#i miss my elf prince

[meadowsofmay]

holy fucking fuck i miss writing legolas and now my lovely moot reminded my about him because yes he is a crown prince and let's be honest the council are having a hard time with him because he is an absolute copy of his parents' behavior when they were young and they don't know how to counter that once he grew up enough to have his opinion

[parroset]

Merry Christmas! Here are the last of my Christmas Drawings:

Look, it's the elf on the shelf!

He looks a bit cuter than I remember lol

Here's Aaravos sitting under the tree with all the other gifts:

There's a bunch of funny little details with the presents, lmk if you notice any! It WILL make my day lol

And of course, my two Little Guys with their matching sweaters:

The Merciful One is having a great time being on the nice list. Aaravos is just glad that they're celebrating with him ✨

Hope you all have a wonderful holiday!

[deadrlngers]

i was tagged by @shadowglens and @risingsh0t to make some ocs in this picrew. thank you so much besties, i loved this picrew so much!! <3

vesper moxley (cp2077) • victoria gray (cp2077) joelle knight (fo4) • nina bower (fo4) selene (oblivion) • hiraeth (skyrim)

tagging: @uldwynsovs @arklay @devilbrakers @nuclearstorms @morvaris @girlbosselrond @indorilnerevarine @moiragf @cultistbase @faarkas @steelport @nokstella @reaperkiller @malefiicarum @brujah @calenhads @lightwardens @aelyosos and whoever else wants to do this or that i missed bc i'm terribly forgetful sorry!!

[sundrop-writes]

Downhill

Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader

I’ve never spent a moment loving anyone but you.

And maybe that’s just something people say - but I hope it’s the truth.

Summary:

Draco knows his place in the world. He is a Malfoy, he is Pureblood. He is supposed to marry, carry on the Pureblood line. He is supposed to do everything that his parents would - including killing, if it's what his Dark Lord wishes.

Draco Malfoy is not supposed to hesitate. He is not supposed to feel fear. He is not supposed to have room in his heart for fondness, or even love. Not even when it comes to his bartered and bought fellow Pureblood fiancee.

Love is nothing but a weakness. And Malfoys are not weak.

Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader. Arranged Marriage/Hesitant Lovers. Emotional Angst and Smut. Set during Half-Blood Prince.

Word Count: 20,100

Harry Potter Masterlist | AO3 Link

This is meant to be a standalone oneshot, but it was written as a prequel to the fic My Bleeding Heart. Because the other fic is chronologically second, you won't be missing anything if you read this one first, but if you have read it before, then this one ties in nicely and informs more of the emotions between the characters.

Full list of warnings and author's notes below the cut.

Warnings: this fic is equal parts smut and emotional angst; this fic does technically take place around Christmas (with the Slug Club Christmas Party being the biggest signal of that), but Christmas is not a huge overarching theme or presence in the fic if you don't celebrate or don't like Christmas; the reader uses she/her pronouns and has a vagina; implications of the reader being fat/plus-sized (which happens with a lot of my fics); it is mentioned that the reader is wearing a dress and high heels to the party; the reader is a Slytherin; the reader is a Pureblood (and for the sake of the fic, I made up a random 'important' Pureblood family that she is from, but because she wasn't raised by them, she goes by a difference surname that can just be your literal actual surname); the reader is an orphan and never actually knew her Pureblood parents; this fic DOES use Y/N; the reader is called 'brilliant' and comes off as very intelligent and skilled with magic (skilled enough to get into the Slug Club); Draco and the reader are in an arranged marriage for the sake of carrying on the Pureblood lineage, and it is discussed that the reader was 'bought' for Draco (a very large dowry was paid) (during the course of the fic, they are only engaged and not yet married); most of this is written from Draco's perspective and features self loathing, emotionally stunted Draco; jealous!Draco - Draco hears that the reader was talking to Harry and gets upset; mentions of the reader being left to the Malfoys by a neglectful godmother; I know there is debate about whether it's canon or not, but in this fic Draco's parents are abusive toward him - his father much more so and his mother is more of a neglectful bystander, and there is a lot of themes in this fic about Draco's trauma surrounding that and how he starts taking his first steps to break free from his abusers (this fic implies that Draco has been physically and emotionally abused by his father, as well as being severely emotionally neglected by both his parents); the reader character in this fic is also abused by the Malfoys when living with them - including an incident where she is hit by Lucius Malfoy and has her hand smashed into broken glass; an incident is described where Lucius casts a spell that chokes Draco (briefly) with the intention of physically punishing him, and the reader stops the spell; Lucius calls the reader 'slut' and 'whore' as insults; mentions of house elves and elf 'slavery' (feels like a warning I'm putting in here specifically for Hermione but I know people get upset about this stuff now lmao); descriptions of dead animals - a bird is killed while being transported through the not yet working Vanishing Cabinet; mentions of canon deaths (Cedric Diggory); mentions of 'Death Eater culture' - discrimination, violence against muggleborns, blood purity, etc.; discussion of Draco's mission to kill Dumbledore (and his mission to help the Death Eaters break into Hogwarts) and the stress that it causes him.

In his internal narration, Draco calls the reader 'naive' and 'innocent', but this is not a statement about the reader's level of sexual or romantic experience (the reader character is NOT A VIRGIN in this), this is a statement about the reader's level of experience with violence and death (and how Draco feels a need to protect her from being corrupted by the dark forces in his life); Draco grabs the reader's arm (in a slightly painful way, while arguing) - but they don't have a major physical confrontation and it does not escalate (their relationship has slightly toxic vibes, but they are forced to depend on each other); mention of Draco being 'thin'/losing weight due to not eating properly (due to the stress of a life or death mission hanging over his head); for the actual smut section - Draco has a kink for the reader wearing stockings/tights (don't ask me where I got this idea from, it just feels like it would fit Draco really well); the tone of the whole thing is very sweet, affectionate, passionate love-making; Draco calls the reader 'darling' and 'love'; oral - reader receiving; Draco fingers the reader while eating her out; a lot of passionate kissing and body worshipping (towards the reader); multiple orgasms/overstimulation (reader receiving); squirting (not played up as a major kink, but it does happen); Draco is anti-breeding kink (I know this is a new one, but try to stick with me) - Draco knows that the only reason for their engagement is to carry on the family blood like (to breed) and he is against that (because it means carrying out his parents' wishes and putting the reader in danger) so he refuses to fuck her because he doesn't want to get her pregnant, because he thinks that it will be cursing her with an attachment to him and he still wants to give her a chance to bail, so he specifically avoids PIV sex for this reason; the ending of the fic has some slightly dubious consent - because Draco starts thinking about the fate of the arranged marriage and feels self loathing but continues with the encounter anyway (he is romantically and sexually attracted to the reader, and there is no force, and the reader is enthusiastic about her consent the whole time, but Draco starts to withdraw his consent and is slightly unsure - it's adult and realistic and complicated); Draco masturbates while sitting on top of the reader to avoid having sex with the reader (in a way, this could be considered 'forced orgasm' because Draco is having a lot of complicated emotions and literally forces himself to orgasm to end the sexual situation); Draco cums on the reader's thighs; Draco cries after sex because of all his complicated emotions; Draco and the reader do talk about their feelings and (mostly) work things out; the ending skews toward light-hearted/sappy.

A/N: This fic is titled after the song Downhill by Lincoln - and I actually had a really hard time choosing which lyrics to go at the top, because I genuinely believe that all the lyrics from the song are so, so fitting here. So I do highly encourage you to go and listen to the song while you read this!! I actually started writing this fic many months ago when the idea came to me, and I got stalled on it, and then I randomly got inspired to finish it around mid-October, but I wanted to wait to post it until it was closer to Christmas because it is so rare for me to have a seasonally accurate fic on my hands so I actually wanted to post it during the seasonally accurate time lmao. I had a lot of fun writing this and exploring the relationship between these two characters, and I do want to write more for them in the future - especially because I am obsessed with the arranged marriage concept. (I feel like I need to write more fics with different characters that use arranged marriage as a trope because writing this just showed me how much fun it is.) Anyway, for now, I hope you enjoy this, and please let me know what you think of it in the comments.

...

Moving from the bustling atmosphere of the Slug Club Christmas Party into the cold, empty corridor was certainly a drastic shift.

It felt like stepping through a curtain that drained all happiness from you, even if that happiness was only temporary, feigned, and fueled by the jovial holiday atmosphere rather than coming from anywhere true inside of you. It was a show you had put on for the sake of the social occasion. As an automatic response, you felt the fake smile fall from your face as the last murmurs of the guests and the last echoes of Christmas music disappeared faintly behind you. You were then fully flipped from the warm, welcoming environment of the party to the cold shell that was Hogwarts in the dead of winter as the cool air coming off the stone kissed against your skin. 

You couldn’t resist the need to hug yourself in order to cover up your bare arms, sharp gooseflesh already forming there. Such an occasion insisted upon something showy rather than practical, and with the December weather, you were finding it chilly. 

As you walked a few steps down from the entrance to the party, you found that a certain cloud of darkness began to consume you - even with the Christmas trees glistening brightly at either end, reminding you of the supposedly cheerful season. 

You walked toward Draco, where he was waiting for you, just as Snape had promised when he had come up behind you like a looming storm cloud and pulled you away so suddenly, so rudely from the rousing conversation you were having with Harry and Slughorn. But you had to turn your mind off from any showmanship that you had been forced to put into those conversations, and turn your mind onto something else now - someone else. 

Draco had his hands stuffed into the pockets of his expensive suit, a stiff posture that could be seen even through the matching, all black attire. He was pacing along the mouth of the hallway rather frantically, threatening to wear holes in the soles of his custom leather shoes, muttering under his breath to himself. 

So far, this was the worst you had ever seen him. And that worried you greatly. 

“What’s wrong?” You asked, the question naturally on your tongue. 

The sound of your voice in the otherwise empty corridor pulled Draco’s eyes up from the floor, snapping his attention toward you in a way that stopped his pacing in an instant, causing his posture to stiffen up tall as he turned toward you. It was an ingrained instinct - facing someone, giving them your attention when they spoke. Well trained unconscious physical etiquette whipped into a boy who was often very rude and careless with his words. 

For a moment, his fist tightened in his pocket, and you knew that he was clutching on his wand instinctively, his eyes flickering around, looking for an intruder - so perhaps, not entirely ingrained etiquette. Perhaps quite a lot of unconscious physical panic living within those muscles as well. Fight or flight instincts that never got a chance to turn off. 

When his eyes fell on you, recognition flooded his features, and his stiffness relaxed - even if only slightly. 

“Draco, what is it? Why did you pull me out of the party?” You prodded further, your curiosity growing into annoyance when he took too long to answer you. 

“Trust me, I wouldn’t have called you out here if it wasn’t important.” Draco sighed, shifting from one foot to the other, not looking at you. 

“Well isn’t what I’m doing supposed to be important too?” You snapped back. 

Truthfully, you didn’t care about your ‘mission’. You knew that there would be consequences for you if you failed - but at this point, you weren’t all too afraid of being killed. 

When Draco’s parents had discovered that Slughorn was once again teaching at Hogwarts, they had sent you a letter asking to join his ‘Club’, telling you to get close to him. They knew that because of your brilliance, he would already be interested in you joining - and he certainly was. But you had turned him down multiple times because you found it to be an annoyance, and you didn’t want to have to worry about attending ‘club’ meetings on top of everything else going on in your chaotic life. 

Snape was the one who had explained to you why they wanted you to take him up on his nagging offer. The Dark Lord, who used to be known as Tom Riddle, was also once a part of that Club. And they needed to know how much Slughorn remembered about him, and if he was spilling any of the Dark Lord’s secrets to Harry Potter. They needed to know if Slughorn was revealing anything that might make The Dark Lord vulnerable towards Potter. 

Truthfully, you had been grateful towards Snape, and towards Draco for pulling you out of that social hell of fake laughter and performity and into the cool relief of the corridor. You had been dreading the thought of going to the party since Slughorn had first informed everyone about it, and you were grateful to escape it. Even if it gave a chance for the general darkness that Draco carried with him to begin biting at your sensitive heart. And even if it left Harry alone with Slughorn and his endless yammering in your wake. (You pitied him slightly, but you knew that he would be fine on his own.) 

You were mostly irritated with Draco because you hadn’t seen him in days. You felt that he had been strategically avoiding you. Somehow, even in the Slytherin common room or even when you looked for him in his own dorm, he never seemed to be there. And now, he was interrupting you during a crucial moment, daring to show his face when you had spent the better of the last week alone. 

You had invited him to attend the party with you. You thought that you would look like a fool, showing up without a date. And you had. Especially when nearly everyone at Hogwarts had your engagement as hot gossip on their lips just a few months prior. 

“Yes, but-” Draco began to explain himself, but you cut him off, your bubbling annoyance overtaking you in the moment. 

“I was talking to Slughorn when you so rudely interrupted me.” You said, emphasising the words in a way that made Draco childishly roll his eyes. “He was just about to invite me and Harry to look at some of shitty old mementos from previous class years when you had Snape pull me away-”

“Harry?” Draco repeated the name back, mouth gaped as his face twisted in disgust, getting far too caught up on the way you referred to his once rival - now someone who was very background to the rest of his problems. “What? Now you’re getting all cozied up with Potter, are you?” 

At the end of the day, Draco knew that you didn’t owe him anything. 

Essentially, his parents had bought you for him - just like they would have a new racing broom or a fancy set of robes. Since then, you had been nothing but kind to him. Well, aside from your mouthy attitude - which Draco actually found to be refreshing a lot of the time. And he wasn’t even sure how much of it was genuine kindness and how much of it was putting on a show for his parents in order to demonstrate to them that you were a good purchase - that you weren’t something to be disposed of. 

You had held his hand, been cozy and complimented him. He had been surprised the first time you kissed him - surprised by how genuine it felt, and how much he felt himself getting sucked into the emotions of it. But he knew that it was all just for show. 

Because at the end of the day, he knew that no amount of money could force him to own your heart. If you fell in love with someone like Potter, then he could do nothing to stop it. And frankly, he wouldn’t blame you. The heroics, and the genuine kindness, the niceties, the softness - Potter could offer you everything that he couldn’t. 

And in all honesty - something that Draco would only admit to himself deep within the confines of his own, quiet, quaking soul - that thought utterly terrified him. 

“Seriously, Draco?” You barked back, absolutely insulted at the insinuation. At the idea that you had been having fun at the party with Harry when it had been a pretty miserable time for you. “What kind of person do you think I am? I wasn’t there to flirt. Especially not with Harry Potter.”

“Yeah, that’s an awfully convenient story, love.” Draco scoffed, his voice brimming with disgust. 

When you made no further moves to defend yourself - when you didn’t beg for his affection or further insist that what you and Draco had was truly genuine and worth fighting for, it only filled Draco’s mind with more doubt. It only further inflated the idea that indeed, you liked Potter as a romantic partner. And you liked him better. 

“Fine then.” Draco sneered, turning on his heel and marching away, his shoes clacking loudly against the floor as he walked, creating an eerie echo in the empty hallway. 

You hated that your stomach curled with dread at the sight of his quickly retreating back. It had been a long, lonely week without him, and you hated to think of how much longer he would isolate himself if you didn’t take the chance to snag him now. 

“Draco, wait!” You rushed to stop him. 

He was the only person that you truly knew at Hogwarts. 

Yes, he had introduced you to his friends. Pansy Parkinson was nice enough, and she always tried to make girly small talk with you, which you usually returned. Often, her problems about which outfits to wear and how to do her makeup seemed insignificant compared to the literal life and death that Draco faced. But you could always go to her for a conversation that was distracting, a good mental escape. 

Blaise Zabini was more of the strong, silent type. Sometimes the two of you discussed books you had read (when you weren’t feeling too stressed out to read). You usually ended conversations with him early due to colliding opinions on such books. Naturally, he sided with the rich oppressors and you found yourself rooting for the underdogs in every single story. 

Somehow, out of everyone you found yourself surrounded with, Draco was someone you considered a friend. It was difficult not to after the summer the two of you had spent together. 

When your godmother had told you that some ‘old friends of your parents’ were interested in meeting you, you had been surprised. She had always been good to you - she had been friendly, always given you the basics and more in terms of what you needed. She was a very work-minded woman when it came to her job dealing with cursed objects, so she travelled often and left you to be watched over by the Muggle neighbours. Those were experiences that you treasured and often found to be fun. 

You had always grown up with the underlying knowledge that your godmother was not your ‘real’ mother. She always had you call her by her first name - never ‘Mama’, or ‘Mom’. Occasionally, you were mocked in school (because she had enrolled you in Muggle school for a basic education) because you were ‘adopted’. One day, this had led you to asking your godmother where it was that you had come from. 

She told you that your parents were from England, and they died fighting in a war against a terrible dark wizard. They had named her as the person who would take care of you in the event of their death, and though your godmother barely had any traces of an accent left, she told you that she once went to school with your parents at a place called Hogwarts in England. 

Your whole life, all you had known was Muggle New York City. When you turned ten years old, you knew Salem’s Academy for Fine Young Witches, which sometimes had social events (like Quidditch matches and weekend outings) with a brother school, Magorium’s Institute for Upcoming Magical Men. You had dated boys before, but you had never experienced anything too serious. You were a social butterfly well into your magical education who rode the subway during your summers and spent your time going to concerts, enjoying the Muggle library, watching television, going to the movie theatre. 

Even though you never knew your parents and you mourned the dreams of a life you could have had - your life was simple, and you liked it that way. 

Until your godmother took you on a trip to England, promising that it would be a pilgrimage to know more about your heritage, and nothing more. And then - over one dinner, she sold you out to the Malfoys for a dowry of two thousand Galleons. 

Apparently it was enough for her to retire so that she could write a book, as she had always dreamed of. And she was more than happy to be rid of the responsibility of a child that she did not birth. Something that you had heard her whisper to Narcissa when she thought you had not been listening. Up until that point, the only thing binding her to you had been a magical contract that she had signed with your parents before you were even born, naming her your carer in the event of their untimely death. 

The moment she signed a new contract - bidding you to the Malfoys as Draco’s future wife - she was completely free of her responsibility. The new contract that she signed dictated that the Malfoys would have to be responsible for you now. 

So - what you had thought would be a nice visit to explore more about the two dead people that you had never known quickly turned into a permanent relocation with only a small suitcase full of personal belongings, and little clue what the future held for you. Suddenly, you were in a brand new country, living with people you had never met before, betrothed to someone who seemed to hate you. 

And the more the Malfoys talked about The War and told stories of your deceased parents, the more you realised - your parents had died fighting alongside the terrible dark wizard, and not against him. But still, Narcissa and Lucius spoke about your parents as though they were heroes. Valiant heroes who had died at the hands of Aurors, protecting Voldemort’s cause. 

At first, it felt instinctive to hate Draco Malfoy. 

You wanted so badly to hate him. 

He was your betrothed, and though he was very handsome, he had been bitterly rude to you. It seemed that the forcefully polite kiss on the hand that he had given you upon first meeting - something that had given you butterflies in your stomach - had been nothing more than a front, a show he put on for his parents. Because he quickly soured towards you after that. 

He made it very clear that he was not a fan of the arranged marriage either. Even when his parents continually tried to pitch the idea to him and fluff it up for him - as much as they acted like you were a present being given to him on a silver platter (something that only made you feel more isolated and empty). 

There was a distinct point that made you come around to Draco Malfoy. 

The night when you had found out that it wasn’t just a visit, that the idea of the marriage wasn’t just being ‘floated by’ your godmother, but in fact, it was set in stone and you were being left at Malfoy Manor while she silently escaped in the middle of the night with her bag full of gold without even saying goodbye to you. You had sat on the edge of the guest bed they had you in and simply sobbed. You had never felt more alone in your life, never more abandoned, and all you could do was cry your eyes out. 

Draco’s room was across the hall from yours, so naturally, he heard this. It had been a purposeful move from his parents, putting the two of you in close quarters in the hopes that you would talk and interact more, wanting the two of you to at least like each other before getting married. After a few hours of being forced to listen to your chest-racking sobs, you heard a knock. You had been expecting it to be Draco, telling you to shut up so that he could sleep, but instead, a tiny voice asked permission to enter. 

It was one of the house elves - one you later learned was called Pippy, and when you gave her permission to come in, she shuffled along with a large tray in her hands and placed it on the nightstand. A teapot and an empty teacup. She poured you the cup of tea, and after she handed it to you, she patted you on the knee and said: 

“Mister Draco says peppermint tea is good for the bad days,” 

You took the cup in two shaking hands, thanking her meekly, enjoying it as a small comfort. When you watched the tiny elf shuffling back toward your door, you caught a glimpse of a bright blue eye peeking in through the crack, clearly trying not to be caught looking in. 

Even if he would never admit it then, he was growing soft toward you. 

And he had spent the next three months, the entirety of the summer, fighting with that softness as it grew within himself. He constantly battled between pushing you away with feigned annoyance and coldness and wrapping you in warmth, a wordless care. 

He would spend some of the nights in your bed cuddling you while you cried, staying completely silent as to dare not let any fond words slip out. He would defend you against his parents when you didn’t participate in their properly deemed etiquette (such as when you treated the house elves ‘too nicely’ or when you spoke about Muggle technology a bit too much). And yet, he never brought himself to say more than a few genuinely nice words to you. 

He was holding you at arm’s length. He was trying to be some snide, petulant boy toward you in the hopes that you wouldn’t like him. But truly, he was the only real kindness, the only real friend you had in this lonely new world. 

Draco stopped in his tracks at the sound of you calling out his name. As much as he would never admit it, he was a puppet to your call. 

He heaved out a sigh and turned back around, so utterly drawn to you. He hated to see your eyes coated in glass - fear and sadness, the ache that you had disappointed him bubbling to the surface as he stared you down with a sour face, his hands still in his pockets, his entire body still stiff. 

Even though a sad face didn’t suit you, you were still beautiful. So damn beautiful. He hated that he had been so stupid as to miss accompanying you to the party. But he likely would have just been a grey cloud hanging around you, preventing anyone from talking to you and socialising with you. He would have been a roadblock to your mission. 

You were wearing a dress made of a fabric that looked like liquid silver melted down and poured over your body, so sparkling and flowy that you looked like a star that belonged in the night sky alongside the beauty of the moon. It wrapped around your body gracefully, with a tie to emphasise your waist and a low neckline that showed off your cleavage. He was only human - he couldn’t lie in how it appealed to him. Sitting in the middle of your cleavage was a necklace - it was an ornate ruby beetle, the sigil of your Pureblood family. You were the last remaining member of the Scaraflos house. 

The necklace had been handed down to you from your mother - literally the only thing you had from your parents. You had worn it for years without ever truly knowing what it meant. You had told Draco that when Narcissa showed you pictures of his parents and your parents from their school days and pointed out how your mother was wearing the necklace in those pictures, it was the only time you had ever felt truly connected to your Pureblood heritage. And you had no clue if that was a good thing or a bad thing. 

Anytime in years previous, Draco would have jumped to say that it was a good thing. Now, though - he wasn’t entirely sure. 

You were shivering slightly due to the fact that it had such short sleeves, but you were wearing black stockings on your legs (something else that Draco found irritably sexy, even though it covered more of your skin) and you had on a pair of simple, but elegant silver heels. 

