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hp_shoreofangst2021-06-01 08:50 pm
themightyflynn) wrote in hp_shoreofangst2021-06-01 08:50 pm
Entry tags:
[Fest Fic} Bleeding Thorns, (Rose/Draco, Explicit)
Prompt: Het18 (from the doc)
Title Bleeding Thorns
Author/Artist:
Rating: E
Type: Fic
Word Count/Medium: 1346
Warnings or Content: Explicit descriptions of marital abuse and sexual abuse. Blood kink. Non-con/dub-con.
Disclaimer: All characters and worlds are the property of their respective owners. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended. I own nothing that you recognise. All characters depicted in sexual situations are above the age of consent. The story is not intended to justify or glorify abuse or rape.
Notes: I had fun writing this, and I hope I did the prompt justice! The themes got quite dark, so please heed the trigger warnings.
Summary: He always wanted the mother but her blood was never pure. The daughter on the other hand, is more then acceptable.
......
Rose held her breath as the door opened. She wondered to herself for what must be the millionth time, how could it all have gone so wrong?
She remembered the first day they met, the soft, almost worshipful look in his eyes. His steel-grey eyes had changed much over the past few months, but she could still see the slight hints of the desire he had for her. The only difference was that it was now obscured by the layers and layers of so much more.
The strange thing was that she had once wondered if it was not her, but her mother that he had been interested in, in the beginning. They would have been well matched, the traitorous part of her mind used to say. But he had allayed those fears, telling her that he was only interested in her, and that her mother was most unsuitable for him. She wondered if he would have behaved the same way with her mother.
“Rose,” he cooed, the odd but familiar lilt of his voice sending shivers down her spine. “Rose,” he said again, louder.
“Draco, please,” she begged. Her response only seemed to spur him to action, and he flicked his wand a few times, causing her robe to disappear, her hands to fly up of their own accord, and fall neatly into the waiting handcuffs that then snapped shut. Once upon a time, she used to find his skill with nonverbal magic fascinating, especially when he cast complicated spells, some even of his own making. She would never have guessed it would become the bane of her life.
Her lover walked up to her now immobilised body and pulled her closer.
“You smell of roses, like wafts of French perfume,” he whispered into her ear. Tears welled up in her eyes as she thought of how romantic she had first found those very words. Her current state resulted from being scrubbed down by a house-elf on Draco’s orders earlier; his obsession with her purity choking her even in his absence.
He pulled away from her slightly, still close enough to breathe her in, and held out a knife, the metal glinting a beautiful silver. The sharpness of the blade matched his eyes, and the silver and green swirls of the handle made bile rise in her mouth. She would forever associate those colours with him and the despicable ideals he stood for.
“Did you miss me, my darling?” he called out. His deep voice, one that she used to daydream about, echoed off the walls of the well-furnished room. She did not reply, holding her stance defiantly.
“Well? Did you?” he asked again, this time not as kindly. His hand was at her throat, gripping, tilting her head upwards and exposing more of her neck, full of scars at various degrees of healing. His other hand held the tip of the knife very carefully against the soft skin of her throat.
“Yes,” she managed to mutter out. The tip felt cold against her skin, but it was his hands that felt positively freezing. “Yes, I did,” she replied, with no feeling in her words.
Draco still looked displeased, perhaps at her delay. “Good,” he hissed back with some venom. “Then perhaps you missed this too.” He had barely finished speaking when a bloom of pain began to spread out from her throat. He had cut her. Not deep enough to sever the artery, but certainly deep enough to hurt. And more importantly, bleed.
The pain made Rose open her mouth to scream, but did not make a sound. She had long since learned that it would lead nowhere and cause him further pleasure and enjoyment, a joy she did not wish to provide, and had so trained herself to silently suffer with every slash.
“Good girl,” he moaned. She could see the tent in his pants as he moved his head back closer to her. The sting of his warm, insistent, tongue on the still-fresh wound made her nearly cry out again. “You have such lovely blood, my dear,” he remarked as he hungrily licked her blood and swirled his tongue around, and his other hand snaked its way downwards, over her warm stomach and towards her core. His hands felt like ice against her.
“Well, it looks like someone isn’t enjoying it quite so much. Perhaps we ought to fix that.” He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his wand again. He ran the long wooden stick along her folds, eliciting a slight response from her, however involuntary. Smiling, he then suddenly shoved it inside her, and muttered some words she could not catch, but knew already. The now-familiar, but still distasteful warmth spread through her insides, emanating at the tip of the wand. She would have never imagined needing a spell simply to want him. He was so gentle, so warm, so charming at first.
