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seeds-and-sins · 2 years ago

Text

Cursed Dangers

Pairing: Henry Drax x Original Female Character

Rating: Mature/Explicit (SMUT!! RAPE!! LOTS OF CUSS WORDS! UNHEALTHY RELATIONSHIPS ALL THE WAY!).

Description: Following the devastating events that took place in the North, leading to the sinking of the Volunteer and the deaths of many. We follow the life of Mister Baxter's one and only child, Maeve Amelia Baxter. Secure and sheltered under her father's watchful eye for far too long, as news of the tragedy passes through the Baxter estate, she starts to realize that not everything is exactly as it seems.

Author's Note: I do believe this to be the most questionable and morally corrupt fic I have ever written. I would caution that the passing reader exercise a bit of discretion when reading because even I found this to be a little rough. I just thought it would hold true to the character, because he is a very bad individual. I enjoyed writing him, but still, this got a little out of hand in my opinion. I do plan on turning this into a series.

Maeve was now certain that someone was living in the attic; Footsteps in the middle of the night, pattering at the ceiling above her bed, distant conversations that felt all too close and voices all too familiar. Her father went up there an awful lot lately too, and he was never a very good liar. When she asked him about it, showing even a morsel of concern that he might not know the answer either, he was a bit suspicious.

I haven't the slightest idea what you are referring too, love. There isn't anything up there, you've seen so before.

Oh yes, something was definitely off. However, there was always something off with her father's dealings. Starting with the many shipwrecks that occurred under his management, the more recent one being that of the Volunteer. And then, of course, the men he kept company with weren't cheerful or pleasant in the slightest. She did feel a sort of pang in her chest when she heard that Captain Brownlee had gone down with his ship in the wreck, he was perhaps one of the few men in her father's business that she considered a good and respectable man. Then there were the others, the one's like Henry Drax, that made her equally as hot as they did cold. The one's that fueled her curiosity, no matter how much she wished they didn't, and she just couldn't stay away.

She had a bit of Irish in her blood, her father said so, from her mother's side. If the telltale red streaks that layered the bits of a stark blonde didn't already give that away. And her rosy cheeks. And her porcelain skin. And the reason why dangerous things always seemed to excite her.

About two years back, after her mother passed away, she had managed to convince her father to let her go on a voyage with one of his whaling ships. Her father insisted that she could only go if he went with her and so he did, albeit begrudgingly. It was the Volunteer, and Brownlee was a wonderful host to say the least. Her only complaint was that it was just so cold, frigid even, so cold she thought her toes would fall off. That was when she met Henry Drax, a modern marvel among men, brooding and determined and with a hint of mystery to him. But stories had circulated from the other crew members to her that Drax wasn't all that much a marvel at all. From one fellow she heard that the man had partaken in cannibalism, from another she heard that he was chronically infected with a deadly venereal disease, but then she heard from none other than the troublemaker himself-Cavendish-who told her that Drax was the best lad, a perfect lad, the hardest working lad, the most honorable lad. Cavendish was a hoot.

She pushed all the tales aside and sought to make her own assumptions about the man, dangerously so. Her father seemed fond of him, but then again, her father's judgement was largely skewed toward greed and profit. Drax was the best sealer, the best whaler-no doubt-and Maeve witnessed it first hand. Before having spoken to him at all, Drax looked at her from afar often and his eyes were deep and dark and penetrating and for some reason she always knew when he was watching. The first time she spoke to him, it was to ask a simple question, and he answered her and called her little bird and it made her stomach twist in a delightful way. There was that one time, in the deck below, the crew was drinking and cheering and singing sea shanties left and right, and the boat was swaying so hard that Maeve was struggling to catch her footing. She would have fallen if Drax hadn't caught her shy a full inch off the ground, allowing the boat's harsh tip to pull her back upright. She gawked at him in surprise and then they both laughed and for the remainder of the festivities, he didn't let go of her once. And then there was that one time-oh gosh, that time-when Cavendish had said something degrading to her, meaning no harm by it in his mind, but it was a disgusting comment no less. At first Drax laughed with him, but it was fake and lacking all of it's usual jolly mirth, then the next thing you remember was Cavendish flush to the ground, cheek buried into the wooden plank of the deck. Henry rung his hand out and the spot between her legs exploded with need and desire and she thought her cheeks couldn't get anymore red. And Henry smiled at her before helping Cavendish to his feet, and luckily Cavendish still had the same heart eyes for his fellow mate because Maeve wasn't sure how she'd feel if she had witnessed a full on fight involving Henry Drax.

