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ladystoneboobs · 1 month ago

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idt we talk enough about how a song of ice and fire is also the song of incest and cannibalism. i mean, sure, obviously both of those subjects are noted as present, but the saga feels much more known for its incest, which idt is fair or accurate to the later materiel. iirc, jaime fucking cersei next to their dead firstborn is the last instance of onpage incest happening in present tl, and after that it's all about the cannibals, baby.

(disclaimer: cw/tw sa, cw/tw rape, and i'm not counting cousincest as that's normal in-world even for non-targaryens and also still legal in many places in our world today, nor counting the faux-incestuous freudian mess that is littlefinger/alayne(sansa)/sweetrobin, nor any dark humor jokes and/or unfulfilled threats wrt forced cannibalism)

in fact pretty much all the active incest during the present tl happens in those first 3 books:

the twincest as a major plot point ofc, kicking action off when bran saw them fucking in a tower

and viserys creeping on dany and twisting her nipple

tyrion relating his backstory to bronn wherein he and tysha were both raped by proxy by his father, tywin (tho tyrion does not use that terminology)

craster still being alive to rape and impregnate his own daughters (resulting in dozens of forced incestuous relationships)

and theon unknowingly groping his own sister while she (knowingly) groped him in return

jaime's early pov recalled how he shut up cersei with kissing when they fought after bran refused to die

bella of stoney sept trying and failing to seduce gendry who is (unbeknownst to them both) her half-brother as both were sired by robert baratheon (only example in these 3 books where incest was averted before any sexual activity or incestuous contact occurred)

the aforementioned sept twincest next to joffrey's corpse

tyrion learning from oberyn about cersei twisting his penis when he was a baby

cersei's failed attempt to seduce jaime in wst, pulling out his dick for either a bj or hj until her talk of tyrion's death made him lose his boner

while incest is not exactly absent from the text after that, it seems to exist in the feastdance only in hypotheticals or past memories:

aeron's trauma flashbacks of his (implied only in published text) csa by euron

jaime still feeling lust when seeing cersei nude

and her fond reminiscing about them fucking behind robert's back/brief dream of them as a married couple before her walk of shame

and cersei remembering another she twisted tyrion's baby penis

victarion misinterpreting asha's offer of partnership as a marriage proposal and suddenly looking at his niece in a new way with "his manhood beginning to stiffen"

jaime's recollection of fucking cersei at darry next to robert as he was passed out drunk before cersei sent him to hunt arya (which would have happened back in agot and the point of this scene is more his failed hunt for a child just to make cersei happy)

arianne's "uneasy" memory of a past fantasy about being seduced by a man whose description is suspiciously similar to her late uncle oberyn

the aborted marital match of aegon/young griff to his purported aunt dany

illyrio saying (the now dead) viserys tried to rape dany the night before her wedding to drogo (another event from agot concerning a guy we already knew was into incest)

and tyrion once saying he wanted to rape as well as murder cersei

conversely, the cannibalism in the earlier books is most often only unproven hypotheticals alluded to as possible cannibalism:

old nan saying the others fed their dead servants the flesh of human children (which we have not yet seen with any wights so far, whether or not one counts walking undead eating human flesh as straight-up cannibalism)

the mystery meat in flea bottom's bowls o' brown which may or may not contain symon silver tongue after tyrion had him killed

renly's recollection that cressen kept stannis from catapulting their old master-at-arms by saying they may need to eat him later (which did not come to pass thanks to davos)

joffrey telling his people to eat their own dead (with no way of knowing if any actually did)

lady hornwood eating her own fingers (though bran's pov only notes them being chewed on, not swallowed. it's only in adwd that people talk of her eating the fingers.)

the mentions of the ice river clans being the cannibals beyond the wall (who are def not among the free folk jon snow gets to know onpage, making it just background detail)

bran's (possibly mythical) story of the rat cook

and biter chewing on people he attacked and other corpses (which seems to be just a side hobby connected to his killing method moreso constituting a snack than a full meal from a person butchered for meat. this tendancy of his is just background detail in acok, with biter chewing a corpse in the background after the weasel soup operation, and the hindsight implication that it could well have been him rather than dogs or wolves who had "been at" the corpses after the skirmish where yoren was killed)

while the feastdance feels much more in your face with cannibalism, having not only more total mentions of the practice but also more confirmed, actual cannibalism (as opposed to the ambiguity of each and every bowl o' brown), for those who know how to look at the evidence:

jaime learned that his father's mad dog aka the mountain fed parts of vargo hoat to all his prisoners (including vargo himself) after recapturing harrenhal

and euron bragged about pulling a similar trick with the warlocks he captured (the only twist being that the warlocks knew what they were being forced to eat, which vargo hoat and wylis manderly etc at harrenhal likely didn't)

the elder brother of the quiet isle told of biter eating all of a woman's breasts at saltpans after she'd been raped and killed (prob the largest amount of flesh biter's confirmed to have eaten from one corpse)

bran and co. ate "pig" supplied by coldhands which had to be long pig aka human meat

brienne felt her face being eaten by biter in her own pov (which is so much worse than him chewing others in the background of the weasel soup scene)

theon was told that two ironmen at moat cailin were found eating their dead comrades

the astapori were said to eat their own dead while under siege by the yunkishmen

and then were said to do so again in refugee camps outside meereen

sam and davos sailed past skagos and remembered stories of skagosi cannibalism

khrazz the pit fighter cut the hearts from his defeated foes to eat them

cotter pyke's last letter to jon snow said the wildlings were eating their own dead at hardhome

4 of stannis's men were executed by burning for butchering and eating other men (with asha wondering how many others had done so without being caught)

and ofc the frey pies with wyman manderly having his 3 former guests killed and serving their meat to their own kin and the other guests at ramsay's wedding while eating some himself too

two of these examples (involving gregor clegane and euron greyjoy) must have actually happened during the course of asos, but grrm chose to give us the gruesome details in affc, which was brand new information about men we already knew were villains but did not know were into that fucked-up shit specifically, unlike being reminded that agot-era jaime and viserys wanted to fuck their sisters. (and not unlike how adwd has the clarification of multiple characters saying lady hornwood ate her own fingers as opposed to bran's acok pov just saying she chewed on them.) it's as if after craster was killed and jc effectively broke up grrm decided cannibalism was the taboo subject matter he would fill the later books with, so we'd really feel the increasing danger of starvation-induced cannibalism with winter's arrival (and have no trouble believing rickon's new home of skagos really is a cannibal island). however, in-universe it feels like there's some sort of environmental balance connection so that the decrease in one formerly common behaviorial abomination just allows another such abomination to fill in the gap with a sharp increase in activity, like deer overpopulation resulting from lack of predators as if all the active incest somehow stopped more people from eating themselves or other people.

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annwrites · 2 months ago

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—exactly what he needs | nate jacobs x classmate!reader

tw: use of a firearm for intimidation purposes, threats of suicide, mentions of domestic violence, implied rape, victim blaming

When you turn on your bedroom light, your body, as well as your heart, both jump in fear as you let out a small scream.

❝Sit down,❞ Nate commands quietly, gesturing toward your bed with the revolver he holds tightly in his grip.

❝N-Nate, what're—❞

He rests an ankle over a knee while leaning back in the chair you have shoved in the corner of your room, facing your bed.

He lowers the pistol as well.

❝I didn't come here to hurt you. I came here to talk, and I'd like for you to listen to what I have to say.❞

He nods to the bed.

❝Sit down,❞ he orders once again, more firmly this time.

You swallow thickly, and fight back the tears that're brimming in your eyes as you pad over to it, then seat yourself at the foot.

He glances down to the gun and shrugs lightly. ❝I knew that this was the only way I'd get you to listen. You refuse to even look at me in class now. I'm being treated like a fucking pariah by everyone because of that goddamn play...❞

He shakes his head while slowly trailing his eyes back up to your own. ❝You were the one good thing in my life. And I did everything I could to make you happy—to make sure we stayed together. Everything was fine before Lexi got in your fucking head that day.❞

He leans forward while sliding the pistol along his thigh. ❝These are the lengths you drove me to. If you had just given me the time of day at school, or when I texted and called you hundreds of goddamn times, this wouldn't be happening right now.❞

❝N—❞

❝I love you. I still love you, despite you walking away from me so easily when I gave you everything I fucking had to give. I told you before that you're the one I'm supposed to be with—that you're exactly what I need to make me happy after all the shit my family, and my exes, have put me through.❞

He stands and takes a few steps closer until he's towering over you.

You scoot back a little, wanting desperately to get away from him.

But in doing so, you've given him exactly what he wants incase you don't act accordingly when he makes you his next offer.

❝I'm giving you one last chance to come back to me. It'll take work, but in time, I think we can forgive each other and get back to where we were just a few weeks ago. My life has gone to shit without you in it. I...❞

He shakes his head, while rubbing his thumb against his forehead—that silver pistol glinting against the light before he lowers it again.

❝I don't know how to fucking do any of this without you anymore. I feel like I can't breathe unless we're together. I don't eat, I barely fucking sleep. I don't talk to anyone, and when I do, I'm just constantly pissed off. All I do is think about you and what I've lost. So, I'm begging you: please.❞

You ball your hands into fists to try and hide the way they're shaking, even if your entire body is trembling in fear of him.

Your chin wobbles and tears begin to slip down your cheeks. You know you have to word things carefully. Don't make him angry, or the white walls of your bedroom will soon be painted red.

❝Nate, this isn't love. This is... It's obsession, I think. I don't... I'm so scared. Please, please just go. I won't tell anyone, I prom—❞

He shakes his head again, glancing away. ❝You don't get it. You still don't.❞

His eyes flit to yours again. ❝Maybe I can make you understand another way, then.❞

He suddenly crawls on top of you and your breath hitches in your throat while your heart flips in your chest—beating unevenly.

You press your head back against the pillows while his heavy weight settles on top of your own, completely caging you in.

This was how it had felt being with him, too: suffocating.

Trapped.

No escape.

Dangerous.

Deadly.

❝Please,❞ you whisper.

The revolver makes a reappearance and you still while you stare at the weapon in terror.

And then he presses it to his temple before brushing a kiss over your forehead. ❝I love you more than anything, but if we can't be together, then I don't want to be. Not without you. I can't anymore. I won't.❞

He cocks the lever back, pulls the trigger, and the gun clicks on an empty chamber.

You begin to sob violently.

❝Please, please, please, please! Don't!❞ You shriek.

He presses his lips gently to yours, despite you cringing away from the intimate gesture, cocks the lever yet again, and pulls the trigger.

Click.

You feel like you might wet yourself.

You've never felt so terrified in your entire life—had not thought feeling this sort of fear was even possible.

Not even when he had hit you those couple of times, then convinced you afterwards that it was an accident, but also still somehow your fault.

He cocks the lever back again.

❝Stop! Stop! Okay, we're together, just stop, please, I'm begging you!❞

His eyes open and flit between each of yours that're wide with fright and filled with glassy tears.

❝Tell me you love me, then.❞

❝I love you,❞ you whimper.

❝You won't ever try to leave again. If you do, I'll kill myself. There won't be any empty chambers next time.❞

❝I w-won't. P-promise.❞

❝You belong to me. Forever. The rest of your fucking life. You'll do what I say.❞

You nod fervently while squeezing your eyes shut, and tears slip along your temples before wetting the pillowcase beneath your head.

You hear him settle the gun on your bedside table then, and you let out a ragged breath of relief while opening your eyes once more.

And then Nate tugs his shirt off over his head.

Your brows furrow when he reaches down and begins undoing his belt. ❝Wh-What're you doing?❞

❝Get undressed,❞ he mumbles.

❝N-N-Nate, n-no. I... Not n-now, please.❞

His eyes meet yours again. ❝You promised to do as I say.❞

Your body is freezing cold and you can't stop shaking. ❝This i-isn't r-right.❞

He throws his belt to the side, then pushes his pants and boxers down past his knees before kicking them off the bed. ❝It's exactly right. This is the only way.❞

❝We... We don't even have—there's no c-condom.❞

He slides his fingers through your hair while gazing down at you. ❝You never had a mother, and grew up with an absent, workaholic father. You won't allow your own child to grow up without both parents. You told me that once. So, like I said: this is the only way I can hold onto you.❞

You feel like you're in a nightmare, like this isn't actually happening. Your mind feels disconnected from your cold, trembling body.

Maybe you're having a mental break. This isn't real. He's not actually here.

Nate reaches under your dress and begins tugging down your panties.

❝No, wait! I can't! I can't!❞ You shout, desperate to get him off of you. Desperate to go far, far away where he'll never find you again.

He slowly drags his gaze toward your bedside table and you turn your head, following his line-of-sight.

He reaches for the gun.

You resign yourself to your fate.

❝I'll do it.❞

With numb, shaking hands, you remove your panties.

Just like always, he's lied yet again. He'd told you that he didn't come here to hurt you, but that's all he's ever done.

At least he's consistent in that, if nothing else.

You should've let him keep pulling the trigger.

a/n: the linked story at the top is what this scene was meant to one day be part of, but i struggled a lot with continuing said story once i published chapter 6, so it's on hiatus until further notice. however, i've wanted to write & publish this scene for months, so here it is!

#gifset: nate jacobs (exactly what he needs)#nate jacobs x reader #nate jacobs x you #nate jacobs x y/n #nate jacobs x oc #nate jacobs x fem oc #euphoria x you #euphoria x reader

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barrackspredator · 4 months ago

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Run for Your Life

Bowers Gang x Reader

Summary: fem!reader is being hunted down after discovering who’s been making the kids in town go missing

TW: Murder, blood, implied rape, violence, weapons, death, some small gore I suck at writing. Don't expect this to be amazing. note: as I finish writing this I realize how much I despise dark themes. oh well, I already wrote it. Also, yeah the title is stupid. It's okay.

“: ̗̀➛did you really think we would just let you off the hook so easily?‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ”

Seeing them shove that body into the quarry was the beginning of the end.

Perhaps it wouldn't have been if you had simply made a break for it as soon as you saw it, but how could you? Seeing the mutilated body of Chase Foreman was quite the sight to see, a sight so mesmerizing that your feet had cemented themselves to the ground. Any will to run or scream was paralyzed as your mind screamed at you to escape.

It was only after Belch Huggins had thrown Chase’s body off the edge of the cliff that you found the strength to turn around. But when you did, you were immediately slammed to the ground by Patrick Hockstetter’s hard chest.

"Didn't your parents teach you it's rude to spy?"

Patrick's sarcastic, shrill laughter of joy rang through your ears as he kneeled down beside your body, his knee pressing between your thighs. A large rotting Cheshire grin was on display before your very eyes, the smell of cigarettes assaulting your senses.

Your mouth opened pathetically, ready to sputter out any excuse to spare your life as tears threatened to spill out. Patrick, however, wordlessly put his fingers to your lips, softly shushing you in an oddly soothing way—as soothing as someone like him could sound.

"Don't fret, little bitch. I'll make sure to finish you off quickly. But what's the harm in a little fun?"

His dimly lit face turned up, looking behind her. The moonlight revealed the dirt and blood smeared across his face, casting a sinister glow on the deranged psychopath. Panicked footsteps crunched against dirt and gravel. A shadow came over Patrick and his grin vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

"Just make this quick, Hockstetter." It was Belch Huggins' worried voice coming from behind her. The crunching of dirt and gravel signaled a third presence.

"What's the fun in making this one quick?" Victor Criss mused as he knelt down behind you. He leaned over your shoulder before abruptly gripping your neck, pulling you back into his chest as he observed your face. A choked sob escaped your lips as you gasped for air, while his fingers tightened around you. "She's a looker. Got a pretty mouth too..." Victor trailed off, his tone filled with dark intent. Another shrill giggle came from Patrick as he climbed on top of your body, watching your eyes roll back into your skull.

"I like the way you're thinking, Vic." Patrick suddenly tore Victor's hand off of you, making the blonde grunt in irritation "But if I'm gonna fuck her, I want her to be awake." He looked down at you with that same grin, grabbing your jaw as you pathetically gasped for air. "Isn't that right, little bitch? You better look me in my eyes when I'm inside you."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Henry stood over the boys, watching with disinterest as Patrick eye-fucked the witness to their crime.

"Yeah, yeah." Patrick brushed off Henry's comment. "You're one to talk, Bowers. All high mighty 'cause you never stick it into our girls, huh?"

Henry's eyes trained on Patrick as his nostrils flared. His hands jutted out, lifting Patrick off of you by his collar. "Don't fucking talk to me that way, you goddamn pervert. One more word and I'm making you the next kid on a poster."

Patrick only grinned at Henry's empty threats. "You wouldn't dare get your pretty little hands dirty. That's my job." He had made it a point to get in Henry's face, enjoying how Henry's eyebrow would twitch in irritation. If there was one thing Patrick was good at, it was getting under Henry's skin. His comments had challenged Henry's masculinity, and for this crime, Patrick would pay the price.

It had all happened in mere seconds. Patrick’s body was slammed down, his head violently bouncing off the ground before hitting cold earth. Gasping sharply, he tried to recover the breath Henry had knocked out of him. Henry loomed over Patrick, straddling him with clenched fists. Patrick’s defiant laughter rang in the tense silence, his breath ragged as he laughed at Henry’s pathetic attempt.

Without hesitation, Belch lunged forward, ripping Henry off, while Victor rushed to Patrick’s side. Despite their lack of genuine concern for each other, the gang all understood their unspoken rule: no turning on each other.

Henry kicked and flailed like an enraged toddler as Belch manhandled him. "Get off of me! I ain't gonna hurt 'em!" He shouted, shoving Belch away and kicking dirt in Patrick's direction. The dirt hit Victor in the face, causing the blonde to sputter, spitting out any dirt that got into his mouth.

"What the fuck?" Victor complained, wiping his mouth repeatedly. The blood on his long-sleeve had now smeared across his lips, a stark contrast between his pale skin and the crimson streaks. Henry's rage had moved from Patrick to Victor, sneering at the smaller blonde.

