your jaw before proceeding to your mess down below. He gives your aching clit a few licks, which cause your body to twist and turn at the sensitive sensation.

“Please, I haven’t felt you in so long.” Whining and tugging at his hair, Doyoung leaves a lasting kiss and gets up to remove his pants.

“Did you miss me?” Doyoung raises a suggestive eyebrow and cocks his head to the side in mockery, a smirk growing on his face.

You reply with a silly response that only he knows and causes him to chuckle, “unfortunately.” And he’s finding every way not to confess his endearments for you.

His dick stands tall and proud against his abdomen, giving it a few jerks as he watches you strip out of your own clothes. You turn around and sit on your knees, with a slight tilt forward and the arch in your back to accentuate your ass.

Doyoung rolls on the protection as quickly as he can. His hands lightly smack your cheeks and slowly enters your dripping hole. His hands grip your hips as he slides deeper into you, both being moaning messes at the delicious feeling.

“Have you always been this big?” You look back at him and to which he devilishly smiles at you.

“You know just the way to fuel my ego,” when his length is fully buried inside of your tight walls, he wraps an arm around your waist and a hand on your tit. “After all the times you’ve been fucked, your pussy is still as tight as ever.”

Doyoung slams hard into you, showing no mercy and causing you to jolt up. He takes every frustration, every feeling of anger, every ounce of jealousy into his thrusts. “But you take me so well, darling. I’ve never seen someone as pretty as you.”

His compliments cause your heart to soar, despite the soreness you’re beginning to feel in your pussy. He’s relentless, bottoming out until his tip is practically in your guts. “Just like that, baby. You’re the only one who fucks me this good.”

He blushes under the low light and leans forward to kiss the top of your head. “My Puff, you’re so sweet to me.” The loud squelch of your tight pussy gripping his dick fills the hot room, “and so wet.”

You’re shamelessly dripping on his green velvet blanket and Doyoung picks up his speed. Your knees give out as you fall face forward into the mattress, hands in fists from the incredible pleasure of every hit. Your ass now in his full view and every tingle of magic lights up in his veins.

Your throat is raw from screaming and moaning, Doyoung holds your hips steady to thrust into a new angle. Automatically, your body twitches as his tip hits your special spot and he’s well aware that you’re close to releasing.

And with his fast thrusts, he asks you an intimate question that is fueled by envy and rage. “If I fuck you the best, then why do you sleep with other men?”

There are no thoughts in your mind to even give him a white lie, to mask the truth of your actions. He’s fucking you into an oblivion that it’s hard to even focus on anything besides pleasure. The books on his shelf begin to tremble as you’re crying out, “I- I don’t know! Fuck, please… ! I’m tipping over.”

“Answer the question or I will stop.” He’s absolutely cynical and you have every reason to believe his threat. Doyoung lifts your limp body upright, against his torso and an arm secured around your middle as before. His hand snakes to your clit, rubbing feathering circles over the neglected bud.

Nonetheless, his single action paired with his tip grazing harshly against the particular spot causes your legs to tremble. “Do you want me to stop?” His threat rings in your ears when you still left him without an answer.

You’re so close, you’re starting to see white. So, you say what your heart tells you and the truth falls from your lips in a loud confession. “Because I wanted you to love me instead! I fucked them to forget about my love for you… fuck, I’m--”

“I’ve got you. Let go of yourself, baby.” Doyoung slows his hips when your walls squeeze around him sporadically. Every book flies out and hits the opposite wall, clattering the floor with heavy academia. However, he repeats your proclamation endlessly in his mind and his heart surges with the most intense romantic desires.

“I do love you, y/n.” He whispers, cumming into his rubber and simply holding you tightly. He lets go of every prideful arrogance in his body, tossing the lame reputation he always tried to hold onto. He didn’t need that if it meant losing you. Doyoung chuckles to himself for being an obvious cliché, announcing one’s love in the midst of a lustful act. He pulls out and gently tucks you into the covers.

Breathless, you’re finally realizing his confession. “You do? Are you sure?” Any subtle movements has your aching lower half in pain, so you settle with resting on his plush pillows and await for him to join you in bed.

All this time, from beginning to now, you’ve been oblivious to his yearning looks across the Great Hall. The intensity of his kisses had been lost upon you completely as you had convinced yourself that he was incompatibly of loving you back. Even now, as you lay in slight doubt, you’re wondering how you managed to have everything fly over your head.

When he discards his used protection and with a quick flick of his wrist, every book finds its original place on the shelf again, he enters the warm covers. Your arms wrap around his neck and you’re admiring each other’s expressions in the low light. He spots the notable twinkle in your eyes and his thumb lightly rubs your cheek.

“If the symbol of my Patronus doesn’t show, I promise to love you harder until it does.” Doyoung leaves the softest, most loving kiss on your lips. He’s more than thankful for the lack of light as he’s bashfully red all over his cheeks.

“Usually, people just give up.” Your voice is harsh, possibly from the deafening screaming of pleasure prior.

Doyoung shakes his head. He’s made too many mistakes in this relationship with you. Sleeping with another. Ignoring your existence. Being too prideful to be seen with another house. All these incidents have made him feel nothing but ugliness and distraught, and pushed you away further than how much he is able to pull you back.

He loves you. He’s in love with you. He’s fallen for you recklessly as you did off your broom the first encounter. You’re everything he’s never been and never will be, yet you don’t care. You’re by his side, despite his spitefulness and you never miss a beat. That innocent youth approach to love, oh how he wishes it never faded, and though he thought it did, it didn’t. You remain true to your character when he fights with himself internally.

“That would be a mistake and I can’t afford to keep making them.” A glossy sheen over Doyoung’s regretful eyes, but you pull him closer and you refuse to let his eyes wander.

A tired harmless sigh escapes your lips and a dreamy haze overcomes you. Besides the reminder of needing to use the bathroom flashing in your mind, there is nothing else you want to dissect. Feelings are too complex to discuss at the moment and the resolve has already passed.

Regardless of the marks appearing, you’re content with the night and for the rest of your days. Kim Doyoung, the Slytherin boy of your dreams, loves you back and the power of that alone beats any spell in those dusty old textbooks.

“Why can’t we lay here forever?” Your heavy eyelids fall slowly and your voice grows small.

Doyoung kisses your shoulder, then your neck. “That’s impossible. I can’t give you forever.” He mumbles against your skin, sending vibrations across your throat.

“You are my forever.” Doyoung halts and is left speechless as a white glowing entity catches his eye. And the absolute perfect outline of his Patronus sits underneath your jaw, brightly shining with iridescent brilliance --- he makes out the outline: a White Swan, representing his love for you. Doyoung smiles to himself and hopes for it to never fade. Perhaps, he can give you forever.

some fun critical questions to think about hehe -

why do you think y/n lied to doyoung about jaehyun confessing? why do you think yuta helped y/n enter the Slytherin dormitories? what is the meaning behind the White Swan Patronus? Why do you think y/n continued to like doyoung after all this time?

there are no right or wrong answers, just something fun to have you thinking a little more about the fic haha if you want, you can send me an ask about it :) but overall, no pressure and thank you for reading! please leave me some feedback if you can! happy new year!

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missdawnandherdusk · 4 years

Text

Isn’t It Delicate?

Draco X Gryffindor!Reader

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four

Part Five Part Six Part Seven Part Eight

Summary: Will Draco find the courage to ask you out? And what happens when you two have class or lunch together? How will your worlds collide?

A/N: More of a intermediate chapter but ya know it’s still cute and a bit saucy toward the end. I love you guys so so much! Please don’t stop with your comments likes and reblogs, they mean so much to me you have no idea. Also don’t be afraid to come and chat! I’m mostly always here. Love you guys. Stay safe and creative.

Tags: @un-limiteddd @geekysimmerthings @coffee-addicti @ilikestuffproductions @msmcsmutt @ravn-87 @artemismohr18 @whygz @crazywritingbug @dolphincommander @bisexualbumblebeesstuff @fuzzy-panda @bitemebro522 @zombiesnips-blog @jillanaholland @shookyungsoo @savingdraco @welcometomyworldwithoutrules @akari180 @slytherin-emerald @chaotic-good-gemini @memalfoy-spidey @theres-a-dog-outside-omg @queenfeatherwings @fanficflaneuse @go-whovian-universe @spicyshenanigans @darling-im-not-okay-i-promise @dietkiwi @katsukink @takemetothekingdom

I was glad that Hermione was my partner in Herbology. I had forgotten to go over today’s lesson last night and I wasn’t ahead or prepared as I normally was.

“This is the only time I letting you slide on this.” Hermione warned. “Draco or not, you still need to keep up on your studies,”

I nodded and watched as she handled the flutterby bush, pruning it successfully. I followed her suit, mimicking exactly what she did and reaped the same results. Professor Sprout seemed pleased with both of us and awarded Gryffindor ten points for each of us.

I watched Harry and Ron struggle across from us, and giving in, I went over to help. Harry’s eyes met mine and something passed between us: a truce of sorts.

