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zarahjoyce) wrote2007-07-22 09:42 pm
zarahjoyce) wrote2007-07-22 09:42 pm
Entry tags:
D/Hr fic: Broken
Something I wrote years before that only got typed last night :D Title is apt, I think, because this is how I feel right now... *sad, dramatic sigh*
Summary: "I wonder..." He placed a finger under her chin, tilting it up. He smiled benignly, then said, "How long will it be before you break?"
Warning: ObsessedSadisticPsycho!Draco ahead. Extremely dark. Dark dark dark. You've been warned.
Broken
He watched her as she moaned. Her eyelids fluttered, and her pursed lips softened, but still she remained oblivious to his presence.
She was lovely in her sleep. Peaceful, serene.
This prompted Draco to contemplate on the many ways he could wake her, and images upon images burned their way towards him.
Knives. He could make soft cuts on her skin; small, bleeding cuts that would usher her to a new day of agony. Small, bleeding cuts that would tear her skin and, hopefully, her spirit.
But no. He'd already tried that last week.
Water. A pail full of cold water, with solid chips of ice. He could pour it all over her and watch in sadistic pleasure as she trembled, her skin flushing pink from the sudden cold. Then he would come to her with the dark, seductive promise of warming her with his hands and his body. Brutally, he'd take her, prove his ownership of her in the most primal way.
But, no. That would not work, either.
Slowly, soundlessly, Draco walked towards his bed where she lay. Despite his stealth she still heard him approach, and finally she opened her eyes. He recognized that still she was in the throes of unfamiliarity, those marred moments between consciousness and slumber. He could help her tread that line faster by slapping her, but... no. Let her come to terms with her situation on her own.
It was more painful that way.
Her eyes found him and they widened, telling him she was fully awake now.
He watched as she tried to move her hands, only to find them tied to the bedposts. She bit her lip and turned away.
Bitch! She should be grateful; last week chains were the ones that were wrapped around her delicate wrists. There were ugly pink marks that scarred her there, that tasted metallic when he ran his tongue over them.
That was why today... she was tied to the bed with silken sheets.
She wore a flimsy nightgown that covered everything and nothing. All woman, she was shapely and curved where she should be. Perhaps, a bit on the full side before - but now, a hint of ribs stuck out from her pale skin. And how he loved this, loved running his thumb through each bone while imagining how to break each one.
"Let me go."
She started each day with those three words, issued as a command, an order. He smiled, as he always did, before placing one hand on her leg and moving up, up. The hem slid with his palm, exposing a smooth, bare, silken leg.
He was supposed to have had his fill of her, and yet it wasn't enough.
Draco still craved.
She hissed softly, her eyes mere slits as she glared at him. The Mudblood never looked more beautiful; all brazen fury and glorious hatred. By now, both her legs had been bared and she clamped them shut, attempting to deny him what he wanted.
He chuckled. Slow, insidious.
"Bastard!"
"Let you go?" Draco mimicked, mocking. "So you can go back to your poor, pathetic lover? Now why would I want to do that?" He tilted his head. "I've waited years for this. A few weeks in return for all that time shouldn't hurt. Me, that is."
Her lips were bruised, but still full and tempting. Bending low, he licked at them and found them pressed tightly together. Draco brought a hand under her head, lifted her closer, and bit hard.
She opened her mouth.
He plundered.
She was refusing him, but sounds were coming from her throat; soft, small sounds issued because of his kiss. He trailed his fingers downwards until they sought their prize and squeezed. The thin material of her clothing was indiscernible as she filled his palm completely. The sounds from her mouth were louder now, her body betraying her mind as she gyrated to move farther from and closer to him at the same time.
Draco drew back, breathing heavily. Such was her effect on him. Tears glistened at the corner of her eyes but still, she refused to shed them.
Stubborn as always, this Gryffindor.
He sat near her, and she scooted away - an automatic response. He put his hand on the side of her waist, trapping her, and pulled her to him, cradling her.
