"If you'd just let me go get my things-"
"If I knew you'd be this high maintenance, I would have thought twice," covering his eyes with his arm, Olaf groans, not sitting up from where he lays on the bed. "Of course, you always were a greedy lot."
"You said it yourself! Where can I possibly go?" Hoping for some sort of leniency, she gives over all pretense of not begging. "Think about it; there's nowhere for me to run, is there? Just let me pack a bag, and I won't bother you half as much. Or, better yet," she holds out her hands, as if the thought had just occurred to her, "let me stay in my room!"
Slow, he lifts his arm off his eyes, staring at her contemptuously. "Your room?"
"Yes! I mean, yes," quick, she fixes her tone to not seem so eager. "I'll be just as trapped and you won't have to deal with me. Why not makes things easier for yourself?"
"Why indeed." With a groan, he sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "Tell me, Violet. How long do you think I am going to let you live?"
"I…" pausing, she frantically tries to recalculate, backtracking, "I only meant-"
"How long?"
"Not long," tense with the truth, she squeezes her lips shut, hoping she still might somehow prevent herself from making the situation any worse.
"Then I would suggest you not waste any more time being an idiot."
"I'm only trying to help-"
"Seriously. Have you always been so incredibly thick, or are you just trying to impress me?"
"I want my own clothes," crossing her arms, she stands up straight, bare feet cold on the floor. There is a moment, and then he laughs.
"Clothes? You're still worried about your clothes?" he snorts, laying back again.
"And? Is it so unreasonable?" Irritated, she tugs at the sleeve of the shirt he has given her, hates how childish she must look in the oversized garment.
"I'll tell you what, brat," still chuckling, he looks at her, brushes the hair back from his forehead. "I'll make you a deal."
"I'm not sure I like your deals."
"I'm not sure you have any other option."
"Fine," pursing her lips, she imagines kicking his shin. "What do you want?"
"What do I want?" He hums as he stares at the ceiling, pretends he is lost in thought. The theatricality of it all burns inside her. "Teach me to build a pipe bomb?"
"No."
"Flamethrower?"
"No!"
"Let me tie your hands behind your back and fuck you until you cry?"
He smiles as she grits her teeth. She wants to say no so badly, but loopholes are loopholes, and even if she refuses, all that means is she doesn't get whatever it is she's pining after. He still gets his in the end.
"That's really what you're choosing?"
"When's the last time you wore something of your own that wasn't washed in my sink?" Cocking his eyebrow, he holds back a smile. Not yet.
"Fine. Deal."
"Excellent." Standing so quick his vision goes blurry for a moment, he grabs her roughly by the collar, determined not to make the same mistake twice.
"I can do that!" she snaps, yanking the shirt from his fingers as she angrily unbuttons it.
"So nice and eager." He smiles now, doesn't try to hide the unabashed glee as her fingers trip, stumbling. There is no bra under the starched shirt, and so he gives himself a moment to stare at her naked chest as it is unveiled unceremoniously. "Very good," he pinches her cheek. "Now put this up," Rough, he tugs her hair. She flinches but doesn't yell. A pity.
Still deliciously indignant, she pulls her hair into a ponytail.
"Braid it," he unclasps his belt. "I want to have something to hold on to."
"You're a fucking asshole," she growls, tugging the ribbon out.
"Yes, and you're so very, very lucky you're pretty," he cups her face in both hands, "because that brain has gotten you nowhere."
Fuming, she pulls the shirt off her shoulders and lets it fall to the floor, never breaking eye contact. He imagines her face flushed, open mouth and lidded eyes, begging, and he smiles again.
"Is this what it takes for you to feel like a man?" she spits, tugging her underwear off, finally wonderfully naked before him.
Shrugging, he slowly circles behind her, "Keep talking, brat. I know you like it rough."
Harsh, he grabs her arms, pulling them up and together behind her. This time she does cry out, stumbles at the sudden pain. Tugging off his belt, he loops it around her wrists until he is satisfied, closes it shut tight, hopes it will leave marks. "You know," he keeps his voice low, yanks her back so that he can whisper in her ear, "if you'd only ask, I'd promise not to tell."
"Ask?" she tries to turn her head towards him. He laughs.
"You're not fooling me. Always acting up, always needing to be punished," slow, he clicks his tongue. "You want it to hurt, don't you?"