With the end of herbology came lunch: when I would see Draco again. The three seemed to realize that.

“Are you going to sit with him then?” Hermione asked innocently.

“I’m... not entirely sure. I mean we do have Creatures together after so... maybe? If he asks?” I offered. “He could always sit with us,” I commented.

I could tell that both Ron and Harry had something to say about that but refrained from it.

“He’d be more welcome at our table than I would be with the Slytherins,” I pointed out. “And I’d rather not get into it again with Pansy,”

They both muttered agreements and I felt that it was a small step in the right direction.

“Has he asked you yet?” Ron changed the topic. “To the ball, ya know?”

“No,” I sulked. “I think he tried this morning though,”

“What? Did he chicken out?” Harry snickered.

“Yes, I think he took a page from your book Harry,” I smirked. “Are you ever going to ask anyone?”

Harry and Ron both looked down, grumbling their answers.

We entered the Great Hall that was buzzing with the usual chatter. AS every year, it was decorated for the upcoming holidays that held a certain warmth and excitement to them.

My eyes scanned for Draco, not seeing him. Feeling a bit defeated, I sat at the Gryffindor table, half-heartedly making my way through the warm soup that was served for the chill of the day.

________________________

Draco almost stumbled into the Great Hall, his History of Magic class having run late because apparently the goblin uprising was more importing than a time schedule or a bell.

And he saw you, sitting at the Gryffindor table, laughing with your friends as if you didn’t have a care in the world, despite what was hovering over them both. He paused a moment, watching you before your gaze followed Ron’s and your eyes met his, an amused smirk on your face; caught staring.

“Are you okay?” You mouthed.

He nodded and recovered, making his way over to you, his nerves growing with every step. He was determined to ask you to the Yule Ball if it was the last thing that he did today.

He could do this. What were you going to do? Say no?

Well, you could totally do that and well, he’d have to accept it, but you wouldn’t say no would you?

As he neared your table, you stood, untucking yourself from the bench and facing him.

“Hi,” You breathed out. “You’re late,” There was mischief in your eyes.

“Binns,” It was more than enough of an explanation as your face scrunched up in pity.

“Sorry,” You sympathized. “Another goblin war then?”

He nodded; words caught on his tongue.

“Do you want to sit with us for lunch?” You looked to him earnestly, eyebrows raised.

“Yes, but... before that.” He grabbed your hand. “I... I wanted to ask this morning but didn’t.”

He took a deep breath, distracted by you catching your bottom lip between your teeth. Did you know you were trying to kill him when you did that?

“Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?”

A laughed bubbled through your lips as you lit up.

“Yes, of course I’ll go with you,” You threw a side glance to Ron and Harry, and he felt as if he was missing something.

You didn’t let go of his hand as the two of you sat at the Gryffindor table and had lunch together. His nerves were eating him on the inside; he didn’t belong at this table... he was hated at this table if anywhere.

Yet, with you by his side, no one said a word to him that had malice intent behind it. Instead the conversation shifted and flowed between classes, and homework, the upcoming Ball, the Triwizard cup.

He didn’t speak up as much as he would have in his group of friends, but he eagerly watched you animate the conversation. It was different, watching you up close, and being a part of your own little world here at school.

Every once in a while, you’d squeeze his hand and pull him from his thoughts, or simply reassure him.

Traitor, his father’s voice hissed.

He had a sinking feeling in his chest when he thought about his father and that no doubt, he already knew about what he had been doing and that he had been with you, defending and choosing you over all else. It was a box of anxiety that he kept locked tight to worry about at a later date.

Walking down to Care for Mythical Creatures, he still held your hand, and, in the snow, you huddled closer to him, fearing the cold around you.

“Afraid of a little chill?” He teased.

You gave him a sharp look, your teeth all but chattering and your nose and cheeks flushed red.

Be a gentleman, His mother scolded.

He stopped you, tugging your hand and momentarily set his bag down and slipped his robe off, draping it around your shoulders, all the while you protested.

“I-I’m okay,” You shivered. “You don’t have t-too.” “Wear it,” He nearly ordered. “I’ll be okay. I’m used to the cold,”

You pouted a moment but gave in, slipping your arms into his Slytherin robe and almost curled up into it. He didn’t want to admit it, but he loved seeing you in Slytherin colors.

“You’re staring,” The quip left your lips as you took his hand wand continued with the rest of the students down to Hagrid’s.

“You look good in Slytherin,” He retorted, smirking when you turned a deeper shade of red.

_________________________

In Creatures, I all but huddled into Draco, feeding off of his warmth, now that mid-winter was approaching quickly the weather turned for the worse. His arm was around my shoulders, shielding me from the cold, rubbing now and again when I shivered too much for his liking.

I could see the glances exchanged between the Gryffindor’s and Slytherin’s at the two of us together—and me in his robe no doubt, but I was too keen on listening to Hagrid and trying to get something (anything) useful from it.

Getting nothing from Hagrid’s lesson, my mind drifted to the upcoming exams on Friday and I zoned out, trying to figure out the best study plan on the subjects that I was struggling with, moving Herbology to the top of the list since I had missed today’s lesson’s notes and had to do double tonight. No doubt Potions should be high on the list, next to the dates and people of History of Magic, but I had that subject understood pretty well—save the dates.

“Maybe he isn’t too bad,” Harry muttered as we entered the Gryffindor common room.

“It was nice of him to give you his robe wasn’t it,” Hermione sighed dreamily.

My cheeks flushed again as I stayed quiet.

The week passed and I honestly don’t remember most of it. It was hell: studying, working on essays, the weather not letting up. I was shivering more than not, and it was hard to concentrate. It left me in the warmth of my room, dreading to go anywhere in the drafty castle other than class and some meals.

Y/n,

You haven’t been to dinner in three days, please come down and eat with me. I’ll meet you outside your common room in ten minutes.

I’m worried about you,

Draco, ~

The letter came Thursday evening as I was once again reading through the Goblin Revolutions trying to keep the dates straight. I had most of them down but kept mixing up a few of them and no matter what I did, I couldn’t get them straight.

Giving up, I closed the books and ordered my notes before slipping on a sweater and changing my socks before slipping down to the common room where Draco was waiting.

“You need to eat,” He scolded, handing me his scarf, knowing that I’d be cold.

“I’m fine,” I mumbled, wrapping it around my neck, reveling in its warmth and how it smelled strongly of him.

“No, you’re not. Now stop being stubborn. You can’t study all the time. You need breaks Y/n,” He sounded truly concerned, his fingers weaving through mine.

“I can’t fail these tests Draco,” I insisted, feeling warm with the seconds that passed.

“And you’re not going to. But you have to take care of yourself too.”

I huffed as we entered the Great Hall. It was lulled and almost silent, many students studying or overworked from the exams already taken.

“Hey Malfoy!”

I stiffened as I recognized the voice. It was Pansy.

We both turned, his grip on my hand tightened and I wasn’t sure if it was in reassurance or if he was holding me back. It could have been both.

“Still hanging with her I see,” Pansy sneered. “I don’t see why you bother. We all know how this is going to end. You’ll realize she’s not worth it and this madness will end.”

“I thought I told you to leave her alone,” Draco hissed.

“What? She can’t take a little teasing? Isn’t that what the two of you always did? She didn’t mind it then...” Pansy grinned wickedly. “Why should she care if I do it?

“Because you don’t hold a candle to who Draco is,” I snapped.

“Oh, and you’re so confident that you know who he is?” She laughed something that sounded like a hyena. “You don’t know anything about him princess. Your mommy hid you away from the real world for too long.”

“She took me away from freaks like you. I guess she didn’t want me to grow up to be a bitch,” I sneered, and Draco chuckled beside me, tugging on my hand.

“Let’s go,” He murmured.

My eyes met his and I could see the same fire behind them. He wanted to lash out as much as I did, but something stopped him, and I wasn’t sure what it was...

I took a deep cleansing breath and nodded. She wasn’t worth the time to ruin my night with Draco.

We took our seats at the Gryffindor table, far from Pansy and her posse and had a quiet dinner for once. We only exchanged a few words, talking about our two exams tomorrow. My thoughts resided with what Pansy had said.

After dinner, Draco led me once more to the Astronomy Tower where we watched the stars side by side. I was in his robe again, shielded against the chill that the night brought.

“You know she’s wrong,” Draco piped up. “I’m not going to leave you.”

My eyes didn’t leave the vastness of the sky. Sometimes it was nice to imagine words like that were real, and promises could be kept...

“Y/n,” He pressed.

“What if she’s right?” I mumbled. “I... I didn’t grow up like you did... I don’t know you that well, other than...” I shrugged and gestured vaguely.

“What do you want to know?” He pulled me closer and spun me so that we were face to face.

“I don’t know.” I sighed. “What does it mean to know a person?” My hands wrapped themselves around my midriff.

Draco rolled his eyes and tilted my chin up with his hand. My eyes met his.

