Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11201073.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, Gen
  Fandom:
      Final_Fantasy_XV
  Relationship:
      Iris_Amicitia/Ardyn_Izunia, Gentiana/Ardyn_Izunia
  Character:
      Iris_Amicitia, Ardyn_Izunia, Gladiolus_Amicitia, Clarus_Amicitia
  Additional Tags:
      Rape, noncon, Hurt_No_Comfort, Non-Consensual_Kissing, Size_Difference,
      Abuse, Past_Abuse, Implied/Referenced_Child_Abuse, Grooming, Mistaken
      Identity, Rape_Aftermath, Power_Dynamics, Vaginal_Sex, Injury, Graphic
      Description, Loneliness, Dissociation, Internalized_Misogyny, Victim
      Blaming, Critique_me, Humiliation, Undressing, Fear, ardyn_shows_decay
      for_fear?, I'm_Sorry, Not_a_Love_Story, Past_Alcohol_Abuse/Alcoholism,
      Self-Esteem_Issues, Post-Traumatic_Stress_Disorder_-_PTSD, Military
      Backstory, Military_Background, Women_in_the_Military, Military_Family
      messed_Iris_up, Clarus_the_PTSD_suffering_alcoholic, Iris_the_damaged
      lonely_child, Ardyn_the_douche_bag_who_wants_to_relive_his_past, Vaginal
      Fingering, Pain, Rape/Non-con_Elements, Underage_Rape/Non-con, Slapping,
      Sexism, Forced_Orgasm, Crying, this_is_so_terrible_and_i_hate_everything,
      Backstory, Self-Hatred, Creepy_Ardyn, Loss_of_Virginity, Virginity,
      Gender_Issues, Gender_Roles, Good_Victim_Mentality, Gender_Identity, Rape
      trauma
  Series:
      Part 2 of Lolita
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-06-14 Completed: 2017-07-16 Chapters: 4/4 Words: 7847
****** A Convincing Love Story ******
by LadyProto
Summary
     I was a daisy fresh girl and look what you've done to me.
     ((The Iris POV and second part to my fic and series Lolita))
Notes
     A convincing love story -- so named after the vanity fair article
     that proclaimed Lolita as a love story, despite the obvious rape of
     an underage girl. This is not a love story, but rather a retelling of
     my fic Lolita from Iris’s point of view. I don't have the mental or
     physical stamina to make this all one chapter. Sorry -__-
     Though this chapter focuses only on a kiss, the noncon will be very
     graphic and portrayed as realistically as possible. This will
     hopefully be the start of a recovery fic.
     Dedicated to my friend and writing senpai Ollie. Thank you for
     pushing me to write this.
***** Chapter 1 *****
This Mysterious Stranger is the most handsome man Iris has ever seen.
He’s an older man, probably Cor’s age if she were to read the hints of smile-
lines along his mouth. The dark, flowing robes may be out of place in the
Lestallum heat, but he wears them with the say sense of imposing regalness with
which King Regis wore his vestments. He’s not pretty like Prompto, or cute like
Noctis, but handsome like she imagined the heros in her romance novels. The
errant bangs of his hair were fluffy like cotton candy and nearly as pink in
the afternoon light. It’s intriguing, but not intimidating, despite the fact
his impressive height forces her to crack her neck to fully take in his
features.
He's a mixture of all the wonderful and comforting things Iris knows melted
together into the richest confection. But his most striking features are his
eyes. He has the kindest eyes in oddest color -- yellow like nectar and shiney
like amber. They look like Gladdy’s when he was younger, before he became
consumed by duty. For a moment they look golden with warmth as The Mysterious
Stranger observes her. “Are you alone, dear one? "
The velvety tones sends the smallest wave of ease into her muscles. The way he
speaks is so out of place -- like something from a movie with knights and
princesses and tales of heroism.
Iris feels safe.
----
When the cup drops, pretenses shatter.
This horrible debilitating confusion sweeps down Iris’s limbs as Ardyn’s
looming shadow overtakes her. Something is wrong. Something is so very, very
wrong. This is not the Handsome Stranger from the cafe, but some shadowed
imitation. His smooth velvety smile has been extinguished and his honeycomb
eyes have hardened to amber. Their size disparity no longer serves as a symbol
of protection, but is used as a threat as he presses against her. Mentally,
alarms sound, but physically she can’t coordinate enough movement to do
anything but bend to him.
“Mr. Izunia, I don't think --” She attempts to stutter out a form of protest,
but can't find her voice. She’d taken his drink, taken his company. She's not
sure she has the right to speak, and especially not to the man that had treated
her so kindly. He's done everything right. So why is she so scared? Ardyn is a
nice guy….right?
Like a deer in a hunter’s scope, Iris stays still and silent. Ardyn’s mouth
claims her own, and she stays complacent as he tears her first kiss away. It's
not even a kiss really -- at least it's not how she had imagined her first kiss
to be. He's trying to devour her with the desperation of a starving man. This
is supposed to be special, and it would almost feel good if not for his
roughness that sends her mind screaming. He pins her tightly with his larger
body. It's not soft or romantic; He doesn't even close his eyes. But she does.
Her mind is telling her that she can make this romantic if she'd just try.
