ArtLover @shyartnerd564 - Tumblr Blog

The Quiet Ones 11

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a quiet life, but your peace is fractured by a chaotic man.

Characters: Lloyd Hansen, short!shy!reader

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

The morning comes but not relief. Despite the breeze wafting in from the open balcony, you swelter until the sun rises. Even then, you’re not free. Lloyd remains, snoring, latched on.

When he stirs, it’s only the promise of what’s to come. This is the day. A day you never dreamed of. A day you never longed for. A day he will make sure happens exactly as he wills. Just as he has forced on you every single other desire in his twisted brain.

You let the hours past, hoping deep down he sleeps through it all. The sun continues its lazy ascent, shifting through shades of coral, gold, and yellow. The smell of the ocean flows through with the noise of the waves.

His hand slides up from your stomach to your chest. He squeezes and growls, rolling his hips as he nibbles your ear. You stare at the blurry coastline through the large glass doors across the balcony. You hold back a sigh.

“Morning, bean,” he rasps. “Mm, it’s our special day.”

He kneads your chest. It takes everything in you not to stop him. His palm against your naked flesh, the pebble of your nipple pressing into his hand, the goosebumps across your skin. The sensations are enough to have you paralysed.

“If I could marry you right here in this bed, I would,” he hums. “Straight from the vows to the... well.” He snickers and wiggles his hips again. “Ah, jelly bean. I’m so happy.”

You stay still and silent. He kisses your hair and pushes himself away from you. You let a sliver of tension loose as the bed bounces under him. The empty bed would be paradise if not for him.

“Alright, well, we still got some time to go,” he struts to the coffee bar, his ass out shamelessly. He pops a pod in the machine and snaps the lid down. “Stylist will be here later and your dress is on its way. I’ll call down for some breakfast first. Oh, my suit.” He taps the button and turns to face you. You pull the blanket over your face so you can’t see his erection. “You take your time though. Need to rest up for tonight.”

He pushes off the coffee bar, his feet slapping the floor as he strides across the suite. There’s a brief pause before the trickle of his piss hits the toilet water. It gets louder as he lets the stream free. You grimace beneath the blanket.

If someone asked you at any point in life what hell is, you couldn’t think of anything worse than this.

He comes back out. The cup clinks on the tray and he slurps loudly. He goes to the balcony and pushes the glass door all the way open. He steps out, naked, and sighs up at the sky.

“Bean, you gotta come see this.”

You don’t move. You touch the mattress and close your eyes. Please, just make me a part of the bed. Turn me to spring and cushion. I would much rather be a gel top cooling pad.

He calls you again. You cringe and push yourself up. You slump and slide off the bed. You grab the robe and wrap it around yourself.

You drag your feet to the doors. You stare out in dread. He leans on the railing and drinks his coffee. You shuffle up beside him. It is beautiful. You can’t deny that.

Your old life was dull and boring. You never even bothered of dreaming of a place like this. You wouldn’t ever be able to afford it.

“I’m gonna fuck you out here. Tonight,” he slips his hand along your lower back. “In the tub. On the bed. Against the wall.” His finger swirls against the robe. “But I think out here will be my favourite.”

You grip the railing as stare at the sun. Your eyes water until you’re forced to look away. It burns but not as much as your fate. You can’t stop him as much as you can’t stop time. Lloyd Hansen is as inevitable as a ticking clock.

🩷

You don’t feel like yourself. It’s for more than your circumstance. It isn’t just that Lloyd ripped you out of every familiarity in your life. It’s the dress, the hair, the makeup, the shoes...

The woman responsible for it all leaves. She never gave a name. She didn’t say more than she needed to. You respect that. You’re less than equipped to pretend. You’ve never been very good at that and you need to save your energy.

You stand by the balcony doors and stare out at the azure waves. The sleek ivory satin sheath tickles your skin. It’s simple. Thin enough for you to bear the Hawaiian sun. There’s a ribbon around your wrist with a corsage of orange hibiscus.

The door opens and closes. You don’t react as your eyes stick into the distance. You think of walking into the tides and just not stopping.

“Jelly bean?” Lloyd’s voice brings your vision into focus.

You face him. His expression shifts. His blue eyes dilate and his jaw ticks. His lips part.

“Wow,” he wisps and touches his chest.

He wears a pair of powder blue slacks. His shirt is satin, a silvery blue with a pattern of garish chains printed into the fabric. It’s tacky. There’s a peak of a real chain around his neck, shining gold, matching the buckles on his ivory loafers. The same orange hibiscus is pinned by his left lapel.

“My oh my, jelly bean. My favourite candy,” he crosses the room and extends his arms to you, “the sweetest I know.”

You clasp your hand around your other wrist. Your body locks up as he grazes his palms along your arms. He pulls you to him and hums.

“I don’t wanna ruin all this,” he drags his touch up your shoulder and along your neck. “Not yet.”

You gulp. The hopelessness swells over. That anger that kept you awake, that kept you from cracking the day before, it dissipates into tepid acceptance. Your lip quivers and you force it still as you bite the inside of your cheeks.

“Come on. Can’t be late to true love.” he grabs your hand and turns. He struts to the door and tugs you through.

The shoes are wedges, not too high. You’re thankful for nothing but that. As you come out in the hall, he re-arranges himself next to you and loops his arm through yours.