“My birthday is June 5th,” He smiled, his face pensive. “I never really had a favorite color... my middle name is Lucius,”

I giggled into the back of my hand, giving into his attempt to cheer me up.

“What, is that funny?” He raised an eyebrow.

“A little bit.” I admitted. “It must be a pure-blood thing. My middle name is a family name too.”

“Oh? Would you care to tell me?”

“Nope,”

“And why not?” He almost pouted. “Am I not allowed to know?” He shifted so that I was pressed against the window ledge and he was a few inches before me, his hands on my waist.

“I mean, sure,” I drawled.

“Well?” He asked, drawing closer to me so that I could feel the warmth of his breath fan across my face; electricity flowed between us again, the same nervous potential energy.

“It’s not Magdalene is it?” He asked, his lips brushing against mine.

It was a good thing that I was leaning against the window ledge, because I was all but putty in his hands.

“No,” I breathed out, my hands running up his arms as my fingers laced themselves together behind his neck.

“Won’t you tell me?” Another soft fleeting kiss.

I shook my head, my voice gone with his kiss.

“Please?”

His lips captured mine before I could answer. The kiss lingered and grew to something stronger. One of his hands left my waist and caressed my cheek before sliding into my hair, cradling my head. My hand followed suit, running into his hair, pulling him closer.

A gentle gasp had his hot breath mixing with mine because he used his hand that resided on my waist to pull me flush against him before lifting me so that I was propped up on the ledge. His hand moved to support my back, but I wasn’t afraid to fall with him near. And despite the chill of the air, cold was the last thing that I was in that moment.

As the kiss deepened, I made a soft sound, my hand trailing down his shoulder and chest. He hummed a response, pulling away softly.

“This is coercion,” I murmured into his lips. He was so close; it was hard to find a place in my mind where he didn’t exist.

“Is it?” He mused, pressing his lips back to mine, picking up where we left off.

“Yes,” I breathed out, cupping his face, my thumb stroking his cheek softly.

“Is it working then?” He chuckled.

I pressed my lips back to his, kissing he deeply for a moment more before totally giving up and giving into him.

“Elizabeth,” I whispered.

Part 10

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babiedeku · 5 years

Note

hallo! can i request a swan lake au with tanjirou? particularly at the part where the swan tries to stop the prince making a vow to the wrong girl, but fails, and now tanjirou must defeat the wizard muzan in order to save the reader. he then defeats the wizard and angst happens which is turned into a happy ending in which the swan curse is lifted and they live happily ever after and what not (*´ω｀*)

hi omg its finally here! after so long! im really sorry it took me forever but i hope you like it somehow! :”( thank you again for the request anon, this one was fun to write! - marianne

One thing’s for sure, Tanjirou wouldn’t be in this situation if he had just listened the Swan Queen’s, (Y/N)’s, warning. He had just brushed it off, thinking it was just some absurd lore that was passed down through word of mouth to warn people from being too trusting of strangers and that not everything is what they seem at first glance.

Who - ? Tanjirou just saw you flee into the woods, wearing nothing but a white silk night dress.

“What’s wrong, Your Highness?”

Bringing back his attention to the person in front of him, (Y/N), or at least a very convincing clone of the said queen. “Drop the guise,” Tanjirou’s voice was even despite the anger that was bubbling deep within him, and his hand was itching to reach for the hilt of his sword, but he remained still in front of the imposter. “Muzan.”

A low sounding laughter echoed throughout the room, the sickly smell of burning skin hit Tanjirou’s nostrils - it was the foulest and most evil smell he has by far encountered, how had he not noticed it before? - your beautiful and ethereal features sloughing off to slowly reveal the demon sorcerer himself, red eyes keenly looking Tanjirou over. “I’m impressed,” He said, voice soft but as cold as the winter breeze. “you’re the first to have caught on this early,” The pool of melted skin sitting at his feet.

The first? There have been a number of nobles and royals that have been killed, their kingdoms left to rot with no one ruling over them. The said kingdoms commoners would later on be found massacred, their blood soaking the lands, bodies mangled from only the gods know what. The stench arising from the dead was horrendous to Tanjirou and his keen sense of smell, and the scene of all those corpses were ingrained into his brain, the subject of his recurring nightmares.

To think that this man, Muzan, was the one who was responsible for all those innocent people’s deaths. This monster, as he continues to breathe and roam the lands, is an insult to their deaths.

“Oh, Tanjirou, my love,” Muzan mocked the young prince, his mouth was moving but your sweet and gentle voice was all that Tanjirou could hear, he could also almost see you vaguely.

Tanjirou’s breath hitched. Don’t, he thought, steering himself from trying to run up to you and wrap you in his arms. This madman was trying to get a rise out of him.

“I haven’t told you how absolutely delicious your family was, and how lovely they looked in their own blood.”

Something snapped inside of Tanjirou, it was as if there was a dam within him that was holding back all his anger and frustration, and his pent up anger was washing over him in waves. To massacre entire kingdoms to be able to gain power and impersonate the woman he’s in love with to be able to do the same with him and the kingdom he reigns over was one thing, but to also bring up his family in such a way and in your voice was something else - that’s where he fucking draws the line.

Drawing his sword, he pressed the tip to Muzan’s throat, with just enough force to draw a little blood. “You are a being that should not be allowed to exist.” Tanjirou said, face devoid of any emotion, but his words were dripping with venom.

“I am this close to being the perfect creature, and once I am able to feed on you and your pathetic subjects, I’ll be able to move on to other regions in Japan.”

The way he referred to himself was odd, ‘creature’? Tanjirou was confused, but he tabled that for a later thought, right now he had more pressing matters than think what Muzan is. “All this for wanting to take over the country?”

Muzan laughed, a cold breeze accompanying the humorless laughter. “You belittle me, prince?”

Darkness suddenly enveloped the room, even the late afternoon rays of the sun was obscured, leaving Tanjirou blind and surrounded in pitch black darkness.

“The last person who crossed me got turned into a swan.” The sorcerer’s voice echoed all throughout the room. “give me your kingdom, and i promise your death will be quick and painless.”

A swan? Could it be - ?

You had mentioned in passing, one night when he snuck out of castle grounds to come spend some time with you by your lake, about being turned into a swan as a punishment for defying the orders of a sorcerer who threatened to take over your kingdom.

His anger would be handled later, and perhaps an apology for being too dismissive of what had happened to you.

Tanjirou was calm despite being engulfed in darkness and having a sorcerer flitting around the throne room. His oddly keen sense of smell can easily pinpoint where Muzan was, if he could just -

A pained gasp left his lips, a searing pain on his left side suddenly bombarded his senses, as his hand slowly met the warm liquid on his side.

Taking a deep breathe to calm his nerves and steel himself, he tightened his grasp on the hilt of his sword.

Breathe.

Calm your mind.

His nostrils felt like they were burning with the horrid stench of burning flesh enveloping him. But, this was one of the many reasons why he treasure his keen sense of smell, because despite being literally kept in the dark and blindsided by his enemy, there would be moments that the smell of a silver lining would make itself known to Tanjirou, a thread of sorts that helps him pinpoint where his enemy’s location and weaknesses are.

And right now, it was right behind him.

Without a moment’s hesitation, Tanjirou turned around and brought his blade down onto Muzan as swiftly as he could, hoping he at least caused some sort of damage to the sorcerer.

The darkness slowly dissipated, revealing Muzan with a deep gash on his right eye and cheek, his blood gushing out as his veins stood out against his pale skin with a black shade.

“Pest,” The sorcerer spat, but gave the young prince a bloody smile. “you never seem to vanish, don’t you?”

Tanjirou nodded, his world was blurry and his head was heavy due to the blood that he was losing, but he would be damned if he can’t somehow defeat this monstrosity that stood before him and save the girl that has set his heart aflame. “Takes more than blood lust and thirst for power to rid me from this world.”

Muzan cackled, somehow truly bemused with the humans standing before him. “It is truly annoying how you pathetic human’s just don’t stop fighting -”

He stopped mid sentence, a sickening sound was heard along with a pained groan from Muzan, and then right before Tanjirou’s eyes, he fell to the ground in a pool of his own blood.

“I think a thank you is in order right about now,” You spoke, a small smile on your lips.

Tanjirou was rooted to his place, eyes wide and mind going blank as he stared at you standing in front of the crumpled sorcerer with a sword that probably belonged to one of the armors that lined the hallways. You were still in your white silk night gown, that was a little too sheer to his liking and left little to the imagination, making a blush erupt on the poor prince’s handsome features, and you were soaked in sweat and had some blood here and there - but god, you were still the most beautiful woman he has ever had the pleasure of meeting.

He wanted to weep at your feet, take you in his arms, apologize for not listening to you, and even give you a robe to cover yourself up, but he would save those for a time where the both of you were not involved with a madman sorcerer.