On that cold earth, you laid there motionless, watching the boys through your peripherals. You felt a strange sense of joy when Patrick was thrown to the floor, and an even greater relief washed over you when the boys left you behind to break up the cat-fight. Your body was flooded with fear and adrenaline, and your mind went into overdrive, thrust into a survival mode you had never felt before.

Without a second thought, you pushed yourself off the ground, sprinting into the woods surrounding the quarry. Your absence hadn't gone unnoticed, and as soon as you made it into the woods, shouting ensued. Twigs and leaves crunched under your feet, drowning out the sounds of the boys chasing after you.

The boys you had known since childhood—whom you watched grow up as you went from playing with toys together to wanting to play together—were now hounding you like rabid wolves.

As you ran, a gunshot went off. You flinched violently, causing the bullet to only graze your flesh. Instinctively, your hand shot up to grasp your barely bleeding cheek in shock. "What the fuck!?" you screamed, your legs pumping faster.

Glancing over your shoulder, you noticed the distance in between you and the boys widened, giving you the advantage momentarily. Ducking under thick foliage, you followed a mini trail that would lead you to the barrens. With limited light, you ran blindly through dense woods. Branches and logs snapped against your face, pulling at your clothes, and threatening to trip you as you raced forward.

The shouting continued to follow you, except now it had split. Wicked voices bellowed at you from the surrounding trees, and with the dim light you could hardly tell what was coming from where. Your head tilted up, trying to gauge the sky from the trees, but it was entirely pitch black aside from the twinkling of stars and a melancholy moon.

"I'm coming to get you, little bitch!"

This time the voice was right beside you. Whipping your head to the right, you saw Patrick Hockstetter running, a wild grin on his face as he tried to swoop in closer, weaving through trees to get on your path. You swerved to the left, only to be greeted once more.

"You can't run forever, slut!"

It was Victor Criss this time, his baggy clothing whipping through the wind as he grasped a knife tightly in his right hand. He was weaving in towards you, both boys working together to trap you in between them. Your legs were aching and sweat drenched every inch of your body, but you couldn't bring yourself to stop.

Victor swiped his knife at you, nicking you in the stomach. A gut-wrenching scream followed as you felt the blade run across your tender flesh. Your hand immediately pressed itself against the bleeding wound, trying to stem the flow. Patrick's laughter drowned out your screams, his voice filled with eagerness as he closed in on you. His arms reached out, desperately trying to latch on.

“Fucking grab her already!” Henry’s voice roared from behind Patrick, filled with a frenzied intensity. His eyes locked onto you like a mad bull. He drew the pistol from his belt, aiming it in your direction. Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, your cramping legs pushed harder, desperately propelling you forward.

The bullet darted out, intent on killing. You instinctively shut your eyes but it never came. Victor's body collapsed on your left, abandoned as the group continued the chase.

"Fuck!" Belch wailed, maneuvering past Victor's corpse.

"Nice aim, moron!" Patrick taunted Henry with another shrill giggle. Henry only roared out in frustration. Your eyes were wide, body racked with fear and oddly enough, guilt. But you kept on going anyway, better Victor than you.

With ringing ears, you weaved through dense foliage and never-ending trees, feeling as though you were in a relentless loop. The constant barrage of Patrick’s taunts and Henry’s angry roars only added to your despair. You wanted to give up. To just collapse like Victor had on the cold earth and rest. God, death just seemed so tempting.

Something you feared for years suddenly seemed so desirable. And wrapped up in these thoughts of sweet death, you had hardly taken notice that Belch Huggins had swung his axe at you, lodging itself into your shoulder blade.

"Fuck!" You bellowed as the blade was pulled back. Your left arm dangled pathetically, blood oozing out as tendons strung your arm to your body. Immense pain took over and you collapsed, screaming as you cradled your arm.

The three boys stalked towards you, watching you intensely. Your sobs echoed through the trees, birds scattering out of trees hearing your screams of agony.

"Fuck, just kill me already!" You pleaded, tears streaming down your face. Belch solemnly crouched down beside you, a look of guilt on his face.

"Don’t take this personally…" he mumbled, glancing down at your bloody arm. Your eyes locked onto his, and you whimpered softly. Despite the situation, you couldn’t help but remember Belch’s kindness from long ago—how he had always been a big sweetheart, even back in kindergarten when you’d share a nap blanket. What happened to that kind soul?

Your eyes lowered to your arm, bile creeping up your throat until you couldn't help but pathetically keel over and vomit. Henry scowled, letting out an annoyed scoff while he panted heavily.

"Good going, tubby." Patrick sneered at Belch. "I can't enjoy her rockin' body when her arm is all fucked up. That's why we wait to cut them up after I've already dumped my load." The psychopath scoffed at this inconvenience, disregarding your dying body as just another dumpsite.

"Shut the fuck up," Belch mumbled, shooting a glare at Patrick. His attention moved back towards you, noticing how you were starting to fade away. He removed his flannel, gingerly put it over your body. He especially was trying to cover your arm. "I really didn't mean for this to happen," he whispered as he covered you.

Henry scoffed, "Don't tell me you're sweet on a dying girl."

Patrick snickered, nudging Belch. "The guilt getting you again, big guy?" His taunting laughter filled your ears.

Your eyes slowly rolled up to stare at the burly axe-wielding bully. With a small scoff, you groaned softly again. "Just fucking kill me..."

"If it's what you want," Henry grumbled, beyond annoyed that he had to run for so long. "Fuck, that's what we've been trying to do this entire time. Dumb bitch." He cocked his gun, aiming it at your head.

"Any last words?" Patrick cooed, his eyes glinting with a twisted excitement. His gaze darted back and forth between you and the gun, a dark smile stretching across his face. The anticipation in his voice was almost palpable.

You forced a sneer, even as your vision blurred to white.

"Yeah, fuck you," you rasped, your voice trembling.

The gunshot rang out, its echo a brutal punctuation to the silence that followed.

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xclowniex · 6 months ago

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I don't see how people can still say that the "hostages were treated well" after the lastest video was released of 5 women hostages.

The video is so heart breaking and its been edited so the super bad stuff isn't in it. Which in a way makes the video worse, but still not as bad as if the stuff taken as was included.

I am going to discuss some things that were said in the video tw rape threats and related threats under cut

They are called beautiful by their captors and one states that they are the ones who can get pregnant because they are zionists, obviously heavily implying that they plan to rape them and get them pregnant

That is fucking terrible. Reports of rape has already been told about months ago and it was horrible then and horrible now.

But like, the idea that they are being raped with the intention of getting them pregnant and either have the baby or force a miscarriage???? ten fucking thousand times worse.

#antisemitism #israel #i/p #jumblr #palestine #i/p war #gaza #bring then home #bring them back now

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us3rnam3-r3dact3d · 10 days ago

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the world (it burns through me)

Chapter 8

Ao3 | 3.5k Words | Darlin's POV

Quinn does show-and-tell. Angel sleeps fitfully. Darlin' (nearly) commits homicide. Sam pulls them away from the ledge. David sets foot on the scene.

TW: Threats, home invasion, injury, blood, sexual trauma, implied physical abuse, threats of rape, non-consensual filming of sexual acts, general Quinn bullshit.

Quinn Fox looked exactly the same as he had when you’d last seen him four months ago, sans being beaten within an inch of his life. His skin was still so pale it was nearly translucent, dotted in a handful of places by beauty marks. He still wasn’t adorned by any of the shitty tattoos that you were, that he had put there, that he claimed to love so much. What few he had peaked out from the sleeves of his pristine leather jacket, perfect and new and costing a fucking fortune. His blue eyes were still so pale that he had to squint in Max’s warm light. His teeth were still sharp and too many and nicotine stained. He’d go in for a bleach session next time he was in L.A..

“My precious thing,” he rose from his seat and tossed the paper napkin he’d spread in his lap to the ground, waving away the server casually. You watched her face drop as she turned away and retreated towards the counter, where the guy behind it was staring outright now. You’d only have a few minutes before they had enough of Quinn and kicked you out. It was a familiar countdown in the back of your mind. Nearly everybody had enough of Quinn eventually. You’d gotten the timing down to a science.

“Don’t call me that.” You hissed. He reached out to you, one nimble hand with perfectly painted, black nails and bulky rings. Your mind supplied the feeling of those rings crunching across your cheekbones. “And don’t fucking touch me. Sit down.” You huddled into the booth, arms locked around your middle. There was still blood on your jacket from the last time you’d seen Quinn.

“So touchy, Precious.” Quinn said, floating back down into his side of the booth. Sam sat down quietly next to you. His eyes flicked across Quinn quickly, almost casually. You watched him categorize Quinn’s skinny jeans, bought with rips and wear already sewed in, his Nirvana shirt, a band you knew he’d never listened to. God, he was such a fucking poser. You couldn’t fathom what about him had ever been enticing to you. “I implied you should come alone, you know.” He sneered towards Sam.

“Yeah, well, the last time I was alone with you, you put me in a fucking coma, so…” you shrugged. You felt Sam’s eyes slip to you. That was a little tidbit you’d neglected to share with him. He’d have questions later on. You swallowed down the urge to deny them before he even asked. Instead, you brought one hand down to rest against his thigh, your fingers twisting up his uniform pants hard enough they would wrinkle.

“True,” Quinn laughed, not even bothering to be decent enough to hide his glee. His eyes moved to Sam. “I assure you, they gave as good as they got, Sammy. Or- do you prefer ‘Captain Collins?’”Quinn grinned, his mouth pulling just a little too far on either side. You thought you were going to fall out. Behind that grin, that delighted twist to his stupid face, there was a familiar anger. He’d had that look about him when he put cigarettes out on your skin. He’d had that look about him when he’d fucked you so hard and hateful you couldn’t move for two days. “I was expecting the other one, Precious. Big, scary Captain Shaw. He’s a much better frame to hide behind.”

“They ain’t hiding.” Sam spat. “And you’d be so lucky to be staring down Shaw instead of me.”

“Is that so, cowboy?” Quinn laughed. It was a rasping, shrieking sound, like a predator barking out before it struck. Your hand tightened on Sam’s thigh.

“It is.” Sam said. “David Shaw is a good man. He wouldn’t hurt ‘ya without cause. But I am not a good man.”

“Whatever happened to ‘do no harm,’ Doctor?” Quinn cocked his head to one side.

“I’m not a doctor anymore.”

“Quinn,” you snapped, demanding his attention. Those bright eyes stuck on Sam for a moment longer. You slammed your phone down on the table. The photo of Little Shaw shone up at the three of you, accusatory. Sam gasped audibly when he saw it, going stiff. Quinn flicked his eyes down at it and laughed again. “What the fuck do you want?”

“That was almost too easy, you know?” He rested his chin atop his folded hands as he stared down at the picture. “I just had to pick a day when the good Captain was working the night shift. It’s so convenient that he takes you with him everywhere. I almost wish I had sent you this instead.”

He produced his own phone and laid it on the table next to yours. It was newer, nicer, and the screen was giant. The big screen exposed a shaky video of the Shaw’s master bedroom from an angle you hadn’t seen yet. If you had to guess, it was through a crack in the closet door. Your stomach flipped as you leaned in close. Sam mirrored your posture. The camera panned from the plush, carpeted floor and towards the softly lit bed, on top of which Little Shaw was spread out, their phone in one hand and the other free. They were wearing one of David’s D.F.D. tee-shirts, which swallowed their frame like a robe. You watched as their hand trailed from the hem of the shirt and lifted, exposing their thighs, their waist, their fluttering stomach and chest. Sam cut his eyes away immediately, but you didn’t move until the audio kicked in. Little Shaw let out a moan, Quinn’s phone cranked up to top volume. Heads swiveled towards your booth. You slammed your hand down on the phone, fumbling for the volume button as you snatched it and tucked it close to your chest.

“You fucking freak.” You hissed. You couldn’t even manage to be surprised, just vaguely nauseous. He was in the fucking closet. How long had he been in there?

“They rest so fitfully when the good Captain isn’t home.” Quinn mused, inspecting his nails. “I had to hush them back to sleep a handful of times to make sure I wasn’t caught. Nothing a quick cuddle couldn’t fix, of course.”

He had touched them. You were going to commit homicide.

“Quinn,” you growled through clenched teeth, “step outside.”

“Darlin-” Sam started, grabbing your wrist in an attempt to ground you. You didn’t care if he wrapped his arms around your waist, if he pressed kisses to your temples, if he fucking took you right here in this booth in Max’s; no firm touch or soft word could pull you back down now. Quinn had touched them. He had filmed them in a vulnerable moment and then held them while they slept. All while David was fussing over you at the 10-19. You had distracted him. You had drawn his attention away from the people who really mattered and then delivered danger to his literal fucking bedroom.

“Fuck you, move!” You shoved Sam hard, hard enough for him to stumble out of the booth and into the guy from behind the counter just as he came to interrupt the fight that was brewing in his dining room.

“Captain Collins,” the guy said, catching Sam as he got his footing. You forgot how well known the 10-19 was on this side of town. You’d be surprised if Sam wasn’t a familiar figure to every person who worked here, and you’d dragged him into this. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, Guy,” Sam said, and go fucking figure, a literal pizza Guy. “We’re just leaving.” Guy’s gaze flicked from Sam to you to Quinn and back again. Sam must have given him a reassuring enough look, because he stepped aside. You surged up, knees shaky, and snagged Quinn by the collar of his designer leather jacket. He grunted but didn’t fight back as you pulled him out of the booth and towards the door. You pulled stares from the families adorning the booths and counter, and you probably looked like a rabid animal. You could picture your own expression, twisted and gnarled by the scars that cut through your face. You saw a kid flinch back and away from you as you passed his seat.

The air was cold and sharp as you burst out of Max’s and started dragging Quinn towards the back parking lot. He let you, let you pull him along, let you toss him when you reached what you considered an acceptable distance from the building to kick his ass. You knew that, if he wanted to, Quinn could make it difficult for you, at the very least. He was strong, just as strong as you and twice as fast, twice as clever. You were a blunt object. You didn’t have it in you to strategize, to think through a fight as it happened. You could call Quinn a lot of horrible things, but one thing he was not was stupid. Not like you were.

Your fist connected with his face before he could even get his footing. Pain burst out over your barely-healed knuckles with satisfaction. You grit your teeth and tried to step back, put some distance between you two. Your back met with the trunk of a silver sedan. Quinn held himself up, one hand on the grimy wall of Max’s industrial dumpster. Blood and bruise blossomed so prettily across his sharp cheekbone. He closed in as soon as he got his footing, boxing you in between him and the car. Your only way out was through.

You’d been fighting the same way your entire life. You’d always been weaker than someone, you’d always been hungry and disadvantaged and outnumbered. So you took to the ground like a prey animal. You dove in, hit them where it hurt, and ran, put distance between you, let the hoard thin as they chased you so you could pick them off one by one. Quinn had always delighted in watching you dance around the battlefield, often of his own making. He liked to watch you scrap, fight dirty, pull hair and bite and scratch for eyes.

He was so much taller than you and his reach seemed endless. When the two of you fought, he didn’t let you run. He made you stand in one spot and wail, hoping that your brute force was enough.

That, more than anything he did to you, had always made you feel distinctly vulnerable.

He came at you quickly, decisively, struck you hard in your ribs. His shitty ex must have told him where she’d done the same, because his aim was eerie. You gasped, the air knocked out of you, and locked an arm around his shoulders to keep him close. You drove your fist up, into his gut, punching for his diaphragm as your chest seized and fought to allow you any air.

Quinn twisted out of your hold and swung his leg up, landing a kick to your stomach and sprawling you back against the sedan. You growled, near feral, and dove forward again. Quinn wanted you close, pinned down, vulnerable? You would show him just how dangerous you could be in close quarters.

It was blurry after that. A series of hits, skin on skin, tearing fabric, blood and grunts. This was a familiar dance. The two of you had fucked, often, in fact, but for you this was a much more familiar type of intimacy. It was how your father, on the rare occasions he had been present in your childhood, had shown you his love. It was how your mother, for all of her virtues, had raised you. Since you were young, you’d been shown love most often by a firm right hand. Quinn was the latest in a long line of people who loved you with a fist. You filled up with the heady euphoria of it, got drunk on his little sounds, his curses and moans of pain, his high laughter like a predator’s ringing around in your swimming head.

This is what you had seen in him. His eyes flashed, bluer than blue, catching yours a few times in the scuffle. You crushed your knuckles into his nose and knocked it askew. He called out your name, your real name. Fuck, it sounded like a plea, like a promise.

He hit the ground before you did. You’d always had staying power, whether it had anything to do with your actual constitution or if it was tied up in your stupid, persistent stubbornness. Quinn was a child of abundance. You knew from the shape of him, no matter what games he liked to play, that he had never wanted for anything. That was the only advantage you had over guys like Quinn, guys like David. You had had to last before. Plenty of people had tried to starve you out, so when most people were bent with hunger pains, you did what you did best; soldiered on.

“What do you want, Quinn?” You panted, hands on your knees. He spat out blood and smiled up at you with swollen cheeks.

“I already told you, Precious.” Back to that stupid nickname. You wanted to kick him again, but he was already pushing himself up, getting his feet under him. “I want you.”

“You are fucked in the head if you think I’d ever go back to you.” You growled. Your ribs ached. You wrapped a hand around your chest and held on.

“No,” Quinn smiled at you as he stood. He had the nerve to look bashful. “I suppose not. That’s fine. All I want is… one last taste.”

“What?” You breathed.

“I want to fuck you.” He rolled his eyes, swiping a finger under his nose and coming back bloody. “One last time.”

“Fuck off.” You scoffed. Your stomach was doing flips again. The idea of putting yourself in that position, vulnerable and bare under him, submitting yourself to Quinn’s particular brand of love, made you physically sick.

Part of you was afraid you wouldn’t survive his one last time. Another part of you, somehow bigger, was afraid you would.

You turned to leave, resolute, and caught sight of Sam. He was standing two yards off, watching silently on the edge of the parking lot. He seemed more concerned than anything, but there wasn’t an ounce of judgment in his severe features. You looked away. Holding his brown-eyed-gaze was unbearable.

