The Count’s Bride
Count Rugen x Fem!Reader
Warnings/notes: Smut, age gap, BDSM, loss of virginity, mentions of blood, murder, suicide, dark romance ig this isn’t a healthy relationship yada yada yada… listen idk what possessed me to write this okay 😭
‼️Minors/ageless blogs dni!!‼️
🗡️🖤 🗡️🖤 🗡️🖤 🗡️🖤 🗡️🖤 🗡️🖤 🗡️🖤 🗡️
- You were a village girl of modest means drawing water from a well. There were men of the palace scattered about, and you paid them no mind, until one of them tapped you on the shoulder. He had a serious face and handed you a note. You read the words, Such divine beauty as he spoke gruffly, “His Lordship Count Rugen demands to see you.”
- You were petrified. What could the Count want? His note didn’t seem threatening, but why? You’d never even seen the man. All anyone knew was that he was extremely close with Prince Humperdink and he had six fingers on his right hand.
- Terrified of disobeying, you followed the royal guard back to the castle, no time to tell your family where you were going. You clutched the note tightly, so much it was wrinkling. What was he going to do to you?
- You followed the men inside, walking up a large staircase and ending up in the Count’s quarters. He immediately stood from his chair, striding towards you. He took your hand in his and bowed, kissing it. “My lady,” he spoke with conviction.
- You were taken aback. He wasn’t necessarily someone you’d imagine yourself falling madly in love with, but he was certainly charming. He took both your hands and looked into your eyes as he told you, “Fair maiden, I know not your name, your rank, nor if you are already betrothed, but I ask you this: if you are free, if you are willing, would you give me the utmost pleasure and become my bride?”
- You were speechless. “I understand your confusion. A man of my status, surely twice your age or more, asking you to wed without knowing a single thing about you. Forgive my impulses.” He bowed again, letting go of your hands. “I have seen you from afar, enough times that you have invaded my dreams. Tell me, what is your name?”
- After telling him your name, he promised you your family would never want for anything ever again if only you married him. It was clear he was willing to do anything for your agreement. You felt you had no choice but to say yes. He responded with a smile, kissing your hands again (only now did you take notice of his sixth finger) and swore to love you for the rest of his life.
- You remained in the castle from then on. It was lovely and lavish, but you only saw the Count twice a day, once in the morning and once before bed. In the morning he would bring a flower to your room, ask if you slept well, and kiss your hand. In the evening he would return, with a glass of wine, and kiss you on the cheek instead. It was somehow both romantic and distant.
- The day of the wedding approached fast. After endless fittings you finally stood adorned in your gown. Your father too ill to walk, Prince Humperdink walked you down the aisle. The Count stood looking solemn and proud, but his eyes betrayed him as they sparkled with joy. As you took his hand in front of the altar, you felt a pang of happiness in your stomach.
- After a long evening of curtseying to nobles and dancing, you retired to your new bed chambers with the man - still almost a stranger - who was now your husband. He poured you both glasses of wine but you did not partake. You already felt sick. “Dearest, have you a fear of our marital bed?” he asked casually. You nodded, “I’m so sorry, My Lord,” and he cut you off.
- “My lovely bride, no more need for formalities. Address me as my name.”
- You felt a heat rise up to your face as you whispered, “Tyrone.” God, why was it easier to call him by title?
-That’s better,” he sighed. “Now, if you feel unprepared for what happens between man and wife, please be honest. A true man waits until his bride is ready for him.” You felt a weight lifted off. “Yes… yes, please.”
- And that was all that was said. You both undressed into something comfortable and laid in bed. He insisted on giving you a kiss on the lips for a goodnight.
- You held out for several weeks, never speaking of sex. In fact, you two barely spoke at all. Not much was different from your awkward courtship aside from the occasional kiss on the lips. This frustrated Tyrone very much, but he never once let on to you, venting to Humperdink about it instead. Stubbornly complaining about how much he wanted to slide his cock into your tight hole, caress your soft breasts…
- One evening, he entered your chambers as you were drying off from a warm bath. You sat wrapped in a luxurious towel as your handmaiden finished brushing your damp hair, quickly leaving afterwards. Tyrone kissed you on the neck as a greeting, sitting in the corner chair to read. But he couldn’t focus on the book. Not when you sat there, applying lotion to your arms and legs, loose towel looking like it could fall at any moment.
- You swiftly stood, ready to clothe yourself, when his fantasy came true. The towel fell to the ground, pooling around your feet. Tyrone’s gaze was fixed upon you as you hurriedly tried to bend and pick it up, your motion only giving him a better view. As you fiddled with the fabric, which was not cooperating, you realized he was now standing right next to you.
- “Please, my dove. May I at least be allowed to look?”
- You stared into his eyes. They were so yearning, so pathetically full of admiration. Begging. Pleading. So you gave in. Allowed the towel to drop once more. He looked you up and down, taking in your bare chest and slick pussy.
- It had become quite slick down there. The mere act of being naked in front of him had done something to you.
- “By the gods, youre perfect. A temptress sent to destroy me.”