She always did want to be the object of someone's affection after all. She’d
been several chapters deep into the novel Lolita when Ardyn had happened upon
her. Lolita and Iris are both orphans, pushed aside for the shadows of absentee
brothers, but Lolita is all the things Iris doesn’t know how to be. Iris wants
to be that a seductive yet sweet little girl who was spoiled with presents. The
girl not forgotten at the hotel but rather invited to go along on cross country
trips with a man who lovef her. She wants to be coveted.
So she never tells Ardyn no. Instead she turns the lecture into herself. She'll
only kiss him back for a few seconds. She tells herself that after he kisses
her, he will leave. She's always been good at telling herself fanciful stories.
Like when she used to tell herself her father would stop drinking, and that her
brother would come back for her.
Iris wants this, right? Why is she crying? Tears squeeze out from her closed
eyelids, as she feels Ardyn's hands against her neck. He nips away her sparkle
lipgloss and his stubble drags across her skin like knives. Line of burning red
welts rise against her chin, but she's not allowed to turn away from the pain.
Instead his hands come up to the back of her skull. He's so large in comparison
that he can a palm her head like a basketball. Fear burns behind her sternum as
the hotel room feels smaller. This is a stranger, and she's so small, so weak
and stupid to let herself get in this position. Her brother always told her
that her agility was her best fighting skill, but there's no agility to be had
when she’s being held steady against the door frame.
Ardyn’s no longer pressing against her, but pressing into her. Pushing her to
the wall, pushing her out of her body so he can use it whatever way he sees
fit. Her weak arms shove against his barrel chest, trying to push him a
centimeter or two away just so she can breathe. The fight must excite him
because the pressure increases. Ardyn has her pinned three different ways, and
she can't even squirm as he turns to violence. He sinks his teeth down into her
bottom lip and she tries to scream. He greedily swallows up the sound of pain
and thrusts his tongue into her open mouth.
The stench of rot pushes into her body. He tastes like decay smells, heavy and
cloudy at the back of her mouth. There's no words nor thoughts in her head,
just a visceral feeling of wrong as she tries not to dry heave in the man’s
mouth. It's the same heady stench of death that surrounded her during her
desperate claw to escape from the citadel. The essence of those mangled bodies
is now a physical wet intrusion she has to swallow around. Her tongue pushes
back, as she uses all of her strength to push against him. He doesn't budge. He
lingers in her mouth, just forcing her to accept the heavy, hot bitterness.
There’s something she doesn't understand. Its not a thing of hygiene -- no the
man is pristine with his fluffy pink hair and dark flowing robes. It’s
something inside of him, something that’s several stages deep into decay but
not allowed to die. When Ardyn pulls away it's by his choice, and not from her
feeble and frantic shoving. The rancid taste is everywhere, and the smile he
gives her is a knowing one. Death has kissed her, and Death licks her
strawberry lip gloss from his teeth.
“You… are you done?” Iris whimpers in a tone that shames her lineage. Six,
Please let him be satisfied. If he's done then he will leave. Why won't he just
leave?
Ardyn keeps his hips pinned against her belly, but pulls his face away enough
to observe her with cold calculation. He analyzes and picks apart her body and
face, and bit by bit his amber eyes strip her down to some bite-sized thing to
consume. Whatever Ardyn sees it's not Iris. There's a target painted on the
curves that are barely there and suddenly her body feels like a prison. He's
searching for something or someone else in parts of her body, and she can only
trembles in his gaze. What's going to happen to her if she doesn't measure up
to this unknown standard?
Ardyn’s body leaves her, and for the first time since he kissed her, Iris can
take a full breath. The sudden influx of oxygen makes her head spin. It's not
relaxation but its relief. Intelligent recognition lags behind primal reaction,
and one by one sensations click in her brain. She is shaking. Her cheeks are
wet from tears. Where his hands had grabbed her hair, tangles have formed in
knots. The rough blocky wood of the door frame has caused her back to ache. It
was a long drawn out kiss, but it was only a kiss. Why did it feel dirty? Why
didn't she say no? She's supposed to be stronger than this. She's an Amicitia
after all. She may not be the Kings Shield but she can fight. She can snap a
man's neck. She can -- but she didn't.
Oh, she is such a stupid stupid girl. What would Gladdy say if had known she’d
frozen? What would Noctis think? They don't have to know. Ardyn is going to
leave. It's over. She stares at her feet, and refuses to look at the face of
her mistake. But there's no sound of his retreat. The door never opens. It
takes several seconds of near catatonic waiting before she realizes Ardyn is
still in her hotel room. She jerks her head up, utter panic sending her heart
racing.
Ardyn stands there, his hands out to his sides in an invitation of worship.
He’d released her from his grip, but not from his control. He observes her
idly, a smile across his hungry features. But his most striking features are
his eyes. He has the coldest eyes in the worst color -- yellow like the color
of age and filth and jaundice. It's not until his presence is observed that he
bothers to answer her earlier question. “No, my darling flower. I've just
begun.”
***** Chapter 2 *****
Thud. Thud. Drag.