“I’ll get what I want somewhere, Precious.” Quinn called after you. “From someone. Remember, I’ve been inside their bedroom.”

An image of Little Shaw flashed across your mind. Pressed against the floor, folded in half with Quinn between their legs, his teeth in their skin, burns littering their flawless skin, cuts waiting to scar from that ill-kept pocket knife he carried. Something in your chest snapped. Maybe it was a bone. Maybe it was your resolve.

You crashed into Quinn, moving faster than you thought you could. His head banged back against the dumpster, his lips twisted into a fuck-you smile that you wanted to rip off of his face. You knew where he kept it in his stupid fucking jacket. His knife was in your hand before you could even think. The blade was opened, dried blood giving it a rusty look, and pressed into the juncture of his throat. You knew the bite of that blade. You’d had it pressed in that same spot a dozen times before. A line of blood ran down his throat, catching on his bobbing Adam's apple. He looked so fucking pretty in this light, the puff of his breath in the winter air smothering his features, blood smeared across his thin lips.

You loved him. You had loved him, at least. Your body wouldn’t let you forget it.

“If you ever fucking touch them, I’ll kill you!” You cried, a plea, a promise. “I’ll tear you to pieces, do you fucking get that? I’ll fucking kill you!”

“Darlin’!” An arm locked around your middle and pulled you back. The knife clattered to the asphalt, wet with Quinn’s blood. His laughter crowded out any thought that might make itself known in your head. You thought you’d drown in the sound of it.

Warmth at your back. The distance between you and Quinn grew. A soft voice taking up the space left behind as Quinn’s retreated. You were across the parking lot, across the road, in the passenger seat of Sam’s truck before you could think enough to start fighting. Sam didn’t stop talking.

“I know, I know, Darlin’, I’ve gotcha. Gimme- yeah, there, come here-“ he grabbed your hand, squeezed it in time with his exaggerated breaths. You realized, suddenly, as Sam plopped into the driver’s seat and trapped you in the silent confines of his truck’s cabin, that you were crying. Wailing, actually. You hadn’t cried in years. Not since Gabe had died, and even that wasn’t anything like this. You bent at the middle, your seatbelt pulling at the bruises on your chest, and screamed. Sam’s hand snapped to the back of your neck. You thought he was likely trying to stabilize your spine. Paramedic training must have kicked in. His fingers tangled with your hair as he shushed you, cooed soft reassurances into the space between your cries.

Eventually, your voice gave out. Eventually, your muscles unclenched, and you hung, chest to thighs, hugging yourself so hard you couldn’t breathe. Sam’s hand didn’t leave your hair until the car stopped, and only then to reach more of you. His cold, rough hands trailed up under your jacket, sought out skin, tugged you up until he could look you over.

Your eyes met his, dark and wide and sure.

He wasn’t scared. You didn’t know how he had managed that. You didn’t know how he managed to look at you the exact same way after that.

“I’m sorry-“ you started, your mouth sharp with blood.

“Don’t,” Sam snapped, his face twisting. He looked… pissed off. That you understood. That you could wrap your mind around. He wanted to be angry with you? That was fine. Better that than scared of you. “You didn’t do a damn thing wrong. Come on, lemme get you inside. I need to take a look at you.”

You looked up, took in your surroundings. The 10-19 stood, illuminated by street lights, across its long parking lot. You didn’t know how you’d missed that familiar drive. Your chest sparked with anxiety. David’s truck was still on the lot. He would see you.

“I can’t.” You breathed. You shook your head, rebuking the very thought of David seeing you like this. And fuck, how could you explain why? He would kill you. He’d kick you out. He’d wash his hands of you. And as much as you were fighting his influence, his help, his care, you knew that you would come unraveled without it. If David was done with you, then that was it. Doors closed. No vacancy.

“Darlin’-“ Sam started, reaching for you. Your phone started buzzing in your pocket. You startled, fumbling for it with your swollen, fucked up hands. Sam had delicately dabbed your knuckles with alcohol and gauze for days and you’d gone and wasted his work.

David’s name lit up your screen. His shift was over and at this hour he was done worrying over the night shift. He was looking for you so he could go home to his invaded home and his endangered spouse. The prey animal in your chest jerked and you followed where it tugged you. You dropped your phone, stumbled out of Sam’s truck, tangling with the seatbelt. Your boots hit the asphalt and you ran.

You didn’t realize, in your haste to run, hide, escape, that you’d started running towards the 10-19. You didn’t realize, as you stared down at your feet and tried to make yourself small, that you were running straight into David until you collided with his chest.

You bounced back, let out a startled cry, and raised your fists. You didn’t know if it was to strike out or to protect your face, but it served the same purpose either way. David’s phone was still up to his ear, and his face was bare in shock as he looked you over.

You stepped back like you were going to run. He was faster than you. His fingers threaded into your jacket and pulled you close.

“What the fuck?” He barked, his face lined with anger and worry.

Your body knew you were done. David’s hand held up your weight, and you went limp against your jacket. Whatever adrenaline had been holding you together slipped away and let you unravel. David hauled you to his chest by your jacket, cradled your head with one giant palm, wrapped his other arm around your still too-trim waist.

“Sam!” He shouted, a definitive order. You were a walking house fire, and David took over as soon as he set foot on the scene.

That was it, then. He’d seen you. He would know, or Sam would tell him. David would choose his spouse over you, which is what he should have done in the first fucking place. You’d be out on your ass in two hours flat. You’d run with less in worse shape in less time. But you couldn’t get your feet under you. You couldn’t get an inch of your body to obey your desperate orders.

Doors closed. No vacancy.

#redacted asmr #my redacted content #redacted sam #redacted audio #redacted david #redacted darlin #redacted angel #redacted davey #redacted audio fic #firefighter story

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allthesmutl0vers · 2 months ago

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The Weight of Blood: Tom/Theo/Draco/Regulus/Fem!Reader (A/N--TW--Prologue)

NSFW,MDNI,18+,Triggering Content Masterlist Pairing: Tom Riddle/Theo Nott/Draco Malfoy/Regulus Black/Fem!Reader Comments and Reblogs are always appreciated. Summary: When students return to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for their final year, their biggest obstacle is passing their final exams. At least, that’s how it should be. But life has never been that easy for y/n. Between juggling the rocky, and some would say, an abusive relationship she has with one quidditch star, Cormac McLaggen, and cramming for her exams, she never finds the time to enjoy the things she loves. Ice skating, reading by the fire, riding a broom, or taking a walk through the forbidden forest to look for animals to capture with her camera. Little does she know, a storm is brewing. A storm that could rip away everything she holds dear, upending her life, even threatening to end it once and for all. A storm that is caused by the perceived weight her blood holds against those who hold the title weight, pure-blood. Being driven straight into the walls of the castle by four very handsome, very dangerous Slytherin boys. But will her being caught in the eyes of these boys be enough to change the direction of the wind? Or will they leave her to fight for herself in the eye of the storm? Only time will tell. If there is enough of it, at least. “I wouldn’t call it love. I’d call it an obsession.” - Tom Riddle IMPORTANT NOTE: This is a DARK ROMANCE, please take a look at the trigger warnings, and make sure you are comfortable reading this story before you start it. This story may not be for everyone. This is a multi-part story. I will be updating it as well as 'Managing Mischief' (Weasley Twins/Fem!Reader) throughout the week. You can click below to read more. But don't say I didn't warn you.

Author’s Note

This story is a fan-fiction. I do not own any of the characters, places, or situations within this story besides those that I create.

Please do not print, bind, or sell this work, as it would be an illegal act. Keep our writers and stories safe, legal, and free for all to enjoy.

This is a dark romance. Some situations/actions may be triggering/unsuitable for some.

With all of that being said, please read the Content and trigger Warnings.

Your Mental Health Matters.

Domestic Violence Hotline: (Call) 800-799-723 (Text-BEGIN) to 88788

Suicide Prevention Hotline: (Text/Call) 988

Self-Harm Hotline: (Call) 1-800-366-8288 (Text-CONNECT) to741741

Sexual-Assult Hotline: 1-800-656-4673

You are not alone.

It is not your fault.

The world is better with you in it.

My DMs are open if you need someone to talk to. Or simply someone to listen.

Content and Trigger Warnings

Abusive Relationship: Slapping, Non-Con Touching (mentioned only), Rape (mentioned only), Degradation (and not the kind we like), Humiliation, One On-Page Punch (past ones implied), Victim Blaming, Revenge Porn.

Violence: Fist Fights, Magical Cursing, Blood, Attempted Drowning, Knife To Throat Threats

Character Death

Depression

Attempted Suicide

Self-Harm

HEAVY Smut: One-On-One, Three, Four, and Fivesome scenes.

Heavy BDSM: Bondage, Magical Restraints, Spanking, Choking, Dom/Sub Relationships, Ownership Kink, Shared Ownership Kink, Sir Kink, Voyeurism/Exhibitionism, Semi-Public Sex, Primal Play, Knife Play, Blood Play, Marking/Branding Kinks, Orgasm Denial/Control, Edging, Overstimulation, Double Penetration, Anal Sex, Oral Sex (Male and Female Receiving), Breeding Kink.

Found Family

Betrayal

Discrimination: Based on blood-status.

Bullying

This story is Multi-POV, but primarily told from the Reader’s point of view.

Dedication

For all of us who have dreamed of being rescued, only to realize we had the power all along.

Prologue

Tom

Blood status amongst wizards and witches is the most powerful, most prominent, and most valuable thing we possess. Without it, how would we know who is worthy of our time? Or, more importantly, our loyalty.

Or so I’ve always been taught.

Even in the summer, the manor is dark, casting shadows along the cold corridors as we all gather for the first official meeting. Inside the grand dining room of Malfoy Manor, the parents are anxious, wondering if it’s a trap. Not that I blame them for keeping their children close to them. But those I have grown to think of as friends can handle their own. As they’ve proved not just their abilities, but their loyalty a hundred times over.

My parents died long ago, not that I care. Why should I? I never met them. My father was a filthy muggle, and my mother a blood-traitor who died for love of all things. Not that anyone knows that. They couldn’t, and they never will.

The door opens, and in walks our leader. The head of the charge against mud-bloods, is here to lead us into putting them in their rightful place, beneath our feet. Wirely and unruly black hair that hangs to her waist and long black robes that hang loosely around her frame, she steps up to the head of the table.

“You may be seated,” she says calmly, but her tone is also commanding. Everyone sits down around the table, myself included. Not daring to speak, not daring to ask the first question. She takes a long sip of her wine before leaning on the table, propping herself on her elbows as her fingers interlock.

“Firstly, I would like to thank you all for joining me here this evening. As I’m sure you are well aware, we are under attack,” she says stiffly. “Mud-bloods have never been more common than they are now. Threatening to throw everything we hold most dear out of order,” she looks around. “But no longer will we stand for it. No longer will we be seated at a table with those who don’t deserve to sit.”

“Hear, hear,” Mr. Nott says cheerfully, raising his now fourth glass of wine.

Bellatrix smiles and nods once. “Our biggest issue, as of now, is getting more people to come on board. These progressionistic,” she seethes. “People in the ministry and confirmed blood-traitors, are most unlikely to accept the eradication of muggle-born individuals. So, how do we combat this?” She asks openly.

Lucius clears his throat. “May I suggest, instead of death, exile instead?”

Stupid suggestion.

Bellatrix sits back in her seat as if pondering the ridiculous idea. “To allow them to continue mating and breeding on their own accord?” She says with a tone dripping in disappointment. “Free of any repercussions?” Lucius opens his mouth to speak again when she stops him, raising her hand. “Any other ideas?”

“My lady,” Mrs. Nott speaks up, setting down her glass of wine. “Perhaps we re-visit the ideals and ideas of Grindelwald?” Bellatrix nods for her to continue. “It seems it would be much easier to control the mud-bloods, should we have the muggles fighting alongside us,” Almost everyone snickers at the idea. “As mundane and contradictory as it may seem, there are more muggles than us. Should we find some way to control them and will them to fight for us, we could overthrow the ministry. Implement our laws and ideals, then control everyone.”

Bit ambitious and a far stretch, but the idea is there.

“Where is Grindelwald right now, Mrs. Nott?” Bellatrix asks simply.

“Pardon?” Mrs. Nott asks with a confused expression.

“Theodore,” Bellatrix turns to her son instead. “Remind your dear mother where Grindelwald is at present.”

Theo clears his throat, sitting up straighter. “Azkaban, Ms. Lestrange,” he answers cooly.

“Azkaban. That is correct,” she nods at Theo with a smile before turning to the rest of us. “I would like to remind everyone that muggles are not our concern. They are less than a speck of dirt. What we need to focus on is reestablishing pure-blood family lines. Now, how do we gain control without killing? Use your heads.”

“Capture,” I answer calmly.

“And then?” Bellatrix asks me with a smile.

“Put them in their rightful place, of course. Serving us. Our every whim and desire,” I answer, taking a sip of my bourbon.

Bellatrix smiles and nods. “Yes, yes. Make them fight for us, serve us,” she ponders. “Very good, Mr. Riddle. I wish the others at this table shared your common sense.”

My chest swells with pride, but I keep my face collected.

“Now, let’s talk strategy,” Bellatrix says cheerfully.

Part One

#harry potter smut #tom riddle #theodore nott #draco malfoy smut #regulus black #dark romance

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forwhump · 1 month ago

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a/n; some belated robin backstory 🥲 for doughnut, who I promised this to months ago & then FORGOT IM SO SORRY IM JUST AN AIRHEAD I WASNT INTENTIONALLY BEING A DOUCHE I LOVE YOU MORE THAN ANYTHING (I remembered out of nowhere within like ten minutes of finding out liam died so that’s why it took even longer)(I loved 1d 💔)(& bleach finally animated my WORST CHARACTER DEATH so I’ve had a really hard week)(if I was still 13 I’d be institutionalized)

word count: 4k (I only feel like I need to add a word count when these are especially long so idk why everything I’ve posted recently has been especially long that’s my bad 😔)

tw/cw: kidnapping, captivity, implied rape/noncon, drug use, misgendering, transphobia, dehumanization, medical torture, lobotomies, mentions of the military, passing threats of violence against pregnant women, implied human experiments

When Robin’s a kid, just a couple weeks after his dad dies, his mom brings home a new baby. A girl.

She’s really little but she shrieks at a pitch so loud and so shrill that sometimes it gives him headaches. Other times, it puts him in such a bad mood he has to rip all the sheets off his bed or all the posters down from his walls. She doesn’t really do anything but scream or sleep and still, his mother dotes on her, treats her like she’s the most precious thing in the world.

Robin doesn’t get it. He doesn’t even really like her. He’d wanted a brother, anyway.

The baby’s first word is mama, which Robin doesn’t think is all that impressive. Her second word, however, is Rob, and he doesn’t know until he gets home from school and she squeals so loudly it makes his ears ring, clapping her little hands together.

“Rob!” She squeals. “Rob!”

“She’s been waiting all day for you,” his mother says with a smile.

He drops his backpack so he can pick her up, and she squeals again as she clings to him. “Rob!”

He doesn’t even try not to cry because he doesn’t realize he’s started crying until his mother wipes away his tears. After, of course, she takes a picture that she later has framed. A picture that he takes down and hides.

When Robin’s old enough, care of the farm falls pretty solely on his shoulders. He’d been expecting it — man of the house, all that. His sister’s very much a girl, all blonde and giggly, pink and frills, and their mother gets her into pageants when she’s still really small and pageantry comes with a pretty intense base level of maintenance. When mom washes her hair, it’s a whole day event. It’s kind of absurd.

When she first starts trying to follow him out onto the farm, he thinks it’s just to bother him. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s chosen to do something for the sake of being annoying. She asks, then she begs, then she just puts on her boots and tries to follow. When he ends up locking her in the basement to keep her inside, she tries tantrums, then she stomps to their mother and pouts.

“Take your sister with you,” she chastises.

Robin groans loudly. “She’s just gonna get in the way!”

She stomps a small foot and cries, “I can help!”

“No, you can’t!” Robin tells her. “You’re just a baby! And you’re scared of the horses!”

“You can’t tell me what I can’t do!” She shrieks. “I can help!”

“You can’t help!”

“Stop screaming,” their mother says, “both of you.”

“I can help, mama,” she whines.

“She’ll break a nail and throw a fit,” Robin groans.

“I don’t care!”

“You’d better care,” Mom says. “Be careful.”

She brightens, immediately done crying. “So I can go?”

“No,” Robin says, and her face falls again.

“I can help,” she whines. “Let me show you!”

“Let her show you,” Mom says.

Robin groans the whole way out. She skips beside him.

He eats his words, in the end. Even if it’s just to prove Robin wrong, she ends up being a big help. Not with the horses, not at all, but with almost everything else.

Turns out it’s because her motives aren’t to prove Robin wrong at all — she just wanted to get out to the cows. As soon as she’s finished, once Robin’s back is turned, he’s saying something like, “I can’t believe you weren’t totally useless,” and he looks back around and she’s gone, out to pasture. He finds her frolicking with the cows, laughing delightedly.

It’s like that for a few months. She follows him out, helps with actual farm work as quickly as she can, then disappears out to pasture to hang out with the cows. For the rest of their lives there together, in their childhood home, their jobs change; she tends to her cows, and Robin does everything else. It isn’t exactly fair, but Robin had grown up fully expecting to have to do all of it himself.

They settle into their routine, and they stick to it for years.

As soon as Robin’s eighteen, he enlists. He doesn’t hesitate. He’d always known he was going to.

His mom knows. She’s proud of him. He doesn’t tell his sister, because she won’t be.

When she finds out, she throws every plate in the house at him. Breaks every one.

The moon hangs low above the farm, casting everything in watery silver light. She sits on the fence in her boots and a pageant dress, this one so white and sparkly it kind of glows in the moonlight and it makes her look, frankly, like a ghost. She’d taken the pins out of her hair and it looks spectral, a cloud around her.

They’ve been passing a series of increasingly potent celebratory joints back and forth — she’d won a world title tonight, something that warranted a series of increasingly potent celebratory joints back and forth — and her ghost is really starting to crack him up.

