THANK YOU ALL FOR 400 FOLLOWERS! This Is My Safe Space And Oh Myyyy, You Are All Such An Amaaaazing Community

nah, I'm a little too obsessed with this. Read the other part too, but this one was purely delicious! Oh, the talent is killing me softly, really --

Clean

Summary: They are everywhere, at all times.

Warnings: Dead dove do not eat, noncon, kidnapping, fingering, manhandling.

Pairings: Dark! Joel Miller x reader, Dark! Javier Peña x reader, Dark! Marcus Acacius x reader, Dark! Oberyn Martell x reader, Dark! Agent Whiskey x reader, Dark! Dieter Bravo x reader, Dark! Frankie Morales x reader

Series Masterlist

You hadn't recollected yourself when Joel spoke once again, Texan drawl lighter after the relief he had taken on your body. Your shivering hands attempted to paw at scraps of your clothes, using your previously discarded jean jacket to cover your naked form.

"Might as well bathe her if she's sleeping in my bed," He asserted casually, looking down at your disheveled state. "had a long day, didn't you, puppy?"

You stared at him wide eyed, not knowing what to possibly say. The nickname rolled out of his tongue with satisfaction, towering over your kneeling form, as if you actually were a dog. His shoulder flexed under his worn navy sweater, and he shifted to the rest of the men, tucking their still-hard erections away. You sensed the power Joel held over them, taming their savage desire with a simple command.

"Call dibs on that." Dieter proclaimed, a chuckle and a growl mixing in his tone as the rest cackled slightly. Joel tutted, cutting through the sounds charismatic-ally.

"Want her squeaky clean, Catfish it's on you."

Your Savior slammed the toy helicopter on the kitchen table, standing up with a torn, dutiful look on his face. The rest begun rumbling, and Joel simply looked up at them through his eyebrows, silencing them.

Catfish's dark and dirty boots stumped on the floorboards, short lived protests in their wake. His eyes glared at Joel from beneath the visor of his cap, hands twitching at his sides, but softened when he came down to his knees before you.

His hands reached for the over sized jean jacket that you had a white-knuckled grip on, and he gave it a wavering tug. Your eyes pleaded at him, and he nodded, still reaching for the jacket; his eyes reassured you, but you had seen the bulge protruding at his zipper, he was no better than the rest of them.

Burning holes into your head was Joel's stare, so you let go. It surprised you as Catfish straightened up the piece and showed you the arm hole. Slowly, you extended your limb and climbed into the jacket.

"Can you walk?" He whispered, and you tensed your muscles, skimming the possible pain. Your core felt like fire, but your legs felt enough as you pushed yourself onto the soles of your feet. You breathed out, eyes on him as he lifted you around your waist, hands warm through the denim.

As you came onto your feet, you realized the other men had possibly lost interest, fidgeting around with random objects you couldn't place through blurry eyes. Some sat down on the tattered couch, other's perched upon the counter.

A reassuring step after the other, with Catfish's arm supporting your back and waist, palm not fully pressing against you, you walked past the fireplace, and the couch and almost reached the hallway before your muscles turned taut, stretching and pulling at the fiber of your flesh. His careful grip wasn't enough to hold you as your knees slammed against the floor, crevices and lines sinking into your flesh and eliciting a sharp hiss.

"Need help?" One of them asked, and you hand shot to pull the only item of clothing down your bare ass. Preserving some dignity.

His hands were more stubborn, pulling you hastily from the floor to your feet and into the shadowy hallway. You felt cold marble digging against your back as he propped you against the bathroom counter, turning on the yellowed light.

The bathroom was well kept, but it didn't compare in the slightest to your back at home. You scanned for similarities, washbowl, mirror, toilet and tub. Although the porcelain looked stained, and the mirror was barely enough to see you face and some of your neck, it was spacey enough for the two of you to stand with some distance.