She thought about him a lot, truly, she couldn't help herself. She thought about that time he removed his coat from his very own shoulders to place it over hers: the coat gobbled her up, inches laying flat to the deck from excess, and warm and big like Drax himself. She thought about when she felt the smooth and slippery back of the first whale she had ever seen, right before he stabbed his massive harpoon through it's heart. She thought about the looks he would give her, when he thought she wasn't looking and when she did look, and he never looked away. She most especially thought about the last night she spent with him, before they made it to port. The waters were still and the air was chilly and it would have been her final night on the Volunteer. She'd probably never see any of these men again, these sailors that she had grown fond of and that doted on her as if she was the queen herself. She made sure to kiss every one of them on the cheek before they went to bed. Cavendish tried to sneak a kiss on her lips and when she kneed him between the legs, the whole crew bellowed laughter. And Drax-well-Drax's goodnight kiss was special to her for some reason. He cupped the back of her head as she kissed his cheek and she wondered if he would ever let go. When she withdrew, his eyes were like crescent pools of endless black and his lifted eyebrows softened his entire expression. She grabbed him by his suspenders when no one was looking and whispered in his ear to meet her on the deck in ten minutes. She harbored no regrets that night when she gave herself to him, even as he took her like the starved man that he was and left her with marks covering every inch of her body that would remain unseen to her father's prying gaze that next morning. He watched her leave with Mister Baxter that next day, following her with beady eyes the whole way and unable to pull his gaze even once. She smiled back at him then, where he had that same look of need in his eyes and she wished she didn't have to leave.

Oh, how she ached to be with a man like Henry Drax, but ever so the hypocrite, her father would never allow it. He married an Irish woman and worked his way up the hierarchical ladder into riches and he still would never accept Drax as a potential suitor for Maeve. Never. He would seek no same fate for his only daughter. He had not worked so hard, only for her to fall back into the same societal pigsty that he had crawled out of in his youth.

In fact, since her mother passed, her father kept Maeve on a tight leash. He didn't want to even fathom the idea of passing her off down the aisle. She was pleased for it, reckoning that she wouldn't have to worry about ever marrying and carrying children and being that quiet and obedient dame that men of her particular class so desired.

No. She had already given her heart away, never to be seen again.

Her father told her that Henry Drax was no more. He died in the wreckage also; Cavendish too, and Otto, and McKendrick, and even that young cabin boy who never had the gull to talk to her because he was always a bumbling mess when he tried. She cried into her pillow for them, but she cried especially for Drax.

Then, she found the letter, from a surgeon, one from the Volunteer. She was snooping in her father's office, contemplating braving the attic to see what was up there, when she spotted it on her father's desk. She couldn't believe what she was reading and her heart broke with each horrifying new plot; the cabin boy was sodomized and killed, the sodomizer and killer was Henry Drax, Brownlee was attacked by Drax and he did not survive, Cavendish sailed the ship further north, the ship wrecked in the ice, the men of the Hastings were all sunk in a storm, the men that survived were waiting for their deaths' in a small tent in the middle of nowhere, inuits arrived, helped them-maybe something to hope for-but no, Henry Drax killed them too, and then he killed Cavendish, and then he fled, leaving his fellow crew members behind to die in a barren icy wasteland... the surgeon was the only survivor.

Her heart broke, it split apart as literally as it could without knocking her down, she was a dead woman walking. Her eyes flitted to the attic door and as crazy an idea as it was to fathom: Could her father be harboring a fugitive? A monster? A Murderer to the highest degree? She felt tears trickle down her cheeks because the Drax she just read about simply couldn't be the one she held so dearly. He was rough-yes-rugged-yes-and he had no qualms about his desires and no filter for those desires, but he was also so tender with her in passing, so gentle, and a man who truly did treat her good. She was now starting to see that all he was, was that of a lie. That perhaps her trust had been manipulated and betrayed and meaningless to the likes of a man like him.