It’s a death march. The type you’ve only read about or seen on TV. The accused queen walking on the spite of her maddened husband; the rival cousin swept up in fears of treason; the unfortunate captive of a lost battle facing the noose. All you can do is put one foot in front of the last.

Outside, the warmth stuns you. It is a scalding contrast to the ice in your veins. Lloyd doesn’t relent, doesn’t hesitate. You could plant your feet and fold in on yourself. Yet, you keep going.

Days of desolation, a night of smoke, a flurry of chaos... all of it melds in your mind, stirring to a disorienting cacophony. Even ground turns to pebble and softens to silt and sand.

You look around as if only just awaking. He leads you around a jutted cliff and down a winding path. The salt of the ocean laces the air, the lapping of waves rolls softly. You come in sight of the sun as your chunked wedges sink into the grains below.

The water sparkles, the sky softens but does not dim, and the horizon ripples like golden thread. It’s immaculate.

You have no choice but to lean into Lloyd as he guides you. It’s like wading through quicksand but that’s more than just the terrain. Your limps are stiff and stubborn. Go back, go back, go back.

There’s a man and a woman. He’s in a white shirt and white pants. There’s a scarf or something around his shoulders. There’s silver crosses sewn into it, another hung from his neck with beads. You’re not religious. Once you thought you were. There’s a reason that changed.

The woman is the same that came to the room to arrange your hair and paint your face. She is patiently silent as she stands to the side. You never thought of being married but this is far from anything you would imagine.

He smiles expectantly as he watches you approach. Lloyd stops you across from the man and greets him, “father.”

The man opens the book in his hands. “Shall we begin?”

“Yes,” Lloyd turns to face you and takes your hands in his. “I’ve never been more ready.”

You’ve never been less.

You stare at his upper lip. That bristly line of hair. That questionable choice. It explains all you could ever wonder about the man. It’s tacky, defiant, and odd.

Lloyd squeezes your hands as the priest clears his throat. You shiver despite the balmy heat. Your feet sink deeper in the sand.

“Do you stand her and vow yourself before the Lord with no reason

"Miss, repeat after me. ‘I, solemnly swear, to take this man in holy matrimony. As my husband to keep, to cherish, and love.’”

The waves crash into the shore. It’s deafening. Your forehead trickles with sweat and the nape of your neck is on fire. Your hands shake in Lloyds’s.

You squeak.

“She’s nervous,” Lloyd chuckles. “Go slow.”

The priest repeats himself; just the first few words. You eke out an echo. He continues until you get to that last word. ‘Love’.

Then it’s Lloyd’s turn. He says it easily. As if he knows it already. His thumbs rub your knuckles. Your legs quake.

“Before the Lord, and your witness, I declare you, husband and wife. Through sickness and health, until death do you part.” The priest declares. “You may kiss your bride.”

Lloyd obeys before the pact is sealed. His lips are on yours, his hand on the back of your head, his other on small of your back. You’re breathless as he devours you. Your audience is unaffected by his hunger. It’s all very surreal.

He draws back, keeping you in his arms. He grins and winks at you. “All mine, jelly bean.”

“Sir,” The priest approaches, “the papers.”

“Ah, almost forgot,” Lloyd lets you go. “Pen.”

The priest reaches in his front pocket and slides out a black pen. He gives it to Lloyd. Under the bible cover, there’s a slip of paper. There’s a golden seal in the corner. The priest shows him wear to sign then you get the pen. You scribble on the paper, your hand numb, then the woman takes the pen and signs the third space.

“Well, father,” Lloyd leans in to look at the paper, his hand under the priests as he cradles the bible. “Looks like we’re all set.”

He closes his hand around the bible and the priest’s fingers. The holy man flinches as Lloyd reaches behind himself. He slides something free of his belt.

You step back as a twinge plucks in your chest. Something’s wrong!

The silver pistol flashes in the setting sunlight. The host is silent. A dark hole appears in the priest’s forehead as the gun recoils in Lloyd’s grip. He’s quick. He aims it at the woman. The bullet pierces above her cheekbone. She falls as quickly as the priest.

You raise your hands in shock and step back. You trip as your skirt flutters in the breeze wafting in off the waves. You blink as Lloyd lowers the barrel.

Calmly, he tucks the gun away. He slides the paper free of the book and drops the bible beside the dead man. Your lashes flick furiously and your heart hammers.

You lunge forward. You stagger in the dirt as you pump your arms. You want to scream but you can’t. You just run, lungs burning, head spinning. You race away from the smell of blood and gun powder. You don’t know where you’re going, you just need to get away.

You hit the waves as a force throws you off your feet. Lloyd lands atop you with a grunt and you thrash in the ebb and flow. He hushes you as you flail and whine.

“Lloyd!” You shriek at last, your fear boiling over.

“Jelly bean, you don’t get it,” he wrestles with you in the wet sand. “I’m a dangerous man.” He pins you on your back beneath him. “I can’t have anyone knowing about you. Didn’t I make a promise just now? To always protect you?”

“You- you—you--” you sputter.

“I know, baby, I know,” he pets your face with his wet hand. “I fucking love you.”

Trending Blogs

Recently Viewed Blogs

ArtLover