“You’re being a dick,” she says, but she’s giggling helplessly. “I look so beautiful.”

“I can’t even look at you,” Robin says, and he isn’t lying, turned away as he laughs. “It’s making me mourn.”

She laughs so loudly she almost falls backwards off the fence, and that sets Robin off again.

He leaves next week. Six days exactly, the day after his very last high school exam. He hasn’t told her yet, and he doesn’t want to, especially not now, but he’s running out of time. He can’t leave without saying something, anything, but he’s tempted.

It’s almost like she’s read his mind. “Can I talk to you about something?” She asks carefully, and something in her tone makes Robin’s shoulders tense.

“If you’re pregnant you’re getting thrown down the stairs, girl,” he says. She snorts. “Mom’s gonna be pissed.”

“I’m not pregnant,” she says.

“I’m leaving on Friday,” Robin responds. He doesn’t mean to.

Uncomfortably quick, her face goes blank. “What?”

“Fuck,” Robin says. “I didn’t mean to tell you that.”

“What do you mean, you leave next week?” She asks slowly.

Robin looks away, out at her cows. “I fly out,” he says, “after exams.”

“Fly where?” She asks, now completely flat.

He doesn’t look at her, but he tries to smile. “My first tour.”

She doesn’t say anything for such a long time that he finally turns again, he looks at her.

She swings, and her fist gets him hard between the eyes. She doesn’t say another word to him as she leaves, and she doesn’t say goodbye to him before he goes. After that, he didn’t really expect her to.

War is hell.

Men are monsters.

The first time Robin gets to come home, it’s so good to be home. It’s the most unbelievably light thing he’s ever experienced, like taking his first, clean breath. He almost starts to understand the military appeal; the comedown after is the high.

When he gets home, his sister is trying not to be weird around him but she is, very blatantly. He thinks it’s because of how they left things; he’s wrong.

“Can we talk?” She asks, and there’s something so severe in her face that he thinks she’s probably cutting contact with him. It’s kind of a low blow. It stings.

He sits across from her, anyway. Waits.

For a long time, she doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t look at him. She doesn’t lift her head.

“Okay, what’s going on?” He asks finally. “Are you okay?”

She exhales loudly, but her voice is so small he can barely hear her when she says, “yes.”

“Then what’s up?” He probes. “What’s going on? You’re not pregnant, are you?”

“No,” she says into her hands, “I’m not always pregnant,” and takes another deep breath. Robin waits. He gives her the time she needs, watches the way her shoulders move as she takes deep breaths, watches the way her hands tremble, hiding her face. Robin keeps his voice level and his hands steady and he waits, but he’s waiting for the worst. He isn’t sure exactly what he’s expecting, but he’s expecting it to be bad. He isn’t expecting, “I’m trans, Rob.”

She still doesn’t look at him. She still doesn’t lift her head. Robin says, “what?”

“I’m trans,” she tells her hands.

“Trans what?” Robin asks, and she does lift her head, then.

“What?” She says, like she can’t tell if he’s serious. “Gender?”

“What?” Robin repeats.

“Oh my god,” she says. “I’m a boy, Robin.”

“What?” He says, because he still doesn’t get it. Then, “oh.”

“Yeah,” she says, and — well, he says, actually. He says it, and he drops his head again, covering his face with his hands and the sheet of his hair. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“What?” Robin repeats. He’s gotten himself stuck in a weird loop. He’s thinking faster and a lot more than he usually does. “What’s — why are you sorry?”

“I don’t know,” she says. He says. He’ll get better at that. He’s an adaptable guy.

“Gonna have to stop overthinking,” Robin tells him. “Guys don’t do that.”

His back stiffens. He doesn’t lift his head. “What?”

“It’s why we sleep better,” he explains.

Reluctantly, he lifts his head. He’s always had a deceptively sweet face, kind of doe eyed, but when he looks at Robin he looks so scared, genuinely scared, that it kind of hurts Robin’s feelings. “Rob,” he croaks.

“Can’t doubt yourself like that,” Robin tells him, trying to shrug off the tension, and when he still can’t quite meet his eye Robin stretches a foot out across the carpet to kick him in the ankle. “Guys don’t do that.”

He barely looks at him from beneath his eyelashes, but he looks at him, and that’s progress. “This isn’t a joke,” he says.

“I know,” Robin agrees.

“I’m serious,” he says. “I’m seriously coming out to you right now.”

“I know,” Robin agrees again.

She covers her face again, and — he covers his face again, and it isn’t until Robin really looks that he realizes his shoulders are shaking. That he realizes — “do you have a…name? A new one?”

He hesitates for a long time before finally pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. With a sniffle, he says, “Wren, I think.”

“Wren,” Robin considers. He looks across their mother’s favourite gaudy rug at Wren, tries it on for size. “It suits you,” he decides, and Wren chokes out a sound that’s obviously a sob but that he had tried hard enough to hide that Robin lets it go. “All the names in the world, though,” he says. “You still picked a bird.”

He sniffles again. “We still had to match.”

Robin feels that really low in his chest, a lot warmer than he would’ve expected. “I’ve always wanted a brother,” he says.

When he finally comes home for good, none of the colours are as bright as he remembers them being.

Wren had moved out while he’d been away, and the house is a lot bigger than he remembers it being. It’s too quiet. He can hear too much when it’s quiet.

Wren comes to stay for a few nights, to welcome Robin home, and he brings his girlfriend with him, introduces her. Julie. She’d probably be very beautiful if Robin’s type were outrageously scary people.

All tattoos, everywhere, and piercings studded with diamonds that catch the light whenever she moves. Her hair is like ink and all her tattoos are thick, black, and she looks a lot like Wren’s opposite in a way that’s endearing for a long time. He likes Julie in the beginning; she’s cordial to him.

She’s less cordial over time, slowly but surely. Then comes a time she’s rude, that she’ll snatch Wren’s phone out of his hands to tell Robin to get fucked on the other end. Once, Wren shows up in the middle of the night to post his bail and take him home. He spends that night, then the next few on their couch, and Julie doesn’t say a word to him once. Doesn’t even look at him.

It comes to a head at his mom’s house. He’s there because Wren is supposed to be there, but he never even gets to see him; he only sees his bitch girlfriend, sneering down the doorstep at him.

“I don’t think you like me very much,” he accuses.

“I don’t,” she says.

“Oh.” He already lnew she didn’t, so he doesn’t know why he’s surprised. That she’s so fuckin’ blunt about it, maybe. “Fuck you, too.”

“You’re a loser,” she tells him, and folds her arms. Robin’s quite a bit bigger than she is, but it doesn’t feel like it then. She’s an imposing little thing. “What’s there to like?”

“Okay,” he says tightly, “you suck, and —“

“You’re a cancer,” she says, “and I want you to leave Wren alone.”

That one hits Robin like a punch in the chest. He almost takes a step back, then pivots, because who the fuck does she think she is? Why should Robin cower? “Fuck you,” he says again. She just raises her eyebrows, smirks, and it’s so smug that it actually makes Robin hot all over. “Fuck you. He’s my brother.”

“Yeah?” She asks, and he doesn’t like her fuckin’ tone. “Because, from where I’m standing, it really seems like that didn’t matter to you all that much until Wren started making a lot of money.”

It makes all the hair on the back of his neck stand up. “You have no idea —“

“Did he tell you we had to move?” She asks.

He’s still fuming and it crackles in his ears. “What?”

“Do you remember his apartment?” Julie says. “How excited he was? How much he loved it? But we had to move,” she tells him, “because we couldn’t keep up with it anymore, because such a substantial chunk of your brother’s income goes to funding his junkie brother’s crack habit.”

He tenses his jaw so tightly his teeth click. “You’re a bitch.”

“I’m not kidding,” she says, “and I’m telling you as gently as I think you deserve. You’re ruining his life. Leave him alone.”

Robin tries.

Really, he tries. He does what’s best for everyone and clears out his mother’s purse before making a home for himself in the gutter. He sleeps in the street and sits in the sun during the day, usually high. High if he can help it, anyway.

He sustains it for as long as it takes Wren to find him. He isn’t quite sure how long that is. He thinks he might have lost a lot of time.

Wren looks different. This Wren still has his Wren’s hair, his Wren’s abnormally large eyes. He’s still a pretty boy, but he’s a pretty boy, right? His jaw is a bit more defined. He’s got more angles, sharper angles, less softness and curve. He wouldn’t look out of place in an eighties hair band. How long has Robin been gone? How long has he been sleeping?

“You look good,” he says.

“You look like shit,” Wren tells him blandly.

“Yeah,” Robin agrees, scratching his neck. He accidentally opens a sore he didn’t know was there and scratches a little harder. “Where’s Julie?”

“Left me,” Wren answers.

“Oh,” Robin says, and stops scratching. “Why?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Why do you think?”

He flinches. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you?”

“Well, y’know,” he says, scratching his forearm, “there’s other fish in the sea.”

Wren’s face falls. Sighing, he looks away, half hidden by his hair. Robin has half a mind to wonder if that’s why he hasn’t cut it. “I can’t do this shit with you anymore,” he says.

“What shit?” Robin says.

“All of this,” he says, but he turns back to reach out towards Robin and forcefully pry his hands away from the sides of his face. “And stop fuckin’ pickin’ your face.”

Contrarily, Robin’s skin doesn’t stop itching so he doesn’t stop scratching.

Wren doesn’t stop taking care of him, either.

For a while, Robin has a really good thing going, honestly, and there’s something comforting about being at home again with his mom and his brother. He doesn’t notice, for a long time, how much it eats away at Wren, because it eats away at him so slowly. He gets quieter.

Five months after Wren decides he’s done taking care of him — and takes care of him, still — Robin clears all of the big bills out of his wallet before he wanders out onto the farm to grovel and ask to borrow a measly fifty bucks. He never quite makes it that far.

The cows are out, so it isn’t hard to track Wren down, but Robin never quite makes it over to him. He’s sitting in the grass, back against a fence post. Daisy has her head in his lap, and he’s got a hand between her ears, but it’s still. He’s staring off into nothing. It looks like he might be crying.

And that makes Robin so dreadfully uncomfortable he turns right back around and goes inside. Because that’s probably a little bit his fault, right?

He doesn’t leave then, but he notices it more. Wren stares off into space a lot. Cries when he doesn’t think anybody else is around. Never mentions to Robin all the money that vanished from his wallet.

Robin leaves a week later.

It takes Wren three months, this time, to track him down.

Robin’s been sleeping on the floor of an abandoned apartment building, and it’s kind of surreal, waking up to Wren, cross legged on the floor with him. It’s a relief to see him. “Can I b-borrow a c-couple bucks?”

The way Wren looks at him makes him miserable. He tells Wren it’s their mother, it’s the way mom looks at him, and it is, to a degree. His mother still looks at him like she’s proud of him, her son the soldier, her son the patriot, but the way Wren looks at him is worse. Wren’s disappointed in him, and that could almost make him throw up.

He’s trying to get Robin to come home, to get clean, and Robin’s trying to get some money out of him. He’s having a hard time focusing, he’s shivering, but not with cold, with a sort of fever that makes his skin crawl too tightly over his restless bones. When the door explodes open, Robin registers it a second after it’s already happened. The soldiers he doesn’t even see until they’ve already swarmed the room, covered every exit, pulled Robin to his knees by his arms and his hair. They knock his blanket loose, and he shivers until one of them grabs Wren by his braided hair, wrenches his head back, points his gun.

Not everything comes into focus, but it tries. This is really happening and this is really bad.

Their captain is a big guy that looks more like the Hollywood movie version of a soldier than a soldier. He has an arrogance to him that puts Robin on edge, that he’s only ever seen in very dangerous, very powerful men. The way he looks at Wren makes Robin sick.

When he knocks Wren unconscious, it’s with a wet cloth and a gloved hand over his mouth.

Robin begs. He hasn’t been above begging for a long time. The way the captain is looking at Wren — he’s seen what happens to people who get looked at like that.

And this is Robin’s fault.

This is all his fault.

It makes him think of Julie. He can’t remember the last time he saw her, or even the last time he really thought about her, but he thinks of her now. You’re ruining his life, she’d told him once.

She was right.

For a long time, he’d been ruining. Now, it��s in ruins at his feet. And it’s all Robin’s fault.

They try to make him watch, but he struggles and vomits himself into unconsciousness.

They take him to a weird, grey place tens of minutes below ground. They give him weird, grey clothes and they throw him into a weird, grey prison.

Wren isn’t there.

He meets Hal, and he meets June, and he begs them, too. They have to know something, anything. Maybe they heard one of the soldiers say something, even in passing.

They look at him like he’s crazy. They don’t even believe him.

Robin spends his first week in his weird, grey prison completely hysterical. Then a couple of men, dressed almost liked orderlies but masked, all in black, come to haul him away, kicking and screaming. They drag him through this weird, grey hellscape to a surgical room from a nightmare, entirely black. They strap him down to a black surgical table. The surgeons that hover around him wear black masks and caps and gloves.

One of them takes a long, black needle. He holds it up, into Robin’s field of vision, before he turns the point into the inner corner of his eye. “This will probably hurt,” he explains, “but you won’t think to complain.”

“What the fuck?” Robin shouts. He thrashes, but he’s restrained to that table so tightly he can’t turn his face away, not even an inch. “What the fuck! Get the fuck away from me!”

“This will make your development easier,” another says. He speaks with the slow, flat voice of an old movie mad scientist and Robin’s heart physically aches in his chest. Never, not once in his life, has he been so scared it’s made his heart ache. “It’s in your best interest.”

“Get the fuck away from me!” Robin screams.

But he’s still. He tries to thrash, to turn away, and he can’t. He can only watch that needle close in on his eye, and scream as it pierces it.

He screams until he can’t.

#this is a little wren centric at times but that is obviously just because wren is a special love of my life & im obsessed with him #whump #whumpblr #whump scenes #whump blog #whump series #whump tag #whumpee #whump community #whump writing #whump fic #whump snippet #whump story #whump stuff #whump things #whump angst #whump wip

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ryaiga · 2 years ago

Text

The One God Forbade

Chapter 1

Pairing - Captain Price X GN!Reader X Lieutenant Riley

MDNI 18+ PLEASE.

WORD COUNT: 6.3K

Summary: You survived an interrogation but don't remember anything except the pain you endured and Captain Price saving you. Once you recovered, you were left with more questions with seemingly no answer.

AUTHOR’S NOTE AT THE END!

WARNINGS/CWS/TWS: GRAPHIC SCENES(DETAILED GORE, there will be a warning and a spacer just for it so you can skip), Military terms that might be wrong, Drinking, Childhood trauma, mention of abuse, death and mentions of death, talks of scars, implied rape.

Spacers/Headers by: @mmadeinheavenn , @imlevis , @animatedglittergraphics-n-more , @wanwanparty

{(N/n) = nickname}

It was a surprise Kortac didn't sign you from the get go. You knew of a couple of their members, König and Horangi specifically, only by mere whispers. You were the new recruit on base. Anyone and everyone would kill to have your spot, a vacancy was opened and granted to you to join Task force 141. Nobody saw it coming, you'd always thought it was the best soldier from your squad who'd be nominated, but everyone including you was blindsided by the choice.

You were home, on leave for only a week after a grueling mission your platoon had to complete and after recovery. Intel was needed and special ops teams Alpha, Delta and ,your squad, Echo were tasked to gather it, eliminate all threats if faced and by any means get said intel. Other squads joked (some meant what they said) that you didn't belong in the army, but rather a mercenary group like Kortac. The lengths you'd take to accomplish a mission gave you that title. It was a switch, something even you can't control. What lays in your wake is the multiple sights of mangled and bloodied corpses, those whose faces were intact belonged to people you have never come across once in your life.

That mission made your attempts to sleep futile, it haunts you every night when you rest your head. You were separated from your team, trying to exfil but ended up amidst an ambush. Everyone knew how skilled a soldier you were, but never had taken you for the type to sacrifice yourself for the means of your fellow squadmates' safety. You'd make headway to a couple of your injured comrades, shooting at enemies who’d even think of taking a step forward. Dragging them back to the safety of the group, you’d left them to get first aid, hell you even threw your back up kit on top of one of the injured before running to the last man. The few before him received shots to their limbs, nothing that would render them dead, but the last man had more than just a shot.

Rodney was Echo team’s Field Team Leader(FTL) and had been by your side pulling the injured and returning fire on the enemies. That was when a stray IED happened to go off, you swore that a pebble triggered it but you didn't have the time to think about it. Luckily for the both of you, it wasn’t close to do deadly damage but it was enough for the building in front of you to shake and a piece of rubble had fallen onto Rodney’s leg as he was trying to get up after the explosion. You had been scraped by flyaway shrapnels but one happened to embed itself into your thigh, right above your knee. Seeing that he had it worse, you made it a priority to get that injured comrade out of the way first so you can focus on Rodney after. You’d almost — or hell quite literally — thrown the man to safety and dashed for Rodney, using the momentum, you attempted to kick the rubble off and thankfully it did. Placing a tourniquet on Rodney’s leg so he didn't bleed out.

You'd only manage to drag him halfway to the group, before a crazed hostile came charging at you with a knife. Stupid as it was to bring a knife to a gunfight in a literal sense, you reached for your pistol and raised it to shoot the hostile, hearing a click instead of a shot going off. An empty mag, you chuckled. Shouting for Rodney to crawl the rest of the way and yell for someone, you holstered the pistol to exchange for your trusty karambit. You've been in hand to hand combat for training but for some reason this was different. You found yourself on the ground quicker than ever, despite being top in your batch.

The man stood over you with a sinister look, with a grin stretching from ear to ear. “Another American added to my collection, I won’t kill you so soon. Not yet at least, we still need to know how you found this place. And dear little soldier, oh how much fun I’ll have torturing you and keeping you barely breathing.” He proceeded to plunge the knife into your side, somehow missing everything vital but you convinced yourself that it would be blood loss that kills you at this point. You’d rather die quiet than betray the military. Blacking out due to the shock, the last thing you heard Rodney yelling for the rest to fire at the man and not just stand there with their dicks in their hands. At last it was too late, the team had to exfil but not without calling it in and letting the team who was aiding us with the mission about the situation at hand. A rescue mission for a fellow soldier.

