Worthless Pirate AU - A Well-Deserved Break: Part 2
Masterlist
Content: vomit, forced intoxication, gagging, beating, choking, humiliation, degradation, self-degradation, fear of death, slavery whump, pirate whump, hurt/no comfort
If I missed any content warnings, please let me know!
-
Several hours and roughly four bottles later, Elliot's head was swirling. A thick molasses had flooded his mind, seeping into every crack and crevice it could find and suffocating his thoughts before they could even form. His vision was swimming, flashes of blurry colors the only thing that his sluggish mind could process. He couldn't tell if the sway of the ship on the gentle ocean waves was the cause of his instability or if his body had simply lost the wherewithal to hold him upright. The various voices and sounds around him faded in and out of comprehension, words blurring together into a muddled cacophony of nonsense.
“Still with us, treasure?” The captain's muffled voice pushed through Elliot's stupor. Elliot had to strain in order to process the dampened words, as though hearing them from behind a pane of glass.
The captain laughed as he examined his slave. The poor boy was staring forward with eyes half-lidded, pupils heavily dilated. His jaw was slack, lips parted as a thin string of drool dripped down his chin, and there was a nice red flush to his cheeks. The captain sighed. “God, you look absolutely beautiful like this, pet.” The captain cupped his slave's cheek, guiding their eyes to meet, though Elliot's were distant and unfocused. “Not a single thought in that pretty little head. Just as it should be. But we're not quite done with you yet, pretty boy.”
The only sound Elliot was able to make in that moment was a pathetic, animalistic whine. The captain laughed. Or at least, Elliot thought he did. There was no way of knowing what, in Elliot's mind, was real anymore.
A hand on the back of Elliot's neck shoved him down and smashed his face into the splintered floor. The sheer quantity of alcohol in his system dulled the pain, but sparks danced along the edge of Elliot's distorted vision and he was sure he'd be feeling it in the morning.
“Bow to your Master, rat!” Someone shouted as the crew dissolved into laughter. The hand at the back of his neck disappeared and was quickly replaced by a leather boot on the side of his face. Tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes, pathetic whimpers taking the place of his usual begging and pleading.
Elliot squirmed in discomfort against his tight restraints, which earned him a sharp smack to his raised backside. Elliot yelped, the sound eliciting even more laughter from the crew.
“Did you hear that, boys?” Someone shouted. “I think he likes that.”
“What a little slut!”
“Make it beg!”
The pressure on the side of his face increased as the man above him kneeled down to his level. Elliot whimpered. There wasn't much else he could do save for lying there in a growing puddle of his own drool. “Hear that, bitch? You're gonna beg me to let you up. Maybe if you beg pretty enough, we'll let you off the hook for the night.”
Elliot didn't believe that for a second. At no point in his captivity did these horrible men ever grant him the respite they promised. Still, he needed to obey. He needed to keep them happy or things would only get worse for him.
But as Elliot opened his mouth to beg, nothing but incoherent babble came out. His mouth was full of cotton and his tongue felt three sizes too big. Any and all signals that his languid brain tried to send never reached their destination. Try as he did to obey his despicable tormentors, his drunken mind was incapable of cooperating.
Finally, the boot was lifted from his head, but the reprieve was short-lived as a hand tangled itself into Elliot's hair and yanked him back into a kneeling position. “What was that, slut? We couldn't understand you.”
Elliot's breath caught in his throat, restricting the path of another sob trying to break through.
“Aw, still a little fucked up? Here, I've got something that'll be sure to wake you up a little.” The man waved something in Elliot's face, and only when he brought it close enough were the boy's eyes finally able to adjust. It was another bottle.
Elliot squeaked, violently shaking his head as the man laughed and ripped the cork out with his teeth. Elliot clamped his eyes shut, preparing for the burn of stolen liquor on his tongue, but that never came. Instead, the bottle was tipped over the slave's head, the contents soaking into his scalp and trickling down his face. They released their grip on his hair, allowing him to bow his head forward as far as he could so as to avoid getting the sticky, pungent liquid in his eyes.
“That better, slave?” The grip on his hair returned, this time catching a fistful at the top of his head, which they used to forcefully bob his head up and down in a violent nod. “Good. Now the real fun can begin!”
Elliot didn't get the chance to contemplate what “the real fun” could mean before the hand in his hair dragged him onto his unsteady feet. Elliot whined, choking on the saliva building up in his half-open mouth. He forced himself to swallow, despite the way his throat burned.
The vice-like grip on his hair kept him standing upright all the way up until a loop of rope was thrown around his neck. Panic lit aflame in Elliot's gut as the noose was tightened to a nearly unbearable level. Oh god, they were gonna kill him.
It took all of Elliot's strength to remain upright on his own. The noose around his neck allowed just enough airflow to remain conscious, but the discomfort seemed to help rouse Elliot's sluggish brain, if only slightly.
“P-Please,” he choked out.
“Oh? What was that?” Said the man holding the other end of the noose. He tugged on it, dragging Elliot closer to him and squeezing a gasp out of the boy's rapidly constricting throat. “Did you say something, treasure?” Elliot blinked up at him, only then noticing who was holding his leash as the captain's face faded into relative clarity.
“P-Please,” Elliot said again. “P-Please don’t-don't k-kill me.” His words were slurred and his stutter was infinitely worse than normal. Even as a barmaid, Elliot hardly drank. His patrons often offered to buy him drinks, but he rarely accepted. Only during exceptionally long shifts did he ever have any desire to partake, but even then, he could only handle about one or two. He was much too small to stomach this amount of alcohol.
The captain chuckled and tugged his slave a little closer. “Listen to me, treasure,” he said, leaning forward so his face was level with Elliot's. “You are far too valuable to me to ever dispose of. Don't ever forget that.”
Elliot's mind struggled to process the words, but he felt the smallest sense of relief upon hearing that.
His relief was short-lived, however, because within moments of those words leaving his lips, the captain wrenched Elliot forward by his leash. Elliot gasped, the ropes pulling taut and restricting his airflow. He stumbled after the captain, but the abrupt movement didn't give Elliot much time to gather his bearings. His bare feet tangled themselves in the chain binding his ankles and sent him tumbling to the ground, unable to catch himself. He landed on his shoulder, but he hardly noticed the pain when the rope around his neck pulled even tighter upon his descent.
Alarm bells rang off in his head. He couldn't breathe. He couldn’t breathe! Black dots appeared at the edge of his vision and slowly began closing in around him. He instinctively wriggled against his restraints, desperate to claw at the noose around his throat.
It felt like eons before the pressure around his throat gave way to vital oxygen. Despite the ever-present aroma of salt in the air, Elliot had never tasted anything sweeter. He coughed and gasped, his lungs aching from disuse. But he was still denied the luxury of a full breath due to the boot that flew into his stomach. Elliot jerked and curled inward to protect his vital organs, but it did little to stop a second boot from kicking him in the ribs.
“Get up, mutt!” A voice shouted. He couldn't tell who's, but he'd have been a fool to disobey. With his hands tied and feet chained, it took Elliot several tries to push himself into a sitting position. He wiggled around the deck, moaning in pain, but was somehow able to use his bound hands to push himself upright. At least, he almost was, but the quick change in orientation made his head spin and he was just as swiftly on the ground again.
A chorus of laughter erupted all around him. “Stupid bitch can't even stand up by himself.”
“Think we should give him a hand?”
“Nah, just look at him. He belongs at our feet. Ain't that right, slave?”
Elliot's face was burning a humiliating shade of red. When he didn't answer quickly enough, the toe of another boot nudged him in his bruised ribs. Elliot whimpered.
“Answer me, slave!”
Tears oozed out of the corners of his eyes, despite how tightly he was clamping them shut. Elliot nodded. “Y-Yes, S-Sir,” he slurred.
There was another kick to his ribs, knocking the wind from the slave's lungs. “Say it!”
Elliot couldn't catch his breath. Every gasp of air hurt as his lungs expanded against his bruised ribcage. The rope around his chest only further hindered his desire for air.
“I-I b-belong at-at your f-feet, S-Sir,” Elliot choked out. He hoped that was what he'd said at least. His brain was mush at this point. It was a miracle he had enough awareness to form any coherent thought at all.
Suddenly, he was on his knees again. He didn't know how or when he'd gotten there. All he knew was the burning at his scalp.
Through his dizziness and overflowing well of tears, it was difficult to make out the features of the man whose face filled Elliot's vision. But the gentle, calloused hand against the slave's cheek, as well as the faint scent of cigar smoke and leather gave Elliot a pretty good guess.
The captain's hand slid down from his captive's cheek to firmly grasp his chin. Elliot whimpered. “Now, stay still, treasure.” The captain's thumb brushed against the slave's lips, gently parting them further. He gingerly ran the pad of his index finger along the edge of Elliot's teeth before delving deeper to further explore the boy's open mouth. “Don't gag,” he said as he inserted a second finger, then a third, pushing deeper until his knuckles scraped against Elliot's teeth. Elliot stared up at Captain Whitlock from beneath his drooping eyelids, fighting the way his throat tried to constrict around the intrusion.
The captain smirked and used his free hand to wipe away one of Elliot's tears. “Wanna know a secret, treasure?” The captain asked. “Remember that break I promised you? You'll still get it. I'm a man of my word, after all.” Elliot's mind barely registered what the captain was saying. All his focus was on his aching jaw and the overwhelming urge to gag. “The alcohol wasn't just for fun, treasure,” the captain admitted. “You're so fucked up that you won't remember any of this in the morning. And that's my gift to you. That's your fucking break.” Elliot whined and the captain tutted. “Quiet, treasure. As much as I love your little noises, we wouldn't want you to gag yourself, eh?”
It was a little late for that. After the numerous kicks to the boy's stomach, plus the taste of dirt and grime on the captain's fingers, bile began to rise up Elliot's throat. He whined again and tried to pull away, but the captain grasped his jaw with his free hand to hold him still. “You're not done, slave,” the captain warned him. “Be a good boy or I'll use your mouth for something else.”
Elliot couldn't take it anymore. Luckily, the captain seemed to notice the greenish hue of his captive's skin and quickly retracted his hand just in time for Elliot to regurgitate the poison that was in his stomach.
The crew released collective groans of disgust.
“Stupid mutt!” Someone shouted, punctuating the statement with a heavy kick to Elliot's shoulder. The boy flinched as a glob of saliva landed square on his cheek, dripping down to his jaw. He kept his eyes clamped shut as tears leaked out of the corners. His nose and throat burned. While the disgusted crew took turns hurling degrading insults at him, pulling his hair, and smacking his face, Elliot wept.
He wept for the life he used to have and the future that he would never reach, the dignity and self-respect that had long-since been lost at sea. His heart ached with grief for the person he once was and the smile he could no longer find. He didn't recognize himself anymore. His body, his mind, his thoughts, his words, they no longer belonged to him. Nothing did.
“Enough!” The captain shouted after an eternity. The onslaught stopped, but Elliot's tears didn't. His loud, open-mouth sobbing was the only sound on the ship, save for the waves crashing against the hull. “Retire to your cabin, men,” the captain said, never taking his eyes off of his pitiful slave. “I'll be taking watch tonight.”
Elliot kept his head lowered as the crew filed below deck. The sound of pounding footsteps was lost on Elliot, but the feeling of dozens of heavy boots reverberating off the wooden deck shook Elliot to his core.
Once the crew had gone, Captain Whitlock watched his pet cry for a beat. The poor thing looked beautifully pathetic, tied up and helpless, sticky from its liquor shower, tears pouring down its pretty face. Christian reveled in the sight. He loved when his slave looked like this and he couldn't help the blood gathering between his legs.
“Look at me, slave,” Christian said. His pet sniffled and lifted its watery eyes to meet its master's. Fuck. It was gorgeous. It was moments like these that reminded the captain of why he'd chosen this one to begin with.
Elliot shriveled beneath his master’s glare. He couldn't imagine how disgusting and miserable he must've looked, kneeling there in front of his puddle of vomit. “I-I'm s-sorry, Master,” he said. “I-I'll c-clean it—”
“Aye,” the captain interrupted. “You will.” Elliot flinched and lowered his head again, shoulders shaking beneath the weight of his cries. The captain kneeled in front of his sobbing pet and took a gentle hold of Elliot's chin, guiding the boy's eyes back up to his own. “But not tonight,” the captain continued. “I am a man of my word and I promised you rest tonight. So that is exactly what you'll get. Come tomorrow, however, you will scrub and polish every centimeter of this deck until your hands bleed. Savvy?”
Elliot sniffled. His head was still swimming, despite how much alcohol had left his system. He was exhausted. There was a heavy pounding in his skull and his mouth tasted like death. It took everything in him to concentrate on the captain's words, but he nodded and slurred out, “Y-Yes, Master.”
“Good,” the captain said as he brandished his dagger and sliced through the ropes binding Elliot's arms and wrists.
Elliot heaved a deep breath, his shoulder sagging in relief. “Th-Thank you, Master,” he said between heavy breaths.
“Don't thank me yet, mutt,” the captain said, returning to his full height. He snatched his slave by the arm and wrenched him to his feet, giving Elliot very little time to find his footing before the captain dragged him down the hatch and into the brig. The world twisted and swirled around him, dancing to the beat of the captain's footfalls. The next thing he knew, he was on the floor of his usual cell, the captain towering above him on the other side of the barred door. “Enjoy your break, treasure.” Elliot couldn't see it, but he could hear the smirk in the captain's voice.
