100 Moments
folder
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
100
Views:
10,610
Reviews:
52
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
100
Views:
10,610
Reviews:
52
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Black
Title: Black
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Drabble
Warnings: DubCon, Dark!fic, M/F, first time.
Summary: #18 – Black. After tonight, she would not longer be a Black.
Word Count: 995 words.
Author's Notes: Drabble: a slice of fic in less than 1500 words.
Prompt 18 – Black
“Don’t rip it!”
He disobeyed as he ripped the ties of her corseted dress, his large hands wrenching away the offending fabric that kept him from the deathly white skin he had wanted to touch.
He had promised himself that his wedding night would be the night he released his pent up frustrations upon her. For years, he wanted her, only to be told that she was “saving herself.” What utter tripe. Bellatrix Black had been entertaining some hope that he, Rodolphus Lestrange, knew would never come true.
They had married at the behest of their parents. There were proud tears, firm handshakes; the blood purity of their family lines had been affirmed.
When he ripped her skirts open, she cried out. He knew that she had enjoyed the roughness of his touch, but had no clue as to how rough he was going to be when he finished tearing away her wedding dress.
Bella, as he had always called her in school, was mad. Very much like her aunt Walburga Black, Rodolphus knew that the only way he could insinuation himself into her mad brain was in imprint himself deep inside Bella’s body. He would breech her maidenhead, and never let her forget that he was her husband.
Their relationship had always been strained in school. Rodolphus was a handsome boy, black eyes, black hair, fair skin, and Bella—Bella had been the mad Black sister. She was not pretty, not handsome like Andromeda or Narcissa, but she was intelligent beneath the insanity that marred her features.
Grasping her long, black hair, Rodolphus threw Bella’s small frame into the bed that would be theirs for the rest of their marriage. The Lestrange Lodge was Rodolphus’ now that he was married, having dispatched his father the year before with a few drops of poison in Radaghast Lestrange’s usual evening goblet of elf wine.
Bella was nude on the white bedding, her skin almost indistinguishable for the sheets. As she twisted on the bed, Rodolphus was confronted by her blazing, angry eyes, and dark nether curls, he wondered if his cock could get any harder. He had wanted this for a long time.
To fuck a Black—he grinned and he shrugged out of his robes and toed out of his shoes. Bella’s eyes watched him, her red painted mouth curling downward. Bella was the only Black sister who had not lost her virginity in school, but Rodolphus was going to take it.
When he kissed her, she tried to bite him.
It was clear that she truly did not care for him, she had protested the marriage, but knew that there was no better alternative. Rabastian would not have Bella in a manner that would allow Bella to live long after her wedding night. Rodolphus knew Bella would not stand much of a chance with his brother no matter how mad she was. In the very least, in his black heart, Rodolphus cared for Bella.
“You will submit,” he growled, pulling away from their slightly bloody kiss.
Bella spat a curse and tried to hit him, but Rodolphus crushed his weight down upon her, his large right hand trapping her thin wrists together between their bodies.
“You will submit, and I will make you something more than the mad Black sister. I will fuck you, you will bleed, and for that point on, you will no longer be a Black. You will be my wife…” he growled, his breath hot upon her face.
Bella’s eyes widened as Rodolphus jerked her to sit up on the bed, he moving with a practiced grace, his muscles rippling under pale skin appearing gold in the candlelight of the bed chamber.
Bella whimpered as she found herself straddling Rodolphus’ hips, trying to put as much distance between herself and the thick, erect cock pointing upward from the black curls around the base.
Rodolphus smirked. Bella should be afraid, he thought. He did not care if she were aroused, did not care if she loved him, he was going to make her bleed, and have her taste it off his cock later. The perversity should suit her, he thought.
Holding her wrists with one hand, he shifted so that in a moment he would push her down upon him—impale her, kill her with a rending of thin flesh.
She spat another curse as the tip of his cock brushed along her slit, finding only a small bit of moisture there. When he found the notch of her pelvis and the tight orifice of her pussy, he wedged the tip inside.
“I hate you!” she hissed, trying uselessly to twist away. She was too small, too weak to ever escape him.
“Not for long…” he whispered malevolently as he grasped her hip.
“No…” she whispered, her lips trembling.
“Too late, my dear,” he answered.
And with a grunt, Rodolphus pushed her down while rising up. There was a pop and a tremble, and suddenly, he was inside Bella. He ignored her howl and cry, his hand crushing her wrists together at the sheer heavenly sensation of her body around his. He felt more moisture, knowing that it was her blood, but still he began to move. What did he care about her pain? She had been his source of pain for so long.
When he finally released her wrists, Bella seemed to reciprocate a bit more, moving her hips to meet his while he maneuvered her to her hands and knees. He held her bony hips, thrusting mercilessly into her tight, small body, grasping the back of her hair roughly to thrust more soundly.
She still cursed him, and he knew she would for sometime yet. Blacks were proficient at cursing, but as he stared at the bumps of her curved spine, he smirked at the thought that before long Bella would crave his touch, and that, after that night, she was not a Black any longer. She was his.