He crouched by your legs, hands reaching into the cabinets before pulling out some essentials; soap, a towel and bottle of shampoo which's label had rubbed off. After placing them on the counter, he silently kneeled over the bath tub, turning the rusty faucet on.

You peeked at him through wild strands of hair, debating onto what to do next. Your whole body was ravaged in shock, and you barely processed the situation. The men were speaking on the other room, you heard it as low whispers, along with the water splashed onto the porcelain, intercepted by Catfish's thick fingers.

His dark brown t-shirt expanded over his large back, material so thin you could trace the outline of each bulging muscle; as he leaned over the edge of the filling tub, a peak of flesh showed from the space between the shirt and his worn out boxers. He smelled musky, hidden under a layer of what you could tell was cheaper version of your father's perfume.

The sole idea brought tears into your eyes, stinging their way down your cheeks as you sniffled lightly. He pushed his shoulders back, tensing at the sound, but didn't say anything.

They were dead, that you were almost sure about, bodies were scattered everywhere and guns were going off madly as you ran away. You didn't even get to say goodbye, slipping out of your comfy bed that very own morning to go get coffee down the street before the alarms went off. You ran, because you knew the alarm meant you had to.

The bathtub creaked as Catfish used it to leverage himself up. He dried himself on the itchy hand towel, and turned to face you, but his eyes didn't meet yours.

"Water's cold, sorry for that." He muttered, sincerely. He stepped aside, showing you the half filled bathtub. Your thighs pressed together, sticky mess pooling and drying flaky upon your damp skin; your hands clutched onto the jean jacket as you pressed it as closed as possibly.

Catfish scanned the room, as if checking everything was in place before he moved to the door. "Gonna see if I can give you something to change onto."

Not because of finding something, but if he was allowed to. That went unsaid, and you kept silent as the door creaked shut. For some seconds, you froze, testing the strength of your strained legs or expecting something else to happen. But the more you looked at the tub, you knew you had to get this done with.

What could happen if you took too much time?

You slipped your jacket off, biding goodbye to the last trace of your scent as the cold autumn air bit at your exposed skin. The soap felt greasy and thick against your hand, and your mind dumbly wondered if it could cause any bad reaction against your skin, but the idea of being dirty disgusted you more.

You bit a hiss as you stepped onto the cold water, sinking in quickly to avoid further discomfort. The icy water aching at any pain in your body, but it took away any dirt and sweat as you lathered the soap against your body. You didn't dare to look between your thighs as you rubbed at them underneath the water.

And then you dropped the soap, letting it sink to the bottom as your fingers ghosted over your core. You still felt him, deep inside you, and you hesitated to rub there, to try and clean any trace.

Your mind clawed towards the inevitable future as your shoulders slumped against the cool porcelain, as you scratched the shampoo into the knotted hair, careful on the spots that had been tugged. Some stray hairs tied around your fingers as you attempted to comb it. Once you believed you had finished, you let your eyes closed.

Would they be mad if you stayed here?

For a brief second you allowed yourself to relax, finding comfort in momentary stillness. The door creaked open, making you jump and slosh the water around. It had turned grayish, and you felt your hands shot to cover your bare chest.

Big, puppy dog eyes peeked through the door. He had taken of his cap, and his dark brown hair curled almost in shape. He held a dark bunch of fabric in his hand, and he stretched his upper body to settle it in the toilet lid.

"I'll be waiting outside, no hurry." He mumbled, softly, eyes reassuring and voice barely above a whisper. "Joel's already in bed, told me to bring you once you are done."

You nodded. You heard more talking outside the door, but his words had assured you at least some brief respite of the situation. It had brought everything crashing back, your vulnerability, and you took a deep breathe as you begun emptying the tub.

As the water swirled, you realized you didn't felt clean enough. With shaking fingers you popped the stopper back in and turned the faucet back on.

It pooled around your feet, cold no longer bothering you as you pulled your knees onto your chest, pressing your under eyes against the scratched skin.

