Leigh!fic | Taste Me (Drink My Soul) (1/1) | Blaise Zabini/Ginny Weasley
Title: Taste Me (Drink My Soul) (1/1)
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Characters: Blaise Zabini/Ginny Weasley
Rating: R
Word Count: 930
Summary: "I wouldn't touch a filthy blood traitor like her whatever she looked like." Famous last words, Zabini.
Author’s Notes: Written as a gift for darkrosefanfics as part of hp_humpdrabbles' Humpfest 2013. Title comes from the song Make Me Wanna Die by The Pretty Reckless.
"I wouldn't touch a filthy blood traitor like her whatever she looked like."
Famous last words.
Of course, Ginny Weasley wasn't a blood traitor -- at least not to the side that won. To the victor goes the spoils, the chance to write history that generations would look back upon. It fell to the Order and their supporters to paint their triumph in a flattering light, to show all Slytherins, purebloods, and their ilk as the source of all their world's misfortune. No matter what, there was someone to point fingers at.
Blaise had seen Pansy hauled to Azkaban in handcuffs after a sham of a trial. He'd seen the Greengrass girls forced to work at Madame Malkin's after their family's fortune was requisitioned by the Ministry. Theo's father had killed himself rather than be judged by the Order. He'd left his wife and four children behind to deal with the fallout.
The Malfoys had only escaped because of Narcissa.
Watching this new world unfold around him infuriated Blaise. He had never been a man of action; a trait he supposed he'd inherited from his late father (requiescat in pace). But he did have the chance to do something. A strike to the heart of the enemy -- quite literally.
It meant sacrificing a bit of the high ground. Ginny Weasley -- soon to be Ginny Potter -- was a stunning woman, but she was still a Weasley. Dirt poor, freckles, content to mingle with blood traitors and Mudbloods alike. Blaise would have to Scourgify his entire body afterward.
But other than that...
Ginny Weasley fucked like an animal.
Honestly, he hadn't really had to try and seduce her. She'd practically melted into his arms after their first encounter at Incubus Dreams; a Diagon nightclub that catered the the young, the rich, the beautiful (in her case, two out of three wasn't terrible). With a skirt that barely covered her round arse, exposing long lengths of leg toned from years of Quidditch -- quite possibly from manual labor as well, but Blaise didn't care to think on such mundane thing -- and the deep vee of her top exposing the sides of her rounded breasts, she was some the picture of some dirty, debauched daydream. Straight from the front cover of Playwizard.
"Hate you, Zabini," she breathed into his ear when he curled his hand beneath her thigh, hitching it up over his hip.
"Likewise, Weasley." His lips slanted over hers as fingers slid over silky fabric, fisting to bring her closer to them. The music from the dance floor was still loud, pulsing, running as quick as his blood was at the thrill of the forbidden. Someone could stumble upon them, someone could see Blaise ruining Ginny Weasley's lacy knickers when he jerked them from her body.
Grudgingly, he had to admit that had circumstances been... different (if Pygmy Puffs had wings)... then he might have been amenable to trying to make this a normal sort of thing. And so would Ginny, if the way she ripped buttons from his shirt and fumbled for his belt buckle was any indication. His trousers and pants were pushed down his legs, stopping midway around his thighs. Pale hands slid against his torso, burning him where she touched. Her lacqured nails ran a line across his nipple, and her smirk was triumphant when it pulled an angry hiss from his lips.
And then her smirk was gone when his hand slipped between her legs, cupping her sex. He curled two fingers deep in her tight passage, rubbing the pads over that spot deep inside her that made her legs tremble. She tipped her head back, long red hair brushing the small of her back as she worked her hips against his hand, trying to relieve some of the pressure that built.
"How do you want it, Weasley?" His voice was a rumble against her skin, his breath hot when he pressed his lips to the shell of her hear. "Hard and fast or soft and slow? Or do you want me to fuck you with my fingers, to bury my face between your thighs and lick you until you scream my name?" He pressed his thumb to her swollen nub, and she gasped. "Tell me, or I'll stop."
"Don't," she panted, biting back a whimper, "you dare."
He pulled her earlobe between his teeth, nipping sharply. "Then tell me."
Ginny growled with frustration. Her little nails dug into his biceps, and one hand grasped his chin and forced him back to look her in the eye; deep, chocolate brown eyes glazed with fire, with want. "Hard," she hissed, punctuating the word with a hard, quick kiss. "Fast. And fuck it all, Zabini, now."
A predatory smirk curled his lips. Before she could react, his hands were on her hips, slamming her down on his straining length. Twin guttural moans filled the air before he started to move inside of her, setting a punishing rhythm as he fucked her into the wall.
Her eyes closed in pleasure, she never even noticed the camera flash.
♥ ♥ ♥
Two days later, Blaise shuttered his London flat and registered it with an estate agent. He bought a villa in Italy, near his mother, and started a new life -- one free from any suspicion associated with being pureblooded, Slytherin, or a known manwhore.
The much-anticipated wedding between Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter, the wizarding world's beloved savior, never happened.
The pictures made the front page of the Diagon Tattler.