Iris’s heart hammers in times with Ardyn’s footsteps as he thuds across the
room. She hates  hates  hates loud sounds, and her nerves are already frayed
from the unwanted touching. He knows her fear. He has to. Why else would he be
so loud when he had been such a kind, whimsical gentleman before? He’s
assaulted her mouth with memories of mangled bodies, and now he’s trying to dig
deeper. Another sense, another dredged up memory. Another of piece of power he
can take from her.
Her brain forces her back to those moments, when she was just a child watching
the shell of her father drink away the stress of royal duty while her brother
slipped into the same routine. Noise is the backdrop to her childhood
shattering with her family’s sanity. Heavy footsteps are the precursor to a
night of violent arguments. Iris goes very still, those old survival instincts
stalling the gears of her rational thoughts. It all makes her feel so small, so
helpless. Oh she's such a stupid girl, such an easy victim.
Ardyn smiles at her, that expression of joy that had lured her into security
now twisted into admiration of her fear.  He’s  nearly wolf-life, pointed peaks
of his pearly white teeth sharp and glimmering with saliva. He's brutal and
invincible, dangerous and wild. He’s in control of the room, in control of her,
and he locks his golden eyes onto her. They burn like the sun, and her waxen
body can only melt into place.
He stamps his foot on the armrest of the hotel chair and grinds the dirt into
the tattered fabric. The heavy broadcloth rips under his heel, and he grins as
she shudders at the sound. It’s a warning --that will soon be her forced under
heel, ripped and dirty. He never takes his eyes off of her as he uses the force
of straightening his leg to push the chair across the floor. The rough wooden
boards screech like souls of the damned, like daemons in the daylight, like her
confused and child-like mind.  He settles the chair into position between her
and the door with a heavy thump. One way in. No way out.
“Now. Undress.”  Ardyn removes his dark overcoat and hat as he settles in his
chair. He asserts his dominion over his space with his body. His legs are
spread wide, his broad shoulders rolled back and relaxed. He’s so at ease with
the situation that his posture looks like he’s about to passively take in a
movie.
 Maybe this is a movie. Nothing feels real, and Iris has to rub touch her own
skin to make sure she exists.  He’s still doing that  thing where he’s looking
at her face but somehow beyond her. It's as if whatever he wants is being
housed inside of her and he'll need to split her apart to get it. She can only
think in simple phrases. She doesn't want to be hurt. She doesn't want to know
how this ends. She doesn’t want to do this.
“Gladdy…. He'll be back soon. He’ll come back.” Iris’s voice cracks at the last
syllable. The air rattles in her shaky lungs as she tries to remember how to
breath. It's a lie. Iris has been left behind again. The world turns on, but
the moment seems frozen.   She has no control of her body, no ability run nor
obey.  She's an animal playing dead in hopes this predator may not attack. She
doesn't even recognize her own voice as she grasps for coherency. Oh Iris, you
stupid, stupid girl.
“Then let him come.” Ardyn’s amusement swells.  From his throne of ripped
fabric he takes in her trembling form, his hunger and thirst barely contained.
“I would think he would like to see how the flower so easily lets her petals be
stained.”
Oh. She’d asked for this, hadn’t she? Some how, subtly in the unconscious
movements of her body, she’d signaled her willingness for this. All she had
wanted was a hand to hold, or an arm around her shoulders, but her desperation
for affection had made her the easy victim. She’d set herself up for attention,
and now it was here for good or for bad. She shouldn’t have taken the drink
from a stranger. She shouldn’t have been alone in a foreign city. She shouldn’t
have trusted the older man with the golden eyes and his ominous words of “would
you have coffee with me?.” Iris had given up the right to say no when she’d
taken his company.
“Now undress. Boots first.” He waves her off with a dismissive flick of his
wrists.
She grits her teeth and turns away from the words. Of course. He wants her to
bend over and present herself to him.  No . It’s a feeling, not a word. It’s
all encompassing, and the only thing in her mind is panic. Her stomach is on
fire. She tastes the rot in his mouth.  No .   He wants to inspect his prize.
She swallows the realization and it catches heavy in her sternum. She can’t
bring herself to be complacent in her own humiliation.  Iris shakes her head in
such short, fierce movements that her brain rattles.  “I-I can’t.”
“ Oh my dear, while I do love my flowers wild. I don't think you have a choice
in this.” Her refusal wears on his patience, so he brings back his best weapon:
his voice. The words crack like a whip against her skin, raising not welts but
terrible memories of  angry, domineering males that should not be questioned.
“I  said undress.”
A good victim would turn away, but the sound of his stern voice sends her
squeaking to calm the demon. The conditioning from the military upbringing has
her scrambling to follow the barked orders.  She needs to be a good girl, to
keep things running smoothly.  There’s flashbacks of holes punched into walls
and the small child’s voice telling her to hide from the family fights. It’s
still in her head, and she can’t separate them. She can’t remember what it's
like to not be scared of imposing men, even though her father and brother had
never actually hit her. She’d been shaken a few times when she’d mouthed off,
or did something stupid, but that was normal, right?
This is normal. She’d asked for this. Taking his drink was an unspoken yes.
She's obviously just nervous and exaggerating the scene in her head. Ardyn is a
nice guy. He’d treated her better than most people. She needs to be a good girl
and lie in the bed of thorns she has cultivated.