Silently, unable to stand the sight of goosenips forming on your skin, he took off his blazer and took the few steps back toward you to wrap it around your shoulders. With his thinner build, it wouldn’t fit you well - but at least, it would shield you from some of the cold air in the castle. As he draped it around you, his eyes caught a glimpse of your hand as you reached up to hold the edge of the coat on your shoulder, clutching onto the fabric so that it wouldn’t fall. 

Draco couldn’t help it when his eyes fixated terribly on it - that damn engagement ring. 

It was something his parents had purchased without him ever knowing, and they had him present it to you as a form of ceremony. As if either of you had any choice in the matter. As if it was supposed to be romantic. As if you could have said no. Later on, behind closed doors, you told him that you would wear it proudly and he scoffed. He thought that the moment the two of you got to Hogwarts, when there were no more prying eyes on the two of you (because Snape certainly didn’t care) - that you would take it off and resign it to some jewellery box, or perhaps even throw it away. 

But you kept wearing it. 

When you thought Draco wasn’t looking, he sometimes found you twisting it between two fingers, looking down at it with an odd kind of fondness - or perhaps, even love. Always a deep, dizzying array of complex thoughts floating through your mind. 

He had no clue that you wore it because you thought of Draco as your family now. He was the only person you had in the world who hadn’t done you some kind of injustice. And you wore it to show loyalty to him. You wore it because it meant that you weren’t alone. You were an abandoned orphan, sold and bartered like livestock - but as long as you wore that ring, you belonged to someone. Someone who, despite his best efforts to appear cold and uncaring, did take care of you. 

“Draco, why did you come here?” You asked again, much gentler this time, lowering your attack for now. 

You stared at him expectantly as you clutched his blazer around your shoulders, trying to steal the last bits of his warmth out of the fabric before it faded away completely. 

He sighed, hating to admit that he needed help. He was stubbornly, bitterly independent, just as his parents had taught him to be. It was one of his biggest flaws. 

“I’m having issues with the Vanishing Cabinet.” He told you quietly, hesitant to admit it. Hesitant to admit failure. 

“Show me.” You told him, and he nodded. 

He led you to the blank wall on the fifth floor that somehow caused a door to appear. The first time you had seen it, it had astounded you. Even in a world of magic, some things still managed to surprise you. 

He had originally brought you there at the beginning of the school year when he had explained to you that he had been tasked to fix up The Vanishing Cabinet. He had called it The Room of Hidden Things. He had explained to you that any time someone wanted to get rid of a dangerous object, for that object to never be found again, they disposed of it within this room. Sometimes it was also a dumping ground for common junk, he had theorised, and he heavily believed that items that were hidden within other places within the walls of Hogwarts - a book tucked away in a random cupboard, a potion bottle hidden under someone’s mattress - somehow, those items ended up here if they were hidden with the same intention of disposal. They were all pulled here by the room’s strong magic. 

You found it to be hauntingly beautiful, like many other places within Hogwarts were. You couldn’t help but to enjoy the sense of mystery as you walked through the isles of piled up furniture, seeing all the strange items that you could barely put names to - things like dragon skulls, murky old potions rotting away in dusty bottles. Even a few trolls that had been killed and stuff (taxidermy style) that had startled you upon your first visit to the room because when you had first looked at them, you thought they were alive and waiting to attack. 

Draco brought you to the back of the large room, and you saw that he had already pulled the tarp off the overwhelming tall, ornate Vanishing Cabinet, so the dusty cloth was sitting in the pile at the cabinet’s feet. Without a word, Draco walked up to the cabinet, moving in stiff mechanical motions as he pulled open the doors. You took a few steps closer to get a better look, realising that he was trying to show you whatever was inside - that must be where the primary problem was located. 

You couldn’t hold in the gasp that broke out of your throat when you saw a dead bird sitting in the bottom of the cabinet. 

A bright yellow canary laying against the dark wood, belly up and completely still with its soft feathers rustled, a few of them missing. You had seen very few dead animals in your lifetime. Aside from the occasional New York City pigeon, laying on the sidewalk in a similar fashion after running itself into one of the hyper reflective windows of the tall buildings. You couldn’t even stand to look at those for too long. You still felt the same deep heartache while looking at it that you had for the poor pigeons. 

“Oh - oh my.” You gaped quietly. 

Draco was entirely surprised when you shouldered him out of the way, letting his ill-fitting borrowed jacket drop off your shoulders onto the dusty ground without care as you crouched down in front of him. You then scooped up the small bird in your hands, cradling it gently as though it were entirely precious. 

He thought that seeing the state of things, you might start suggesting spells, telling him ways that he could fix the obvious problem. But no - you were soft-hearted. The true problem hadn’t even occurred to you yet, because you were so caught up on the sight of a dead bird. You were emotional, struck by the shock of an innocent animal having its life prematurely ended. 

Draco envied you quietly for a moment as you sat on your knees in front of the cabinet, looming in his shadow as you held the bird in your hands. He realised that in order for you to be so startled over this, so heartbroken - it must be one of the first times you had been brushed with death. Draco envied that naivety. 

He wished he could rewind to the version of himself from a few years ago. A version that thought not being able to join the Quidditch team because of an age restriction was the worst tragedy in the world. A version that thought he got everything he wanted because he was genuinely deserving of it. Someone who couldn’t see that he was simply a spoiled brat. 

He wished he could go back to a version that hadn’t seen Muggleborns slain in his family’s dining room, begging for mercy where there would be none.  

When he had first seen that bird sitting dead in the cabinet, a frighteningly still, dead body draped in yellow - for a moment, he had been reminded of Cedric Diggory. Someone so undeserving, lifeless before their time. Used up and gone. 

But now, seeing the way you cradled it, fussing over something already dead and unable to benefit from your care - Draco was distinctly reminded of himself, withering and undeserving in your arms. 

“Draco, do - do you think we should bury it?” You asked, the gentle croak of tears in your voice as you considered a pointless funeral for the small dead thing. 

You suddenly rose up to your feet then, walking around Draco to look for something among the junk in the room, something to wrap the poor bird in - some kind of cloth, or perhaps a small box to place it in. 

This caused something inside of him to snap. The way your sweet demeanour ground against his nerves - his worry, his anxiety about everything mounting suddenly as you fussed over a tiny thing that truly didn’t matter. 

Eventually, your good intentions would get you killed. That gentle touch, that willingness to help - it would get you on the wrong end of a Killing Curse one day. (Especially if he didn’t protect you.) 

“It’s not about the bloody bird, woman!” He growled out, entirely frustrated with your delicate ignorance, your lack of seeing the true point. 

Draco turned to you, and grabbed your arm so viciously that your palms jerked apart and the small, lifeless body dropped onto the floor without a single bit of grace. The bird dropped against the cold stone so carelessly, as though it were an object that had not once had any life in it at all. You let out another gasp at this, and looked from the dull tuft of yellow feathers at your feet up to Draco’s face. 

“Draco!” You cried out sharply, protesting against his careless nature toward the innocent creature. 

His fingers were gripping your forearm fiercely, blooming small bits of pain - but you didn’t care. You felt a clench in your gut, distinct guilt overwhelming you. You told yourself that his anger was misplaced. You had to guess so. You didn’t have words, especially not while he stared you down so coldly. All you could do was stand tall, and stare right back, even while tears formed in your eyes. 

He tightly clenched his jaw. 

You were surprised when he spoke again. 

“How can you be so daft?” He said, almost choking on the words. 

That was when you knew for certain that all his bubbling anger was truly misplaced. He had called you brilliant before, and often made ‘jokes’ about how much you outsmarted him. It was one of the only things he had said about you that wasn’t sarcastic or backhanded in some effort to deter you. He didn’t think that you were stupid, not one bit. 

“Look, you know if I don’t get this thing working-” Draco couldn’t even finish his sentence before his throat closed around the words, threatening harsh sobs that he was desperate to contain. 

Instead, he turned abruptly, letting go of your arm - now completely uncaring of the misplaced conflict. You felt a wave crash into your chest as you realised it. He was right - how could you have been so stupid? 

Of course, he had no care for a small animal. 

It was about what that animal represented. His failure. Death looming over his head. 

The bird had obviously died in the cabinet, which meant that a living thing had yet to survive the transition from Borgin & Burkes into Hogwarts. If Draco couldn’t fix that problem - if there was some sort of problem when the Death Eaters tried to use the cabinet to get into Hogwarts and one of them died, then Draco would be on the line for it. 

They would kill him if he couldn’t get this right. 

Draco moved slowly, putting a hand on each of the cabinet’s doors and closing them. The harsh squeak of the old hinges resonating through the otherwise silent room spoke volumes. 

Then, for a few long, painstaking moments - neither of you said a thing. 

Your chest ached. You wished that you could find something comforting to tell him. For some reason, you knew that simply telling him ‘it’s going to be okay’ wasn’t going to cut it. You muddled in the silence and you hated it. 

He stood with his back still turned to you, with his arms outstretched, leaning on the tall, imposing wooden object. It felt like a shadow of death looming over the two of you. His shoulders held nothing but pure tension, even as he used the object for support. Soon, he took on a very unnatural, un-Malfoy slouch as he allowed his head to so tiredly droop down between his spread arms. 

After a few moments of that terrible silence, with you staring at his back, tossing your mind for something helpful to say as you chewed at your own lip - Draco took in a shuddering breath. Though you knew he was trying to hide it: he began quietly sobbing. 

You couldn’t help yourself then. 

It was something you knew that he pretended to hate, but you did it anyway. He could pretend to be annoyed with you if he wanted, but you both likely needed it right now. You stepped forward, over the dead bird, your shoes quietly clacking against the stone - and you settled yourself right up against his back, tucking your body tightly against him in a hug. You nuzzled your face into the tense muscles of his shoulders, and as you wrapped your arms around his waist from behind and squeezed him tightly, you felt some of the tension melt away as he unconsciously relaxed into your touch. 

You did worry about how much thinner he felt in your arms than the last time you had done this - obviously, he hadn’t been eating properly. But you didn’t bother to bring it up, not wanting to start another argument. 

Draco felt a grateful warmth spread over him. Still, he refused to touch you back. He couldn’t. At least not yet. 

He kept his hands on the wood of the cabinet, almost like a bold surrender, silently remarking that he would give into your touch, to your softness, but he wouldn’t return it. He couldn’t. He let out another shuddering sob - a sound he couldn’t contain now with the feeling of your warmth at his back. It was something he hated himself for. 

You hushed him gently. And then, miraculously, you found words. 

“We could leave.” You said quietly, turning your head so that your cheek sat parallel with his flesh, muttering the words against the fine silk of his button up shirt. “We could just… run away together. We don’t have to stay here, Draco. We could get to a fireplace and Floo out of here, or-” 

“We can’t.” Draco easily cut you off, stamping out the idea, his voice just as quiet, throttled by tears. “You know that we can’t.” 

You wanted to argue the point more. Obviously, he didn’t hate the idea. He just thought it was illogical. Likely, he thought it was too dangerous. But what was the alternative - possibly being killed anyway? Being tortured and then killed if he failed his mission? 

“If we leave, they’ll kill my parents because I couldn’t complete my mission.” Draco sniffled quietly. “At the very least, they’ll haul me in and have my head for being a traitor.” 

Draco straightened his stance then, taking his arms off the cabinet. You thought that he might remove your arms from his waist, finally rejecting your touch. But instead, he began tracing fingers from his right hand along the forearm of his left sleeve, almost scratching at it like it was a terrible itch. 

You had been there on the night when he had gotten the Mark. 

You had been brought into the room and forced to listen to his screams of pain before you even truly knew what was happening. When you had tried to comfort him about it, he had pushed you off so roughly that you had almost smacked your head into one of the walls - but you couldn’t bring yourself to be angry with him. You that he was taking that fear and pain out on you in that terribly misplaced way. 

Later that night, when he had been crying - sobbing harshly and running the freshly scorched skin under cool water - he let you run him a bath with soothing soaps. The two of you discussed Shakespeare’s plays (which you were surprised that he had read) while you washed his hair for him. 

“Now that I have the Mark, I can’t run anywhere.” Draco muttered quietly. “I can’t go anywhere that I won’t be found.” 

That part had never truly occurred to you before. 

You knew that the Dark Lord used the Dark Mark as a way for his followers to show their loyalty. The magic behind it also made it a way for him to summon them or even for them to summon him. Hearing his words, you guessed that Draco having it meant that he could be ‘summoned’ at any time as a part of the loyalty he had so unwillingly pledged. 

Even if he betrayed the Dark Lord morally, mentally, emotionally, and tried to do so physically by running away, as long as his arm was attached, he would still be in service to that horrible man until he and his followers decided otherwise. Especially because you couldn’t imagine Draco wanting to part with his arm anytime soon. 

“We’ll figure something out.” You told him, having little faith in those words yourself. You knew it was a truth that you had to speak into existence - otherwise, you were doomed. 

You laid a gentle kiss on his shoulder through the fabric of his shirt, spreading more warmth through him. He clenched his fists at his sides, highly resisting the urge to reach for your hands, but silently hoping that you wouldn’t pull away. 

Draco resented your sense of hope. A lot of the time, he couldn’t help but to think that it was stupid - just your naivety poking through in a different way. Though, truthfully, in a lot of ways, he knew that your hope was the bravest thing about you. And these days, that hope was the only thing keeping him afloat in the chaotic sea that his life had become. 

Draco, unlike you, was a coward. 

He could come up with all the excuses he wanted not to run away, but truthfully - he was terrified. And every single day, his fear put you more and more at risk. 

… 

Draco thought back to a night at Malfoy Manor, when you had been having dinner with him and his parents. A night when, for the first time in his life, that streak of cowardice had somehow been broken. 

“Can you believe it? It’s completely ridiculous. A proposal to convert the entire Ministry from intern-departmental memos to this - this telephone nonsense!” 

Lucius ranted on as he cut into his food, taking out his aggression on the piece of meat in front of him as he recounted something that had happened a few months previous that still brought him particular frustration whenever he remembered it. 

“That Arthur Weasley is a stupid old bat, downright mindless, but even I can’t imagine where he gets theses ideas from-” 

“Telephones can actually be quite useful.” You piped up, interrupting his father’s ranting with a quiet, but polite comment. 

Without a word, all three others at the table stared at you as you continued to mindlessly poke at your dinner. Lucius glared daggers at you, his expression full of bitter venom, while Draco and Narcissa gave you the same distinct expression of shock - deer in headlights, mirrored over both their faces. Over the years, they had learned to simply be quiet and ‘listen’ to the rantings of their patriarch, especially if it was about the goings on at the Ministry, Arthur Weasley, or any number of other subjects that he knew he was right about. 

While at his own dinner table, Lucius Malfoy was not to be interrupted - much less corrected. 

You had just broken the golden rule twice over. You had interrupted him in the middle of speaking, and you had contradicted what he was saying. 

Draco’s gut clenched as he realised that he should have warned you beforehand to avoid such a faux pas. He should have told you that the dinner table was a place for quietly eating and answering direct questions in as few words as possible - not an open forum. 

Before he could apologise on your behalf, you opened your mouth again - doubling down on this accidental, horrible mistake. 

“Do you just find it confusing because you don’t know how they work?” You posed, reaching out to grab your glass for a sip of water, looking right at Lucius as you posed the question. “I know that a lot of Wizards who were born in the magical world can find Muggle technology strange and confusing, but-” 

Before you could finish speaking, Lucius reached off to the side and grabbed his cane, and brought down onto the centre of the table with an intense silent fury. He smashed your hand down into the glass that you had been holding, shattering it to pieces underneath your palm. Draco and Narcissa flinched at the sound and Narcissa backed her chair away slightly - but neither of them dared to speak, neither of them moved to confront him. In fact, Narcissa was very intentionally looking away, her eyes now glued to the floor. 

Draco could see blood pooling against the emerald green table runner, could see your flesh quivering in pain underneath the silver snake’s maw - but you stayed completely still, your eyes coldly locked on Lucius’ glare as he hovered out of his seat. Even with tears of pain dotting your eyes, your throat trembling as you held back cries - you kept a stiff jaw and refused to back down from the confrontation. 

It was braver than Draco had ever been, and he silently admired you for it. 

“If you think that stupid, filthy Muggles are so brilliant, then you can die like one.” Lucius ground out slowly, pure rage on his breath. “While you are living in my house, you will learn your place. You filthy, blood-traitorous slut.” 

Draco held his breath. He knew that if you backed down, if you shied away and admitted your wrong doing with silence or even an apology, then his father would let you go easily and then this would all be over. 

But of course - you weren’t going to back down easily. Not you. 

“And what place is that?” You remarked, pure snark in your tone. 

Draco’s throat clenched up. His father wouldn’t like that. 

Lucius lifted the snake’s bite off your hand, only for a second, and then - after placing down the cane, he sharply backhanded you. Draco knew that he wore thick, heavy rings on his hand and he worried for you - especially when you swayed on your seat for a moment before falling to the floor. The heft of the hit was enough to dizzy you, make you unstable and send you to the ground. 

“Your place is to be silent until I call upon you.” Lucius announced, seeming very satisfied with himself. 

Narcissa refused to look in your direction, and Lucius moved to sit back in his chair. For once, going against everything he had been taught since childhood, Draco rushed to get out of his. He knew that it would have been expected for him to ignore you. For you to be isolated in your pain. But he couldn’t help himself. 

Draco rushed to your side, collapsing onto his hands and knees before you - instinctively, he sheltered you in his arms, trying to get you upright again. 

“Y/N?” He croaked out quietly, only now realising how close he was to tears. 

“I’m fine, Draco.” You quickly lied. “I’m fine.” 

“Draco.” 

Lucius’ tone was entirely dead, almost calm, and somehow menacing in the same breath. Draco looked over your head, your slouched, defeated posture making you too small in his arms as he held you against his chest, and he caught his father’s eye as the man glared at him with pure violence dancing in his cold eyes. Any other time, Draco would have folded to that silent threat so easily. But with you there - with the feeling of you quivering against him, clearly holding in sobs - it truly injected boldness into him in those moments. 

You were such a fragile thing. For once in his life - something he needed to protect. Something only he could protect. 

“Draco, sit down.” His father ordered, clearly annoyed when Draco took too long to move away from you. “You haven’t been dismissed from my table yet.” 

Draco laid a gentle kiss on your forehead, and somehow, entirely against his own will, untangled you from his arms. When he stood, everyone in the room thought for certain that it was to comply with this order. But instead, he moved toward his father’s chair with sharp footsteps, putting on his best faux confidence and standing tall as he spat out his next words. 

“I swear to Merlin, if you ever put a hand on my fiance again, I will end you.” 

Naturally, Lucius didn’t find this threat to be the slightest bit intimidating. 

His father let out a dark chuckle, clearly amused by seeing Draco posture as a man when he knew that his son was nothing more than a spoiled, cowardly child. 

“Let’s not forget who bought you the little whore.” Lucius laughed. “There’s no need to get sentimental, Draco. You should be paying attention. Learn how to train up your wife now, before she becomes a disobedient brat. You should never let anyone talk to your father like that, remember, loyalty comes-” 

Draco took out his wand then, much to his father’s surprise. With it poised in Lucius’ direction, he received a sharp glare. 

“I understand loyalty perfectly well. Father.” Draco said, his voice short. 

“Incarcerous.” Lucius hissed sharply - then, as if out of nowhere, a thin black rope appeared and whipped around the middle of Draco’s neck. In an instant, it began tightening, choking him. 

Immediately, Draco dropped his wand and fell backwards, landing beside where you were still kneeling on the floor - you panicked as you watched him choking and gasping for breath. 

“Lucius!” Narcissa cried out, begging for the end of the conflict. 

The man ignored her. 

“You will learn to respect me in my own house, so help me, if I have to-” 

“Finite.” You held your good hand above Draco’s gasping face and muttered the counter curse, releasing him from the rope, performing an impressive feat of wandless magic to get him free.

Lucius glared at you once again, locking you and Draco in a harsh stare as you helped him sit up while he struggled to catch his breath. 

Before any further words could be said, Lucius pushed out his chair and stomped out of the room like a child having a tantrum, obviously upset that his intimidation and abuse had not gotten him the result he wanted. Narcissa said nothing, only giving you the saddest eyes as you helped Draco off the floor. The two of you left to go clean the glass out of your palm, spending the rest of the night locked in Draco’s room, licking your wounds in the relative comfort of each other’s silence. 

… 

That had been the first time Draco had ever properly stood up to his father. 

Draco still wondered if that was a good thing or not. 

Before he could venture any further into that very dangerous can of worms, you pulled Draco back to the present when you stepped back from the hug. Draco resisted the urge to pull you back, to steal more of your warmth. 

You noticed something out of the corner of your eye that caught your attention. 

A mattress laid out on the floor. 

It could have just been one of those random pieces of stray ‘junk’ furniture, but something about it caught your attention. For one, the fact that it hadn’t been in that position the last time you had been in this room. And two - there were a few random, stray blankets placed on top of it in what was very clearly an improvised sleeping area. As though someone had gone through the random objects in the room in order to compose a makeshift bed. 

With Draco’s bookbag sitting beside the mattress, open - you quickly clued into the truth. It was absolutely no trouble to figure out why you hadn’t seen much of him over the past week. He had been sleeping here. 

It was a revelation that shocked you. 

Especially considering that this looked quite shabby in comparison to the comfort of the Slytherin dorms. And you knew that at home, he was used to being spoiled with a thick, three foot tall mattress on a four poster bed and goose feather down pillows. So - why would he choose to camp out here? Why would he want to be closer to The Vanishing Cabinet - something that was actively giving him stress? 

“You’ve been sleeping here.” You said, disappointment ripe in your voice as you walked over to the mattress as toed at one of the blankets with your shoe. “Why?” 

“Why does it matter?” Draco huffed, picking up his jacket that you had dropped onto the floor and tossing it into the middle of the mattress. “Can you help me with The Cabinet or not?” 

“I can help.” You answered simply. “But I want to talk about this first.” You said, motioning toward the area where he had slept. 

Draco let out a sharp breath and turned around, rubbing his hands across his face in sharp frustration. 

For a moment, you thought that he was simply going to leave again, forcing you to chase him, trying to outrun the conversation. It had been a favourite tactic of his when the two of you had been living at his parents’ sprawling estate, a place that he knew much better than you did. The second that things got a bit too personal, he would slip into some random hallway or sneak off around a private corner, and it was like he had Disapparated - with how quickly he had moved, disappearing into the bowels of the house so that he could escape talking to you. 

You wouldn’t let him escape this time. 

You stepped up to him and put your hands on either side of his face, and he closed his eyes at the gentle touch. 

“Draco, please don’t hide from me.” You told him quietly. “You don’t have to be alone in all this. I know… I know I’m just some stupid girl that your parents bought for you, but I want to be a good wife for you. I want to be the person that you can come to with your problems.” 

Draco didn’t think of you as just some ‘stupid girl’. 

He didn’t think of you as a gift, as a purchased object that he could throw away like he had with every other toy that he had carelessly broken in his life. 

Honestly - you were the first real friend he ever had. You were the first person who was truly honest with him, calling him out on his bullshit, barring any consequences of his reputation or anything that his parents might do to you. You didn’t flock to him for popularity or status. You were forced to be near him, but you didn’t always act polite toward him by force. When your sweetness came to him, it was in waves. And it came along with sour notes and rudeness and harsh honesty that he needed. 

That kind of honesty was something that he had never experienced from anyone else in his life. 

And all of it was so incredibly genuine. 