"You're mine, Hermione," he whispered to her ear.
"N-no," she said, trembling. "Never!"
Ah. There it was. Her indomitable spirit.
"I wonder..." He placed a finger under her chin, tilting it up. He smiled benignly, then spoke, "How long will it be before you break?"
The fury in her eyes made them glitter, hard chips of amber on her face. Damned if he told her, but she was positively the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. "Never, Malfoy," she vowed. "I'll die first."
Draco laughed. Cruel, mocking. He bent and kissed her cheek, trailing downwards to one corner of her mouth. His hands became busy once again, roaming over her body in reckless abandon.
"We'll see."
-
He breathed heavily, his mouth open as he inhaled and exhaled in loud puffs. Draco looked down at her face. She glistened with sweat, her lips bruised with his kiss, and her cheeks bore marks when he sucked on each one. Yet, her eyes... they were focused somewhere else. They were hazy, blank... dead. He then knew that he could do anything he wished with her, and she would do nothing. Her mind was away, far away from him and his abuse. He could scream and demand and hurt her, and it wouldn't matter at all, because she was simply not there.
His hand itched to slap her face.
He didn't.
Draco fell on her, his body crushing hers and nearly burying them both on the bed. He breathed her scent, a mixture of spring and winter, arousal and release. He placed his palm over one hip, gripping her possessively.
"You're mine, Hermione," he said softly.
A sharp intake of breath from her, and he drew back - there it was, a glimmer of faded fury in her eyes as they settled over him.
"You're mine," he repeated, softer still.
She shut her eyes, not even bothering to answer.
He shot out of bed.
Draco had noticed it. The subtle shift; the startling change. Instead of drawing her in, he had only driven her away.
The Mudblood had withdrawn to herself; for the past few weeks nothing was heard from her anymore. No words of denial or contempt or rejection. There were simply... no words. A few cries, moans, hisses sometimes, but no more than that.
It was as if he wasn't worthy of anything from her anymore.
Or had he finally broken her?
No. Never. Her eyes still held a fraction of her anger, but never did he hear her speak again.
"Do you still believe in that retarded fantasy that one day Potter would swoop in and save you?" he shouted, infuriated. "Do you think he would still accept you if he saw you as you are right now? In my bed?"
She mutely turned away from him.
"He'd be repulsed by you! After being thoroughly used, he wouldn't love you anymore! Whereas I..."
Nothing.
"Why are you so stubborn?" he exploded. "Why won't you say it? Three words, and all this will stop. Three words and I'll give you heaven. Say it! Just say it, damn you! Say it!"
And still, she was silent.
Indescribable fury slammed through him, slashing him more effectively than any knife could. Her silence was an indisputable rejection, more potent and torturous than anything he had put her through. She'd been in hell; he made sure of that. He'd been certain, so certain, that in the end she'll surrender to him. In the end, she would forget all about the past. In the end, she would love and need him, too. Then he'd be everything she wanted... everything she desired.
Why?
Why?
"Damn you Hermione," he cried, his throat constricting. "Damn you! Why won't you say it?" He gripped her chin. "Why won't you tell me you love me? Say it!"
Tears filled her eyes, and for a moment Draco was filled with an intense surge of hope. This was it. This was the moment he'd been waiting for, all these weeks, months, years...
But the three words that came from her were...
"How can I?"
end
Notes: This is written in celebration of the release of the last book, which I fervently hope would not mean the dying of a fandom I love so much. You see, this piece was written roughly two years ago, when I was obsessed with Obsessed!Draco, and now that I was in the mood to publish something quite dark I was extremely glad to have found it in the depths of my notebook. Why dark, you ask? Well. Ask the epilogue of HP7 :D Thank you for reading!
Summary: "I wonder..." He placed a finger under her chin, tilting it up. He smiled benignly, then said, "How long will it be before you break?"
Warning: ObsessedSadisticPsycho!Draco ahead. Extremely dark. Dark dark dark. You've been warned.