 Even though it feels as if she’s walking through jello she does as he
requested. Iris steps forward. She lifts her foot to the nightstand table in
order to reach the buckles and the fabric of her skirt creeps up her legs. From
the corner of her eye she can see rub circles against his thighs with his
fingertips. The trepidation behind her shaking finger tips, the hot flush of
humiliation across her cheeks -- he likes it.  He’s excited because she is
scared.   Ardyn leers at the view of panties between her spread legs.  “Pink.
My favorite.”
 Iris hastens her movements. Shame burns in her cheeks. The last of the buckles
unlatch, and she works on her other boot in nearly mechanical fashion. Don’t
think. Keep moving. That’s the way of the Shield. But she’s not a Shield. She’s
the spare child, an accident, and after thought. She’s the   girl  in a
testosterone driven family lineage. Is this what happens to girls who step out
of line?  Her thoughts are spinning out of control. There’s so much she doesn’t
understand.
Ardyn, why?
The boots lay discarded at Ardyn’s feet like offerings at the throne. Iris
steps back into position to be inspected. The military-esque pose is second
nature and she curses just how easily it is for her to fall into that mindset.
At attention for inspection. Chin up, chest out, shoulders back. She stands
with a blank expression, eyes unmoving and affixed to one of those impersonal
watercolor paintings that hotels have to make it seem like home. She's been
groomed since birth to be someone's property, be it the military, her family,
or Ardyn. This is her abject birthright.
“The top.” Her captor prompts, letting each sentence languish on his lips
before dropping them sharply to the ground. He’s harsh, but never raises his
voice as he’d done before. It's deeper, more like the growl of a barely
restrained beast. “Remove it. “
She doesn't have a fighting chance. Her fists bunch around the hem of her
shirt, clenching and unclenching to the beat of her hammering heart. Her
chipping fingernail polish catches over the loose threads of the stitching.
She'd painted them glittery pink for Noctis more than a week ago. She'd just
wanted to be pretty, to be wanted, to be loved. But instead she's prey; she’s
just some hollow pathetic thing making herself vulnerable for Ardyn to devour.
She clamps her eyes shut and begins to lift her shirt. Millimeter by millimeter
she bares to Ardyn parts of her body that no one has ever seen. First her
tummy, that’d only been touched by tickles from her older brother. Then her
ribs, hollow and shuttering like bird’s bones.  And then, and then -- No. Don't
think about it. She pulls the top over her head. It falls forsaken to the
ground.
“Ah. They match. How utterly charming that you’ve prepared yourself to be
viewed.”
 She flinches away from the words as if they were a slap. Humiliation. Torture.
She feels part of herself dying. The lewd and dripping words sear into her
skin. She’s not sure if she has to right to hate him because he is  right . She
had no realistic plans of being naked with anyone at the end of the night, but
she’d always wondered what royal hands would feel like on her touch starved
skin. All she's ever wanted is for someone to love her. But this is as good as
it gets for someone like her. Unlovable. Dirty. Gross. Bad.
Iris cries in earnest now; it's gross messy sobbing that sends her shuddering
for air like her lungs have been punctured. The room spins, and she hopes she
passes out from the dizziness. She's dazed, shaking so deeply that her soul
leaves her. Her body and mind become two different things, and she can see
herself pathetically crying, arms twisted to her chest and toes inturned. Her
knees high socks barely stay up on her stick-straight legs. She tries to wipe
away the tears with the inside of her wrist, but they just keep coming. She’d
always fancied herself an adult, but she knows now she’s just a little girl in
her polka-dot training bra and pink panties. She's trying to be small, trying
to sink back into that part of her mind where the daydreams and fantasies live.
She's not even sure how it happens, but she peels away her skirt without Ardyn
even giving the order. He doesn’t have to threaten or hit her or even yell for
her to present herself.  She'd wanted this, she reminds herself. Why else would
she have set herself up for such vulnerability? Then why does she wish so
desperately, to just disappear? To become rust and stardust like the lovers in
her novels and just poof out of exist. Maybe she can  disappear into a faint
blue light like Noctis does when he's faced with predators. She closes her eyes
for several long moments, and tries to go somewhere else.
“Oh  Divine .” She hears him hum in delight. She's done something good, the
feeling of happiness it sparks in her disgusts her.  She’s disgusting, nothing
but a  void of loneliness and self-pity, self-hatred. Maybe this is her value.
It’d make  someone happy at least.
Ardyn reaches for her, moving forward just enough to catch her by the wrist and
pull her into his lap. She doesn't understand how someone so brutally
domineering can be so genuinely gentle.
It feels good to be held, and even better when he offers praises into her hair.
 She collapses sobbing against his chest.  Her body and mind need to melt away
into something and Ardyn’s touch and tone is far softer than she would have
imagined. Iris is losing her mind.  She's disconnected from her body, from the
world, but Ardyn’s big arms around her -- that’s real.
“Oh my Goddess, I’ve waited so long to hold you. Shush now, let me make this
good for you.”
***** Chapter 3 *****
Chapter Notes
     *Throws this at my readers.* I'm so sick of looking at this.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
For a moment, Iris can pretend they are lovers.
