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05 July 2007 @ 10:38 pm
Fan Fic: "Little Red Riding Hood" Adjectiveless X-Men, Rogue/Creed  
Author: resolute
Title: Little Red Riding Hood
Fandom: Adjectiveless X-Men
Characters/Pairing: Rogue/Sabertooth
Rating: NC-17, Adult
Notes, Warnings, and Caveats: Contains non-con. Very explicit rape and torture. Takes place on Cable's Providence, during the fight with the weird alien thing. Obviously, this is now AU.

Little Red Riding Hood

When Rogue woke up the room was too hot. She was on the floor. The bed was half-on her. Lights flickering. Smoke. Rogue could smell smoke. She shifted and coughed. Weak. Sick. Tubes? There were tubes stuck in her. Damn doctors. Rogue pulled the tubes from her nose. Her arms. Another place tubes shouldn't ever be. How long have I been sick? she wondered. They didn't put tubes there unless you were unconscious for a long time.

She could still smell smoke. And the room was too hot.

Or maybe that was her. Maybe she was still sick.

Rogue pushed to her feet. Yup. Still sick. Damn Palance anyway. She staggered for the door. The floor was slanted. No, it was. Really. Where the hell was she?

The hallway was long, with smoke seeping under a door at the far end. As she watched the doors receded, then her vision cleared and they snapped back. Rogue put her hand to her eyes. She had to get out.

The doors at the end slammed open, smoke pouring in and the noise of danger. People shouting. Gunfire. Screams. Rogue looked around for a weapon, for cover. For something to help her if the fight came this way. Nothing. Wait. A room, a closet, to the side. Rogue ducked in. Spare clothes. A too-small T-shirt, white. Rogue rolled her eyes at how it fit her, but put in on. Black sweatpants, men's, too big. But they tied. A long coat. No, a cape? A cloak. Red. Rogue stared at it. Where am I, anyway? she thought. The cloak was some thick, odd material. Slick. Like a costume, like combat gear. Might be fire resistant? Rogue put it on. She pulled the hood up, like her normal fighting gear. It wasn't that different. The hood smelled faintly, though. Smelled of, what?

Something sharp. Something old. Musk and leaves and places that did not see the sun.

Rogue shook herself. It's just a piece of cloth, she said.

Rogue walked down the hall, looking for a way out. Wherever she was. It wasn't safe. She had to find her way.


Just before the doors, before the noise and the fire, a hall turned to the right. Rogue inched to the corner and turned. The hall was dark, the lights gone or broke or who cared anyway? Rogue kept her hand on the wall. There. A window.

It was dark outside. Not night. Just dark. Something in the air, maybe? Rogue wrapped the cloak around her fist and punched the glass. Reinforced, wires cutting at the fabric as she pulled her fist back through the hole. The cloth held. Yeah, some kind of super-costume. Rogue pulled at the glass, breaking it away. She pulled herself through the hole and fell onto the ground. Pavement? She could barely see. Smoke, and some sort of other darkness in the air. But the fighting seemed to be behind her.

Rogue used the noise as her guide. Kept the explosions at her back and worked away. She slipped. Fell a lot. Sick. Her body giving out in unexpected ways. She was panting. Sweat running in her eyes.

She broke free of the dark, finally. A city. Sculptured buildings. Cement and steel. An odd horizon, low? An ocean? Oh. It all fit. Providence. She was on Providence. Cable's floating city. They must have brought her here. But where the hell, then, where was her team? Rogue turned around.

Parts of the city were burning. There was an obvious problem. An obvious fight. I need to help. Rogue took a step forward and sat heavily. Dizzy, now. She put her head down for a moment.

"Well. Ain't this a sight," a voice growled from near her. Rogue lifted her head. Squinted.

"Creed." The assassin looked a little worse for the wear. Obviously battered. Healing, but he must've been hurt damn bad for the marks to be showing.

He smiled. "Hello, girl," he said, his voice rumbling low. "What brings you to this part of the city?" He took a step towards her.

"What's going on?" Rogue asked. "The fight?"

"Fight?" He looked back over his shoulder, directly at the smoke. "I don't see a fight." He smiled at Rogue and took another step. "I see you. All alone. Here in the woods."

"Creed," Rogue said, pushing to her feet. "I ain't got time for games. What about the fight? Where are the others?"

He stood in front of her. She could smell him. He smelled sharp. Dirt and leaves and things that did not see the sun. "I don't see anybody here but us, little girl. And you don't look so good." Creed grinned wide, all his teeth showing. He touched the edge of her cloak with one claw, tracing it slowly down her front, between her breasts, toward her stomach. "Your momma, I'm sure, she told you never to talk to the wolf. But your momma ain't here." Rogue saw his other hand start to move. Saw his fist coming down. She still couldn't duck it. She felt it hit her face, then nothing.


Rogue woke to the pain in her arms. She was leaning forward. Her arms held up and out. Her weight on her shoulders. She opened her eyes.

