
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11676351.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Fandom:
      League_of_Legends
  Character:
      Darius_(League_of_Legends)
  Additional Tags:
      Underage_Prostitution, Non-Graphic_Rape/Non-Con, Victim_Blaming, Gang
      Rape, Kind_of_a_character_study, the_ugly_intersection_of_social
      darwinism_and_csa, Victim_Self-Blaming, rape_revenge
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-08-01 Words: 1422
****** how low ******
by yandereraiden
Summary
     but he never forgot a face
Notes
     im ugly for this
It was never something he’d wanted to do. It had been a particularly bleak
winter when Draven had fallen ill, body shivering, wracked with coughs that had
him retching up red mucus and threatened to break his ribs. He needed medicine.
He needed food. He needed clothes that weren’t full of holes and threadbare.
And the money Darius had, that he’d fought over, stolen, and mugged people for-
it wasn’t enough.
 
There weren’t many options left for him, if he wanted his brother to live. If
he  wanted to live at this point, as every day he became leaner, hunger giving
his body a frail, mean look.
 
There were far worse ways to make money than lying on his back.
 
Darius’ first client nearly came in his pants when he learned Darius was a
virgin. He put forth the minimum effort to make the young boy feel good, or
even comfortable, cold hands grasping Darius’ hips as he laid between pale,
hunger-thin legs and  fucked.  He licked Darius’ neck, a feeling that had him
shivering in disgust, and murmured sweet nothings into his ear that Darius
tried his hardest not to listen to.
 
“Baby boy, why are you so tense?”
 
Darius hadn’t been there for most of it, if he was being honest with himself-
he’d felt like an outsider looking in, watching himself being fucked but not
quite registering it. It only hit him in the moment he allowed himself to
recover, when he sat up and felt someone else’s come leak out of him. He
promptly turned to the side and retched, bile stinging his throat on the way
up.
 
In the end, the money from two hours was enough to pay for Draven’s medicine
for an entire week, and still have enough left over to keep them fed as well.
Seeing the color come back into his brother’s cheeks was enough to make Darius
forget, for the moment.
 
The next time, it was right after he’d just visited the market, trading his
last few coins for a loaf of bread and some fish. He was still thin, the cords
of muscle wrapped around his limbs looking strange next to his bony hips and
shoulders, and it was the look of weakness hanging around him that drew the
muggers in. He fought back- he kicked and punched, got one in the shoulder with
the knife he kept in his boot, but his body hadn’t recovered from the cold and
the hunger, and they outnumbered him. It wasn’t a fair fight, but Noxus was
nothing if not unfair.
 
Darius escaped with his life, relatively unharmed, but the muggers took his
food. His stomach rumbled as he lured another man in with wanting eyes,
allowing another foreign pair of hands to touch him, another unwanted cock to
penetrate him. This one was over quickly, the man wiping himself off on Darius’
thighs impersonally, shoving the money into his hands, and bustling out. Darius
visited the market again, took the longer, safer way home, and avoided Draven’s
questions as to why he was late, and why he was covered in bruises.
 
And so it went.
 
He preferred fighting for his meals, but this worked too, when he was
desperate. It kept them fed in the winter, kept them in shoes that didn’t have
holes in them, kept them alive when fever took. If opening his legs was what it
took to keep Draven healthy, Darius would have let half the city fuck him,
disgusting as it might have been.
 
Darius let them, but he never forgot a face.
 
He didn’t forget the faces of the same gang of muggers when they came back for
him, more of them this time, cornering him in an alley on his way home. He
didn’t have food this time, but they weren’t after his food. They weren’t after
the few gold coins he had on him. The looks on their faces were hungry, and
familiar.
 
Darius was stronger than he had been, but he was outnumbered. Still, by the
time they managed to get his arms tied behind his back and his pants down
around his ankles, he had stabbed one of them in the gut, and half-blinded
another by clawing out his eye. They both howled in pain, writhing on the
ground, but the rest of the men paid them no heed, focusing instead on the
prize in front of them. Hands swarmed over his body, holding him down even as
he continued to struggle and thrash and bite, keeping his legs spread for
whoever wanted to take him next. Someone slithered around behind him, holding
his waist and whispering in his ear.
 
“This is your fault, you know. You’re a little slut, but worse than that,
you’re weak. You couldn’t fight us off, because you’re weak. You can’t keep me
from touching you, because you’re weak. You whore yourself out for money,
because you’re  weak.”
 
They left him shaking and covered in semen on the ground in that alleyway. They
didn’t even bother to take the coin pouch he’d had in his tattered coat. There
wasn’t any reason for what they did to him- they had just wanted to prove that
they could.
 
And Darius never forgot.
 
He was fifteen, then. A quarter century later, and almost all of the men from
that night had died. Some had been soldiers, some had taken ill, some had been
gutted on their way back home.
 
The causes didn’t matter to Darius. The numbers did- there was one man left.
 
He wasn’t one for gloating. He’d leave that particular type of display to his
brother. But when the man woke up to the cold edge of an axe pressed against
his neck, Darius felt it was only right to give him an explanation. The years
had not been kind to him, and Darius almost felt bad about grabbing him by the
collar of his nightshirt and throwing him out of bed. Almost.
 
“Get your weapon,” he said. The man stumbled across the room, lanky and
terrified, and picked up the sword that rested on top of his fireplace. He
raised it in front of him, hands shaking. Afraid.
 
Darius sneered.  Pathetic.
 
The fight was over before it even began, really. The man tried to run him
through- Darius sidestepped and kicked him in the back, and he went tumbling,
weapon clattering out of his hands. He tried to reach for it again, and Darius
brought his axe down, severing hand from arm cleanly at the wrist. The man
didn’t so much scream as he did whine, loud and grating as Darius crouched down
besides his head, staring at him.
 
“Do you know who I am?” He asked.
 
“Of c-course I fucking know who you are- everyb-body knows who you fucking are-
”
 
“No.” Darius shook his head. “Look at me. Do you know  who I am?”
 
Maybe it was the pain that gave him clarity. Maybe it was the knowledge that he
was about to die. Whatever it was that caused the look of comprehension to dawn
on the man’s face, Darius didn’t know, and he didn’t care.
 
“You…” The man writhed, trying to slither his way backwards.
 
“Do you remember what you said to me, once?” Darius let him move. He wouldn’t
get anywhere with the amount of blood he’d already lost. “You said I was weak.
That everything that had happened to me was my fault, because I wasn’t strong
enough to prevent it.”
 
“I didn’t mean-”
 
Darius raised a hand, quieting the man instantly. “Don’t. You were right. I
was  weak.” His brow furrowed. “I couldn’t protect myself. I wasn’t powerful
enough to stop you. I… deserved it. We don’t condone that kind of
vulnerability in this city, or in this country. You’re only  deserving  of
justice if you can fight for it.” He stood up again.
 
“But I’m not weak anymore.”
 
“You’re n-not-”
 
“Don’t snivel. It makes you look even more pathetic than you already are.” His
nose wrinkled, and he stepped forwards. “I’m no hypocrite. You get a chance to
fight, too. So stand up. Try to get away from me. If you’re strong, you’ll make
it out of this room alive. If not...”  He pried his axe out of the floorboards
with a creaking groan. The edge of it was gilded with crimson, dripping down
the blade and onto the floor, and Darius stared at the man, a hard glint in his
eyes. “Well. We both know what happens to weaklings, don’t we?”
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