“But,” Your voice breaking him out of his trance, you grabbed his hand and ran through the winding hallways of his castle. “we have to run, that was just something to buy us some time,”

“Right,” Was all Tanjirou’s mind could think of to say, his mind was going hazy with the blood loss, but he was sure that he would run to the ends of the earth with you.

Finally outside of the castle walls, both of you ran toward your small lake where you would, even if by a fraction, have the upper hand when it comes to confronting Muzan.

“Leaving so soon?” The voice sent chills down both of your spines, the night sky was slowly getting darker as each second passed. “Disrespectful to just leave a guest lying in their own pool of blood, Queen (Y/N).”

You glared at the man, hovering just behind you, dark cloudy wisps surrounding him. “You were no guest, you were unwelcomed in the first place.”

Muzan was unhappy with his spiel being rebutted, he growled and lunged at the pair.

Looking to the young prince beside you, all you could give him was an apologetic look because you knew that jumping into a lake from the tears of another person is not something that everyone would want to do. With no further explanation to jumped into the lake with Tanjirou in tow.

Tanjirou was not expecting this, he was not prepared for the plunge and his lungs were ready to get oxygen in them, but he knew any other movements would be futile underwater.

You grasped his hand a little tighter, hoping that he would somehow be reassured that he is not alone in the hellish nightmare unfolding before their eyes.

After a few more painful seconds a distant bellow was heard, along with the sudden flash of bright light.

Tanjirou was the first so break to the surface, gasping for air as he tried to survey his surroundings, looking for any signs of Muzan that could still be lurking in the very woods.

“Gone,” You gasped beside him, finally going up for some much needed air. “H-he’s finally gone,”

Tanjirou was relieved to finally have Muzan banished from the world, he hoped that the souls of all those innocent people, and his family, are at peace knowing that Muzan no longer walks the earth.

You were also beside him, hands still intertwined as the both of you stood in the lake.

He could feel the tears from the pent up anger, fear, exhaustion, and relief finally forming in the corner of his eyes - he was just so glad to finally have you with you him where he could make sure that the both of you live a happy, prosperous, and safe life together.

The two of you were silent for a few moments before Tanjirou finally threw himself onto you for a hug - it lasted for a few seconds before he pulled away, because he doesn’t want to over step your boundaries. “I’m sorry, I-I should have-” His profuse and heartfelt apologies went on for a full minute before you decided to stop his rambling with a quick kiss to the lips.

“Stop apologizing, my prince,” You smiled at the blushing boy. “I’m just glad I finally get to be with you,”

#this one took forever im sorry :(#tanjirou #kamado tanjirou #prince!tanjirou swan lake AU #tanjirou x reader #kamado tanjirou x reader #Kimetsu no Yaiba #KNY #demon slayer #tanjirou imagines #kamado tanjirou imagines #demon slayer imagines #kimetsu no yaia imagines

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until-we-fall-in-love · 5 years

Text

creature-song

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Reader, Bucky Barnes x Reader, light Steve Rogers x Reader, light Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers, light Wanda Maximoff x Bucky Barnes

Summary: You should turn away. But you let it happen, let it happen because some dark, most trapped part of you wants to. A piece of you that you have chained like an animal, a mongrel bitch, and tried to let die. It paces inside you now, hungry and waiting and ready.

1600s America AU, Witch!AU, Possesed!Bucky, Gothic, Horror

Warnings: Smut, gore, violence, demons, possession, sacrilegious themes. This is 18+ as most of my works are.

If you are under 18 you should not be reading this!

A/N: hello guys!! this is a little late but its for @barnesrogersvstheworld writing AYAOTDchallenge!! it was supposed to be for halloween, but i’ve been insanely busy and i think November is spookier anyways because it’s when things truly die and whither away and the cold comes on lol. this is a whole mess, but i’ve been heavily inspired about witches and possession because of a class im currently taking! it got long so i’ll split it into two parts! enjoy and pls let me know what you think!!

my prompt was: the task of navigating darkness by candlelight

***

1692, Massachusetts

The day is filled with fog and smoke, a bleak grayness that shrouds all in it’s gloominess. The whole town seems washed out, everyone’s faces grey and slack. The crops are dying, growing brown and muted in color, fading away into death and nothingness. Your world seems covered in death recently, in the thick, heavy, inescapable blanket of it.

There’s been another two murders. People torn apart, their bodies lie in the main road of town for all to see and gawk and pray over.

Their blood is the brightest color you have seen in all of November. Saturated and sticky, sliding from them like the juice of berries in high summer, like the color the leaves had been before they’d all fallen away, like poppies and roses. Their skulls are bashed inward, as if made of clay, the sludge of them leaking through as flies buzz, buzz, buzz around them. As if they weren’t people once, but always food for insect, for the earth. Their limbs are twisted at strange, rag doll angles, and you think there was nothing but softness inside of them. No bone, there couldn’t have been with the way they lay there, all twisted and slack.

Their eyes are hollow. Open. Their mouths agape as bugs skitter and crawl and press outward in their feast of flesh.

There’s moaning in the streets, howling cries of a mother or a sister or a wife. It’s horrific, if you dig into the pit of yourself, but it’s the fourth pair of bodies that have been found dead in recent weeks. It almost isn’t shocking anymore.

Wanda presses closer to your side, your dearest friend, her body warm and soft. Flushed with color and light, the cold nipping at her cheeks, her nose. The wind lifts her auburn hair from her cheeks, her lashes fluttering in the breeze. She catches your hand with one of her own, tangling your fingers together. Her palm fits yours easily and swiftly, as if it’s where she belongs, as if it’s where you belong, too.

“At least he’ll stop breathing down your neck about an engagement.” Wanda says quietly, her lips brushing the shell of your ear. She is warm and lulling in the cold autumn air that seems to be pushing through your wool dress, your scarf. Trying to worm it’s way beneath and make a home of your body.

Perhaps you will never be warm again, if the cold decides to settle deep into your bones.

“What?” You ask, blinking away from the bodies, from your murky thoughts.

“Mr. Fowler.” Wanda murmurs, nodding to one of the bodies, “He always upset you, he always pressured you for an engagement.”

You glance towards the bodies once more, find the shape of them, the faces so crudely misshapen now, but you finally catch the lines of his features. The dark hair, short and balding. As if you finally see the full picture.

Oh. It’s Mr. Fowler, then. And Mr. Adams rotting beside him.

“Yes,” You say quietly, weary of the spark in Wanda’s eyes, the glimmer that ensnares you, “I suppose so.”

Wanda is all you have in recent years, another orphaned girl your village does not wish to worry or feed. So you worry and feed each other. You both claim to be trying to find husbands, trying to marry off into another household. Truthfully, though, neither of you have ever searched. You’re content to live together, secluded, removed from all of the prying eyes of your small, imposing world. You wish to go home with her now, in fact, want to curl up beside a fire and lean into her side until your eyes grow heavy and soft. You want her nimble fingers carding through your hair, her touch upon your neck--

A broad hand comes down upon your shoulder then and you jump, almost let out a yelp in surprise. You whirl around to face them, tilting your face up to find Steve Rogers looking down upon you. The sculpted lines of his face, the shocking blue eyes, the flush to his pale cheeks. He has always looked like a tragic hero to you; a Hercules, Perseus, noble and damned and fighting against all odds.

Beside him, Bucky stands broad and pale faced. He won’t look at the bodies. There are deep, darkened blossoms beneath his eyes. It makes his already depthless and haunted eyes look worse, blackened out, charcoal blue. He crosses his arms across his great, wide chest; one of them the off-beat shine of metal, iron and leather creaking with the movement. Like a piece of armor, the leather strap reaching up to his shoulder, so that if he moves it, it may move the forearm of his appendage. The fingers lay motionless, cold and gleaming. Such an odd, strange invention to the rest of the town; they fear him because of it. But he has only ever helped you and Wanda, the way Steve has kept a watchful eye on the pair of you.

If Steve looks like a Greek hero to you, you think Bucky looks like a Shakespearean one; damned because of his own choices, falling from grace; A Hamlet, Macbeth.

“You shouldn’t watch this,” Steve murmurs to you two, already turning you from the gore and bloodshed with his warm hand, wishing the flesh of him would sink into you and flush you with heat, “Come on,” He then urges you gently, “Buck and I will help you with some morning chores.”

He’s always been so giving, overly helpful, a twinge protective over the pair of you. Loyal, terribly so, as he stands beside Bucky, the pariah of town.

And you let him guide you away, your fingers still woven tightly with Wanda’s, who still peaks over her shoulder at the seeping crimson of flesh and blood and body, as if they were petals of flowers to admire than corpses to rot. Her eyes glitter strangely when she turns back to you.

Bucky follows like a shadow, head hung low.

***

The crack, snap of wood being split into two is felt in your chest, the steady motion and sound falling into tune with every other beat of your heart. Bucky lifts the axe high with one arm, before bringing it down sharply upon the wood. It splits easily, a crack of lightning, of metal as it falls apart then.

You feed the few hens that you and Wanda share, spreading feed onto the ground as they cluck and scurry around you.