Broken
He watched her as she moaned. Her eyelids fluttered, and her pursed lips softened, but still she remained oblivious to his presence.
She was lovely in her sleep. Peaceful, serene.
This prompted Draco to contemplate on the many ways he could wake her, and images upon images burned their way towards him.
Knives. He could make soft cuts on her skin; small, bleeding cuts that would usher her to a new day of agony. Small, bleeding cuts that would tear her skin and, hopefully, her spirit.
But no. He'd already tried that last week.
Water. A pail full of cold water, with solid chips of ice. He could pour it all over her and watch in sadistic pleasure as she trembled, her skin flushing pink from the sudden cold. Then he would come to her with the dark, seductive promise of warming her with his hands and his body. Brutally, he'd take her, prove his ownership of her in the most primal way.
But, no. That would not work, either.
Slowly, soundlessly, Draco walked towards his bed where she lay. Despite his stealth she still heard him approach, and finally she opened her eyes. He recognized that still she was in the throes of unfamiliarity, those marred moments between consciousness and slumber. He could help her tread that line faster by slapping her, but... no. Let her come to terms with her situation on her own.
It was more painful that way.
Her eyes found him and they widened, telling him she was fully awake now.
He watched as she tried to move her hands, only to find them tied to the bedposts. She bit her lip and turned away.
Bitch! She should be grateful; last week chains were the ones that were wrapped around her delicate wrists. There were ugly pink marks that scarred her there, that tasted metallic when he ran his tongue over them.
That was why today... she was tied to the bed with silken sheets.
She wore a flimsy nightgown that covered everything and nothing. All woman, she was shapely and curved where she should be. Perhaps, a bit on the full side before - but now, a hint of ribs stuck out from her pale skin. And how he loved this, loved running his thumb through each bone while imagining how to break each one.
"Let me go."
She started each day with those three words, issued as a command, an order. He smiled, as he always did, before placing one hand on her leg and moving up, up. The hem slid with his palm, exposing a smooth, bare, silken leg.
He was supposed to have had his fill of her, and yet it wasn't enough.
Draco still craved.
She hissed softly, her eyes mere slits as she glared at him. The Mudblood never looked more beautiful; all brazen fury and glorious hatred. By now, both her legs had been bared and she clamped them shut, attempting to deny him what he wanted.
He chuckled. Slow, insidious.
"Bastard!"
"Let you go?" Draco mimicked, mocking. "So you can go back to your poor, pathetic lover? Now why would I want to do that?" He tilted his head. "I've waited years for this. A few weeks in return for all that time shouldn't hurt. Me, that is."
Her lips were bruised, but still full and tempting. Bending low, he licked at them and found them pressed tightly together. Draco brought a hand under her head, lifted her closer, and bit hard.
She opened her mouth.
He plundered.
She was refusing him, but sounds were coming from her throat; soft, small sounds issued because of his kiss. He trailed his fingers downwards until they sought their prize and squeezed. The thin material of her clothing was indiscernible as she filled his palm completely. The sounds from her mouth were louder now, her body betraying her mind as she gyrated to move farther from and closer to him at the same time.
Draco drew back, breathing heavily. Such was her effect on him. Tears glistened at the corner of her eyes but still, she refused to shed them.
Stubborn as always, this Gryffindor.
He sat near her, and she scooted away - an automatic response. He put his hand on the side of her waist, trapping her, and pulled her to him, cradling her.
"You're mine, Hermione," he whispered to her ear.
"N-no," she said, trembling. "Never!"
Ah. There it was. Her indomitable spirit.
"I wonder..." He placed a finger under her chin, tilting it up. He smiled benignly, then spoke, "How long will it be before you break?"
The fury in her eyes made them glitter, hard chips of amber on her face. Damned if he told her, but she was positively the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. "Never, Malfoy," she vowed. "I'll die first."
