Kiss With a Fist | R | Harry Potter
Title: Kiss With a Fist
Prompt: Kiss With a Fist by Florence and the Machine
Fandom: Bellatrix/Hermione, Harry Potter
Requested by: take_itback
Rating: R
Word Count: 588
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: This is set after the Malfoy Manor scene in HP and the Deathly Hallows. Also…this turned out a little darker than I intended and may be triggery for some. I hope I managed to do all right with this…little one has been pestering me to write something for this pairing and this is what I came up with. I've never written this character before, so I'm a wee bit nervous. Let me know what you think.
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She screams for what feels like hours. She shrieks until her throat is hoarse and it burns, but she welcomes it. She deserves the pain. She’s let him down again. Again. She was punished but somehow, it’s not enough. It’s never enough.
When the piercing pitch of her wail becomes cracked and raw, she slams her fists against the wall. Her anger and shame swell to the point of overflowing. The feelings consume her and she cannot control the pounding of her fists against the stone. Sharp edges tear at the tender flesh of her knuckles and wrists. She feels nothing.
Bellatrix smells the blood before she sees it.
She stops her futile assault and watches the harsh red fluid bubble to the surface of her translucently white flesh. She supposes she should be thankful that she rid herself of her dagger; Cissy would not have approved if she had utilized it to expend her frustrations.
She begins to pace, her long legs swiftly carrying her from one end of the room to the other. Her body remembers this prowl from her time in Azkaban, the endless motion to pass the hours until she would once again be free. She remembers the stale, acrid stench of her cell, the screams of the others, the dormant state of the dark mark upon her forearm. Though she served her time willingly in his honor, the hell of those hollow, hopeless days still strikes a buried chord within her and she screams again. She crouches down, covering her ears from the sounds of her own cries, and tries not to think of the fury in his eyes when he discovered they escaped.
They will pay. Bellatrix will not suffer this hell without knowing that retribution lies in the future. The girl, the Mudblood, will inherit this madness once she is once more within her grasp.
She thinks of the girl again, unable to control the surge of heat that prickles between her legs as she recalls the fear in her eyes. Bellatrix loathes her desire and yet revels in the paradoxical sensation. The girl is beautiful despite being poisoned by dirty blood. The delicious sounds of her screams still echo within the death eater’s ears and her mouth curls into a sneer-like smile. The scent of her fright had been intoxicating. The pleading, terrified look in her eyes had made her blood pump faster. The trembling of her body as it was trapped beneath her own had aroused Bellatrix past the brink of sanity.
She will keep this desire to herself like an open, infected wound. She tells herself that it has nothing to do with the young witch and everything to do with her helpless agony. The blade of her dagger at the girl’s throat, the curses issued by her wand, the slaps inflicted by her own hand-those were the kisses she’ll never need to give. Physical pleasure is nothing without the aphrodisiac of fear. Those are the kisses that make her burn. Those are the kisses that engulf her with unsatisfied, crazed longing.
Bellatrix slides her fingers into her tangled hair, pulling and twisting until her scalp stings. She banishes the face of the escaped Mudblood and focuses instead on the pain. It will see her through another night.
She will see this girl again. When that time comes, she does not intend to let her leave. The Mudblood will be tormented, tortured, taken, tasted, and teased until she too is drowning in the fierce clutches of delirium.
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Prompt: Kiss With a Fist by Florence and the Machine
Fandom: Bellatrix/Hermione, Harry Potter
Requested by: take_itback
Rating: R
Word Count: 588
Disclaimer: Not mine. Wish they were. Please don't sue.
Author's Note: This is set after the Malfoy Manor scene in HP and the Deathly Hallows. Also…this turned out a little darker than I intended and may be triggery for some. I hope I managed to do all right with this…little one has been pestering me to write something for this pairing and this is what I came up with. I've never written this character before, so I'm a wee bit nervous. Let me know what you think.
-
She screams for what feels like hours. She shrieks until her throat is hoarse and it burns, but she welcomes it. She deserves the pain. She’s let him down again. Again. She was punished but somehow, it’s not enough. It’s never enough.
When the piercing pitch of her wail becomes cracked and raw, she slams her fists against the wall. Her anger and shame swell to the point of overflowing. The feelings consume her and she cannot control the pounding of her fists against the stone. Sharp edges tear at the tender flesh of her knuckles and wrists. She feels nothing.
Bellatrix smells the blood before she sees it.
She stops her futile assault and watches the harsh red fluid bubble to the surface of her translucently white flesh. She supposes she should be thankful that she rid herself of her dagger; Cissy would not have approved if she had utilized it to expend her frustrations.
She begins to pace, her long legs swiftly carrying her from one end of the room to the other. Her body remembers this prowl from her time in Azkaban, the endless motion to pass the hours until she would once again be free. She remembers the stale, acrid stench of her cell, the screams of the others, the dormant state of the dark mark upon her forearm. Though she served her time willingly in his honor, the hell of those hollow, hopeless days still strikes a buried chord within her and she screams again. She crouches down, covering her ears from the sounds of her own cries, and tries not to think of the fury in his eyes when he discovered they escaped.
They will pay. Bellatrix will not suffer this hell without knowing that retribution lies in the future. The girl, the Mudblood, will inherit this madness once she is once more within her grasp.
She thinks of the girl again, unable to control the surge of heat that prickles between her legs as she recalls the fear in her eyes. Bellatrix loathes her desire and yet revels in the paradoxical sensation. The girl is beautiful despite being poisoned by dirty blood. The delicious sounds of her screams still echo within the death eater’s ears and her mouth curls into a sneer-like smile. The scent of her fright had been intoxicating. The pleading, terrified look in her eyes had made her blood pump faster. The trembling of her body as it was trapped beneath her own had aroused Bellatrix past the brink of sanity.
She will keep this desire to herself like an open, infected wound. She tells herself that it has nothing to do with the young witch and everything to do with her helpless agony. The blade of her dagger at the girl’s throat, the curses issued by her wand, the slaps inflicted by her own hand-those were the kisses she’ll never need to give. Physical pleasure is nothing without the aphrodisiac of fear. Those are the kisses that make her burn. Those are the kisses that engulf her with unsatisfied, crazed longing.
Bellatrix slides her fingers into her tangled hair, pulling and twisting until her scalp stings. She banishes the face of the escaped Mudblood and focuses instead on the pain. It will see her through another night.
She will see this girl again. When that time comes, she does not intend to let her leave. The Mudblood will be tormented, tortured, taken, tasted, and teased until she too is drowning in the fierce clutches of delirium.
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