The boy didn't have time to respond before the captain spun on his heel and left his slave to rot.
Come morning, Elliot had no memory of the night before.
-
I hope you enjoyed this! I'm not super happy with it, but it's as good as it's gonna get, I suppose.
If you have any requests for this AU, please send them to me!!
Worthless Pirate AU - A Well-Deserved Break: Part 1
Masterlist
Important note: This story is not in chronological order. This chapter takes place before the rescue
Content: forced intox, choking, slavery whump, dehumanization, degradation, reference to past noncon
If I missed any content warnings, please let me know!
-
Exhaustion settled deep in Elliot's bones as he curled up on the moldy floor of his damp cell. He used to endlessly complain about his long shifts at the tavern, the hours spent on his aching feet, the disgusting comments about his body from his patrons, the stale stench of alcohol.
He'd give anything to go back to that now.
The ship's crew was horribly cruel to him. He was nothing in their eyes, no greater than a bilge rat or any other inferior rodent. Except, he was more fun to play with because he could cry and scream and beg. He could make pretty, pathetic sounds for them. He could serve them, in more ways than one. But he still wasn't human in their eyes. He never would be.
Elliot forced those thoughts from his mind as he rested his head against the wooden ground and listened to the sounds of the ocean lapping against the side of the ship. He closed his eyes, willing every aching muscle in his small body to relax, but the sound of pounding footsteps and drunken laughter overhead kept him constantly on edge. He just wanted to sleep. He'd been granted the mercy of a night in the brig, as opposed to the captain's bed or the crew's cabin. He wanted to take full advantage of it.
Just as Elliot's mind and body finally began to drift off, the door to the brig was slammed open. Elliot yelped and shot up, suddenly wide awake and shaking. A crewmate, whom Elliot wished he didn't recognize, stood in the doorway, staring at him hungrily. Elliot knew that look. He dreaded that look.
The captain referred the man by the name Reynolds. Whether that was his real name, Elliot didn't know, but what he did know personally was the man's cruelty. He found joy in Elliot's suffering, as did most of the crew, but few others sought out the slave for the sole purpose of watching him bleed.
Reynolds slowly sauntered over to his prisoner's cell and leaned against the bars, a mischievous grin on his face. Elliot's heart sank. “The captain requires your presence on deck, slave,” Reynolds said. The emphasis the man placed on the final word made Elliot flinch a little and tears well in his eyes. The crew never failed to come up with degrading, dehumanizing things to call him. Slave, rat, slut, whore, toy. But not his name. Never his name.
He used to waste so much time trying to remind them of his name, to convince them that he was a person. But he'd long since given up on that fruitless endeavor. He'd never be a person again. That title was stripped from him the moment the captain had laid eyes on him. There was no escaping what he was. He wasn't a person. He was a slave, an object, property. He was worthless.
Tears welled in Elliot's eyes. He was so, so tired. “But-But, Sir, I-I finished all my ch-chores. I did e-everything I was asked. M-Master p-promised me a b-break.”
Reynolds shrugged. “Guess he changed his mind.” He reached for the key to Elliot's cell and began clumsily fiddling with the lock.
Elliot scrambled backwards as far as he could at the sound of the door's squeaking hinges. Tears rolled down his face. “P-Please, Sir. I-I'm begging you. I can't—I can’t—”
“Shut up, slave!” Reynolds shouted as he easily grabbed Elliot by his bicep and wrenched the boy to his feet. The pirate's grimy fingers snatched Elliot's bruised jaw and steered him to face his superior. “You're not getting fucked tonight, you stupid whore.”
Relief flooded Elliot's system, quickly followed by a new, deeper sense of dread. “Then-Then what does the captain w-want with me?”
The irritation on the man’s face morphed into an ugly, menacing smile and Elliot's heart stopped. “Guess we'll see when we get up there, eh?” Reynolds chuckled and it sent icy tendrils crawling down Elliot's scarred back. “Now, walk.” The man shoved him and Elliot nearly tripped over the heavy shackles around both of his ankles. He had a matching set clamped tightly around his wrists, which used to be his only permanent restraints. However, the ankle chains were added shortly after the…incident, as the captain liked to call it. Also known as Elliot's one and only escape attempt.
Elliot was shoved forward again. “Hurry up, slave!” Reynolds shouted. “Ain't got all night!”
Elliot whimpered, trying and failing to pick up his pace. “I-I'm going as-as fast as I c-can, Sir. My-My chains—”
Reynolds groaned and rolled his eyes. “For the love.” He grabbed hold of Elliot's long braid and wrapped it once around his fist, creating a makeshift leash that he then used to drag the boy onto the upper deck. Elliot yelped, his neck straining to the side. Tears burned his eyes, which only made keeping up with the man that much harder.
When Reynolds had said the captain had called upon his slave, Elliot had assumed he'd be taken to the captain's quarters. His stomach dropped when he finally opened his eyes long enough to see the crew huddled around each other in various positions on the deck, holding tankards of ale and laughing haughtily.
Elliot squeaked. “S-Sir, p-please—”
“Quiet, boy!” Reynolds commanded, just before throwing Elliot to the ground in the center of the circle.
Elliot landed on his hands and knees with a quiet thump, his chains rattling as they clanged against the wooden deck. He held his breath.
A pair of worn boots entered Elliot's field of vision and Elliot recognized them instantly. His tongue would never forget the taste of those boots. Elliot hesitantly lifted his eyes to meet the captain's, the curtain of his overgrown bangs hopefully hiding the tears in his eyes.
Don't make a scene. That'll only excite them. Let them do what they wanna do and maybe they'll let me rest.
The captain smiled. It wasn't a cruel smile, like the one Reynolds wore. It was something akin to triumph or pride. Elliot lowered his head again, willing his tears to subside.
Whatever you're gonna do to me, please just get it over with.
“There's my pretty treasure,” the captain said. The handle of an overflowing tankard was clasped in his left hand, his right falling atop Elliot's sandy blond head. Elliot flinched at the touch, but if the captain noticed, he paid the reaction no mind. “Enjoy your break, pretty thing?”
Elliot's breath halted for a beat, eyes burning with unshed tears. “I-I've barely h-had my break, M-Master.”
“Oh?” The captain said, amusement weaving between his words. “So it wasn't good enough for you?”
Elliot squeaked and hunched his shoulders to appear smaller. “N-No, that-that's not what I meant, M-Master,” he insisted as he finally met his master’s deep black eyes. “It-It was l-lovely and-and I'm v-very g-grateful. You're-You're s-so good to me, M-Master. I-I just th-thought it would be l-longer.”
The captain chuckled. “It was supposed to be,” he admitted. “But the boys and I struck gold today, didn't we, men?” A cacophony of victorious whoops and hollers erupted from the waiting crew. Tankards were smashed together and droplets of ale dribbled onto the deck.
Elliot flinched again and instinctively raised his chained hands to protect his head. He didn't lower them again until the noise died down several seconds later. “Con-Congratulations, M-Master.”
“Thank you, treasure. Such a fruitful day warrants an equally spectacular celebration, don't you think?”
Elliot didn't know what to say. What did any of this have to do with him? What role in this so-called “celebration” was he doomed to play? “Y-Yes, Master.”
“Glad you agree,” the captain said as he looked past his kneeling slave. “Tie him up.”
Elliot gasped, but that's all he was able to do before his arms were seized and his shackles were unlocked. The crew twisted his arms roughly behind his back, despite the boy's compliance, and threw a coil of thick rope around his bruised wrists. Elliot whimpered. The angle at which the men held his arms strained his already sore shoulders. The ache was unbearable. Following the binding of his wrists, more rope was wrapped around his chest and upper arms, tightened to the point of restricting his breath.
Elliot wedged his lower lip between his teeth to hold back the ever-increasing urge to cry. What had he ever done to deserve being treated like this?
Finally, satisfied with the job they did, the crew released him and their hands fell away from his upper body. Elliot kept his head low to hide the slow trickle of tears that finally began to fall down his sullen face. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. He didn't know what the captain planned to do with him, but the images his mind conjured made his whole body tremble.
A quiet, unintentional sob escaped his throat and he silently cursed his inability to hide his terror.
“Aw, are you crying, sweet thing?” The captain's hand softly grasped Elliot's chin and guided his face into view of the whole crew. “Oh, you poor thing. Don't be scared. We're going to take such good care of you.” The captain flashed a grin that did nothing to ease the fear swelling in Elliot's gut.
“Wh-What are you gonna d-do to me, M-Master?” The slave asked.
The captain chuckled and released his slave's chin. “Well, a celebration must include entertainment. Don't you agree?”
Elliot's breath caught in his throat. “But-But—”
“Here, I have an idea,” the captain interrupted. “How about something strong to calm your nerves. What say you?”
Elliot didn't understand until, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed several serpents pull out various bottles of alcohol. He saw rum, ale, grog, gin. His stomach churned at the sight of not only that, but the insidious looks on the crew's faces. He knew exactly what was about to happen to him and it made his tears fall harder. “M-Master, please. Please d-don’t. I-I'll be good. I'll be your entertainment. I'll do what-whatever you w-want! Please!”
The captain chuckled again. “Of course you will, treasure.” He ran a hand through his slave's choppy, unwashed hair. “You don't have a choice.”
“But, Mas—mmph!” the thin mouth of a bottle was shoved against the slave's lips as the contents flooded his tongue and dribbled down his chin. A strong hand gripped Elliot's cheeks before he could even think about turning his face away, although he tried. It was like fire licking the back of his throat, an agonizing sensation that he had no room to choke away. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't keep up with the steady stream of expensive liquor and his throat seized, refusing to swallow anymore. He coughed and spluttered, alcohol spraying down the front of his tattered, yellowing poet's blouse, as well as all over the crew members tormenting him.
“You stupid bitch!” One of them shouted, punctuating the statement with a swift backhand to Elliot's cheek. He released a pathetic yelp between his incessant coughs and gasps for sweet oxygen. Before the boy could fully catch his breath, a fist closed around his bruised throat, squeezing a tight gasp from his lungs. “That was pathetic! We all know you're better at swallowing than that!”
Elliot's face burned a humiliating shade of red. “I-I'm s-sorry, Sir,” he choked out. The man squeezed tighter and tiny black pinpricks began to close in around the edges of Elliot's vision.
“Enough, Decker,” the captain's bored voice interrupted. “Put the slave down. We're not done with it.”
The man called Decker growled but released his grip on Elliot's throat. “Aye, Captain,” he grumbled.
Elliot hung his head as the captain approached him again. “Look at this mess, treasure,” he tsked, shaking his head in disapproval as he gazed upon Elliot's stained blouse and dripping chin. He tilted Elliot's face up with a hand on his jaw. Elliot stared at him with eyes half-lidded, vision starting to swim. The captain laughed. “Oh, don't tell me you're feeling it already, sweet boy. That was only half the bottle! You've got so much more to get through.”
Elliot squeaked. “P-Please, Master. N-No more. I-I can't—”
“Shh,” the captain said. “Don't speak, treasure. Save your energy. You've got a long night ahead of you.”
-
I hope you enjoyed this!! Part 2 is already written, I just have to go through and tweak some stuff so I don't hate it so much😅
If you have any requests for this au, feel free to send them to me!
Important note: This AU is not in chronological order. This takes place two years after Elliot's initial kidnapping
Content: slavery, whipping, mention of past noncon, threats of knife violence, threats of gun violence, bound and gagged whumpee, degrading language, dehumanization, slave whumpee
-
Elliot sobbed with each sharp snap of the switch against his scarred back. He was on his hands and knees, furiously scrubbing away the dried blood—his blood—from between the grooves in the floorboards. He'd spent many mornings in the crew's cabin over the years, diligently cleaning up the mess he'd made the night before. Usually, however, he was alone while he did it. It wasn't often that he was whipped and bloodied while working. His whole body ached, but his back was on fire as the thin wooden stick carved fresh wounds through his skin. He didn't know what he'd done wrong.
Elliot yelped as the switch ripped through his skin again. “Hurry up, slave!” the amused crew member shouted. “Otherwise, I'll tell the captain you were bad and you'll have to spend the night with us again. Got it, slut?” Elliot sobbed. Every movement tugged at the wounds on his back and thighs. He was going as fast as he could, but there was only so much his small, ruined body could do.
“Y-Yes, Sir,” he choked out through his tears. The crewmate laughed and whipped him again. He whimpered, trying his best to go faster. He couldn't take another night with the crew. His body was so sore and achy and exhausted and after what they had done to him the night before, he didn't think he could survive another round.
But Elliot wasn't stupid. He knew it didn't matter how fast he cleaned or how much he pleased the crew. If they wanted his body, they'd find a way to take it. Still, if there was even a slight chance to avoid being the crew's whore for the night, he had to try.
The crewmate whipped him again, the switch hissing through the air before it landed. Again and again and again. Hot blood trickled down his back, adding to the mess he was nearly finished cleaning. His arms were quivering, nearly unable to hold him up any longer, and his knees were scratched and splintered where they were pressed into the rotting wood. He was trying so hard, but the pain was too much.
Immediately following another snap of the switch against Elliot's back, the hatch that led to the upper deck was thrown open and a frantic voice shouted down, “Paxton! All hands on deck! We've got an enemy ship incoming!”