Blaise's work in England was done.
Author: Leigh, aka leigh_adams
Characters: Blaise Zabini/Ginny Weasley
Rating: R
Word Count: 930
Summary: "I wouldn't touch a filthy blood traitor like her whatever she looked like." Famous last words, Zabini.
Author’s Notes: Written as a gift for darkrosefanfics as part of hp_humpdrabbles' Humpfest 2013. Title comes from the song Make Me Wanna Die by The Pretty Reckless.
"I wouldn't touch a filthy blood traitor like her whatever she looked like."
Famous last words.
Of course, Ginny Weasley wasn't a blood traitor -- at least not to the side that won. To the victor goes the spoils, the chance to write history that generations would look back upon. It fell to the Order and their supporters to paint their triumph in a flattering light, to show all Slytherins, purebloods, and their ilk as the source of all their world's misfortune. No matter what, there was someone to point fingers at.
Blaise had seen Pansy hauled to Azkaban in handcuffs after a sham of a trial. He'd seen the Greengrass girls forced to work at Madame Malkin's after their family's fortune was requisitioned by the Ministry. Theo's father had killed himself rather than be judged by the Order. He'd left his wife and four children behind to deal with the fallout.
The Malfoys had only escaped because of Narcissa.
Watching this new world unfold around him infuriated Blaise. He had never been a man of action; a trait he supposed he'd inherited from his late father (requiescat in pace). But he did have the chance to do something. A strike to the heart of the enemy -- quite literally.
It meant sacrificing a bit of the high ground. Ginny Weasley -- soon to be Ginny Potter -- was a stunning woman, but she was still a Weasley. Dirt poor, freckles, content to mingle with blood traitors and Mudbloods alike. Blaise would have to Scourgify his entire body afterward.
But other than that...
Ginny Weasley fucked like an animal.
Honestly, he hadn't really had to try and seduce her. She'd practically melted into his arms after their first encounter at Incubus Dreams; a Diagon nightclub that catered the the young, the rich, the beautiful (in her case, two out of three wasn't terrible). With a skirt that barely covered her round arse, exposing long lengths of leg toned from years of Quidditch -- quite possibly from manual labor as well, but Blaise didn't care to think on such mundane thing -- and the deep vee of her top exposing the sides of her rounded breasts, she was some the picture of some dirty, debauched daydream. Straight from the front cover of Playwizard.
"Hate you, Zabini," she breathed into his ear when he curled his hand beneath her thigh, hitching it up over his hip.
"Likewise, Weasley." His lips slanted over hers as fingers slid over silky fabric, fisting to bring her closer to them. The music from the dance floor was still loud, pulsing, running as quick as his blood was at the thrill of the forbidden. Someone could stumble upon them, someone could see Blaise ruining Ginny Weasley's lacy knickers when he jerked them from her body.
Grudgingly, he had to admit that had circumstances been... different (if Pygmy Puffs had wings)... then he might have been amenable to trying to make this a normal sort of thing. And so would Ginny, if the way she ripped buttons from his shirt and fumbled for his belt buckle was any indication. His trousers and pants were pushed down his legs, stopping midway around his thighs. Pale hands slid against his torso, burning him where she touched. Her lacqured nails ran a line across his nipple, and her smirk was triumphant when it pulled an angry hiss from his lips.
And then her smirk was gone when his hand slipped between her legs, cupping her sex. He curled two fingers deep in her tight passage, rubbing the pads over that spot deep inside her that made her legs tremble. She tipped her head back, long red hair brushing the small of her back as she worked her hips against his hand, trying to relieve some of the pressure that built.
"How do you want it, Weasley?" His voice was a rumble against her skin, his breath hot when he pressed his lips to the shell of her hear. "Hard and fast or soft and slow? Or do you want me to fuck you with my fingers, to bury my face between your thighs and lick you until you scream my name?" He pressed his thumb to her swollen nub, and she gasped. "Tell me, or I'll stop."
"Don't," she panted, biting back a whimper, "you dare."
He pulled her earlobe between his teeth, nipping sharply. "Then tell me."
Ginny growled with frustration. Her little nails dug into his biceps, and one hand grasped his chin and forced him back to look her in the eye; deep, chocolate brown eyes glazed with fire, with want. "Hard," she hissed, punctuating the word with a hard, quick kiss. "Fast. And fuck it all, Zabini, now."
A predatory smirk curled his lips. Before she could react, his hands were on her hips, slamming her down on his straining length. Twin guttural moans filled the air before he started to move inside of her, setting a punishing rhythm as he fucked her into the wall.
Her eyes closed in pleasure, she never even noticed the camera flash.
♥ ♥ ♥
Two days later, Blaise shuttered his London flat and registered it with an estate agent. He bought a villa in Italy, near his mother, and started a new life -- one free from any suspicion associated with being pureblooded, Slytherin, or a known manwhore.
The much-anticipated wedding between Ginny Weasley and Harry Potter, the wizarding world's beloved savior, never happened.
The pictures made the front page of the Diagon Tattler.
Blaise's work in England was done.