Well. Opened her eye. The other was stuck shut. Gummy with what was probably her blood. Her face ached. He'd hurt her. Whatever was wrong with her, whatever was making her sick, it was messing with her powers. She wasn't invulnerable. Rogue pulled at her bonds. Wasn't super strong, either. She concentrated and the odd click in her stomach, the weird flip that meant flying, it was still there. She levitated up, the pain in her shoulders instantly less. But it was hard. Hard work. She sank back down, panting.

She heard him, then. A low chuckle from the side. Creed walked into view. He had a bucket. He threw it at her. The water was freezing, and the shock of the cold made it impossible to breathe for a moment. Rogue tried, bucking against the straps and ropes holding her in place. He head pounded, the blood roaring in her ears and she could not, could not get her body to obey. Finally she gasped, sucking in air with a painful whoop of need, desperate need.


Creed tossed the bucket to the side. The water had cleared her eyes. She could see. They were in a building. It was mostly dark. Creed was wearing gloves, the ends of the fingers slit, his claws showing. He wore a shirt with sleeves. Rogue didn't even know if her own power, the one that was always her, if it was working or messed up like the rest. But if it was her chances were still slim. Her hands were bound. Her feet were tied as well, to, what? Some sort of metal grate or frame.

"Nice, Creed," she said unevenly. "Hit a girl when she ain't feelin' well. What's your next plan, kicking a puppy?"

He drew his knife. Rogue felt her eyes widen. "Naaw," Creed said. "Kickin' you will do just fine." He stood in front of her. Rogue tried to stand up straight, look him in the eye. He'd left her cloak on. Her clothes, too. The hood of the cloak fell over her face a little, dripping icy water on her cheeks like tears. "Wasn't so long ago that you had me chained to a wall," Creed said. "Payback's a bitch. So're you."

He brought the knife up, scraping the dull back of the blade along her throat. Rogue swallowed and cursed herself for that weakness. He drew the tip up, up along her jaw, sharp pressure forcing her chin up and head back. The movement made her shoulders scream with pain. She breathed through her nose, shallow and quick. He was so tall. So big, and so tall. He kept the knife under her chin and with his other hand brushed the hood back off her face. Brushed back her hair with sharp, sharp claws.

"I can smell you," he whispered. Saliva dripped from his mouth. He was drooling. Like an animal. At her. "I can smell your fear."


Rogue inched her head away from his touch. "Uh-uh, babe," Creed whispered. He wrapped his fingers in her hair, pulled her head back. Rogue gasped. Creed dropped his knife, point-first. In stuck into the floor with a quiver. He held her head still, tracing over her skin with the tips of his claws. Across her ear. Down her neck. Rogue felt a sudden warmth, a stinging. He was cutting her. Claws.

He pulled at the collar of her shirt. The stolen t-shirt tight across her skin. The thin cloth caught a little, then the threads began to break. Creed pulled at the small tear so slowly. Rogue watch, her head tilted down. This, would her skin look like this when he cut her? Would it pull slightly under his hand? Rogue gasped, realizing she had been holding her breath.

Creed laughed. He closed his fist, yanking her shirt away in ragged shreds. Rogue made a noise, not a sob, no. She would not cry for him.

Creed pressed the sharp edges of his claws against the pale skin of her shoulder. He did not cut her yet. He held still and leaned in. Sniffed at her cheek. Suddenly he licked her ear and Rogue jumped, even though she was ready, even though she was waiting for some stupid trick like this, she still jumped and cut herself on his claws. Cut herself. He hadn't done it.

"That's how it's gonna be, girl," he whispered. His breath smelled of death.

Rogue saw him. Blood dry on his skin. In his hair. Bits of things. Bits of flesh matted in. How many had he killed? What had he been doing before he found her?

And what was he going to do now?


Creed paced back and forth, shaking his head and glaring at her. Rogue pulled a little at her chains and whimpered. That made Creed laugh. He walked back in front of her. Grabbed her hair and pulled her head to the side. He scraped his nails down her neck, down her chest. Blood welling in tiny specks on the tops of her breast. He paused at her nipple.

Rogue started panting. She didn't want him to hurt her. Not just because of the pain, though that was bad. She was afraid he'd do something permanent. Mutilate her in some way. He pressed the tips of his claws around her nipple and squeezed. Rogue screamed. Creed roared back at her, wordlessly bellowing in her face, laughing, he was laughing he was going to hurt her for real and her was laughing and Rogue made herself look down. Made herself look at what he had done to her.


She was fine. Bleeding a little, but fine. Whole. He'd cut her enough to scare her, nothing more.

Things went dark for a minute. Rogue heard the steady roar of her pulse in her ears, saw dark blossoming pinwheels in her vision. When she could see Creed was sitting nearby, playing with his knife.

"Just waiting for you to wake up, girl," he rumbled. "See if I can make you scream like that again, yeah?"


He was careful. He kept the gloves on, kept his skin away from hers. Used his claws. Rogue writhed, choking down tears. She would not scream for him. Tears streamed down her face, and she was coughing, half-choking with the effort it took to not cry out. He was cutting her. Not slow, not even. Ripping at her. She was bleeding.

It wasn't a lot of pain at once. Rogue had been hurt far worse than this. It was the fact that it wasn't going to end. She was sick, weak, possibly powerless, she didn't know. Human, maybe. Sick, weak, definitely helpless. Creed kept touching her. A nightmare of small pains, building and not ending. Deep in her mind, in her heart, Rogue knew how this would end.