Neither you nor your team knew that the intel was for Task Force 141’s next deployment, you were the bait Laswell had deployed. It was to ensure that the ring leader didn’t take the situation seriously, a random military team out on patrol happened to stumble upon a measly little operational base they had out in the sandy town, a perfect bait. Bringing back the intel to the team at base, Laswell gave Price the details of your rescue, unbeknownst to you of course.

TORTURE SCENE AHEAD, AVOID IF YOU AREN’T COMFORTABLE WITH SUCH

YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

You woke up to the sharp and pulsating pain in your side, vision blurred and arms shackled to a metal table, you remembered what happened. You braced yourself for the worse, nothing like good old torture. The next 8 hours felt like hell, from waterboarding, branding you with a metal rod that was heated to the point of it glowing bright orange, to nails being pulled starting from your toes then to your hands, you endured every second of torture being thrown at you. Sure it was horrible, but you kept your mouth shut by any means possible. Every time a nail was pulled ever so agonizingly slowly, you bit your lips to the point that blood dripped down your chin and that the pain was now numbed, you no longer felt it. You closed your eyes, counting every second.

1, 2, 3, 4- “How did you find this compound?” 9, 10. 30600. 1, 2, 3- “I know you can hear me!” 7, 8, 9, 10. 30610- Another slow pull of a nail, this time it was your right pinky toe, no nails on the right foot 8 hours, 35 minutes, 20 seconds into being kidnapped. Yeah they took a whole 5 minutes to torture your pinky toe for information.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5- the door to the room opens again, a different man enters. This time with a trolley with surgical tools. You could see a scalpel, clamps, retractors, suction, staples and energy systems, you could tell this man enjoys the torment he inflicts. With the orchestra of surgical tools laid out in front of him, he was the conductor who was gonna lead your screams into a melodious conforment of the perfect harmony, a symphony to his ears. 45950.

1, 2, 3, 4, you felt him cut open the top of your hand, using the clamps on the nerves and playing with them, all without anesthetics, you growled as your face contorted to the pain. Cauterizing the incision, “You know, I had enough sessions like this, I could get a medical license just from how talented and skill I am with my tools.” Deranged as he sounds, you kept counting. 50400. It is now 50401. You had enough when you felt him grab your belt buckle. That’s where it happened. You blacked out. The last that you remembered.

Back at base, Laswell called for the last mission briefing after Price gathered the boys and informed them of what was going on. After which Price and the few members of Task force 141 geared up. He led them onto the helo and they flew out to the sandy plains you were left at. 3 hours after the incident was called in.

Laswell had informed him of the prestigious yet silent soldier that was being considered for his team. He’d lost a recruit in an earlier deployment, one he took to heart. Like many from the past, another scar added, that lay permanent by his chest and the haunting that left him shaking and restless at night, another one failed by his very leadership. Making even the unshakeable captain wake in cold sweats and trembling and to his vices in the attempts to be grounded to earth once more. So to hear that he was getting a new member that was as or more skilled than the one before, meant that the military was willing to sacrifice yet another valuable asset if it meant that his team was complete from every angle. A well trained sniper, hardy in hand to hand, a versatile team player yet nothing more than your skills were known. Similar to his lieutenant, you were an enigma. Not even a drop of ink was placed about your past and how you came about the military. Your file had a picture, a battle hardened soldier who completed every mission with ease and precision of high caliber, but no other name besides (N/N). You hadn’t been rewarded with a callsign, no one knew enough about you to even give a title to your talents, unlike Soap or Ghost. Price read up on your previous missions, but to his disappointment (or amazement), every debrief on the details stated that no one saw how you executed. It was always done and over with by the time the rest came to you, and it happens within mere seconds. A regal display of crimson red, a mural of your skill assets that leaves even your FTLs in fear of ever being your enemy. However, No one was ready for what was to come. For you’d gain a title like no other, a prestige as high as the greatest artist known to man, the difference being that it came not from art. But from your ungodly fits to kill and survive, a display left out to strike fear in any person who wronged you.

Price and his team sat in the helo, adrenaline slowly creeping along their nerves as they awaited for the pilot's call to jump. “Hope we get there in time, wouldn't be good if we found ‘em KIA. Laswell seemed rather fond of the enigma.” Ghost briefly spoke, an utter breath that Price barely caught. Nodding in response, Price wanted to see what you were. How you handled the predicament you were in, knowing full well if it was one of his men, that they wouldn’t even think of breaking. Could he blame you? Not even your platoon had knowledge that you were against a group of skilled mercenaries guising as cartels selling American weapons on middle eastern soil. He’d seen what they’ve done to the soldiers before you, they never made it home and if they did, it was a closed casket ceremony.

Needless to say you were in desperate need of saving if you even want to think of coming out alive. Ghost reminds the rest that they aren’t to hope too highly of your chances, another tag and body bag might be amongst them on their return. A slim chance that you’d even be crawling out that hellscape. It was a bad omen that Price hated, he didn’t like the thought of a rescue being a failed attempt before it even began. Before he could even try to save the person. The helo landed miles away from the building, too many for the team’s liking. It meant time was wasted traversing the dunes, and time was not on their side.

They managed to reach the building on the 14th hour, Gaz situated at a high vantage point and taking out any guard that would alert the others and prevent the team’s entry while Price and the other two got closer. Price split the teams, Gaz with him and Soap with Ghost. Ghost and Soap would make the initial breach, having that Soap was their demolitions expert. Gaz made his way to the other side of the building with Price to flank and surprise any enemies with the possible off chance of stumbling into you during the sweep. Over the comms, he gave the signal. A blast shook the building, he’d hear a handful of footsteps rush towards the other two, giving it a second before kicking the shitty metal door open. Entering the 4 story building, they cleared the first floor with ease before coming across a walkie talkie on one of the now dead tangos. “Goddamn it! Kill whoever that was, we need to handle-” the person on the other end was cut off and without a second for Price to ponder what the situation was, more enemies came barrelling down the steps, managing to count 6 as they entered a room for cover before a gunfight ensued. Soap deployed a 9 banger - a flashbang that would go off 9 times back to back - a headbanger experience for the poor dead men walking. Using that as a distraction Gaz took out 3 enemies before Ghost and Price eliminated the remaining few.

Ghost and Soap rushed to the second floor while he and Gaz went to the third. ‘Faster’ echoed in the back of Price’s mind. The team only managed to clear 3 rooms when a gut wrenching cry and a shot going off not long after was heard. It came from the fourth floor, He waited for the two below them and got into formation. Leading his men into the unknown, they hurried up the flight of stairs. Looking down the dimly lit and putrid corridor stood 4 rooms, only one of which was closed, something wet leaked from its crack but the lighting made it hard to distinguish what it was. After clearing other rooms of hostiles, Price had Gaz stand guard by the stairs, Soap covering his and Ghost’s six. His clothed hand slowly reached the grimy steel knob, twisting and pushing it open to find that it was locked from the inside. You had to be there, surely. He tapped Soap and motioned for him to breach with a thermite. Bracing for the explosion, the thermite goes off rattling who stood by the door no doubt, using the initial explosion as a distraction, Price enters.

He’d heard of soldiers crawling away from death’s grip, but nothing he’d seen or heard would have prepared him for what he had just walked into. Before Ghost could turn to clear and call out on the comms, Price stopped him and the other two from entering. A war torn soldier wasn’t an unusual sight but the horrors he’d just laid his desensitized eyes on was enough to remind him of what he once feared back when he was a young recruit in the SAS. A trolley with surgical tools and a lone pistol stood at arms reach of a small figure wearing a familiar uniform, hands busy with what he could only assume was the soldier’s face, chains jingling as they continued with what they were doing all whilst embracing the sun’s warm grace. That wasn’t what shook him, a metal table typically used to interrogate people stood to the right of the room. The chains that held you down were broken, the spot where the chains were welded to the center of the table had an upwards dent - you ripped the chains off the table with sheer force.

A man in surgical garments sprawled on the table, innards now turned out for all to see. A spectacle made out of human intestine, organs pinned outside the man’s body by multiple scalpels that went through the metal and blood viciously splattered around his corpse. Price wished he could say that was it but the gruesome art went beyond just insides turned out. The man’s entire nervous system was intricately laid out around his organs, decorating the entire table in a mix of thin blue threads barely visible amongst the puddle of red. The nerves still connected together in a web, not severed in any section, the extreme precision to carry such a brutal butchering left Price speechless. The scene was as if it paid homage to the Blair Witch Project, or worse a page from a sacrificial ritual. Price could only hope that the man was dead when all of this was carried out.

Another, laid on the floor not too far between the man on the table and inches away from the door. A pistol in his mouth, brain matter laid out on the ground, his face frozen with a plea for mercy. That was what he was standing in, and what had seeped out the door crack. Yet another lay in front the soldier Price was facing, neck snapped and his dead body laid to rest sitting up right by the wall in front of the aforementioned soldier, a metal rod shoved into his mouth and the sharp end had protruded out his torso. Price took another step forward before he heard a whimper to the left most corner of the room, their target - the head honcho of the operation - sat bare and huddled. His clothes on the ground at arms reach yet the man was too afraid to take a step forward. As though he would meet the same fate as his men if he took even a breath of air.

“(N/n)? It’s Captain Price, Laswell sent Task Force 141 to rescue you.” Price spoke softly, not wanting to surprise you, unsure of the current mental state you were in. Especially after what was laid around you and the torture you went through. “Are you injured?-” You didn’t answer, instead opting to slowly turn. Price made the right call, the state you were in was dire. “Ghost, call for exfil ASAP, (N/n) is alive but in serious condition.” Price called out to his right hand man with urgency and a slight tremble in his voice.

Your eyes. He’d thought that when he first met Ghost, that his eyes were the epitome of cold and soulless. But somehow yours went beyond that, for a lack of better words. A frigid cold looms behind those dull and matte black pupils, reminding of the cold he once faced during a deployment in Russia during a winter’s snow storm, striking his very core cold. Bangs sticking to your bloodied face by sweat and grime from the hours of torture you endured. A chunk of your skin hanged off your face, a knife cut and what looks like one of the man’s attempts to rip the skin out and off your face. It started right above your eyebrow traveling down to your lips. He was hopeful that it was repairable, it wasn’t a wide injury, barely missing your eyes and narrows down where it ended in the middle of your upper lip, still connecting at both ends to your face by what looked like a thin fishing line. You were stitching your skin back to your face. Your hand had a butchered attempt to stitch a wound close with one hand, nail beds down to your knuckles had trails of dried up blood. Uniform stained a dark red, mixture of your injured comrades blood from the fight and yours, the side of your torso had a big patch of blood. Sleeves rolled up, bright red burn marks running down your entire forearm, the man before you had branded you with the very metal rod that was now embedded in him. On your other arm were 12 lines stitched into your skin, 8 weren’t freshly stitched in, leaving Price confused and curious as to what it was.

END OF TORTURE SCENE

Price could see the soldier mouthing something softly. His ears strained to hear the soft word, or numbers when he realizes that you were counting out by tens and adding to a bigger number before repeating. The hours you were torture. He slowly approaches you, calling out to you. It took a solid minute for you to realize what was going on. Signs of a soul return to your eyes, glossing over as soon as you hear your name. Arms slowly raised to surrender and it starts to tremble when before they were as still as though belonging to the world’s best brain surgeon. Tears drip down your cheeks, face still emotionless. You were dazed. The sound of the chopper’s propeller came to earshot, fresh sunshine scalding your back through the glassless window.

Gaz calls out to Price, “They’re here! Let’s go!” Price immediately takes off his shemagh and drapes it over your head, covering your face before standing to your left. He gave you a shot of morphine he had on hand to help with the pain. Grabbing your left arm, wrapping it over his shoulders, bending both of you and carried you bridal style as you were in no condition to walk - your toenails gone from the torture and the piece of shrapnel still in your thigh, he could only imagine the pain you were going through. He carried you out the room, ordering his team to escort the two of you to the safety of the chopper. Before he could descend the stairs, you spoke softly. “My karambit. Find it, I can’t lose it. I won’t leave without it.” The team shoots Price a confused look before turning to each other. “What are you waiting for? You heard the soldier. Quickly find it.” Price commands, he feels your breath starting to get labored, he hurries the guys and tells Gaz to follow him out.

The medics on board administered emergency first aid, shooting you with a dose of adrenaline to make sure you stay awake during the flight. They had laid you down on a stretcher. Not long after you, Price and Gaz enter the chopper, Ghost and Soap follow suit with your karambit in hand. Soap walks to your side, kneeling before he places your Karambit safely onto your chest and grabs your left hand to be placed on top of the knife. “Rest easy now (N/n), you and your karambit are safe.” Soap shot you a comforting smile as he spoke with a tone to reassure you.

Beeping. You hear the sound of a heart monitor beeping to the same rhythm as your heartbeat, however it was muffled. Eyes fluttering open, squinting due the harsh and glaring light that was directly over you. Consciousness returns to your still body. A body that didn’t feel like yours, sore all over and strapped down to the bed, limiting your movement. Your vision blurred, you attempted to analyze the room. Aside from the continuous beeping of the heart monitor, the fluorescent lights that had basically served as a flashbang buzzed like white noise. Reminding you of the time when you were living in that shitty college dormitory, but there wasn’t that stale air that was permeated by the pungent scent of body odor from athletes who freely roamed the halls. Instead, it was the smell of disinfectant that was greatly welcomed. The A/C hummed quietly, you soon realized it was a hospital or medical bay that you were in.

Something was off. How did you get from that dry and sweltering room that was stained with the smell of mold and bodily fluids to this clean environment. You scrapped at your foggy memory, who came? Was it the military who came to your rescue or did the fuckers who tortured you, who sold you off as a token and bargaining chip to a client? Panic creeps up your leg, feeling it coursing through your veins. You quietly looked for a way to get out of your restraints, not wanting anyone to hear you scheming away.

Your eyes spotted a paperclip that was left right on top of your cover, probably dropped from a clipboard. You started to shimmy under the tiny metal paperclip, it inches to your reach and soon you popped it into your mouth to bend it in a way that allowed you to lockpick the 4 locks that held your restraints against the bed. You hurried, taking off the restraints that were on your hands and started to work on your foot.

You only managed to free one foot when you heard someone walk into the section of the medical bay that housed you. Your heart starts beating aggressively quick, the sensation made it as though your heart was in your throat and actively trying to suffocate you. Before you were able to formulate a plan, someone was sliding the thin curtain aside. "They should be out cold, that wasn't an average dose of sedative Capt. Had to get Alex to hold 'em down with me and he just got back too." Scottish man but he wasn't alone, you glared at the curtain to gauge how big the Scot was. Standing at 6'2(1.88m), nothing you haven't encountered, a build fit for a soldier. You weren't gonna take your chances though.

You leaned to grab the flower vase that stood tall on the bedside table, readying your other hand with the paper clip to fling it at the man as hard as possible once you distracted him. The curtain pulls back and sure enough he was distracted talking to the other person accompanying him. You threw the pot straight at the Scottish man's face, catching him by surprise and stumbling onto the ground with his hand on his nose. The pot didn't break, if you weren't trying to escape and it was safe, you'd be laughing in the back of your mind. Immediately turning your attention to the other man who merely looked at his buddy on the ground groaning in pain. You took that as a free opportunity to get the man. You flicked the paperclip hoping to at least get it embedded into the side of his neck.

However, to your horror, he leaned back just in time to dodge the clip. It pierced the concrete wall next behind him. Before you were able to do anything, he turned to you and pinned you down against the bed. Your wrists in his hands and above your head, you tried to pull away but to no avail. You started to buck your body against his, trying to get him off. This only causes him to yell at his comrade, who's whining and rolling on the ground in pain. "Soap if you don't get up and help me pin their legs or hell, even get the doc, so help me I will ensure the lavys are nice and grody just for you to clean till next month." The man that you almost stabbed in the jugular with a goddamn paperclip has his body on your torso, just so you’d stop struggling, had an annoyed look similar to a dad reprimanding his son for breaking a glass and not bothering to help.

“It’s Captain Price- Calm down Echo 2, we aren’t going to hurt you. You're back at base and safe.” Captain Price? Price? You heard of his name. Rodney had mentioned that name before, something about a transfer. You stopped fighting back, as he mentioned you’re safe now and realized you nearly killed a higher up, you apologized. He slowly got up, wary that you’d try to pull something. Especially after that stunt. “You had woken up several times the past few days, manic on several occasions. We had Soap watch over you in case you woke up and chose to attack the Doc.”

“Permission to speak. How long was I out? And are my platoon mates safe?” You asked after Price gave you a nod. “A week, your body was weak from blood loss. The doctors helping you had stabilized you. Removing the shrapnel in your thigh, stitching the remaining skin that you hadn’t stitched back onto your face, treating your stab wound and the burn you had from the branding. Your platoon was brought back safely thanks to you Sergeant (N/n).” It came back to you. The ambush during exfil, dragging injured man back, Rodney, the counting, the questions, and you don't remember much after that. Funny how it all went down within 24 hours.

The doctor came in with a Soap who wasn’t too happy to open the curtain. Doc ran a couple of tests to make sure you were clear for rehab. Your recovery was a speedy one and rehab was smooth sailing. The platoon came to visit you, those you saved came to show their gratitude. Some silently cried as you laid in the comforts of your hospital bed. You were still trying to register what happened, how you got 3 more stitches on your left arm. You had 8 on your arm from your past, marking those who wronged you.

One belongs to your deadbeat dad who abused you and your mother when you were younger, he died mysteriously. All you recalled was the newscaster covering his death as a brutal and grotesque murder that the nation had witnessed in years. Your mother knew what happened but she never disclosed that information, not to the cops and especially not you. You had stitched a blood red thread into your arm.

Another was a friend who left you to die after a crash that nearly rendered you paralyzed, you remember crawling with only your arms trying to get help.

