Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11634048.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      A_Series_of_Unfortunate_Events_(TV), A_Series_of_Unfortunate_Events_-
      Lemony_Snicket
  Relationship:
      Violet_Baudelaire/Count_Olaf
  Character:
      Violet_Baudelaire, Klaus_Baudelaire, Sunny_Baudelaire
  Additional Tags:
      Smut, Porn_With_Plot, Dubious_Consent, Underage_Sex, Rape/Non-con_-
      Freeform, MAJOR_CHARACTER_DEVELOPMENT, Angst, So_much_angst, Eventual
      Fluff, Child_Marriage
  Series:
      Part 1 of Stranger_Than_Love
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-07-28 Updated: 2017-08-26 Chapters: 2/? Words: 1695
****** Up Against The Wind ******
by Fanfictions14
Summary
     Violet Baudelaire knows she's on borrowed time. The money is running
     dry and she has yet to let her husband of five years get a taste of
     her bodily endowments. What gives first? Her resolve or his patience?
***** Prelude to Bruise *****
It ached. Knowing what she had to do to ensure her survival and that of her
siblings. Her heart was broken, her innocence left in tatters, her resolve all
but disintegrated. The stage lights nearly blinded her, and the only relief she
could find from their harsh damning glow was the tears pooling at her almond-
shaped eyes.
Do not let him see you break. Do not step out of line. Be strong Violet. Hold
it together. It was like that time in Paris many summers ago with mother and
father and Klaus. She had climbed over the protective railing of the Eiffel
Tower's peak to get a better view of the city and slipped, barely hanging on to
the structure's precipice. She panicked and started to slip, her trembling
fingers providing little support for her lithe body. Father leaned over and
spoke to her firmly but comforting, "Violet Franchesca Baudelaire., you are
strong and powerful and resilient. Fear is the greatest temptation that this
world will ever offer you. NEVER submit to it. NEVER give in." Oh Father. If
only he could see her now.
Violet steeled herself against the bright lights, the watchful audience, and
the sneering face of her guardian. Her captor. Her betrothed. With a calm, even
tone, she pursed her lips and murmured, "I do," then, after a very pregnant
pause, "I do," this time louder and biting, like scratching glass along a thick
sheet of titanium. That's all she could ever be now. Impenetrable.
She could practically taste the smugness radiating off of Olaf as Justice
Strauss produced the Fake But Real Marriage Licenses for them to sign and pens.
Violet briefly considered striking the walkie from Olaf's lapel and running to
the front of the stage, exposing him for the homicidal, money-hungry, egomaniac
he was. But he had been very clear. ANY funny business and pop goes the weasel.
The pop being the cage, Sunny being the weasel. Could Violet ever be so
selfish? If she allowed Sunny to meet her doom by fouling Olaf's plan, she was
as good as giving the damn order. No. No this was best. For everyone.
She leaned forward and signed the license, barely receiving enough time to add
her last flourish before the rogue had seized it up in his hand and said "Ahah!
There is no need to continue this play! I am now legally married to Violet
Baudelaire and that thus means the Baudelaire fortune is mine!" There was a
cacophony of righteous indignation, shocked gasps, and the pittering of weak
applause from his small group of cronies. Olaf basked in it, the drama.
Justice Strauss, immediately realizing her true role in this treachery, was
beside herself. Mr Poe was in no better shape, his fiery protests cut off
intermittently by his incessant cough. She didn't blame them. They tried their
best. They really did. But adults were stupid, and all the ones who weren't
employed their wits in the name of treachery, like Olaf, or mystery, like her
parents. The good ones always died before their time, leaving a trail of misery
in their wake. Mother and Father.
As Olaf roughly escorted her through the angry, confounded crowd, Violet
wondered which one she'd turn out to be. She wondered which option ended in
freedom and as they ascended through her husband's dank, dim halls, she
resolved to never grow old enough to find out. She could atleast afford herself
that victory, if no others.
***** Chapter 2 *****
Chapter Notes
     WARNING: TW// GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF R*PE AND BL*OD
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The first night in his bed was an absolute nightmare. The room so eerie and
still, she could hear the silence. After unceremoniously dumping her onto his
stiff, dusty mattress and shucking his wedding clothes, Olaf bumbled under the
duvet and turned his back to her. She did not know what to think. She certainly
had gotten ideas about what to expect and he had surprised her by not following
through with the sacred, final, and terrifying part of their ceremony. She
hated herself for how that somewhat pained her.
"Just fucking get it over with!" She burst, after several maddening minutes of
silence.
The lanky buffoon plopped over onto his side to acquaint his cold, shiny eyes
with her wet, frightened face.