In his arms Iris finds a moment of reprieve. Amongst his many layers lingers
the scent of home. He smells like the Citadel did on holidays -- all smoky
incense and earthy spices.  His clothing is soft against her tear stained
cheeks, the material well worn but cared for. Her sobbing lessens as she clings
to the forms of comfort she can recognize. Despite what he’s done to her,
despite what she knows is going to happen -- it feels good to be held and
loved.
Ardyn gently brushes the bangs away from her face, and kisses her forehead
chastely. “You were always so beautiful. Stay with me this time, will you?” He
whispers into her hair. Once again he’s speaking of things she doesn’t
understand, like there’s something beyond the existence of the two of them and
their chance meeting. “I need to see all of you.”
Iris whimpers. Of course, he wouldn't allow her to rest long. His hands start
to roam, and she’s forced to swallow the reality of what’s happening to her.
Her body belongs to Ardyn, paid for with a smile and a few cups of coffee. Her
humanity has been revoked. Instead she’s some pliable little primordial clay
for him to press his calloused fingers into. Her knees are forced apart, and
her thighs spread. Strong hands manipulate her body into straddling his hips.
His manhandling intensifies the separation of her body from her mind. It takes
her several moments of him shifting her over his clothed lap before she
realizes exactly why she’s been positioned in such a way. Positioned directly
underneath her spread hips she feels  It  warm, alive and throbbing like it’s
some disconnected wriggling creature. She doesn’t know what to do. She’d held
on to the hope that this was some cruel joke, a dream. She’s caught in his web,
a poor flightless creature with wings clipped before they even had a chance to
unfurl.
Ardyn grinds into her  and presses his chin into her shoulder. He breathes
sweet praises into ear with light licks and archaic language. The scent of his
cologne surrounds her. Lust crackles through the air like disorienting white
noise.Lips turn to teeth, and Iris lets out a squeal of panic. She bruises so
easily, and she knows this violation is going to leave her black and blue. It
seems like her captor knows too because he nips and sucks at her collarbone
like he’s marking her for life.
His two hands slide up her sides and land at the bralette that keeps her
hidden. There’s no clasps for him to fight with; she really is too
underdeveloped to need more than soft cups and ribbon-like straps. The flimsy
material doesn’t stand a chance against his over-eager hands. The ribbing in
the elastic gives way with with several desperate pops.
He clears her chest carefully, but after exposing what he wants the elastic is
left to drag across the sensitive skin of her face. It stings. and all Iris can
do is whimper as she reaches up to touch the fabric burns. There’s several
ridged bands across her cheeks and forehead, no doubt red and streaked.
Ardyn doesn’t seem to care about her tears though. He’s not even meeting her
eyes. He’s entranced, almost loving with the way he takes in her figure like
she’s some cherished art work.  “You’ll let me have it all, won’t you?” Ardyn’s
nearly breathless at the sight of her.
 The erection underneath her tents more violently as she sobs. Good god why is
a natural part of anatomy so threatening? What else does she have to give?
Hasn’t he had enough? Of course not.. He cups what little she has with his
palm.  Fondling, playing, pinching, hurting.  His touches grow harder,
hungrier, desperate. He’s hurting her.  He rolls her nipple with his finger
nails and she screams.

“No. Mr. Izunia. No.” She’s sick at her stomach. She needs to leave. She needs
to cover herself. She doesn’t know why. It’s not going to matter in the end.
But it's instinct.  Be small. Be soft. Please please please don’t touch me any
more. Please don’t look at me.  Iris tries to bring her left forearm over her
nipples, but he doesn’t allow that autonomy. Ardnyn snatches her wrist,
spiraling the bone around until  the tendons snap out of place like rubber
bands.
 She cries out, hot and desperate from the pain. Fireworks shoot behind her
eyes and she’s left wondering what did I do wrong?   He tucks her am behind her
back, squeezing her until the bones in her wrist grind together.  “No, you’re
going to be good. You’re going to let me take it all”
She doesn’t have a choice either way. The force pulls her backwards until her
knees are splayed out even further. How did he go from calling her beautiful to
ripping her muscles in the time it took for her to utter the word ‘no’? Her
quivering lips entice him to kiss her again, and she’s so firmly held in place
by fear and pain that  she can't twist away.  He parts her lips with his
tongue, and she feels sickness pool at her stomach. The taste of decay is still
in his mouth, but somehow less punishing. If it's something he can control, she
doesn't get how. She doesn't understand much of anything. If she had ever
understood her body and its worth, that knowledge is striped away with every
grinding motion of his hips. She exists for pleasure. Not hers, of course not.
Her body is for him.
She’d ask for this, right? She’d read the bodice ripper novels. She’d taken his
company. This is how it works out. Right?
Ardyn’s fingertips dip lower, and Iris chokes back a sob. It was just a matter
of time anyways before they got to the final act, right? He traces around the
curve of her hips, fingers crossing over the waistband of her panties. She
should be fighting this, but she can't get her body to move. It’s not
paralysis. If it's possible it's something even deeper. It's imprinted in her
gray matter from the first mitochondrial eve that was held down and impregnated
with the first son of man. It’s going to happen regardless of how badly she
fights. It’s going to hurt no matter how much she preps her mind. So don't
move. Let it happen.