He was drooling. Literally. An animal, spit running down his chin. Creed leaned in. He pulled her cloak forward, over her neck. Wrenched her head to the side and put his mouth on her.

Rogue couldn't breath, shaking with pent-up fear. When he did bite her it was a relief. The cloak held, protecting him from her touch. He kept going, his jaw grinding. Rogue saw bursts of white, pain stretching across her vision in dizzying waves. He pushed against her, wrapped his arm around her body and dug his claws in deeper. The blood ran down her side and she felt something brush her leg. Creed was aroused. Hard, his pants tight over his cock.

"I'm bleeding," she whispered. A lot. She was bleeding a lot.

Creed kissed her. His mouth hot and sharp on hers. He forced her jaw open with his hands, touching her face and skin, his tongue shoving into her mouth. Rogue felt her power start to pull at him, and her first thought was one of relief. She still had her power. Not helpless. Creed's healing factor swept through her. The end of the pain was amazing. Rogue closed her eyes in relief.

Creed pulled away.


Rogue fell forward, hating him, hating his sick grin. Hating herself most of all for being grateful. Grateful that he'd healed her. His thoughts in her head, they spoke of fucking and bleeding and tears. Rogue tried to be angry. Tried to get upset. But she was too scared. He'd healed her just so he could hurt her more.

Healing didn't mean it hadn't hurt.

Rogue watched him. Watched him pace back and forth in front of her. His hand moved suddenly, slapping her face. She flinched, and while she flinched he moved.

His hands ripped at her pants, her shirt already hanging in tatters. His claws cut and scratched her stomach, her thighs. Raked across her hips. He tore her pants away, leaving her shivering and vulnerable to him. She'd been vulnerable before. Now she was naked. Except for the cloak, The red cloth fell in heavy folds down her back. Creed couldn't tear it. Not like he could tear her.

He leaned on her, rubbing his crotch against her bare stomach. He was dressed. Clothed. Protected from her. She wasn't protected from him. Wouldn't be. He was going to hurt her and heal her and it wouldn't stop.


Creed kept rubbing against her through his clothes. Humping her body, suspended from the chains. He was getting excited. Getting ready, and close.

He wrapped his gloved hand around her throat, digging the claw-tips in a little. Drawing blood. With his other hand he unfastened his pants and pushed them down. Rogue whimpered. He was going to hurt her. Inside.

Rogue was no virgin. She'd been with Remy while free of her powers, she knew how wonderful sex could be. But this, this wasn't like that. This was like Genosha and the Mutates. This was skin-suits and collars and cells in the dark. Laughing guards who spit and kick. Some small part of Rogue still knew, knew with no doubt, that what had happened to her in the Genoshan cell was her own fault. If she'd fought harder. If she hadn't gotten caught. If she'd stood up for herself. If she'd fought at all. They'd raped her. But she wished she could be sure it wasn't her fault.

Like this. Trusting Creed, that's what put her in this position. Arrogance, it was, letting a man like that on her team.

Creed was pumping his fist on his cock. Squeezing Rogue's throat a little and letting go, watching her face. Rogue whimpered again, and saw that this, this noise, was what Creed was waiting for. He stroked himself fast, his rank breath hot on her face. She whimpered again, unable to help it. 'Cause I'm sick, and hurt, she thought dizzily. I'm not weak. Not a crybaby.

She whimpered again, and realized she was crying. Slow tears dripping down her cheeks. He wrapped the cloak, the red, thick cloak around her legs, lifting and spreading them. He held her up for a moment, one hand on her ass. His other hand went to his cock, and before she could fight or kick him, he was inside her.

Rogue choked back a cry of pain. Of sheer misery. He was not especially large but she was not ready. Didn't want this. She felt her power start to pull at him right away. He grabbed her hips and fucked her fast, violent and fast and painfully.

But her power was pulling. He was healing her. His healing factor rippled through her, easing the pain between her legs, easing the pain in her shoulders. Rogue felt her fever receding. She blinked. She could breath again, more easily. The illness was fading. She felt stronger.

Creed looked a little pale. But he snarled, growling, and bit her shoulder hard, bite her through the cloak and her flesh tore under his teeth even thought the fabric held.

He bit her.

She screamed.

Creed came.

He pulled out immediately, backing away and falling to the ground. Rogue flexed, snapping the chains. Not all the way healed, but close. Damn close. She walked over to Creed. Kicked him, barefoot, it the face. His head snapped back, blood pouring from his nose and mouth.

"Bastard," she whispered. Rogue unfastened the cloak and dropped it next to the man. She pulled the tatters of her clothes around her, then bent down and picked up Creed's coat. She put it on, wrapping the belt around her waist. Creed's voice in her head told her to end it now. Snap his neck, kill her prey. "Not me," she said. "Won't kill. Not even you. I'm better than that."

Rogue walked back through the wreckage. Towards the sounds of the fight. Ready to find her team and try to do some good.
hmokes919 on February 17th, 2013 07:44 am (UTC)
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