The crewmate turned to face the hatch and shouted back, “Which one?”
“De la Peña.”
Elliot couldn't suppress his audible gasp. He'd heard tale of the infamous Captain de la Peña in the past. Supposedly, he was a ruthless, bloodthirsty tyrant who cut down any pirate that dared to cross him. He'd never lost a battle before and the graveyard of ruined ships he left behind could fill a gulf. He was the closest thing these oceans had to a pirate king.
The crewmate, Paxton, cursed under his breath and glared down at Elliot, who had briefly ceased his scrubbing in order to hear what was going on. Paxton lifted the switch again and whipped Elliot across the shoulder. Elliot yelped. “Keep cleaning, slave! I'll be back to check on your progress when this is over. Savvy?”
Elliot nodded, tears carving through the dirt on his face. “Y-Yes, Sir.”
“Good boy.”
Once the crewmate was gone, Elliot completely broke down. His shoulders heaved as he sobbed into his hands, trying to muffle the sound so as not to alert the frantic crew overhead. He didn't understand. What was he being punished for? Was the crew disappointed with the job he did last night? They'd all seemed to thoroughly enjoy themselves. Did he scream too much? Was he not tight enough? What would they do to him if they couldn't use him anymore? His body was all he had to offer these horrible pirates.
Loud voices overhead interrupted Elliot's catastrophizing and he turned his attention to the hatch. The voices sounded unfamiliar and Elliot couldn't help his curiosity. He wanted a glimpse of the infamous pirate king.
Elliot swiftly slipped his discarded shirt on, crawled on hands and knees over to the hatch, and lifted it just enough to peer onto the upper deck.
The scene was confusing. Two pirates, whom Elliot had never seen before, were facing the captain and crew. One of them was a tall, husky man with blond hair tied back behind a bandana. The other was a woman with darker skin wearing a tricorn similar to the captain's over her long, dark hair. Her hair was intricately braided and stretched all the way down her back, similar to how Elliot once wore his. That felt like so long ago, back when his hair was still his own, instead of a natural leash for the captain to hold while fucking him.
“I’ve spent a long time looking for you, Whitlock,” the woman said, taking several bold steps closer to the captain. “I'm a very patient woman, but this little cat and mouse game has gone on a little too long in my opinion. I'm ready to collect what I'm owed.”
“I don't know what you're talking about, Karine,” the captain said. “All my debts are paid.”
The woman, Karine, hummed. She brandished a cutlass from her hip and lazily swung it near the captain. “You don't recall the mutiny you staged? Or the ship that you stole? Perhaps you remember the 500,000 gold you took with you. Any of this ringing a bell?” She tossed the cutlass down at the captain's feet. The captain looked down at it, not daring to pick it up. “No? What about the rest of my mutinous former crew?” She turned her gaze to the gathered crew behind the captain. None of them dared look her in the eye. “Hm. Seems you've expanded your ranks, Christian. All men? Figures.” She looked at the captain again. “Given our history, you're lucky I don't slice you in half right where you stand. So do you have my gold or don't you?”
The captain met the woman's eyes again, a dark expression flashing across his face for a split second. Elliot's heart dropped upon seeing it, but the woman seemed unfazed. “I can’t say that I do,” the captain admitted. “Been goin’ through a bit of a dry spell, we have. Haven't happened upon any treasure in quite some time.”
“That so?” The woman smirked. She brought her heel down on the hilt of the cutlass, sending it flying into the air and effortlessly catching it again before aiming the point at the captain's throat. “Shame. Ain't no point in keeping you around then.” The captain made no move to stop her, but Elliot could see the way his face paled. Why wasn't he fighting back? Why was the crew just letting this happen? “This everyone?” the woman gestured to the gathered crew. “Good,” she said without waiting for an answer. “I want your whole crew to watch while I gut their spineless captain.”
Elliot's eyes skirted to the man at Karine's side, who was scrutinizing the ship and crew as he watched the ordeal. His eyes roamed over each frozen pirate, then flicked across the deck, the sails, the helm, before finally landing on the hatch. Elliot paled as the man's icy blue eyes pierced the slave's. The man's eyes narrowed as he started to make his way to the hatch. Elliot gasped and disappeared below deck, trying and failing to rush to safety, but the swift movement pulled at his wounds and sent him stumbling into the wall.
Elliot had no time to gather his bearings before a fist closed around his upper arm and yanked him to his feet. Elliot yelped in both pain and terror as his teary eyes met that of the large man accompanying the woman.
“What have we here?” The man asked, a sinister grin on his sun-kissed face. Tears spilled from Elliot's eyes, heart pounding relentlessly against his ribcage. “The captain's gonna love this.” Even if Elliot were able to speak in that moment, the pirate didn't give him a chance. He dragged Elliot with his bruising grip to the upper deck, despite the boy's pained state.
The woman looked over at them once they reached the deck. Her gaze immediately fell upon Elliot, her expression entirely unreadable.
The man unceremoniously shoved Elliot to the ground at the woman's feet. “Look what I found, Captain,” the man said. Elliot froze. Captain? This woman was the captain? That means…
Sobbing, Elliot chanced a quick look up at Captain de la Peña, who was brutally scrutinizing him with a terrifying level of intensity. Elliot squeaked and averted his gaze, choosing instead to meet the furious eyes of his master. Elliot felt every nerve ending in his body turn to ice beneath his master’s glare. He turned his eyes downward, unable to bring himself to look at the crew.
“What am I looking at, Landon?” The woman asked.
The man, Landon, nudged Elliot with the toe of his boot, eliciting a quiet yelp from the slave. “From the looks of him, I think he's the ship's cabin boy.”
Karine hummed again. “I specifically asked that your entire crew bear witness to this meeting, Whitlock. Foolish of me to assume you were capable of handling even that.”
“It's not part of the crew,” the captain explained. “It's just my slave.”
Karine quirked a brow. “That so? You wouldn't mind if I take a look at him then, would you?”
Elliot's breath caught in his throat. If he wasn't already trembling, those words would've shaken him to the core.
Please say no, Master.
“Be my guest,” the captain said.
Elliot's heart dropped and a particularly loud sob escaped his throat.
Karine sheathed her cutlass and kneeled down beside the slave. “Eyes up here, dear,” she said. Elliot obeyed and lifted his tearful eyes to meet the supposed pirate king's. Her expression was cold and scathing and did nothing to ease the terror in Elliot's chest. Her eyes roamed across his body, lingering a little too long on his exposed bruises and scars. After what felt like an eternity, she stood back up again and faced the captain.
“I'll make you a deal, Whitlock,” Karine said. “Give me your slave and I'll spare your life.”
Elliot's heart stopped. The captain wouldn't actually agree to that, would he? Elliot's life aboard the Serpent's Wrath was hell, but at least it was predictable. He knew how to please the crew, and even on days in which he fell short, he was at least familiar with their cruelty.
The captain scoffed. “Not a chance. That slave is my prized possession.” A warmth bloomed in Elliot's chest.
Karine smirked. There was excitement in her eyes. “How kind of you to volunteer that information, Whitlock. Landon?” She glanced at her companion, who nodded before once again snatching Elliot by the arms and yanking him to his feet.
Elliot yelped at the sudden pull against his wounds and stumbled backwards into the man called Landon. The large pirate twisted Elliot's hands behind his back and held them firmly in place. Tears sprung from the slave's eyes and loud, open-mouth sobbing ripped through his throat.
“Hey!” The captain shouted, reaching out to grab his slave.
With a swing of her cutlass, Karine blocked the captain's path to his slave. “Ah, ah, ah,” Karine said, wagging a finger in his direction. “You owe me half a million gold. Clearly, you require some incentive, so here's what's gonna happen, Whitlock. You are gonna find a way to come up with the money, and until then, I'm gonna hold onto your precious slave.”
“You can't do that, Karine! That slave is my personal property!”
“Oh? Where was this mentality when you stole my ship?” Karine asked. The captain had nothing to say. “You will give me what I am owed. Until then, I will be sure to keep him safe for you, Christian.”
“Master, please!” Elliot cried. All eyes turned to him. The woman's countenance remained stone-cold, but the serpents all wore expressions of shock at the sound of his voice. “Please, don't let her take me! I-I don't wanna go, please!”
The captain's eyes narrowed at his slave first before flicking to Karine. He unearthed his pistol from the holster at his waist and aimed the barrel at Karine's forehead. “And what if I don't agree to this deal?”
Karine was unfazed. “If I do not return to my ship unharmed within the hour, my crew has orders to sink this vessel.” She took another step forward until her forehead was firmly pressed to the barrel of the gun. “You forget that I know you, Christian. Your threats are empty and I will not be bullied by the likes of you.” The captain said nothing and Elliot couldn't help but wonder what his history was with this woman and why she instilled so much fear in him.
Karine glanced at Elliot, then at her companion. “Get him to my ship.”
Elliot gasped as thin ropes were abruptly wrapped around his slim wrists. He didn't bother trying to fight. That instinct had been beaten out of him years ago.
Once his wrists were securely tied, his captor worked a soft cloth between the slave's lips and secured the gag behind his neck. Elliot whimpered. He couldn't believe this was happening. Why wasn't his master fighting for him? He thought he was his master’s prized possession. Was he really worth so little that the captain would allow this woman to use him as a bargaining chip?
Tears blurred his vision and loud sobs broke against the gag in his mouth. He stared at his master, begging with his eyes for help, but the captain merely glared at him. Elliot held the captain's gaze all the way up until a second cloth was tied over his eyes. He whined, but offered no other resistance.
A hard shove to his wounded back sent Elliot stumbling forward, yelping in both shock and pain. “Move, slave,” Landon commanded. Elliot did as he was told, limping as he was led across the deck. Stepping into the small dinghy with the aid of his new owners, he left the Serpent's Wrath for the first time in years.
-
I hope you enjoyed this!! Like I said at the beginning, I am not writing this in chronological order. So the captivity arc is not over!! I promise!!
If you have any requests for this au, feel free to send them to me! I'm having a lot of fun with it!
What if all of Whumpee’s suffering and torment was caused by astral projection into their dreams. Nothing stops it, even when Whumoer is locked up they can torment their play thing
Also enjoy my sweet old dog Frannie enjoying the sun!
So some asshole has thought up a new Tumblr scam: it's a post on a Tumblr account that's named something to make it look official-ish.
Variations include:
account-help
account-sync
account-update
account-updating
These posts show up on your dashboard, telling you that because they think you've monetized your Tumblr account, they're putting you in the penalty box sending you to the cornfield setting you to "Lurker Mode" where you can post but no one will see your posts. And, naturally, all you have to do is click on the helpful link to give tumblrsupport your account data to get it fixed.
Friends, this is a big fat lie.
The official location of Tumblr Support is https://www.tumblr.com/support or https://support.tumblr.com. And guess what? They'll already have your account information.
Tumblr has no such thing as Lurker Mode.
If you right-click on their link, you'll see it's a munged/shortened link. You can go to a site like https://www.expandurl.net to expand that link and see where it takes you: it's not Tumblr Support.
@staff, please be aware this is happening.
Be aware. Be careful. Don't give your account info to anyone. Be safe, and happy blogging!
Despite the exhaustion left behind by the day before, Elliot didn't sleep a wink that night. Not for lack of trying, though. The nauseating sway of the ship and the gentle spray of seawater that seeped in through the cracks in the wood kept him from drifting off. That, coupled with the endless terror and grief working through his body, made sleep a near-impossible endeavor.
The cracks in the walls allowed for minimal sunlight to peak through, only just enough for Elliot to tell morning from night. The rest of the brig remained shrouded in endless darkness.
Elliot's tears had long since dried up. Once Port Iryss had completely disappeared beyond the horizon, the true reality of his situation started to set in. Miles upon miles of ocean lay between him and his home and he was at the mercy of a whole crew of pirates and their merciless captain. He didn't know much about pirates, but he'd heard stories. Namely that those taken by pirates were never seen again.
Elliot flinched as the door to the brig creaked open and heavy footsteps plodded inside. Elliot curled up in his corner and tried his best to hide his face against the wall.
"Morning, treasure," Captain Whitlock greeted. Elliot could hear the grin he wore in his voice and it made his insides clench. How dare he find joy and triumph in stealing Elliot away from his home and locking him in a dark, damp cage?
Loud clanging against the steel bars on his cell made Elliot flinch and instinctively look up. Captain Whitlock grinned sadistically. "There you are. Sleep well?" Elliot glared at him briefly before hiding his face once more. The captain chuckled. "I'll take that as a no. In that case, fancy some breakfast?" The captain kneeled and slid the metal plate in his hands through the slot at the bottom of the cell door.
Elliot glanced at it through his bangs, hoping the captain couldn't see him eyeing the food. Atop the plate lay a slice of buttered bread, half of an apple, and a single strip of bacon.
Elliot curled up tighter to hide the growling in his stomach. Port Iryss was an extremely poor town. Elliot would've been lucky to get a single slice of bread for breakfast. Most days, he simply went without and saved what little food he could afford in order to eat before his shifts at the tavern.
The food on that plate would've been enough to sustain him for a full day. And meat was a luxury that no one in Port Iryss could ever hope to afford. But this food was being offered by the wicked man that had kidnapped him. Despite the deep ache in his empty stomach, Elliot forced himself to turn his head away.