Steve helps Wanda fix the barn door, their figures blurry and grey in the fog and bleakness.

You gaze at Bucky, the shadows that seem to cling to him.

“You look tired, Mr. Barnes.” You speak up, tossing the rest of the feed to the chickens who scurry after it. You leave their pen, the gate creaking as you step nearer to him. The axe falls with strength and brutality, bursts the wood in half.

“I haven’t been sleeping well.” He grunts, tossing the wood aside. He sets another piece upon the block, lifts his axe high. You can see the movement of muscle, the strength and cutting edge of them.

“No?” You ask, curling your fingers into your sleeves; you’re so cold still, stiff and frigid and snow hasn’t even touched the ground yet. You shiver, you think it will be an awful and long winter. “Why not?”

The axe smashes down upon the wood.

He lets out a breath, shakes his head, the dark locks of his hair brushing his cheeks which are deeply flushed from the cold, from the exertion. He looks handsome, you think, with the peak of his chest beneath his long shirt.

“I’ve been having strange dreams recently.” He then admits with the soft gruffness of his voice, eyes flickering to you.

You stand idly, know that idleness is a sin; you should be working. Working, busy hands can never sin. But you step towards him and your eyes watch the movement of his chest and torso, wonder what he looks like bare--

“What kind of dreams?” You ask, voice gone soft as you peer at him.

He straightens up a moment to his full height, now turning his eyes on you, “Curious little thing, aren’t you?” He half scolds you, and you feel small but suddenly bold. There’s a catch in his eyes, a gleaming not dissimilar to Wanda’s. It’s haunting, exhilarating, it makes you take another few steps closer as if drawn to him by an unnatural force. And then he answers, “They’re nightmares. Horrible dreams.”

“Of what?”

His lips twist into a ghost of a smile and he shakes his head, “They’re not for a girl’s ears.”

“I’m not a girl,” You counter, “I haven’t been for many moons.”

His eyes flash to you, at the rather crude reference of the blood that spills from you monthly. He is not appalled, he is not shocked or scandalized, instead he peers deeper into you. As if he can see the twisting of your innards, all of the blood that might spill from you the way it had from Mr. Fowler. Would you paint November in the bright flare of red, too? Bring color to this washed out world.

“I dream I slip from my body.” He says and his eyes grow glassy, far-off. You near him as he continues, “Or that I no longer control myself.” His breath stutters and you are fully ensnared in him now, “And I do monstrous deeds.”

“Of what?” You breathe, looking up into his face, so haunted and hollow and frightened.

His lip trembles, and he exhales;

“I knew they would be dead this morning.”

“Mr. Barnes,” You gasp and his eyes suddenly snap to you, wholly black and wide, and you are so startled that you try to lurch back.

But he grabs you with speed and strength, and cold metal wraps around your wrist, around the fluttering, lively pulse beneath your thin skin. A moth’s wings pinned, a rabbit in a snare. When he speaks, it is strange and spellbinding, “I know you hated Mr. Fowler.” He says through a wall of his white, white teeth.

You look down at the metal hand that seems to have come to life, yelp at the way the unnatural fingers tighten upon you, squeezing, as if they are his very limb. As if it is flesh and bone, a steel skeleton come to life.

“I have peered into your soul, temptress, and I know you thought his blood was pretty.” He snarls low and guttural, his eyes digging into you like a curved, arching dagger.

Wildly, your eyes fly over his face, now twisted into such misery and rage. You try to pull your wrist from his metal grasp, your face flushing with color from exertion. Your eyes glitter with sudden tears, the cold air pricking at them. “Mr. Barnes--” You gasp, voice catching, breath curling into the air between you two.

All he does is pull you forward, jerking you into the strong expanse of his chest as he lifts your wrist. “I know your thoughts are rotting.” He rumbles, and the sound vibrates through him and down into the marrow of your bones “You want more than this. Your heart longs for what it shouldn’t.”

“Bucky, you’re hurting me.” You whimper, trying to twist and squirm but it's useless against the strength of him.

“Am I?” He hisses, voice like insects swarming, “I know what you want, little one.” He then croons so lowly that it slithers down into you like a serpent, coils into the darkest, most wretched parts of you. Sinks down into your core to unfurl in a sudden burst of heat--

And with the way he looks at you; as if you are to be devoured, as if you are to be torn apart by him or worshiped on an unholy altar. Your heart beats an unsteady, thunderous rhythm in the cavity of your chest.

It echoes inside of you, demanding of you something you don’t know how to feed.

His body is warm against yours, unnaturally so, save for the frigid hand constricting around the delicate skin of your wrist. You think he’ll bruise you, you think he’ll mark you for all to see and you’ll carry his brand. His eyes are as dark as a starless sky, blown out black as coal, as black as the he goat in the barn, as the smoke of hellfire.

“Bucky!” Steve shouts suddenly, and the two of you lurch away as if something has forced you apart. You cradle your wrist, try to rub the ache away, your heart still ricocheting around inside of you, as if it very well might escape entirely.

Bucky blinks in horror, his eyes returning to the gentle midnight blue that you know so dearly. He stumbles back, his metal arm returning inanimate by his side. If it weren’t for the frightened, wild look in his face, you’d think it would’ve never happened at all.

“I need your help for a moment!” Steve yells, voice echoing.

A flock of black birds burst into the shapeless, endless, grey sky at the loud noise. You jump at their sudden explosion of flight. They squawk and screech, wings flapping like your heart beating.

Whatever had filled Bucky has fled now and his eyes are clear and shining, his cheeks flushed again, no unnatural darkness tracing the edges of his features. You watch him warily, your mind suddenly feverish with what he’d said to you, with the searing touch that now seems to scorch your skin.

I knew they would be dead this morning.

You should tell someone; Steve, Wanda, a minister. You should flee.

But all you say is, “Go,” And you nod your head towards Steve and Wanda, “I will light a fire to warm you after.”

He looks at you warily, as if he might apologize or thank you or question you; there’s such confusion in his eyes. He is lost, swimming in that black sea. What did I do? He asks silently, pleads with you, what have I done?

You look away, unwilling to answer. He moves on cautiously, towards Steve and Wanda in the distance. You begin to make a fire as if all is normal, and all you can think about is how you are no longer shivering with cold.

As if an ember has sparked, been cradled to a small flame in the cavernous depths of your soul.

***

Some days later, Wanda wakes you at an odd hour of the night, moonlight spilling in through the small window of your shared bedroom. It fills the room with reaching shadows and cutting, silver light. You’d been sleeping soundly, curled onto your side when you are roused by small, seeking hands.

You turn, eyes fluttering, a blurry shape in front of you. You make out Wanda’s impish features, the shadow of her slender figure. And her eyes--

Oh, her eyes.

They’re glowing strangely, fever bright and glittering like rubies in the night. She sinks upon you, her body sliding so she straddles your hips, laying herself along you. You can feel the soft lines of her; her chest to yours, the heat of her nose and lips upon your neck and shoulder.

“Wanda,” You exhale, twisting, a little confused. Her fingertips are hot, like little embers, dancing along bare skin.

“Hush, my heart.” She shushes, “My little shrike.” She cooes, “My moon and stars.” Her nose and lips brush your cheek, her searching hands dipping underneath the thin, cotton nightgown that wraps around your body.

“Wanda,” You gasp as her lips settle into a kiss upon the flamed skin of your cheek. “What are you doing?”

She pulls back so that you may see her in all her nightshade glory, her hair sliding along her bare shoulders, her nightgown down, spilling around her arms so the tops of her breasts are revealed. She looks almost wild-eyed, strange and beautiful and seductive in the night. Her eyes swim before you, blood red and glittering and enchanting. There’s something heady and intoxicating about her, something you want to taste, that you want to sink into and drown in.

“Giving you what you want,” She says on a simple sigh, just as her fingers find the curve of your breast, little dancing flames that have you shutter and arch. She tilts her head with wide, bright eyes; there’s a sweet, coy smile playing at her lips, her lashes fluttering like moth’s wings, as she asks too innocently, her voice gone high and soft and beguiling;

“Isn’t this what you want, little one?”

Her clever fingers find the peak, make you squirm, make heat flood through you. She draws back the covers with her other hand to find your bare leg, your bare thigh, sliding up to your bare--

“Wanda!” You jolt, suddenly shy, trying to sit up but she forces you down.

She grins wickedly, “Don’t hide from me.” And her nimble fingers stroke between your legs where you’ve become slippery and warm and silky. You feel flushed and heady, hypnotized by her. She sighs against you, settles deeper into your body like a corpse sinking into a grave, pushing her finger inside to make you gasp aloud. To claim you, to touch you in a way that no hand has ever touched before.

“This isn’t new to you, though, is it?” She breathes, almost hisses, “I know because I hear you some nights.” Her fingers twist and a moan tumbles out of your lips, and she laughs, bright and warm, “Just like that, dearest.”