Ardyn grips her shin and presses until the heads of her hipbones compress into
their sockets with a jarring scrape. Strangled sobs and waves of pain crash
together in her pelvis. More bone against bone. More pain. More tears. He lifts
her hips, awkwardly forcing her out of her panties one leg at a time. She sits
bare and trembling while he remains clothed and assured. She's weak in her own
body, wallowing in the knowledge that someone else controls her being.  
“Come for me, flower. You were made for me. You want me.” His words descend
into a low purr.
Iris tries to ignore the sensation of his finger tips spidering against her
lower stomach. Each feather light touch somehow becomes jarring and brutal. He
touches her in a way no one has ever done before, in a way she hadn’t thought
of doing to herself. It’s not a spot inside of her, but something that sends a
pulse of fire coursing through her body. Her thighs shake even though his touch
feels like blades. She can’t help but gasp at it. Against the backdrop of  pain
from her pinned wrist and twisted hip bone, his touch almost feels good.
And then disgust. The self loathing. Damaged goods. Lying whore.  Iris doesn’t
want his fingers swirling around her clit, so why is her body responding? Each
calculated stroke between her legs sends the twin demons of shame and pleasure
spiraling up her spine. She’s being consumed by the punishing flames of hell,
and she burns and burns until there’s nothing left but a shell, and outline of
a person.  Each soft kiss of her breasts takes her back to a few hours prior
when she was a little girl looking for validation and not being forced to
become a woman against her will.
She can’t take being touched anymore. She wants it to stop. Please make it
stop. She forces her insides to contract. Maybe a fake orgasm will make it get
over quicker.
Pure relief sweeps over her as Ardyn’s fingers slow. She’s made him happy, and
experience has taught her that pleased men are slower to dole out pain. She
half-expects this to be the end. She opens her eyes slowly, timidly fluttering
her eyelashes to raise her gaze to meet his.  Is it over?  The question is so
loud in her head she’s not sure if she’s spoken verbally.
 There's nearly ten seconds of silence as Ardyn simple studies her. “You’re
lying with you body, Little One.” Ardyn chides softly. “I really have no
patience for liars.” He yanks her damaged wrist harder, pulls her further back
until she’s almost falling off his lap. His gentle lulling tones never change
despite explosion of pain he causes.  She tries to arch towards his vice grip,
twisting her spine to mitigate the pain.
He backhands her. The hard hit sends her reeling and she half-falls off the
chair. The back of her neck hits the ground and she swears she can see the
lights of the Citadel as her skull bounces. Her upper half is spread out in a
mock crucifix on the floor, but her hips and legs stay on his lap. From his
vantage point she must look like a collection of body parts, just bits of flesh
he can stick his fingers in to violate in however he wishes. How appropriate
for someone like her.
 With her head below her hips, her mind gets fuzzy. Her eyes are lolling from
the impact, the stimulation, humiliation. Her limbs are dead and broken like
forgotten mannequins.  She thinks if she could just make herself sit up, this
would end. But her muscles feel wobbly, and her head doesn't want to work
right.  She’s so numb she might as well be dead. It doesn’t matter to him all
though; He keeps playing with her regardless.
The thoughts float lazily into her mind. Ardyn speaks to her as if they’ve
known each other for years. Maybe he’s crazy, or perhaps there had been another
dark-haired flower forced apart at the seams.  Is this rape? No, he hasn’t even
entered her with his fingers, and rape requires penetration, right?
Penetration, like Noctis’s swords into flesh, like Prompto’s guns into the air,
like Ignis’s knifes into fruit. Men penetrate, but Iris? Iris just takes.
The coil in her stomach tightens. She wishes it didn’t feel good to be touched.
She can try to rationalize it away but the same thoughts return.  Dirty. Bad.
Unlovable. You lying whore this isn't rape.  Guttural, primal sobs turn into
shuddering sighs as he strokes the right spots. Tears and moans mixed together
taste of sea salt and the last ice creams of summer being left to sag in the
unbearable heat.
“Come for me, Lolita.”
. She's never known how to refuse an order. She's a military brat, gaining her
love from violation. Ardyn knowns just the right way to roll her clit, and she
grits her teeth to keep from moaning. It’s an implosion -- a destruction of all
the things that made her human, constricting into the tiny space above her
navel. She comes hard against his fingertips and the girl that had been known
as Iris shrieks out her death throes.
All that’s left to do, is burn.
Chapter End Notes
     Sorry to the person I gifted this to for making this such a disaster.
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Notes
     A/n: what the heck do shy 15 year olds call dicks anyways? I vaguely
     remember manhood and member being used in those crappy romance novels
     I read in walmart lol.
     It's brutal Af. Sorry, Ollie.
“Sometimes, I wonder why I fell in love.”
Iris is on the bed. She doesn't remember when he picked her rag-doll body off
the ground. She doesn’t remember if she passed out, or maybe she'd just left
her mind for a while. Between her legs, the sheets are twisted and wet. She
struggles to support herself by leaning back on her elbows, and over her bent
and open knees she can see Ardyn standing by the door. His voice carries the
smallest backnote of sadness.