"Oh, come on, sweet thing," the captain cooed. "Don't think I can't hear your stomach growling in there. When was the last time you ate, huh? From the looks of you, it's been quite a while." The captain laughed and if Elliot could've curled up tighter, he would've.
"I don't want anything from you," Elliot finally said through gritted teeth. It took everything in him not to devour the food in a single bite, but he had to restrain himself. His pride was all he had left and he would keep it until it was pried from his cold, dead fingers.
The captain scoffed. "It's cute that you think you have a choice. Everything you'll ever get from now to the end of your miserable little life is mine to give to you." A hand twisted itself into Elliot's hair and he yelped as he was pulled away from his corner and onto his feet. The captain hauled him up until the two were face to face. Elliot hadn't registered when his cell door had been opened, nor when the captain had entered. He stared with a pained expression into the captain's deep black eyes and the captain jerked Elliot's head back, eliciting a soft whimper from the boy's throat. "You eat because I provide you with food. You sleep because I give you a place to rest. And you breathe because I fucking allow you to." His grip on Elliot's hair tightened and the boy gasped. "Do you understand?"
Unable to move his head, Elliot whispered a choked, "Yes."
"Yes, what?" The captain demanded, jerking Elliot's head again.
"Y-Yes, Sir."
The captain threw Elliot back onto the ground and watched as the boy collided with the wall, a choked sob escaping his throat. The captain spat on him for good measure and Elliot flinched. "That's Master to you, barmaid." He spat out the last word like it was beneath him to even say it. Elliot glanced up at the captain, eyes misty and lower lip quivering. "Now, eat. And when you're finished, we're going above deck to discuss your place here. Don't make me wait." Elliot flinched again when the captain slammed the cell door closed and stormed out of the brig.
Elliot's tears spilled over. He felt pathetic and small and so, so alone. He'd grown accustomed to loneliness after twenty years with no one by his side, but this was different. Before, he'd had distractions. He'd had his job, his shitty room that he rented at the inn, his judgemental but well-meaning coworkers. Now, he had nothing.
He wiped his tears and crawled over to the untouched meal the captain had left behind. He was unsure how long the captain would give him to eat and he didn't want to risk igniting the captain's wrath again. He bit into the buttered toast and it was heaven upon his tongue. Butter was a luxury in Port Iryss and Elliot was starving. The bread was gone in seconds and the apple and bacon swiftly followed. He hated himself more and more with each bite he took, but he couldn't stop. He'd never tasted anything so satisfying in his life.
When the captain returned a few minutes later, he eyed the plate and examined Elliot's cell to ensure nothing had been thrown away. Satisfied, the captain smirked. "Now, was that so hard?" Elliot couldn't look at him, shame painted all across his face.
The captain unlocked the cell door and pulled it open. The sharp squeaking of the rusted hinges made Elliot cringe.
Elliot flinched when a hand entered his field of vision, but there was no slap to his face nor tug at his hair. He cautiously opened his eyes.
The captain's hand was outstretched in offering, the look on his shadowed face completely unreadable. "Come on, treasure. I don't bite."
Elliot hesitated. There was no part of him that wanted to take the captain's hand, but being yanked by his hair sounded even less appealing. So he took the captain's outstretched hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. The sway of the boat still made it difficult to hold his balance, so he was frustratingly grateful for the captain's help.
Captain Whitlock grinned at him. "Hands together, pet," he commanded. Elliot was more confused by this instruction, but he did as he was told, only for the captain to wrap thick, fraying ropes around his wrists. Elliot gasped as the rough material bit into his skin. His instinct was to fight the restraints, but the moment he tried, the ropes cut further into his slim wrists, eliciting a quiet yelp from his throat. The captain chuckled at his pathetic attempt.
Captain Whitlock continued to work, expertly and securely tying Elliot's hands in front of him. Elliot lifted his gaze to the captain's face, unable to keep one question off of his mind. "Why are you doing this?" He blurted. The captain's countenance didn't change. "Why me? What did I do?"
This time, the corner of the captain's mouth lifted slightly as he gave one last tug to Elliot's tight bonds. His eyes met his prisoner's. "You didn't do anything, treasure."
Elliot ground his jaw, doing his best to look unafraid. "Then why me?"
The captain lifted a hand and combed his dirty fingers through Elliot's sandy-blond hair. Elliot shivered. "Because I thought you were pretty," the captain answered. "And I like pretty things." Elliot opened his mouth to say something else, but the captain pressed a finger to his lips and said, "Shh. Don't say another word, pet. Treasure's not supposed to talk."
Elliot glared at him. "Fuck you."
The captain tugged him closer by his bound hands. Elliot gasped and nearly tripped over his own feet, the only thing keeping him upright being the captain's grip on his wrists. The captain's face was inches above his own, the sharp stench of cigar smoke and ale burning Elliot's nose.
"Careful, treasure," the captain said, his voice a low rumble in his chest. "Don't say things you can't take back. I may be patient, but I am not gentle. Keep that in mind. Now, move." The captain released Elliot's bound hands, instead opting to lead him by a bruising grip on his upper arm.
Elliot didn't have a choice but to follow as the captain led him out of the brig and onto the upper deck. The sun was blinding after so many hours locked in the dark and the air tasted like salt. In any other circumstances, the warmth of the sun on his skin would've felt like a relief, but Elliot didn't get a chance to enjoy it before a loud barrage of voices was thrown his way.
"There he is!"
"There's our pretty little barmaid! Why don't you serve us some drinks, sweetheart?"
"Enjoy your night in the brig, pretty boy? Bet you wish you'd taken the captain's offer now, huh?"
"Boys, be nice! Didn't you hear it crying all night? Pathetic."
It.
Elliot was no stranger to lewd or embarrassing comments, but he'd never been referred to as an it before. Is that really how these pirates saw him? If that was the case, what did they want with him?
A heavy shove between his shoulders sent Elliot tumbling to the ground. He was able to peel his eyes open just enough to see the crew of large men towering over him. Elliot bit his tongue to suppress the terrified whimper clawing at his throat.
"I'm sure you're all familiar with our little guest by now, eh, boys?" A chorus of affirmative grunts followed the captain's words. "Good. Unfortunately, the poor thing doesn't seem to understand his role here. He's rude, obnoxious, and has an absolutely foul mouth for such a pretty thing." Elliot's face turned bright red and he drew his gaze down to hide the flush of his cheeks. "Worst of all, he tried to refuse the food we so graciously prepared for him. He looks down on us, doesn't he, men? Silly boy thinks himself above a bunch of ruthless pirates, huh?"
Elliot yelped as the long braid at the back of his head was sharply tugged, forcing him to face the crew. Somehow, their expressions had grown hungrier in the two minutes since Elliot had last looked at them. His stomach sank. "I think it's about time we show our little barmaid exactly what he is here. What say you?" The crew's shouts of affirmation were much louder and more passionate this time. There was a dreadful ache in Elliot's gut. "Then let's start with these clothes," the captain continued. "Even after a night in the brig, he looks far too put together for what he is." The captain laid a hand on Elliot's shoulder, bunching up a handful of fabric in his fist before sharply pulling it down, tearing a large, gaping hole in the seam.
Elliot loudly yelped, moving his bound hands to try and hold his shirt in place, but the captain moved on and did the same to the other side. "Stop!" Elliot yelled as the captain tore a long strip of fabric off the hem, revealing the boy's midriff. Tears sprung to his eyes as he curled up in an attempt to hide his body.
The crew laughed as the captain stood back up and shouted, "Who else wants a turn?" An overwhelming number of voices called out to volunteer and Elliot was roughly shoved into the group of men. He screamed as he felt countless hands roam all across his body, tearing through his clothes and feeling him up wherever they could.
"Stop it! Don't touch me!" Elliot cried, his bound hands held suspended over his head to prevent him from fighting. Despite that, his legs remained unrestrained and Elliot desperately kicked at the relentless men around him with all his strength. "Get away from me!" All his fighting seemed to accomplish was fueling their anger. While some still attempted to touch him, others opted to slap him across the face, pull his hair, or punch his stomach. Elliot kept fighting all the same, even when one crew member started to smack his mouth with every scream that left his lips.
By the end of it, Elliot was exhausted, bruised, and battered like he'd never been before. The crew tossed him into a sobbing heap at the captain's feet. His lip was split, his face was a painful shade of red, and the rest of his body was covered in long scratches and thick, dark bruises. His clothes hung off of him in tatters, despite his desperate attempts to cover himself. His hair, that he had once taken so much pride in, was a mess. Several long strands had been roughly pulled out of his once-neat braid and were tangled and sticky with globs of saliva and droplets of alcohol that the crew had tossed over his head.
He felt completely pathetic. Fat, ugly tears streamed down his beaten face. He refused to look up at the captain, too humiliated and ashamed to see the triumphant look in the captain's eyes.
Captain Whitlock kneeled in front of the broken boy at his feet and used a short blade to gently tilt his prisoner's head up. Elliot unwillingly met the captain's gaze, though his tears thankfully obscured most of his view. "Do you see now, treasure? This is what you are here. Weak and pathetic at my feet. You can hold onto your pride as long as you wish, but this is all you'll be for the rest of your life. I own you now. Do you know what that makes you?"
Elliot couldn't speak. His throat was raw from screaming and the finger-shaped bruises around his neck didn't help.
The captain smirked. "It makes you my slave. Which means you will do what I ask of you when I ask it. Whether that be scrubbing the deck until it's sparkling or warming me under my desk, you will do it." Elliot's body was trembling. He wanted to refuse, to scream that he wasn't a slave or a toy or whatever this monster wanted him to be, but all that came out when he opened his mouth was a terrified, pathetic squeak.
The captain chuckled and twisted his blade so the sharp edge was pointed right up beneath Elliot's chin. Elliot sucked in a large, quivering breath as he lifted his head further to avoid the blade. "And if for whatever reason, you continue to disobey me," the captain continued. "Come nighttime, you will belong to them." He nodded toward the crew behind Elliot. Elliot felt their presence in a cold shiver up his spine. "And trust me, what they just did to you will feel like mercy compared to what they have planned for you. So I'd suggest being a good boy and doing as you're told. Understand, treasure?"
Elliot couldn't nod with the blade at his throat, so he choked out a painful, "Yes."
"Yes, what?" The captain asked, a sadistic smile crawling across his scarred face.
Elliot didn't want to say it. He wanted to spit in the captain's face and curse him until his vocal cords snapped. But his thoughts trailed back to the crew and the way they beat him and spit on him and groped him. Elliot didn't know the true extent of what the crew had planned for him and he surely was not ready to find out. So against all instincts, he swallowed his pride and said, "Yes, M-Master."
-
Don't worry, our boy's not broken yet!! Just biding his time until he can figure a way out of this situation! If there is one😏 (there's not. He's on that ship for 2 years)
I am definitely going to continue this, just because I'm having so much fun with it and I'm struggling big time with chapter 30. But i don't think it's gonna be a linear story. Instead I'm just gonna write in whatever order I want. For instance, my next idea for it is Elliot's rescue.
Quartz cave is pre-whump! Marlie is dragged to a cave said to be cursed on the new moon. Marlie's thinking about it in captivity
Here’s a sample!
Marlie lay across the cold rough basement floor. The chains rattled around her frail and bony limbs. She questioned everything that made Alice cruel to her. Why she was the target over anyone else. Thankful it wasn't a human who hadn’t been caught. One night came to her mind. Over a century ago when she was just fifteen.
I don't know what made Mother mad. She never yelled at me like this before. Why did Grandmother and Grandfather have to leave today? I'm scared. It hurts where she's holding my wrist. Wait, that’s the quartz cavern. It’s a new moon. The story from Grandmother!
“Marlie, Dawn, you beautiful and kind girls, we need to tell you and Dawn a legend.
Thank you @oddsconvert and @jumpywhumpywriter for the tag!!
RULES: make a new post with the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how many non-descriptive or ridiculous, and tag as many people as you have WIPs.
People send an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and you post a snippet or tell them something about it!
I don't actually have that many, and some of these can barely be counted as WIPs, but I'm including them anyway!
Worthless Chapter 30
Worthless Pirate AU - the team rescues Elliot
Worthless Pirate AU - day 1 on the Serpent's Wrath
The Fae Prince and the Vampire King - royal whump
WBABW Part 4
Please, Believe Me - general whump fic from my pre-Worthless days
Elliot lives in a tiny coastal village which is a popular rest stop for voyagers, merchant ships, and military vessels traveling between large ports. Pirate Captain Christian Whitlock and his crew come to dock in this village where he sees Elliot working in the tavern. Elliot flirts with him, as he does with most of his patrons, and Christian instantly decides that Elliot is his to own.
Before they return to the ship for the night, Christian waits for hours outside of the tavern for Elliot's shift to end, his crew conveniently staked nearby. When Elliot finally leaves the tavern, Christian intercepts and kidnaps him, dragging him kicking and screaming—or at least, he would be, if he wasn't bound and gagged—onto Christian's ship.
Once aboard and far away from his tiny village, Elliot will become the captain's new cabin boy. He will spend his days cleaning the ship, serving the crew, and being used to keep the crew entertained on long voyages. If he's good, he will get to spend his nights in the captain's quarters. But if he's bad, his nights will be spent in the hands of the crew.
