"Irresistibility"
Challenge: Dark!fic - what happens to a half-veela when she goes into heat?
Title: Irresistibility
Author: redcandle17
Beta: angylinni
Summary: Sometimes Fleur wishes she wasn't beautiful.
Warning: Non-explicit gangrape.
Word Count: 1,260
Rating: R
Fleur Delacour is beautiful. Her beauty, some believe, is enough to ensure a perfect life. What more could a witch, or any woman, want? Her face can draw a husband who possesses the wealth she was not born into. It inspires the admiration of everyone who sees her. When combined with her magical talents, her beauty would seem to guarantee her happiness.
Beauty is a curse. That's what Fleur's half-veela mother told her. Fleur was five years old at the time and she didn't quite understand, but Mother never elaborated.
She learned for herself eventually, though. Beauty was a curse. It drew men like spilled honey draws ants at a picnic. Like a swarm of ants intent on absorbing every drop of sweetness, men surround her. They want to devour her. It scares Fleur.
True, she uses her beauty to her advantage. A smile makes teachers forgive her late homework. A pretty pout persuades sales clerks to give her a discount on fashionable robes. She can make herself irresistible to men, and she uses her power to attract the ones she wants.
But she's only one quarter-veela. She doesn't have all the powers veelas have. She can't make herself look ugly and birdlike; can't frighten away the most insistent of the unwanted men. And she can't control the heat.
Full-blooded veelas don't feel the heat. They don't feel anything for human men unless they let themselves. Half-bloods, however, suffer from a particular quirk of genetics. They go into heat once every menstrual cycle. It's the price of their supernatural beauty. Once a month their bodies demand sex. It only lasts a couple of hours, but during that time, they will spread their legs for any and every man they encounter.
Most quarter-bloods aren't affected by the heat. Fleur is one of the unfortunate ones.
She was eleven years old when she bled for the first time. She meant to write home and tell her mother, but she was busy and she forgot.
Two weeks later, she was attentively taking notes in Charms class when it happened. Her body started burning. It was vaguely pleasurable, but mostly it hurt. She wanted something, but she didn't know what it was. She needed something.
Michel, the boy sitting behind her, grabbed her by her long, silver hair and kissed her. It was her first kiss. The class stared and laughed. She was lucky most of the boys had not yet started puberty; lucky that the teacher was a woman.
Madame Bernadette forcibly separated Fleur and Michel. She had to use a full body bind to stop Michel from tearing Fleur's clothes open. Contact with Michel had ameliorated Fleur's need. She tried to reach him, desperate to touch him again.
Madam Bernadette slapped her and called her a dirty name. Her classmates gasped in shock, but Fleur didn't care. She only cared about feeling Michel's body against hers. She fought Madam Bernadette, even biting her arm.
The teacher used a stunning charm on her and levitated her to Madam Maxine's office.
Madame Maxine summoned the nurse and helped her force a sleeping draught down Fleur's throat. When Fleur awoke, she was told what had happened.
When Fleur started Beauxbatons, her mother had sent Madame Maxine a letter about the affliction that she might suffer. Her mother recommended that Fleur be given a sleeping potion to take whenever she felt the heat beginning. Mother said sleeping potions were the way she dealt with the problem herself. Fleur wondered why her mother never told her, but she never dared to ask.
It took months for her classmates to forget about the incident. Fleur couldn't look Michel in the eye. He tried to talk to her, but she avoided him. She was already aware that she'd ruined her reputation. Older boys, even sixteen and seventeen year olds, became interested in her. They stared at her; sent her notes that made her blush; brushed against her in the hallways. The other girls in her class were jealous. Fleur pretended to be flattered, but she was frightened.
Fleur never missed a dose of her sleeping potion. She dreamt while she slept, dreams that made her body burn almost as badly as the heat did while she was awake. Dreams were safe, but sometimes, as she grew older, she wondered what it would be like to lose control. She would never do it, though.
What happened at Hogwarts was an accident. The stress of the tournament wrecked her body's natural cycle. She went into heat a week before she should have.
She was walking in the gardens alone, but trailed by the entourage of besotted boys to whom she had become accustomed. She was pondering a way to survive underwater for an hour when she felt the effects. She didn't have her potion with her.