Some seconds more, some more seconds of ignoring what was happening to you, you wondered if this was going to become an usual occurrence before the door hinges cried in protest.

You sighed, knowing you had possibly exceded your time in peace as you begun to rise.

"F-fuck you!" Was bellowed, and your head snapped to the door.

A sharp cackle followed that, and the scene unfolded.

Catfish's face was red as it bulged beneath Marcus' imposing bicep, knees folding under the pressure. Whiskey limited your view, body connected the door frame and the knob as he stepped in, too busy laughing at his fellow Raider to look at you. Beside him, Javier leaned against said frame, Cheshire cat grin pulling under his mustache as his eyes narrowed at you.

He pushed the laughing Whiskey into the bathroom, not before shooting Marcus' a smile over his shoulder as Catfish struggled against his confines. A hand was clamped over his mouth, keeping his gaze forcefully fixed upon you.

They neared the tub, eyeing the streaming faucet with intrigue. As you stared at them, slotting your body as far as possible into the tub, you realized they had changed into night clothes.

It gave you a small reminder of your guy friends back into the community, pijama pants and old t-shirts, though their eyes told a different story. Dark and blown out.

You felt Whiskey's breath against your back, making you jolt forward, coming face to face with Javier. Your hands came to grasp at the sides of the tub, knuckles turning white.

"Easy there," Javier commanded, voice stern. His hand dipped into the puddle forming by hour feet, fingers swirling on the water. "It's cold baby, want me to warm it up for you?"

Your head shook on itself, rapidly, frantically. He shifted, jaw ticking to Whiskey behind you. His arms slithered slowly around your collarbones, pulling your crouched back straight against the flannel of his pijama shirt. Your arms stuck to your sides at the armpits, incapacitating you as the heel of your feet kicked splashed water around.

"Can't fuck you without Joel's approval," Javier grunted, wet fingers tracing up your naked thigh as his eyes ransacked your form. Whiskey's grip pulled taught at your breasts, nipples erect and pruned from the freezing water, and you couldn't close your legs without slipping further into the bath and straining your neck. "Should have done it when I found you, you were already in all fours, recall?"

You slammed your head back in panic, Whiskey barely dodging it as he nosed along your neck; he growled at you. You clenched your thighs as best as you could, but Javier was stronger. Elbow pressed against one knee and his hand splayed against the other, forcing you an arm width open for him.

His other hand, the one that was previously tracing up your thigh, lowered dangerously, tracing two fingers through the seam of your sex.

You whined, Whiskey’s breathe fanning over your cheek as a single tear slid through it. It all felt tense, their hands on you, the faint noises of rustling behind you as Catfish attempted to escape Marcus’ grip, and their hot gazes upon you.

Two fingers pulled your lips apart, exposing you if possibly further to the cold air of the bathroom. Javier bit his lower lip, sighing as warmth spread up his neck.

Not even then, as you bathed yourself, you had peace.

His digits prodded at your hole, swollen and pink from Joel’s cock, yet they slipped in with some protest. A louder yelp escaped your lips, Javier giving Whiskey a warning through his knitted eyebrows. The man pressed a big, calloused hand to your lips, and you understood their boss possibly hadn’t given them permission for this.

Experimentally, Javier pushed his fingers to the last knuckle, pads pushing against your walls as they felt around. Searching, they were, along his eyes; searching for something in your expression.

“How is she?” Whiskey whispered, voice laced with amusement.

“Still fucking tight.” Javier growled ferociously, retrieving his fingers and working them back in slowly at first.

A small, hidden moan bounced against Whiskey’s palm, and your eyelids shut close. There was something about the way he was curling his fingers, against something just below your mound, that sent your legs shivering. Tears slipped into his hand, shame, breathing hard by his powerful grip upon your chest.

They shared a mischievous smile, almost juvenile in a way.

“Don’t cry, puppy.” He cooed, but the mockery made you cry harder. “Just gonna make this pussy cum.”