She threw the letter down on the desk, bunched up the skirts of her pale blue dress and stormed toward the attic door. If she didn't do it then and there, it would have followed her for the remainder of the day and even some more. Maeve was angry, boiling with rage, and she was sad and she wanted to cry, and she was just a mess. And if her suspicions were true, then he would be there for her to take it out on. He would finally be there when she needed him and no longer be the same honorable man she once thought him to be.

She rose up the concrete stairs, the creaking of a cot up ahead made her pause, before she continued barreling up the rest of the way. She dropped her skirts when she rounded the railing of the staircase, a concrete column pulling her to it's side as her suspicions were proven.

"Urgh, go away n' ask Stevenson to help ya'." His words were slurred, back turned to her, an empty bottle of rum rolling on it's side beside the cot. Maeve felt an uncomfortable dread fill her to the core, she leant against the column, tilting her head to the side to consider the remainder of the attic. It was still empty as ever, with a scarce amount of light filtering in from the creaked open shutters in the window. "Did'ya hear me ya'-" Drax twisted his body to face her, he squinted in her direction, and then frantically fumbled to his feet.

Maeve frowned at him, boring holes into his empty vessel-soulless vessel-with her brilliant blue eyes, as she scoured her mind for words that would not come. He weaved his fingers through his greasy black hair, slicking the matted strands back and forcing them sleek.

"Little bird." He greeted in a gravely voice, sobered up some from the surprise of it all. He smirked at her with his rotten teeth, and she dropped the side of her forehead to the wall as she continued to stare at him. "Well?" He held his arms open, beckoning her to him. She mustered the courage to shake her head, watching his entire resolve slowly falter with the lowering of his arms and his once brilliant grin.

"W-W-" She gulped, lifting her chin. "Why did you do it?" He gritted his teeth, hands falling to his hips.

"Do what?"

"You killed all those people..." She was surprised he even heard her, as she was speaking so softly, so quietly. And he did step forward and she stepped back and his stern jaw went taut. "You raped a boy!" She spoke a little louder, voice wavering. Her hands crowned at her stomach, to hopefully ease the pain there.

"I do as I please, when I please." He shrugged, careless of the nature of his actions and the pain they brought her.

"I should-I should go tell the authorities." She placed a hand on the railing, her heart beating faster and faster as a deafening silence thickened around them. He tugged the hem of his pants higher up his hips.

"I s'pose I'll have to strangle ya' then. You think ye' can outrun me?"

"You'd hurt me too?"

"Well, if you plan on tellin' others 'bout me whereabouts, then yes." Her nostrils flared and she held her breath, one passing moment where she made her decision, or at least was considering it.

"You're a monster."

"So 've been told."

"Have you no conscience? No guilt for the horrid crimes you've committed?"

"Would ya' think 'dem so horrid if there weren't rules in place to say so?" Her chest rose and fell with a deep breath.

"Yes, I would. Because I don't believe in hurting other people."

"Well, it's the only thing I know."

"I don't believe that."

"That why you're still standing there?" Drax was an exceptionally good hunter and when his prey was about to dart, he knew exactly when and how. She rushed down the staircase, barely stood a chance as he drunkenly managed after her and caught her just before she erupted in a scream. His dirty palm swallowed her lips and his other arm wrapped around her waist. With his hot and steamy breath at her throat, the scent of rum burnt her nostrils and she hissed against his skin.

"Shhh..." She struggled, his lips pressing to the nape of her neck and he groaned into the flesh there. "Shhh, little bird, shhh!" He grew more and more forceful as she continued to fight him, pulling her backside flush to his front. "If yur' father finds out that you know 'bout lil'ol me it won't end well for you n'him. D'ya understand?" She whimpered and then deflated, growing slack in his embrace. "Good girl, good." He chirped, obnoxiously slapping her lips with the firm hand there.

"Miss Baxter!" It was Winona, the maid. "Are you alright?!" That hand over Maeve's lips encompassed her whole jaw and then her head was being jerked past her shoulder to face Drax. He warned her with a threatening glare, then nodded in the direction of the attic door.