“But I suppose it doesn’t matter. I was intended to fall regardless.”

Iris tries to sit up further, but quickly realize how futile it is when she has
to bite her lip to keep from crying out. The joints in her hip and wrist
radiate pain in sharp throbs that keep time with her heart. She’s too weak to
do anything more than listen to his ramblings. Her mind concedes to the pain,
and she falls back into her reclining position with a hiss and heavy breath.
“But I am glad you are back with me. We can’t have you zoning out, now can we?
And besides I have a lesson to teach you.” Ardyn turns at the sound of the box
springs shifting. He looks regal, almost divine as he turns to her. The smile-
lines she’d noticed at the cafe seem more akin to weariness chiseled in his
face, and his cotton-candy his had intensified in the color of her father’s
wine. She doesn’t understand how he can be sad after everything he’s done.
Maybe it’s remorse. Maybe he’ll let her go.
Aryn theatrically gestures to the door, tapping the doorknob with two fingers.
“You really should use the lock. You are far too trusting.” He turns the
deadbolt with a heavy metallic clank before turning to face her. “Now. Where
were we?”

It hadn’t been locked. She could have ran. Oh gods she hadn't even tried. The
last remaining dignity in her soul shrivels. Muscle and bone turn to lead and
she suffocates in his filth. Why didn’t she run?Why? Why? Why?
Ardyn starts to disrobe. Iris had never been one to shy away from nude bodies,
but gods there something about the way he locks his eyes onto her that makes
her feel trapped. He sheds oddly layered linen and cotton shirts like a viper
sheds the scales too fragile to keep its power contained.He reaches for his
belt last, and Iris turns her head away as she hears the metal buckle rattle.
The footsteps that follow are softer than she remembers. He must have taken off
his shoes, and in a way that’s worse. It means he’s comfortable enough to draw
this out as long as possible. The mattress springs compress and rebound as
Ardyn crawls over top of her. There’s no shame in the way he grips her,
positions her, molds her to his liking. His hips are at the cradle of her
thighs and there’s something hot and throbbing heavily on her stomach. “Eyes
forward. Look at me as you receive me, Goddess.”
Dread slackens her face as she realizes what is so large and warm on her belly.
Oh god. It’s him. It’s his, his -- It's his member. His cock is rock hard and
stretched up to nearly her sternum. It's the first time she's actually seen a
penis in something other than biology class, and it takes her mind a while to
fully realize what's happening. At first, there’s a vague tinge of fascination,
but it's immediately pushed aside for anxiety. What's she supposed to do with
it? What is he going to do with it? How is he already so hard? She's done
nothing but cry and disassociate. How can the frantic fear of a fifteen year
old girl make his dick hard?
Stray syllables gurgle from her throat one at a time. She doesn't try to say no
again. He’s not going to listen to her anyways. But still, she shies away,
scooting back as far as her twisted joints will allow. His fingertips break
skin as he drags her down toward him. He clamps his forearm across her stomach
to keep her submissive, and with his other hand he guides himself into her
body.
It can’t possibly fit. It won’t. She can’t --
But he makes it. He feels her lips spreading, pathetically clinging to his
member. Her body is taking him in despite how fiercely she tries to push away.
Why doesn’t she have some way of keeping him out of her? Why doesn’t she get a
say in what's happening to her? Why can’t she fight this intrusion? He’s over a
foot taller than her. He’s Death incarnate, and this little flower never had a
chance.
Through her tear blurred vision, she watches inches disappear inside of her.
She’s wet but apparently not wet enough because it feels like he’s scraping
away parts of her just so he will fit.
It feels like water has been brought to a boil inside of her, and with his
every movement, he pushes the scalding pain deeper. There's panic. There's
frantic tears. She's changed her mind. She wants this to stop.
Ardyn pushes as deep as he can go, and Iris lets out hot wet sobs as the impact
sends her shuddering. She spasms around him, and he groans low into her ear.
They’re connected now in the worst ways. Every bit of pain he inflicts on her
sends him closer to his peak. Her body is giving him pleasure, but she just
wants it to go away. She wants to float away.
The worst part is it Ardyn prolongs the moment. He doesn’t move, but instead
makes his home inside of her. There’s rips in her seams, tears in the fabric of
her universe, but he pursues his desires at the expense of her sanity. He
composes himself, dipping his head close enough to her ear to whisper through
his panting. “I must confess something to you. I know you’re not my Goddess,
now are you?”
It’s not a question, so she doesn't answer. It’s just Ardyn’s strange
theatrical storytelling. Iris isn’t a goddess. If she were, she wouldn’t be on
her back in a wet hotel bed with a mouth full of dust and lungs full of decay.
A Goddess is pure and holy, but Iris has already taken in more of Ardyn’s
sickness than she’d ever wanted. He’s made her dirty. Bad. Unlovable.
Ardyn begins to move, and It’s like pulling the knife out of a sloppy wound. He
has to be turning her inside out, like some forgotten used sock. His weight is
suffocating, even as he reaches forward to trace her face with mock tenderness.