"Do whatever the hell you're going to do, just don't talk to me." Turning her face away, she stares ahead. The little show is absolutely hilarious.
Chuckling, he shoves her forward, lets her fall face-first onto the bed. "You don't like hearing my voice? You don't want me telling you how nice and tight you are, how good your pussy feels when I'm fucking you?" Opening his shirt, he lets it fall neglected to the side. "You don't want me telling you how pretty you are, those little tits of yours just begging me to jack off onto them?" Stepping out of his shoes, he tugs off his socks, his pants, taking his time to enjoy the slight tremble of her body. He doubts she even knows he can see it.
"Fuck you," she finally spits, obstinate to the last.
Leaning over her back, he slides two fingers against her, spreading her, "When are you going to learn that isn't a threat?"
Grabbing her beneath her hips, he hoists her up onto the bed, pulling her to her knees before lifting her arms behind her, shoving her face down against the mattress again.
"Stay just like that," he mutters. She can hear the breaking restraint in his voice. "Go on and behave for me. I promise to fuck you like the brat you are either way."
She stares at the taupe color of the wall, worries that her teeth will crack with the pressure of her jaw. "How kind."
"Yes, I am always thinking of you and your needs, aren't I?" None too gently, he works a finger inside her. "As far as guardians go, I've done an excellent job. Haven't died, at any rate. Strange how you seem so cursed with that."
"It's always been your fucking fault," she spits, doesn't know why she bothers to say it. He's only trying to get a rise out of her and it's working.
"Is everything okay, Orphan? You don't feel as excited as usual." He pumps the finger inside her a few more times.
"Go to hell," she strains, closes her eyes.
"Now, now. I'm only trying to look after you. Far be it from me to be neglectful," pulling his hand away, he grips her thighs, and just when she has made up her mind to be perfectly silent, his tongue presses against her. With a gasp, she feels her entire body shake, hands flexing into fists. "Much better," he murmurs, pressing his tongue inside her. Quick, she turns her face against the blanket, not caring that she can't breathe so long as he doesn't hear the sound she makes as he pulls at her clit with his lips, slow and demanding. His nails dig into her legs, hands stiff as iron as he holds her in place, flicks his tongue over her, his mouth all warm wetness and everything she does not want. Squeezing her eyes, she focuses on the building ache in her lungs, the desperation for cool air. She is freezing, she tells herself. She is outside in ice and snow. She is numb with frostbite. There is no feeling anywhere, no warmth left to her blood. She imagines her veins as icicles, envisions the frost spreading over her wrists, the blue becoming bluer, then white, little patterns of fractals. Fractals. She tries to remember what she knows about fractals. Self-repeating. Euclidean. The affine self-similar. She tries to taste the words, imagines her hand writing them out on a frosted window. Focus on fractals.
With all the pain of a raw skinned knee, she gasps for air, the sound rough and decidedly unwanted as it curls into a groan. Sounds, shepard's tones- she quickly tries to regain her focus, but it is too late, and the only thing that is is the shuddering of her legs as she cums, lets him make her cum.
Not needing to see his face to know he is proud, she feels the gloat in him as he slides his finger back inside her.
"Much better." He croons. "See? I am quite adept at taking care of little orphan brats." More easily than it ought to be, he slides a second finger in, pumping in and out of her. She tries to turn her face down again but he catches her braid, tugs her face to the side. "No no," he smirks. "I want to watch."
"Of course you do," she offers all the malice she can.
"That's a good girl." He pets her head. Slowly, languishing, he rubs his erection against her. "Good little brat." She isn't going to cry, she decides. She isn't going to give him that. "Yes, you like that, don't you?"
"Leave me alone." She isn't going to cry. She isn't. She isn't.
"Violet," his tone is piercingly saturated with fake pity, "I know all your other guardians have abandoned you, but I promise you, I am here to stay."
"You aren't my guardian!"
"Aren't I?"
"Fuck you!"
Grabbing her wrists, he yanks them upwards, contentment roaring in him when she screams.
"Come again?" Faster, he pumps his fingers into her, glad when she gasps and involuntarily kicks.
"I said-" her voice dies with another swift tug of her arms, tears standing in the corners of her eyes. "Fuck-"
With a sharp thrust, he interrupts her imminent mistake. Crying out, she gasps open-mouthed against the bed.