He leaned forward and spat, straining his shoulders from the position. His thumb scooped up the spit and pressed at the apex of your core, beginning to rub careful circles as his hand begun thrusting harder into you, curling quicker.

You felt the knot tighten at your stomach, toes curling and you tried, one last time, to get away. Useless.

“Make it quick.” Marcus hissed, a thin layer of sweat shining over his forehead. Catfish hadn’t stop struggling, vein popping at his forehead.

He didn’t answer, but his ministrations became more forceful, sending your eyes rolling back as you felt wetness spread, coat his fingers.

A sloppy kiss on your collarbone sent you spiraling, biting painfully on your lip as you exposed more of your neck to the man behind you. The knot snapped, walls clenching around Javier’s fingers as they fucked you through your high. Pride resounded in his chest.

The arm that was spreading you dislocated from your knees, curling around your quavering thigh as you squirmed away, ministrations becoming too much.

It hurt, though pleasure laced on the action you felt raw, vulnerable, small. You felt your breathe heaving, growing agitated with the passing seconds. Fear clouded your features, mind chanting please make it stop over and over.

As if hearing your thoughts, Javier slowly pulled out his fingers, cleaning them in the sloshing water and then his pijama pants. He relished in the way your eyes clouded with tears and how helpless you looked, the grin on his face told you so.

You felt the arms around you loosen, and sobs wrecked through your body as the hand came off. From the corner of your eyes, Marcus let Catfish go, but the man just ticked his jaw at him, unable to say more.

A grip on your chin stopped you from casting your eyes downwards, and Javier studied how red your lips looked, puffy from crying.

“Give me a kiss.” He ordered, though his voice was sultry. You swallowed hard, shame tinting your cheeks as you blinked at him.

Cocking his head, he grinned even wider. “Have you never…?”

The threat lingered in the air, Whiskey’s stubble rubbing against your neck.

The hand on your chin rose to cup your cheek, keeping you still as he rolled on the balls of his feet, mouth parted before smashing his lips onto yours.

You whimpered at the feeling of his tongue entering your mouth, taking a claim. Teeth clashing against teeth, Javier coating your mouth with his own saliva, and how the bathtub dug into your back as you tried to escape away, just falling deeper into Whiskey’s spread arms.

He pulled away, leaving a string attached as he revisited for a quick peck, enamored with the taste of your lips. His hand smoothed over your cheek, wiping tears carelessly.

He stood up, and Whiskey followed him, knees cracking. You balled up, face hidden in your knees as muscles tensed and ached.

You heard their chuckles as they left, only one pair of eyes on you now. Catfish groaned into his hand, fist slamming against the counter, sending you flinching.

He softened as he turned on his heel, spreading the towel for you. He could tell you were scared, your eyes looking up at him through your wet lashes, but he just turned his head to the side.

You stood up, droplets cascading from your body as he draped the thick, coarse material over your form. You stepped out of the tub, breathe hitching as you waited for his next move.

He shook the hairbrush in your face for you to take it, and rested the t-shirt and a new toothbrush on the counter as he turned around, head planted to the door.

You stole glances of his broad form as you brushed your hair as best you could, and as you slipped into the y-shirt; it was old and stretched out, yet smelled good. You could tell it was Catfish’s, by the perfume.

You spat out the remaining toothpaste and propped the toothbrush on the empty holder, hand daring to tap at his back.

He gave an off the shoulder glance before fully turning around, quickly scanning your form. How silent you were irked him.

“Gonna take you to Joel’s room.” He grunted, jaw tensing. Though his eyes told a different story; sad and puppy like, warm brown.

You nodded, in defeat. He stopped in his tracks, hand resting at the door knob.

“What’s your name?” He asked.

You felt it slip out of your tongue almost uncharacteristically, just your first name. What good could your surname do at this point?

“Pretty.”

He opened the door, hand once again finding your hip. The lights outside the corridor were off, and the house was silent.