You squirm, and slowly lose your inhibitions with every push and pull of her fingers, every glide of her. Had you not dreamed of this? Had you not wondered with a sinful mind what it might be like to feel her like this, to taste and be tasted by her? Had you not wondered what heaven or hell might have felt like? She’s damnation, sweet salvation; something so visceral and entangled within the pits of you, something profound and holy.

The world falls away so that it is only you two and the moon, the pleasure she gives and torments you with. The town slips away, the rules, the Bible, your Holy God all dissipates like fog until you are only born of this warmth and vicious sweetness. She keeps you teetering on an edge, cruel mistress of night that she is. She trembles with you on a new beginning, baptized between your thighs, between hers. She lets you touch and explore the softness of her body with curious and hungry hands, no longer idle.

She brands you with lips and teeth and tongue, makes you wild and insatiable. Her fingers wrap around your tender throat as she guides you towards another sharp and jagged edge.

Her cheeks glow against yours, a face of fire and heat, her breaths tumultuous and warm against your shoulder. “You’re mine,” She seems to half-sob, her little hand tightening upon your throat as if to claim you, “Mine. I live in you, and you have possessed me so thoroughly I think I could die.”

A broken moan from you, a gasp.

“Say it,” She then hisses through her teeth, “Say you’re mine.”

You whimper, push your hips into her hands as if she has bewitched you, taken hold of your very soul. The words fall from your kiss stung and abused lips, eager and knowing it to be true, “I’m yours, Wanda, I’m yours--”

And then she claims you with lips, with body and soul, forces you into oblivion. She laughs with delight against your mouth, drinks up your cries and buries herself into the crooks and corners of your body. Of your very being.

She lays with you beneath the moonlight, a new strange power surges through her, a brightness that cannot be dimmed. You think she might be a devil, a witch, a creature of the night with her lullaby voice and twilight kiss. You think she is damned and maybe you are, too.

You think she has claimed you and, as you tighten yourself around her body, your nails digging into her soft flesh, you think that you have claimed her, too.

***

Wanda has never looked brighter, more flushed with life and vitality. She is radiant, even in all the grayness of devouring and lonesome autumn, when winter is on it’s tails. The town is thoroughly terrified and sick with horror as another two bodies arise. They’re just as the others, a bright mess of crimson and maroon and sludge.

Steve and Bucky stay near you and Wanda, watch over you both closely. Bucky is changed, too, something in him has been bent and broken and fractured. You think he’s bleeding internally, you think there is something in him that needs to be taken out.

Or maybe it doesn’t. His smiles are more hooked, shadowed, strange and tempting. You wonder what his teeth would feel like against your neck-- if he would taste like Wanda, if he’d touch you like her, too.

You’ve never touched a man before. You’ve never been touched by one, either.

Wanda and Bucky are strange together, you think. And you grow jealous when you see her fluttering her lashes at him and cooing. You don’t know who you’re more jealous of, which one of them you want to claw and tear apart with viciousness, with love and heat and something demented.

Steve notices this new change, too, and he tries to console you when you pout. You think he would make a good husband if a husband was something you were interested in. So valiant and golden, too polished for your unclean hands.

But husbands are so base, so simple. Wanda has opened your mind to something higher, something more enchanting and powerful.

And in the middle of the nights, when it is only you and her, she promises to give you more. She promises to guide you further into such wonder that she has discovered. Then she devours you and makes you tremble and shake with her might and love.

She grows stronger with each day; odd happenings following her. She grows angry and a glass may shatter. A neighbor who glares at you suddenly loses two of his cows. Someone calls Bucky an abomination and suddenly they are struck ill.

When she returns to you, while you still pout with Steve, still mad over her attention to Bucky, she smiles brightly. She wraps her arms around your shoulders and kisses your cheek, “Tonight is the night, my stars.” And then she nuzzles at your jaw, amorous and warm, “Tonight is the night that I give you all the power I have been harboring.”

She takes your hands in hers, kisses the inside of your wrist, “Tonight you become like me, in eternal darkness.”

Her teeth nick your wrist playfully and she looks at you with burning, hooded eyes. You think if she could, she’d lay you out on the dirt and take you right there. Hitch up your skirts and grind her hips against yours until you were both desperate and wild for release.

But Steve is there, and Bucky, too.

You wish she would, still.

She laughs and saunters away as if she knows your thoughts. The wind howls and bays, as if it knows, too.

***

She dresses you that night in a thin, white gown. You whine that you’ll freeze to death, but she shushes you with burning lips. She promises not, promises that you will never feel cold again after tonight.

She leads you barefoot and shivering out to the forest by the dim, flickering light of a candle. It burns in her hand, wax dripping and sliding the way honey does in the summer. You long for summer suddenly, for the warmth and sea of green. The candle casts little, dancing shadows that seem to lurk and follow you both.

She leads you by hand, guides you into the thick of the forest where the wolves howl and the foxes yip and the coyotes yowl. The owl cooes, eyes peering at you in the darkness. You are lead to a clearing, and the small, fluttering candle that you’ve used to navigate illuminates the shape of a man.

Large and muscled, broad shouldered and lonesome in the woods.

“Don’t be scared,” Wanda coos, “Go to him.”

Warily, you ease past her, past the flickering, gold light of the candle. And even in the darkness, you recognize his face, the unnatural metal arm--

Bucky stands bare from the waist up and you flush at his nudity, at the shape of a man. Hadn’t you wondered about his chest beneath his clothes? About his abdomen? Your eyes flicker lower and you blink, quickly avert your eyes as your blush grows deeper. His body is far different than Wanda’s.

“Mr. Barnes,” You breathe, and Wanda comes to your side, lifting the candle up to illuminate his handsome and shadowed face.

His eyes are purely black, inky, the way they’d been that day not so long ago, when he’d seized you so tightly. He looks different, cutting and jagged.

“Somewhat.” Wanda answers you with a smile. “He is changed, though.”

“Possessed,” You gasp, the thought striking you deeply and suddenly. Like a blow to your chest, you realize you gaze upon a demon.

His eyes snap to you,“Hello, temptress.” He says in a voice that is his and not his all at once.

“Are you afraid?” Wanda purrs and you shudder at her voice, at the cold that pricks your skin, at the hungry, hollow look in Bucky’s face. The forest seems alive and breathing, shuddering with you, terrified and expectant of what it is to transpire.

The moon is full, hanging and heavy and open mouthed in a horrified scream against the sea of blackness.

“Should I be?” You ask quietly, a whisper of the wind, and Wanda’s eyes glitter excitedly. Her eyes flash red, warming and shimmering like embers.

Wanda sets the candle aside, comes to your back. She slides her fingers beneath your nightgown, begins to ease it down past your shoulders. You should protest, you should force her to stop, shield yourself from the gaze of the man in front of you. From the demon in front of you. But you let it happen, let it happen because some dark, most trapped part of you wants to. A piece of you that you have chained like an animal, a mongrel bitch, and tried to let die. It paces inside you now, hungry and waiting and ready.

It runs its teeth along the tender, pink inner flesh of you. It’s creature-song sings to you now, a siren to surrender to.

So you stand in the darkness, the guttering flame of the candle upon you, bare and shivering in front of evil.

And evil lies you on the cold, unforgiving ground. Wanda is there beside you, stroking your face and your hair with warm, gentle fingers. More gentle than she has ever been with you, as if she can hear the fearful, pounding of your heart caught between your shuddering ribs. You’re suddenly new to touch, virginal and trembling, a new flower to be opened.

The weight of Bucky settles upon you, his body unnaturally warm and burning, his broad shoulders wide upon you. His lips and nose nuzzle your jaw, your neck, also with surprising care. You shift your legs, open them tentatively to fit his waist in the cradle of your hips and—

You can feel him there, the hard line of him and you flush, suddenly squeak.

“Don’t be afraid, little one.” He rumbles, and his voice sounds clearer, as if the demon doesn’t speak for him any longer, but only the midnight timber of Bucky’s sweet voice. He lifts his head and only the slate, blue eyes of him gaze down at you. “I’ll be gentle,” He promises, rubbing his bearded cheek to yours; so rough compared to Wanda’s smooth one.

“I know this is what you wanted.” Wanda says softly, her lips at your ear, tucking your hair from your face. “I know how you gaze at him.”

The first touch of Bucky’s hands are rough and make you jolt; one calloused and scarred and another cold and metal. They slide along the dips and curves of you, firm and gentle. You squirm slightly, base and animal upon the ground.

“I’ll make you mine,” He murmurs, nosing at your neck, his teeth skimming lightly there. “My bride of darkness, queen of beasts.” His voice dips now into that lowly, snaking one of a demon, “I’ve been waiting for you for so long, my love.”

His hips roll, a push against yours that have you clinging to his large frame. He is so much bigger than what you know, so overpowering. Wanda ravishes you but she is slight and nimble. You make a noise of surprise, a whimper, a squeak.