Immediately, her body reacted to the spell. A small rational part of her now-hazy mind wondered, yet again, why she was not immune to its effects yet. Draco hummed in joy as he pulled his wand away, now wet and covered in her juices. He moved his hand back towards her cunt. His touch sent jolts of electric pleasure through her, causing her to instinctively lean forward into his hand despite her unwillingness.
The spell continued to spread through her body, and when Draco tugged her nipple with his other hand, she nearly lost her mind with the jolt of pleasure it sent arcing through her body.
She felt helpless and guilt-ridden, even ashamed, as she continued to gain pleasure from her situation: Draco’s hands on her nipple and her clit, and his mouth at her throat, causing her more pain and pleasure with every stroke. Despite everything, he knew her body too well, a remnant of the time she had been in love. Tears began to flow freely down her face.
A large tear fell on his cheek, startling him for a second. He looked back at her, And then leaned onto her face, licking her tears aways and leaving bloodstains from his lips instead.
“Clearly,” he hissed, sounding angry, “you need further encouragement, don’t you?” Saying as much, he slid two of his fingers inside her, causing her to throw her head back with a panting, animal moan. When she reopened her eyes to look at him, she saw that he had that crazed look on his face again.
He pulled away from her nipples for a moment, and she saw him move his wand again. Before she could realise what was happening, her feet were spread apart by a metal bar, which ended in two leather cuffs. As the cuffs tightened, Rose struggled to hold back a scream, as she felt a sharp, piercing pain all around her ankles. The insides of the cuffs were lined with spikes that dug into her, piercing her flesh, and soon enough, there were rivulets of blood running down her feet. This was new torture, no doubt a recently acquired implement. The pain and pleasure from her humiliation, her injuries, and his fingers coursed through her body, leaving her disoriented.
Draco knelt by her feet, and ran his hand across the slick trickles of blood, while continuing to finger her. His fingers had blood on them when he lifted them from her toes. Blood that he looked bewitched by, before putting his fingers in his mouth and sucking it off. He met her eyes as he did so, his actions disgusting her, but causing her to become wetter and wetter against her wishes.
“You could never taste like a mudblood, love, despite Granger. You’re too pure.” Rose winced at his words, remembering why he truly chose her, instead of her mother. She felt nauseous at the very thought, his maniacal look not helping her to be anymore at ease.
“Happy anniversary, love,” he grinned, his expression betraying the horrors he had planned for the rest of the night, precisely one year since her nightmare began.
----------------------------------
Title Bleeding Thorns
Author/Artist:
Rating: E
Type: Fic
Word Count/Medium: 1346
Warnings or Content: Explicit descriptions of marital abuse and sexual abuse. Blood kink. Non-con/dub-con.
Disclaimer: All characters and worlds are the property of their respective owners. No profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended. I own nothing that you recognise. All characters depicted in sexual situations are above the age of consent. The story is not intended to justify or glorify abuse or rape.
Notes: I had fun writing this, and I hope I did the prompt justice! The themes got quite dark, so please heed the trigger warnings.
Summary: He always wanted the mother but her blood was never pure. The daughter on the other hand, is more then acceptable.
......
Rose held her breath as the door opened. She wondered to herself for what must be the millionth time, how could it all have gone so wrong?
She remembered the first day they met, the soft, almost worshipful look in his eyes. His steel-grey eyes had changed much over the past few months, but she could still see the slight hints of the desire he had for her. The only difference was that it was now obscured by the layers and layers of so much more.
The strange thing was that she had once wondered if it was not her, but her mother that he had been interested in, in the beginning. They would have been well matched, the traitorous part of her mind used to say. But he had allayed those fears, telling her that he was only interested in her, and that her mother was most unsuitable for him. She wondered if he would have behaved the same way with her mother.
“Rose,” he cooed, the odd but familiar lilt of his voice sending shivers down her spine. “Rose,” he said again, louder.
“Draco, please,” she begged. Her response only seemed to spur him to action, and he flicked his wand a few times, causing her robe to disappear, her hands to fly up of their own accord, and fall neatly into the waiting handcuffs that then snapped shut. Once upon a time, she used to find his skill with nonverbal magic fascinating, especially when he cast complicated spells, some even of his own making. She would never have guessed it would become the bane of her life.
Her lover walked up to her now immobilised body and pulled her closer.
“You smell of roses, like wafts of French perfume,” he whispered into her ear. Tears welled up in her eyes as she thought of how romantic she had first found those very words. Her current state resulted from being scrubbed down by a house-elf on Draco’s orders earlier; his obsession with her purity choking her even in his absence.