You were someone who should have hated him, but you always smiled at him; someone who said his name with nothing but pleasantness in your tone, where others said it with venom or coldness. You were one of the first people he felt like he could open up to, and that was dangerous. 

Of course he was hiding from you. He needed to hide from you. 

He was a coward. And lately, the thing he feared most, even above losing his own life - was losing you. You were probably the only good thing he had ever possessed that was actually irreplaceable. If he lost you, he knew that he would never recover. He would actually willingly fling himself off the Astronomy Tower if he was somehow responsible for getting you hurt. 

That was what kept him at a distance. Hoping that he could actually grow cold toward you. Hoping that he could learn to genuinely hate you if he escaped from your sweetness. 

He also hoped that you would grow to hate him so that you could simply detach and go off on your own. You didn’t have The Mark, you could still run. At least before making your marriage vows, you could. But no - you were too good. You were too kind hearted to truly abandon him. 

And every time Draco saw you, he only became more nauseated with the realisation that he was becoming more and more fond of you. He would always look for your face in the crowd at the Great Hall, he would always wait for that smile to come across your lips when you locked eyes with him. 

And he couldn’t handle it. He couldn’t handle you. He couldn’t handle being the one responsible for the destruction of your life. 

So he spent more nights, longer nights in the Room of Requirement, slaving over The Vanishing Cabinet, writing down increasingly stupid plans for how he could kill Dumbledore without actually waltzing up and just murdering the man. He had to complete his mission if he was going to keep you safe. 

“Draco, please-” 

He couldn’t take it anymore. He couldn’t listen to the sweet sadness in your voice curl around his name like a canary’s song, another sweet little bird ready to die by his hands. He couldn’t stand you talking to him like you actually cherished him - like he was actually something worth having. 

He reached up and gently cupped the side of your face, tucking his arm inside of yours to do so where you still held onto his cheek, the two of you becoming so entangled, just as he had feared. 

Then - he pulled you into a kiss. 

It was an addition to only about a half dozen kisses that the two of you had shared before this. And in an instant, this was the most desperate - emotions that he desperately wanted dampened off and hidden wringing through his lips and into yours. Entirely against his will, another hot tear escaped, and he let out a small gasp when you were quick to thumb it away. 

You wanted to cheer at the feeling of his lips against yours. You knew that before this, he was actively pulling away from you, putting himself in isolation, marching in his suffering alone because he thought that he had to. Or simply because he was used to it, from what you had seen of his home life. 

You knew what a horrible curse loneliness was, and you never wanted him to suffer through it. Especially not on top of everything else he was already going through. If he had to suffer through everything that his parents had put onto him, then at the very least, he didn’t have to suffer alone. 

Having his lips pressed so tightly to yours - it felt like progress. Feeling the whimper that echoed out from his throat as he held your face so delicately, like you were a perfect, soft doll - like you were something so precious - it felt like you had broken down a wall that he had been trying so hard for so many months to keep up as a barrier against you. 

This felt like saving him. 

It felt like doing what little you could within your limited power to create light in the darkness he was trudging through. Or at the very least, it felt like you could assure him that he wasn’t stuck in that darkness alone. 

After a few moments, Draco pulled away from the kiss. When he reached up to pull one of your hands away from his face, you worried that he might just shove you away and walk away altogether, finally coming to his senses against the affection. You worried that he would suddenly become cold toward you as he had done many other times, in an effort to turn you off. 

Instead - he surprised you. He did one of the most endearing, heart-melting things that he possibly could have done. 

He clasped your wrist gently between his cool fingers, thumbing along your pulse in a way that made you hold back a moan, and then he raised the heel of your palm up to his lips. With his eyes gently closed, refusing to look at you, he kissed along the fading scars that had been left there when his father had smashed your hand into a wine glass over dinner. 

The marks were something you didn’t pay much mind to these days, especially not with the ornament of your engagement ring as a much more pleasant distraction on that hand. But feeling Draco’s pillowy, light kisses grazing across your skin in the best, deepest apology he ever could have offered you - it made your stomach clench with overwhelming emotion as tears formed in your eyes. 

“Draco-” You choked on his name this time, and he moved your hand to sit on his shoulder as he turned his attention toward your face. 

Glassy, tear-kissed eyes faced your own, and you knew that there were no words for it. 

The universe had brought the two of you together in the strangest way and drowned the two of you in the most unpleasant circumstances. But you couldn’t help thinking that this is exactly where you were meant to be. 

“Hush now, darling.” He told you, his voice whisper-quiet, not daring to get much louder lest he risk breaking those tears in his throat. 

Darling. It was the first time he had ever called you that. He had thrown out the occasional snide ‘honey’ or ‘wifey’ in front of his parents or even behind closed doors, very rudely playing on the fact that he was supposed to treat you like a girlfriend, like his beloved. He thought it was amusing to taunt you with the sarcasm that he never actually would hold any true affection for you. 

This was the first pet name he had given you out of genuine affection. 

He pulled you back in for another kiss, and the moment his lips touched yours, Draco could feel himself losing it. The softness of your pillowy mouth against his, the way your fingers curled into his shirt, holding onto him like you truly needed him as an anchor. The little moan you let out - making him desperate to chase more of those sounds from you. 

All of it was slowly driving him insane, leading him further astray from his goal of detaching from you. 

He should have tossed you out into the hallway. He should have yelled at you, called you horrible names. He should have pulled out every single rude, bratty thing in his repertoire to make you absolutely hate him. Instead - he found himself getting lost in you more by the second. He found himself letting your softness roll over him in waves, turning him weak. 

Draco held the back of your head with one hand, pinning you into the kiss, holding you against his mouth like a dehydrated man would so desperately hold onto a decanter of water. You let out another sweet moan, louder this time, and he didn’t hesitate to shove his tongue past your lips, dizzy and needing to drink right from the source, wanting to devour you whole. He needed to see if he could taste the light that radiated out of you. He needed to see if he could find that fatal thing inside of you that made you have a fondness toward him. 

This was nothing like snogging random Slytherin girls out of boredom.

In that moment, Draco felt important. He felt needed. He felt like he served some grander purpose of good in the universe because you held onto him tighter, because you pulled him closer, because you kissed him back with ferocity and sucked on his tongue. Because you wanted him. He felt that if your attention shifted from him for even a moment, he would wither away and cease to exist because he only mattered under the warmth of your gaze. 

Draco felt like he was tempting fate when he moved his hands down your shoulders, down your back, daring to touch more of you - daring to ask for more. That he was playing with fire, letting his well-ingrained greed get the better of him once again. But he couldn’t help himself. 

He cradled his flat-handed touch across you with the intention to feel you in a way that he never had before. Yes, he had held you before - hugged you, pulled you close to him when he was stuck for words and wanting to comfort you, especially seeing as comforting words had never been a skill taught to him. But other than a few grazing touches against your hands or your cheeks, he had never dared to invite himself to the rest of your body. 

Before this, he had never touched you with lust on his mind. 

He had never truly thought of you as his property, something he could possess and own and take. He thought for certain, at any moment, you would push him away for being so brazen - and he would simply have to add this rejection to his pile of heartbreaks and move on. 

Instead, he felt something inside of him ease with relief when you sighed with delight - one of the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard. And then, in a moment so perfect, you leaned into his touches. You kept one hand tightly gripping the fabric of his shirt and the other reached up and wound into his neatly slicked hair, instantly messing up the tresses and making them wild at the back. 

But he couldn’t care, not for a moment - especially not when you let out another sweet moan into his mouth and leaned your whole body into him, pressing against him so that he felt every inch of your gorgeous curves through the thin fabric of your dress. 

Draco had felt you pressed this close against his body before, but it had never been like this. 

Before it had been like a delicate bird being held in a cage - like some sweet, innocent thing he was trying to protect. 

But now, it was like a man truly feeling a woman. It was a potential husband truly seeing his future wife for the first time, and his body responded in the only way he could. He let out a shuddering moan and he felt his cock hardening up. Of course, he didn’t want you to feel it. He didn’t want this to happen. He shouldn’t let this happen. 

He was supposed to be distancing himself from you, not letting you dizzy him like he was some stupid lovesick fool. He was supposed to be severing these ties, not burrowing himself further inside of you. (And just that thought sparked a certain imagery in his mind that made his cock twitch and swell to full mast. Brilliant. Just bloody brilliant. He was a fool.) 

Draco pulled back from the kiss and you let out a disappointed sound - like the creek of an old door, tired and waning. 

Draco forced his hands back to his sides, despite how fantastic the warmth of your flesh felt under his touch. 

When he tried to step back from you, you refused to let him go. The grip you had in his hair caused a small twinge of pain across his scalp, and he was forced to open his eyes. The look on your face - kiss bruised lips, eyes still closed, a quiver across your chin, filled to the brim with disappointment, likely knowing what was going through his mind - it made him weak. It gave him pause. 

He was too damn weak. 

“Y/N-” He said your name in a whisper - about to tell you that the two of you shouldn’t be doing this, but you cut him off. 

“Draco, please.” You whimpered quietly. “Please, don’t push me away right now.” 

He reached up and gently gripped your forearm. He should have used the touch to untangle you from him, but he found that he didn’t have the strength to. Whether it was a mental strength or a physical one, he wasn’t even sure. 

“I need this.” You whispered, your voice hoarse and strained, and for the first time that he had ever heard - desperate. “I think you do too. Please.” 

He was a horrible, selfish man - but he told himself that a good husband would never deny you of your needs. 

Draco swept you into another kiss, wrapping one of his arms around your back, firm and protective as he always had been, determined to serve your needs with more ferocity than ever. While you moaned into his mouth, he guided you backwards until your ankles hit the edge of that mattress. The one he had been sleeping on to flee from this big, horrible thing that had been building between the two of you that had now crashed down upon his head with inevitability. 

Even dizzy from the feeling of his lips on yours, you instantly understood the wordless signal. He laid you down on it as gently as he could, taking the gravity in slow pauses rather than simply letting you fall backwards, and as he fixed some of the blankets under your head like a makeshift pillow, you felt like a queen, being treated with the highest affection and handled with the most gentle hands that her beloved could muster. 

Part of you yearned for a rougher touch, to see Draco let loose on you - but you knew that this was what he needed. He needed to treasure something. He needed to know that he could have something good that wouldn’t end up dead or broken because of him. 

Draco paused above you for a moment, holding himself there with a hand beside your head - he felt a pure, stabbing pain in his gut when he looked down at you and all he could see reflected back up at him was pure, shining, sickening love. Your eyes practically glowed with it in the dimly lit room. He didn’t want to admit it then, but he knew he was so utterly fucked. 

He felt a curse curling up inside him - the urge to mirror that back to you but the inability to proclaim it. Feeling like he was some filthy dead thing that would never truly mean anything to you while wanting so badly to be the solid earth beneath your feet that you needed to function, he wanted to be your everything. His voice became strangled in his throat and instead of making that impossible proclamation, his body moved frantically as he began kissing down your neck. 

It was a worship - it was a proclamation in silence. It was all he could muster, but he hoped that it would please you nonetheless. 

Please. 

He whispered wordlessly against your skin, tonguing along the planes of your neck as you moaned for him so beautifully. 

Please, notice me. Find me worthy. 

After lavishing gentle attention across your neck and your clavicle, coating you in salvia that cooled across your skin and made you shiver, he reached your bust line and easily buried himself there. He nestled along the skin so tenderly that you found your heart wanting to burst out of your chest to reach his lips, your hands coming up to cradle the back of his head in what you hoped was an equally tender gesture while he laid the sweetest, simple open-mouthed kisses in your cleavage. 

This was a Draco that you had never seen before. This was not the surly-mouthed, harsh, bitter man you had come to know. And if you had fallen for glimpses of his sweetness before, then you were quickly being catapulted off the edge into full on adoration. Into something deeper and much more dangerous. 

“Draco, please.” You moaned out, pushing your chest further into his touch, somehow already breathless and beating hard between your thighs for him. 

Of course, he thought. More. 

She deserves more. 

Draco moved the hand that was supporting himself to push into the mattress beside your waist, holding his weight there now. And then, he used his other hand to reach into the front of your dress. He felt lucky when you sighed with delight rather than revoking his permission to touch you, even though his fingers were cold and icy upon your breast as he moved the fabric of your dress and the cup of your bra off to the side. 

This left the deep V of the wrap sitting at your ribs, presenting one of your breasts to the open air, an absolutely beautiful sight as your nipple pebbled up with the coolness of the room. He didn’t leave the flesh cold for long before he cupped your breast with tender fingers and fed your nipple into his hot mouth, eagerly sucking - as though he could communicate better every tangled bit of emotion he felt for you with the intricate swirls of his tongue. 

“Draco!” 

You moaned and arched up into his mouth, encouraging him further to explore the beauty of your breast with his tongue. 

You surprised him slightly when you moved underneath him, parting your legs and moving to bracket your knees around his narrow hips. He couldn’t help but to moan against your breast when he felt the overwhelming heat of your core settle against his cock. Even through his trousers, with your dress pooling up around your waist, it was like feeling the morning sun kissing your face after opening the curtains. It was a wave of warmth that threatened to overtake him. 

Draco couldn’t hold back the instinctive movement, and he ground his hips downward, seeking more of that addictive heat, needing more of it on his hard, aching cock. He felt as though he had found liquid euphoria when you let out a crackling moan in response, the sound shaking everything inside of him that made him actually feel good for once. 

The feeling was enhanced when you threaded your fingers into his hair harder, your fingernails scraping across his scalp as your body echoed a natural response to him - you clamped your thighs down on his hips, trapping him there, and you began to grind yourself into the hardness of his cock, clearly needed more for yourself. 

He knew that he shouldn’t be allowed to have this - he shouldn’t be allowed to taint something as perfect as you. But he let himself continue to selfishly take, and take, and take more. He was a greedy brat, as he always had been, and he couldn’t bear to change his ways now. 

“Oh fuck, Draco.” You moaned out so sweetly. 

Draco pulled back, and began kissing along the side of your breast. 

“Shh, darling. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” He said quietly, swallowing sharply, desperately trying to chug in more air. 

He had no clue when he had become so light-headed, but if you were the thing making him so dizzy, so distant from reality - then you were his fondest drug, and he was never going to let you go again. 

Draco descended then - he had the utmost urge to please you, to hear more of his name on your lips. 

A near feral groan escaped him when he finally caught a glimpse between your thighs. 

With that silver skirt pooled around your waist, he could see properly now - those black stockings that he already thought were too sinful now took on a whole new meaning in his realm of fantasies. You weren’t wearing any panties beneath the semi-transparent garment - the thick seam of the stockings was stuck to your wet cunt, dipping into your pussy right where he wanted to be; your wetness leaking right through the nylon and causing it to stick to your cunt, making it shiny and utterly perfect in the dimly lit space. 

Draco groaned from deep in his chest, his voice edging on whiny, even to his own ears. But he couldn’t bring himself to care about how pathetic he must have sounded. You were just too perfect. He was drawn in by the siren call of your perfect cunt, one hand with a thumb drawing circles on your hips and the other gently skimming fingers up the back of your clothed thigh as he scooted himself further down the mattress. 

He couldn’t resist the urge, when he leaned down, he latched his mouth onto your cunt through the wet, shiny fabric, unable to resist the pure need to taste your essence without taking off the stockings first. 

“Draco! Oh-!” 

You let out a needy moan, which only spurred Draco to suck harder, even tonguing sharply against your clit through the fabric. It created a sharp itch, a raging need - it was not enough contact, tedious and harsh and something that made a vicious, rolling ache inside of your cunt. You needed more. 

“Please, more!” 

Again - he would have been cruel to deny you. And though, up until this point, he had been a reluctant and unwilling paramour, he was nothing but a slave to you and your desires in those moments. 

Acting purely upon instinct, he raised his head slightly to give himself room to work and then brought fingers to the nylon fabric, trying to tear it apart. His head was filled with nothing but animal need now, bloated and high on the affection that he had been denying himself for months he had been unwillingly engaged to you. Months of denying that you were exactly what he needed, his other half - the other half of a lonely broken person clinging on that he had been so desperately trying to shake off. 

Draco let out a growl of frustration - his nails were blunt and dull and he slipped hopelessly against the wet fabric. Before it could truly be formed as a thought inside his mind, he leaned down and pressed his teeth into the stockings against your mound, right above your clit in a way that made you whimper from the contact. Then - he bit harshly into the fabric, tearing a small hole into it that he could then rip wider with his frantic hands. 

It made you gasp, being exposed to the cold air within seconds - feeling your hot, pulsing cunt quake as the cool air licked at every single bit of your wetness. It was a shocking turn-on, feeling the seam of your tights being so easily demolished, leaving you as nothing but a wanton, exposed gash from the bit of your pubic hair sticking out to the way the new edge of the fabric rubbed against your arsehole. 

Now, instead of being a gentle thing he had to protect or some stranger that he was trying to distance himself from - you were nothing but a hole for him to fuck. And you absolutely loved it. 

“Draco, please-” You gasped out again, feeling his fingers tickling against your thigh, feeling his breath still huffing out in harsh pants over your now bare pussy, waiting for him to do something more. 

You were struck by lighting when he latched onto your cunt, moaning just as loudly as you did when he was finally able to taste you, able to feel you completely unfiltered for the first time. 

You arched up wildly and your thighs quaked against his cheeks - he made little effort to hold you down, too busy selfishly enjoying your pussy now. He took in a deep breath against you, inhaling a greedy whiff of your scent so close to his nose while he gulped down a filthy slurp of your warm, wet pussy, moaning loudly from the back of his throat the whole time. You were so hot under his tongue - you were a heartbeat, a new breath, something so alive that he certainly shouldn’t have been allowed to drink from. 

But you were now his to freely feast upon, as if he wasn’t already spoiled enough by the world, tainted by the mangled silver spoon he had been gnawing on since his birth. 

“Draco, fuck! So good!” 

You wailed out, letting out sounds that Draco had never before heard, sounds he never thought you were capable of. Back at The Manor, even when you cried, you clearly tried to be conservative, stay quiet, not to be a bother. It was only now that Draco realised he had never truly witnessed you losing control of yourself. Even when you had faced down his father’s fury, you somehow stood tall and composed, an impeccable monument to emotional control. 

It was only now that he realised how truly badly he wanted to see you lose that control. 

He never thought of you as property, of course - but if you were so stubbornly intent on owning his heart, his emotions, his vulnerability - then he would get to own yours as well. He would get to own your weakness. He would get to own the single moments in life when you truly lost your composure. 

Draco set about devouring your cunt, keeping this mission in mind. He wrapped one arm around you from underneath your ass, holding you tightly to his face while he used the other hand to prop himself up slightly, pushing closer, easily getting lost in the beautiful heat of your pussy. He moaned against you as he drank you in, lavishing his tongue up and down your folds, intently focusing on the perfect little bead of your clit while it bounced and thrummed over his tongue. 

Your body sang for more of his attention, shaking like a signal for him as you were wracked with more uncontrollable moans. He heard more distant groans in his muffled ears and hardly attributed them to himself, getting too lost in you, enjoying your taste too much. He was far too intent on burying himself in the first warmth he had felt in years, now determined to shut out the cold and make a new home for himself between these perfect thighs. Especially if it meant making you moan like this more, hearing more of his cursed name on your precious lips. 

“Draco, Draco, oh, fuck! Draco, please!” 

At this point, you weren’t even entirely sure what you were begging for - for him to bring you to orgasm, for him to stop because it was so overwhelming, or for something else entirely. His name just felt so right on your lips. Somehow, he seemed to understand better, seemed to know something that even you didn’t. 

He rumbled out a hum of acknowledgement against your cunt, and then, snuck his free hand up between your thighs. He teased two fingers against your fluttering entrance, slippery and off-target for a moment with his shaking hand - making you moan out brokenly as you felt the touches not quite where you needed them most. 

“I’ve - I’ve got you, love,” 

He said, pulling away for a moment to gulp down breaths - feeling spiteful of the air, spiteful of the minimal space between the two of you; spiteful of the fact that he felt like he was drowning and somehow forcing himself further into you wasn’t the solution. 

“I’ve got you.” 

You curled your fingers into his hair again and tugged him close, pulling him back to your pussy, and he decided that he would never breathe again if that’s what you so desired. He swept a flat tongue across your pussy, eagerly gulping down more of your wetness while he gently pushed those two slender fingers forward, finally inside of you for the first time. 

Your heat was even more evident now, even more apt to drive him insane. Your pussy surrounding him turned his cold flesh warm within seconds, causing him to drive forward without even thinking, eagerly chasing more of that warmth against his touch. Part of his mind was thankful when you let out a beautiful moan in response and wiggled your hips closer to him, rather than feeling pain at the harsh, sudden, jabbing intrusion, and the other part of him selfishly didn’t care. 

You had offered this up to him, you had begged him not to turn away - and now, you would have to face the consequences of inviting a cold, dead beast into your den to feast. He was lonely, he hungered - he would consume everything good inside of you and leave you with nothing. And it would be your own damn fault. 

Draco moaned against your cunt again, feeling that hunger now more evidently than ever, and you squeaked and choked on the air as he began fingering you harshly. He was desperate to feel more warmth, to explore more of that velvet softness inside of you that he so badly wanted wrapped around his cock (nearly forgotten, throbbing, leaking into his pants and making a mess). But he somehow couldn’t think too much about his forgotten cock when your next words overtook his mind. 

“Close-” You breathed out, and then sucked in more air. “So close - gonna cum!” 

You were going to cum. 

You were going to become unravelled on his tongue. 

Draco moaned against you fervently, now wildly eager for this to happen. He suckled against your clit and harshly rubbed his tongue over that tortured little bead even more furiously. He continued to fuck you with his fingers while your thighs clamped around his head, further shutting out the world, allowing him to have a few precious moments where all those deadly responsibilities simply didn’t exist. In those moments - it was just you and him. It was just his own carnal greed, a man fucking his wife. Just the small precious world he had balanced on his bitter tongue. 

“Draco!” You choked out his name as your orgasm overtook your body. 

You arched up again, your body practically whipping to his whims, being played like an instrument that only he knew the songs to. With your fingers entwined harshly in his hair, holding him to a place he would never want to part from while he mauled your pussy - it was perfect. 

He moaned against you and nearly choked on the juices that he eagerly drank down, pumping his fingers into you with sharp jabbing motions, any effort toward technique completely gone. His mind was nothing but a pathetic soup of desperation, an animal clawing toward your warmth, determined to suck the life out of you and have it for his own. 

Your cries of pleasure turned into sobs as you were crested over the hill into overstimulation, and when Draco pulled away for a breath, you thought perhaps he might finally let up. That he might pull his fingers out of you and the two of you would simply take a quiet moment to breathe. 

But while your thighs continued to shake and you sucked in harsh breaths, his shoulders became tight with something utterly vicious, and he continued to stare down your pussy with rapt attention, some beast inside of him screaming out for more. More of the life you could give him, more warmth, more of everything he would ever demand from you that you had been so foolish in offering up. More of everything that you would never supply enough of to meet the bounds of his already dead soul. 

“Draco-” You gasped. “Too much, too-” 

“Please,” 

Draco begged in return for the first time that night, peering up the length of your body to look into your eyes with the most utterly pathetic glassy eyes you had ever seen. The moment he met your gaze, it became too much for the both of you - like a stab through the gut, a connection that had always been there being tugged in the most painful way. He quickly dropped his head, squeezing his eyes shut to further avoid this, pressing his forehead into your thigh as he continued to sharply spear his fingers into your pussy. This created sloppier, wetter sounds with each passing movement. 