“I know you aren’t, but indulge this King’s errant fantasy, Little Shield. ”
King? The King of what? Iris knew the king she was meant to serve, and it
wasn’t the monster on top of her. But some traitorous part of her mind thinks
he could be right, that her purpose is to let men hide their secrets in between
her legs. Ardyn’s all but plucked the halo of innocence from her head, and bent
it into the crown that makes him the unwelcome king of her body. She can feel
him inside of her, feel the shape of his thick cock in alarming detail as he
brands her with his touch.
But if this is natural, why does it hurt? She remembers looking through the
keyhole at Gladdy and whatever blonde-haired short-dressed comfort he’d brought
home that night. It never seemed to hurt her unless she asked for it. Women’s
bodies are made to take men. So why does it feel like she’s dying? It hurts. It
hurts. It hurts, but he takes. He takes. He takes.
He wipes her tears with the pad of his thumb before claiming her mouth again.
She can’t connect the violent, harsh thrusting with his tender kisses. He
touches her face like she's made of glass, but slams into her like he wants her
to break. With every thrust, she feels the air being pushed out of her lungs.
He’s going to hollow her out, to take her body like a vessel. How much of the
wetness on her thighs is blood?
Ardyn’s movements become harder, more violent and extreme. He lifts her hips
higher, penetrating deeper until he rams against that solid spot inside her. He
slams into her again, again, again. Little bursts of cramps send her legs
shaking but her pain still isn't enough to satisfy him. “You aren’t her. You’re
the handmaiden. The whore.”
Dirty. Bad. Unlovable. Her shame is hot and wet. She’d orgasmed from his touch,
and the evidence was streaked across her thighs. There’s puke in her mouth.
Tears and drool cover her shamed face. When is this going to end? She becomes
less than human, emitting the sounds an animal makes when it knows it has lost
to the hunter, giving him the glass-eyed stare of a fish right before the
fisherman cuts into its belly. She’s so tired. She wants to go home.
“Does the whore love being used by her King?”
He forces his way up to the hilt. There’s no room for her inside herself any
longer. She vaguely hears the questions, but she can't answer it. Her tongue is
numb. Her hips and thighs are numb. But her insides burn like Ifrit himself is
fucking her. She lies there, prone and spread apart as he takes what he wants.
She focuses just over his broad shoulder at the crack in the ceiling. There’s a
spider web, all delicate and lattice structured. She never did like spiders.
Always got Gladdy to kill them.
“Answer me.”
Iris’s head scrapes back and forth and Ardyn rocks over top of her. There’s a
poor little mosquito caught in the web. It probably just wanted to escape the
Lestallum heat. Doesn’t matter what it wanted because its insides will be mush
soon. Consumed. Destroyed. Devoured. The natural order of things.
“I said answer me.” He shouts, and she remembers just how much she hates when
men shout.
There’s a flash of a wrist before the backside of his hand comes down on her
cheek.
“I love it. I love it. I love you.” That's something she never read about in
her bodice-ripper novels. They never told her that she'd bend and break and
humiliate herself to keep herself from more pain, from dying. She doesn’t want
to die here, naked and bleeding, used and covered in filth.
“Then burn for me.”
Iris doesn’t know what to say, but Ardyn never intended her to speak at all. He
pulls out in one rough motion, and rams back into her. Harder. Faster. She’s
breaking. Any of her tender insides that had remained intact before were surely
in threads now. Her eyes flutter, lightly rolling to the back of her head.
Ardyn growls in pleasure, hissing between clenched teeth. “The beast will hate
the whore. He will eat her flesh, and burn her with fire. So burn for me.”
Guttural, primal screams and sobs rip through her throat. Desperate stray
syllables are all she can use to express the sheer pain, the sheer violation as
Ardyn nears his climax.
And the last few moments are the worst. He growls like a starved lion as he
tears through her like she's nothing. He rips through her flesh like she's a
bag of trash, and he's searching for something he can't have. It's beyond
chasing his completion, and whatever he's looking for she doesn't have it to
give. He searches her face as he grips tightly on her hips, pressing into the
wounds he left earlier. He bucks into her with a shudder, and he cums in
twitching waves next to her cervix.
Even as his grip lessons she can't bring herself to move. What's the point? He
pulls out with a terrible soggy squish. Blood and semen trickle out of her
abused body. Pink. My favorite.
It's when Ardyn reaches for her with tenderness in his touch, that Iris rolls
over and away from him, holding her stomach in a tight fetal position. He’s
taken what he wanted so maybe he’ll finally leave. Please gods let him
leave.There's a terrible wetness everywhere, on her legs, on her chest, on the
sheets. The humiliation, that pin prick of tears at the realization that life
had falling apart.
“Are you done?” She repeats the words that had started the torture. She had
came into this hell wanting nothing more than love. Maybe that's still what she
wants, because when he kisses her -- carefully, gently, lovingly --she opens
her mouth willingly. Loving feels softer than hating and she's so bruised from
the anger, the friction, the force, the rage -- she just wants to be held. “Is
it over?”
Ardyn looks genuinely surprised, as if he hasn't just raped a fifteen year old
girl in a dingy hotel room. He pushes her shoulders back into the mattress and
looks deeply into her eyes. “My dear, this is forever or until the day I die.”
 
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