Draco laughed. Cruel, mocking. He bent and kissed her cheek, trailing downwards to one corner of her mouth. His hands became busy once again, roaming over her body in reckless abandon.
"We'll see."
-
He breathed heavily, his mouth open as he inhaled and exhaled in loud puffs. Draco looked down at her face. She glistened with sweat, her lips bruised with his kiss, and her cheeks bore marks when he sucked on each one. Yet, her eyes... they were focused somewhere else. They were hazy, blank... dead. He then knew that he could do anything he wished with her, and she would do nothing. Her mind was away, far away from him and his abuse. He could scream and demand and hurt her, and it wouldn't matter at all, because she was simply not there.
His hand itched to slap her face.
He didn't.
Draco fell on her, his body crushing hers and nearly burying them both on the bed. He breathed her scent, a mixture of spring and winter, arousal and release. He placed his palm over one hip, gripping her possessively.
"You're mine, Hermione," he said softly.
A sharp intake of breath from her, and he drew back - there it was, a glimmer of faded fury in her eyes as they settled over him.
"You're mine," he repeated, softer still.
She shut her eyes, not even bothering to answer.
He shot out of bed.
Draco had noticed it. The subtle shift; the startling change. Instead of drawing her in, he had only driven her away.
The Mudblood had withdrawn to herself; for the past few weeks nothing was heard from her anymore. No words of denial or contempt or rejection. There were simply... no words. A few cries, moans, hisses sometimes, but no more than that.
It was as if he wasn't worthy of anything from her anymore.
Or had he finally broken her?
No. Never. Her eyes still held a fraction of her anger, but never did he hear her speak again.
"Do you still believe in that retarded fantasy that one day Potter would swoop in and save you?" he shouted, infuriated. "Do you think he would still accept you if he saw you as you are right now? In my bed?"
She mutely turned away from him.
"He'd be repulsed by you! After being thoroughly used, he wouldn't love you anymore! Whereas I..."
Nothing.
"Why are you so stubborn?" he exploded. "Why won't you say it? Three words, and all this will stop. Three words and I'll give you heaven. Say it! Just say it, damn you! Say it!"
And still, she was silent.
Indescribable fury slammed through him, slashing him more effectively than any knife could. Her silence was an indisputable rejection, more potent and torturous than anything he had put her through. She'd been in hell; he made sure of that. He'd been certain, so certain, that in the end she'll surrender to him. In the end, she would forget all about the past. In the end, she would love and need him, too. Then he'd be everything she wanted... everything she desired.
Why?
Why?
"Damn you Hermione," he cried, his throat constricting. "Damn you! Why won't you say it?" He gripped her chin. "Why won't you tell me you love me? Say it!"
Tears filled her eyes, and for a moment Draco was filled with an intense surge of hope. This was it. This was the moment he'd been waiting for, all these weeks, months, years...
But the three words that came from her were...
"How can I?"
end
Notes: This is written in celebration of the release of the last book, which I fervently hope would not mean the dying of a fandom I love so much. You see, this piece was written roughly two years ago, when I was obsessed with Obsessed!Draco, and now that I was in the mood to publish something quite dark I was extremely glad to have found it in the depths of my notebook. Why dark, you ask? Well. Ask the epilogue of HP7 :D Thank you for reading!
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Dark...so very dark...yes, obsessive Draco...how do you know about the epilogue? You're only getting your book tomorrow!
Well written,as usual...couldn't stop reading :) Loved the last three words...would that have made Draco think? Made him come to his senses?
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That is sad and creepy with obsessed!Draco. But I liked reading it.
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Great story.
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Great story. Gave me the shivers for sure.
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Obsessive!Draco rocks.
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Yes he does, very much so :D
Thanks!
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Great story. I'm not a fan of obsessed!Draco, but this story is really good. Really. :)
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But anyways, great fic! Am now gonna read the newly updated (YAY!) CoDM.
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Oh! You're reading TCoDM? WEE! I'm very flattered. Thanks again!