"Face it, Orphan. I'm the best guardian you've ever had. Did anyone else take the time to appreciate how nice you look on your knees? Anyone else get you dripping wet for them?"
"You're deranged," she growls the words between her teeth, groaning.
"Am I? Or do you just crave a firm hand of discipline? Deep down, every brat wants someone to set the rules for them. Now cum for me." Not giving her any other option, he begins to rub her clit in tight circles. Gasping, she arches away from him, but he is quicker, and forces her back into place. Hand flat on her back, he thrums the pads of his fingers against her, watches her face contort from tense fear as he overwhelms her. "Do as I tell you, Orphan." His cock strains at the sight of her pink lips, shining with saliva. He decides he is going to fuck that pretty mouth sometime. Not now, but sometime. Grasping her braid, he tugs her head back, enjoys the strain of her neck as she winces.
Gasping, she moans, tongue pressing between her teeth as she pants, tries to catch her breath."Much better," smiling, he thrusts roughly, glad when her voice breaks, cracking with each movement. "Now, let's try again. I'm a good guardian, aren't I, Violet?"
"You're-" she gasps as he forces her head up. "You're very good, so good!"
"You appreciate me?"
"Yes!"
"You like it when I make you cum?"
"Yes! Yes, yes, yes!" The sound is shrill, desperate as he wraps his grip tighter.
"Good little Brat. See? All you need is a little guidance." Pulling his fingers from her, he presses them into her mouth, wipes them clean on her tongue. "Good little girls know their place. Now, show me how grateful you are."
Slow, savoring the warm pressure, he presses inside her, holding her face down against the bed. Groaning, she flexes her fingers into fists, jaw set hard. With a grunt, he begins to thrust rhythmically, letting his hips slam against her.
She bites down on her lip. She will not cry. She will not cry. He moves in and out quickly, hitting something deep inside her. She is empty. She is a cavern, buried deep within the ground, untouched.
"You've been spoiled, Orphan," he yanks her hair back. "Some thanks might be in order for all the good I'm doing you."
"You-" her words become a shout as he twists her braid in his hand.
"Try again."
"Thank you! Thank you," her words are shrieks, terrified.
"Good girl." Dropping her hair, he lets her collapse against the bed. "Are you ready to behave now?"
Weakly, she nods. As he thrusts in and out, she whimpers, letting the sound become a low groan. Slowing his strokes, he takes his time, wants to make this last.
"I've always thought a well-behaved brat was a pretty sight. Don't you think so?" he tugs her braid again, once, lightly.
"Yes," she agrees, hopes her compliance will stop the pain.
"Right where you belong, around my cock. Isn't that right?" All he has to do is touch her wrists and she's nodding emphatically.
"Yes! Yes, I'm happy, I-" she bites her tongue, focuses on the sensation.
"I always knew it. Your parents would never have let you, of course." Almost tenderly, he pushes his fingers against the back of her neck. "It's a good thing you're in my care now, isn't it?"
She is crying now, and there is nothing she can do about it. She wonders if she can drown in her tears, how long it would take for him to notice, and the bile in her throat rises.
Grunting, he begins to speed up again, hitting her fast and hard, "I said ISN'T IT?"
"Yes," she whimpers, knowing the words of a ghost never damned anyone but the living. There is nothing that can be done to her now. She is untouchable.
"What would they think of you, huh? You little slut, begging for someone to fuck you. Begging for me to fuck you."
Closing her eyes, she tries to find where her breath has gone.
"God, what if they could see their little Violet, bent over for me," holding her stiff by the hips, he growls, low in his throat. "What would they say? Wouldn't even look you in the eyes, would they?"
The wall becomes a swimming thing. If she held her breath, would she pass out or suffocate? "Please, just-" she whispers the words, unable to afford them any emotion.
Slowing his strokes, he grunts. "God. Fuck, Orphan, you're so tight; I'm going to cum inside you."
"Don't!" She tries to sit up, but he shoves her back down.
"I can't help it, you're so nice and wet for me. You want it; I can feel it."
"Don't! Please!" Frantic, she tries to move away, but only succeeds in hitting her chin on the bed.