Six belonged to each member of a jock clique who trapped you in the college’s equipment shed and took turns abusing you in too many ways yet you didn’t remember how. All you could remember was limping away in your tattered clothes covered in bright purple bruises that covered your body and a permanent red line that went around your neck.

The last one belongs to a guy who was close to one of the jocks, he somehow had entered your dorm room and attacked you after coming home from a long study session in the library. A scar ran from the back of your right bicep down to its shoulder blade. What amazed you was that you never remember what happened after those traumatic moments. All you knew were they’d end up dead one way or another.

You ran your hand over the stitches, something about it is soothing to you. Last thing you remember was seeing Captain Price walking up to you, and the mangled bodies scattered around you. Before you could get lost in your thoughts, Rodney came to visit. “(N/n)? How you holding up?” He pushes the curtain aside with his crutch and sits on the chair sat beside your bed. “As good as I can get Echo 1. How’s the leg?” The two of you made small talk, he told you that the rubble had broken his leg and that the medical team had to place a metal rod in there to treat the issue. He also mentioned something about gifts being dropped off and placed in your cage. Shocking considering you weren’t close to the team, “You know, if it weren’t for the bandages covering your face, I wouldn't know what you’re thinking. But your eyes speak volumes, it was thanks to you that we got to come home safely. At the expense of your own safety. I don’t think any of us could show just how grateful we are and could never repay you for it.” you didn’t say much, purely unsure what needs to be said. You simply reached for his shoulder, resting your hand on it. “Rodney, it's my job as much as yours to keep the rest safe. The least I could've done.” Rodney looked up at you with great admiration.

“I came here to let you know something. All I can say is that I left a good word in for you.” You were confused by what he just said and was about to ask what he meant by ‘left a good word in’ when he got up. “The platoon is waiting for you to fully recover, they want to head to the bar. I know what you’re about to say, ‘It's fine FTL, I’ll sit it out’. Not this time Echo 2, we’ll be celebrating your return before we get some down time.”

About 2 weeks after the incident with Captain Price and Sergeant Soap, you were given the all clear to head back to cages. The stab wound was still limiting your range of movement but at least you weren’t bound to the hospital bed or the confines of the rehab room. Being able to wear your uniform felt good, however you had to stop by the base’s surplus store to buy more balaclavas considering the huge scar on your face. You weren’t one who loved being stared at or given attention for no reason. When you walked in the surplus store, the lady working the cashier stared at you the entire time. You didn't hesitate to grab a couple pairs of gloves while you're at it. You immediately wore one of the all black balaclavas, walking out with a new cap as well, it didn't hurt to add a cap to your wardrobe, especially since you didn't want to look like a clothed bald. You chuckled at the thought, now you don't have to worry about your hair not meeting the requirements, you could even grow it out if you wanted.

You made your way to the cages, finding the aforementioned gifts on yours. The platoon had gotten you new clothes like multiple thin long sleeves to wear under your t-shirts or uniforms, balaclavas, a bunch of hats. A lot of gifts for a second in command that hadn’t bonded with the team much despite being with them for years now. What caught your eyes was a trophy, you picked it up. It reads ‘Best 2IC of the year’. You felt eyes staring holes into your back, “You guys know that you can’t sneak up on me right?” you turned to see the platoon hiding by the doorway, they came charging in. They picked you up and started to toss you up into the air, clearly happy that you were back. They never once seemed to like you until now, you can’t deny it, it felt good to feel appreciated. But you’d never show it.

They let you shower and change out to something more comfortable. You had chosen to wear some cargo pants, one of the thin long sleeves under a windbreaker you owned, not forgetting the balaclava and cap you bought. Once you changed, they carried you out to one of the trucks Rodney drove and hopped in after you. The drive to the bar was chaotic, the boys were singing alongside the handful of ladies who braved war alongside you. Music blasting through the truck, you could barely hear your own thoughts. The truck halts to a stop, now at the infamous bar that every soldier from base would frequent, The Old West. They were known for their top shelf bourbon and scotch. The guys dragged you in, the bar had an oaky scent that was somehow comforting. You and the platoon had taken up the biggest table and since the bar offered food, you ordered some mozzarella sticks to share with them. After sitting and chatting with the platoon, Rodney bought everyone a beer to celebrate. A cheer was called for and it being a weekend, the bar soon became loud with everyone joining in to cheer you guys.

After a while, you needed a moment to yourself. You had made your way to the bar, sat on one of the bar stools and had ordered a shot of vodka and a glass of whiskey. You didn't realize it but you were shaking, you weren’t used to being in a ‘huge’ crowd. Thankfully you had sat at the end of the bar and somewhat away from the noise. That's when you spotted Captain Price. He was talking to the bartender and hadn’t noticed you, how could he especially with how you looked now. And you’d like for it to be that way, still feeling bad for nearly killing him. You down the vodka with ease, nothing you weren’t used to considering how it was one of your many vices that helped you forget about the atrocities that you had committed over the years. You pulled your phone out to scroll the news, blankly reading it and enjoyed the whiskey.

“Care for another soldier?” Somehow you didn’t see the captain saunter his way next to you. The bartender had placed 2 drinks in front of you, that was the talk that he had with the bartender. Not wanting to be rude, you humbly accepted the drink. “At ease soldier, I'm here to enjoy a drink just like everyone else.” He turns to you and shoots you a smile. You simply nod. It stayed that way for the remainder of the night, with the occasion of either of you calling the bartender over for a refill. It wasn't as uncomfortable or awkward as you thought it would be.

Rodney spots the two of you and comes to say hi, “Captain, sergeant. Hope y’alls enjoy yourselves as much as the rest of the bar.” he chuckles, arm around your shoulder and beer in his other hand. “Hope this one right here will do you good captain, it’ll be sad to see ‘em leave. But it's for a better cause. Anyways, (N/n) the rest wants to leave in a bit, thought to let you know!” Rodney walks back to the rest, albeit a little wobbly than you’d like. You turned to ask Price what Rodney was on about but he was already up and had paid. ”Drinks on my soldier, see you the next time we meet.”

So many questions, yet nobody answers them.

A/N: Raiga here! This is the first chapter of the TOGF series, heads up that this will predominantly focus on your rs with Price, I might change the way this is heading as I do have a couple ideas on how to carry this story. I want to preface that the dynamic is not going to be too romantic. All this while writing my first GN! oh so many first! so do give feedback as it is greatly appreciated. If you’d like to be a beta reader, shoot me a message as it would help with releasing each chapter faster.

The first chapter was mainly to give you an idea of the ‘mc’s’ behavior. Sorry if it’s much, most of it is based on my experiences. So if you happen to dislike it, I wouldn’t fault you. But I do hope you are able to enjoy the story! I’m also trying to avoid having the boys be OOC too much, I want it to feel more authentic as it can get if you were to fall in love with your captain despite it being forbidden.

Till then, that’s all from me! Raiga out.

IF YOU’D LIKE TO BE ADDED TO THE TAGLIST, LEAVE A REPLY!

Taglist;

@thychuvaluswife @tiny-kasper

#cod mw2 #cod mw2 fanfic #captain price #captain john price #john price #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain price x reader #captain price x you #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost simon riley #lieutenant simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader

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kiwisfics · 10 months ago

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A/N: Don't read this if you don't like dark fics! Don't come at me if you don't like the content. Triggers are listed and the only non-"constructive" comments I'll take are about any triggers that need to be added. I said I was gonna post this like... three days ago but I kept going over it again so if I don't post it now I'm not gonna. JUST TAKE THIS! Let me know if I missed any uses of my SI's name when I was editing.

Context Needed: I normally keep the fics I write that are lore-heavy to myself, but since people said they wanted the dark fic… Reader is a rifter, which basically means that she’s capable of traveling dimensions, and is conditionally immortal. Reader goes by Black Robin and is implied to have a suit that shows a lot of skin and to have a flirty persona as a vigilante.

TWs under the cut because there's... a lot.

Light TWs: Self-loathing, reader diminishes her own worth, reader has past trauma with being left behind by people she cares about, Dick is giving reader the silent treatment at the beginning but it’s mostly pre-setting, canon-typical violence/blood mentions. “Good girl” gets used condescendingly.

Heavy TWs: Do NOT read this if you have any triggers related to rape/non-con. Nothing actually happens, but it heavily revolves around reader believing that it's going to. Seriously, don't read this if you don't like whumpy stuff, because you're not gonna like it. My love of whumper to caretaker shows through here. Lots of mentions of trafficking, reader is kidnapped by said traffickers, fear of rape/non-con, Dick is very mean. Like, seriously, he’s very OOC for the majority of this fic. Threats/implications of rape/non-con, inappropriate use of one of his escrima sticks (just in the mouth) reader has a spiral at the end where she’d convinced that Nightwing and Red Hood are going to rape her.

If it’s any consolation, this is technically hurt/comfort, so it isn’t all horrible. Just… most of it. Reader also forgives him far too fast in the end, but I can gladly share some more snippets of how this affects the reader character in the future. I’ve already got ideas for some short scenes that I’m gonna write.

Nightwing was going to kill her.

He’d been explicitly clear: he didn’t want to see Black Robin out ever again. She’d nearly gotten herself killed, but she knew that wasn’t why he was so angry. He couldn’t have cared less about that, after all, she was a rifter and that meant that she was built to take pain and that death was a moot point. He was angry because she’d risked the mission, nearly let a trafficker that they’d all been hunting for weeks get away because she got too confident for her own good.

She’d snapped back at him when he told her that she wasn’t to wear the suit again, told him that he was just like Batman. That was the wrong thing to say.

He hadn’t talked to her since.

So, maybe she was trying to bait him a little by coming into Blüdhaven in her suit, maybe she was trying to get his attention back because she couldn’t stand being punished with the silent treatment. Maybe this was her fault.

Well, it was definitely her fault, but in her defense, she was thinking with her heart and not her head. She didn’t want to lose him, and in some twisted way, having him level her with lecturing and anger was still better than the radio silence.

She would have been fine. Nightwing would never actually hurt her. That wasn’t what went wrong.

Her suit didn’t have a panic button. It didn’t need one because she was forbidden from going out on her own even before she’d wrecked a mission and been benched. So, when she’d stolen a bike and made her way to Blüdhaven in costume while Bruce was off-world, Tim was with the Titans, Jason was off on a no contact mission, and Alfred was distracted with keeping Damian from abandoning his studies in favor of full-time vigilantism, no one knew where she was going.

She’d even been stupid enough to leave a note saying that she was heading home to visit family, and she wouldn’t be back for a while.

Alfred would have already found the note. Bruce wouldn’t start worrying for at least forty-eight hours with no word.

By then, it might be too late. Too late for her pride and her self-respect at least.

For now, she contented herself with growling and spitting at the traffickers, fighting the urge to be sick over the taste of her own blood soaking the rag in her mouth. She had no chance of picking the locks on the handcuffs, because she’d never gotten the hang of it while Bruce was teaching her, so she didn’t bother fiddling with them, instead preserving her energy.

If no one found her, she’d need her energy if she got the chance to run. They’d have to uncuff her from the chair if they wanted to-

She gulped, pushing down the thought.

Nightwing was going to kill her, but he was also the only chance she had of getting out of this without something worse than torture occurring.

She could see the leering. She could read the expressions. She promised herself that if she got out of this, then she was going to change the layout of her suit. She needed to cover more skin. She needed to flirt less with enemies too, apparently, because the men that had grabbed her had parroted some of her own lines back at her while they gagged her and dragged her back to this warehouse.

It was always warehouses. For once, she wanted to get dragged to a penthouse suite and get threatened and tortured by a classy villain.

Nightwing was going to kill her, but she couldn’t help the way that her chest lurched with relief and happiness upon seeing his form drop to the floor from one of the open skylights.

At once, all of the guns were on him, but, as suspected, he didn’t so much as flinch.

“Here to save your little friend? Awful bold to jump right in the middle of the warehouse full of men with guns, even for you, Nightwing.”

He tilted his head, the clench in his jaw speaking of rage.

She was sure she was saved, because even if he was mad at her and was going to give her a lecture that might have her in tears by the end of it, Nightwing wouldn’t hurt her. Dick wouldn’t hurt her.

“Save her? No. She’s just getting exactly what she asked for.”

Her stomach lurched this time, but it was with fear and a sickly cold feeling that crawled up her throat like it was being swarmed by ants.

Was she wrong? There was no way he would just leave her to her fate. He’d saved genuinely terrible people from situations that weren’t even as bad as the one that she’d found herself in, so there was no way he was going to leave her here, just because they’d had a fight.

Right?

The men’s guns all seemed to lower in the slightest bit, but they didn’t leave his form, “You expect us to believe you’re going to just leave her here? That you just dropped in for a friendly chat?”

“Oh, no. I don’t plan to leave her here. You just saved me the trouble of getting her pinned down is all.” He twirled one of his escrima in his hand, like it was a fidget toy instead of a dangerous weapon. “I appreciate you making my night easier, but I’m going to be taking her off of your hands now.”

So, he was saving her, right? He was contradicting himself, but she didn’t care what he said if he got her out of this.

“Thought you weren’t saving her,” the guns raised back to their full height, the leader scoffed, “you go play hero somewhere else for the night and maybe will give her back when she’s nice and broken in. Might not even charge you the full rate.”

She didn’t like having her suspicions confirmed about what they planned to do with her, but that was fine. She had guessed that, and it didn’t matter anymore, because Nightwing was here and that meant that these idiots were just delaying the inevitable rescue he’d come to pull off.

“Well, I guess you could consider it saving. After all, I might not be quite as into pain as some of your clients are, but you shouldn’t worry, I plan to make good use of her.”

What?

No, no, that wasn’t right. He was not actually implying that he was going to use her exactly how these men planned to. There was no way. He was Nightwing. He was-

They’d been flirting since they’d met, the kind of flirting that made everyone that didn’t know better think they were already an item. Even she knew that he was attracted to her, but… had she really pushed her luck this far? Had she really made him hate her so much that the only way he wanted to make a move on that attraction was like this?

She was having more and more trouble holding back on throwing up the meal she’d had before leaving Gotham.

“Yeah, right. You expect us to believe you want her as a toy?” The leader scoffed.

She wished she was that certain that he was lying about it.

Dick- Nightwing walked forward, still twirling his escrima as he approached her. The men parted for him despite keeping their weapons squarely aimed.

“Who could blame me?”

She could feel his eyes burning into hers even behind his mask. Her own mask was long gone, leaving him an unabated view of her frightened eyes. She was sure there was betrayal there too.

His escrima rested beneath her chin, and she forced her head back, trying to put distance between her skin and the weapon that she knew could easily shock her, “Look how pretty she is when she’s scared.”

She tried to muffle the whine that escaped her throat, but there was no way that he didn’t hear it.

What was going on? This was wrong. Was this- was someone wearing his face?

No, she couldn’t pin it on that, because no one knew about the way he’d yelled at her about never wearing the suit again, and there was no denying that was what he meant when he’d said she was getting what she asked for.

He really did hate her, then. She’d really, really messed up, and now he hated her, and for some reason the sting that knowledge made bite at her heart was worse than the fear at what he planned to do to her.

“And what kind of payment are we getting out of this? We could make hundreds at least by selling a vigilante, especially if we only rent her out. And this one can break over and over again, just to heal back up. She’d a goldmine of opportunities. Why would we just hand her over to you?”

Dick’s—no, no, she couldn’t think of him as anything other than Nightwing, because if she thought of him as Dick, then she was going to breakdown for sure; Dick didn’t hate her, Dick cuddled her during movie nights and carried her to bed when she fell asleep—Nightwing’s jaw ticked with irritation. Apparently, he hadn’t expected them to be so unwilling to give her up just because he wanted her to himself.

Was he waiting for this? Did he know what he was going to do as soon as he’d told her to never put the suit on again? Was he hoping that she would, just so he could use it to justify punishing her like this?

His empty hand trailed up her chest, just barely brushing her shirt, but it was enough to make a jolt go down her spine. He grabbed her jaw, the escrima stick brushing lightly against her cheekbone, “You’re going to let me take her without causing me any more trouble, because otherwise, I’ll be telling the Bat about your outposts in Gotham.”

Angry muttering began among the traffickers, but the leader remained silent, “That’s not much of a payment.” He hummed, like he was considering the offer, but anyone could tell that he already planned to ask for more, “Tell you what, you can take her out of here, no problem. I’m not interested in getting caught by a stray bullet in a firefight, and, honestly, keeping one of the Bat’s things seems like asking for trouble. She didn’t put up much of a fight, so you can walk out with her, after you give us a show.”

She gagged audibly on the rag in her mouth, tears finally escaping her eyes while she put renewed effort into forcing the rag out of her mouth. She wanted to beg and plead and cry. If he was going to do anything to her, at the very least she didn’t want an audience.

For his part, she could see his eyes widen just a fraction behind his mask, but the surprise quickly seemed to settle, and he flashed a smirk to the men that made her feel like she was about to start hyperventilating.

“Fine.”

No, no, no, no, no.

He pulled the gag from her mouth with the hand that had been against her chin, and she instantly opened her mouth to beg, but snapped it shut a millisecond later, her teeth clacking together almost painfully.

His escrima stick was resting against her lips, and his free hand was holding her jaw again, fingers squeezing against her cheeks in an attempt to make her open her mouth, but she wasn’t budging. She wasn’t stupid, and maybe cooperation would make things better in the long run, but she wasn’t letting him put his weapon in her mouth.

“Unless you want this to hurt a lot more later, you should cooperate right now. I’d hate to use this somewhere-“

Her mouth shot open before he could finish, fast enough that her jaw popped.

Okay, so she was letting him put his weapon in her mouth. She’d take the loss.

“Good girl.”

She hated that the praise stroked something in her, making her heart flutter even while he shoved the escrima stick past her lips and far enough into her mouth to hit her throat and make her gag.

Blood. Steel. An iron tang that made her brain go blank for long enough that she missed what he said next.

He didn’t appreciate that.

