I wouldn't read this if you aren´t Kaitlin...
...just so you know. Also, it isn't even proofread. How nice.
All That I Require
Ginny/Ginny
NC-17/R-ish
Warning. Gay, graphic, and non-consensual. Okay? Okay.
She couldn't say what had brought her there this time- the days of Dumbledore's Army were but vague dissolving memories in some closed away place in her mind. There was nothing left unsolved, for her, for although the Ministry yet had much of its painful rebuilding ahead of it, when the year was out she would begin the rosy chapter of her life, safe and sound with her scar-faced man. Perhaps the explanation was the simpler one of nightmares, too jarring in their truth to bear. Being here, after all that had happened, was excruciating; each day she came closer to leaving for good.
For whatever reason, 4 am on a chilly Hogwarts night found Ginny Weasley standing barefoot on the cobblestone floor infront of the Room of Requirement, with nothing in her conscious mind to ask of it. She shivered in her cotton nightgown and paused, somehow hesitant to open the door without some greater motive. But there were only so many times a girl could shift her weight awkwardly and twil a lock of hair, red gone grey in the lack of light, so timidly, furtively, she bent her hand around the doorknob and pulled.
If the halls of Hogwarts had been dark, the room Ginny now peered into was pure midnight. Stillness radiated from the inside, and the sound of her breath accquired a curious combination of perfect clarity and hushedness. Inexplicably drawn inward, she tiptoed forward and released the door, which gently swung shut behind her. What I wish, she spoke silently, thought echoing into the inky blackness, is that this room could give me someone instead of something. Someone who could understand exactly what I've been through.
"Do you?"
Ginny jumped, heart racing. The frightening thing was not just the high, clear voice from nowhere, but the strange familiarity it bore. She could not quite recall where she might have heard it, but it sounded like someone she had often conversed with.
"Well?"
There was definite impatience in the tone this time.
"I-I," Ginny tried to responed, voice breaking slightly. She found herself torn between running out of the room and rushing towards the voice. The need for the comfort that maybe, maybe, the voice could bring won. " Yes," she exhaled, scarcely above a whisper.
She stood, waiting for the stranger to speak again, but couldn't detect any sound other than the twin rhythms of her heart and lungs. She felt gawkish and ungainly in the pregnant silence, then- a smooth finger caressed her cheek, lightly, almost a tickle. It felt to Ginny like a hot coal branding her face.
"What are y-"
"Shhh, quiet. I will never hurt you Ginny."
Ginny's heart lept into overtime as the hand jumped delicately to her ear, working a hypnotic magic with the soft lobes and causing her stomach to drop out from underneath her, as if gravity had suddenly changed in a small but radical way. She squirmed away, trying to break the spell. "Who are you? Stop... stop touching me!" She jerked her chin up stubbornly, eyes flashing angrily in the darkness. "I asked for someone who would understand me. Exactly what kind of 'understanding' is this?"
Had she been able to see, she might have been warned by a strangely familiar twist of the chin, but as it was, the darkness left her with no indication of what was to come. She found herself flung to the ground rudely, scraping her elbows slightly on the cold stone floor. Small, delicately-boned hands exerted a desperate pressure on her wrists, and around her awkwardly splayed legs the warmth of some slender body indicated that she was being straddled.
Slicing angrily through Ginny's panic came the voice. "And who understands you best? Who knows exactly what you've been through, better than Tom Riddle, better than Ron, better than Harry Potter himself?"
Ginny could feel the jutting bones of the stranger's pelvis interlocking with her own, and this crude symmetry filled her with rage. She struggled to rise, but she was held firmly, and rather than freeing herself, she was met by the obstacle of another body, and found her pubic mound pressed hard against that of her captor. It was pleasurable, distinctly so, and Ginny found herself so horrified by this that she sank, defeated, to the ground.
The hands released her wrists and trailed up her arms with almost cloying sweetness, and dipped through the hollows above her clavicles to cut her breasts. Ginny could feel thumbs repeatedly brush her nipples, and involuntarily she let out a whimper.
"Who, Ginevera, who?" The voice was silky now, almost pitying, undertoned with an incomprehensible sorrow.
Ginny shivered, paralyzed and terrified, a deer in the headlights. Soft, moist lips for the side of her neck and massaged it, gentle yet excruciating like overripe fruit. A long, sinuous tongue drew designs around her jugular, spinning a silver web that held her motionless. She found that her hands hands were once again pinned, this time back behind her head. It made her shoulders ache, but not enough for her to find the strength to struggle.
