Daily Deviant
- there is no such thing as 'too kinky'
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4th August 2011 09:28 - FIC: Mine [Bella/Ginny, NC17]
Title: Mine
Author/Artist: [info]sabethea
Characters/Pairings: Bella/Ginny
Rating: NC17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: body writing, worship of dark witches
Other Warnings: AU, dub-con, bloodplay
Word Count: ~1700
Summary/Description: Voldemort won the war. Pure-blood survivors from the Order of the Phoenix were parcelled off as 'prizes' to favoured Death Eaters. Bellatrix Lestrange chose Ginny Weasley; a choice which she has no reason to regret.
Author's Notes:1. For my very very lovely [info]missingkeys, with grateful thanks for her fab betaing skills.
2. For those who wonder where I've sprung from, I used to post as [info]iamisaac.





The first time, Bella cuts a slit in Ginny’s wrist with her wand, then uses the end of the wand to dip into the blood, watching the deep burgundy drip slowly from the tip. The word is wildly – almost madly - drawn, in large red letters across Ginny’s pale belly. MINE. Over the course of days, the blood changes colour. It turns from darkest burgundy to rusty red before Bella allows Ginny to wash the markings off; until that point, she watches secretly as Ginny looks into the mirror, tracing the letters with a shaking finger over and over again.

Since then, she has carved her name – Bellatrix - on Ginny’s inner thigh; the scars show up raised and violent red. Ginny’s right shoulder again says “mine”, this time in an indelible black with letters smaller and neater than the original. Bella wants eternity, eternal markings claiming Ginny as her own. She doesn’t believe in love - it is a word designed to trap and ensnare the weak - but Ginny is hers and hers alone. Even her Lord would not be suffered to take Ginny from Bella, though she is wise enough to keep this knowledge silent, hidden even from that greatest of legilimens.


And Ginny submits to it all without complaint, with a docility which contrasts strongly with the defiance and hate she spits at all else who come. Her eyes are dreamy and dazed when she is with Bella, and she allows Bellatrix to do what she will with her. It took Bella a long time to comprehend that look in Ginny’s eyes. She is used to people looking at her with fear, with hatred; occasionally (in the case of the Dark Lord) with approval. Ginny’s gaze holds none of those. It was months before Bella recognised it for what it was - sheer, pure lust.

“Are you mine, little girl?” Bellatrix murmurs in Ginny’s ear, standing behind her and running her hands down Ginny’s shoulders and arms.

“No,” Ginny says, as she always does.

But her voice is unconvincing, and Bella thinks that now she does not even try to pretend the word is true. Ginny leans back against Bella, resting her head on the older woman’s shoulder. Smiling, Bellatrix brings her arms around Ginny to cup the girl’s breasts in her hands.

“I think you’re mine, Ginevra. All mine.”

There is a hitch in Ginny’s breathing as she leans her head back further to meet Bella’s eyes.

“Prove it,” she whispers.

A challenge or a plea? Bella finds she does not care which it is.

“Oh, I’ll prove it, little girl,” she promises. “Undress for me, Ginevra.”

Ginny turns to face Bella, shrugging her robes off slowly and deliberately, her eyes never leaving Bella's. Bella watches each new centimetre of flesh appear, looking for her word, her claiming word, as Ginny bares her shoulders to Bellatrix's gaze. For the first time, Bella wonders what it must be like to be Ginny – to have been claimed as a 'prize' in the apocalyptic ending to the Great Battle, when Bella's Lord had become Lord and Master of All. Bella has taken and taken and never thought what it might be like to lose. After her years in Azkaban, it was unthinkable that she should be forced to face failure again. Bella put those years behind her, closed off, never to be remembered. It has driven her forward to fight, to scheme, to win.

And Bella looks at the pretty little prize she won. Pretty Ginny Weasley, auburn hair curling over her shoulders and that look – oh, that look in her eyes. Ginny's pert, high breasts are exposed now... perhaps they will be the next place for Bella to mark as her own. The pink nipples are erect, their colour so bright compared to the creamy white of her skin. Bella feels a tendril of desire uncurling in her groin; a familiar wetness that for so long she associated only with killing and death. She may – no, she will – hurt Ginny, but she would never kill her. Never.


Not even for the Dark Lord, says the tiny treasonous voice in her head; but Bellatrix quells it. Her Lord has no reason to want Ginny dead; he is generous enough to his servants to wish Bella happiness if she can find it in the arms of a now not-so-innocent girl.

Ginny drops the robe around her feet, and Bella in a moment of tenderness reaches out and just brushes her fingertips over Ginny's body, from those peaked nipples down to the auburn thatch hiding Ginny's vulva, Ginny's clit. Ginny moans, and Bella knows now that it is not with fear. Everything is forgotten except Ginny, Ginny's body, the things that Bella will do to Ginny's body. Bella takes a hissed breath of anticipation, which is immediately mirrored by Ginny.