“Am I boring you?” He growled the words as his free hand tangled in her hair and pulled her head forward, making the escrima stick hit the back of her throat again with what was almost a bruising force. “I asked if you were going to behave, or if I was going to need to make you deepthroat this while it was on, but I guess I have my answer.”

Cold terror battered against her ribcage in place of her heart. All that was left in her chest was a black hole of absolute horror and fear that could hardly classify as a heart.

She didn’t realize that the sobbing in her ears was her own at first, too far into her own head and too tense while waiting for him to flick the switch to make this humiliation painful to know what was going on around her.

She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t breathe!

And suddenly everything around her stopped and went deathly silent before gunfire began and the yelling of the traffickers became frantic and chaotic. The only words she picked up were “it’s the Hood!” and what normally would have made her think she was saved only made her panic more, because if Nightwing—the one that had held her while she cried and always agreed to musicals just because he knew she loved them—was going to use her as a toy, than that meant that Red Hood would too. She was sure he hated her too. She’d thought the way they bantered was fun and games, but she’d also thought that Nightwing cared about her and clearly, she was wrong about that. Nightwing had probably called him here so he could take out the frustration he had with her on her.

And then they’d tell Batman that they’d found evidence that she’d been trafficked and then they’d keep her locked up somewhere and- and- and- and- she couldn’t-

“Breathe.” A familiar hand fanned across her cheek, fingers brushing away tears that were immediately replaced with more, “Breathe for me, bird. It’s alright. It’s okay.”

She couldn’t. She couldn’t catch her breath, but the escrima stick wasn’t between her teeth anymore, so she could beg now. She could plead and promise to behave and maybe if she asked nice enough and they believed her then they’d let her go after they were done with her instead of keeping her.

“Please, please, I’m- I’m sorry, I-I’ll never wear the suit again, I promise. I promise. I’ll be good. I won’t fight, I’ll-“

“Hey, hey, stop.” He pressed his hand against her mouth, not hard enough to force her to be quiet or to muffle her voice if she did continue to beg, but she silenced herself instantly regardless. “You’re okay, bird. Just breathe. I’d never hurt you. Never. There wasn’t a way to warn you about what was going on without cluing them in. I’m so sorry, bird. I really am.”

He sounded like he was about to cry, and the way he was holding her face in his hands certainly didn’t give her the idea that he was going to hurt her or force her down to her knees so he could-

“I could think of a hundred better ways to have gone about that, ‘wing.” Hood’s voice made her flinch and sink farther down in the chair she was tied to. She didn’t even move her legs or arms when he’d gotten the cuffs undone.

“I needed to distract them so you could get the files and I’m still injured. I wouldn’t even be out tonight if you hadn’t told me that they’d gotten their hands on her. If I’d tried to fight them, then they would have taken me out before finding you, so I don’t want to hear it. Don’t act like I wanted to do or say any of that.”

That was… fair. It wasn’t fair to her, but she had gotten herself into this situation and- she would forgive everything if it meant that he wasn’t going to hurt her. Actually, she’d let him hurt her if it meant that he wasn’t going to use her.

“Dick?” She whined out his name like a kicked puppy, tilting her face against one of his hands in a placating gesture.

“Yeah, bird. I’m here. It’s me. That wasn’t real. None of it was real, and you’re safe now. No one is going to hurt you, especially not me.”

Another sob tore from her throat, and she threw herself forward, into his arms. She was trembling and sobbing harder than he’d ever heard, and she was almost positive it was harder than she ever had in her life. His form wrapped around her, tucking her against his chest as he pressed his face against the top of her head and placed comforting kisses.

Jason sat on the ground behind her, one of his hands running circles against her back in an effort to assist in calming her, and it worked.

After her sobbing began to slow, Dick spoke up hesitantly, “I thought you would know. I never meant- I thought you would know that it wasn’t real. I thought you knew I’d never hurt you.” His breaths shuddered, “I thought you knew that I love you.”

“But you- you were mad at me. You told me- told me I could never wear the suit again and- and then you didn’t talk to me all week and I thought- I thought you hated me. And- and I came here to get your attention because you were ignoring me, so- so I would have deserved-“

“Hey, no. Don’t even finish that sentence.” His hold on her tightened and his voice turned even more tense, edged with anger, “No one deserves to be taken advantage of and you know that.”

She sniffled, tucking her face tight against his neck, and breathing in the scent of his suit and sweat. “You said you love me.”

There was a long pause, and Jason took it as his cue to leave, ruffling [Name]’s hair as he stood and headed out of the warehouse. He landed a boot against the ribcage of the leader of the traffickers as he passed by.

“I’m going to alert Blüdhaven PD. Half of their guys are probably on this group’s payroll though, so I’d get out of here before they show up. They’re probably hoping whoever shut down this location sticks around so they can fill them with lead.”

“We’re headed out now.” Dick stood as he said it, taking [Name] with him as she wrapped her arms around his neck and clung onto him.

“You said you love me.”

“I did,” he finally confirmed, “but I don’t think now is the time to talk about-“

“I love you too. So much.”

He went quiet again, feet still carrying them away from the nightmare that she’d just gone through, “I don’t expect you to forgive me for that.”

She tightened her hold around him, burrowing against him as a sign that she wasn’t holding any grudges, but also in an attempt to hide from the could Blüdhaven night.

“I knew you were after them. I shouldn’t have stuck my nose in it. I just… I wanted you to talk to me again. Even if you were angry. I… I don’t handle the silent treatment well and… it felt like you were leaving me behind, just like everyone else always does. It felt like you had decided I wasn’t worth the trouble anymore.”

“Never. I’ll never leave you behind, okay? I know that me saying that isn’t going to make you stop thinking that I might, but I’ll prove it, alright? I’ll never leave you behind.” He brushed his lips against her neck, and she couldn’t fight the light laugh that escaped as the gentle touch tickled her skin.

“Okay. I, uh, just… one thing though.”

“Anything.”

“Please keep the escrima sticks away from me for a while?”

She could feel him cringe, but he nodded, “Yeah. That’s fair.”

#x reader #dc x reader #dick grayson x reader #dark dick grayson x reader #whump #dc whump

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zxphy · 2 years ago

Note

Okayy so you wanted some ideas, right? I saw your incel! Scaramouche post and I was wondering what your thoughts are on a yandere incel! Xiao? It's a popular idea but I really love it and maybe you could write it for Fem! Reader or Gn! Reader if you don't write fem! Readers

☆ No bitches?

Yandere! Incel! Xiao x Fem! Reader

Tws/cws: Xiao, misogyny, women beating, domestic abuse, use of the word "retard", implied noncon, fem aligned reader lmfao, gaslighting, doxxing, rape and murder threats, and non consensual groping. Multiple spelling mistakes are present. Both you and Xiao are 18.

Smut written by a minor, dni if uncomfortable.

Xiao was your best friend since childhood, but as you both got older into adult hood, he started acting different.

A lot more grabby and forceful. He was unable to get a girlfriend or get laid, so he went to reddit and 4chan to vent his frustrstions, there he met lots of people just like him.

He may or may not have asked them "why do women not like me", getting multiple misogynistic replies. Bro was easily manipulated then turned into a self proclaimed "incel" in about a month. He believed everything his new group of friends said.

He always talked about his discord servers and his gross friends to you, saying how they give him the best advice and their misogynistic views about how women should know their place and yada yada.

You started to hang out with him less and less, as Xiao grew incredibly insufferable. Just being near him made you uncomfortable, you were scared of even being in the same room as him.

Even though you hardly talked to him, yiu still interacted online because hey! He's been your best friend since birth you don't have the heart to end the friendship.. :(

The less time you spent with Xiao, the more time you spent with Aether, one of his best friends. Xiao obviously took notice of thst, and his huge crush on you did NOT help.

Xiao considered himself a nice guy, thinking he deserved sex from "females". Complaining that girls only want Chads who just use them for their body and leave, as if incels aren't the same thing but worse.

You wanted to help him you know.. NOT have that mindset, but his stupid 4chan friends kept encouraging his disgusting way of thinking!! :(

At sometime, Xiao eventually confessed his love for you. But honestly, you kind of expected that to happen considering you were the only chick that even looked in his direction, let alone talked to him. You let him down as lightly as you can, trying not to set him off. Cause from what you heard, self proclaimed incels usually never take "no" for an answer and take every rejection personally.

"I'm sorry Xiao, it's not you.. it's me." Oh it's definately him.

"But I'm a nice guy! I'll treat you well and get everything you want. I have a job, I can spoil you!" Ah. That would make sense as to where he gets all the money to blow on hentai from.

"I just don't have any feelings for you besides platonic ones. I'm sorry and I hope this doesn't ruin our friendship." You begin to sweat, praying you didn't set him off.

Xiao looked down to the ground at his feet and sighed. "I understand." You sigh in relief, until Xiao says this,

"Can I at least have a hug?" Oh fuck.

You begin to sweat more and nodded slowly, "S-sure man.." you open your arms out for a hug and Xiao embraces you tightly, good fucking god he smells disgusting. When was the last time he showered?? It should be common knowledge that axe body isn't a substitution for showers. The scents clash in a way that make your nose hairs burn and your toes curl. It took everything out of you to not gag.

But on the other hand, Xiao was in heaven, you smell so good! His face is in your hair and he takes a big whiff and he shudders, obviously enjoying himself. It's been forever since he's been so close to a girl, let alone YOU.

His hands slowly trail down from your back and get lower, eventually he had his hands on your ass and gave it a a light squeeze. You push him away and laugh nervously and wave him good bye, leaving him by yourself.

Days go by and you started getting mysterious phone calls, text messages and messages on your social media from anonymous people. Majority of them being death and rape threats.

Anonymous672

U stupid bitch why did u leave him to go fuck his best friend??

And another,

(777-777-777)

Im gonna rape u then kill u in an alleyway u deserve it stupid whore.

And another,

Anonymous929

I know your address.

And another...

Anonymous476

Get ready to get raped!

And... another.

(555-555-555)

He's gonna put you in your place, whore.

One time you even got a phone call and it qqs just a guy heavily breathing into the phone then threatening to rape you and then bury your body in the woods for "rejecting a perfectly nice guy."

At that point it was kind of obvious as to why you're getting such threats. Either Xiao has been using alt accounts and throwaway numbers or he had doxxed you to his other "nice guy" friends. You were honestly pissed, was he THAT butthurt because you didn't want to have sex with him? He needs to get a fucking life. Xiao used to be an amazing guy, your best friend, but now his stupid "nice guy" phase tore you both apart. You thought the rejection went well, that he'd be normal about it, but then he goes doxxing a girl because she didn't want to have sex with him? What the fuck?

You pulled your phone out of your pocket and started looking for Xiao's number, you hit him a message.

(You)

Xiao. Read 1:44pm.

(You)

XIAO. Read 1:57pm.

(You)

XIAO ANSWER ME, FUCKWAD. Read 2:00pm.

I know what you did. Read 2:00pm.

(Weird Fuck)

(You)

Xiao did you fucking doxx me?? Are you retarded? What the fuck is wrong with you, people keep threatening to rape and kill me you fucking ass wipe. Read 2:01pm.

(Weird Fuck)

Im sorry just meet me at my place

(You)

What?? No dawg, I'm not gonna go to your fucking house, I wanna know why you fucking doxxed me, we were literally best friends before you became a fucking misogynist. Why did you doxx me?? Read 2:02pm.

(Weird Fuck)

Come over and ill tell u

(You)

Kys. Read 2:02pm.

You shoved your phone back in your pocket and you huffed. Who does that fucker think he is?? All because you wouldn't date him!!

You being you, you still went to his home to get answers. He didn't deny doxxing you which ulset you even more. His dick probs got hard just by you texting him. (He did :3) You're sick of sll the threats, you just want it to stop. You just want Xiao to stop his bitchless behaviour. Now you're gonna do something about it.

-------------------------------------------------------

You walk up to the lavish home and knocked on the door. Of course Xiao still lives with his dad instead of doing something productive like going to colledge like his twin sister Ganyu. You folded your arms and waited. You assumed that Mr. Zhongli wasn't home because you heard some random porn game from the third story window, Xiao's room.

You knocked again, but this time louder. You heard the game pause, then a door slamming, then rapid footsteps going down stairs. You hesrd a voice from behind the door.

"Are you the delivery guy?" *Xiao.*

"No fuckwad." You replied back. The door slowly swung open, revealing Xiao. He looked a lot more gross than you remember, he looked incredibly dishevled, with messy greasy hair, a random tshirt with very suspcious stains and dandruff on it, baggy gray sweatpants that aldo had a suspcious stain, but this time on the crotch area, and a pair of perscription glasses, the frame kind of similar to yours. But what you really could not get over, was the smell. He smelled like he hasn't showered in months, he smells entirely of spoilt food, semen, body odor and sweat. Disgusting.

"You look and smell like shit." You push past Xiao and walk into the lovely home.

"You came." He mumbled.

Of course you came, you wanted to know why the fuck he'd doxx you. He grossed you out comepletely, he was a digusting good for nothing freak. Xiao was actually a nice guy, he got good grades, was super sweet to everyone and made his father proud.

Xiao avoided eye contact and told you to follow him to his room, so you both could talk. You shook your head, feeling uneasy.

"Mr. Zhongli isn't home, why not talk here?" He ignored your question and walked up the stairs. You followed behind but kept a reasonable distance. Reasonable being several feet.

Xiao opened his bedroom door and you were immedately met with a horrible stench, his room smelled like him but worse. It smelt like semen, piss and shame. His room was covered in hentai posters and anime girl figurines, his clothes thrown all over the floor, and in the corner there was a really expensive looking gaming set up.

He could afford a multi-monitor gaming set up but not deoderant?

What couldn't go unnoticed was the collection of stiff socks gathering in a pile near his bed.

"Xiao what the hell? Your room is a fucking biohazard, feels like I need a gas mask and a hazmat suit just to be in here." You felt sorry for his father, you couldn't imagkne what it feels like having a son just like Xiao.

You walked into the room, being careful of wjere you step, Xiao sits in his gaming chair and then types a message into his Discord chat. He then got back up and cleared a space on his bed, throwing whatever was previously there onto the floor. "You can uh.. sit there."

You shook your head, but then you looked back at Xiao and he looked like he was about to cry. You felt bad so you sat anyway. You're definately burning this skirt when you get home.

You got a proper look around the room, not only seeing the weird posters, but pictures of you.

Creepy...

Xiao sat in his gaming chair and swung side to side, he looked nervous. Sweating as he looked at you.

You finally spoke up breaking the awkward silence. "So Xiao, why did fuck did you doxx me?" Xiao stayed silent and looked away from you. This really set you off. "Don't ignore me you asswipe! I've been getting threats of violent rape, I home you know you committed a cyber crime!"

"Relax, (Name.)" Xiao said still not looking at you. "It's not that serious." You scoffed and felt yourself getting more mad.

"Not that serious? NOT THAT SERIOUS?? Xiao! For the love of fucking christ, people are threatening to kill me! Why would you doxx me?!" You raised your voice at him, and you saw him get more nervous.

"Well.. I-I don't know I just. Me and you were like really close, but then you started fucking Aether.." You huffed, even more angry than before, "God fucking damnit Xiao! I'm trying to not fucking strangle you, but you're making it so hard!" You stood up and continued yelling, "You were so cool until you started acting like this! Kf course women won't like you if you keep thinking that she's gonna hop on your gross cock, Xiao! No one wants your tiny penis, I can assure that!"

You folded your arms and contued, "Sorry you feel so offended because I feel SAFE around Aether! He doesn't talk about how women's only purpose is to have kids and serve her mans or whatever, unlike YOU!"

Xiao fumbled with the draw strings on his sweatpants, "I-I don't know I uh just thought that you'd like me I g-guess.."

You face palmed. "Xiao. You doxxed me because I didn't want to date you? Dude! I explicitly told you that I have zero attraction to you. I only have PLATONIC feelings for you man. We had a good friendship but your gross ways ruined it-"

Xiao interupted you, "I'm a nice guy (Name), I'll treat you right. You're not like other females.."

"Oh my fucking god, Xiao..." you pinched the bridge of your nose. "I cannot believe that you think any girl would want to date YOU! A gross, disgusting people of shit incel like you! You're retarded if you think any girl would want your gross penis inside of her!"

Xiao stood up, "Fuck you (Name)!" You staggered back, surpised of his sudden outburst.

"Females like yourself are the problem. All you do is fuck chads and leave actjal nice sigmas in the dust!"

You blinked before letting out a laugh. "PFFTT!!! Dawg! Fuck this shit for real, and you know what? I'ma go to Aether's place to fuck him! How doed thst make you feel, Xiao? You gonna cry??" You flicked him off before getting up, walking to leave the room.

Suddenly your arm gets grabbed and you're pulled back, thrown onto the floor. Xiao gets on top of you and punches you square in the nose. You let out a loud squeal of pain.

"Xiao what the fu-" Xiao picks you up from under your arms and puts on on his bed, he starts feeling up your body, his hands trailing up yojr skirt, fumbling with the hem of your safety shorts.

You kicked him in the stomach and punched him in his face, Xiao staggered back and held his stomach as his glassed fell off his face, you took the chance and pushed him off you and ran.

Unfortunately for you, you tripped on the wires spewn about his room and you fell, Xiao took this opportunity and turned you around and kicked you until you stopped fighting. As an extra measure, Xiao grabbed your head, lifted it slightly then slammed it back down into the floor. You gripped your head in pain and whined.

"Xiao? What the fuck.." you wince. Xiao once again picks you up, and drops you onto his head, his hands trailing up your skirt. He lifts it slightly and pull down your safety shorts revealing your panties. His obvious erection poking through his sweatpants. Xiao went back to his gaming chair and once again started typing on his discord server, before getting up and locking his bedroom door. Too busy holding onto your head and lightly crying in pain, you had not noticed that he actually did lock the door.

The teen walked back over to you, took your shoes off and peeked off your safety shorts. He got close to you and whispered into your ear, "How does it feel to be put in your place?" He slapped you playfully.

Xiao shoved down his pants, his hard cock springing out. He hasn't shaved in a while, revealing curly black n green pubes covering his pelvic area. The tears that were threatening to fall, have fell, hot tears flowing down your cheeks hoping that Xiao isn't gonna do what you think he's gonna do.