You passed through doors and doors, realizing the state of the house as you stepped in front of the last one. It wasn't like your house, but it was big, not dirty but time had taken its toll. You wondered if they had found it like this, dilapidated wall paper and humidity splattered on the ceilings, or if they had been there for long enough.

Catching you gawking, Catfish murmured over his shoulder. "If you are looking for a way out, I'll tell ya now, they won't allow it."

You swallowed, the idea hadn't even crossed your mind. In all honesty, most of the thoughts you were having were blank.

Catfish knocked on the door, and you heard a faint “come in” grunted.

Inside the room, Joel lay in a king size bed, silk navy sheets carefully done beneath him. You recognized them from the shop back in your community. His thighs were strapped in flannel, and his muscles bulged through a thin tank top. The dim light of a bedside light illuminated his marred skin, shining lightly. At the other end of the room was a door and a window. Through the curtains you saw the deep, treacherous forest, a pool of black and green.

He looked up from the book he had dwarfed in his hands, and his brows furrowed.

“Didn’t tell you to dress her.” He commented, voice sharp.

Catfish sighed. “It’s just a t-shirt.”

Joel let the book on his nightstand, arms crossing as he glared at the defiance. “You can take it, she won’t be needing it.”

Your adverted gaze rose to look at Catfish, but his fingers still wrapped around the hem of the shirt. He peeled it off, gently, before looking once more at Joel.

“That’s it, thank you, Frankie.”

Your mind buzzed, lips parting as Catfish turned on his heel and closed the door behind him.

“Come here.” You heard, forcing you to face once more the man in the bed.

Your legs wouldn’t budge. His eyebrow shifted, threateningly. You felt your lower lip jut out, swallowing a sob.

His muscles tensed, and you forced yourself to take a step closer in fear he was going to stand up. Another, and another, your naked knees grazed the bed.

He nudged to the space of the bed beside him.

Tag list:

@tateypots

perhaps you wanna read @koshkaj-blog @paink1llerf0rm1ller @oldloganslittleslut

y'all will LOVE my muse for the fic i have in mind

her beauty is unmatchable ⁎༊✵࿔࿐✽

anne boleyn in the tudors season 1

MY WARNINGS

✦ I will put the warnings ahead of each piece of fanfiction. Keep in mind that my work contains triggering elements such as nonconsensual sex; abusive relationships; sexual/mental/physical abuse; violence; harassment; sex trafficking; abduction; age gap; power dynamics and possible other dark themes. Proceed with caution. This blog is not for minors. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

WHAT I WRITE...

✶ I will only write female reader / I will only write dark content ✶ I will only write the elements written above in my warnings, nothing else, and for sure, nothing that includes underage relationships or gory elements, A/B/O dynamics or something that includes supranatural creatures such as vampires, werewolfs etc.

BLOG RULES

✶ If you do not like my content, you are free to just scroll away. Do not send hate.

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✶ Do not translate or repost my work without my consent. Reblogs, likes, comments and asks are always appreciated and needed.

✶ I love yapping and chatting, so you can send asks about certain fics, movies, series, history or celebrities.

✶ other important links: MASTERLIST / CHARACTER LIST /

©thehydraethereal 2025. My work might contain triggering elements. You are responsible for your media consumption. Do not translate or repost my work without my consent.

「 THE APPENDACE 」 — PROLOGUE

FIRST CHAPTER ➙

⇀prologue warnings: misogyny; family issues; other possible dark and triggering themes and elements. MDNI! You are responsible for your own media consumption. Barely proofread.

⇀prologue pairings: reader x tony stark (dark and platonic); reader x rafe cameron (platonic); reader x pepper potts (platonic); ward cameron x tony stark (platonic)

⇀note: This fic has been on my mind since foreverrr. And I finally started it. I am the BIGGEST procastinator everr, so bare with me lol. enjoyyy my loveliesss!

⇀W.C: 857 words

» SERIES MASTERLIST | » MAIN MASTERLIST

You had always found your childhood insignificant, more like painful to think about, so you believed it was not important. However, what was important was the way you were raised. 