He pulled away from her slightly, still close enough to breathe her in, and held out a knife, the metal glinting a beautiful silver. The sharpness of the blade matched his eyes, and the silver and green swirls of the handle made bile rise in her mouth. She would forever associate those colours with him and the despicable ideals he stood for.
“Did you miss me, my darling?” he called out. His deep voice, one that she used to daydream about, echoed off the walls of the well-furnished room. She did not reply, holding her stance defiantly.
“Well? Did you?” he asked again, this time not as kindly. His hand was at her throat, gripping, tilting her head upwards and exposing more of her neck, full of scars at various degrees of healing. His other hand held the tip of the knife very carefully against the soft skin of her throat.
“Yes,” she managed to mutter out. The tip felt cold against her skin, but it was his hands that felt positively freezing. “Yes, I did,” she replied, with no feeling in her words.
Draco still looked displeased, perhaps at her delay. “Good,” he hissed back with some venom. “Then perhaps you missed this too.” He had barely finished speaking when a bloom of pain began to spread out from her throat. He had cut her. Not deep enough to sever the artery, but certainly deep enough to hurt. And more importantly, bleed.
The pain made Rose open her mouth to scream, but did not make a sound. She had long since learned that it would lead nowhere and cause him further pleasure and enjoyment, a joy she did not wish to provide, and had so trained herself to silently suffer with every slash.
“Good girl,” he moaned. She could see the tent in his pants as he moved his head back closer to her. The sting of his warm, insistent, tongue on the still-fresh wound made her nearly cry out again. “You have such lovely blood, my dear,” he remarked as he hungrily licked her blood and swirled his tongue around, and his other hand snaked its way downwards, over her warm stomach and towards her core. His hands felt like ice against her.
“Well, it looks like someone isn’t enjoying it quite so much. Perhaps we ought to fix that.” He slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out his wand again. He ran the long wooden stick along her folds, eliciting a slight response from her, however involuntary. Smiling, he then suddenly shoved it inside her, and muttered some words she could not catch, but knew already. The now-familiar, but still distasteful warmth spread through her insides, emanating at the tip of the wand. She would have never imagined needing a spell simply to want him. He was so gentle, so warm, so charming at first.
Immediately, her body reacted to the spell. A small rational part of her now-hazy mind wondered, yet again, why she was not immune to its effects yet. Draco hummed in joy as he pulled his wand away, now wet and covered in her juices. He moved his hand back towards her cunt. His touch sent jolts of electric pleasure through her, causing her to instinctively lean forward into his hand despite her unwillingness.
The spell continued to spread through her body, and when Draco tugged her nipple with his other hand, she nearly lost her mind with the jolt of pleasure it sent arcing through her body.
She felt helpless and guilt-ridden, even ashamed, as she continued to gain pleasure from her situation: Draco’s hands on her nipple and her clit, and his mouth at her throat, causing her more pain and pleasure with every stroke. Despite everything, he knew her body too well, a remnant of the time she had been in love. Tears began to flow freely down her face.
A large tear fell on his cheek, startling him for a second. He looked back at her, And then leaned onto her face, licking her tears aways and leaving bloodstains from his lips instead.
“Clearly,” he hissed, sounding angry, “you need further encouragement, don’t you?” Saying as much, he slid two of his fingers inside her, causing her to throw her head back with a panting, animal moan. When she reopened her eyes to look at him, she saw that he had that crazed look on his face again.
He pulled away from her nipples for a moment, and she saw him move his wand again. Before she could realise what was happening, her feet were spread apart by a metal bar, which ended in two leather cuffs. As the cuffs tightened, Rose struggled to hold back a scream, as she felt a sharp, piercing pain all around her ankles. The insides of the cuffs were lined with spikes that dug into her, piercing her flesh, and soon enough, there were rivulets of blood running down her feet. This was new torture, no doubt a recently acquired implement. The pain and pleasure from her humiliation, her injuries, and his fingers coursed through her body, leaving her disoriented.
Draco knelt by her feet, and ran his hand across the slick trickles of blood, while continuing to finger her. His fingers had blood on them when he lifted them from her toes. Blood that he looked bewitched by, before putting his fingers in his mouth and sucking it off. He met her eyes as he did so, his actions disgusting her, but causing her to become wetter and wetter against her wishes.
“You could never taste like a mudblood, love, despite Granger. You’re too pure.” Rose winced at his words, remembering why he truly chose her, instead of her mother. She felt nauseous at the very thought, his maniacal look not helping her to be anymore at ease.
“Happy anniversary, love,” he grinned, his expression betraying the horrors he had planned for the rest of the night, precisely one year since her nightmare began.
----------------------------------