The endless warmth and softness of that unknown tongue turned to fireworks as Ginny felt the sharp, painful nip of teeth. She drew in a sudden gasp of pain, and she heard an indistinct sympathetic murmer and realized that her neck was free. Before she had time to act, she was pulled close, and the closer, the dark making her breath- or was it her attacker's?- strangely amplified. Those odd, nimbel fingers lept up to the neck of her oxford shirt, and began working the buttons.
"Please, what are you doing?" Ginny's voice was choked as she tried to hold back the encroaching tears.
The response was practically a hiss. It clawed at Ginny like an icy wind. "You haven't answered my question. You have to answer my question."
"I-I don't know what you mean. Please, let me go!"
"I'm sorry Ginny, but I just can't do that." Why did this weird sound so angry? And so familiar?
The next button did not belong to Ginny's shirt. As one hand reached up her open blouse and snaked around her wrist, all dancing caresses, the other scooped down, slowly but surely, beneath the neat band of modest underpants and nestled itself in the wiry thicket that lay within. Ginny whimpered piteously as two fingers found the aching source of her unwanted pleasure and massaged it repeatedly, at first slowly, but gradually increasing in intensity just as the intensity of Ginny's feelings did. Almost as if by magic, the fingers were replaced by a dextrous thumb, and Ginny felt herself ripped open. She began to shriek in that initial blast of pain and pleasure, but soon found her mouth otherwise occupied in a long, involved dance of tongue and tongue, lip and lip.
Somewhere in the delirium of fingers trhusting insed her wet, slippery opening and the gradual engorging of her throbbing clitoris, Ginny was forced to give in. She met the kiss freely, wildly, and felt the immense pressure inside of her build up until she could take it no more. As the world between her thighs erupted in a flash of light, Ginny saw the question in her mind, Who understands me best?
She lest out a primal cry of release, anger, pleasure, sorrow. When she saw that she was lying alone in a well-lit room, she looked around, feeling the lingering sensation in her cunt, in her tender breasts. She felt raw, spent, soul-searched, the answer to the query looming far to largely on her tattered mind. Who knows me best, hmm? I do.
All That I Require
Ginny/Ginny
NC-17/R-ish
Warning. Gay, graphic, and non-consensual. Okay? Okay.
She couldn't say what had brought her there this time- the days of Dumbledore's Army were but vague dissolving memories in some closed away place in her mind. There was nothing left unsolved, for her, for although the Ministry yet had much of its painful rebuilding ahead of it, when the year was out she would begin the rosy chapter of her life, safe and sound with her scar-faced man. Perhaps the explanation was the simpler one of nightmares, too jarring in their truth to bear. Being here, after all that had happened, was excruciating; each day she came closer to leaving for good.
For whatever reason, 4 am on a chilly Hogwarts night found Ginny Weasley standing barefoot on the cobblestone floor infront of the Room of Requirement, with nothing in her conscious mind to ask of it. She shivered in her cotton nightgown and paused, somehow hesitant to open the door without some greater motive. But there were only so many times a girl could shift her weight awkwardly and twil a lock of hair, red gone grey in the lack of light, so timidly, furtively, she bent her hand around the doorknob and pulled.
If the halls of Hogwarts had been dark, the room Ginny now peered into was pure midnight. Stillness radiated from the inside, and the sound of her breath accquired a curious combination of perfect clarity and hushedness. Inexplicably drawn inward, she tiptoed forward and released the door, which gently swung shut behind her. What I wish, she spoke silently, thought echoing into the inky blackness, is that this room could give me someone instead of something. Someone who could understand exactly what I've been through.
"Do you?"
Ginny jumped, heart racing. The frightening thing was not just the high, clear voice from nowhere, but the strange familiarity it bore. She could not quite recall where she might have heard it, but it sounded like someone she had often conversed with.
"Well?"
There was definite impatience in the tone this time.
"I-I," Ginny tried to responed, voice breaking slightly. She found herself torn between running out of the room and rushing towards the voice. The need for the comfort that maybe, maybe, the voice could bring won. " Yes," she exhaled, scarcely above a whisper.
She stood, waiting for the stranger to speak again, but couldn't detect any sound other than the twin rhythms of her heart and lungs. She felt gawkish and ungainly in the pregnant silence, then- a smooth finger caressed her cheek, lightly, almost a tickle. It felt to Ginny like a hot coal branding her face.