Living in the ‘most developed times’, equality and respect was supposed to be found at every corner, especially in the circumstances you were born in. Daughter of the most important man of the New York state, CEO of the biggest industry in the U.S, genius and billionaire, you were supposed to have the sweetest life you could get. But ‘Tony Stark’s daughter’ was only a shiny title, that was meant to only blind you, then trap you in the circle of this life, gaslighted into believing your father was ‘a good man’, and he was never wrong. 

Eventually, that became a strong belief of yours. 

He never even tried to bring you up though, his ignorance felt stingy and bitter at first, so you tried to fight and fight and fight for your right to be loved by him. That right never came, so you hid in your shell, keeping the thoughts and emotions only to yourself, never realising they were devouring you from the inside. 

In the world you lived in, the men were making the great decisions, and women had no say in what was happening with them. A memory that did nothing but whip your heart was when you had witnessed the fight between your father and one of his mistresses.

 She had told him she was pregnant, and he calmly told her to ‘get rid of it’. When she protested, saying she really wants to be the mother of her unborn daughter, your father started getting aggressive, stating that he ‘doesn’t need another burden’ as a child. You remembered Pepper’s loving arms wrapping around your small, shaky form and taking you out with her, away from the chaos that was going on inside your father’s office. 

A daughter equaled a burden in your father’s eyes, and that cutting remark burnt in your brain ever since. Little did you know he wasn’t considering daughters only burdens, but at least there was a way that a daughter could earn his… good interest—if it could be called that—and that way was the moment when he realised she could be useful for his greater good. 

Years passed and when you dared to do or say something that Tony displaced, you were quickly reminded that you were only his daughter—synonyms with ‘woman’, a word the man saw as just a tool—, hoping he would get the realization into your head. 

But you still hoped for something, anything from him.

 Another hurtful memory liked to hit you from time to time: you were five or six, and you decided to jump from his office desk, to show him you could do something great, too. But unfortunately, you landed on your stomach, spraining your wrist. Even in all the pain, you found a little happiness, thinking your father would spend more time by your side and comfort you. But the irony of fate was that you were wrong. Again. Tony only threw a comment that ‘it was the stupidest thing to do’, and then shouted at Pepper for leaving you unsupervised. The sobs and cries you had in your small bed scarred you, but you still forgave your father even for that. 

Your father’s business associate, the CEO of the Cameron Industries, Ward, had a son, Rafe, three years older than you,—it was the only reason your father envied him for. Rafe was your only friend growing up. You still remembered how you hid half your face behind a wall, taking up his form. His blond bangs fell in his face, and he was constantly rubbing his ocean blue eyes with his small fingers, trying to get the hair out of his sight. His father’s left hand held his much smaller one, as he greeted your father with the other. Rafe’s eyes scanned the surroundings—he was patient and still for his young age, and extremely used to luxury—but his eyes stopped when he saw you, and, unexpectedly, he waved.

 It was a really tiny gesture, but it meant the world to you, it was one of the few times a male showed you a form of affection. You shyly waved back, then ran away from the hallway. 

But months later, when Ward visited your father again, you and Rafe started growing closer. You were two little children, affected by your parents in different ways—both without mothers to hold you growing up—, but you got along oddly well. This small friendship was your secret, and you loved it, Rafe had sweetened your life. Everything went beautifully, until he turned eighteen and left for college in Europe, and you were left alone again. 

You hoped that…maybe one day, you will find a man like him and get married, portraying your unknown soulmate as your saviour, the man that will get you out of the chaos that occurred in your life. But, once again, your father took care to crush your unique dream under his foot. And all you could do was watch it.

» tags: my beloved sister @highonmarvel , tell me what you think, seriously!!!