"I don't know; I'm so close, and you would look so nice-"
"You're my guardian!" In a desperate bid, she tries to appease him. "My guardian! My good, good guardian! Don't do it!"
"Am I a good guardian?"
"The best! So good! So kind!"
"A good father?"
She hesitates, but he presses her down again, moaning.
"A great father." The tears will leave permanent tracks on her face, she is certain of it.
"The best?" There is a devouring glee in his voice. She feels him thick inside her, imagines dying.
"Olaf-"
"The best?" Smacking against her hard, he grips her throat.
"The best." Certain that her future is all one singularity, she doesn't fight her disgust, finally considers giving up.
"Better than that miserable excuse of a father you had?"
"Stop!" Her body is all one splinter, her entire self punctured as she weeps.
"Better than that weak fucking parody of a man?" Yanking her wrists up, he twists her arms. She screams but he doesn't let go. "Say I'm better than Bertrand! Say it!"
"Please don't do this, Olaf!"
"SAY IT!" Lifting her by the elbow, he pulls her almost off the bed.
"Better! Much better!" Her tongue is acid. She half expects to spit out her own teeth.
"I'm your fucking daddy now! We all know you want one, Orphan." Relentless, he pounds into her, fingers bruising her skin.
"Olaf, please," she closes her eyes, wants to leave her body but doesn't want to see this weakness.
"Is that any way to address your father?"
"Olaf-"
"God, I'm so close, I'm going to cum-"
"Please, daddy!" the word stings like acid on her tongue.
"Good girl," he grunts. Rocking quick, he lets go of her, reaches between her legs to stroke her clit. And then she is a stuttering, trembling thing again, feet curling up. "I'm always good to you, aren't I, brat?"
"Yes, daddy," There is the dark stain of her tears beneath her face.
"This is exactly what you deserve, exactly where you belong. Don't you think so, Violet?"
She doesn't answer, lips pursed in a tight line.
"Thank me for putting you in your place," he gasps, desperately holding onto this bliss.
"Thank you," she shivers, nearing her next climax.
"Try that again!" He slaps her ass roughly, hopes it will leave a mark.
She shrieks, jumping, "Thank you, daddy!"
He actually is painfully close now, riding the adrenaline high of seeing how this will end.
"If you really don't want me to cum inside you, go ahead and beg. See if your daddy is feeling generous."
Shuddering, she tenses her shoulders, all her body one tight muscle. He thinks she might finally break.
"Please, daddy," tears are still streaming down her face as she speaks between his strokes.
"Are you sure? Because you don't sound certain at all."
"Please! Please don't, Ola- daddy! Please," her voice strains on each word.
"If you insist, Orphan. But only because you asked so nicely." Pulling out, he pumps his cock a few times before spilling himself onto her back with a groan.
She shudders and sighs, finally relaxing.
"Cutting it close there, weren't you?" Humming, he flips her onto her back to better see her face. "I believe thanks are in order."
"Thank you," she avoids his eyes, voice shaking.
"Come on, now." Pinching her cheeks between his fingers, he clicks his tongue.
"Thank you, daddy." Her shoulders draw up, entire body drained.
"Much better, little brat." Easily, he slides his fingers back inside her. Groaning, she lets her hips roll down towards his hand. "It's amazing what you'll do for some cock, isn't it, whore?" Leaning over her body, he licks along her throat, lets the taste of salt carry over his tongue as she shivers.
Pumping his fingers inside her, he watches her lips open, teeth forming two perfect little rows. He imagines biting her lip, tasting her blood in his mouth.
Kissing her, he feels her inner cheek with his tongue, forces it as far into her mouth as he can. She opens her jaw wide, lets him spread her legs as he presses into her. Everything about her is pliable, her bones going soft beneath him. For a moment, he mourns the fact that he's already spent, pictures those soft thighs surrounding him. Everything is so much nicer when they don't fight.
"There we go, baby girl. Let Daddy take care of you."
Whimpering, she arches her back up, away from her still tied wrists as he takes advantage of her prone state to give her breasts some much needed attention. The blush has spread from her cheeks, and her chest is flushed a delightful pink, just begging to be touched. Proudly, he notes the bruises from last time are still there. Making a point to darken them, he pinches the skin between his teeth, the pained gasp she gives in reply straining his thin resolve.
"Are you going to be good from now on?" He hammers at her with his hand, practically punching her.