"Y-Yes!" Maeve shouted back instantly, "I'm fine! Please! Don't fuss!" He huffed against her lips and she trembled, then he shoved her so hard she was stumbling back against the concrete wall. He doubled toward the attic door and carefully closed it shut, turning the bronze lock in at the top. Maeve's eyes went wide and she flattened herself as far as she could against the wall.

"Fuck..." He breathed, somehow more breathless than he was having moved so fast to catch her. He twisted to face her, eyes crested and she knew that look better than anything. It haunted her for days after they said their last goodbyes and haunted her more so as she thought him dead and now it haunted her because she loved that look. She hated herself for loving that look now. The look of desperation, of need, of pure unadulterated want, in it's most primal form. "Been waitin' so long for you to come and pay a visit, little bird." She flinched with each step he took, closer and closer till his arms were on either side of her, effectively caging her in.

"Ah yes, I be wishin' fur ya' all day and all night to come see me as we're here and now." His other hand cupped her cheek, the tips of his fingers weaving through her loose hair and he chuckled. "So fuckin' gorgeous. Softest and sweetest lay I eva' had."

"That's all I was then?" She squeezed her eyes shut to hold back tears. This was overwhelming and terrifying and heartbreaking and she had never felt so many things all at once. "Just a lay?"

"Ahhh, no, no, don't think that." His tone was sickly sweet and she opened her eyes to watch him take joy in curling his fingers in her hair, he yanked her head back. "You're worth a wankin' to." She found herself scowling, rolling her tongue against her cheek before spitting directly in his face. His expression clenched as he turned his head away, before he laughed, ducking his head off his shoulder to wipe away her spit. He surprised Maeve, fingers curling hard around her throat and slamming her head against the wall. Her eyes rolled in her head and she went dizzy.

"Now, now, sweetie, I like it a whole lot betta' when you don't pretend ya' hate me, ain't that so." Her brain was scrambled, the back of her head throbbing and she worried she might faint. But somehow, she responded.

"I do." She choked out, his fingers clenched harder and he growled.

"Oi, yeah?" He urged, "Let's see shall we?" Tears ran down her cheeks, his grip loosening the slightest bit as he hunched down. His other hand lifted up the frilly edge of her thick skirts. "Let's see." His movements became furious, hand fighting through layers of her heavy skirts till he found what he was looking for. He found her bloomers, palm immediately cupping her womanhood and his torso pressed against her, dwarfing her completely and smothering her with his broad chest. Her head snapped back and she gasped, the heat undeniable at her core, bloomers wet at the apex of her thighs, and body betraying the vicious rage that swelled in her. "Fuckin' 'ell..." His voice was hoarse and thick in her ear. Before ever knowing about the crimes his very hands committed, she would have done anything to hear that voice every night against her sweaty skin. Now it only filled her with disgust and she wanted to cry, but the duality of her soul was that she was stubborn and didn't want to do anything that would appease him. If she cried he might like it and if she didn't he might like that too, and the conflict was ever so apparent when she bit her bottom lip and held back a whimper because he surely liked that. His fingers began to rub and mold her soft folds through layers of fabric and he cackled. "You should feel yo'self, little bird-Shit-" He licked the side of her cheek and she winced as his sand papery tongue left it's slime on her skin. "Yo'want me so bad. You've wanted me for such a long time haven'ya, poor lass. I shan't be the only one thinking of our night out on that deck, me' cock buried in your tight virgin cunt, pullin' sweet sounds from these pretty lips." And as if a wick lit off of a burning match, fast and brilliant, her entire body imploded on itself and she couldn't control the way she wracked up against the hand at her throat and pleasure burst behind her eyes. An uncontrollable moan escaped her lips, wanton and dry from the pit of her throat. "That's me' girl! Me' good lass! Right 'der, that's da' spot!" He removed his hand from her skirts and they fell at her feet, her legs shook like a quake and her hands grasped his muscly shoulders for stability. She hardly had any time to collect herself before his dampened fingers were breaching her lips, her taste thick on them with his own dirt ridden-natural flavor. She gagged as he shoved them in entirely, then with uncharacteristically sweet kisses along her cheek, his fingers were replaced by his lips.