Elliot's feet had gone numb somewhere between hours ten and twelve of his shift at the tavern. His ears were ringing in the absence of the drunken chatter he'd grown so used to. His eyes were heavy and every part of his body ached as he plodded down the tavern's creaking stairs into the cool night air. He longed for a bath and his warm bed, but he had to make it through at least a fifteen-minute trek in order to get there.
"Hey, sweetheart," a voice called out to him.
Elliot groaned internally as he turned to face the rugged man whose presence he hadn't initially noticed. The man was leaning casually against the outer wall of the tavern, a handsome smirk on his scarred face. Elliot guessed he should've recognized him, but he'd seen hundreds of drunkards that night whose faces all seemed to blend together.
Smoke swirled around the man's head as he pulled the cigar out of his mouth and flicked a bit of ash onto the sand. "You're quite the little flirt," the man said. "Fancy getting out of here?"
Elliot eyed the man and smirked. "Nice try, mate, but the brothel is that way." He nodded in the direction opposite of where he was going.
The man followed his gesture and chuckled. "I know where the brothel is." He took another drag of his cigar and blew out the smoke in Elliot's direction. Elliot crinkled his nose but kept his flirtatious smile plastered to his face.
"It's cute that you think you're the first merchant to ask to take me home tonight. You're charming, I'll give you that, but I'm not interested," he said and continued on his path home. He must've been more sluggish than he thought, because the man was in his path before he could take more than five steps. "Excuse me," he said. "I'd like to go home now."
"Perhaps I wasn't clear," the man said, ignoring the boy's statement. "That wasn't a request. You are going to come with me, pretty thing, and you're going to do so nice and quietly."
Elliot wasn't a stranger to unwanted attention after his shifts, but he was appalled by the audacity of this man. His smile died. "Okay. I tried to be kind, but I've had a long day so let me make myself clear. Fuck off," he said as he tried to step around him, but the man caught his wrist and shoved him back a couple steps. "Get off of me!" Elliot shouted, wrenching his wrist from the man's grip. "I'm a barmaid, not an escort, do you understand? If you're that desperate to see me again, I'll be back here at one o'clock tomorrow, but only if you keep your hands to yourself. Got it?"
The man chuckled again and took a bold step closer to Elliot. "I wasn't asking," he said.
Elliot's eyes burned. He could've been home by now, fast asleep on his sorry-excuse for a bed. His patience was running extremely thin. "Look, mate," he said, jabbing a finger at the man's chest. "I just worked sixteen-hours straight. Do you know how many sleezy, drunken fucks like you I've dealt with today? Do you have any idea how many times I've been whistled at and felt up? I'm exhausted, I'm sore, and all I want to do is go home and sleep until noon. Think you can get that through your thick skull?"
The man didn't look the slightest bit intimidated. "My, you're much friendlier when you're on the clock."
"Yeah? Well, it keeps my patrons happy, my tip jar full, and my boss off my back. Now, get out of my way."
"I don't think so, pet."
Before Elliot could open his mouth to say anything else, movement in his peripheral vision stole his attention. Several ominous silhouettes materialized from the dark, crowding in around Elliot and his harasser. Elliot swiveled his head, trying to take note of every man surrounding him, but there were too many. They circled him in droves, dozens in each layer. Elliot turned his gaze back on the man in front of him, who now wore a leather tricorn atop his head and a devilish smile on his scarred face.
Elliot's heart pounded relentlessly against his ribcage as his mind caught up with his current situation. "You're not a merchant," he mumbled.
The pirate laughed, as did the crew that was slowly edging in on them. "'Fraid not, love."
Elliot's stomach was full of stones. He'd never met a pirate before, let alone a whole crew. They tended to ignore Port Iryss. It was too poor to be worth the effort of pillaging. "What do you want from me? I-I don't have much."
The pirate smirked again, using his weathered fingers to tilt the boy's head up. "Oh, I think you have plenty."
Elliot couldn't move. He wanted to shout and scream for help, fight back in any way he could, but his body was completely unresponsive. "I—All I have are my tips. It-It's not much, but you can take them. I swear, I don't h-have anything else. I'm sorry if I offended you. Just p-please don't hurt me."
The captain laughed again, a low and rumbling noise from deep within his chest. He leaned closer to Elliot's face, foreheads inches from touching. "You're cute when you beg," he whispered, inching ever closer. "A pretty little thing like you will make an excellent addition to my ship."
Elliot's eyes widened, but he didn't have much time to process that statement before he was shoved backwards into the waiting arms of the crew behind him. Hands wrapped around his wrists, forearms, and biceps, yanking his arms behind his back as coarse rope was wrapped around his torso.
"No, wait! Please!" Elliot screamed, tears blurring his view of the captain. "Let me go! Let go! Help!!" He shouted in the direction of the lively tavern. "Somebody help me, please! Hel—mmph!" His cries were smothered by a strong hand gripping his mouth shut. He tried to fight, to loosen the man's iron grip, but it was no use.
The rough ropes cemented Elliot's arms against his back. He groaned and screamed beneath the calloused hand over his mouth, but nothing but pathetically muffled cries could be heard. His legs were bound next, until he was almost completely immobile. Once he'd been sufficiently restrained, the hand over his mouth fell away. But before he had the chance to scream again, a dirty rag was stuffed into his mouth and a second was wrapped around his head to hold the first in place.
Gagged, bound, and sufficiently terrified, Elliot fell with a thump onto the ground as the crew abruptly released him. He lifted his head just in time to see the captain loom over him, hand resting menacingly on his saber. Elliot whined behind the layers of his gag as his tears finally started to spill over.
The captain smirked, but said nothing to his captive. Instead, he turned back to the crew and said, "To the ship."
A burlap sack was thrown over Elliot’s head just before he was hoisted into the air and slung over someone's broad shoulder. "MMRPHH!!" He screamed, though the bag muffled his cries even further. Despite his thrashing, the pirate seemed to have no trouble hauling him away.
When the bag was finally ripped off, Elliot was too disoriented to take in his surroundings. It was dark and the chance to adjust was stolen from him when he was roughly thrown onto the wooden floor, gasping for breath as the impact stole the air from his lungs. The wooden floor was damp and smelled of mold. Elliot twisted in his bonds in an attempt to push himself into a sitting position, trying to drown out the echoing laughter as he did so, but he halted when a blade entered his field of vision.
Elliot stared at it through his tears, eyes wide and unblinking.
"There we go," the captain said. "Eyes up here, pretty thing." Elliot followed the blade as the captain forced his attention back up. The pirate grinned and chuckled darkly. Elliot finally got the chance to take in his environment and found that he was surrounded by iron bars. There was no light, save for the torch in the captain's hand, and no sign of the crew, but heavy footsteps could be heard above his head. "Welcome to the brig," the captain said, drawing his attention back once more. "Don't worry, you won't be here for long. Just until you get your sea legs." That did nothing to ease Elliot's terror.
"Now, here's what's going to happen, treasure," the captain continued. "I am going to cut your bonds and remove your gag. If you try to fight me, attack me, or scream for help, I will run you through and toss your body into the sea. Understand?"
Elliot couldn't breathe. This couldn't be happening. What had he done to deserve this? Flirting with his patrons wasn't that great a sin, was it?
The captain positioned his saber beneath Elliot's chin and tilted the boy's head up. "I said, do you understand?" Elliot nodded and the captain got to work removing his bonds. Elliot could do nothing but watch through burning tears, helpless to save himself.
Once he was free, Elliot tried to stand, but the incessant rocking of the ship knocked him back to the ground almost immediately. The captain laughed. A loud sob broke free from Elliot's throat. "Wh-Why are you doing this?" He asked as he stared up at the captain from the ground. "If-If you're upset that I rejected you, I'm-I'm sorry. I'll do what you want. Just please let me go."
The corner of the captain's mouth quirked upward. "I do so love it when you beg."
Tears flooded Elliot's eyes once more. "Who-Who are you?"
The captain sheathed his saber. "How rude of me. My name is Captain Christian Whitlock. Please to make your acquaintance, Elliot."
Elliot's eyes widened. "You know my name?"
"Sure do," Captain Whitlock said. "Your loyal patrons couldn't keep it out of their mouths." Elliot's face burned. He hated those drunken perverts, but at least none of them dared to cross a line with him. Not like this. "Don't look so sullen, treasure. That tavern was beneath you. Don't worry, though. I'll be sure to put your talents to good use."
"Talents?"
The captain ignored him. "In the meantime, get comfortable. And welcome aboard the Serpent's Wrath." Elliot flinched as the captain slammed the barred door closed with a loud clang and slowly sauntered out of the brig.
Elliot scrambled to his feet and threw himself against the barred door. "No, wait! Please, you can't leave me here! Let me go! Please have mercy!"
The captain paused in the doorway and chuckled. "Tell you what. The day you meet a merciful pirate is the day I let you go." With that, Captain Whitlock slammed the door shut, plunging Elliot into near total darkness.
Elliot stayed that way, frozen in place, for a few more seconds before the ship abruptly lunched forward and he was thrown back against the wall. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes, but only when he spotted the sliver of moonlight peeking between the wooden planks of the wall did they finally start to slip down his face. He crawled over to the crack and peered through it.
Through the distortion of his tears, Elliot was able to make out the image of Port Iryss growing further and further away. "No," he whispered. "No, no, no, please." He didn't know who he was talking to, nor what he was begging for. His home was disappearing and no one was there to even notice he was missing. No one would come looking for him, no one would care that he was gone. This was it. This was the last time he would ever see his home.
Elliot dissolved into heavy, broken sobs. He didn't know what the captain had planned for him, nor why he'd been taken in the first place. The only thing he knew for sure was that there was no way out of this. He had no friends that would miss him, no family to come and save him, nothing. He was well and truly alone.
-
I couldn't stop thinking about this so I just had to write it. It's probably rushed, but I don't really care. It was a lot of fun and broke through my writer's block, if only temporarily. I might continue it on my own just for fun. And maybe I'll post it, maybe I won't. We'll see. I love a good pirate au
Awwww!!! Poor Elliot! Love the customer service switch. Like he's not being paid to put up with bullshit. Poor baby! Hope the rescue goes well! Wonder how meeting the team for the first time would go? He’d be so scared!
"Just... leave him alone, will you!?" Carewhumpee finally snapped after minutes of watching in silence, struggling against his bonds with a vigor Whumper hadn't seen in months.
"Oh?" Whumper pauses his assault on Whumpee to look over at Carewhumpee, eyes lit up like a child on Christmas day. "Does this bother you?"
If I missed any content warnings, please let me know!
-
2 years earlier…
Elliot threw open the door to the safehouse, gasping for breath as beads of sweat rolled down his face. The cool air conditioning felt like heaven against his burning skin as he leaned back against the door to catch his breath. Sitting on the couch, Lyra glanced up from the book she was reading and smirked knowingly. “Good run?” She asked, a hint of amusement slipping through her voice.
Elliot glared at her. “Shut up, Lye.”
Lyra giggled, their eyes shifting back to their book. “I told you it was too hot. You should know by now to listen to me.”
“And that's exactly why I don't,” Elliot said between heavy breaths. He kicked his shoes off and moved to rest beside Lyra.
“Uh, absolutely not,” Lyra said before he could sit down. He gave her an annoyed look, which prompted her to say, “You're not sitting on my couch like that. Go take a shower.”
Elliot groaned and rolled his eyes. “Come on, Lye. It's as much my couch as it is yours.”
“Oh, you paid for it?” Lyra said, eyes still trained on the pages of their book. Elliot glared again, but Lyra paid him no notice. “Go shower, Elliot.”
He rolled his eyes again, cringing slightly at the use of his first name. “I hate you.”
“Yeah, join the club.” They gestured toward the bathroom.
Elliot released an exasperated sigh as he plodded toward his room to gather his shower supplies. As he rounded the corner, he nearly ran straight into a tall body as they exited the room next to his.
Elliot gasped in surprise, his heart jumping at the sight of another person in his path. “Shit, sorry…” he trailed off as he lifted his eyes to see who had nearly trampled him.
Christian smirked, eyeing Elliot up and down with his lower lip wedged between his teeth. “Looks like someone had a good workout.”
Elliot's heart jumped again, but this time, it didn't stop. His mouth was dry as sand, his face a mask of fear. He wanted to say something, but his voice died in his throat.
Christian smiled as he began to trail his fingers down Elliot's arm. “Were you coming to see me, baby?” He mumbled.
Elliot shivered. Finally gathering his bearings, he pushed Christian’s hand away and whispered, “P-Please, don't t-touch me.”
Christian chuckled. “I love that little stutter of yours.” He reached up to tuck a strand of unkempt blond hair behind Elliot's ear, but Elliot once again slapped his hand away.
“D-Don't,” he mumbled, taking a step back. He couldn't look Christian in the eyes, could barely even look at his face. “I-I just w-want to t-take a shower.”
A low hum emitted from deep in Christian's throat. “Well, then by all means.” The taller man stepped out of the way, giving Elliot a clear path to his room, which he still hesitated to take.
He knew exactly what was going to happen when he walked past Christian, but that didn't stop the startled gasp that followed the sharp smack to his backside. Tears welled in his eyes, but he didn't turn around. He could picture the satisfied grin on Christian’s face and that was enough.
Elliot furiously scrubbed at his teary eyes once he was safely in his room. His hands were shaking, and it wasn't from overexertion. He felt dirtier than he had when he'd first walked into the safehouse and his need for a shower was no longer solely based on Lyra's request.
