Inell's Fanfiction Archive

Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep

She comes to him in his nightmares.

Visions of black and red, darkness and blood, haunt his sleep every night. He knows her touch here in this realm. She is pale and brittle, sharp angles and skin pulled taut over her bones, but she is not fragile. Her hands are strong, her nails pointed, and she moves with a graceful ease that is as fleeting as a ghost. Her hair is an unruly mess of raven and silver, sometimes gleaming and luxurious and sometimes matted and dry.

She lures him with a promise of retribution, the need for revenge driving him further and further until he is no longer on solid ground. She takes him then, when her madness surrounds him and he no longer knows who he is or why he’s there. Neville. Whispers in his mind as she scratches and bites, memories of his parents lying in their beds with four white walls making them look even more pale and helpless, she is to blame.

There is a soft hiss of air as she moves the blade over his bare skin, and her tongue laps at the wound until he forgets what he remembers. Bellatrix.

I Pray the Lord My Soul to Keep

The whip cuts through the air and breaks his skin. She laughs, a husky cackle that haunts his waking moments, and he whimpers as he waits for more. Curses fall from her broken lips like a lover’s secrets, spilling into his ear as she breaks him and makes him hers. Crucio.

Heat and pain; his world turns white as he arches forward, invisible bonds tightening around his wrists. He shudders and convulses, his stocky frame barely supported by his legs as he feels the dark magic of the curse consume him. Her fingertips dance over his damp flesh, painting an image only she can see with the blood on his back, and another curse falls from red lips as she presses her frail body against him.

The magic barely holds him as he writhes in pain, in ecstasy, in surrender. Her breasts rub against his back and her nails scratch his belly as she feels him tremble from her curse. Her grip is strong as her fingers wrap around his heavy cock. He is throbbing with need, the head swollen and leaking all over her palm. Good boy.

Another lover’s whisper against his shoulderblade and he feels energy flow through him until he feels invincible. It is overwhelming and he groans as his body shakes from the powerful magic. Her teeth scrape his skin and she delights in his offering to her.

Her mouth is wet and hot as it envelops his cock; he sees only darkness and her when his eyes open. She scratches his thighs as she licks him from base to tip, lapping at his wet slit until his hips thrust forward. Her mouth curves into a hideous smile that fails to hint at the sexy smirk of her youth. Her lips are out of place on her thin face, too full and red for death, which is how he sees her.

She is his death and he is her willing sacrificing.

If I Should Die Before I Wake

Memories float through his mind, nagging at him, trying to make him remember. Neville repeats in rhythm to his heartbeat but he does not pay attention. It is nothing more than a name, nothing more than an awkward boy that does not belong in this realm. Here he is hers and she is his downfall.

Her tongue licks the underside of his cock, wet and slick as it slides across rigid flesh. Her dark eyes pin him in place and he knows she has the power. Proof of her control is etched across his skin in cuts and wounds. Her laughter is warm gusts of breath against his wet cock and he lowers his head in submission as he pushes his hips forward.

Bony fingers grip his arse as she takes him into her mouth. Her hold is strong and he knows she won’t let go. She’ll never let go. She sucks and licks as her head moves back and forth. Her throat is tight and she hums around his cock as her nose brushes against the coarse curls below his belly. Neville.

For a moment, he thinks he is saved. He remembers as she sucks him, as he fucks her face. Bellatrix. Her name is a curse on his lips, a damnation for everything he hates and wants to destroy. Then she licks and scrapes her teeth along his cock. He shudders as he comes, spilling into her eager mouth, and when he can breathe again, he sees only darkness and her.

The stone is cold beneath his knees as he kneels at her feet. She is spread open before him, her cunt glistening as it tempts him to taste, and he is ready to pay her homage. She is bare, smooth and slick, no curls to make his nose itch when he moves his head forward upon on her gracious command.

He licks her from arse to clit. Her arousal is thick and heavy on his tongue. She tastes bitter and heady, no sweetness, only his death. He spreads her open further and laves the lips of her cunt before he curls his tongue and presses it inside her. Her frail fingers grip his hair and she urges him forward until all he can breathe is her. She fucks his face, holding him in place as she rolls her hips and rubs against his nose and tongue.

His face is soon covered in her arousal and all he can smell is her natural musk and sweat as he sucks her clit. He pushes two thick fingers into her and moves rapidly, plunging them as deep as he can reach as he feels her muscles tighten around them. She laughs when she comes, her body shuddering as his fingers are soaked with her release.

There is no protest when she shoves him against the cold stone floor and mounts his renewed erection. He can feel the rough stone rub the wounds on his back as she rides him. Her breasts are bouncing as she moves up and down, her nails scratching his chest until he’s bucking up beneath her. He distantly knows he should fight, knows this is wrong, knows he can’t surrender, but he doesn’t listen.

He offers her everything and she takes it all. He is broken, her madness consumes him, he is hers. She smiles as she meets his gaze and whispers a lover’s secret.

Crucio.

I Pray the Lord My Soul to Take

Neville wakes up gasping. He sucks in air desperately, her scent and taste flooding his senses. He is hard and aching when he rolls over onto the warm body pressed against him. He hears a soft gasp as he reaches beneath the cotton nightgown and rips the silk knickers away. She is dry, a tuft of blonde curls covering her sex, and he growls softly as he thrusts his fingers into her, rubbing against her thigh as he gets her ready.

Neville. The soft whisper in the still of the night is sleepy, confused, and possibly aroused. He doesn’t listen, doesn’t speak, simply takes what she always offers so willingly. When his fingers are damp and she is ready, he slides into her hard, hearing her low whimper as he begins to move brutally.

If she says no, he will stop. She never says no, though, even when her voice trembles with slight fear of who he becomes when the night is dark. She lies beneath him as he fucks her hard, each shove of his cock sending her into the mattress, and soon she is rolling her hips up to meet his thrusts. Good girl. His voice is a low rasp against her neck before he bites and sucks the tender sun-kissed flesh. She is light and sweetness, warmth and home.

Luna. The whispers in his mind tell him but he is still caught in the realm between and he still sees her, sees his death, and he can’t stop moving until he feels his body tense and then, finally, he gains sweet release. He spills inside her and feels her hand gently stroking his sweat-slick back, feels her warm body beneath him, opens his eyes and sees long blonde hair surrounding her pretty face like a halo.

He reaches between them and gently strokes her clit until she comes with a soft cry. His head falls to her breasts as she trembles, silent tears wetting her nightgown, and she holds him as he remembers everything. She is light and warmth, she is life and she is his.

When he closes his eyes, he hears a husky cackle in the darkness of his mind and feels bony fingers grasping at his soul. He tries to fight it but knows that it is inevitable. In his sleep, he is hers and she will never let him go. A soft hiss against his ear and it all begins again. Bellatrix.

The End