“Please, please, please, please, please-” 

He pleaded so sweetly, yet so abrasively at the same time. Begging in a chant, in a way he never had for anything else in his life. 

And just like everything else in his life - he wasn’t denied of this. 

You strangled out another sound, and then you were seizing up again, squeezing his fingers tightly as you were slammed into another orgasm all too soon. You gulped for air like a mermaid on dry land, tears leaking out of the corners of your eyes due to how overwhelming it all was, feeling as though the entire world was squeezed tight around you in those moments. 

Draco held a sob tight in his chest as the unknown ‘more’ he had been looking for flooded over his palm - more of your wetness, more of your warmth. A wonderful flood of more that soaked across your thighs and made a small puddle on the mattress beneath you. He greedily dove down to lap it up, making your thighs clench around his head as he tongued your ultra sensitive entrance and even began using his fingers to drive more of it out of you and into his waiting mouth. 

After a few moments of this, you tangled shaking fingers into his hair and did your best to force him upward. Though your body was practically jelly now, almost as if you had been jinxed, and completely devoid of any strength. He did soon get the hint, and he laid a gentle kiss on your inner thigh as he slid his fingers out of you, making an oddly loud ‘squelching’ sound in the room. 

He trailed a few more kisses across your pelvis, revisited your breast, and went up your neck with his now very wet mouth before you pulled his mouth against your own. You couldn’t help but to moan quietly in satisfaction at the taste of your pussy on his tongue. 

Draco thought this might be the end of it. His own cock was even more nagging now - rubbing against the warm, inviting plushness of your thigh through his pants. It was even more annoying now that he intimately knew the warmth and wetness of your cunt. That he could so perfectly imagine what it would be like to slide his cock inside of you and feel that perfect, hot wetness surrounding him. 

But part of him, something in the back of his mind was screaming: bad idea. Something persistent and loud was telling him that he didn’t deserve to fuck you. That this should be a worship, only about you - he’d had his selfish moment, it was over now. 

An alarming clarity was rocketing back into his head as he continued to kiss you. 

It was an alarm that blared ever louder when you reached for his belt. 

He snapped away from your lips and looked down, frozen with hesitant shock now as you slipped the belt out of the buckle and reached for the zipper on his pants. When you felt him tense up, and saw the grimace forming across his features, you paused with your fingers grazing lightly over the zipper’s teeth. 

“It’s your turn now, right?” 

You breathed lightly against his cheek, your voice so sweet, so perfect. You were too damn perfect. You snuck your hand down to grope his cock through the fabric of his pants in a way that made him shudder. Oddly enough, that selfish streak didn’t creep back in. 

“Come on, Draco. I want this too. I want your cock inside me so damn badly-” 

This was about you. Your needs. Your wants. 

Draco tried his best to push aside any hesitation, trying to push the world back out again. He wished he could just crawl back between your thighs and live there. But you wanted something different now. Something that meant a lot more. Something that might have bigger consequences than simply spilling a beautiful mess on his jacket that was crumpled beneath your perfect arse. 

He sat up on his knees, shucking away your hands and replacing them with his own, getting the zipper down by himself. Finally, he got his cock out, the hard smoothness now resting against his fingers that were still slick with you. He pumped his cock a few times, almost numb to the pleasure of it - he was supposed to be enjoying this, right? Why the hell couldn’t he? 

Because his damn mind had turned back on. 

You looked up at him with wide eyes, anticipating, your skin glistening with a slight sheen from his earlier efforts, your lips kiss-swollen. And somehow, a terrible flurry of thoughts attacked his mind like the snow storm raging outside the stone walls of the castle. Horrible things all able to get in now that he didn’t have the fatal projection of your thighs around his ears, keeping the world out. 

As you looked up at him, more angelic than ever with your kiss-bitten lips, your silver sparkle dress askew, revealing your smooth skin and your goddess-like body - Draco, with his hard cock in hand, was persistently reminded of one stupid thing. The reason that the two of you had been forced together in the first place. 

The only reason any pureblood marriage is arranged: to carry on the pureblood line. To breed - to make more pureblood babies.

Draco found himself curling in disgust at the idea that this was what he was about to do. He was about to give into their whims, about to curse you even further with the evil of his name by fucking a little Malfoy into your belly. 

Somehow, out of all the evil he had so carelessly committed himself to - this was something he just couldn’t bring himself to do. Not when he would be doing it to you. 

“Draco-” 

You breathed out his name again, concerned by the clear warring on his face. You were about to tell him that it was okay if he didn’t want to continue - and you became deeply confused by what he did next. 

He gripped his cock tightly and began rocking his arm back and forth, quickly picking up an urgent, break-neck pace as he jerked his cock - his face twisting with an expression of near pain as he circled a tight fist over his cock, urgently, again and again. 

“Draco-?” You tried to question him, but he let out a groan in response. 

“Look at me.” He choked out. 

Zapped by the electricity in the air, the sharp demanding in his words, your eyes flew right to his. You found yourself almost possessed by the emotions lingering there - lust, regret, hatred. 

You had a distinct feeling that it wasn’t directed at you. 

“It’s okay.” You breathed out, reaching out to put a gentle hand on his clothed thigh. “It’s okay, Draco.” 

These simple words - this tiny pacification that Draco had never before received - he broke. Your gentleness tore through his body like a dragon tearing into a fresh kill. It wounded him in a way that insults never could. 

He let out a strangled cry, and unexpectedly, his orgasm punched through his gut - tears flooded his eyes as weak spurts of cum flowed out of his cock, making a mess of his fist as he slowed his touch. His release dripped down to ruin his pants, and weakly splashed against the bareness of your inner thighs were the hole in your tights gaped open, smearing onto the nylon in some spots. 

When Draco was sure that he had wrung the last bits of weak pleasure from his cock, he fell on top of you. It was something entirely against his will, as he was now all too weakened by your soothing words, your soft touch, your welcoming eyes that seemed far too forgiving toward him. With his face tucked against your breast, tired and unable to hold it back any longer - he began to sob. 

It was a dam broken from months, possibly years - a mask that he had been putting on long before you had ever known him. 

It was an inherent shock to your system, going from that lustful tingle to feeling nothing but shock and pity for him. But you did the only thing you could do - you cradled the back of his head, holding him close, petting a hand down his heaving back in an attempt to comfort him while he wailed so harshly. You knew that it was what he needed. And it was what he had done for you all too many times since meeting you. 

“Hey, it’s okay.” 

You assured him, not entirely sure that he heard your gentle voice over the sound of his own sobs - your throat too sore from your own previous wrecked moaning to try and speak up any louder. 

“It’s okay. Shh. Just let it out. I’m here with you. It’s okay, Draco.” 

It went on like that for what felt like hours. Your previously sex heated skin became cold in the room once again, distinctly reminding you of every single spot that was ripped open and exposed by your already weather inappropriate outfit. But instead of getting up to attend to this, you simply laid there, soothing him, trying to comfort him as his chest-racking sobs lulled down into calmer cries and then died off into sniffles. 

You thought he might say something - thank you, apologise. 

You were even further surprised when his sounds switched again, and a low chuckle came from his throat. A small sound that quickly hitched into an epic, near maniacal laughter, puffing against your breast as he tried his hardest to heave himself up on weak arms, tearing out of your comforting touch. 

He looked utterly broken - his previously near hair a complete mess, falling across his sweat streaked forehead, his teeth bared, laughing so tiredly with tears streaking down from his now red, puffy eyes. 

“Merlin - I’m so fucking pathetic, aren’t I?” He choked out. 

“You’re not.” You argued, your voice dull and hoarse but still firm in your conviction. 

You wanted him to know that it was okay to cry. That under his circumstances, anybody would have snapped a lot sooner than he had. 

He didn’t reply, but instead moved to get off you entirely. He stumbled on his feet for a moment as he stood up and began straightening out his clothes, finding his wand and muttering some cleaning spells to deal with the mess he had left on his pants. 

You sat up then, your back now quite sore from the poor quality of the abandoned old mattress. And from having Draco stiff on top of you for so long, and you began doing the same to yourself. He watched quietly as you righted your clothes and did a few simple (talented, wandless) cleaning spells of your own, and then finally, he spoke. 

“You should leave.” 

He said quietly, moving to turn away from you completely as he tucked his shirt back into his pants. He was likely going to slip into the confusing maze of furniture that he knew better than you did in order to lose you - to avoid further conversation. 

“No.” 

You baulked out defiantly, making an effort to heave your stiff body up to standing level in order to look him in the eye. 

“You can’t keep doing that!” You shouted at his back, growing frustrated once again. “You can’t keep running away from a conversation every time it gets a little too serious for you!” 

“What do you expect that I do, then?” Draco asked, his voice strained with fatigue and heaviness, his throat worn out from the tears, his eyes still red and exhausted when he whipped around to face you. 

“Stay.” You offered weakly. 

You knew that in one simple word, you were asking too much of him. You were putting such a grand task onto him that he could barely surmount to. 

His chin quivered as he bit his lip, swallowing down the weakness of the confession: 

I can’t. 

He wanted to be good enough for you. 

But he wasn’t. He just wasn’t. 

He wasn’t some perfect harbor you could cling to in a storm. He was a heavy iron anchor sinking you to your drowning death. 

Feeling all of his bitterness swelling in the air, something truly defiant came up inside of you. A deep urge to defy everything he thought he was, everything his parents had painted into him that made him run from you the moment you treated him like a person. 

You would not have a marriage where your husband held you at arm’s length. Even if you had to strangle him, smother him with your good intentions in order to get him close. 

“Draco, please, I lov-” 

“No.” Draco choked out, cutting you off, dreading hearing those words. “Don’t.” 

It wasn’t true. 

You were tied to him by force. 

You were someone bought into his life through gold and cruelty, someone forced to be by his side. 

If you loved him, it was as a prisoner loves their cell. 

He wouldn’t let you waste those words on him. 

You let out a harsh sigh and shook your head, wanting to scream. But you knew that he was far too used to screaming - used to harshness, frustration. He wasn’t prepared for the thing you needed to give him most. You swallowed thickly around the lump in your throat, and whispered your next words as a cursed promise into the chilled air: 

“I love you, Draco.” 

He sucked in a rattling breath, and it only took him a moment to find the strength to fight back. 

“You don’t mean that.” 

He said, shaking his head forcefully at you, once again resisting the urge to turn around and slink off. He wanted to slither away and hide from you like the serpent that he was - cold blooded, alone, a creature of the shadows who previously never needed your warmth. 

“Shut up!” 

You barked back, surprising him with the passion, the fury that lit up your face as you rambled into your next declaration. 

“Draco Lucius Malfoy - you may think that you know everything, but I can assure you, you do not.” 

He wanted to argue, even opened his mouth to do so, but you rolled right over his breath, speaking in such a powerful way that demanded he quiet down and simply listen. 

“Your family may have bought me to marry you like some kind of broodmare, you may be rich and respected, you may be some fancy highborn pureblood - you can tell me what to wear, when to speak, where to go, but you certainly cannot tell me about my own thoughts and intentions. You cannot tell me what I feel.” 

You spoke sharply and firmly, your words tearing right through him, causing goosebumps to light up all over his skin. 

“You cannot tell me what I do and don’t mean. And I mean this: I love you.” 

The radical truth behind your words shook Draco to his core. 

Since he had known you, it had always been the truth. When you cried, it had always been with your own honesty. When you smiled at him, it had never been as some kind of act. When you called him an asshole during your private conversations - it was nothing but your own honest feelings coming to words. 

He could never control or dictate your feelings, and it was one of the things that he liked best about you. 

So why did he so badly want to control this? 

Perhaps because… when you said this, it sealed your fate to his in the worst of ways. 

It meant that even if you had a chance to escape this life… you wouldn’t take it. 

It was so much easier when you didn’t like him at all. 

Love was such a foolish, difficult thing to sever. 

You saw the pain and hesitation written all over his face, and you stepped toward him, putting a gentle hand on his cheek. Oh-so-gently you sealed your lips against his in a sweet kiss that evoked nothing but more tears from him. 

“I love you.” 

You whispered against his mouth, now much more certain in your declaration. 

“I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you,” 

Your throat clenched with your own tears, clearly waiting for him to say it back. 

His fingers shook as he brought a gentle touch to your cheek, wiping away a tear that had fallen. Sullenly, all he could offer you in return was: 

“Are you sure? Are you sure that you can love someone like me?” 

You were entirely certain in your answer. 

“Yes.” 

Draco itched with the urge to run away again - but instead, he leaned back in and kissed you. 

That night, the two of you fell asleep together. You were huddled into each other for warmth, cuddling on the thin old mattress that he had been sleeping on for the past week in order to escape you. It was the easiest that sleep had come to him since the days during the summer where you had crawled into his bed, looking to be just a bit less alone. 

… 

Ironically, Draco woke up alone. 

Sunshine was flooding the room - he wasn’t entirely sure how a room that technically didn’t exist within Hogwarts could have windows, but he didn’t care to think too much about it. Especially because it made him feel slightly less disoriented to have the bright morning sun flooding the room. Though the sunshine warmed up the room slightly, he still felt a bitter coldness in not having you beside him. 

Perhaps you had finally realised what a stupid mistake you had made the night before. Perhaps you had taken your own advice - taken up on your own plan and gotten to a fireplace to abandon Hogwarts altogether. With any luck, you were far away and would never be seen again. Not by him or anybody else associated with the Dark Lord. 

Draco felt a pinch of disappointment when he heard footsteps - calm, certain, someone walking a path among the furniture to be somewhere. Not someone wandering with curiosity because they had just discovered the room. It had to be you. 

He sucked in a harsh breath and let out a groan as his tired body stretched, his muscles protesting the shabby sleeping arrangements as he forced himself to sit up. Surely enough, as he blinked through the sharpness of the morning light, you rounded the corner. 

You were dressed much differently than the night before. Your previously neat hair was now a half-picked apart and messy style, your make-up mostly smeared off or intentionally wiped off in a haste. You were wearing a thick woollen jumper and a pair of comfortable looking loose pants, along with your favourite slippers - a pair of very fuzzy boots that he had laughed at you for wearing before, called them dead Puffskeins attached to your feet. 

You looked tired, but comfortable as you came to sit on the mattress at Draco’s hip. 

Somehow, with the golden light dancing on your skin, you looked more beautiful than ever. Perhaps it was a testament to the nature of your beauty, how sought after you would be if you weren’t already betrothed. Or perhaps it was that petulant withering thing inside of him that was starting to wane in the name of your death sentence of love. 

(Draco didn’t want to think about the fact that you likely were sought after, despite the fact that you were engaged and it was widely known. He just didn’t have his head in the Hogwarts gossip enough these days to notice if anybody was talking about fancying you or trying to ‘steal you away’ from him. He didn’t want to think about the prats he would have hexed to hell and back if he ever heard them daring to want you.) 

You took something out of the pocket of your jumper - a napkin, and unravelled it in your lap. Draco saw that you had come back with a couple of pumpkin tarts, likely from the breakfast table. It was only when you brought it up to your lips to take a sip that he also noticed you had also been carrying a large mug of steaming tea. 

You offered him the mug silently over your shoulder, and he couldn’t deny how appealing it was. Though he wanted to scoff at the softness, the domesticity of sharing something off your lips, he welcomed the heat and the familiarity. He couldn’t reject it in the wintery coldness of the room. 

Of course - English Breakfast Tea with just a bit of sugar. No milk. You had started drinking your tea the way he liked it. Probably because it was the way he always made it for you when you were silent and stony in your pain and he had no other choice but to be just as silent in his caring toward you. He always made tea for you this way because you never told him how you liked yours. Every cup of tea you drank at The Manor had been like this. 

It was an odd, comforting habit that you had picked up from him. 

“I fixed it.” You said quietly, nodding toward The Cabinet as you broke off a piece of one of your tarts and chewed it. 

You offered him a piece and he swapped it for the tea mug. He chewed the small piece of tart slowly while his eyes studied the tall, dark, imposing Cabinet, wondering what you had done to it. His gaze migrated over to something new in the landscape of junk - a bird cage sitting on top of a small wooden table. 

Within it, there was a live, seemingly content, purring white dove. In front of the cage, you had perched up a piece of paper. Even from a few feet away, Draco recognised the curls of the handwriting as belonging to his mother. 

‘Well done.’ 

He wanted to ask in detail about what you had done to The Cabinet in order to fix it. But he knew that would be beating a dead horse. It was another problem off his plate, and he should be relieved. 

He wouldn’t burden you with any of his other problems. 

“I miss coffee.” You remarked, looking down into the mug with a sodden kind of resentment. “British people are all about tea, tea, tea… you can’t get good coffee anywhere here.” 

Distantly, Draco was reminded that you had been cursed with more than a marriage to him when your godmother dropped you off with the Malfoys and left you without warning. Your entire life, everything you had known, everything you had grown up with - it had all been ripped away from you. He wasn’t sure what he would do if he had to be pulled away from his parents, plopped into the middle of Muggle America and forced to live there. 

He knew it wasn’t just coffee - you likely missed so much more. 

“Should we release it?” You asked, taking another sip of the tea. 

You held out another piece of the tart to him, and reluctantly, perhaps not even knowing how hungry he was, how much the anxiety and worry had blocked him from feeling it - he took it. 

“What?” He muttered out, unsure what you meant. 

“The dove.” You clarified. 

Yes. Of course. You still had pity for the small creatures. It had been meant as nothing more than a test subject for his family’s greater plans, nothing but a pawn to them. But you still saw it as a precious life. 

“No, it-” 

‘It’ll die out there in the cold.’ 

Draco cut himself off, knowing that such harsh words would have hurt you. Any time before this, he would not have cared about how his words hurt you - he would have simply told you the truth. But for some reason, now - it felt wrong to be so bluntly cruel. 

“Too cold.” He muttered, accepting the tea from you again. 

You stared him down during this passing of the mug, and he was fully able to see that pain glinting in your eyes. Clearly, you knew that ‘disposing’ of the bird might be the only humane thing to do. Draco scrambled for something more. Something to make you happy. Damn it. 

“Bring it to the giant.” He remarked, swallowing down a mouthful of the hot tea. “He’ll care for it now, and he can release it in the spring.” 

The smile that graced your lips was small, and fleeting - but it made him feel as though he had accomplished something worthwhile for the first time in a long time. 

“Do you think he will? It won’t be too much trouble?” You replied, hopeful. 

“He has to. It’s his job.” Draco bit back firmly, his voice swelling full of his usual entitlement. 

Before - when you had been helping him clean up after he had gotten The Mark, you had discovered one of the fading scars he still had from the feathered beast’s claws slashing across his arm. When you had asked him about it, you had clearly been expecting some story of his father’s abuse, or a tale of something else attributing to Draco’s twisted internal torment. 

But Draco’s father was always smart enough never to leave marks. 

When he told you what had happened - how he had rushed upon such a gentle creature, reeking of entitlement and landed on his stupid idiot brat arse - it was the first time in years that he had truly reflected on what had happened. It was the first time he had come to realize that he had gotten the beast killed. Even back then, he was unsure why his father had caused such a fuss over the accident. Someone who called Draco useless and disposable behind closed doors and publicly claimed that a single mark on his arm was a world-ending tragedy. 

At the time, it was just another thing about reputation that Draco had yet to understand. 

“And - he likes those things. He likes his little creatures.” He added on quietly. 

(And, his big awful ones - Draco resisted the urge to amend.) 

Draco couldn’t take your bird there himself. Hagrid owed him no favors, that much he knew. But the man - or, half-man - certainly wouldn’t turn you down. Nobody would say no to your sweet voice and kind eyes when you asked them for something. 

You nodded, content with this answer. You took another sip of the tea before you put the cup down on the floor beside the mattress, and shoved a large piece of the tart into your mouth before you put that aside too. 

“For now, I have to bury this one.” 

You said, your words slightly muffled as you chewed, getting up to grab a small wooden box. In a moment, Draco realised that it must have been the dead canary that you had fussed over the night before. 

Now, you were telling him that you intended to bury it, rather than asking him. 

“I’ll do it.” He said, standing up to come beside you, holding out his hand so that you might offer him the box. 

You looked him up and down with suspicion, like he was trying to trick you. Although, as much as your relationship had been filled with bickering and discontent, he had never been dishonest with you. This just seemed strangely out of character for him. Before you could fully question it, he provided an explanation. 

“You’ve been awake all night fixing my problems,” He said, motioning toward The Cabinet. “So let me help you with yours.” 

He could see that you had barely slept. It was written all over you. 

“Let me do this for you.” He insisted, holding his hand out once again. “And you go to the dorms and get some proper rest.” 

You nodded, finally surrendering the box. 

“Come find me when you’re done, alright?” You said, not entirely posing it as a question. “Don’t disappear on me again.” 

Draco nodded, and you sealed this deal with a kiss. 

…

He intended to walk you back to the Slytherin commons before he went outside, perhaps he would even get himself a thicker jacket from his dorm. Your path took the two of you past the Great Hall. 

Draco felt a pang on one of his last nerves when a very familiar voice called out your name. 

“Y/N! Hey, wait up!” 

Potter. Of course. 

You turned to meet Harry as he ran down the corridor toward you, and Draco slinked back to lean against one of the nearby walls - waiting for you. He hated that he felt the need to stick by you, to watch over you. But something nagging in him wouldn’t be satisfied until he knew that you were tucked into bed, resting. 

Potter jogged to meet you, wearing full Quidditch gear, carrying his broom - clearly set for an early morning practice. This caused an odd pang of mourning within Draco, yearning for a time when he used to be competitive, for when he used to actually care about the outcomes of school Quidditch games. Back when his life was so simple. 

“Morning, Harry.” You greeted him quietly, dully, obviously still tired. 

“Hey, good morning.” Harry said, nodding at you with a smile - a look way too fond for Draco’s liking. “You left the party so suddenly last night, and Slughorn was asking after you. Nobody knew where you went, and I was just wondering - are you alright? Did something happen?” 

Harry eyed Draco sharply, a sideways glance, just for a moment. Clearly, he was suspicious of Malfoy and his presence around you. Clearly believing that he was the problem in your life. 

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course. Saint Potter. Checking up on you. 

Part of Draco itched with jealousy, knowing just how utterly desirable you were, and another part of him said that it was a good thing. That you should have somewhere safe to fall when you inevitably realised a life with him was a short, unlivable one. When you wanted out, when you wanted to run. 

Hopefully, sometime soon. 

“I’m fine.” You easily lied, forcing a smile. “It’s just - um,” You struggled to think of a convenient lie for a moment, knowing that you couldn’t tell Harry the truth. “My pet canary died very suddenly. And Draco came to get me to tell me about it. And I’m sorry, I must look terrible - I’ve been up all night crying about it,” 

Draco wanted to commend you for the brilliance of your lie. Something sensitive enough that Potter wouldn’t question it - something that easily explained the small box in Draco’s hands and explained away your tired appearance. And it more than explained why you had left the party so suddenly and not cared to return. 

“Oh.” Harry said, clearly unsure how to respond. His eyes flickered from you to Draco, taking in both of your messy appearances, clearly wanting to question it as something more, but having absolutely no grounds to do so. “I’m so sorry to hear that.” 

“Thank you.” You replied quietly. “Draco actually offered to bury him for me. So, he was just going to do that.” 