She retaliated as best she could, as his tongue wrestled her own and the taste of him and her flooded together into a cocktail that nearly sent her over the edge again. He groaned, lips parting slightly to exhale a desperate wheeze, hands now resting at her waist and squeezing tight there to keep her in place. He was a heavy breather, through his nostrils, chest heaving, and there was a time she found that so undeniably pleasing, because it added to this edge and more proof that Drax had no inhibitions when it came to his habits. But now she hated it, she hated how loud he was-

He withdrew in a loud wince, teeth clenched, he hissed, head craning back from Maeve as if burned by fire. His fingers lifted to his full lips, the bottom one split and bleeding cheery fresh liquid. His forefinger and middle brushed against the crimson, his lip twitched in a sneer before he laughed, looking between Maeve and the blood that pooled on his appendage. She was glaring at him with all the ferocity she could bring, despite her appearance betraying her completely. She looked as disheveled as one could possibly be in this scenario. Her chest was flush, cheeks were flush, droplets of sweat dribbling off her brow, and her lips were plump and red as he too had awarded her with his gnawing sharp teeth.

"That how you want it'den, hmm?" The way he gently grappled onto her jaw this time made her uneasy, guiding her chin and lips where he wanted them. He invaded her space once more, until his lips were but a centimeter away, as if his eyes were tied to her violently blue ones by a string.

"I don't want any of it." She whispered, he licked his lips, the blood smearing from the action and as he removed his hand he gave her cheek a light slap.

She had nowhere near enough strength to fight him, his arms lifting her onto his shoulder.

"Please Drax! No! Not like this!" She cried out, weakly beating her fists at his back.

"Shut up, ya'hear? Don't want yur' father finding ya' with a cock down yur' throat, yeah?" He tossed her haphazardly onto the bed, catching his breath and then pacing back and forth as he admired her from afar. He shook his head, swiping a hand over his face. "Fuck' you're perfect, ya' get that', huh?" He chuckled to himself, pacing like that tiger Maeve saw at the zoo, back and forth, ready for a feast. "Yur' so fuckin' lucky men don't line up to taste this cunt. They'd bend ya' over and fill ya' good. Yur' pa' would charge ten shillings for ya', one go each." He stopped and snatched her ankles to yank her close to the edge of the bed and she whined in protest. Her palms rested against his chest, one on each pectoral and her brain was foggy with lust, but the rational side of her was yelling inside: keep fighting.

"You've done the most immoral and cruel acts. Please, understand. Please let me go." There was no reasoning with him, not with the force he used against her own outstretched limbs, till her elbows were bent and he was practically laying on top of her, faces leveled. She could feel his arousal then, the bulge jutting against her skirts, large and thick enough to feel it through many layers.

"No, I wouldn't allow it ya'see. You's belong to me, you's always have." He stood fully, hands then running down her legs and bunching her skirts back. Fingers caressed in reverse, leaving goosebumps behind. He delicately removed her matching slippers, letting them plop to the floor. Her toes curling next to his furry cheeks, his palms engulfing them, thumbs curving into the soles of them and massaging tenderly. "Yur' such a naive lil'thing. Thought that night I was' gon'have to take you in yur' cabin, but there ya'went invitin' me to the deck." Her bottom lip wobbled and she hid her embarrassed and hurt expression in her hands. "Such a good girl, aren't ya'? Neva' could'ave dreamed havin' ya'like this, me' darlin' girl." Her lips parted as she felt his scruffy lips press to her ankle. "So soft, like a seal pup, mi'n ta' defile and tek' as I please." He dragged her down closer if that was even possible, guiding her legs around his waist. He went silent as his hands ghosted along her body, caressing every curve and hungrily taking in all of her covered self. "Da' one thing I regret from that night is not gettin' to see all tha' was underneath, huh? De's damned clothes in me'way." She couldn't look, not when she felt something sharp and hard running down from the top of her bosom to the bottom of her corset. "I won't make da' same mistake dis' time." Her eyes bulged from her head, elbows propping her up when he sliced a blade down through layers and layers of her dress, the stitching parted to reveal silk nude skin beneath. With the knife clutched in one hand, he ripped at the fabrics until they were no more. It reminded her of the first time she watched him hack through seal skin in the distance and she almost vomited. "Fuck, look atya'!" He exclaimed, strands of hair coming undone from their sleekness, falling out before his eyes. Maeve crawled away, but he grabbed her ankle with his freehand and pulled her back with a click of his tongue. "Such a fuckin' cock tease." The blade was cold when it touched her skin and her back arched as a thin red cut was made just below her breast. Her nipples perked up, asking for attention where her inner self was in turmoil and begging to be swallowed up by the pits of hell. Anything was better than this, no matter how good it felt, no matter how amazing his calloused hands were, she cried to be given reprieve, to wake from this seemingly endless nightmare.