Once he'd sufficiently pushed back his tears, he glanced at himself in the mirror. His face was beet red and his sweaty hair clung to his forehead. His oversized t-shirt was soaked through with sweat and his basketball shorts reached all the way to his knees.
What could he possibly find attractive about this?
…
Elliot felt several times better after his extra long, extra hot shower. The boiling water helped to wash away the feeling of Christian’s hands on him as well as the tear tracks that had carved through the sweat on his face. If he'd had the option, he would've stayed in there for hours, but all his exhausted body really wanted in that moment was a nap.
Despite the sweltering heat outside, Elliot had opted for a pair of oversized sweatpants and a green long-sleeved shirt, just to make sure his body was covered. Though that never seemed to matter.
Elliot breathed a relieved sigh when he left the bathroom and Christian was nowhere to be found. Lyra was still reading on the couch, but they didn't bother to look at him. Elliot didn't have the energy to bother them, so he made his way back in the direction of his room, which he almost immediately regretted.
Sitting there, atop his bed with one of Elliot's sketchbooks propped open on his lap, was the one person he was hoping to avoid.
Christian didn't even look up at him when he entered. He just continued flipping through the sketchbook like he had any right to be looking at it.
“What are you doing here?” Elliot asked before he could stop himself. He was slightly proud of the way he had kept his voice steady, despite the dread pooling in this stomach.
“Just looking at your little drawings,” Christian answered, never lifting his eyes from the pages. He flipped to the next one and chuckled. “They're cute.”
“They're p-private.”
Christian laughed again, and Elliot failed to understand what was funny about what he'd said.
“You're adorable, baby,” Christian finally said.
“Don't call me that,” Elliot snapped. Christian finally looked up at him, his piercing black eyes sending shivers down Elliot's spine. “Get-Get out of my room.” He tried to sound unafraid, but judging from the amused smirk that pulled at Christian’s lips, he was unsuccessful.
Christian snapped the book closed and stood to his full height, towering over Elliot. Elliot took a step back. Christian continued to advance toward him until Elliot's back collided with the door. He suddenly felt incredibly small and powerless. He didn't know what Christian was capable of, nor how far he wanted to go.
Elliot's voice was small and pathetic when he said, “Christian, p-please.” Tears flooded his eyes and Christian's smile grew, as though the sight of him like this excited him more than anything.
A cold, gentle hand slipped under the hem of Elliot's shirt, eliciting a gasp from the younger man. Elliot frantically shook his head and tried to push Christian’s hand away, but the taller man caught both of the boy's wrists in one hand, pinning them to the door over his head. Elliot's tears finally started to fall. “N-No, no, p-please s-stop.”
Christian grinned. “Come on, baby, you know you want this.” His free hand traveled further up Elliot's shirt, despite the boy's squirming.
“I-I don't. I don't want this. P-Please, s-stop.” He tried to be as quiet as humanly possible so as not to alert the rest of their team. He didn't want anyone to know what was happening at that moment.
“Shh.” Christian removed his hand from under Elliot's shirt in order to gently brush his tear-stained cheek. “Relax, baby. Just let me make you feel good.”
“N-None of this f-feels good!”
Christian’s gentle touch turned harsh as he grabbed Elliot's face and steered it toward his own, leaning in close enough that their foreheads were nearly touching. Elliot's breathing ceased completely as Christian glared into his eyes. “Quiet. We don't want the others to hear, do we? Once everyone knows, there will be no reason to restrain myself. I'm doing this in secret for you, baby.” His touch turned soft once again, his thumb gently tracing the outline of Elliot's lips. “Because you're so ashamed.”
Elliot's gaze wavered. He wanted to argue, but he was ashamed. He was ashamed of the fact that he was letting this happen, that he was too weak to stop it, that he was too afraid to tell anyone. He desperately wanted to tell someone, but he couldn't. He was trapped.
Christian dropped his hand from Elliot's face and began softly caressing his outer thigh. Elliot gasped and a soft whimper escaped his lips. Christian chuckled. “You're so cute, Elliot. Don't think I don't see the way you look at me.”
Elliot clamped his eyes shut and shook his head, stray tears oozing out of the corners of his eyes. “I-I don't know what you're t-talking about. P-Please, Christian. I-I don't w-want this.”
Before Elliot's mind could register what was happening, he was sharply wrenched away from the door and thrown atop his bed. Christian pinned his wrists to the mattress, leaning over him with a ravenous expression on his face. Elliot couldn't breathe. “Don't lie to yourself, sweet thing,” Christian breathed against his ear. “You want this just as much as I do. I can see it in your eyes.” Elliot gasped when Christian traced his tongue up the side of his neck, peppering gentle kisses along his racing pulse.
Loud, broken sobbing erupted from Elliot's throat. He didn't know what to do. Christian was going to assault him on his own bed and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He couldn't scream for help, he couldn't fight back. He was completely powerless.
Elliot's loud sobbing was quickly cut off by Christian's hand clamping his mouth shut. “Quiet, pet,” he said. “As much as I love the sounds you make, Lyra's just outside that door. Wouldn't wanna let her know what a slut you are, would you?”
More tears leaked out of Elliot's eyes. All he could do in that moment was shake his head and mumble against Christian's large hand. “Mm-mm.”
Christian smirked. “Good boy. Luckily, I know just the thing to keep you quiet.” Christian's strong grip on the lower half of his face was quickly replaced by the crushing weight of his lips on Elliot's. He yelped in shock as Christian's lips forced his own to part and his slimy tongue began to explore the younger man's mouth. Elliot wanted to gag. He tasted like cigarette smoke and ash.
Elliot didn't kiss him back, nor did he bother to fight. It wasn't worth it. He was too small. He wasn't weak, but his wiry frame was no match for the man on top of him. All he'd accomplish by fighting was wearing himself out, and then he'd be right back where he started.
“Fuck,” Christian breathed as he paused for a second. “You're so beautiful, baby.” His hand snaked down Elliot's wrist to his torso, tracing down the lines of his stomach until it slipped beneath the waistband of his sweatpants and reached his upper thigh. Elliot gasped and squirmed as Christian’s hand began to knead the soft flesh of Elliot's thigh. More tears slipped down his face. He couldn't look at Christian. He couldn't do anything.
Christian grinned menacingly down at him. “Does that feel good, baby?” He gently wiped Elliot's tears. “Don't worry. I won't go all the way. Just be a good boy and stay still for me. And don't you dare scream.” Christian kissed him again as his hand began to trail upwards. Elliot squeaked. His eyes flitted over to the floor length mirror to his left as it watched his violation.
His eyes were rimmed in red, streaks of tears trailing down his face. His lips were bright red and swollen from abuse. He wondered if Christian's hands would leave finger-shaped bruises around his wrists.
He looked just about as pathetic as he felt.
Just as he began to resign himself to his fate, his saving grace came in the form of a stern knock at his door. Elliot nearly sobbed in relief when Christian abruptly pushed himself off of the younger man, glaring at the door.
“Elliot? Are you in there?” Karine's voice asked.
Before Elliot could bring himself to answer, Christian grabbed his upper arm, yanked him off the bed, and harshly shoved him in the direction of the door. Elliot stumbled, slightly disoriented from the sudden involuntary movement. He glanced at Christian, who quickly ducked into Elliot's closet and motioned for the boy to open the door.
“Y-Yeah, Karine,” Elliot finally answered, trying and failing to keep the shakiness out of his voice. “Just-Just a second.”
He glanced at himself in the mirror again. He was a mess, disheveled and clearly crying. He scrubbed at his tears and tried to straighten his clothes as best he could, trying not to think about the man watching him from the closet as he did it.
Once he was semi-presentable again, he used a shaking hand to slowly pull the creaking door open.
Karine regarded him with concern in her eyes, even after Elliot forced a weak smile to his face. “Hey,” he said, doing his best to seem as normal and upbeat as usual. “How may I be of assistance?”
Karine didn't look convinced. “Have you seen Christian?”
Elliot's smile faltered. “N-Not since I got back from my run. Why?”
“His phone won't stop ringing. He's missed like six calls from his mother and I don't think she's done. If you see him, can you let him know I'm looking for him?”
Elliot nodded. Following that, he'd expected her to leave and continue her search for the man currently crouched in Elliot's closet. Alas, she remained stationed in his doorway, unmoving. Her expression was scrutinizing and Elliot fought the urge to tear his eyes away from hers. He didn't want to look as guilty as he felt.
Karine's features softened as she said, “Are you okay, El?”
Shocked, Elliot was silent for a beat. That wasn't the question he'd expected. Karine wasn't exactly the gentle type, nor was she particularly comforting. She was, however, unbelievably perceptive.
Elliot swallowed the lump in his throat, ignoring the nausea churning in his stomach. “I'm-I'm fine. Wh-Why do you ask?”
“Because you're stuttering.” Elliot pursed his lips and clenched his jaw. “And you look like you've been crying.” Elliot finally tore his gaze away and lowered his head to hide his tear-stained cheeks. Karine tilted her head to get a better look at his face. “Elliot, you can talk to me.”
No, I can't. You'd hate me.
Elliot shook his head. “It's f-fine, Karine. It was—It was just a n-nightmare. I-I took a nap after my run and-and had a bad dr-dream.”
Karine obviously wasn't convinced, but she didn't push him for the truth. “Okay,” she said. “But if you ever need to talk about anything, we're all here for you, you know that right?”
Elliot nodded. “I know. Th-Thanks.”
Karine half-smiled at him, clearly reluctant to leave. “You sure you're okay?”
Elliot mirrored her smile. “You're starting to sound like Lyra. I'm fine, I swear.”
Karine nodded and took a step back, preparing to leave. “Okay, bud. Let me know if you need anything.” As she turned to leave, Elliot's smile dropped. He slowly closed the door, taking a deep breath to ease his anxiety. Guilt burned in his stomach as his eyes grew misty and threatened to overflow again.
Elliot gasped and flinched as a pair of strong arms wrapped around him, one hand sliding up his shirt while the other sifted through his hair. Elliot bit his lip to suppress the whimper building in his throat as he felt Christian’s hot breath against his neck and his lips directly beside his ear as he whispered, “Good boy.”
-
I'm really enjoying the flashback chapters, if you couldn't tell.
I hope you enjoyed this chapter! Chapter 30 could take a good while, as writing has taken a bit of a backseat behind some personal stuff I've been dealing with. We'll see.
If you have any drabble requests, suggestions, or questions for me or my characters, feel free to send me an ask!
Content: mention of past noncon, mention of past torture, mention of sensory deprivation, self-deprication, self-hatred, former pet whumpee
If I missed any content warnings, please let me know!
-
“Do you have to go?” Elliot asked, nervously fidgeting with one of Colleen's keychains as she slowly packed her things into a duffel bag.
Colleen smiled, glancing up at him beneath the shade of her long lashes. “I'm afraid so, honey. I need to pick up my kids from their dad's house so he and I can finish signing the divorce papers.”
Elliot frowned and dropped his gaze to the keychain in his hands. “W-Will you ever come back?” He mumbled.
“Oh, sweetie, of course I will. If I didn't have somewhere to be, I'd extend my stay, I swear,” Colleen assured him.
Elliot stared solemnly at the keychain. It was in the shape of a young girl wearing an orange mask and a matching sailor suit. He brushed his thumb along her yellow hair, tracing the streaks of chipped paint. He rubbed the faded red ribbon at the back of her head. There was a white cat on her shoulder and he lightly tapped its nose.
Colleen was smiling at him. “You can keep that if you'd like.”
Elliot looked up at her. “Wh-What?”
“Sailor Venus,” she clarified, nodding toward the keychain in his hands. “You can keep her, if you want. I have a whole collection at home.”
Elliot flicked his gaze between her and the keychain. “I-I can't.”
“Sure you can,” Colleen insisted. “I can tell you like her. She's always been my favorite.”
Elliot shook his head. “I-I can't take something you-you care about.” He dropped the keychain, letting it swing back toward her duffel bag.
“Then let's think about it this way,” Colleen began, as she unhooked Sailor Venus from her bag. “If I leave this with you, I'll have to come back for it eventually, right?” She said, dropping it back into his hands. Elliot stared at it. “This way, I'll have another reason to come back.”
“Another?” Elliot asked, before catching himself. “Oh, r-right. You-You want to visit L-Landon more.”
“Not just Landon,” she said, smiling reassuringly at him. “I want to get to know everyone here. I wasn't really here long enough to properly meet everyone. I'll have to stay longer next time.”
Elliot's expression turned sad. “S-Sorry I wasted s-so much of your t-time.” His eyes grew misty and his grip around Sailor Venus tightened as he fought to hold back his tears.
Attention whore.
Colleen paused her packing and moved to sit beside him. “Elliot? Just because I spent so much time with you doesn't mean it was a waste. I had fun looking at dresses with you. And when I say I want to visit everyone, that includes you. You're part of Landon's team, right?”
Elliot hesitated. Was he part of the team? He didn't feel like he was. He was a burden, if nothing else. At the very least, he was more like a pet than anything.
Colleen could see the internal conflict written all over his face and her heart ached for him. She gently took hold of one of his hands and gave it a comforting squeeze. “Honey, you are a beautiful, intelligent, wonderful boy. You are worthy of love. Whatever that horrible man did to you doesn't matter to me. You belong here, with your family.”