“Let’s get you to bed, first, love.” Draco said, pointedly steering you away from the conversation - banishing Potter off with this final thought. 

He put a hand on your shoulder and steered you down the hall, away from Harry, and you began slowly walking away, believing that he was right behind you. But Harry stayed firm in his footing, and soon, Draco became captured in his fierce gaze, challenged in an all too familiar way that he was far too tired to truly engage with. In a kind of well practiced routine, he lingered back for a few moments. 

“Malfoy,” Potter said sharply. “If you do anything to hurt her, I will end you.” 

It was his usual hero routine. Intimidate, swell with confidence, over-inflate to seem bigger than the bad guy. It would have worked, if Draco hadn’t already been so terribly small. 

“Promise?” Draco croaked out quietly, tears dancing in his eyes. 

He could think of no better end than one of vengeance in the wake of your pain. He could only hope that if he did ever hurt you, he would be met with a clean, swift end. One where you would then get to run into the arms of a man much better than him. 

Potter gaped with confusion, and Draco turned, walking in quick steps to catch up with you. 

…

You and Draco stayed at Hogwarts that Christmas. 

On Christmas morning, you did not expect to receive anything. Pansy gifted you a set of new quills in pink with a set of pink glittering inks and a fluttering giggle about being able to write ‘proper’ love letters to Draco. Blaise gifted you a history of all the Pureblood families in Europe - for ‘proper’ education. One that you had never been ‘privileged’ to have before. 

There was another package, delivered by a gorgeous white snowy owl - a book. A basic guide to Quidditch with a handwritten note that said it was from Harry, remarking that you should come to his next game and ‘check it out’, in order to see if you truly liked the sport or not. 

At the party, you had told him that you probably didn’t like Qudditch because you didn’t understand it very well, hoping to get out of a long conversation that he and Cormac were rambling on - which only led to him trying to explain the rules to you in a toddler-like fashion. You couldn’t tell him the truth, that when you had been at Salem, the Quidditch games between the two sibling schools usually led to a lot of loud parties and drunken hook-ups that made you mourn for the simplicity of your old life now. 

Draco resisted the urge to throw the book into the fire. 

(You gladly would have let him.) 

There was a final package. One wrapped in gorgeous emerald paper - with your name on it, written in Draco’s handwriting. Oddly, not signed from him. When you opened it, you found a bag of very expensive looking coffee beans, a grinder, and a French press. Draco would forever deny that his joy was directly tied to the look of awe on your face as you discovered the gifts, and the tiny moan of pleasure you made when you sipped your first cup of freshly made coffee. 

He didn’t love you back. 

He couldn’t. 

No.

...

A/N: This is meant to be a standalone oneshot, but if you liked this, then feel free to go read the chronological sequel My Bleeding Heart. I do have more ideas to add more to this by writing more oneshots in this universe between these two characters, but this is all for now. If you are going to comment, please comment about the content that has already been written instead of asking for more. Happy reading, and Merry Christmas!

[shirefantasies]

How would the fellowship, Thorin, Fili, Kili, Haldir, Arwen and Eomer react to someone they like who always calls everyone by cute names like ‘love’, ‘babe’, ‘hon’, ‘darling’ etc.

Oooh, good question! I’m going to split this up into LoTR & The Hobbit imagines for the whole casts if that’s all right 😄

LoTR Characters When You Call Everyone Pet Names

Aragorn

His favorite part of your habit, in all honesty, is other people’s reactions. The first time you do it to him he sort of quirks up a brow, but others take it more extremely, offense or otherwise. He gets protective, though, if those others respond taking it too far. He’ll step in front of you if they start flirting with you or try to touch you unbidden even if you’re just friends at that point. No matter who in his group that is, unacceptable. At the use of a regular name slid into the flows of your conversation, something akin to "Oh, honey, you have no idea", his lips quirk up and privately he wonders if you’ve ever meant it.

Legolas

Your first meeting is you brushing past him at Rivendell with an "Excuse me, darling". Needless to say he stares after you with wide eyes because you must know him, but from where? Then you greet Elrond with an enthusiastic "Sweetheart, how I have missed you", and while the Lord of Imladris appears aware of the affront, he is also amused. Clearly this is simply your manner. Because of this, he accepts it without much overthought, though your pet names never fail to bring a smile to the elf prince's lips.

Boromir

The kindness you show him almost breaks him- is he worthy of your honeyed words? "Easy, dear heart, the troubles you carry are not even your own, are they?" The part of him tempted to lash out almost wins, but at the end of the day, you are right. All he can do is shake his head. He's heard you say call such sweet names before, but alongside your other words they pierce his heart like nothing before. He bids you sit by his side. "Wish me to speak or to listen?" You ask, and that is when Boromir knows he has fallen for you.

Gimli

"Who are you calling sweetheart, darling?" Offended as he may be, Gimli also takes it as a challenge of sorts, leaning in closer with smug satisfaction. It becomes a sort of tension for you both, an odd banter of affectionate nicknames tossed out even with the bloodiest challenges. "Cut his head off, Gimli darling!" "Wouldn't dream of doing any less, dear!" Gimli begins getting offended as your habit pops out with others, asking you pointedly what you think you're doing calling the elf sweetheart. "What's he done to earn that, eh?" Leaning in, your noses almost brushing, you give him a smile dripping with smug mock-sweetness. "I thought you didn't enjoy being called that." "Well," he crosses his arms stubbornly, eyes falling away from yours, "I suppose I've gotten used to it now."

Frodo

"Frodo, my sweet, please eat just a bit more for me, I worry so." Frodo's heart does a somersault- he's made sure notice of your habit by now, heard you speak your darlings and sweethearts aplenty. You often said it to tease the others when spirits were light or when you cared for them, but that was not all. The words my sweet were reserved for him. Everyone else got a plethora, it seemed, but him, and it vexed him in the best way possible, twisting his heart like nothing else. The sound of it was like a balm to Frodo, and he dared hope it held the meaning he dearly wished it to, for he was too shy to ask it of you just yet.

Sam

“Sam, love, pass me the ladle, if you please.” Samwise, thinking his heart might burst from his chest and run right up to you, pauses, speaks carefully. “What was that?” He asks, your name falling softly, almost delicately, from his lips. He’d heard the way you tease people before, usually addressing them as ‘my dear’. This was something else. The smile you gave him in response, too, was practically enough to kill him- could you tell? “I just asked if I might borrow the ladle, love.” Yep, the jig was up now.

Merry

“It’s got to be some sort of custom.” “That or you’ll be very, very wrong.” You arched a private brow over Merry and Pippin’s back-and-forth whispering, but thought nothing more of it until your next interaction with the blonde hobbit. “Merry, sweetheart, what are you doing?” Looking up from his knife, he held up a small chunk of wood with a strangely cocky grin. “Just a bit of whittling, dear.” Something about the roguish look he gave you, the confidence with which he adopted your habit, had your heart fluttering; you faltered a bit in your response before you sat at his side. Unbeknownst to you, he was elbowing Pippin triumphantly on the other side.

Pippin

His heart soars the first time he hears you call him honey. No matter what attacks you or what happens that day, day made. Then he hears you saying "No put that down, Merry sweetheart" and it all comes crashing to the ground because he’d gotten it into his head that he was special- was he wrong? He had to have been. When the words so easily pass between your lips again, this time in the form of '"Gimli dear, let me see that", hurt mingles with realization of your manner- that is just how you are. Moments pass, thoughts drifting by as clouds deciding whether or not to storm, before Pippin makes up his mind: he'll make known his interest, try everything he can until he truly does stand out.

Faramir

Publicly he barely humors it, trying to keep a tough face when his seniors or especially his father are present. Privately? It amuses him. Pleases his heart to see one with light spirits in the face of everything. Your ways make you something of an anchor, a reminder why he does the things that he does. You make Faramir laugh and he knows Boromir enjoys your company too- the three of you together form an escape that reminds Faramir of his younger days. And perhaps that happiness you always brings him has slowly metamorphosed, glimmering with hope every time you call him dear.

Eomer

This man, a military leader, and you call him honey? Eomer is shaken up honestly. He can’t even be annoyed because he’s too busy freezing with a slight frown upon his face. Wits coming back about him, he opens his mouth to question you, ask in his blunt way why you address him so... then you turn around and call his sister my dearest and oh, perhaps he was truly overthinking it. He laughs it off, swears to put it out of his head...but the mental image of you calling him a name of endearment plays over and over again whether he wills it or not.

Haldir

“And what has our precious jewel brought to us now?” Since discovering Haldir bristled a bit at your little names, you had decided to find the most ridiculous ones possible for the marchwarden. It worked every time, too, judging by the furrow of his brow. “They go to the Lady of Lórien,” he replied simply, not to be goaded so easily. The man he seemed to know the best, the ranger, exchanged looks of amusement with you. “And what do you have to say for yourself, my dear?” You asked the man. Just as you suspected, Haldir’s expression darkened a bit further- perhaps he had gotten a bit more used to his names than he let on. At that, you couldn’t help a chuckle and a smirk.

Eowyn

Though she may not voice it, she is questioning of your ways at first because she has firsthand experience of people using words as weapons, saying whatever they can to influence others’ will. So sure, call her dear but you will get nothing of her she does not want to give. The day this changes is actually when you call her brother a pet name and he’s shocked and the wide look in her eyes has both of you laughing in a way you usually do not. She envies your carefree ways and from that moment on enjoys basking in them. It is impossible to help the way her heart gives a little flutter whenever a 'dear' or 'my darling' is directed her way, however...

Arwen

The surprise she fixes you with upon playfully addressing her as ‘my pretty’ encourages you, if you are being honest. It’s a pleasant look, flattered and floored, that you think a lady like Arwen deserves to make again and again. As a result, while everyone else gets a casual darling or dear, you make it your mission to fluster Arwen as much as possible. “Ah, treasure, how has this day treated you so far?” She flushes. “…Well, I say. Thank you. And I wish you to know that you are no less than you say I am. The way you speak to me? It can also be said of yourself.”

Elrond

You are caring. Parental. As a father of three, Elrond appreciates the way you speak gently and warmly. Assist his healed patients with soft whispers of be free of your pain, dear heart. As he granted you leave to use his name rather than My Lord you still slip up at times…until it becomes quite the opposite and a good night, dear slips from your lips upon parting for the evening. Elrond accepts and assures your every apology with an affectionate smile, shocking himself with the realization that his feelings for you are much stronger than he had allowed himself awareness of.

[steddieas-shegoes]

On school picture day, Steve always gets the kids ready. It’s not that Eddie doesn’t want to, it’s that he kind of hates making them dress up for a photo when 99% of the time, they’re just kids.

Except Steve had to go to a training conference for guidance counselors this week and picture day is happening whether they like it or not.

Their oldest, Jules, can do everything herself now. Prefers it, actually. She’s been extremely independent since she turned 10 a few months ago and neither of them try to stop her.

But their twins are only six, and James and Connor are like tornadoes who interrupted a category five hurricane and wore their most stained clothes while doing it.

“Let’s at least brush your hair,” Eddie suggested, already mentally preparing for the arguments that would cause. “Just for the picture and then you can mess it up however you want.”

“But daddy lets us wear it crazy!” Connor lies.

“And he lets us take off our shirts!” James lied even more.

“You guys don’t even know how to lie right,” Jules said as she finished braiding her own hair.

“We don’t lie!” They said in unison.

Eddie used to think the twins talking and doing things at the same time was just coincidence, but now he knows it has to be some kind of evolutionary benefit to outsmart the parents.

“Let’s call daddy then and ask,” Eddie said, immediately being met with silence. “Oh, can we not? If he lets you do that stuff, then it shouldn’t be a problem right?”

The twins shake their heads.

“Great!” Eddie pulls his cell phone out of his pocket and pretends to dial Steve. Steve’s not gonna answer, so he just sends a quick text to let him know it’s fine and to let it ring to voicemail. He holds the phone up to his ear as it rings twice and then goes to voicemail. “Hey sweetheart. You know how it’s picture day? Mhm. Well the twins told me you usually let them just go without brushing their hair or even wearing a shirt! I thought that sounded silly. So you don’t?”

“Wait! Okay we lied a little!” Connor yelled, suddenly panicking at being caught.

“And maybe a lot!” James added, already trying to climb Eddie’s side so he could reach for the phone.

“I’ll go get them ready, love you, bye!” Eddie rushed out and hung up so he could hold James safely. “I think you think I’m a fool.”

“No dad, you just let us be crazy,” James said.

“So does your daddy. Just not on picture day. You know the rules. We do this for him, right? We get nice and handsome and we smile for the camera so we can hang the pictures on the fridge.” Eddie glanced at last year’s school photos, resisting the urge to cry at how big they’d all gotten so quickly. James was missing three teeth now, Connor seemingly lost a ton of his baby fat early, and Jules had started wearing earrings. “He likes seeing your faces on the fridge.”

“But can’t we just wear our regular clothes?” Connor begged from his other side.

Eddie looked down at what they were wearing. It wasn’t that bad. No stains, at least. And no holes. That was rare for them.

“You can wear these clothes if you let me make your hair look nice,” Eddie bargained.

“Daddy’s gonna kill you,” Jules said with her arms crossed.

“He loves me too much. Plus who else would do the dishes every night? He can’t kill me!” Eddie joked, tickling James before setting him down on the floor. “To the bathroom, my princes! Make haste!”

They ran for the bathroom quickly, nearly tripping over each other in the process.

Eddie’s phone vibrated in his hand with a text from Steve that just said ‘if they don’t brush their hair for pictures, Santa won’t come.’

Eddie texted back quickly: so cruel. as his most sexiest elf, I wouldn’t pass over their house.

Steve sent a ‘🙄’ and then a ‘😘’.

Eddie pocketed his phone and went to help the boys with their hair.

When they got the pictures back a month later, Steve shook his head, but couldn’t quite hide the fond smile.

James and Connor both forgot to give normal smiles into the camera.

But their hair looked almost perfect.

[faeriichaii]

Hi! I was wondering if you could please write a legolas fix where he has a crush on f!reader!. But here's the thing, she's arwen sister and both arwen and aragorn try to match them both together and at the end they get to confess and all! I had this idea tysm<33

Sunkissed ~ Legolas x F!Elf!Reader

A/N: oh how I missed Legolas <3 I haven’t written anything for him in such a long time that I am so so happy to do a request for him again <3 tbh I think it is so easy for me to write him? Cause idk I picture him like the perfect romance guy?? And idk I always get so soft writing for him haha but omg I hope you enjoy the story!! <33

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Warnings: Fluff ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Words: 2.0k ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Request: Yes (Thank you <33) ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Le I velethril e-guil nîn ~ You are the Love of my Life ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Le Melin ~ I love you ࿐ྂ

Summary: You have been in love with the elven prince since quite a time, but never told him about it. Your sister Arwen however, is determined to change the course of your relationship with Legolas.

The light of the setting sun enveloped the room in a warm orange hue, a perfect start for the upcoming celebration of the night. Aragorn, as well as the rest of the company, arrived in Rivendell a few days ago. However, due to their immense exhaustion, the festivities had to be postponed until today. Sitting in front of your vanity, you listened to Arwen hum while her hands brushed through your hair. You have asked for her help earlier and being your sister, she of course, did not decline your request of braiding your hair. “Are you excited for todays festivities?” You suddenly asked her. Watching her reflection through the mirror, you saw a gentle smile gracing her face. “Of course I am sister. They have finally returned from their long journey and deserve to be celebrated.” “You are especially keen on celebrating Aragorn, aren’t you?” You teased her. A blush dusted her cheeks, as she gave you a light slap on the shoulder.

“Stop it. Don’t try to deny that you aren’t keen on celebrating a special someone yourself.” Arwen uttered while gathering a few strands of your hair. Looking down at your lap, you tried to hide your broad smile from her. Even the thought of Legolas alone made your heart skip a beat. And now he finally returned to Rivendell. “We are just very close friends, sister.” “Yes. Very very close friends indeed.” You scoffed at her. It was a known fact that Legolas and you have been friends since your early childhood days. You remember playing with him in the gardens of Mirkwood and dancing together at celebrations in Rivendell. You also remember how your heart shattered as you watched him chase after Tauriel. And of course you remember, putting Legolas heart back together once more.

One could say you went through a lifetime already, however you still only remained friends. “Yes, friends. Nothing more and nothing less.” Slight bitterness filled your voice at the prospect of never being more than that with the elven prince. Arwen, noticing the tone, gave your shoulders a reassuring squeeze. “You say it like it is a curse to be his friend.” “Well, you do know how I feel towards him, don’t you?” “And you know that you can change the course of your relationship anytime, don’t you?” Her arms wrapped around your shoulders in a gentle hug. “Stop worrying about a rejection that will never happen. Even our father can tell that Legolas harbours more than just friendly feelings for you, sister.” Smiling at her, you squeezed her arms, that were still encircling you. “Arwen, the sun is already setting and you still haven’t even begun to separate the strands.” She let out a huff at your change of topic and let go of you, continuing to brush through your hair. “Dear sister, would you prefer a half up half down braid with pearls?”

After finally finishing up and heading to the festivities with your sister, you quickly looked around the room. “Searching for someone specific (Y/N)?” Aragorn asked, while holding an arm out for Arwen to take. “No, not particularly.” “She is, but she just is too shy to admit it.” You glared at your sister. “Don’t worry, he will be here soon.” “Thank you, Aragorn but I am not worrying about anything or searching for someone or something. Now excuse me, I need to get a cup of wine.” And with that you left the couple alone.

“When are the both of them finally admitting their feelings for each other?” Arwen asked her lover, while he guided her towards the dance floor. “Legolas once openly admitted to me that he does love her, but he is so unsure about what to do. Especially after he got rejected by Tauriel.” A knowing hum left her lips, as she let Aragorns words sink in. “I think we should help them out. Find the right course for their future.” She said, as she twirled in her lovers arms.

Hours passed by and you found yourself staring up at the stars above. “Beautiful night, isn’t it?” You spun around at the familiar voice. Your heart skipping a beat as you watched Legolas approach you slowly. His golden hair was perfectly partly braided behind his pointy ears. You remember that he once let you braid it when you were children and how soft it felt. Averting your eyes, you looked back up at the night sky. “It indeed is.” Standing beside you, he let his hands rest on top of the railing. Your fingers almost brushed against each other, sending tingles through your body. “(Y/N) I actually have a little present for you.” Tilting your head, you turned toward him curiously. His warm hand grabbed yours, turned it around and placed something small inside it. Looking down, you saw an iridescent pearl. Taking it between two fingers you examined it carefully. A small was drilled through the small sphere and small delicate details were carved into the surface.

“Legolas, this is so beautiful. Did you make this?” You looked up at the elven prince, who bashfully looked away. “Yes, a dwarven friend showed me how to make one of the- of the beads.” He stumbled upon his words. “Thank you so much, I love it!” Wrapping your arms around his torso, you gave him a hug. His scent filled your nose. Like a fresh spring breeze with a hint of lavender. His arms gently wrapped around you, engulfing you in his warmth. You could have stayed like this forever. In his arms, in his warmth. Pulling away, you smiled up at him, a soft red hue dusting your cheeks. “Would you like to braid the bead into my hair?” You asked him, still holding onto his hands while the bead is nestled between both of your palms. “It would be an honour.” His smile made your heart flutter and fill your body with a comfortable warmth. Turning around, you let the elven prince gather a strand of your hair, braid it and finish it off with the beautiful bead he just gifted you. “It looks beautiful in your hair. Like a star encased in a soft blanket.” You smiled at his words, as you turned back around. Oh, how you wish this night would never end.

The next day you were walking through the gardens alone. You were thinking about the celebrations yesterday. Especially how Legolas treated you and even gifted you a handmade bead. You also vividly remember how the pair of you glided over the dance floor to various melodies. And how his touch ignited your body. You could still even feel the imprints of his fingers on your waist. Do normal friends even act like we do? “You seem quite in thought today (Y/N)” Aragorns voice rung in your ears, ripping you away from your daydream. “Hello Aragorn, how come you are spending time without my sister? I thought the both of you would be inseparable after your return.” The man let out a soft chuckle at your joke. “She found company in someone else today.” You raised an eyebrow at that. With whom was she spending time?

“And to be completely honest with you, I was seeking you out for today.” “How come?” “Let’s take a walk around the gardens, shall we?” He smiled at you, deflecting your question. Nodding at his request, the both of you started to walk along the stone path. “Do you know how Legolas came up with the idea of making this bead?” “He just told me that a friend helped him. So, I guess Gimli shared some of his wisdom with him.” “That is partly the truth.” You looked at Aragorn curiously. “What do you mean by that?” A sigh left the man at your question. “I can’t exactly tell you, because it is not my place to. However, I really wish he would just finally admit to his feelings and confess. The same also goes to you.” You suddenly stopped walking and stared at him; mouth slightly ajar. Never would you have ever guessed that Aragorn would call you out for your feelings towards the elven prince.

“I- I have my reasons Aragorn.” “And so does he. But would you rather constantly long for him than actually courting him?” Embarrassment flooded your system, as you looked at the ground. “I just- I am scared of losing him.” A hand on your shoulder made you look up. Aragorn smiled gently at you. “You won’t lose him (Y/N). I think he might actually be on his way by now to change something about your… situation.” Aragorns eyes focused on something behind you, which made you turn around confused. Arwen was descending the few stone steps with Legolas beside her. “Well, what a pleasant surprise, isn’t it?” She said, weaving her arm through Aragorns. You looked at Legolas, who gave you a smile as a greeting. Returning his gesture, the four of you continued your walk through the garden.

“I am happy to see you are still wearing the bead in your hair.” The elven prince broke the silence between you. “Of course I am. You put so much effort into this lovely gift, I will cherish it for the rest of my life.” “I am glad to hear that.” He slowed his pace down, to create some distance between the both of you and the pair in front of you. “(Y/N) there is something I want to talk about with you.” A shiver went down your spine at his words. Did he find out about my feelings? Will he reject me now? Dread flooded your system, as you stared at him waiting for him to continue talking. “Do you know how I came up with the idea of gifting you this bead?” Legolas asked you. You shook your head no. “It is quite simple. Gimli talked about his customs and how similar they were to ours in some aspects. He also mentioned that they normally craft courting beads for their significant other.” Warmth spread over your face and dusted your cheeks in a rosy colour.

“After that I asked him if he could show me how to craft one. Because I wanted to give one to you.” Suddenly he stopped walking and turned toward you. Grabbing your hand gently into his, he let his thumb stroke soft circles over your skin. Your heart beat quickened, as you looked up into his warm eyes. “I want to court you (Y/N). I want to spend my lifetime with yours. I want to be beside you during cold nights as well as warm days. I want to be with you and I want to be yours (Y/N).” Gasping at his words, you squeezed his hands reassuringly. “I never would have expected to hear such beautiful words from you Legolas. My heart has always longed to be with yours and I would love to enter this courtship with you. I want to spend my lifetime with you. I want to be yours and I would love you to be mine.”

Smiling brightly at you, Legolas let go of your hands and placed his gently on your face. His thumb stroked along your reddened cheek, before he leaned in slightly. Your heartbeat quickened as his face got closer to yours. But before your lips could touch, he stopped. “Le I velethril e-guil nîn.” And with those words he closed the gap between you. His rich taste filled your system, as you tilted your head more to the side and let his lips engulf more of you. He was addicting, like a drug. A sweet drug. He tasted like a sunny spring morning. Like the comfort and warmth of sunrays on your skin. Separating, the both of you looked at each other lovingly. “Le melin.” You said, smiling brightly at him before indulging once more in his lips and his embrace, making sure to treasure every single second of it.