"Xiao please. Don't do this.." You looked up at him in fear. Xiao ignored you and pulled off your panties, revealing your pussy. He threw them into a random direction. He pressed himself against you.

You're struggling to process what the fuck is going on, you're being held down, Xiao's dick is rubbing against you and half your clothes are missing.

Xiao then tore off your tshirt and threw the shreds in another random direction, then took off your bra, groping your chest the second he saw your tits.

"You're so fucking pretty.. and you're all mine." Xiao took his fingers and spread apart your lips, revealing your lovely pink insides. Xiao shoved two of his fingers inside of you just to test and you yelped.

"Fuck yeah, you're tight as balls." Xiao removed his fingers and quickly replaced his fingers with his thick cock.

He then slammed inside of you, putting his hands around your neck.

You're his now.

ANDDD.. DONE! I'M SO GLAD I HAD THE MOTIVATION TO WRITE THIS..

I honestly think I got a little too into it, anyway I hope you guys enjoy! :3

@mistywaves98

#🌧⋆⁺₊⋆✿:zeze's creations✧#incel xiao #yandere genshin impact smut #yandere #yandere xiao #dark content #yandere genshin impact #darkfic #dark fic #genshin impact smut #genshin x you #yandere genshin x reader #yandere xiao x reader #xiao x reader #gross xiao

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dirtytransmasc · 2 years ago

Note

What does quaritch think about spider running around half naked all the time at the Rda? Especially around rowdy military men, do you think he has a conversation with him about why he should wear human clothes or something else?

TW: referenced/implied sa

miles thinks about it each and every day, worries about what may happen to him. he knows what will happen to him, that this problem runs rampant in the military, that humans are still their filthy selves, taking and taking and taking. he knows when it happens, spider will get no justice, no apologies, no support; hell, depending on who it is, they might use that machine to turn his brain to mush or better yet, they'd kill him and make sure no one found his body. miles knows and it terrifies him, that his baby boy, innocent to the horrors of the world.

spider was na'vi in mind, he didn't understand something like this, like rape. the na'vi didn't even have a concept close to it, outside of human greed and he didn't even understand the basics of it; lying, hunting for fun, squashing bugs just for the sake of it. spider wouldn't even understand what happened to him, when, it happens. miles knew that's what would break his son, feeling that pain and not even being able to understand it, put a word to it, conceptualize it.

he tries to explain it, tries to explain the filth of the human race, their immoral lack of self-control, the savagery they are capable of. he hates having to imply it would be spiders fault, that his lack of clothing makes it ok, hates having to put that guilt on his son. it disgusts him, that spider is this young and has to worry about this, that his perfect innocence has to be destroyed. he tries over and over again to find the words, to get over himself and just say it, but he can't. the part of him that against any and all better judgment wants to scoop his boy up and run away, hole him and his squad up somewhere no one will ever find them, protect him with every primal instinct burning him up like an egg on a Georgia sidewalk in the middle of July; that part of him, couldn't break his boy like that, couldn't just spit out the truth not even to protect him.

he tries to always be with him, to never let anyone hurt him, but every day he gets more and more scared he will fail. so he forces spider to wear human clothes, only when he's inside and around the inhabitants of the lab, but spider still hates him for it. the kid would never fully grasp it, not without experiencing it, and miles would take his son cussing him out and shooting glares over that any day, so that's fine. he makes sure to take spider out more often, finds reasons to keep his son in the field even when he himself has to go back in to deal with ardmore, he's never forced to wear his human disguise for more then a few days at a time. miles promises that boy that he will move heaven, earth, pandora, wherever he thinks he's going when he dies, whatever he has to, to keep him safe.

but even with spider in the oversized t-shirt and baggy cargo pants, he still see's a little boy who human filth will lust after. now that he feels this fear, the pain of it wringing his gut, it will never stop. he worries about his baby boy every single day, longs to let him live in a world where the amount of skin he shows won't get him killed or worse. every day he continues to work as some sort of dog, follows every command, finishes every task, fights day in and day out to protect his son from the very company that is a threat to his safety, his innocence, brings him one step close to just leaving, following that gut instinct to just run and hide. maybe he will.

#I'm feeling angsty #sorry #spider socorro #miles socorro #miles spider socorro #miles quaritch #quaritch #recom quaritch #avatar 2 #avatar the way of water

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the-delta-42 · 4 months ago

Text

The Walking Dead Game What Ifs: What if all of the Ericson’s survivors were captured?

[First] [Previous] [Next]

Taken

What if all of the Ericson’s survivors were captured? TW: Implied/Referenced Torture and Rape/Non-Con.

Clementine ran her hand down her face. She heard Mitch let out a groan, before he sat up.

“What happened?” Asked Mitch, looking around.

The group was split in two, the older boys in one cell and the girls and younger boys in the other.

“Well, Tenn got caught, you tried to save him, got knocked out, Willy, Omar and Aasim got caught, Louis, Violet and Ruby got knocked out, AJ was captured, and I got shot.” Said Clementine, looking at the guard, “What?”

“Minnie.” Gasped Violet, hurrying forwards.

Clementine sighed, of course Lilly would send Violet’s girlfriend.

“Lilly wants to talk to you.” Said Minerva, getting a huff from Clementine, “Hey!”

“Hmm, what?” Clementine looked up, “Wait, you’re talking to me?”

Minerva glared at Clementine, “Who else would Lilly want to talk to?”

“I dunno,” Snarked Clementine, “you look like you have the intelligence of a goldfish.”

Minerva flushed, her face curling into a sneer.

“Minerva.” A dark-skinned woman stepped in, “Get her to Lilly.”

Minerva huffed, before wrenching the cell door open, grabbed Clementine and hauled her out of the cell.

“Where are you taking her?!” Yelled Louis, rushing towards his cell’s door, only to get the butt of a rifle to the face.

“She’s alive.” Everyone looked at Violet, “Minnie’s alive.”

“Violet.” Mitch got to his feet, “I think we have more important things to worry about.”

The group sat up, hearing someone approaching, all sat up. They saw Minerva shove someone into the girl’s cell. Ruby gasped, rushing towards the person.

“Clementine!” Ruby helped her up, “What happened?”

“I,” Clementine coughed, “I ran my mouth, I think.”

“You think?!” Ruby glared at Clementine, “What did they want?”

“They,” Clementine coughed, “they wanted information on the New Frontier, the group they’re at ‘war’ with. Lilly heard I used to be part of them, wanted me to,” Clementine let out a throaty cough, “to get them to lower their defences.”

“Why didn’t you?” Asked Violet, “We could get killed.”

“I’m not really open to people choking me for information.” Spat Clementine, wincing as she shifted.

“What’d they do?” Asked Mitch, frowning.

“Oh, the usual.” Clementine winced as Ruby prodded a bruise, “Beatings, cuts, the of threat of rape.”

Everyone looked at her, “What?”

“How the hell are you so casual about this?”

“Well,” Clementine scowled, “threats become a lot less frightening when you’ve already experienced them.”

Clementine opted to ignore the horrified looks from the others.

They watched Clementine get hauled off again, with AJ attempting to bite one of the guards, and get backhanded for his efforts. As soon as they were gone, Mitch looked at Louis, “We need to find a way out of here.”

“How?” Asked Louis, frustrated, “We don’t have any way to get the lock open.”

“Minnie can help us.” Said Violet, getting a scowl from Aasim.

“Violet, I know you’re excited to see her,” Said Aasim, “but if she wanted to help us, she would’ve done it by now!”

“You don’t know that!” Snapped Violet.

“Then why hasn’t she!” Demanded Aasim, “Why didn’t she escape? Why is she alone?”

“What’s going on?” They heard Minerva’s voice.

“Minnie.” Everyone heard Violet’s tone change.

“Where’s Clementine?!” Demanded Louis, banging on the cell’s door.

Minerva ignored him, instead focusing on Violet, “Lilly said I can take you out of here.”

Violet looked conflicted, glancing around, “W-what about the others?”

“They’ll get out too, when they stop fighting back.” Answered Minerva, opening the cell door, “Tenn can come out too.”

Eleanor frowned, Javi had sent her and Conrad with Clint and a group to meet representatives of the Delta. They’d unexpectedly gotten in contact with them, requesting a meeting. Javi suspected it might be a trap, so the small group was secretly reinforced by a larger group hidden in the surrounding area.

“Hello?!” They heard a voice.

Eleanor was vaguely aware of Max aiming his rifle in the direction of the voice.

“Hello?!” The voice repeated, as a ratty looking man appeared, “The name’s Abel. I’m here representing the Delta.”

“What do you want?” Demanded Conrad, glaring at Abel.

“A trade.” Said Abel, “You’ve got one of ours, Raphael, and we’ve got one of yours.”

As he said that, Abel threw something at Conrad’s feet. Frowning, Eleanor picked the object. She froze, recognising Clementine’s hat.

“That’s…”

“She’s alive,” Promised Abel, “for now.”

“She left.” Dismissed Max, “She’s not one of ours.”

“Neither are the people we caught her with,” Said Abel, “but, I doubt you’d want her boy to suffer like she has.”

“AJ’s alive?” Max looked at Eleanor.

“For now.” Said Abel, “You’ve got other prisoners we want back.”

Eleanor sighed, before looking down, “We’ll see.”

Javi looked at Clementine’s hat, frowning.

“Are you sure it’s Clem’s?” Asked Kate, looking at him.

“Positive.” Answered Eleanor, “They mentioned that they had AJ too.”

“Did they say what they were doing to her?” Asked Javi, looking at Max.

“No.” Max shook his head, “You don’t think they’ll hurt AJ?”

“I wouldn’t put it past them.” Sighed Javi, looking around, “So, what do we do?”

“What do you mean?” Asked Kate, frowning.

“We might like Clem, but can we really justify letting people go, just to save someone who left us?” Asked Javi.

Everyone was silent.

“If we don’t,” Said Eleanor, “they might kill her and AJ.”

“But, if we let Raphael and his friends loose,” Said Max, “dozens more could die.”

The group fell into an uneasy silence.

Clementine grunted as the guard threw her back into her shared cell.

“Clem!” Louis rushed forwards, “Are you alright?”

“What’d they do?” Asked Ruby, helping Clementine up.

“I,” Clementine swallowed, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

She let out another groan as Ruby helped her into a sitting position, “They,” she coughed, “they said the contacted the New Frontier.”

“S-so, we’re getting out of here?” Willy sounded hopeful.

Clementine ran a hand down her face, “No. Even with their new management, they wouldn’t risk losing their people to get one person.”

The sound of someone approaching the cells drew their attention. They saw Violet and Minerva walking behind Delta member.

“Remember your instructions.” Said the Delta member, before walking away.

Clementine straightened up, “Vio-” Clementine was cut off by Violet punching her. Clementine grunted as she hit the floor, with one of the girls landing a kick in her side.

“What the fuck?!” Screamed Louis, “Stop!”

Minerva took a step back, allowing Violet to take fully control of Clementine’s…interrogation. Minerva watched as Violet broke Clementine’s leg, hand and arm. After landing more kicks in Clementine’s side, Violet stepped back.

“That,” Clementine coughed, before glaring up at Violet and snarling, “was pathetic.”

Violet landed a kick to Clementine’s face, as Minerva spoke, “Michael said she isn’t going to need clothes for the next part.”

Violet hesitated, before grabbing Clementine’s jacket and pulling it off.

Clementine groaned as they left, leaving her and the rest of the Ericson’s group alone.

“Clem?” Ruby hesitantly approached hr, “Are you okay?”

“I’ll be honest, I didn’t wake up and expect to be raped in front of everyone.” Clementine voice was tired and hoarse, “Did anyone see where they put my clothes?”

“You’re…” Ruby trailed off, “You’re remarkably calm about this.”

“I’ve seen and experienced it all before.” Clementine winced as she shrugged, “I really hope my arm and leg aren’t screwed.”

Clementine looked over at the other cell, James had been caught shortly after them, “How’s James?”

“He still out.” Said Aasim, looking away from Clementine, “He’s still alive though.”

Louis managed to hook Clementine’s clothes with his foot, before bundling them up and tossing them towards Ruby, “Here.”

Ruby nodded, before helping Clementine get dressed, before resetting her broken bones.

“Clem,” Mitch got her attention, “when there were moving you, did you see anything that could help us escape?”

“No,” Clementine winced, “they’ve got all obvious escapes blocked off, I heard from one of them that they’re near Richmond, but, other than that, there’s no way off this boat.”

“Do you think Rosie’s okay?” Asked Tenn, speaking for the first time since he’d been thrown back into the cells.

“Hopefully.” Said Aasim, letting his mind wander back to the dog.

“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.” Javi decided to ignore Max, they’d made a rudimentary blockade around the ship, as well as massed a massive group to seize it.

“I didn’t hear you complaining when we were planning it.” Javi smirked at Ava’s voice, she limped up to Richmond’s gate shortly after Clementine left, having survived her fall.

Conrad slinking towards them got them to go silent, “They’ve got a dog chained up in that Lilly person’s office. Clementine and her group are down in the cells.”

“Javi,” Eleanor murmured, “they, they said that Clementine had been… ‘passed around’. They said they planned on doing the same to her boy.”

Javi felt a wave of disgust run through him, “Okay,” he unhooked his bat from his back, “let’s go.”

Clementine winced as Ruby reset her fingers.

“What’s that noise?” Asked Omar, looking around.

“It sounds like…gun fire?” Louis frowned, “What’s going on out there?”

They received their answer when the door to the brig burst open and Minerva was being held at gunpoint.

“Max, get those doors open.” Clementine froze, she recognised the voice, but found she couldn’t remember the name. She spotted Max rushing to open the doors, with Louis surging past him and wrenching Clementine’s cell door open. Before he could reach her, Clementine saw Eleanor push past him.

“What are her injuries?” Eleanor looked at a heavyset red-haired girl.

“B-broken arm, leg and right hand, bruising and some fractures, I think.” The girl stuttered, as Ava joined them and helped Clementine up, getting her to release a groan.

“Dislocated shoulder.” Hissed Clementine, as Ava helped her walk.

“Ha!” Everyone looked at Louis, before he proudly held up ‘Chair-les’, “I thought they got rid of it.”

“Charming.” Said the owner of the familiar yet unfamiliar voice, “Clem, where’d you find these guys?”

Clementine winced, before looking at the woman, trying to put a name to the face, “…Christa?”

Christa let out a huffing laugh, “Nice of you to remember me, I only looked after you for two years.”

“…I thought you were dead.”

Christa sighed, “That’s fair.”

“We need to get them out of here.” Said Eleanor, interrupting the reunion, “I want to get her some proper medical treatment.”

The others silently agreed, “Javi and the others are rounding up prisoners now.” Said Ava, as she moved past the group.

“Yeah,” Called a man, “That guard dog Conrad saw was harmless.”

“Rosie!” Gasped Tenn, as the dog ran up to them.

Clementine winced, the painkillers Lingard had given her had worn off, they’d put her broken limbs in casts. Javi had told them that Lilly had killed Gabe when they captured her, part of her was heartbroken, she supposed that she still held some feelings for the dork. Louis had dropped by, mentioning that the group had decided to stay in Richmond, Clementine had suggested to Javi that some people go out and establish a foothold in the school.

“How’re you feeling, Clem?” Asked Eleanor, checking in on her.

“I’m alright,” Clementine shrugged, “still feeling a bit sick, but the dizziness has gone.”

“That’s good.” Eleanor nodded, “Look, Clem, I know you might not take this well, but we’re going to do a pregnancy test, just to be on the safe side.”

Clementine felt a surge of panic fill her, before she swallowed, “Okay.”

Eleanor sighed, before leaving the room. Meanwhile, down in the makeshift prison Richmond had, Violet sat quietly, despondent to her surroundings. Louis had given her grief for ‘betraying’ them; Violet couldn’t think of an excuse. They knew Minne longer? Minnie had murdered Sophie. Everything fell apart because of Clementine? The raiders were coming for them anyway. Louis had brought up that she was one of the three that wanted to keep Clementine and AJ around, Clementine had gotten shot while trying to save her, and Violet had turned on her like it was nothing.

Part of Violet wanted Minnie, she always knew the right thing to say, to do. AJ didn’t want to see her; Louis only came to talk to her because Clementine asked him. She remembered Clementine’s promise, when they tried to take AJ, promising to kill her if she touched him. Violet wanted to say she didn’t know what made her stop, but she did. She stopped because she knew Clementine wasn’t bluffing. She stopped because she knew that if she took AJ, she would’ve lost her friend. She stopped because she still cared. Clementine had made herself AJ’s shield, and while that didn’t excuse how Violet had aided in the beatings and, in a miniscule way, the rapes, Clementine placed herself as a barrier for her boy and, after they’d been captured, the rest of their group.

Clementine heard them talking about cutting out Louis’s tongue, so she ran her mouth, insulted them, called them weak for targeting someone’s voice. Violet remembered seeing the bite mark on Minnie’s arm, finding out Clementine had bitten her when they mentioned targeting Tenn.

“Hey.” Violet looked up when someone banged on her cell door, seeing Clementine being supported by Louis, “I could hear you grinding your teeth from the hospital.”

“Why are you here?” Asked Violet, trying to make herself angry.

“To talk to you, dumbass.” Answered Clementine, “I’ve spoken to Javi about getting you and Minerva some help.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Demanded Violet, glaring up at them.

“The two of you were brainwashed.” Shrugged Clementine, “I’ve seen it before, met a guy who was full on drinking the Saviours Kool-Aid. They used someone you loved to get you to see things their way.”

“I’m not brainwashed!” Yelled Violet, jumping up, “Whatever plan you came up with would’ve gotten us killed!”

Clementine gave her a flat look, “You do realise you’ve just proved my point, right?”

Violet glared at her, making Clementine sigh and gesture for Louis to help her out of the prison. Leaving Violet alone with her thoughts.

Next Story: What if Carver attacked Clementine at the Cabin? (TW: Violence against a child)

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