"What are y-"
"Shhh, quiet. I will never hurt you Ginny."
Ginny's heart lept into overtime as the hand jumped delicately to her ear, working a hypnotic magic with the soft lobes and causing her stomach to drop out from underneath her, as if gravity had suddenly changed in a small but radical way. She squirmed away, trying to break the spell. "Who are you? Stop... stop touching me!" She jerked her chin up stubbornly, eyes flashing angrily in the darkness. "I asked for someone who would understand me. Exactly what kind of 'understanding' is this?"
Had she been able to see, she might have been warned by a strangely familiar twist of the chin, but as it was, the darkness left her with no indication of what was to come. She found herself flung to the ground rudely, scraping her elbows slightly on the cold stone floor. Small, delicately-boned hands exerted a desperate pressure on her wrists, and around her awkwardly splayed legs the warmth of some slender body indicated that she was being straddled.
Slicing angrily through Ginny's panic came the voice. "And who understands you best? Who knows exactly what you've been through, better than Tom Riddle, better than Ron, better than Harry Potter himself?"
Ginny could feel the jutting bones of the stranger's pelvis interlocking with her own, and this crude symmetry filled her with rage. She struggled to rise, but she was held firmly, and rather than freeing herself, she was met by the obstacle of another body, and found her pubic mound pressed hard against that of her captor. It was pleasurable, distinctly so, and Ginny found herself so horrified by this that she sank, defeated, to the ground.
The hands released her wrists and trailed up her arms with almost cloying sweetness, and dipped through the hollows above her clavicles to cut her breasts. Ginny could feel thumbs repeatedly brush her nipples, and involuntarily she let out a whimper.
"Who, Ginevera, who?" The voice was silky now, almost pitying, undertoned with an incomprehensible sorrow.
Ginny shivered, paralyzed and terrified, a deer in the headlights. Soft, moist lips for the side of her neck and massaged it, gentle yet excruciating like overripe fruit. A long, sinuous tongue drew designs around her jugular, spinning a silver web that held her motionless. She found that her hands hands were once again pinned, this time back behind her head. It made her shoulders ache, but not enough for her to find the strength to struggle.
The endless warmth and softness of that unknown tongue turned to fireworks as Ginny felt the sharp, painful nip of teeth. She drew in a sudden gasp of pain, and she heard an indistinct sympathetic murmer and realized that her neck was free. Before she had time to act, she was pulled close, and the closer, the dark making her breath- or was it her attacker's?- strangely amplified. Those odd, nimbel fingers lept up to the neck of her oxford shirt, and began working the buttons.
"Please, what are you doing?" Ginny's voice was choked as she tried to hold back the encroaching tears.
The response was practically a hiss. It clawed at Ginny like an icy wind. "You haven't answered my question. You have to answer my question."
"I-I don't know what you mean. Please, let me go!"
"I'm sorry Ginny, but I just can't do that." Why did this weird sound so angry? And so familiar?
The next button did not belong to Ginny's shirt. As one hand reached up her open blouse and snaked around her wrist, all dancing caresses, the other scooped down, slowly but surely, beneath the neat band of modest underpants and nestled itself in the wiry thicket that lay within. Ginny whimpered piteously as two fingers found the aching source of her unwanted pleasure and massaged it repeatedly, at first slowly, but gradually increasing in intensity just as the intensity of Ginny's feelings did. Almost as if by magic, the fingers were replaced by a dextrous thumb, and Ginny felt herself ripped open. She began to shriek in that initial blast of pain and pleasure, but soon found her mouth otherwise occupied in a long, involved dance of tongue and tongue, lip and lip.
Somewhere in the delirium of fingers trhusting insed her wet, slippery opening and the gradual engorging of her throbbing clitoris, Ginny was forced to give in. She met the kiss freely, wildly, and felt the immense pressure inside of her build up until she could take it no more. As the world between her thighs erupted in a flash of light, Ginny saw the question in her mind, Who understands me best?
She lest out a primal cry of release, anger, pleasure, sorrow. When she saw that she was lying alone in a well-lit room, she looked around, feeling the lingering sensation in her cunt, in her tender breasts. She felt raw, spent, soul-searched, the answer to the query looming far to largely on her tattered mind. Who knows me best, hmm? I do.