[dontfearrr]

Best friends father

Heavily based on best friends brother from victorious lmfao. But this is a very funny request that you can find here

(gif not mine:)

Pairing: Thranduil x Elf!reader

Summary: Legolas and Thranduil have no idea of each others roles in your life

Warnings: none

Category: fluff, fluff, and more fluff

Word count: 1.6k

----------------------

Twisting branches hovered high above her and all around her, whistles of the wind through the trees lingered through her ears like an eerie song sung just for her. She glanced around the path, knowing he was out there somewhere, he played this game with her all the time. However this time she was determined to win it. She felt chills crawl up her spine and she nocked an arrow in the blink of an eye, turning her body and releasing the arrow further up.

He felt the brush of the arrow graze his arm and he knew she had won. He swung from branch to branch and landed in front of her on his two feet, she watched his hair fall down back into place perfectly and she giggled, crossing her arms. “You know what, I'll give that one to you. I'm impressed.” He swung his bow back over his shoulder.

“Legolas it is quite rude to underestimate a lady” She told the white haired elf who stared down at her in amusement. “Sorry…if i'm not mistaken, i've won every single time, until now. So I think it was fair” Legolas joked back, only poking at you playfully.

She’d known Legolas for a good thousand years by now, they met during a trading with Imladris and since then they were glued together at the hip. Best friends some would say but if you asked her, she'd tell you he's some silly dumb ass who doesn't know how to handle his elven wine. 

“You just insist on making sure i know you're better than me.'' She gave him a playful eyeroll and began their walk back to the main palace, knowing they both have duties to tend to. “I assume once we return you'll be going off with your mystery lover?” Legolas teased, knowing lately she'd been quite infatuated and busied with her new asset. He was glad she had finally found someone in her life, he felt like a proud brother. (the irony im so sorry)

“You'd be correct, elf boy. Hopefully he's feeling extra nice today..” She teased, knowing Legolas hated hearing the descriptive details of their relationship. 

Legolas groaned in agony and shook his head at her suggestive and very unnecessary comment. “I have never met a more interesting creature.” He used his index finger to push at her shoulder jokingly as they approached the main gates. She gave him a playful smile and chuckled to herself as the guards let them into the kingdom.

“Farewell my friend, late nightfall?” Legolas spoke as he began to walk in the opposite direction of her, waiting for her reply before he turned around. 

“Late nightfall it is! Don't miss me too much!” 

She bowed to him dramatically and watched him turn around and walk off, she did the same. Only she waited until he was completely out of her sight before she began walking to the palace, her head facing the ground to hide from onlookers. Not that it necessarily mattered, however she wouldn't appreciate it if someone decided to gossip to the prince of her private whereabouts. She made her way down the main hall to the throne room, the guards allowing her through with the command of the king. 

She saw him perched upon his beautiful throne, his autumn crown complimenting his head and his blinding white hair fell down his shoulders perfectly, not one hair out of place. He was always a sight to see no matter how many times she'd see him. 

He caught her scent long before she even entered the throne room, his head positioned downward at the elf that approached him, her sweet presence instantly making his whole body relax from its usual tense state.

 “It is more than a pleasure to see you here, for I have missed you dearly.” his deep voice boomed throughout the entire room as he stood up and began descending from the stairs to meet her at the bottom.

 “It was like trying to swat a fly from your drink trying to get rid of him” she chuckled and met him halfway, looking up at him while his arms wrapped around her waist tenderly, pulling her flush against his body in a warm embrace. He ran a hand down the back of her head, smoothing down her hair as he placed a kiss on her forehead. “He seems persistent” he said, a bit jealous of her other companion no matter how many times she would reassure him it's not like that, nor will it ever be.

She just gave him a feigned look of annoyance and brought a hand up to place on his cheek, her thumb caressing his cheekbone gently. “My dear Thranduil, soon you will see the silliness of your jealousy.” she teased him, knowing he hated being called out on his feelings. “Do you insist on making me miserable, my lady?” He gave her a heartfelt smile and placed a hand on her back, gesturing for her to go to the private doors, doors which only the king and prince were allowed to use. They were passages that lead to everything, just quicker and more discrete. 

Every day, Thranduil took her to a new place, slowly showing her every beauty Mirkwood had to offer. His love for her grew every day and only made him want to do anything for her, anything he could. Today he was taking her to the Amaranthine Garden, the specific flora only visible to the royals. He was sure you'd love it for it is one of the few ethereal gardens amongst the elves.

Legolas was speaking with a royal guard, telling them about this morning’s duties, sending him off to go inform the rest. Right before he was about to walk back to the main quarters he was stopped by a messenger who handed him an envelope, he looked on the back seeing it was addressed to Thranduil. He cursed these damned messengers for not just giving it directly to his father, that was something he would also discuss with his father when he gave this to him.

He entered the throne room and found it empty..how strange. He never left his throne around these times unless it was severely important. He searched the room a bit and even called out for him but there was silence. That was until he spotted the private corridors left cracked. He could see the light emitting from the small opening of the door and approached it, he opened it fully but saw no one. Yet he got a whiff of a very familiar scent mixed with his fathers. It made him a little uncomfortable, he was determined to get to the bottom of this, something was up. So down the halls he went, peeking inside every single room, basically sniffing his father out like a dog.

She had her hand around his back and her body pressed into his side while he held her close, showing her the garden and telling her all about the unique plants she'd never seen before. There wasn't a second of this moment where she didn't have a smile on her face as her beloved spoke so gently. 

Thranduil bent down at his knees and carefully picked a beautiful bunch of Rhododendrons, pulling a thread from his pocket and tying the flowers at the stem, holding it out for her. She felt like a princess when she was with him, he treated her with the utmost respect. She took the flowers from him and smiled kindly. “Thranduil you never fail to put a smile on my face, you know that?” She set the flowers in her satchel and placed her hands on his chest.

“I live and breathe to please you meleth nin. I thought it was quite obvious.”

She giggled at this and felt his hands sneak to her waist, caressing her like a teenage boy, until his head snapped in the direction of the door that led back inside. 

“What is my sweet?” she looked at him with quite the confused look until she heard a voice all too familiar.

“Well if it isnt y/n and her mystery lover.” Legolas stood before them with his arms crossed as if he just caught a child sneaking into the cookie jar. 

Her head fell to Thranduil's chest in defeat, knowing she'd been caught red handed. Thranduil however was utterly confused, he hadn't put the pieces together just yet. Legolas approached them and she pulled from Thranduil, meeting Legolas in front of them. She sighed and placed a hand on Legolas’ shoulder. “To be completely fair, you see why i didn't tell you” she joked and looked up to Thranduil. 

“Meet the best friend.” she spoke sheepishly with a weak smile and Thranduil just simply sighed in utter annoyance at this childish situation. “So you were able to keep both of our identities secret from each other, and this is how we find out? You never fail to surprise me little one” He placed a hand on her lower back and gave Legolas an unimpressed look. 

“I think you might find yourself with an arrow in your chest while you sleep tonight” Legolas playfully threatened. “That's if you wish to go blind, you'll find me cosying up with your father in a not so friendly manner.” She shot back, earning a chuckle from Thranduil and a gag from Legolas.

 “I curse you woman.” Legolas turned around to leave them. “And I curse you father, you'll be lucky if you don't find poison in your wine tonight” He said before leaving dramatically, leaving her and Thranduil to laugh amongst themselves. 

“I think that went great!” she tried weakly as Thranduil simply shook his head and continued their walk through the garden.

[weirdsht]

cale with an s/o that's mothers so hard (coos at the averaging 9 year olds, bakes/cooks for the knights, plays and trains with the wolf children) – absolutely soft for kids, loves cuddling the children and cooking for them^^

Biased Concern - Cale/Reader

notes: I combined 2 asks because the premise was similar

tags: fluff, no gender specified for reader, novel spoilers (war)

English isn’t my first language so there will be grammatical errors

Pls don't repost my work anywhere without my permission

Constructive criticisms and any kind of interaction are more than welcome

Requests are open and welcome

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another anon said: omg!! regarding the small preview you posted,, like there's the part in the novel where on and hong are in the eastern part with Ron and Beacorx while Cale has 3 days to live and smth smth + Raon going through his first growth phase (I don't really remember) so his s/o is in despair bc of the situation and they're like– ONE OF MY BABIES IS SICK AND ONE IS DYING AND THE OTHER 2 I DONT EVEN KNIW WHAT THEYRE DOING WAHHH 😔😔 that's all bye ✊️

Things are hectic. War is ongoing. Everyone is on their toes. Commander Cale Henituse is nowhere to be seen. Roan Kingdom’s Crown Prince Alberu Crossman is in a state of shock.

In short, things are chaotic.

However, it doesn’t look like that on the outside as most don’t have an idea what’s going on. Only very trusted people know just how everything is on the verge of being in shambles.

“I’m sure you were shocked your highness. Please forgive him. He has this terrible habit of throwing fast ones at random times.”

That was the first thing you said to Alberu as you entered his tent. The golden-haired man was already busy as it was. Now he has to cover and fill up Cale’s missing presence.

“I think I’m getting used to it now.”

You let out a short laugh at his response. Alberu said it with a nonchalant tone however his face conveys just how much of a headache Cale brings him. But it wouldn’t be Cale if he didn’t bring a headache.

“At least eat while you work your highness.”

Pushing the cart closer to where the crown prince is, you presented the foods cooked for today. On the plate, there’s a medium rare steak paired with some vegetables like asparagus, mashed potatoes, and others. It’s a simple meal, but it has all the nutrients and protein one would need. 

“Did you help cook this? You were fighting earlier you should’ve just rested.”

“It's not a bother at all Your Highness. Seeing everyone energetic is enough to make me energized as well.”

You smiled at Alberu as he started eating. Humming in approval at your cooking.

“When are you going to visit Cale?”

Alberu stopped eating for a second to ask you a second. You stayed silent at his question, deeply pondering about it.

On one hand, you wanted to visit him and check how the children and he is doing. On the other hand, you are still needed in the Gorge of Death. Especially since the others are gone. Your complicated thoughts did not go unnoticed by the quarter elf. He can easily tell just how worried you are for your significant other but also thinking of your responsibilities.

“Just go.”

“But Your Highness as Cale’s Deputy Commander–”

“Are you going against the word of the crown?”

That made you shut up. However, you were still hesitant. Cale’s absence already puts so much on Alberu’s plate. His responsibilities will overflow if you go away too.

“It’ll be fine. Just make sure to come back quickly. While you’re at it tell that punk to get well fast too.”

Alberu waved his hands. Telling you to go now, leaving no room for argument.

“I… Thank you, your highness.”

Soon enough you are inside Hope and Adventure Loving Inn. Specifically, you were inside Beacrox’s kitchen making sweet treats for everyone.

Just outside the kitchen the staff, the previous mountain bandits, are whispering among themselves. They’ve never seen anyone freely enter the chef’s territory so this is a shock for everyone.

“Thanks for letting me bake Beacrox! Take this portion and share it among yourself and the other staff.”

You smiled at the tall man with him only responding with a bow of gratitude. As you go out of the kitchen you see everyone acting a bit weird. It was so obvious they were trying to look busy while eavesdropping. One of them was even feather-dusting another employee’s face.

“You’re here nya!”

“We missed you nya!”

On and Hong greeted you respectively as Ron guided you upstairs. Indeed, you haven’t seen them since the opening of the inn. You said you were going to visit but things got delayed because of everything that happened.

“I missed you too. Now go share this among yourselves. Make sure to leave some for your youngest brother.”

You hugged the two for a bit before asking Ron to show you where Cale was. As he showed you the way you reluctantly let the two children go. Promising to play with them more later.

“I must warn you. The sight inside is unsightly.”

The servant warned you before opening the door. Sure enough, it was. The first thing that caught your attention was the foul stench of blood.

Speaking of blood, Cale was super bloody. He keeps vomiting blood like a water pipe with a leak.

“Oh my…”

You unconsciously said. The two heads lying on the bed turn to you. With Raon’s expression brightening up.

“You visited!”

“Well, I did promise to visit your siblings.”

Smiling, you welcomed the toddler into a warm embrace. Behind you, Ron excused himself to give the three of you privacy.

Cough!

A certain redhead deliberately coughed out blood louder than before. Clearly unsatisfied at you saying that you came to visit the children.

“Of course, I came to visit you too.”

You laughed, walking towards the bed to give your significant other a kiss on the forehead. The bed dips as you sit down on it, with Raon still in your arms.

“I take it that you successfully got the water ancient power? All this blood must be from your plate fixing itself then.”

One of your hands was stroking Cale’s hand while the other one fed Raon the singular cookie you had brought with you inside the room.

Cale’s eyes looked at you. Probably examining if you were hurt somewhere while being away from him. He then frowned as he saw you feeding the chubby dragon. Your gaze travels to where he seems to be looking and the jealousy makes you laugh.

“Yes, I made it. Yes, there’s still some left. Yes, I already prepared some greasy food to cook so you eat later after you’re well. No, I will not stop feeding Raon. Don’t be greedy, you already have most of my attention.”

The commander’s frown etched deeper in his face as you said the last part. His gaze seems to be asking you if you’re really concerned about his well-being.

“Of course I am.”

You chuckled.

“I wouldn’t left the Gorge of Death if I wasn’t silly.”

Pushing his hair back a little, you gave his forehead another kiss. Reassuring him that you didn’t just go for the children.

Later on, when Cale was feeling much better he asked you if you only got together with him so that the kids would favour you.

“Silly man, I don’t need to be with you for the kids to love me.”

“That’s right nya!”

“Certainly nya.”

“I’ll like my human’s human even if you aren’t together!”

The defeated Cale could only click his tongue in annoyance.

[astriiformes]

One of my favorite Legolas headcanons is that I don't think he was completely fluent in Westron when he met the rest of the Fellowship. He was absolutely still passable, and I don't think it got too in the way of anyone understanding him, but he's a young elf from a fairly isolationist kingdom that didn't get many outside visitors. He would have been taught enough to do diplomacy, as a prince, but that could still be pretty far from fluent, missing more than a few words here and there. And he definitely spoke Westron with a heavy Silvan accent.

(No, his dialogue as written in the books doesn't reflect that, but that's because it's what the hobbits wrote down in the Red Book, and thus didn't reflect Legolas' actual speech quirks.)

And when the group first formed, it was something Gimli probably looked down on him for, when the two of them were still bickering and pointing out each others' flaws. (Since dwarves keep their own language a secret, I'm sure he had pretty equal fluency in Khuzdul and Westron himself.) But as they got closer, I'm sure he would have taken it on himself to teach Legolas some of the words he didn't know, and been practically daring anyone to comment on the elf who talked strangely, ready to defend his friend's honor.

Language is just such a huge part of Tolkien's worldbuilding, I like the idea of it being a part of the story of their friendship, too.

[epilogue-and-prologue]

Affections

Fandom: The Hobbit Ship/Pairing: Thranduil x F!Reader Trope: Unrequited love that’s requited after all Note: No idea. I probably made heavy mistakes in the mythology. Don't hesitate to point them out if need be. Warnings: Miscommunication, father-son relationship, rejection Word count: 6 282 Tag-list: @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @middleearthpixie @glassgulls @evenstareditd @fizzyxcustard @sotwk

“Legolas!”

Seeing your friend after so many years made you so happy, your eyes were watering even before you could feel his arm embracing you.

“My dear friend. I am so glad you could finally come home.”

Decades earlier, the young prince and you had learned and grown together under the watchful eye of the Mirkwood. Small ones were a rarity, but two at the same time almost never happened. Once an adult, it became clear you needed to leave the palace’s grounds and see the world for yourself. The only kin you had left was your aunt Ede, and she encouraged you to go, despite being torn upon your departure.

Now, finally, you were coming back to your place of birth, filled with new memories and new experiences. During the war, you were following the refugees, learning medicine and healing amongst them as you had for the past decade. Fortunately, this knowledge became of vital importance after the conflict and here you were, talking animatedly with the Crowned Prince, sharing adventures and stories.

“I am sure your father must not have taken kindly to that friendship.”

Legolas laughed, his long hair moving with the winds around.

“No, he did not. Gimli is a close friend of mine and I would not allow him to be treated with the disrespect my father is so easily using. — Still. Of all the people present in the Company, the only one you find to be a friend is the son of Gloin? The very last member of Thorin Oakenshield’s entourage? — I did not choose, you know. And…”

Before he could finish his sentence, you stopped your steps. The place had grown so much since you last were there. The tallest trees reached peaks you could not see anymore, cutting into the sky slices of clouds and sunshine. The hall around you felt heavier. More grounded in stone than in wood. Ravages of the Great War had reached even here, it seemed. From the stairs in front of you, a tall she-elf, with her dark auburn hair and her proud stature, was staring right. Your feet guided you to her in a hurry. Her embrace felt like a warm bath, smelling of lavender and a quiet temperance you needed in that moment. Ede was one of a kind. She was the one who had taught you the basics to healing and the plants, as well as the stars. Your mother had been a valiant soldier of the King’s army. She perished on the front of the battle of the Five Armies. Ede became a support and an ally in the pain of her loss. It made you two grow closer, especially when her brother - your father - left for the Shores after his wife died. He did not see the future in as much brightness as he used to and did not want to become a hindrance for you. It was with the certainty of meeting him again that you let him go.

“Aunt Ede, I have missed you so much. It is a genuine pleasure to see you. — As it is for me, child.”

She pushed a strand of hair back, watching you intently with those profound dark eyes of hers. Once Legolas reached you, he saluted the Royal Healer before leaving the both of you, a soft smile on his face. You spent the rest of the day walking around and rediscovering the grounds with your aunt. They had planted bigger gardens next to the Healers Quarters. A gardener had been appointed specifically for them, allowing time and space for the now withering Ede. She was growing tired more easily and, despite her appearances, was becoming more depressed by the day. Her work was never done in this place, being the sole reference for every other healer in the woods and sometimes outside of the country and into others. Everyday that passed made her long for her home in Rivendell. Her husband had gone back the year before and the separation was taking another toll on her, time only making it worse. At the first signs of dusk, she brought you to your room, next to her own. It contained a simple bed and a desk as well as two tall windows, looking out on the garden below. The bag you carried when you arrived finally found a space to rest too next to the neat sheets.

“Child, I bid you goodnight. We shall talk more in the morning. -Yes, my aunt. I wish you pleasant dreams and a restful sleep.”

She kissed your forehead, smiled and closed the door behind her. Soon you crumbled into the heavenly made bed, but could not find sleep. After all, the real reason of why you left had been kept secret from everyone. Including yourself. You were becoming more agitated with every minute passing before meeting the King. You had not left on particularly good terms with him, a show of restraint on your part, inclining you to keep quiet and move on. Nevertheless, the memory kept replaying in your mind, as you felt yourself drift into a soundless sleep.

In autumn, the leaves fell, and Legolas was in the trees. Well, one tree. The tallest at the time, a great oak with leaves reaching into the sky as if trying to touch it. The Prince loved to climbed its branches, storm or high wind was of no matter to him, wanting to admire the sky more than anything. Also, it was the only place his father would not think of searching him in. Lately he had been adamant in having his son with him at all times, protected and locked in, close to him where he could not be lost. Or killed. That oak was where you found him.

“My Prince, I am afraid your kingly father will be upset with both of us if you do not come down this instant.”

Silence. Thranduil had asked you personally to go in search of his son. Out of the two of you, you were in appearances the more mature one. Even now young adults, you could not help yourselves and hid from each of your parents whenever you could, spending most of your times observing the wood’s life. The fleeting murmurs of the trees settled, leaving a melody of singing birds behind. Soon, he came down, looking sheepish.

“I am sorry. I did not mean to cause my father’s anger towards you. — No need to apologise. I understand why you would want to hide. Yet, you can not do so forever Legolas.”

He nodded, following you back inside. His father had grown tensed and tired after his wife’s death. Her warmth was the heart of the forest and once she was gone, every winter became colder and colder. The King only grew more weary of the outsiders, leaving no choice but to close the borders to most of them. You knew him in happier times, grew with his son and should have grown attached to the Prince. Yet, in your heart, Thranduil had the only space you could allow to be filled. It had pained you to acknowledge it, more so when Legolas’ mother passed. A voice inside wanted you to reach out and to pull the pain away from him. From them both, but you could not. As well as Thranduil’s borders closed, his mind and soul did too. For the longest time, he retreated so far inside that no one could reach in. Not even his son. Your arm looped around Legolas’ shoulders, trying to comfort him however you could.

“Do not fret. He was scared to death you broke your neck. Once he sees you intact maybe he’ll calm down”

It did seem to make him chuckle at least, as he leaned into you. You felt ashamed feeling this way towards a brother’s kin. It was a torment you would not wish on anyone not even your greatest enemy. It became a soft agony and then a feeling deeply buried. Sometimes, you hoped you would find yourself looking at Legolas the same way you looked at Thranduil. It never happened and you grieved the proper relationship that would never be. It had been talked about, making a match between the two of you. The Prince could have been inclined. Your own affections lead you to say no, to the disarray of your parents and Legolas’ poor heart. He never resented you for it but you did. You resented yourself so much it blinded the young spirit you had into biding yourself to this place, when nothing new could be learned, nothing new could be seen. No new love would grow. Ede had mentioned leaving before. The idea was taking roots but Thranduil’s actions were the final push into the adventure of your life.

Upon arriving in the King’s room, you caught onto three things. The first, he was still worried sick, apparently repeatedly pacing the room with no signs of stopping soon. The second was that once he saw his son, he embraced him, where you had seen him lash out in anger at others. The third, you were sure that when his eyes landed on you, he would burn you right where you stood. He took his time, checking if his son was alright if he was injured, who’s idea was it to go out and hide like that. Once his nerves settled, he dismissed Legolas, closely watched over by two guards. As the Prince left the room, you shared a soft smile, already knowing what was bound to happen. Once he was gone, the air left the room and the reprieve you had ended right there.

“How dare you?”

Thranduil’s voice was carrying across the room. He was standing as far away as possible from you, as if trying to avoid catching a disease you had.

If only that was the reason, he would sleep better nights. Not watching the stars peak and go down every morning, growing mad with every time he saw you. He knew it was, in truth, for another set of reasons entirely. His body was betraying him. His heart ached in the most delicious ways, retreating from its hiding place. He would have thought it dead if it weren’t for you. You with your sharp mind and loud laughter. You who had a spirit all of your own. You who were the oldest friend and confident his son had. How could he feel that way for you, he never wanted to know. It would have meant accepting he nourished feelings for you. He watched you grow and become a mighty warrior and a spirited young elf. Once well in adulthood though, that was only then that he noticed you. Before that you were a shadow compared to his wife’s memory. He saw and perceived all too well your longing looks and tight smile for him only to see. It touched his otherwise dead heart. The pain of knowing that it could never be and the blossoming feelings he carried for you were growing inside of him intertwined. Now, your eyes haunted him at night, hot and feverish, lingering in his mind. He longed to be touched by you, when he knew he should not have. The remorse was ever present. What would she think of all of this? She would want him happy, cared for and content. He wanted it too. He would not yield, not crumble under your stare. He had to protect his people from disappointment in their ruler. He could not afford jeopardising his rule so. Even for your beautiful mind and gorgeous soul.