She tried to hurry back to the carriage, but the boys got in her way. They were also feeling the effects of the heat. She was irresistible to them. They could no more stop themselves from forcing her to the ground and tearing off her clothes than she could stop herself from wrapping her legs around one of them and kissing another.
She lost count of how many boys there were. Some of them were young men her own age, but others were mere little boys. She moaned while one of them fucked her, and found another forcing himself into her mouth.
She wasn't getting enough air. Thankfully the boy didn't last long. None of them did. There were so many of them, too many; yet it wasn't enough. Her body would not stop craving them. Her wand was only two feet away and she was a talented witch. But she had no desire to stop them. She wanted this.
The heat ended before the last of the boys finished, but Fleur was too weary to push him away. He thanked her before he left; others had merely vanished. She laid there, watching the clouds move across the sky, obscuring the stars.
It was only when the thought occurred to her that maybe the boys had told others, who'd come looking for her, that Fleur was motivated to get up. She used several cleaning charms, and although they made the boys' filth and evidence of her own lust disappear, she still felt dirty. Now that her body was no longer in the grip of the heat, it hurt.
She didn't want to go back to the carriage. There wasn't enough privacy. People would see her; they would know. But she couldn't stay in Hogwarts's flower garden all night. It was cold.
There was no light shining from under Madam Maxine's door, but Fleur knocked anyway. She had to knock a second time before she heard a reply.
Madam Maxine sounded irritated, but as soon as she saw Fleur, the irritation was replaced by pity.
"Better to be what I am than what you are, girl," she murmured, before gathering Fleur to her massive bosom.
Fleur cried.
She made sure she was never alone again. And no matter the time of the month, she always carried a vial of sleeping potion with her. Better to collapse unconscious in the hallways than repeat what she'd done.
There were no rumors. Perhaps the boys were ashamed of themselves. Or perhaps no one wanted to upset her by repeating rumors in her presence. Whatever the reason, Fleur was grateful. She couldn't forget, but it made it easier to try.
Fleur is beautiful, but sometimes she wishes she was not.
End
Title: Irresistibility
Author: redcandle17
Beta: angylinni
Summary: Sometimes Fleur wishes she wasn't beautiful.
Warning: Non-explicit gangrape.
Word Count: 1,260
Rating: R
Fleur Delacour is beautiful. Her beauty, some believe, is enough to ensure a perfect life. What more could a witch, or any woman, want? Her face can draw a husband who possesses the wealth she was not born into. It inspires the admiration of everyone who sees her. When combined with her magical talents, her beauty would seem to guarantee her happiness.
Beauty is a curse. That's what Fleur's half-veela mother told her. Fleur was five years old at the time and she didn't quite understand, but Mother never elaborated.
She learned for herself eventually, though. Beauty was a curse. It drew men like spilled honey draws ants at a picnic. Like a swarm of ants intent on absorbing every drop of sweetness, men surround her. They want to devour her. It scares Fleur.
True, she uses her beauty to her advantage. A smile makes teachers forgive her late homework. A pretty pout persuades sales clerks to give her a discount on fashionable robes. She can make herself irresistible to men, and she uses her power to attract the ones she wants.
But she's only one quarter-veela. She doesn't have all the powers veelas have. She can't make herself look ugly and birdlike; can't frighten away the most insistent of the unwanted men. And she can't control the heat.
Full-blooded veelas don't feel the heat. They don't feel anything for human men unless they let themselves. Half-bloods, however, suffer from a particular quirk of genetics. They go into heat once every menstrual cycle. It's the price of their supernatural beauty. Once a month their bodies demand sex. It only lasts a couple of hours, but during that time, they will spread their legs for any and every man they encounter.
Most quarter-bloods aren't affected by the heat. Fleur is one of the unfortunate ones.
She was eleven years old when she bled for the first time. She meant to write home and tell her mother, but she was busy and she forgot.
Two weeks later, she was attentively taking notes in Charms class when it happened. Her body started burning. It was vaguely pleasurable, but mostly it hurt. She wanted something, but she didn't know what it was. She needed something.