"Yes, daddy," her voice hiccups out of her throat. She isn't herself anymore. This isn't her body. It isn't her voice. She is a ball of black gauze and he is the scissor ripping her seams. She is free, fraying and unfurling. This is not her body.
His mouth chokes her as he kisses her again, all tongue and teeth. Whining, breathless, she feels her legs tighten against him, shaking, impatient.
"Good Brat. Such a good little girl for me, aren't you?" he murmurs into her mouth.
"Yes daddy." She lets her hips roll forward, doesn't fight it as another orgasm sputters towards the surface.
"Pretty girl. So very nice and pretty. You like that, pretty whore?"
Her breath is a hammer in her ribs, chest heaving as she clenches her legs around his hand, "I'm close, so close-"
"Come again? I can't hear you."
"I'm so close, daddy! I'm-" Wailing, she gasps for air as curling his fingers, he draws her off the ledge, into temporary absolution.
"What a well behaved Orphan," he purrs, letting her cum around his fingers as she tenses into a single knot of energy, quickly untying into a slow-unfolding parachute.
As she comes down from the high of her climax, he draws his fingers from her, lifting them to her lips. "Very well behaved indeed." She doesn't care that he watches intently as she opens her mouth, sliding his fingers against her teeth. The taste is salty, like sweat. It almost reminds her of biting into something only to discover it is much more bitter than anticipated.
Pulling his fingers out slowly, he plays with her lower lip, rolling it beneath his thumb before pinching her chin. Forcing her mouth open, he kisses her, his tongue pressing to hers.
"You taste so good, don't you think?" he whispers, moaning low in his throat. "Delicious little brat."
Turning her head to the side, she closes her eyes, feels herself begin to sink back into her skin.
Sighing, he sits up, grips her bicep and pulls her to a sitting position. None too quickly, he undoes the belt. Her body is limp, loose as he takes her wrist in his hand, massages it tenderly. This gesture is almost more terrifying than anything else. A few minutes later, he takes her other arm, sits across from her and rubs the lines his belt bit into her skin. Immobile, she watches his movements, curled into herself.
"You know," he starts, voice still raspy, "if you had just agreed to be mine, we wouldn't need to waste so much time whipping you into shape. I take care of my things."
Unresponsive, she stares at her hands, doesn't want to let his words in her head.
"Anyway," he sucks through his teeth, continues massaging her wrist, bending her hand to dig his thumbs into her palm, "it's not too late."
"Too late for what?" Her voice is level. She doesn't feel anything, not yet.
"For you to change your mind. We've made some remarkable progress. I could see myself being persuaded to keep you."
"Keep me?" She is staring at her hands, but she is looking through them.
"It would be a shame to waste such promise. Why kill you when I can have my own little Orphan to keep my bed warm?"
"I'd rather die."
The utter lack of passion in her voice is amusing. He switches hands, massages her other palm.
"Doesn't make a difference to me. Just something for you to think about."
"Can I get my clothes now?"
"In a bit."
"I want to shower and wear my own clothes."
"But you look so much better like this."
"I want to shower and wear my own clothes."
"I heard you the first time."
"And?"
"And I don't care about what you want."
"We had a deal!"
"Don't you ever shut the fuck up?" Irritated, he slaps her hand away from himself, falling on his back again, onto the mattress.
Clutching her reddened hand, she stares at the dirty sheet. There are a million things she can say but she says none of them.
"Why are you so awful?" she finally whispers.
"It's called discipline," he grunts, eyes closed.
"It's not." Perfectly still, she holds her fingers, grounds herself in the stinging pain.
"You're a spoiled-"
"Bastard."
"What did you say?"
Looking at him, she stares into his eyes, "You're an absolute bastard."
"Am I?" He laughs, links his fingers together behind his head. His amusement is unnerving. "Alright. Go take your shower. We can go to your room after."
Uncertain as to what has actually happened, she stands slowly, wrapping her arms around herself as she walks to the bathroom.
"Bastard," he chuckles with a sigh. "My god."
..
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AN-
Full credit to the lovely courtneybgood for helping me with genius ideas on how to make everything else more terrible. For distress specifically related to the Bertrand lines, you can thank her over at ( /users/courtneybgood/pseuds/courtneybgood)