“How dare you compel my son into acting so? You and your ideas! Of course you were the one to give him such ideas about freedom and… — Your Majesty, with all due respect, I gave him what he asked of me, nothing else.”

He was livid. What he asked of you? A jealousy he had forgotten the name of, formed in his stomach, giving his wrath a fuel to keep on burning. What did he ask of you? What did you ask of him?

“How could you? You are full of yourself. Arrogant. Reckless. Do you not know the influence you have over him? How dangerous that could be?”

He could see you, bowing your head, biting your tongue. He drove the knife deeper still, wanting you to react, to do something. Anything was better than you not reacting at all. Especially to him. The cruel intentions in him a reflection of his frustrated state at seeing you and not touching you.

“Answer me!”

The scream rang through your body. Teeth clenched, you had been biting your tongue this entire time, not wanting to make this situation worse. Although, he was on the right path for it to get worse.

“Why would I? You seem to have all the answers already! About your son, about me!” You kept on going, even as he stepped closer and closer to you, domineering and hovering over you. “He needs to experience life! If you can not give him that, at least give this to his mother!” This touched a nerve, his face darkening with fury. Where he knew you were right, he wanted to make you quiet. Those truths either he was not ready to hear. “She would certainly not want her only son to go to the Shores having never touched life with his own hands. Never fighting for what he believes in, never seeing the sun high in the sky or never feeling the touch of a lover, because of you. Sire, you cannot keep him in a gilded cage like this. Either you let him go or he will escape.”

He was invading your private space now. You could not look up. You would not look up.

“How would you know how to care for a child who is not your own? — I know him better than you think.”

Better than you lingered in the air, unsaid, deeply felt. His long fingers gripped your jaw pulling your eyes along them, then his deep burgundy robe before meeting his darkened pupils. He narrowed his eyes, the very tip of his fingers were burning with the yearning of touching you. He could not give in. He would not give in.

“Do you now?”

His lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, in what was supposed to be a show of power. Both of you knew it was not, still thinking the other to not know about it. His teeth bit lightly into your earlobe before you could stop him. Frozen in place, you did nothing when his lips drew goosebumps down your throat. In a swift movement, he sucked a deep bruise into your skin. You cried out as he held your face in place, merciless in his grip. It was not a cry of displeasure and that surprised him. As your hand gripped the one holding your face, he searched your expression looking for a momentary lapse in judgement. Maybe something to stop him. Something to tell him this was wrong. He found nothing of the sort. He slid his fingers from your jaw to your cheeks, finding comfort into the plump and supple skin of your face, before all but tearing himself apart by kissing you. You kissed him in return, feverish and wanting. Too soon, he stopped. Disgusted with himself, he turned around, hurting like never before. His weakness was showing, all too visible to his own eyes.

“Go. Now. And never come back. — Sire…”

Your voice was but a whisper, the fluttering of your heart where his skin had met yours turning your whole body into a beating drum.

“Leave! Leave and never show your face again!”

Tears threatened to fall from your eyes. You did not let them and left the room, closing the door as hard as you could behind you. Once in your room, everything went blank. Almost as if on drugs, mechanically, you gathered your things, warned your aunt of your departure. She did not question it. She knew of your yearning to leave and did not stop you either. Only accompanied you to the main road, wishing you farewell and a heartfelt goodbye. Legolas received a delayed goodbye, by letter. He was angry with you, but understood. You never told him about what happened and it said a lot about his forgiving nature that he did not hold that hurt against you today. She figured Thranduil might have something to do with it when the next day he asked about you. He seemed hurt beyond measure when she told him you were gone, almost surely never to return.

The first rays of the sun sneaked through the glass windows, shades and hues of red and yellows nesting into the corners of the room. After a change of clothes and a frugal breakfast, you accompanied Ede to the gardens along with her pupils, witnessing the classes she gave to elves from all backgrounds and all horizons. Midday approached and she took you aside after leaving her students.

“Child, we need to talk. — Yes, aunt Ede. What do we need to talk about?”

Her next words startled you as much as they turned your world upside down.

“I will be direct, my child. I need you to replace me, here, at the palace. I need you to become the next Royal Healer.”

*

Ede and you had carried that conversation long into the night. She was adamant that it was you who was supposed to carry on in her place. On the other hand you were less than convinced. Especially considering that she always described the task as a burden - more so in the last years. You would not negotiate with her and complained, exposed, revealed what you feared and felt unable to do. She would hear none of it. Her sole purpose here was to give her place to you, of that she was certain. Deep within her a longing of her home had taken root and she had wanted to leave for a long time. If only for her sake, you had no other choice but to do what she asked. For your own, you would have to face Thranduil when that day would come. Maybe, it was for the best. You could not stay in this place of ignorance and avoidance. A quick walk through the garden and you found yourself, face to face with Legolas, all smiles and a hint of mischief in his eyes you were worried about.

“Good morning to you. -And good morning to you, my friend.”

His smile did not falter as he proposed to accompany you through the palace, talking animatedly as usual, until finally you reached the healers quarters.

“I do have a question though. — Yes, what is it?”

As he opened his mouth to say something, he closed it again, his eyes drawn to something - or rather someone - in the room behind you. The door had been left ajar. Distinctively you could see Thranduil’s back and when he stepped aside, your aunt Ede too. Her brows were furrowing and her lips were pinched in a thin line. That could not be any good. The King on the other hand, was towering over her, rolling his eyes and pinching his nose every time she spoke as you would do with a child. That, that was intolerable. Legolas tried to stop you, his hand slipping from your arm only to be left bewildered and strangely, amused, when you stepped inside, slamming the door open.

“Your Majesty. Aunt Ede.”

You bowed your head as he observed you from head to toe. Since that night, it was the first time he was seeing you again. As you, him. A beating sound rang in your ears. His sharp eyes looked down upon you, considering your face, your lips. He stopped and turned towards Ede again.

“Your Majesty, this is… — We shall talk about it at another time. ”

She bowed and did not dare question his statement. He stepped out of the room without another word, only mildly surprised at finding his son at the door. He inherited his need to meddle in other’s affairs from his mother. It both amused him and annoyed him to no end.

* “Ede, what was that about? — Oh, nothing. Have you eaten yet? I was hoping we could eat together and talk some more about your new position?”

There was no negotiating her. Soon, she led you towards a secluded spot under a willow tree you used to hide in when you were a mere child. It’s blooming branches looked smaller now, even when surrounding both of you in its fresh shadows.

“Aunt, please tell me what this talk was about. With the King.”

Ede sighed, plugging some grapes from her bag. She stalled, settling down cheeses and bread at a luxuriously slow pace.

“Aunt… — Yes, I know. Listen, it is a matter between the King and I and… — Was it about me? — Sort of.”

You snorted loudly, startling a few birds in the tree.

“What do you mean? — It was about my replacement. He disagrees with my choice.”

That should not have stung as much as it did.

“And I told him that I would not be changing my mind anytime soon. And that you would be taking my place in three weeks time as per what was planned. — Wait… Three weeks? From now? It’s too soon, Ede.”

She shushed you with a finger against your lips, as she did when you were younger.

“No discussion, no negotiation.”

She proceeded to tell you all about the Royal Healer’s position. You were to tend to the Royal Family, anytime day or night, big or small wounds. Fondly, she recalled a time when Legolas was still small, and had fallen off of a tree, breaking his wrist. He had been restless for the long process of the cast and even more when he had to not use his arm for weeks after that. Being light of foot was not something you were born with and he had mastered it with numerous injuries and various broken bones. You recalled the infinite patience his father had to show. The prince was not as quiet and calm as he was now. She kept on with an extended list of places you were expected to go and help, as well as the palace. Indeed, she had taken it upon herself to replace the old healers in all the neighbouring villages. Most of them had been replaced, yet there was still work to do and new persons to train. At the first lights descending in the sky, she excused herself, exhausted that she was. She kissed your temple and walked away.

Your room felt smaller once you reached its bed. The walls seemed to be getting closer with each moment and soon, you could not stand it any longer. The night had just settled, the first stars showing above. Without much thinking, your feet wandered around the place, finding bushes and crannies, the deep river you knew. Several times, you passed by the willow you had eaten under earlier that day. Somehow, it drove you to its shelter, the rays of the moon shining through the leaves, giving the place an eerie and melancholic air.

Carefully you immersed yourself in this small reprieve of the world.

What you did not know was that you were not alone, sneaking around at night, unable to sleep.

* Once done with the argument, Thranduil had left the infirmary in a hurry, not wanting to dwell in a room where you were. Inadequacy was not something he was fond of feeling. Legolas followed him back to his chambers. He could sense his son’s amusement from behind him. When he turned around, stepping into his bedroom, the very same son had the audacity to laugh wholeheartedly.

“You do remember you owe me allegiance, even as my son and heir.”

The elf struggled to gain back his composure and nod. Finally he had come to his senses.

“Yes, Father. Although I choose to find our relationship into its more domestic issues than its governmental ones.”

Or not.

“Legolas, I swear on your mother’s grave if you do not explain why you are mocking me I will send you to an early retirement deep in the forest with nothing but bread and water to survive, as well as the animals to keep you company.”

That made him stop. Thranduil’s threats were always outlandish. They were also never made in vain or carelessly. Legolas stepped closer to his father, leaning in as in confidence. The King’s eyebrow lifted in a show of not being impressed. From where he was sat, he could see the sparkle in his son’s eyes. The one that meant no good.

“Your affections are showing, father. — My…”

If he had not been angry to begin with, he might have been now. He thought back to that night and could not wash away the culpability creeping in. After you had left, he had spent sleepless nights, without an end to his thoughts about what he could have done worse. Never better. In fact, he had come to the conclusion that where you were concerned, things was to be left alone. A sort of status quo, left undisturbed. Nevertheless, he stayed quiet. The silence worried Legolas.

“Father, I never meant any harm. — I know.”

He couldn’t face Legolas anymore, a veil covering his vision. The King felt the weight of the past years weighing him down, sitting in that chair behind this table, his future in the eyes of his only child. How much he had wished there had been other children with her. Legolas was as perfect now as he was when he was born but he was alone. He released a heavy sigh.

“Sit.”

Legolas obeyed, fearing something worse than a stern talking to.

“Nothing is ever meant to happen between…” The name on his tongue travelled down his throat to his heart. He chocked on it. “It is not meant to be, my son. Of my own fault. No harm can come to her. Not more than the one I have already done.”

Questions began plaguing the prince’s mind, almost wondering aloud what his father could have done to deserve your absence and his longing. In a way, those questions were answered shortly after he thought them up.

“I was the one who chased her away. — You…”

Thranduil’s hand stopped him. It barely lifted in the air, before resting again.

“In a very unkind manner. The behaviour I had was… Unworthy.”

No other words were necessary for he was one to choose them precisely. His close circle knew that. That knowledge was what made his son get up and look at him, with so much disappointment in his eyes he could have made his father drown in it if he so much as wished it. Legolas did not have any will in himself to do so. Instead, he channelled this frustration and shame into his words, chosen carefully as he had been taught to, many times before.

“Did you even try to talk with her? — No. — Why?”

His tone had taken a harsh turn, startling Thranduil in his immobility. No good excuse came to mind. He had been afraid and incapable of voicing his apologises. With you gone, gone was the possibility of redemption. Now that you were here again, he could try. Legolas’ mother was still in his mind, chastising him for his actions. He had come to accept that he would never forget her. That she would remain his conscience for the years to come, the years until his disappearance from this Earth. He had known her for so long, she would always be there. Telling him when he was doing wrong too. Even if it was with the voice of their only child, now grown, looking at him with something akin to violence in his eyes.

“She is out there, thinking she has done something wrong, when you could have freed her from that burden long ago. That, father, is not an unworthy behaviour. That is the behaviour of a coward. — How dare you speak to me in such a way? I am still your King… — Not as long as you behave like this, you’re not.”

He strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him. His words resonated against the walls and the mind of the one left behind. A deep frown settled on his forehead, erasing all traces of previous fury. A weary hand pinched his nose, narrowing his eyes at his own anger. In a careless gesture, Thranduil pushed everything off of the table before him. Papers, ink, quills… everything went flying across the room. The only thing left were his hands gripping the edges of the table, ready to throw it too. Soon, he found himself crying silent tears, trying desperately to stop them from falling. His hands were shaking, a whole body tremor going through him, as sobs escaped him. This had to stop. A knock at the door interrupted him in his misery. Quickly he composed himself and followed the council servant outside, attending absentmindedly the meeting he was supposed to preside over. Legolas’ absence thrust another surge of sadness, pure and raw, through him. His absence only making him think about yours. In this scenario, he could lose you both. He could have none of it.

Once the first rays of sunshine started disappearing behind the clouds and down the horizon line, his feet brought him to his son’s chambers. He had to at least try to make this right.

* Under the willow tree, you laid, head resting against the trunk, eyes up in the sky. Sleep would still elude you, in the most peaceful ways this time. The clouds were moving with the winds, hiding and showing the numerous constellations up above. A rustling of leaves brought you back to solid ground quickly. Someone had found your hiding place, of all the places in the palace.

“Legolas? What are you doing here?”

The shadow did not answer, only advanced and stepped in the moonlight. It was indeed Legolas, but his eyes were different. A solemn toll had taken hold upon them and it was strange, if not completely out-worldly to watch him be this serious.

“I fear, the same as you. I could not sleep. — How did you find me?”

He did not answer right away, throwing a glance behind him before looking back at you.

“I followed you.”

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. His steps had gotten more silent with the years, apparently. From your room to this place, you had not heard him once, not even in the gravel or the grass.

“Listen, I am here…” He hesitated a moment. “I did not meant to follow you. It was the only way. The most opportune one. There are things you need to talk about. I thought that if I was the first to show, you would feel less incline in running. — The first to show?” Fear ran through you. “What have you done Legolas? — I talked with my father.” Something sank within you. “About you.”

Your voice died in your throat. “I never meant to overstep my position, as your friend. I was worried about what he could have done to warrant such guilty actions from him. — What actions? Wait. Did he tell you…?”

Thranduil’s voice interrupted you both. His tall stature loomed over, albeit hunching over to pass through the leaves and come to you.

“Legolas, would you leave us for a moment, please.”

The gentleness in his tone surprised you. It seemed it was a normal occurrence for the Prince who reached and squeezed your arm reassuringly before leaving with a bow of his head.

“I believe we have much to talk about.”

Neither of you said another word, before he stepped forward and sat down next to you. It felt awkward to see your King in such an informal setting. You could see the discomfort it brought him to be this close to you. You were about to get up and go, when his hand pinned yours to the space between the two of you. Stunned, you looked at him straight on. He avoided your gaze at all costs, not taking the risk to say hurtful things again, out of spite. Out of fear.

“My rank demands an exemplary behaviour and it seems I have failed in that task.”

Your breath caught in your throat, you kept staring at his profile, making it hard for him to keep going. Through greeted teeth he added more words you never thought you would hear from him.

“My actions towards you were nothing short of ungraceful and puerile. You have my deepest apologies.”

Finally, he looked at you, tall and head held high. That was as far as he would go. Legolas might have had a hand in that forsaken apology. It was a needed humiliation, if he was to keep you in his court. With him. Near him.

“Sire, you have my sincerest thanks for this. There was no need for you to do so and you demonstrated a great kindness by this gesture.”

His face relaxed slightly, his jaw unclenching. His hand was still on yours. The feeling erupting from that meeting left you dizzy and energised at the same time.

“Was that all, Sire?”

Thranduil could see the hope on your face. Brows pulled down, frowning around your beautiful haunting eyes, lips pinched in a thin line. What took him over he would never know, for he did not recognise himself behaving like this.

“No. The kingdom is deeply grateful to have you back here with us. This land deserves excellency and perfection. That is why I can be demanding of my people. As well as of you.”

His hand gripped yours. You did not stop him from doing so, letting him finish his thoughts. He seemed to be needing it as much as you. A prickling in your eyes made you withdraw your hand for a moment to wipe it out. Your fingertips erased the tears down your cheeks, while your tongue felt as a leaded weight in your mouth.

“I understand.”

Only then did you put your hand over his, squeezing lightly. A sharp hope ran through him, a knife of helplessness felt deep in his bones. He did not want to recognise the feelings growing inside of him. He knew what they were anyhow.

“Thank you.”

Words ran away in the night. Your eyes found the sky again, the stars and the moon above lighting your way in the dark. He was staring. You could feel it. You kept on looking away, biting your lips and swallowing your tears down your throat. If this was what you could get, then you would take it. At least he was sorry. Your feelings, you could deal with on your own. Thranduil’s stare was boring into you with little care for his heartbeat accelerating. Here he was, sitting in the grass, in the middle of the night, watching someone he thought he had lost. Something to smile about, finally, he thought. He was committing to memory the shape of your nose. The curve of your chin. The apple of your cheeks, the soft trace of your eyebrows. The stubbornness and intelligence hiding in your eyes. As he did back when, his hand slipped down your cheek, bringing you to meet his eyes. He settled in your throat, slender fingers finding their place under your jaw. Half hooded eyes and a sharp inhale from your mouth were all it took for him to meet your lips. Slowly, both his hands came to cradle your face.

Then, you were the one to pull away. He frowned, trying to meet your eyes. You wouldn’t. Cradling his hand against your cheek, you pushed it away. Deep within, the restlessness of your heart had not gone quiet with his words. Only louder, the beating in your chest trashing around, begging to be freed.

“My lord, I… I understand. I really do understand what is at stake, here.”

You met his eyes, full of something you never thought you’d see again. Worry.

“Nonetheless, I want more.”

Thranduil opened his mouth to stop you. You stopped him first, the palm of your hand quietly overtaking his senses, when meeting with his face.

“This. What is happening here, I will not have it hidden away. I cannot. Not after this long. I…” You licked your lips, anxious at his reaction. “I belong to you. In whatever shape or form. But, if you give me this…” The skin of your thumb caressed down, meeting his lips. He had stopped moving. “There will be no going back. All out of the shadows. And, if you break my heart a second time, I will not be coming back.”

For someone with a patient talent for words, the King was left speechless. No proper sentence could carry his meaning. Only gestures, actions and demonstrations of his affection and commitment could. So he did. For the first time with you, he became hesitant, his mouth shaping itself around your throat, your open neck bathed in the moonlight. He clung onto your waist as one would a lifeline, your hands threading through his hair when he kissed you. His hunger and thirst for you was unmatched. Unparalleled. He had forgotten what that felt like.

That night, as many others afterwards, you found yourselves bound together, under the willow.

[littlejuicebox]

A growing brood.

Summary: Gale has just turned three years old and is adjusting to the idea of becoming a big brother. He and Astarion go out for a walk in the orchard, where the older man gets an opportunity to practice some of his stealth skills.

Tags/Warnings: all fluff, Dadstarion, parenthood, babies, mentions of pregnancy, brief mentions of Astarion’s past and trauma, idk what else

*

Gale is holding a toy sword he received on his birthday as he and Astarion walk along the back grounds of the manor. The child is swinging the wooden object haphazardly as he sings a babbled song his father can’t identify.

Astarion surveys the small orchard as they meander along the dirt path. He’d been sent here with the little boy at the request of his pregnant wife, tasked with determining whether or not the trees were ready to harvest. She currently stood on the balcony of their home, waiting for her husband’s signal. She wouldn’t make the trek out until then; it had to be worth navigating uneven ground and overgrown brush in her condition.

Picking fruit in the orchard had become Tav and Gale’s yearly autumn tradition. The first year they’d spent quite a bit of time introducing the little one to new fruits he had not yet tried.

Pregnant or not, she refused to miss the orchard harvest.

Astarion is secretly relieved when he determines nothing is quite ripe. He felt Tav was pushing herself too hard, going above and beyond to make their first born feel valued as he adjusted to the idea of siblings. But carrying the twins was starting to exhaust her and she desperately needed rest. She’d already overworked herself for Gale’s third birthday party just a week ago, despite Astarion’s protests.

The elf lifts his hand and shoots a ray of frost up into the sky. He knows his little love will see the signal and retreat back into the house. He hopes she will take a much needed nap now that their son is preoccupied with his father.

“CHARGE!” Gale shouts, running forward on two stubby legs with his toy sword in the air.

“Gale, don’t run in the orchard you’ll—“ Astarion starts, but before he can finish his chastisement the little boy’s foot gets caught on a particularly large tree root. He stumbles and falls onto his knees with a soft thud and a grunt of surprise. The toy sword clatters to the ground as Gale’s small hands extend in front of him to break the fall.

Astarion thinks they really need to dedicate outdoor clothes for the child. Traipsing around the orchard in gold threaded finery simply wouldn’t do. The older man’s eyes flutter toward the back of his head in exasperation as he walks over to the three year old calling, “Are you alright, Gale?”

The toddler stands back up, dusting off his hands. His previously pristine trousers are now caked in dirt and grass. He turns and nods to Astarion before responding, “I okay, Papa!”

A brood of their free-range chickens is clustered nearby, bawking as they peck at the ground searching for insects. The noise captures Gale’s attention and he forgets his sword, running towards the small cluster of birds.

“Chickens, guess what! I free years old now!” He shouts, holding his middle three fingers up to show the fowl his new age.

But as he approaches the chickens, they scatter off, deterred by the loud babblings of the boy. Gale huffs in disappointment. And then he shouts, “CHICKENS! Get over here now!”

The chickens bawk and run further away from the little boy, much to his chagrin. His shoulders sag dramatically as he pouts.

“You’d do well to learn that you’ll catch more flys with honey than vinegar, little prince.” Astarion lectures, coming up behind his son after scooping the forgotten wooden sword from the earth.

Gale blinks at his father, eyebrows crinkling in confusion, “But daddy, chickens doesn’t fly does they? My book say they doesn’t.”

The little prince was particularly fascinated by birds. At the child’s party a week ago, Gale of Waterdeep had gifted his namesake a set of twenty six children’s books listed A through Z, each covering the specifics of one bird. Astarion had just been held hostage by the three year old and forced to read “C” for chickens twice a few nights ago.

The elf had rushed through the first reading in an attempt to finish quickly and join Tav for a much needed tryst between mommy and daddy. Gale had refused to let him leave until he read the book properly.

“It’s an expression, Gale, it means— nevermind, it’s not important.” Astarion sighs, flailing his hand in a dismissive gesture. He isn’t about to waste his time explaining idioms to a three year old, “But maybe if you approach the chickens more quietly, they’ll come up to you.”

Gale considers this and then nods, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He begins walking toward the brood, trying desperately to be quiet. He’s just a few feet away when the chickens scatter again, clucking anxiously to one another. The careful movements of a three year old are still too noisy and abrupt for the birds.

The silver-haired boy groans in frustration.

“Watch me, Gale.” Astarion whispers as he hands the toy sword back to his son.

The elf crouches lower to the ground, easily engaging the predatory behavior he hadn’t used since turning mortal roughly four years ago. But the muscle memory alone allows him to silently and efficiently make his way to the group of chickens. Long-fingered hands dart out and quickly retrieve a spotted hen from the periphery of the brood.

Gale cheers before dropping the sword once again as he runs up to his father, wanting to examine the animal more closely. The rest of the flock members instantly run away when the little boy approaches, but he pays them no mind. Tiny fingers come out to gently pet the back of the bird.

“Good job, daddy!” The child exclaims, causing the older man to chuckle.