Author: ianthe_waiting
Rating: MA
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and their characters are the property of JK Rowling. This is a work of fan-fiction. No infringement is intended, and no money is being made from this story. I am just borrowing the puppets, but this is my stage.
Genre: Drabble
Warnings: DubCon, Dark!fic, M/F, first time.
Summary: #18 – Black. After tonight, she would not longer be a Black.
Word Count: 995 words.
Author's Notes: Drabble: a slice of fic in less than 1500 words.
Prompt 18 – Black
“Don’t rip it!”
He disobeyed as he ripped the ties of her corseted dress, his large hands wrenching away the offending fabric that kept him from the deathly white skin he had wanted to touch.
He had promised himself that his wedding night would be the night he released his pent up frustrations upon her. For years, he wanted her, only to be told that she was “saving herself.” What utter tripe. Bellatrix Black had been entertaining some hope that he, Rodolphus Lestrange, knew would never come true.
They had married at the behest of their parents. There were proud tears, firm handshakes; the blood purity of their family lines had been affirmed.
When he ripped her skirts open, she cried out. He knew that she had enjoyed the roughness of his touch, but had no clue as to how rough he was going to be when he finished tearing away her wedding dress.
Bella, as he had always called her in school, was mad. Very much like her aunt Walburga Black, Rodolphus knew that the only way he could insinuation himself into her mad brain was in imprint himself deep inside Bella’s body. He would breech her maidenhead, and never let her forget that he was her husband.
Their relationship had always been strained in school. Rodolphus was a handsome boy, black eyes, black hair, fair skin, and Bella—Bella had been the mad Black sister. She was not pretty, not handsome like Andromeda or Narcissa, but she was intelligent beneath the insanity that marred her features.
Grasping her long, black hair, Rodolphus threw Bella’s small frame into the bed that would be theirs for the rest of their marriage. The Lestrange Lodge was Rodolphus’ now that he was married, having dispatched his father the year before with a few drops of poison in Radaghast Lestrange’s usual evening goblet of elf wine.
Bella was nude on the white bedding, her skin almost indistinguishable for the sheets. As she twisted on the bed, Rodolphus was confronted by her blazing, angry eyes, and dark nether curls, he wondered if his cock could get any harder. He had wanted this for a long time.
To fuck a Black—he grinned and he shrugged out of his robes and toed out of his shoes. Bella’s eyes watched him, her red painted mouth curling downward. Bella was the only Black sister who had not lost her virginity in school, but Rodolphus was going to take it.
When he kissed her, she tried to bite him.
It was clear that she truly did not care for him, she had protested the marriage, but knew that there was no better alternative. Rabastian would not have Bella in a manner that would allow Bella to live long after her wedding night. Rodolphus knew Bella would not stand much of a chance with his brother no matter how mad she was. In the very least, in his black heart, Rodolphus cared for Bella.
“You will submit,” he growled, pulling away from their slightly bloody kiss.
Bella spat a curse and tried to hit him, but Rodolphus crushed his weight down upon her, his large right hand trapping her thin wrists together between their bodies.
“You will submit, and I will make you something more than the mad Black sister. I will fuck you, you will bleed, and for that point on, you will no longer be a Black. You will be my wife…” he growled, his breath hot upon her face.
Bella’s eyes widened as Rodolphus jerked her to sit up on the bed, he moving with a practiced grace, his muscles rippling under pale skin appearing gold in the candlelight of the bed chamber.
Bella whimpered as she found herself straddling Rodolphus’ hips, trying to put as much distance between herself and the thick, erect cock pointing upward from the black curls around the base.
Rodolphus smirked. Bella should be afraid, he thought. He did not care if she were aroused, did not care if she loved him, he was going to make her bleed, and have her taste it off his cock later. The perversity should suit her, he thought.
Holding her wrists with one hand, he shifted so that in a moment he would push her down upon him—impale her, kill her with a rending of thin flesh.
She spat another curse as the tip of his cock brushed along her slit, finding only a small bit of moisture there. When he found the notch of her pelvis and the tight orifice of her pussy, he wedged the tip inside.
“I hate you!” she hissed, trying uselessly to twist away. She was too small, too weak to ever escape him.
“Not for long…” he whispered malevolently as he grasped her hip.
“No…” she whispered, her lips trembling.
“Too late, my dear,” he answered.
And with a grunt, Rodolphus pushed her down while rising up. There was a pop and a tremble, and suddenly, he was inside Bella. He ignored her howl and cry, his hand crushing her wrists together at the sheer heavenly sensation of her body around his. He felt more moisture, knowing that it was her blood, but still he began to move. What did he care about her pain? She had been his source of pain for so long.
When he finally released her wrists, Bella seemed to reciprocate a bit more, moving her hips to meet his while he maneuvered her to her hands and knees. He held her bony hips, thrusting mercilessly into her tight, small body, grasping the back of her hair roughly to thrust more soundly.
She still cursed him, and he knew she would for sometime yet. Blacks were proficient at cursing, but as he stared at the bumps of her curved spine, he smirked at the thought that before long Bella would crave his touch, and that, after that night, she was not a Black any longer. She was his.