I LOATHE how The Tudors (2007-2010) portrayed women. All women. The objectifiation and hypersexuality was disgusting, they were shown as overly emotional beings (not living souls) and every single one of them left room for vilanization while almost all men --evil or not--had their redemption arc and manipulated the audience emotionally to love all of them (even the rapists, the hypocrites; the greedy; the abusers).

Anyways, the actresses were beautiful, breath-takingly gorgeous actually. I love the six wives ⁎⋆๛✵ and I believe that Henry VIII has a special place in hell.

CEO Rafe and his secret secretary wife — the rest of the staff have no idea they’re married!

secretary.ᐟreader && husband.ᐟrafe

「 COTTON CANDY POSITIONS 」

NOTES: wait--i can actually see this. This is one of the very few times you will see lighter, fluffy content on my blog, but I couldn't not write this headcanon. ENJOY <3

I'm thinking of...

CEO.ᐟ husband .ᐟRafe that was SO IN LOVE that he put a huge diamond ring on your finger as soon as you two started dating

CEO.ᐟ husband.ᐟ Rafe touching your thighs whenever you go past him, loving your yelps and choked gasps.

CEO.ᐟ husband.ᐟ Rafe who loves fucking you, his sweet wife, hard and fast over his desk while everybody else is on break.

CEO.ᐟhusband.ᐟ Rafe who spoils you rotten and only lets you work because he adores having you around.

CEO.ᐟ husband .ᐟRafe who fires almost all male employee's for looking at you in a way he doesn't like.

CEO.ᐟ husband.ᐟRafe that threatened the life of even his best friend, Topper, when he came by and asked you out, of course, not knowing you're Rafe's already.

CEO.ᐟ husband .ᐟ Rafe that secretly wishes you would get pregnant faster, so you would have to stay at home with his children and cut your every contact with the outside world.

CEO.ᐟ husband.ᐟ Rafe manipulating you after a rough argument, saying your entire life has him at the base and you simply...cannot leave him.

CEO.ᐟhusband.ᐟRafe who goes to the exact same vacantion spots as you, at the exact time as you and yet--none of your friends or co-workers haven't figured you two out.

THAT'S IT, Y'ALL, GOING BACK TO MY DARK ROOTS AGAIN, BYE--

i wanna change my theme to navy blue or brown but burgundy is my characteristic color whad do i do help

AHHHHHHHH oh my gosh thank you so much, my main goal is to write Rafe accurately 😭 ilysm and thank you for reading and supporting me. 💕

all I see is 'red lights'

Ξ[summary] You are shown the effects of what happens if you cross your boyfriend's line.

Ξ[word count]: 1k (I'm shoked lol it's so short but long for me)

Ξ[warnings]: Not proofread. This work contains dark themes and elements such as abusive relationships; heavy violence and implied homicide; obsessive behavior, mental issues; abuse; mentions of abduction and drugging; and more. This is dark, so if these warnings trigger you, do not interact. MNDI, for your own safety. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

Ξ[note] : Thank you for reading and reblogging. Visit my masterlist and check out my warnings. Asks and new requests are always appreciated. ughhh, this is...concerning. also, for my soulmate in the district of dark art @highonmarvel. დ and a lil' something to @stargirllanaa, if you want to read :((

“Pl-please…Rafe? Rafe, please, d-don’t l-leave me h-here-” you sobbed, struggling against your boyfriend’s rough hands that were trying to secure your wrists together. “Shut up! I need to think-” he hissed, tossing you on the iron floor of the ship. You knew the pogues had got on the boat and they were your only rescue before Rafe would get to take you to a foreign country where you won’t be able to leave him and no one will ever find you, but the problem was that Rafe knew that too. And he didn’t want his plan spoiled by his sister and her stupid “friends”. 