“Relax,” He coos darkly, his flesh hand sliding up your bare legs. “You’re hurting here, aren’t you? Aching in the pit of you.” And his warm, rough fingers slide against you; revealing that, despite your fear, you’ve become molten and slick. You can feel his hooked grin, “Oh, little queen, and how you’ve longed for me, too.”

He strokes until you are pliant beneath him, urging you on, Wanda pressing kisses to your cheeks and neck, collar bones and shoulders. You shudder beneath him, let something inside of you curl and coil, like a serpent, like the tightening of a rope, pulled to its full length, creaking and swaying as everything grows that much tighter.

“You were born for me,” Bucky’s rumbling voice is in your ears, against your throat laid bare for him, his voice seems to echo in the darkest pieces of your mind and heart. “Born for this.” He sighs, leaning heavier into you before he suddenly pushes down the length of your body.

He settles between your legs, spreading them wide with his shoulders. Pearl moonlight, silver and opal fall across his features like pale silk that you have only ever dreamed about. In this light, he could’ve been an angel, a creature made of softness and delicacies, his black eyes turning up to find you and stuttering back into lovely blue.

He bows his head like you could be holy, like you are to be prayed to. His hair tickles the bare skin of your thighs, his fingers prodding gently and then his mouth presses to where you’re most sensitive.

You arch like a bow off the ground at the first touch and Wanda is there to comfort you. She eases you up slightly, let’s your back lay against the soft warmth of her chest and strokes your face and neck, down to your breasts.

She grasps your hands when you pull and twist at him so that you lay helpless in her arms, helpless to the too-hot glide of his mouth against you. The forest is silent save for your cries, you are the wolf that howls, the crying fox, the whining coyote. You let go, let them consume you until you don’t recognize yourself. Until your nails feel sharp and your heart feels so full it could burst from all the aching.

“Please,” You whimper, your hips pushing towards his lips in desperation, “Please, I can’t take this any longer!”

He laughs darkly against the slick pink flesh of you, “Didn’t their God teach you patience, darkling?”

And he waits until you’re nothing but an animal for him, until your head is spinning and there are tears streaming down your heated cheeks. Not until you dig nails into Wanda’s hands so deeply that you have broken skin and she hisses through her teeth. He gives you no release, cruel as he is, and eventually slides up along your body once more.

He grasps Wanda by the back of the neck and pulls her sharply to his shining lips. She moans, the sound going straight down into the depths of you.

“My loyal servant,” He tells her, his eyes once more black as a raven, shining under the flash of silver moonshine. “You brought her to me.” He murmurs reverently and she looks up at him adoringly, her wide eyes that flare deeply red and maroon are glittering like gemstones in a cave.

“Make her ours.” Wanda then breathes, and he smiles all sharp and gutting.

He grasps your hips with metal and flesh, draws them closer and slides you towards him. Your head falls to Wanda’s abdomen, her lap. Her fingers brush your wet cheeks and you mewl, twist into her touch. He kneels before you, worshiping, and opens his trousers.

You don’t have time to think because you can feel him between your legs now. He brushes the hard length of him along where you’re most sensitive and desperate. You feel empty suddenly, knowing that he will fill you, and suddenly tentative.

He is large and burning and the crown of him dips inside of where no man has been. He exhales harshly, eyes seeped in black, so depthless and dark that it swallows the moon light. The first slow, heavy push of him makes you cry out.

“I-I can’t—“ You half beg, feel the stretch and breach of him deep inside of you, the pressure and heat that terrifies you.

“Oh, you will,” He almost growls, as if you’re undoing him. His eyes are fixed to where he eases in deeper, slides slowly and he groans, broken and in the back of his throat. “You will, even if you’re so small.”

Another slow push and then he sinks into you entirely, sinks down so that he covers you in all his strength. His breaths are ragged; he is unwoven by you, falling apart as he stretches you open.

You give another cry, hold incredibly still beneath him as the pressure mounts. You feel as if you’re splintering, broken open like ripe fruit, bursting forth with a new heat. Your hand squabbles over the muscles of his back before sinking into his skin with nails.

You become overwhelmed, drag your nails deep into his skin to mark him, to urge him on or force him out, you can’t tell. You bare your teeth, let out a broken moan, a half-growl against the vein of his neck. You realize your own vulnerability, belly-up and soft to him, open and waiting.

Wanda soothes you when he begins to move in you, traces her fingertips over your swollen lips, sinks inside the sweetness of your mouth and lets you suckle and kiss and bite. There’s a fever inside you, tormenting your insides. You whimper, the sound pulling at Bucky, and when he looks back down at you, his eyes burst back into blue. The demon seems to slink away, or Bucky has regained control, again.

You almost expect him to jolt away again, to flush with fear but—

“Oh,” He gasps instead, unraveled man, fallen from grace. He gathers you in his arms, pulls you closer and tucks you into him, as if he could pull you beneath his skin and bury you behind the strong bones of his ribs. He holds fast to you, suddenly lifts you into his lap, into his arms. “Oh, pretty girl.” He murmurs as he moves you slowly over him, foggy and heady with you.

Your world begins to blur. You don’t know where the demon ends and Bucky begins. You don’t think you care, when all of that pain and burning gives way to a hedonistic pleasure. You move over him on your own, can feel the slickness of you, you can feel the deep seated ache you need to ease.

The teetering edge, the right and creeping rope, ready to snap. The leash on the beast inside of you begins to splinter.

Wanda’s at your back then, lips at your neck, brushing your ear. “Repeat after me,” She murmurs, voice a lulling warmth that sinks into your marrow.

“Et dabo tibi animam meam,” She murmurs, her voice gaining a haunting, otherworldly inflection, as if other voices buzz alongside hers.

So you repeat with a thick, honeyed tongue the Latin words that seems to simmer and etch themselves into you. You feel the power surge in her, in him, in you; a tether woven tightly between you three. His thrusts become rougher, his eyes flooding with crude black once more.

“Nunc, et in perpetuum magis.” Wanda finishes in your ear, a possessive hand curled around the bones of your waist, along the curve of your breast.

The words fall from your mouth as easily as if you’ve known them your entire, unforgiving life. And then there is a pull, snap of your heartstrings. The howling mongrel in you bursts loose, the heat and life and viciousness unfurls from within. You feel as if you’re being torn apart, as if another creature is clawing its way out of your core, your soft stomach and aching chest.

The demon groans, spills inside of you; his seed so hot that you feel it may burn you. As if it burns its way through you, into your womb and heart and being.

“You’re mine now,” The demon and Bucky say, rough hand cradling your cheek. “Semper magis.” He hushes against your lips and seals it with a claiming, damned kiss.

Then he sinks talons into your soul, teeth into your bottom lip and your heart, locks his essence tight to yours and throws away the ancient, heavy key.

***

Part Two

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Chapter XXI (EXT): The Best of Sons (Pt. II)

“Thank you,” I said holding Êlúriel in my arms the next morning.

“You are welcome,” she said, kissing me. “To what do I owe such gratitude?”

“For everything. Mostly for being my queen, my wife and the mother of my children.”

“I could do none of those things without you, Thranduil,” she said. “Much to my disappointment.”

“Do I bring you displeasure,” I asked smiling.

“You can never displease me, my love,” she whispered. “Not entirely. But the day has only begun.”

“The queen must never be dissatisfied,” I said. “It reflects poorly on the king.”

“We cannot let that happen, can we,” she said, laughing softly. “What can I do as to not reflect poorly on the king?”

“There are many things you could do, Êlúriel,” I answered. “But only one comes to mind just now.”

“What might that be,” she asked.

“You could love me.”

“Thranduil, I love you too much as it is,” she said. "I would think you have had enough.”

“Not today,” I said. “But the day has only begun.”

“So it has,” she said. “Time to fulfill my royal duties.”

“Can they wait,” I asked.

“I suppose,” she began holding me closer. “But I thought you wished me to love you just now.”

“You consider loving me a royal duty,” I asked in jest.

“Of course, my love,” she said. “It is my most important duty as queen. And my most favorite."

**** **** **** ****

Later that morning, I made my way to my study as Êlúriel went about her royal duties. I had all but forgotten our disagreement the night before as entered to find my council waiting.

“You are of good spirits this morning, Thranduil,” Fëaluin said.

“You could say that, Fëaluin,” I answered. “What of you?”

“Quite well, thank you.”

“Nimlos,” I began arriving at my table as Eldôr and Elranduil looked over several maps. “Tell me of this maiden that seemed to mesmerize Êlenuil so much.”

“I beg your pardon,” he asked surprised.

“Isílriel told me of one maiden Ardôr’s son seemed taken with,” I said looking up at him. “Tell me, would you know her by chance?”

“There were many maidens,” he said softly. “All of them mortal."

“Thranduil,” Fëaluin said slowly. “Not now. We have things that must be done immediately to put things in order after our battle in Dale.”

“I am curious, Fëaluin,” I said. “Am I not King? Do I not have the right to know whom has come into my kingdom when I have been away from it?”

“You speak of our cousin,” Nimlos answered. “Êlúriel must have spoken to you of her.”