That caught Elliot's attention. He lifted his teary eyes from his lap, but he still didn't look at her. “No family has ever w-wanted me,” he mumbled. “Wh-Why would that change now?”
Colleen squeezed his hand again. “Because this is the family that you chose. And they chose you.”
“No they didn't,” he argued. “I-I was a package deal with Lyra. They-They couldn't h-have her without me.”
“Oh, honey,” she said. “You are not an extension of Lyra. You are good enough on your own.”
Elliot didn't feel like arguing again. His tears were pushing harder to escape and his throat felt tight. “N-No one's ever t-told me that before.”
“Well, it's true. You are your own person, Elliot. You are an amazing young man and you deserve to love who you are. I don't mind telling you that every chance I get.”
Elliot finally mustered up the courage to look her in the eye. “P-Promise you'll come back?”
Colleen smiled. “I promise.”
. . .
Elliot was curled up on his favorite armchair, fidgeting with the keychain. He hadn't put it down since Colleen left and her words kept replaying in his mind as he stared at it.
You are good enough on your own.
That couldn't possibly be true. He'd never been good enough for anyone without Lyra. She gave him worth.
“You okay over there, kid?”
Elliot looked up. Landon was sitting on the edge of the couch, a game controller between his hands. His eyes were glued to the TV screen, but every now and then, he glanced over to Elliot for a brief second.
Elliot nodded. “I'm fine.” He turned his gaze back to the keychain.
Landon paused his game and reached for the coffee table to grab another controller. “Wanna play?” He asked, extending the controller to Elliot.
Elliot took the offering and stared at it uncertainly. “You-You want to p-play with-with me?”
“Sure,” Landon said, a crooked smile on his face. “We used to play all the time, remember? It'll be fun.”
Confused, Elliot said, “But-But that was b-before. I'm-I'm probably not much f-fun anymore.”
“I'll be the judge of that. Come on.” Landon slid over and patted the spot beside him on the couch, flashing an inviting smile.
Elliot's gaze flicked between Landon, the controller, the keychain, and back again before he finally pushed himself out of his chair and sat in the spot Landon had indicated. He stared at the controller, racking his brain to remember what each button did.
“Do you remember how to play?” Landon asked.
Elliot shook his head. “It's not v-violent, is-is it?”
“Doesn't have to be,” Landon answered. “You can just build or farm if you want. I can do all the hunting.” He unpaused the game and helped Elliot join, reminding him one by one what each button on the controller did. As he watched his friend struggle to get the hang of it, Landon said, “I'm guessing Christian wasn't much of a video game guy, huh?”
Elliot froze, his breath halting as Landon realized his mistake. He sighed and cursed quietly under his breath. “Sorry, bud. I didn't mean to mention…him.”
Elliot chewed on his lower lip and resumed playing. “It-It’s okay,” he said, his voice soft. “No, he-he wasn't. He liked to r-read and-and watch TV. He and his friends would p-play cards sometimes though.” Landon noticed the way the boy's muscles tensed as he spoke, especially when he brought up Whitlock's friends.
Landon pursed his lips. “Elliot, you don't have to talk about him,” he said gently. “I shouldn't have brought it up. I'm so sorry.”
Elliot shook his head. “It's f-fine. L-Lyra says talking is-is healthy and I w-want to get better. So you can a-ask me anything if-if you want.”
“Are you sure?” Landon asked. After a brief moment of hesitation, Elliot nodded. “Okay. In that case, I've been curious about something,” the older man admitted. Elliot nodded again, though his eyes were trained on the game in front of him, unable to bring himself to look at the man to his left. “How did you lose your memory?”
Elliot froze again, his jaw clenching. Of all the things he'd expected Landon to ask, that wasn't one of them. “My-My memory?”
Landon nodded. “Yeah. You know, when we rescued you, you didn't recognize us. I'm just curious how that happened.” Elliot was silent for a moment, painful memories flooding his mind. Landon could see the way his face paled. “You don't have to talk about it if it bothers you. I know it's hard. I don't want you to push yourself.” Elliot didn't say anything, but his ocean eyes darted from side to side, though they never met Landon's. His knuckles were white as bone with the way he gripped the controller. Regret flooded Landon's body. As gently as he could muster, he said, “Was it after he raped you?”
Elliot took a deep, quivering breath. Landon could practically hear the speed at which the boy's heart was racing. Elliot shook his head. “It was sensory deprivation,” he blurted out. “For three days.” The boy swallowed the nausea burning his throat. He lowered his eyes to his lap. “It was the worst thing he ever did to me.”
Landon's heart broke for the boy. “Worse than being raped?”
Elliot bit his lip and nodded. “The things he did to my body were-were bad enough,” he mumbled, just loud enough for Landon to hear. “The things he did to my mind were…infinitely worse.”
Landon didn't know what to say other than, “I'm so sorry, Elliot. You didn't deserve that.”
Elliot set the controller back on the coffee table and folded his hands between his knees. “It's okay,” he said. It absolutely was not okay, Landon decided. Nothing that happened to his friend was okay. Nothing. “I remembered everything as soon as my mind decided I was safe,” Elliot continued.
“When was that?” Landon questioned, before he could stop himself. There was no need to pry into the boy's trauma, even if he did say it was okay to ask him anything. He was too polite to ignore a question, that much was obvious.
“In the car,” Elliot answered. “On the way h-home after you r-rescued me.”
“That soon?” Landon exclaimed. Elliot nodded. Landon thought back to that day, no longer than a month ago. He thought of the way he'd grabbed Elliot and slung him over his shoulder, the lack of patience he'd given to the boy's obvious terror. The sickening feeling of regret pooled in his stomach again. “Elliot?” He began.
“Yes?” Elliot said in return, finally lifting his eyes to meet Landon's face.
There was something in Elliot's eyes that Landon couldn't place. Something dim and tired. Something that longed for a moment to rest.
“I'm really sorry for the way I treated you that day.” Elliot's brows narrowed a little in confusion. “The day we rescued you,” Landon clarified. Elliot's forehead smoothed in understanding, his gaze wavering. “I should've had more patience with you. I shouldn't have grabbed you like that.”
“It's okay,” Elliot said again.
“No, it's not,” Landon argued. Elliot tensed a little. “Just because I'm apologizing, that doesn't mean what I did was okay.”
Elliot's gaze wavered again, as though he had never considered such a possibility. “Can I ask you something?” He finally said, after several long seconds of silence.
Landon nodded. “Of course, bud.”
Elliot didn't look at his friend as he said, “When you f-found me, were-were you disappointed?”
Now it was Landon's turn to look confused. “Why would I be disappointed?”
Elliot hunched his shoulders a little, like he wanted to disappear. Or take up less room. “Be-Because I was scared and-and confused. Because I didn't r-remember anything.” His breaths came out shaky and ragged. “Just…were you disappointed that I was so d-different?”
Landon took a second to answer, which did nothing to soothe Elliot's growing anxiety. “No, buddy, I wasn’t disappointed. I was just…really angry.”
Elliot hunched forward again. “Y-You were?” He squeaked.
“Not with you,” Landon clarified. “I was angry with Whitlock for what he did to you. You were skin and bones, El. You were terrified and you were begging us not to steal you, like you thought you were some kind of object that belonged to him.” Elliot bit down hard on his lower lip. That was exactly what he thought. A sharp gasp caught in Elliot's throat as Landon's large hand fell atop his knee. “You've been through hell, Elliot. But none of it was your fault.”
Elliot could no longer focus on Landon's words. In fact, he couldn't focus on anything but the weight of the man's hand on his thigh.
“Come on, baby, you know you want this.”
Landon's gentle eyes hardened with concern when he noticed his friend stopped breathing. “Elliot? You okay?” His words fell on deaf ears.
“You're so cute, Elliot. Don't think I don't see the way you look at me.”
“Elliot?” Landon's voice radiated fear as his friend's face turned pale. He tried to keep his voice as gentle as possible, unsure of what he'd done to spook the boy. “Hey, buddy, it's okay. You're safe. You're gonna be okay.” When that didn't work, Landon's heart started racing. “Lyra!” He shouted, hoping the resident caretaker would know what to do.
“Don’t lie to yourself, sweet thing. You want this just as much as I do. I can see it in your eyes.”
Lyra practically sprinted into the room, eyes widening when she took in Elliot's condition. As she kneeled in front of the panicking boy, Karine entered from behind her, quickly followed by Yvonne and Broderick.
Karine's expression shifted from shock to concern to anger in the span of a few seconds. “What did you do?” Karine accused.
“Nothing!” Landon assured her. “We were just talking and then he froze and stopped breathing.”
“Sunshine?” Lyra said as she practically fell to her knees. “Sunshine, you're okay. Just breathe. Everything is okay. No one is gonna hurt you.” There was no indication that he heard her.
“Be a good boy and stay still for me. And don't you dare scream.”
Elliot's consciousness slipped away.
-
I hope you enjoyed! I'm excited about chapter 29 so hopefully it won't take me forever to get out. And there's a possibility of being snowed in this weekend so I'll have plenty of time to write!
If anyone has any drabble requests, suggestions, or questions for me or my characters, please feel free to send me an ask!
2 captives tied up together in a little dark room for hours and hours or days on end so they can’t help but bond, all for their captor’s amusement and the ability to further manipulate them :))))
Content: sensory deprivation, implied/referenced noncon, dehumanization, degradation, captivity, bound and gagged, blindfolded, gaslighting, reference to past torture, creepy whumper, self-hatred, pet whump
If I missed any content warnings, please let me know!
This chapter takes place a year into Elliot's captivity, roughly 5 months before present day.
-
Elliot snuggled into the warm embrace of Lyra's arms around his shivering, emaciated body. Her gentle fingers carded through the knots in his greasy hair as his tears soaked into the sleeve of her jade green cardigan. He'd forgotten what safety felt like. After a year of constant torture, humiliation, and self-loathing, he'd forgotten what it felt like to be loved and truly taken care of.
“Lyra?” He mumbled.
Lyra gently shushed him as she trailed her fingers along his scalp. “I've got you, sunshine. You're safe now. You're home.”
Elliot's fist clenched around her sleeve as more tears poured from his eyes. “Lyra,” he mumbled again.
They continued to ignore him. “I won't ever let anyone touch you again. I've got you. Everything is gonna be okay.”
Elliot released a shaky sigh, closing his eyes as he finally relaxed for the first time in a year. It was warm and safe in her arms. He'd grown up there. It was home.
But when he opened his eyes again, he was staring at a beige-colored wall with brown accents. A picture of a random Victorian town hung in a golden frame beside a mahogany dresser. He didn't recognize this place, but he could still feel strong arms wound tightly around his body, almost painfully so. There was a hand in his hair, soft fingertips tracing along his scalp.
With his brain still unable to comprehend where he was, Elliot whispered the name once more. “Lyra?” The hand in his hair paused and the arms around his exposed body tensed. The sleep-fueled delirium began to clear from the boy's mind just in time for the once-kind hand in his hair to yank it back and shove him onto the ground.
Elliot landed with a loud thump, chills surrounding his body as the warmth of his master’s bed no longer surrounded him. He whimpered, picturing the fresh bruises that would surely form on his skeletal hips with the way he landed. His wrists were wrenched above his head, still chained to the headboard, though his ankles remained unbound. Just in case his master wanted quick access in the middle of the night, as he often did.
“Say that again, mutt.”
Elliot flinched. That's right. He wasn't Elliot anymore. He was Pet, or mutt in this case. He hadn't been Elliot in a long time.
A swift kick to Pet's ribs left him curling into a fetal position, drawing a loud yelp from his throat.
“Say it again!” Master shouted, his angry words reverberating off the walls.
Pet sobbed, disgusted with himself for forgetting one of Master's most basic rules. “I'm so sorry, Master,” he cried. “I-I didn't m-mean to. I-I was just dr-dreaming.”
“Did I fuck you braindead, you stupid slut?” Master shouted. “I told you to say! It! Again!” He punctuated each word with another sharp kick to Elliot's ribs. No. Not Elliot. He was Pet now. He had to remember. Whoever he was before didn't exist anymore.
Pet curled up as best he could, but the short chain binding his wrists to his master’s headboard kept him from being able to fully protect himself.
“L-Lyra!” He cried. “I-I said Lyra.”
The kicks suddenly stopped and Pet crumpled into a pathetic heap. Loud, broken sobbing was all that could be heard, even as Christian fiddled with the chains binding his pet's wrists to the bed.
Once they were free, Elliot tucked his arms protectively against his chest.
No, no, no! Stop calling yourself that! You're a pet now, and that's all you'll ever be.
Elliot shook his head. What was the point? He had long since come to terms with the fact that no one was coming to save him. He was all alone. And even if this truly was his new reality…he wanted to be Elliot just a little bit longer.
Christian kneeled in front of his pet's broken, pathetic form. “You know the rules, Pet.”
Elliot squeaked, curling up even tighter. “Y-Yes, Master.” Master had made it abundantly clear, especially at the beginning of his captivity. Elliot was never to mention anything involving his old life, not even his own name.
“So then why would you say that name?”
“Be-Because I-I was s-still h-half asleep. I d-didn't mean to, Master. I-I swear, I just couldn't help it,” Elliot said as he opened his eyes and finally pushed himself into a submissive sitting position.
“How often do you dream about them?” Master asked.