"Fuck you!" She yelled, in one last attempt at gaining some semblance of control, but her fighting came to an abrupt halt when the blade of the knife was dangerously close to her throat.

"I'll slice yur' throat and fuckya' till you go cold."

"P-Please. Don't." She mumbled, the tendons in her neck visible and tight with tension, collarbone defined, rising and falling with her breasts.

"The only thing I want leavin' yur' lips is me' name. Understood?" She slowly nodded, he tossed the knife to the side on the bed without a second to spare. She didn't care where it landed, too caught up with him hurriedly unbuckling his belt and discarding his white baggy shirt and getting as naked as he possibly could. He easily adjusted Maeve on the bed when he was good and ready. Fully understanding her predicament she sobbed silently to herself and allowed him to move her as he wished.

"Ya'know, I usually don't fuck me' whores from the front..." The both of them released a noise when his hairy thighs met with the back of hers. "But I make the exception for me' sweet lil'bird..." He hovered dominantly above her, one hand lining his solid dick with her folds. Her fingers curled into the bunched up sheets and ripped shreds of her dress, bracing for the unpleasant pressure. "I like to watch the fight leave yur' eyes, lass, because ya' belong to me and you's give yurself to me so willingly that it makes me' cock twitch and me' heart flutter, yeah?" She squeezed her eyes shut, his cock head pushing in inch by inch. Her hands had a mind of their own, grabbing anything and everything and soon landing on his hairy chest. His breath fanned out across her face as he exhaled heavily. "Fuck yur' so tight, lil'birdy-and wet-'so fuckin' wet..." His words trailed off into gibberish and then his pelvis was flush with hers and she yanked at his chest hairs. Unable to form a coherent thought, she began muttering prayers under her breath, thighs locking around his hips.

"Please, please, please, please, please."

"Yeah, that's it." He moved his hips and she was a goner. The mix between pressure and that all too enjoyable drag of spongey skin on skin and the fact that she could feel everything. She whimpered, head hitting hard back against the cot and there was a soreness that lingered from Drax's earlier stint with her and the wall. The tears running down her cheeks held no specific reason anymore, if it wasn't sadness, or frustration, or rage, it was insurmountable pleasure that made her toes curl and her body ache. "Open yur' eyes." She wasn't sure she heard him correctly and her mind was so muddied that it took her moments to realize he was speaking to her. "Ya'fuckin' bitch. Open." It wasn't said in anger, grunted out perhaps, his thumb then shoving back her eyelid and she got the idea then. She stared at Henry Drax like he was the sun, the first streams of light filtering in through the blinds in the morning. Her eyelids were droopy, sight blurred by lust and need and desire, body completely devoid of any fighting now. "Ye' become so cock dumb, fuck." That same thumb was shoved unceremoniously into her mouth and she sucked on it as she met his gaze. His hips were like a piston, cock splitting her tiny figure in half. "Good god!" He growled like a bear, then hunched closer, moving his hips harder and faster, panting and grunting with each thrust. Her hands held onto his strong biceps for dear life as her body gave way to him. He leant down and kissed her lips, returning her earlier favor and sinking his teeth into her bottom lip till blood burst on his tongue. She didn't think-she couldn't. His hand slithered between their bodies to find her special spot and her vision ebbed away as another earth shattering orgasm overcame her.

He growled rather loudly as his seed released into her, her cunt gripping his cock like a vice and he stopped his thrusting altogether to sit there in the warmth. Sweat coated their bodies, one hand propped beside her head and the other swishing her juices around her oversensitive clit. He grabbed her thighs then, massaging them and sitting back on his haunches with an exaggerated sigh. She rose to her senses fast as the high dissipated, lips parted slightly as she eyed him from below and tried to steady her heartbeat.