Astarion finds it entertaining that he is being praised for catching a harmless domesticated chicken. Gale truly had no idea that, only a few years ago, his father easily downed wild boars and a few bears with nothing but his fangs.

They’d purposely bought this estate on the outer edge of Rivington as a way to meet the nutritional needs of the prior vampire. In fact, Astarion had used the wild boar infestation in this very orchard to justify a lower price point from the seller and then quickly turned around and solved the problem with his hunting in a matter of weeks.

One day, Gale will know more about his father’s past.

But not today.

Today, Astarion is just a daddy catching a chicken.

Perhaps that’s who he truly is. Perhaps he doesn’t have to cling so hard to who he thought he was.

*

A light drizzle abruptly ended the walk in the orchard. Astarion scooped Gale up and hurriedly returned to the manor; the last thing he and Tav needed was the little boy catching a cold.

They were wearing a set of matching drenched curls when Astarion plopped his son on the back porch.

“Papa…” Gale starts, looking down at the toy sword he’s fiddling with in his hand, lost in thought.

“What is it, little prince?” Astarion asks as he removes his mud-caked boots before crouching to help his child do the same.

“When my other babies born,” He continues while lifting a leg, trying to help his dad remove the dirty shoes. The little boy had always referred to the twins as “my babies” and his parents simply shrugged it off as one of those strange things kids do, “You gonna love me, still, right, Papa?”

Astarion pauses.

Shit.

This was the type of sensitive, vulnerable, soft stuff that Tav usually handled so smoothly and Astarion felt sure he always fumbled.

The older man slowly places the child’s shoes down and then peers into his son’s round, emerald eyes. Gale was growing to be a much more sensitive and empathetic boy than Astarion had anticipated. The child might be the spitting image of his father, but his disposition certainly leaned more toward his mother.

It was something Astarion simultaneously feared and wanted to fiercely protect.

“Yes, Gale. I will still love you when your little brothers or sisters are born,” Astarion murmurs, bringing his hand up to gently brush it through his child’s unruly, wet curls, “You’ll still love me, won’t you?”

Gale nods and grins at his father as the worry in his little body fades away, “I love you always, daddy.”

The older man pulls his son into a hug, mostly to avoid Gale catching a glimpse of his father blinking back tears, “I will always love you, too, Gale.”

The elf lifts the little boy back up and heads into the house, planning to get them both into a fresh change of clothes.

The child may now be three years old and have two other siblings on the way, but whether he is three, thirty three, or three hundred… Gale will always be Astarion’s first baby.

And Astarion will always love his little boy.

[tedwardremus]

2024 Year In Review

This year I came back to fandom with a vengence I never knew was possible.

I published 336,619 words to AO3 in 2024 (This doesn't count my tumblr only fics/drabbles which is crazy to think about. )

I made Harry Potter Social Media AUs and moodboards

Had some fun with House Elf Hotties, ToadButter, and the @nenaandmeldetectiveagency

But most importantly this year has brought me new friends. I would tag you all and thank you for a wonderful year but I would be too embarssed and ashamed if I missed anyone. Please know that I love all of you and thank you for making this year fun.

In 2025 I look forward to finishing the Remadora Lighthouse AU, starting the sequel to Rage Against the Dying of the Light and continue my First War one shot series about the members of the Order of the Pheonix.

My 2024 fan fic review below the cut:

Rage Against The Dying Of The Light - In a universe where James and Lily Potter survive Voldemort’s attack on Halloween night. Most of wizarding society is enjoying newfound peace after a decade of war, except the young heroes who fought the war learn you can never really go back to the way things were before

Padfoot in Privet Drive - Sirius Black follows Harry to Privet Drive after the Triwizard Tournament.

Querencia - The time Lily, James, and Harry spent as a family in their little house in the West Country was far too brief, but it was overfilled with love, laughter, and, above all, life.

30 Times James Potter Thought He Was Going To Die and 1 Time He Did  - 31 microfics for Jilytober

It’s here. Now’s the time. I tell myself I’ll be fine -

It was a normal feeling to be nervous, a rite of passage for any mother or father. After all, eleven years old wasn’t that mature—children at that age were still so small, so dependent on their parents for guidance, comfort, and care.

Hope Lupin hugs her son goodbye before he boards the Hogwarts Express.

Interesting House Guests - (Or The time Sirius invited the lads to spend the week at Grimmauld Place)

Tipping The Scales - James helps Lily get back something that is hers from the Slytherin dorms.

Does Permanent Mean Forever? - It is James Potter’s seventeenth birthday, and to commemorate the occasion, he proposes to the gang that they go out and get tattooed.

Your Friend, James - It is the summer before their 7th year, and Lily and James spend the entire holiday writing letters to each other as their relationship slowly changes from friends to something more.

Rumor Has It  - Severus doesn’t believe the rumors that Lily finally agreed to go out with James Potter.

A Happy Thought - The 7th-year Defense Against the Dark Arts Class learns the Patronus Charm. James is shocked to learn what Lily’s Patronus is.

Awful Euphemisms- Lily and James exchange laughs while discovering a new level of intimacy.

An Academic Study of Dungeon Dwellers - It was common knowledge that when the weather turned warm, students were impossible to teach and used their precious free time to soak up the sun and enjoy the outdoors. Unless of course, you were the Girlfriendus Potterus, also known by her common name, Lily Evans, who—despite the migration of most students to the sun-drenched grounds—had yet to leave the castle’s confines.

The Office Party - Petunia hoped that staying in London for Christmas would make her seem important. She imagined her parents would talk about her endlessly, telling Lily all about her new, sophisticated life in the city. How big and important she’d become. She didn't imagine that she'd meet the love of her life while at the office Christmas party.

Three Lemons and a Dragon - Once upon a time there lived a Prince named James who had to save his father’s Kingdom by getting married. One day an older woman gifts him three lemons that will lead him to his true love.

Erasmus Lovegoods’s Guide to Brewing Love Potions -At the start of every school year, the Ministry of Magic distributed leaflets to all students taking potions classes regarding the regulations and legality of highly controlled potions.

I’ll Meet You After Dark - An Alternate Universe where the Statute of Secrecy hasn’t been enacted yet. Tensions between the magical and non-magical communities are high.

My dog said I can’t go out with you - Lily had been waiting patiently for James to ask her out for the first Hogsmeade weekend of the term. Sirius insists she turn James down so Sirius can hang out with her instead. (it’s all part of Sirius’ greater matchmaking plan)

Tranquil Solitude (Until You Came Along)- All Lily wanted to do was take a nice, quiet swim on a hot day. And then James Potter showed up. And Lily had already removed her clothes for the private swim.

Midnight Train To London - An escaped yeti causes a magical snow storm that leaves the Hogwarts Express stranded without any power. Head students Lily and James take charge and bring a little holiday cheer to the students trapped on the train.

Summer Fling Don’t Mean A Thing - Lily and James meet at a potions camp over the summer and have a fling. James promises to write to her when the summer is over, but he never does. Then Hogwarts hosts an academic competition inviting all the top students from around the country to attend, including students from Cockersand Coven Academy, the school that Lily happens to attend.

This Town Is Fake But You’re The Real Thing - Teen radio star Lily Evans works for a show on the wizarding wireless network called, The Marauders. The teen soap drama stars James Potter as an arrogant school jock and centers on the secret adventures of his friends in the forbidden forest as illegal animagus and a werewolf. The show’s antagonist, played by Severus Snape, left after a scandal, and now Lily has a romantic storyline with James in the final season of the show. Basically, her life is a disaster.

Field Study - Lily and James get left behind on a deserted island after A Care of Magical Creatures field trip.

These things that are pleasin’ you can hurt you somehow  - Lily is stuck in potions for a classroom disturbance she didn’t cause.

In walks James Potter who she had been avoiding all week.

White Winter Hymnals - Holiday themed jily snippets from age eleven to adulthood

Cuckoo (or the unwanted interloper baby in the nest)  - Sirius rescues Regulus from the cave and drops him off at the Potters house so he can clean up his brother’s mess. Regulus has an awful time…. until he doesn’t.

Katabasis- Snape gets hurt when he goes into the Shrieking Shack on the full moon. It is time for Remus to face the consequences.

Citius, Altius, Fortius – Communiter - Sirius is an Olympic athlete competing in the wizard pentathlon, James is a quidditch player, and Lily is a sports reporter. The three of them meet at the Olympic Village. And well, you know what happens at the Olympic Village…

Finding Your Magical Roots  - The Black Family welcomes the reality show Finding Your Magical Roots into their home to film a special episode.

101 Padfoots - An accident in potions class results in 101 Padfoots running around Hogwarts while Lily and James work together to round them all up

She Faced Danger, But Never Feared It  - Dorcas Meadowes is a healer at St. Mungo’s who specializes in emergency healing. A grandmother in her 60s who believes in caring for all members of the magical community. She is recruited by Albus Dumbledore to join the Order after she publishes and article in the Daily Prophet arguing that the rise of dark magic is a public health crisis.

When Death Would Not Come - Moody and the others will be here soon. Just endure for one more minute. Thirty more seconds. Five more seconds. As long as Neville was okay, she could endure anything.

Goodbyes and Surprise Greetings - Ginny’s brothers have abandoned her at the Burrow while they go to school or leave the country. But then she gets a surprise visitor.

The Past is a Bucket of Ash - Over burnt photographs, Harry had a late-night chat with Sirius about his family history.

Our Troubles Are Miles Away - “Would you like to unwrap your present?” she whispered into his ear, her voice low and teasing, yet so tender it made him ache.

He hesitated. He shouldn’t. He knew better.

(Remus and Tonks have a small Christmas celebration while everyone else is asleep at Grimmauld Place.)

To Guinevere - The New Year's Eve party at Grimmauld Place was a complete bore. But then Ginny walked into the room with a basket of homemade cards.

The Parting Glass - The last full moon, Moony and Padfoot spend together.

Retrouvaille (or the happiness of meeting someone you love after a long time)- The times Sirius and Harry reunited and the times they were forced to say goodbye.

Attinge - Harry shaves his head after the battle. Only Ginny understands why.

Secret Garden - Neville plants Hannah a secret garden on the roof of the Leaky Cauldron. She wants to show him how grateful she is for the gift.

Burnt Cookies - Hannah keeps burning cookies as she gets ready for the Leaky Cauldron’s Halloween party.

Luckily, Neville is there to comfort her.

Tinsel In Her Hair - Neville helps Hannah decorate the Leaky Cauldron for Christmas. He notices something shiny in her hair.

1994 Quidditch World Cup  - Harry wants only one thing for his fourteenth birthday: tickets to see the final match of the Quidditch World Cup. Well, two things if you count his sudden desire to kiss Ginny Weasley.

A Time To Mourn - Sirius Black, recently declared innocent by the Ministry of Magic, visits his godson on Halloween.

Feels Like Home To Me - Snippets inside the Potter family home

Werewolf Registration Act of 1947 - A history of magic essay helps Teddy understand his deceased father a littler bit better.

Tethered - Teddy and Vic discover the isolated and deserted Hogwarts boathouse to be the perfect place to be alone together.

It’s All About The Timing - James Sirius Potter has wanted to ask Ellie Longbottom out since he was twelve years old. Unfortunately, he can never get the timing right.

Know Your Roots- Albus Potter is unsure if helping Uncle Neville repot moonwort plants is part of detention or a lame attempt at godfather and godson bonding. It might be both.

Acting Professional - Teddy wants to see Victoire’s new office while at a work event.

Ginny’s Very Serious Investigation - When Luna casually mentions in the postscript of her latest letter that she got married, Ginny is not having it. Who the hell is Rolf Scamander, and why is Luna marrying him without any prior warning?

Snuffles & Son - Sirius raises Harry and opens a shop that specializes in repairing cursed artifacts and places protection wards on family heirlooms. One day, an Unspeakable from the Department of Mysteries walks in with a cursed artifact from his cousin’s confiscated Gringotts vault, requesting Sirius’s assistance.

Be Not Afraid Of Greatness - A collection of Frank Longbottom stories

Without A Trace - Babies don’t just disappear without a trace

The Lighthouse - There is an old fishing town off the jagged rocky coast covered in permanent fog and a broken lighthouse that is no longer able to bring ships safely to shore. Tonks travels to the forgotten place to record an episode of her popular podcast. Imagine Tonks' surprise when she arrives at the abandoned lighthouse and comes face to face with its kind yet lonely keeper—Remus.

[apoloadonisandnarcissus]

Why am I still reading so many people believing that Galadriel actually “shut the door” on Sauron!? Did you all miss the part where he stabbed her above her heart with Morgoth’s crown and, in the next scene, he’s mind communicating with her!?

This is the scene that starts Sauron’s “grouping” of Galadriel’s mind not her “closing the door” on him.

‘I know what it was that you last saw,’ she said; ‘for that is also in my mind. Do not be afraid! But do not think that only by singing amid the trees, nor even by the slender arrows of elven-bows, is this land of Lothlórien maintained and defended against its Enemy. I say to you, Frodo, that even as I speak to you, I perceive the Dark Lord and know his mind, or all of his mind that concerns the Elves. And he gropes ever to see me and my thought. But still the door is closed! The Fellowship of the Ring, Book II, Chapter 7: "The Mirror of Galadriel"

This only happens in the Third Age, thousands of years after Season 2 finale. Galadriel can't "close the door" on Sauron, on her own. She doesn't know how. She didn't even kick-out her magical arc, yet. And when she says “the door is shut”, Sauron wrecks that door wide open by having them bind together via Morgoth’s crown.

And why is everyone ignoring "Dark Galadriel"? In the Third Age she can walk between the Seen and Unseen world, and is a powerful elf-witch. Did you all see any of this happening in "Rings of Power", already? The correct answer is: not yet.

Tolkien describes Galadriel "dark form" in "The Mirror of Galadriel" chapter: [she] stood before Frodo seeming now tall beyond measurement, and beautiful beyond enduring, terrible and worshipful.

Peter Jackson took this to the next level, and drew inspiration of Glorfindel's form in the Unseen World, when fighting the Nazgûl (in the "Fellowship of the Ring", his role is taken by Arwen), and we see it again when she fights Sauron in Dol Guldur:

Caught between fire and water, and seeing an Elf-lord revealed in his wrath, they [the Nazgûl] were dismayed, and their horses were stricken with madness.

I thought that I saw a white figure that shone and did not grow dim like the others. Was that Glorfindel then?' 'Yes, you saw him for a moment as he is upon the other side: one of the mighty of the Firstborn. He is an Elf-lord of a house of princes.  Gandalf and Frodo talk about Glorfindel's form in the Unseen World (Frodo was able to see it because he had the One ring on). The Fellowship of the Ring, Book II, Chapter 1: "Many Meetings"

[a-very-sparkly-nerd]

Rayllum Month 2024! (3/13)

he's got hands that make hell seem cold

July 5th - Hands/Touch-starved

~

Callum had grown up affectionate. Hugs traded around like coins, so much love made plain and clear and simple just in the way he ruffled Ezran’s hair, how he tickled his sides, how Ezran would sometimes wordlessly plop into his brother’s lap with a dramatic sigh.

So, Rayla figured–hoped–it would continue. Hoped he wouldn’t mind her… clinginess.

She’d never been one to half-ass things; go big or go home. So she stretched out on the couch in Callum’s room as he sketched, picking up a book and kicking her legs up in his lap as nonchalantly as she could manage.

“Hey,” he said pleasantly, tossing her a gentle smile, and Rayla couldn’t decide whether she liked it or not.

“Hi.”

“How was your day?” As he spoke, Callum took her ankles and settled his arm over them to get more comfortable with his sketchbook, the simple motion sending tingles through Rayla’s legs and all the way up to her spine.

She shrugged, studying the book written in some old flowery tongue. Blech. “Boring.”

He smiled with amusement, lacing fingers through hers. “I would’ve thought your crazy-cool slish-slashing could never be boring.” He drew her closer, looping an arm around her shoulders and letting her head rest on his.

Yeah, it definitely continued. He’d definitely cuddle her, hug her, whatever she asked. Color rose to her cheeks, and Rayla hoped her voice didn’t wobble as she said, “It can get monotonous.”

He grinned. “Hey! You used my big word!”

Suddenly Rayla wasn’t sitting on his couch, but standing back on the Cursed Caldera two years ago with terror snapping her spine straight, cracking jokes and being dumb with him, Ezran, and Ellis and Ava. She smiled, too, carding a hand through his hair. “I figured you could use a win.”

Sketchbook abandoned, Callum turned to look at her with a raised eyebrow and huge, dorky smile. “I’m pretty sure I’m winning right now. A beautiful elf in my lap…”

“Oh, I disagree,” Rayla teased, heart beginning to pound in her chest, her throat, her wrists. “This isn’t in your lap. This”–she shifted so she sat on his lap, not straddling him but sitting sideways and praying she hadn’t gone too far–“is in your lap.”

He put an arm around her waist, head going to her shoulder. “My mistake, then. What are you up to now?”

She turned on the baby-adoraburr eyes, ones she remembered Callum never once being able to refuse in that too-brief time they’d had to be senseless idiots. “Cuddling you?”

Callum kissed her nose, his fingertips skirting under her shirt to hold her waist, so close to her hips that Rayla’s breath hitched. “You certainly are.”

“I missed you,” she decided to comment, hoping against hope it wouldn’t lead to Big Feelings Time. Gods knew they needed it, but she just wanted to sit here and be held by her prince–if he was even hers anymore–until long after she fell asleep– preferably for eternity.

He nodded somberly, twiddling a braid between his thumb and forefinger. “I missed you, too.” A hand found just above her knee, technically her thigh but not quite, not the way she would’ve welcomed. “What’s this about?”

“I just…” Rayla glanced down and shrugged. “Want to catch up on cuddles.”

Body flush against hers, Callum finagled her so her head rested against his chest, hugging and rubbing circles into her back. “Always. I’m always up for cuddles.”

Rayla sighed, settling and letting her weight fall on him. Letting him support her in more ways than one.

Read more on AO3!

[faeriichaii]

hellooo, i love your writing could i please request angst to fluff where legolas is frustrated and busy he calls reader clingy so the reader sort of distances themselves? no rush ofc but keep up the amazing work 🫶🫶🫶

Words like Poison ~ Legolas x Elf!Reader

A/N: Hii!! Omg thank you so much <33 I haven't written anything with angst in such a long time so I am very very excited haha 🥰Also I hope you don't mind that reader is an elf :) Ngl I accidentally wrote like a bit of a different plot at first and like halfway through I was like 'no this is totally not the request??' So yeah haha I guess I did like 2 in 1 just that the other is only the start of smth and this is like a complete thing :)

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Warnings: fluff, lil bit angst ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Words: 1.1k ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Request: Yes (thank you <33) ࿐ྂ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ Meleth Nin ~ My Love ࿐ྂ

Summary: Your beloved prince is stressed and busy with his duties. So, when you approach him to try and lighten the mood, he lets his frustration out on you.

You were walking towards the library of Mirkwood, as you spotted a familiar head of white blonde hair entering said room. Legolas and you have known each other since your childhood. Both of you constantly playing with each other, weaving flower crowns or painting each other some pictures. Even as the two of you grew older, you never ceased to spend time together. Either reading a book or eating some fruits in the garden while enjoying the sun. Or reading about the history of Middle Earth, as well as chores you had to fulfil in your positions. Nothing could stop you two from being with each other and working through it together.

It was only natural that after a while your heart skipped a little more every time you saw him. The warmth that brushed your cheeks every time you two sat a little too close. Or the way the butterflies swirled around in your tummy when he looked at you with his beautiful captivating eyes. It didn’t take Legolas long to notice that your attitude towards him shifted. He also noticed how your smile made his day a little brighter than normal and how your laugh made his body feel warm and content with love.

So, at one beautiful spring evening he asked you if he could braid your hair and of course you obliged. Ever since then the bond between the both of you only strengthened. However, nowadays you rarely catch a glimpse of the elven prince. He was constantly hiding away either in the study room of his father, king Thranduil, or in the library. You haven’t even seen him in a week, so you decided to approach the library and try to find Legolas. Opening the wooden doors, you entered into the enormous room, filled with books and scrolls. Your eyes landed on your prince, who was sitting on one of the many tables. Books were piling up on the side. A smile formed on your lips as you approached him.

“Meleth Nin, I have been missing you.” You said gently, trying not to startle Legolas. His gaze quickly darted to you, before moving back to the book in front of him. “I am sorry, but I really am very busy at the moment.” He said, writing down into the notebook. “I know, but you have been working day and night and I barely got a moment with you.” Pulling out a chair, you sat beside him. Silence settled between the both of you. You pulled out your own book and read a few words, before your attention drifted back to the prince. “If you want to we could go-“ “(Y/N) stop whining around! I told you I was busy and I really can’t deal with your clingy attitude at the moment.” Your lips parted as you felt little cracks form into your heart. You tried to say something, anything, but nothing came out. The lump in your throat prevented you from uttering anything in your defence. Your eyes started to burn slightly as the words Legolas spat into your direction settled into your mind and travelled through your whole body, encasing you in utter sadness and discomfort. Quickly packing your book back into your bag you wiped away the few tears that spilled from your eyes. “I apologize your majesty. I will leave you to it.” No warmth was left in your voice as you turned around and quickly left the library, the soft mutter of your name from Legolas lips following you out.

Days passed and you haven’t seen the prince anywhere. Most of the day you spend cooped up in your chambers, reading or trying to fill the canvas with colour. However, your mind was too jumbled up to remember the sentences on the pages, neither could you focus on what to draw. A sigh left your lips as you decided to take a walk around the beautiful garden of Mirkwood. Walking along the stone path your fingers gently brushed against the petals of the Hortensia bush. Your heart still ached at the harsh words Legolas said and at the distance you tried to keep between the both of you. It was hard not constantly seeing him or sharing your experiences of the day with him. “Meleth Nin…” Your eyes widened as you noticed that Legolas suddenly stood in front of you. His gaze was filled with sadness, as he looked at you. “My prince.” Your tone was cold, as you tried to sidestep him. However, he had something else in mind as he gently grasped your wrist. “Please (Y/N) hear me out.” His hand moved lower from your wrist, in order to entangle his fingers with your own. “I am so sorry about what I said.” Your eyes locked with his own, as you got lost in the beautiful shimmer of them. “I should have never said that you were clingy. Meleth Nin, I love you.” His free hand grasped your cheek gently. Warmth spread from his touch through your body, your heart skipping a beat with glee. You missed Legolas. You missed him dearly.

“I can’t stand the silence between us. I can’t stand that we are apart more than just a few hours. My soul and heart belong to you and I ache for you every second we are apart. Please Meleth Nin, forgive me.” His forehead touched yours, as he leaned towards you. “I love you.” After these words left his lips, you leaned into him and gave him a kiss. Your hands held the back of his neck softly, while his moved from your face to your waist, holding you close. His lips were soft against yours. His touch was gentle, as he lets his finger trail from your waist to your back to pull you even closer. As if he was scared that you might slip through his grasp. “I love you Legolas. But please, never utter these words to me. You hurt me deeply.” You said, after the tow departed from your kiss.

“I will never say something like that to you again. I am sorry, really, I am. I just was so stressed and overwhelmed with the workload my father gave me.” A sigh left his lips, still holding onto you. You put a hand on his cheek, softly stroking his face with your thumb. He leaned into your touch. “I know it has been hard for you, but please tell me if something is going on next time.” A smile graced your lips, as the prince gently nodded before pulling you in for another loving kiss.