Michel, the boy sitting behind her, grabbed her by her long, silver hair and kissed her. It was her first kiss. The class stared and laughed. She was lucky most of the boys had not yet started puberty; lucky that the teacher was a woman.
Madame Bernadette forcibly separated Fleur and Michel. She had to use a full body bind to stop Michel from tearing Fleur's clothes open. Contact with Michel had ameliorated Fleur's need. She tried to reach him, desperate to touch him again.
Madam Bernadette slapped her and called her a dirty name. Her classmates gasped in shock, but Fleur didn't care. She only cared about feeling Michel's body against hers. She fought Madam Bernadette, even biting her arm.
The teacher used a stunning charm on her and levitated her to Madam Maxine's office.
Madame Maxine summoned the nurse and helped her force a sleeping draught down Fleur's throat. When Fleur awoke, she was told what had happened.
When Fleur started Beauxbatons, her mother had sent Madame Maxine a letter about the affliction that she might suffer. Her mother recommended that Fleur be given a sleeping potion to take whenever she felt the heat beginning. Mother said sleeping potions were the way she dealt with the problem herself. Fleur wondered why her mother never told her, but she never dared to ask.
It took months for her classmates to forget about the incident. Fleur couldn't look Michel in the eye. He tried to talk to her, but she avoided him. She was already aware that she'd ruined her reputation. Older boys, even sixteen and seventeen year olds, became interested in her. They stared at her; sent her notes that made her blush; brushed against her in the hallways. The other girls in her class were jealous. Fleur pretended to be flattered, but she was frightened.
Fleur never missed a dose of her sleeping potion. She dreamt while she slept, dreams that made her body burn almost as badly as the heat did while she was awake. Dreams were safe, but sometimes, as she grew older, she wondered what it would be like to lose control. She would never do it, though.
What happened at Hogwarts was an accident. The stress of the tournament wrecked her body's natural cycle. She went into heat a week before she should have.
She was walking in the gardens alone, but trailed by the entourage of besotted boys to whom she had become accustomed. She was pondering a way to survive underwater for an hour when she felt the effects. She didn't have her potion with her.
She tried to hurry back to the carriage, but the boys got in her way. They were also feeling the effects of the heat. She was irresistible to them. They could no more stop themselves from forcing her to the ground and tearing off her clothes than she could stop herself from wrapping her legs around one of them and kissing another.
She lost count of how many boys there were. Some of them were young men her own age, but others were mere little boys. She moaned while one of them fucked her, and found another forcing himself into her mouth.
She wasn't getting enough air. Thankfully the boy didn't last long. None of them did. There were so many of them, too many; yet it wasn't enough. Her body would not stop craving them. Her wand was only two feet away and she was a talented witch. But she had no desire to stop them. She wanted this.
The heat ended before the last of the boys finished, but Fleur was too weary to push him away. He thanked her before he left; others had merely vanished. She laid there, watching the clouds move across the sky, obscuring the stars.
It was only when the thought occurred to her that maybe the boys had told others, who'd come looking for her, that Fleur was motivated to get up. She used several cleaning charms, and although they made the boys' filth and evidence of her own lust disappear, she still felt dirty. Now that her body was no longer in the grip of the heat, it hurt.
She didn't want to go back to the carriage. There wasn't enough privacy. People would see her; they would know. But she couldn't stay in Hogwarts's flower garden all night. It was cold.
There was no light shining from under Madam Maxine's door, but Fleur knocked anyway. She had to knock a second time before she heard a reply.
Madam Maxine sounded irritated, but as soon as she saw Fleur, the irritation was replaced by pity.
"Better to be what I am than what you are, girl," she murmured, before gathering Fleur to her massive bosom.
Fleur cried.
She made sure she was never alone again. And no matter the time of the month, she always carried a vial of sleeping potion with her. Better to collapse unconscious in the hallways than repeat what she'd done.
There were no rumors. Perhaps the boys were ashamed of themselves. Or perhaps no one wanted to upset her by repeating rumors in her presence. Whatever the reason, Fleur was grateful. She couldn't forget, but it made it easier to try.
Fleur is beautiful, but sometimes she wishes she was not.
End