“A-Almost never, Master,” he admitted. “I-I know the rules, I-I swear. I'm a g-good boy now, Master. I promise.” Tears glistened in his eyes, along with a pathetic amount of desperation.
Master hummed in acknowledgement, his eyes never leaving Elliot's face. The boy shriveled under his scrutinizing glare, hiccups mixing with his sobs.
“What were they doing in your dream?”
Elliot was taken aback. How was he supposed to answer that? Wouldn't Master be angry if he told him the truth? But what other choice did he have?
Elliot lowered his head in shame, sniffling pathetically. “They-They were h-hugging me. And-And comforting me and t-telling me I-I was s-safe and-and that they'd n-never let anyone h-hurt me again.”
Master laughed. “Is that what you think I do to you? Hurt you?”
Elliot didn't know what to say. His eyes lowered to his chained hands and the raw skin encircling his wrists. “I-I don't know, Master.”
“No, you don't, do you?” Master mocked. “You're too stupid to understand why I do what I do to you.”
Elliot whimpered. He hated being called stupid. That was one insult he was a little too familiar with, but it never stopped hurting to hear. All his life, he'd fought tooth and nail to prove that he was smart, despite his difficulties in school.
Look at you now, mutt. A nameless slave. You think someone smart would find themselves in your position? You think someone with any sense at all would allow themselves to be turned into an obedient dog?
You've always been worthless. Why would anyone in their right mind come to rescue you?
“Do you have any idea why you had that dream, pet?” Master asked. Elliot shook his head, unable to answer without audibly sobbing. “Well, I do.” Elliot briefly glanced up at his owner. “You want to go home, don't you?”
Elliot's eyes widened. An accusation like that led to dire consequences. He frantically shook his head. “N-No, Master. This-This is my h-home now.”
A stinging pain bloomed across Elliot's face before he even realized he'd been slapped. The mix of shock and pain drew a pathetic yelp from his throat. He didn't understand. He'd answered exactly like he'd always been trained to. He was being good. This wasn't supposed to happen when he was good.
“Don't lie to me, mutt,” Master said. Elliot flinched. Another devastating accusation. There was no holding back his tears any longer. He was so confused. He was doing what he was supposed to. He was being good…right? He was trying so hard to be good. “Tell me the truth. If you didn't miss them, you wouldn't dream about them. Tell me the fucking truth.”
Elliot flinched, his chains rattling as he lifted his hands to protect his face. He didn't know what to do. What was he supposed to say? Of course he wanted to go home! Of course he missed his family, his freedom, his bed, real food. He missed it all. But would admitting that be worse than lying?
Christian slapped him again. “Say something, you stupid dog!”
Elliot wept. What other choice did he have? Lying wouldn't save him. Staying silent wouldn't save him. He was backed into a corner and there was nothing he could do to get out.
“I-I w-wanna go h-home, M-Master,” he finally admitted. He flinched, expecting another slap. Or maybe a full-on beating. Maybe Master would completely break him down until he was nothing but a worthless heap of blood, bruises, and broken bones.
What he never considered was the gentle hand that fell upon his tear-stained cheek. He flinched violently, his mind and body unable to comprehend what was happening to him. This wasn't right. He was supposed to hurt. Why wasn't he hurting?
Christian gently cupped his pet's cheek, softly caressing the angry handprint that had taken shape there. “See, pet? See how much easier it is when you don't lie to me?”
“I-I'm sorry, Master. I just w-wanted to be a g-good boy.”
“Oh?” Christian said, quirking a brow to feign surprise. “And you think lying to me makes you a good boy?”
Panic lit aflame in Elliot's gut. His breath caught in his throat and his eyes grew wide with terror. “N-No, Master,” he assured, violently shaking his head. “No, that-that's not what I meant. I-I just thought that that's the-the answer you w-wanted. I-I just wanted to please you. I didn't mean to l-lie. I'm so sorry!”
Christian smirked, clearly amused by the panic he had instilled in his captive. “I didn't plan on punishing you today, pet. But I guess I don't have a choice.”
Elliot crumpled into a pathetic heap, resigning himself to his fate. There was no point in arguing or defending himself. If his master wanted to punish him, he'd find a reason. There was no changing his mind, and pleading for mercy only excited him.
Elliot was confused when Master slowly unlocked the cuffs around his wrists. Sure, the chain between them was too short to allow him to crawl, but usually Master would simply opt for a longer one. He hadn't taken the cuffs off in months.
Elliot cringed at the sight of his wrists. The skin underneath was red and raw, practically chafed to the bone. There were blisters and lesions where beads of blood began to seep from. There were angry red sores crusted with dirt and scabs, patches of dried blood caking his skin.
Elliot was immersed in a growing sense of hopelessness. His gaze drifted to the other scars, cuts, bruises, and welts littering his small, underfed body. He looked at the thin scars across his arms where Master's knife had sliced so cleanly. He looked at the hand-shaped bruises on his hips and thighs, the scratches where Master's nails had dug into his once-soft skin.
Elliot thought of Lyra, of the way she held him in his dream, the warmth of her embrace. He missed her terribly. He missed being treated with kindness and love. He missed being human.
“You're thinking about them again, aren't you?” Master asked, though it was more of a statement than a question. Elliot lifted his eyes from his ruined body and hesitated. He didn't want to tell the truth, but his face stung.
He lowered his teary gaze again and nodded shamefully. “Yes, Master.”
Master tsked and shook his head in disapproval. “This is why you need to be punished, sweet thing,” he said, using two gentle fingers to tilt Elliot's head. “So your subconscious mind begins to associate their memory with punishment instead of love.” Elliot merely stared at him. Only when Master initiated it was Elliot allowed to look him in the eyes. Master laughed at the vacant expression on his pet's face. “I'm sorry, pet. Those were some pretty big words, weren't they? Let me try to put it in terms you can understand. I am going to punish you so you are no longer able to think of them.” He made sure to slow his words in order to make them digestible for his brainless pet.
Elliot's face turned a humiliating shade of red as he averted his gaze from his master’s.
But I did understand…didn't I?
It was impossible to trust his own thoughts anymore. Maybe he really was stupid.
“Come on, pet. No more stalling,” Master said as he tugged on Elliot's leash. As if on instinct, Elliot pushed himself into a crawling position and followed his master with his eyes down. “God, you look so beautiful on a leash,” Master said.
Elliot didn't think it was possible for his face to burn any redder. “Thank you, M-Master,” he choked out. Under normal circumstances, a compliment like that would raise his spirits immediately. But not when he was on his way to be tortured punished.
The crawl to the basement was agonizingly slow. He could only imagine the punishment that awaited him. Not only had he lied to Master, he also mentioned his old life, which was Master's strictest rule. Despite that, Master didn't seem to be particularly angry. Elliot shivered. Master's calm was always more terrifying than his anger.
Elliot was once again confused when they reached the basement and all Master did was pull up a sturdy wooden chair and gesture for Elliot to sit.
Elliot hesitated. Was this some kind of trick? He wasn't allowed on the furniture. Not without his Master's permission, at least. He supposed this counted as permission, so he reluctantly crawled up to it and awkwardly sat down. He folded his hands neatly in his lap and awaited his next set of orders.
“Hands behind your back, pet,” Master instructed in an eerily cheerful voice. He was excited, Elliot realized. Oh god, he's gonna kill me.
Elliot did as he was told. His hands were trembling violently as he held them behind the back of the chair. He felt his shaking hands being stuffed into a small bag and he hissed and whimpered as rope was roughly yanked around his raw wrists to cinch it closed. This explained why Master took the cuffs off.
Master wound the rope tightly around both of his wrists before moving onto his ankles next, binding them to the legs of the chair. Tears rushed to Elliot's eyes, not because it hurt, but because he still didn't know what was going to be done to him. This wasn't the first time he'd been restrained like this, but for some reason, it felt different this time. It was so much more terrifying.
After he'd finished with Elliot's ankles, Christian moved onto winding several lengths of rope around his torso, tightening it to the point where Elliot struggled to take in a full breath. That ruled out a whipping. Too much of his skin was hidden behind the rope. A beating would be too awkward in this position. Waterboarding maybe? Or suffocation? Elliot had no idea, which meant he couldn't prepare himself. That was more terrifying than anything.
Master stepped back to admire his work, a gleeful grin on his face. “Wiggle around for me, pet. I want to make sure you're secure,” he commanded. Elliot did as he was told, squirming as much as possible in his restraints, but he could hardly move. Master's smile widened. “Excellent,” he whispered.
“Master, I-I don't understand. What-What are you gonna d-do to me?” Elliot cried.
Master didn't answer. Instead, he knelt before his pet and once again brushed away his tears with a gentle hand. There was something in his eyes that Elliot had never seen before. Something akin to admiration, or…love?
Elliot's stomach turned.
Christian's smile widened. “It's time for my favorite part,” he whispered, turning to fetch something out of a nearby cupboard.
Elliot sobbed. Anything Master enjoyed would surely be completely miserable for him.
When Master returned, he was holding a large sponge, a roll of duct tape, and what looked like a scarf.
Elliot's heart dropped. More tears burst forth and he shook his head desperately. “No, Master, p-please! Please, I'll be good!”
Master froze. “Did you just say no to me, mutt?”
Elliot's blood turned to ice. “I—” He didn't know what to say. Once again, there was nothing he could say to defend himself. “P-Please, Master. I'll-I'll be a g-good boy. You-You don't h-have to—”
“What makes you think this has anything to do with me expecting you to be bad?”
Elliot merely blinked at him.
Christian scoffed. “This is part of your punishment, you dumb mutt. Now, open wide.” He brought the sponge closer to his pet's mouth, but Elliot wrenched his head to the side to avoid it.
“P-Please, Master! It-It’s t-too big! It won't—”
Christian laughed, loud and thundering. “Don't you dare say what I think you're about to say!” Elliot's face turned bright red again. “Remember the last time you said that?” Christian traced a finger along Elliot's quivering jaw. “We made it fit, didn't we?”
Elliot couldn't look at him. He should've been used to this by now. And yet, he didn't think he ever would be.
“Now,” Master continued. “Open your fucking mouth, pet.”
This time, Elliot did as he was told. The sponge was rough against his tongue and tasted of dust and dried soap. It filled his mouth to the brim before Master had even finished pushing it past his lips. “Augh! Hghk!” Elliot gagged and choked on it, tears spilling down his colorless cheeks as Christian finished stuffing the massive object into his pet's mouth.
Christian snickered as he gazed upon his work, struggling to find the end of the duct tape for the next part of the gag. “You look nice like this, pet. Maybe I should keep you like this more often.”
“Nnnh! Mmphh!!” Elliot screamed, shaking his head as his tears fell faster and heavier than before. He tried to struggle against his restraints, but he was almost completely immobile.
Christian laughed harder at his captive’s pathetic attempt at escape. “Okay, hold still, pet.”
Elliot didn't listen. He continued to scream and struggle, terror-stricken at just the thought of having to endure restraints like this on a regular basis. But another swift smack to the side of his face easily shut him up.
“Enough! I was joking! Fucking relax,” Christian chastised. “Jesus, you take everything so seriously. Now, hold still. I don't wanna rip your hair out, but I will.”
Elliot could do nothing but sit there pliantly and cry as Master wrapped layer after layer of silver duct tape around the entire lower half of his captive's face, cementing the sponge against the back of Elliot's throat. He tried to sob, but the sponge absorbed every sound that tried to leave his throat.
Master chuckled. “God, you're just gorgeous like this.” He pulled out his phone and snapped several pictures of his pet's pathetic state, laughing all the while. Elliot didn't bother trying to hide his face. Master had plenty of pictures already.
Elliot had assumed the scarf would be the next part of the gag, an unnecessary third layer just for the cruelty. But as he watched Christian gently fold the scarf and disappear behind Elliot, he realized that it wasn't a gag. It was a blindfold.
That's when the pieces finally started to click together. His punishment wasn't the restraints. It was complete and total sensory deprivation.
Elliot screamed as he was plunged into darkness, the soft blindfold sitting comfortably over his eyes. Tears soaked the dark fabric as he violently shook his head. He thrashed desperately, but his bonds were completely unforgiving.
“Guess you figured it out, pet. I don't care if it was consciously or subconsciously. This is what happens when you defy me, mutt.”
He couldn't do this. He could handle pain. He could handle humiliation and ridicule. He'd grown up with that. But this was too much. This would break him.
But wasn't that the point? He'd broken one of Master's strictest, most basic rules. Master was simply ensuring that it didn't happen again. This would make him better. He deserved this.
The last thing Elliot heard was his Master's cruel laughter before a pair of heavy headphones settled over his ears and the world fell away.
-
I hope you enjoyed this!! This ended up being way longer than I intended it to, but I'm really proud of this one!!
If anyone has any drabble requests, suggestions, or questions for me or my characters, please feel free to send me an ask!
Chapter 27 will directly continue from this point, and then I might do another chapter or two about Elliot's captivity because I had a lot of fun writing this! Going forward, I will probably sprinkle in more captivity chapters every here and there because that's a whole 16 months of Elliot's story that I've barely touched on. So I hope you enjoyed reading about it!
i really like the idea of two people meeting in captivity - filthy, hair overgrown, wearing whatever their captors have provided them - and then, long after the rescue, getting to meet again when they're all clean and groomed and both of them going, oh. so that's how you look normally.
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