- That was all it took. He grabbed you up in his arms, kissing you deeply and placing you on the bed. You found yourself moaning into his mouth, his facial hair tickling at your face. Once you were comfortable, he busied himself by sucking one of your nipples, his right hand reaching down to toy with your vagina.
- After several minutes of his lewd sounds mixing with your overwhelmed moans, he quickly removed his own garments and pounced on you, whispering, “Please be strong, my dearest. I’ve got you,” before ramming his member into you. You cried out, him shushing you and not letting up his pace.
- This continued for a while; Tyrone seemed to be enjoying himself over and over but your discomfort wouldn’t subside… until finally, by some miracle, it did. Your pain gave way to dull pleasure, and you felt a wave crash over you. You stiffened as it happened, and Tyrone held your hand tightly through it.
- “Well done, my bride,” was all he spoke. He quickly turned your shaking body over and drew your knees up. In an instant, you felt a sharp smack to your buttocks, causing you to cry out. “Did that hurt you, my love?” your husband asked. You nodded quickly. So he did it again, railing his cock back into you. The next few moments were a blur of his thrusting and striking, and you powerless to stop it.
- it seemed with every yelp of pain you let out, the more fun Tyrone seemed to have. He kept questioning you, “Does it still hurt? Does it sting? Does it make you cry?” then finally one unexpected question: “Do you enjoy it, my dear?”
- The phrasing caught you off guard, but you instantly answered with a shaky, “Y-yes, my Lord.” And you realized what you’d done. You loved it. You loved being completely helpless underneath this man. This man who had been so kind yet so demanding. His insistence, his torment… more tears formed as you shoved your face in your pillow, letting out a loud cry as you orgasmed for the second time.
- And that was how Count Rugen took your virginity. He was surprisingly tender afterwards, rubbing your bright red ass and kissing you. But it was only the beginning of your intimacy…
- From then on, you had a unique relationship with Tyrone. You two weren’t particularly close during the day, the most affectionate you got in public was holding hands. But at night, in bed, you loved playing the role of his victim as he tormented you with pleasure. Sometimes he’d bind your wrists and ankles, striking you on more areas than your ass, to prepare you for his penetration.
- You were married to the Count for 3 years, never bearing children. Some days you weren’t sure what you saw in him, other days he was your comfort.
- He keeps you separate from his corruption. You never knew of his torture machine, the lives he claimed, or his plan to help Humperdink murder his new bride and start a war.
- You’d never forget the look on Buttercup’s face as she denied marrying the Prince as long as her true love Westley still loved her. She sat solemn in her room, confiding in you that even if Westley didn’t return, she would rather take her own life than marry Humperdink.
- “My dear sister, I promise you it is not as bad as all that. You may end up quite fulfilled, even in a marriage you never asked for. I would know,” you simply said.
- The night of the royal wedding, all hell broke loose. Westley returned indeed, along with a group of ruffians, to foil the marriage. Hearing the chaos outside, Tyrone grabbed you by the waist saying, “Go. Hide in your room. And do not come out until I fetch you.”
- You scurried upstairs, hiding underneath your bed in fear. Minutes passed. Where was he? Was the castle still seized upon? You slowly crept out, disobeying his orders but you didn’t care. You quietly walked through the halls, things eerily silent.
- Then, from the dining hall, you heard some coughing. You rushed in, only to find your husband on the floor, badly injured. “Tyrone!” you gasped, rushing to his side. You took his hand. “I told you to stay put,” he breathed, sputtering out some blood. You caressed his freshly scarred face, “Don’t worry about me. We’ll get you help.”
- Tyrone grasped your hand tighter. “No. It is… too late for me. I have been fairly bested. It is my time.”
- You sobbed, “No, darling please! Stay with me.”
- “My love, I am a wicked man. I have done unspeakable things. I should have known, such a painful way as this, was the only just way I could leave this world.” He reached weakly up to touch your face, “But if I did one thing right… then certainly, it was choosing you. My beautiful dove. I’m truly sorry that you wasted three good years with this abomination.”
- You sobbed harder now. “No, no… I love you, my Count. True, this is not a life I would’ve chosen, but it’s the life I was given, and you served me well. I do not want to go on without you. But I will if I must.”
- With a pained smile, Count Rugen drew his last breath. His hand fell from your face and dropped to the floor. You held his bloodied body, crying harder. Then you heard footsteps behind you. A dark haired man with a sword spoke in a Spanish accent, “I assure you, my Lady, he is no man to shes tears for.”
- You responded by crying harder still, and the man, likely the one who killed your husband, you thought, showed compassion and embraced you as well.
- In the days that followed, you learned some disturbing things about your deceased Count. He wasn’t exaggerating when he said he’d done unspeakable things. With him gone, you had no reason to remain in the castle. You packed your most precious belongings, leaving your life of luxury behind but keeping your title. You chartered a ship to take you to a desolate place in Guilder, which is where you spent the rest of your days. You became a sort of myth; “The Heartbroken Countess who probably continues her husband’s advances in torture.”
- You didnt always think of Count Rugen, but when you did, it was usually late at night and full of tears. You kept his wrinkled note under your pillow, and whenever you felt frightened or confused, you read the faded ink, Such divine beauty.
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