“Eventually,” I answered. “She also said that I should wait for Êlenuil to speak of it to me.”

“I could not agree more,” Eldôr said. “It is of little consequence.”

“Perhaps it would not be if not for whom Êlenuil is.”

“He said nothing,” Elranduil said. “Not to anyone. That I can assure you. The maiden spent much of her time with the Queen and her ladies.”

I looked at Nimlos—his face ashen and stoic. I nodded to him.

“Very well,” I said. “Will I have the opportunity to meet her? She is family after all.” “I cannot say,” Nimlos said, his face returning to color. “She did not say anything to me of her plans to return and Nenloth has spoken little since she left us.”

“She is welcome then if she wishes to return,” I said. “I see no harm in it. As for Êlenuil, I suppose seeing a mortal was fascinating.”

The room was silent as no one said anything to me. It seemed unnerving but I was satisfied with what they had told me in that moment.

**** **** **** ****

I enjoyed taking rides with Legolas most days and reading in my study during the rain or walks through the forest after a gentle snow. I watched as my household grew as some in my kingdom took solace in seeing their kin in the Undying Lands. I thought often in winter—looking toward a darkening evening sky into the west and wondering when I would leave if at all. I was growing old but no age shown upon my face. Only the fading glow of in my eyes would tell anyone of my age. All I had seen and suffered seemed as distant as the stars.

One night long after the halls had fallen quiet, I left my chambers. The night cast no shadows as a gentle snow fell. I wandered into the night a gentle breeze drifted as I went to where I had met my love in our youth. The only song that I heard was the wind through my ears. I looked around—hoping to see something and I would.

It was Legolas walking toward me. He knew my habits well and often would follow me wherever I went.

“Ada,” he said. “It is late and cold. Why are you out of the palace?” “For the same reason as you,” I said. “Looking.”

“I am looking for you,” he laughed. “It would seem I am always looking for you.”

“I am looking for myself,” I said. “It has been too long, Legolas. I am thinking on leaving Mirkwood forever with your mother.”

“If you leave I would be king,” he said. “I do not think I would do very well. I want to leave myself. See the world.”

“You were always trying to leave,” I said. “Not one to stay put for long. You were either in a bush or a tree when you were not filling the caverns with half of the creatures of the forest. I suppose it would not surprise me that you wished to leave.”

“I would return,” he laughed. “I just want to know what is out there. You have seen much of it, have you not, Ada?”

“I never left my home unless it was for war. Then all I saw was pain and death.” He looked at me with a grimace. He then politely kneeled down to take a handful of snow and throw it in my face.

“Legolas,” I began. “That was not wise.”

He did it once more and in a matter of moments, we were throwing snow at on another in the middle of the night upon the very place I met and wed his mother. I loved spending time with Legolas whom, as his mother, could make me smile.

When we heard voices, we stopped and looked around. It came from the East. As it grew louder, Legolas drew his bow and we slowly followed the sound. A loud cry pierced the night in fear. It was the sound of a maiden and two men. I saw an Eastern guard run toward her voice as we followed them. I heard more voices and then sobbing. We ran toward the direction of the crying.

We came upon Findôl and his men helping a young maiden rise from the ground. A small lantern she was carrying lay beside her offering the only view of her features. She had the longest dark brown hair I had ever seen and sharpest green eyes. Her delicate features told me she was not a child nor was she old enough to marry.

I approached her and she cowered.

“Please do not hurt me,” she said. “I am lost and do not know where I am.”

“I am not going to hurt you,” I said. “But I will ask you why such a young maiden traveling alone at this hour through my kingdom. Where do you belong?”

“Dale,” she said. “I got lost on my way there.”

“What is your name,” I said curiously. She seemed familiar to me somehow.

“Súlelenth,” she said finally looking up at me. “Daughter of Haldúir, an archer for King Bain.”

“You are not lost,” I said. “You came here for something, to be sure. Is there trouble in Dale?”

“No,” she said finally standing to her full height. “All is well there. May I leave now?”

“You are in the presence of King Thranduil,” Findôl said. “You will show respect.”

She looked up and smiled and I knew it all to well—so much so, I felt chill icier than the air run threw me.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty,” she said bowing. “I have heard much about you from my mother.”

“Who is your mother,” I asked, moving closer to her to inspect her. “In Dale, or will I find her out there looking for her daughter?”

“She is with my father,” she said. “She does not know I am away.”

“Why are you away?”

She looked around at us in fear. We must have seemed frightening—several armed elven warriors and their king glaring down on her beneath a dim light of an old lantern.

“I am looking for Êlenuil,” she said softly.

I felt my heart beating faster as I remembered not long ago the maiden that had come into my kingdom. This one seemed too young to be the same.

“You were looking for Êlenuil,” I said. “Well, look no further, Súlelenth. I will most gladly take you to him.”

I motioned to the guards to follow me and Legolas to the palace. She did not put on a struggle—she seemed calm and nearly joyous to come into the realm.

“Ada,” Legolas whispered. “I have seen her before.”

“When was this,” I asked hardly listening. “After my return from Dale?”

“No, Ada. No more than a week ago.”

I stopped abruptly as everyone almost fell down. Súlelenth laughed—so much like Êlúriel I almost turned around.

“A week ago,” I said. “Why was I not informed of this?”

“Because that was the first and last time I saw her,” he said. “Tarthôn says she comes here quite often.”

We both turned and looked at the young maiden as my guards picked themselves from the ground. She reminded me so much of Êlúriel with every movement I thought she was an elf.

I continued to the palace so swiftly, Legolas struggled to stay beside me. The gates flew open and lanterns came on as I woke up the palace.

“Ardôr,” I roared.

Eldôr, Elranduil, Nimlos came running with Ardôr close behind. Aramoth and Nenloth came forth from the balcony into the vestibule. Nenloth gasped and fainted, her husband catching her. Nimlos’ color faded from his face as Ardôr came before me.

“Yes, Thranduil,” he said bewildered. “What is the matter? Who is this child?”

“You do not know,” I asked.

“Why would I know her?”

“She knows your son rather well,” I said.

Elves stood quietly waiting for anything to happen. Out of the crown of elves, Êlenuil stepped forward. His face seemed to brighten when he saw Súlelenth.

“Súlelenth,” he said. “You are here.”

She smiled and ran to him and they embraced. I looked at Ardôr—I was not happy as I could see they were in love.

The halls fell quiet when Êlúriel came down the hall as she walked past me and slowly over to them. Her eyes never wavered from the girl—for she seemed to cast a spell over her.

“Im Êlúriel od Ossiriand,” she said to Súlelenth.

Súlelenth released Êlenuil and faced Êlúriel.

“Im Súlelenth,” she answered.

“I know, dear child. Tell the King who is your mother, Súlelenth,” Êlúriel said.

The girl looked down at the floor and started to cry. She looked around at the elves around her, her green eyes filled with tears. She looked at me and her gaze startled me. She looked at Êlúriel again.

“Arímë,” she said. “Daughter of Gildúr and Sirurial.”

Nimlos slowly walked over to Súlelenth—his face stoic in disbelief. He embraced the girl tightly as tears fell from his eyes.

“My dear cousin,” he cried.

Soon the silence was broken as everyone began to speak among themselves.

“Êlúriel, come with me,” I said quietly.

She nodded. As we turned, the court paused to bow to us before we left them for my study. The lanterns burned in the room—flickering to the soft flowing waters of the winter falls. I turned toward Êlúriel, her gaze to the floor.

“You knew of this,” I said sternly.

“Yes, Thranduil,” she began.

“And you did not say anything to me?”

“It was not for me to tell,” she whispered.

“You are my wife,” I growled. “Or does that mean nothing to you?”

“Yes,” she said looking up sharply. “And as your wife, I know you would not allow them to be together.”

“You know me well, Êlúriel,” I said as my voice began to fill the room. “Then you will know what I am going to do next.”

“You will not,” she scolded. “You will not tear them apart! I will not allow it!”

"You will not allow me,” I asked. “Who are you to not allow me to do my will?”

“The Queen,” she said. “Or have you seemed to forget I rule beside you in this kingdom?”

“She is a mortal,” I began. “Not in my household and not in my halls, Êlúriel!”

“You know more than anyone you cannot help with whom you fall in love,” she said. “Have you forgotten all these years?”

“No,” I said, calming myself. “But this is different.”

“How is it different,” she asked.

“Mortals grow old and they die,” I said. “What will he do then, Êlúriel? What will be left except to despair. You wish that for him?”

“No more than I wish him to be alone,” she said. “That would be as death to him.”

She was right and I knew it.

“She is the daughter of your mortal cousin,” I whispered. “What she must think of this I can only wonder."--TKWR:BII The Saga of Thranduil (EXT. VER.) by J.M.Miller 7-5-17

#sulelenth and elenuil #thranduil and eluriel #book ii #the saga of thranduil #the extended version of book ii #tkwr trilogy #the kingdom of the woodland realm trilogy

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