She sniffled, hands poised still on his arms, now having slid down to his wrists. His eyes traced her entire torso, then when he met her own, he moved down till his lips were grazing her collarbone. His tongue licked a path down, lips slurping a nipple in between his teeth. She cried again, fingers sifting through his hair and tugging. He tasted the smeared blood near her cut, practically drinking the liquid as if it were wine from the finest vineyard. He worked his way back up her body, cock still hard inside her, he kissed her chin and then her cheek and then her lips and she shuttered. Red marks, blood splotches followed everywhere, his puffy lips akin to bristly paintbrushes grazing along a blank canvas. She held him to her, no longer pushing him away, his lips touched down on her neck and she released one final gasp before he settled there. His beer belly rested against her own stomach, hairs tickling her, but she was too tired to fight anymore. He suffocated her with his heat and his weight, but she couldn't bring herself to do a thing because his lips felt so perfect against her and he felt so right above her. She allowed another sob, arms raveling around his neck and fingers digging into his scalp.

"I hate you." She whispered, he lifted his head to stare at her and hummed.

"To the contrary, ye' love me." She was disgusted with herself, and with him. His serious and stern brow flicked up at her in question. "In fact, ye' dream of bein' called Misses Drax, spendin' the remainder of yur' days wit' me' cock buried in ya' and me' seed growin' in yur'belly."

"You're the fucking devil, you'll never have me like that." He snorted, cupping her cheek and caressing the red skin there. He didn't believe her.

"And you are nothin' but a whore fer me' pleasure, while I am under yur' papa's roof. That's all." She closed her eyes, swallowing thickly. He felt a sharpness at his throat and when he awkwardly tilted his head down, he caught the glint of his knife. He shot up to his knees, smirking as he held his hands up in defense. His cock twitched inside her and she grimaced at the feeling. The point of the blade rested at his gut then and she oh so wanted to stab him for the devil that he was. "Go on, lass. You's was the one who's said you wasn't too fond of hurtin' others. Now yur' goin' to hurt me?" He licked his lips, tongue dragging across the curly hairs that poked out around his mouth. She shook violently, her hand vibrating as she held the knife to him. He wrapped his own hand around her wrist, steadying it for her. "If there's anyone I would let kill me, it'd be you. Ye'd be the only one to get a free chance, lass, so use it wisely." She blinked, her free hand wiping away a waterfall of wet salty tears.

She couldn't kill him, the wretched man that he was. She couldn't. And it made her hate herself even more. After a few beats, he pushed the knife down, till her knuckles rested beside her head.

"Now ye' can't hurt me, no ye' can't. Because ye'love me, lass. Because this world wouldn't be much good fur'ya wit'out Henry Drax in it. S'that it?" He dragged his hips back, thrusting in gently. She closed her eyes and turned her head away. "Naw'no ye' don't..." He forced her head back, aggressively wiping fresh tears away. He closed the distance between them, mouthing and tonguing at the salty droplets. "I want ye' to say it."

"No." She cried.

"Yes." He grunted back, "Say that ye' love me. Say it like ye' said it on the Volunteer. Tell me." Her jaw clenched, as she turned her head back, their noses brushed, he was staring deeply into her eyes when her eyelids fluttered open.

"I love you." She uttered, shame swelling in her like an infected wound.

"Good girl," He grinned evilly, smug as he made another thrust that curled her toes, cock still hard and her body still aching for more. "Ye' belong to me and such a worser man I'd be to not give ye' what you be wantin' so badly." He kissed her cheek and she bit her lip in disgust. "T'make yer'dreams come true, lil'bird. Hmm? Would ye'like that? Make me a richer man for it too."

"Go-" Her fingers defeatedly uncurled from the knife, cupping his jaw, she met his gaze. "Go fuck yourself, Henry Drax."

He was so close, she could feel the laughter that bubbled out of him. It shook her body whole, like his cock.

Oh, to love life's cursed dangers.

#the north water #Henry Drax #Patrick Sumner #warning: rape!#dead dove don't eat #original characters #baxter #henry drax x oc #ofc #amc

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