"Get what over with?" His single, bushy eyebrow rose almost three inches on his
forehead as he sat up and pushed himself from the bed, stalking over to her
like she was skittish prey soon to be turned fresh kill. "Oh...." he said,
smirking devilishly and cupping her delicate features between his hands. "My
dear...you've got this all wrong," he purred, as she braced herself for what
was to come. The Count grinned at her and leaned forward, pressing a chaste
kiss to her forehead. "I may be a villain, darling but I'm no damn monster." He
pulled away with a final caress of her cheek and made his way back to bed. "Now
come on. Get in. You have an extremely long day of chores ahead of you and
you're going to need your beauty rest."
Violet gingerly followed suit, climbing under the covers and turning on her
side. Of course he didn't deserve it, but she couldn't help but feel thankful
for the tiny sliver of mercy he'd shown her by allowing her to claim her
purity. Still, every twitch, turn, and grumble he made through the night shot
her well-invested anxiety through the roof. He was such a fitful sleeper for a
man who could take comfort in knowing he'd just inherited one of the world's
largest fortunes and he was, by far, the biggest villain. Violet slept little
that night. And it seemed she hardly ever would again.
*
Two years saw them through to an uncomfortable peace. She cooked, she cleaned,
she served. He plotted, planned, and connived, sponsored by her money. Klaus
and Sunny had been shipped off to boarding school and Violet, though allowed to
write them, was never granted permission to see them. Not even during summer.
It was a bitter loneliness, an emptiness that would never redeem itself for
anything more righteous.
Still, she found comfort in tinkering. Oftentimes, during her chores, she could
be seen with her hair tied back by a ribbon, her eyes glazed over with dreaming
up new inventions to make her work bearable. Little scraps of metal and wire
would go missing here and there, weeks later replaced by tiny gadgets and
gizmos that served strange albeit useful purposes.
What she hated more than him, were his rules. Dress this way. Eat this thing.
Do this chore. Shave these toenails. He wielded authority like a knife, keen to
bring her closer to breaking with every order. All she could do was keep silent
and obey. That bought her small privileges such as an inventing room and the
preservation of her purity.
Never once had he touched her though she knew the temptation gripped him from
time to time. On occasion, he'd reach out a scraggly finger and brush a lock of
hair from her face, his touch lingering a few moments too long. Once in the
kitchen, he'd snuck up on her to give her a small fright, as he was often wont
to do, and had grabbed her by her shoulders, causing her to gasp and turn. Too
close to his pointy shoes, she tripped and collided with him, causing them both
to tip and fall onto the floor. Violet's pelvis landed square on his legs in an
accidental straddle and she could feel a sizable bit of throbbing pressure
against her belly. He turned beet red, and she flushed, scurrying off to her
inventing room and resurfacing only hours later.
One night, Olaf and his band of degenerates were drinking and causing a general
ruckus. Their house was often filled with chaotic drunken noise. She flitted
from one vagrant to another, filling wine glasses as they drained. Violet
hardly ever got a moment to herself during times like this when they were
hosting these so-called "parties". The clamor and scoundrelism were too much to
take yet she had little choice and even less say in the matter.
As the wine bottle emptied, she retreated to the kitchen for a moment's
reprieve. Sighing heavily, she bent down to grab any dark bottle of liquor her
delicate fingers would grace first. It didn't matter much. They were so drunk
they'd know no difference. Lost in her spiteful thoughts, she missed the
creaking of the kitchen door and the scrape of a sturdy chair against the
doorknob. Before she could even process what was happening, a dual sharp pain
ambushed her pelvis and sent her reeling. She could feel little else than the
warm rush of blood down her legs and then she was on the floor, the cool air of
the drafty house rushing to meet her between her legs. It was only when the
cold was replaced by the blunt agony of rock hard flesh, did she start to
scream.
Something rapped her across the back of the head, disrupting what little
thought capacity she had left and silencing her.
"Shut up you little bitch!" He growled, gripping her with his hooks where he'd
cut her open, the flayed flesh of her gored pelvis rubbing torturously against
her dress. He was on top of her, all around her, and inside her. She knew she
would die. She could feel herself slipping away
He bit her on her ear and she screamed once more, begging for this agony to
stop. Begging for Olaf to come rescue her. In all her years, she had never
wanted anything like that. But now, she needed it.
Fernald grunted and panted his way to completion above her and then turned her
over. In that instant, she knew she'd never forget this: the pain, the despair,
his evil, cackling eyes as he claimed her. If this, a robbery of her senses,
her siblings, her fortune, and freedom, is what life would be like, may death
come swiftly. That was the last thought she had before there was the sound of a
loud pop, a rush of wet warmth across her face, and darkness.
Chapter End Notes
     Hey there!
     Tell me what you guys think. This is my first time writing a
     fanfiction in a while.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!