You cried harder when Rafe crouched down next to your shaky form and secured the scratchy rope with zip ties. His hair was falling into his eyes that were constantly darting from your wrists to your face. “Somebody help me-” you cried, your voice barely coming out audible from your aching throat, before Rafe slapped you hard across the face, your head meeting the wall of the tight room he was trying to put you in. “Can you just shut your fucking mouth or should I do it for you? Huh?,” Rafe growled, his heavy breath hitting your burning skin. You gave him a small nod before he got up, looking for something to use as a weapon against nothing else than his own sister and the other kids. “I-I’ll di-die down h-here, Rafe, I can’t…I can’t breathe-” you whispered, the hot and small place choking the hope out of you. Your ribs were met by the kick of his foot, and you bent your body even more to try to keep the pain out. “You should’ve thought about that before you decided to play the smart bitch, tryin’ to act like you could fuckin’ leave me.” Flashbacks of his hands dragging you by your hair to the car and drugging you with chloroform, all these just to get you on this boat made you nauseous all over again.

 When he finally found what he was looking for, he shot a last glance at your trembling form then he closed the door after him, leaving you in utter and complete darkness and pain.

The only thing that you could see was the constant flickering of a red light. You did not know what to do, you felt broken. But you had to try something, unless you wanted all your friends, the only people that really cared for you, dead at the hands of the man you alone decided to let in your life. You attempted to control your breathing and just focus.  Had Rafe locked the door? No, he didn't have a key, the ship was massive and there was no chance he had fully explored it. As you struggled to break free from the restraints, they were so tight that they caused your skin to tear.

Ignoring the pain, you searched with your fingertips for anything sharp that could help you escape. Your fingers came across a pointed object, causing an excited squeal to come past your lips. Sliding your wrists against the sharp edge, you eventually heard a slight noise and felt your hands become free.  Tears of relief welled up, ready to spill just as warm blood ran down your hands.

  As you stood up, your vision blurred from the sudden movement, almost causing you to fall again. Bracing yourself with your arms on the wall was efficient, and you managed to push the door open. You sobbed shakily, grateful for this little victory.

The happiness didn’t last because now you had to figure out a way to…find your friends, get off this fucking ship and make it out alive back to Kildare. 

Small droplets of sweat rolled down your forehead and you wiped your face with both of your hands, trying to smooth down your hair and keep it out of your eyes. You took a few small steps, looking around the unknown illuminated surroundings for any signs of Rafe or other men. 

A loud bang made you flinch so hard and you thought that, for a moment, your soul had leapt out of your body. Through the tears blurring your vision you saw your older brother, John B, on the dirty floor, coughing heavily and before you knew it, your terrified sight caught your boyfriend straddling him.

Rafe looked almost like a demon, his pupils so dilated his eyes were coal black, hair stuck to his wet face that was hit by the crimson lights, low growls erupting from his veiny neck. The gun in his hand was constantly hitting your brother’s face, slowly turning him into an unrecognisable bloodied creature.

You felt like your insides had been set on fire, and your feet carried you next to the two men. The tendons in your knees gave up on you, throwing you over your brother’s limp body. You did not care about Rafe anymore, you didn’t care if he’d kill you, you wanted to die right now. “Wh-what are you doing to me…?”, you whispered hoarsely, the pain becoming unbearable all of a sudden. Your ears stung, and your tears mixed with John B’s blood, dripping patiently on the iron floor. Your forehead fell on his chest, and his flimsy, yet comforting arm wrapped weakly around your lower back. Your fingers caressed his cheek, gathering the maroon liquid and tiny pieces of broken skin.

Then, Rafe’s agonizing grip fell on the back of your neck, pulling your sagging, delicate body up with his. If it weren’t for his thick bicep that had wrapped around your waist or his broad chest that was sustaining you from behind, you would have collapsed back, right next to your brother. “You are not leaving me.” Rafe snarled awfully calm in your ear, as if he didn’t just possibly murdered somebody. “Get that in your fuckin’ skull already.”

Your tears washed down the blood on your cheeks as you were being dragged further and further to the only one left in your family which was agonizingly consuming his last breaths and, as always, there was not a single thing you could do against Rafe Cameron. It always ended how he wanted.