“Come here, little girl,” Bella says, the gentle fingertips turning to the scratch of one sharp nail across Ginny's belly.

The redness seeps immediately into Ginny's skin where Bella has touched; rather than moving back, Ginny pushes herself further onto that cruelly sharp fingernail, silently begging for more. Bella gathers her in, and tilts Ginny's head up to take possession of her mouth in a kiss which is all about possession and nothing about love. Bellatrix doesn't believe in love. She believes in desire, in passion, in taking everything that is offered and then that little bit more. She bites down on Ginny's lower lip, making it bleed; then she licks the blood and raises a finger to her mouth to admire the effect of Ginny's blood against her skin. Ginny, too, licks the sore patch; and then moves her tongue deliberately around her lips so that she looks as if she is wearing bright blood lipstick.

Whilst Bella is admiring the beauty of her bleeding, Ginny moves a step back, running her own hands over her lithe body. For the first time, her eyes leave Bella's face: Ginny has tilted her head right back, eyes closed and her chest heaving with the shallow breaths she is taking. Bellatrix knows what Ginny wants, and where once she would have refused her for that very reason, now she moves forward to bite hard into Ginny's throat, sucking at it so that there will be a mark which will last for days. Ginny moans her pleasure, and Bella feels that moan as it travels through Ginny's neck, then enjoys it again as she hears it. The little Weasley girl is good; who would have thought what a clever choice it was which Bellatrix made all that time ago? Ginny rubs herself against Bella's body, pushing up close; and Bella gathers in her prize, warm and wanting as it is, against her own angular body.

But it is too much and too little in one. A muttered spell by Bella takes her own clothes from her, and she holds Ginny close against her nude form. Ginny murmurs incomprehensively, and sighs. Her hands flutter down Bella’s back and clasp her bottom, pulling Bella back to her.

“Mine. Mine.” And Bella leans back enough to be able to trace the word with her nail on Ginny’s breast.

“No one’s,” murmurs Ginny.

“Kneel, Ginevra.”

Ginny kneels in front of Bellatrix, running her hands up Bella's legs and raising her head so that her mouth can close around Bella's clit. Bella has schooled her red-head well: Ginny knows precisely the pressure, the angle, the motions to bring her mistress to her climax. Bella's hands tighten in Ginny's hair and her eyes close, but she makes no sound as she rides out the waves of the orgasm the younger woman has brought her.

“What a good girl,” Bella purrs when she has control of herself again. Ginny still looks dazed – almost drugged. Bellatrix watches as one of Ginny's hands is raised to her own breast, massaging the lower side until her nipple stands out firmer than ever. “Do you deserve a treat, little girl?

“Mmm.” Even Ginny's voice is dreamy.

With a swiftly spoken incantation, the table on one side of the room is transformed into a bed, black silky sheets covering it. A second spell places Ginny on the dark sheets, which set off the pallor of her body in beautiful contrast. Her auburn hair looks almost obscene: a bright flash of colour against the otherwise stark black-and-whiteness. Ginny is fully formed woman, she is beautiful – and she is Bella's.

Bella traces a finger through the red curls at the apex of Ginny's thighs, and Ginny rocks her hips forward in pleasurable anticipation. Bella's hand slips lower, parking the creamy wetness of Ginny's vulva and sliding one finger inside her girl.

“Yes,” pleads Ginny.

“You are mine?” Bellatrix asks, the palm of her hand teasingly laid against Ginny's clitoris.

The dazed brown eyes have a glint of fire in them. “No.”

“No?” Bella moves inside Ginny, back and forth, up and down.

Ginny quivers on the edge of climax, her fingers closing convulsively on the black sheets.

“Please,” she says.

“Are you mine, little girl?” Bellatrix asks again, as she allows Ginny to come.

There is a moment's breathless pause in the millisecond before Ginny's orgasm overtakes her. In the heat of her spasms, however, Ginny has time for one word. “No.”

Afterwards, Ginny's fingers tremble on the crease of her left arm. Bella hears a whispering which sounds like a spell, and she frowns. Ginny Weasley is forbidden magic: all the 'prizes' are. She leans forward to pull Ginny's arm away, but the girl is already removing her hand. Bella looks down at the spot where Ginny's fingers touched. IT is the place where Bellatrix herself, like all the Death Eaters, has her dark mark. For a second, Bella wonders whether her Lord has somehow, for some reason, granted the girl entry to that select group. Then the blackness moves into a readable form. Where Bella has the snake mark, Ginny has one word.

Bellatrix.
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