Apocynthion
Part 1
Summary: Omegas are rare, something to be cherished and guarded, kept away from the world. You knew better than to wander alone. Now you must pay the price for your recklessness.
Pairing: John Price x reader, eventual Poly 141 x reader
Word Count:
Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, alternate universe, non-military 141, alpha/beta/omega dynamics, shapeshifters, reader has white hair for plot but otherwise is ambiguous, kidnapping, injuries, blood and slight gore, hints of violence against reader, forced nudity, vulnerability, manipulation, indirect threats of rape, sexual assault/non-consensual touching, weaponized shame and humiliation, mild language, oh and angst
A/N: Well, I'm doing it. No promises on what this might become but worth a shot. Please, please heed the warnings as this is probably the tamest chapter out of all of them.
MASTERLIST
The water in the white tub is tinged pink from blood. Itโs warm, almost too warm. Your skin tingles, prickling with the heat. You canโt say anything.
The shock is still rendering you useless.
Fingers bite into your arms, squeezing tight across your chest, almost as if you might hide it from sight. Nudity is not something to be ashamed of in your culture, but now it feels almost violating to have one of them looking at you.
Your eyes are locked on your knees in the water, the claw foot tub just deep enough for the water to cover the joints. One of them is swollen, the right leg already dark with bruising. Your ankle is just as bad, and between the joints teeth marks leak red into the water. It stings and throbs but no words leave your lips.
Thereโs a slow drip of blood, sliding over your lips to your chin before it plops quietly into the water. Itโs a steady stream from your nose, has been since it hit the floor.
Screaming, body flailing in a weak attempt at breaking free. Nails rake across skin, the smell of blood. Falling headfirst, face smashing into the wood. A crack, blood seeping. Stunned, unable to see.
A hiss leaves your lips as the rag is pressed against your nose. Broken, you think. Ragged nails bite into the skin of your arms, chipped and broken.
Hands on ankles, dragging. Nails digging into wood grain. Pulling, pulling. A pop. More pain.
โSorry.โ His soft voice reaches your ears over the screaming in your head. His hand is gentle, dabbing softly at the inflamed cartilage. Beta, you think, the only ones capable of such a gentle touch. His words are just as soft, but thereโs still an edge to them.
Are you? You think bitterly.
The blood slows its dripping, already healing. The rag passes over your mouth and chin, wiping away the rest of the blood. Itโs dropped with a wet plop into the pile, the white stained pink with your blood. A fresh one is dipped into the water, already taking on a pinkish hue thanks to the bloody water.
He doesnโt hold back as he presses the rag against the wound on your shoulder. You whimper, jerking away from him, but his hand grips tightly, keeping you still. It burns, the pressure against the raw, open wound. Itโs steadily seeping blood, staining your white hair pink.
Struggling, weight pushing, hot breath. The sharp burn of breaking skin, the deep ache of teeth sinking into muscle. Screaming, blood pouring.
โTook a chunk out.โ He says, applying pressure to the aching wound. โMustโve hurt.โ
If youโd had the energy, you might have said something. Now you canโt even manage a glare. Youโre nothing but a shell, being bathed by a stranger in a strange house, watching the bath water turn pink with your blood.
The wash cloth dabs at the mutilated skin, tears blurring your vision in pain from the pressure against such an injury. Itโll heal, just like the rest, leaving a scar in its wake.
A scar that represents the finality of your situation.
Tears slide down your cheeks, dripping into the water as he finishes, pulling the plug. Slowly the water starts to drop, gurgling as itโs sucked down into the drain. Thereโs a pink line on the side of the tub, stained by your blood. Itโll be easily cleaned, just as easily as you were. Evidence wiped away leaving a blank slate in its wake.
A towel is draped over your head, blocking out the world for just a moment. Just a quick moment where you can forget everything thatโs happened and imagine yourself back somewhere safe.
***
The fire is warm, logs cracking as they burn. The side of your body, the side facing the fire is hot but you refuse to move. Your leg has been propped up on a folded blanket, elevated to help the swelling. A white fur pelt has been draped over you, giving you a modicum of modesty among prying eyes.
Your broken nails have been trimmed, blunted down to almost nubs. You canโt hurt yourself, you canโt hurt them. Your face no longer hurts, but thereโs an intense throbbing in your shoulder, matching in time with the throbbing of your knee.
Youโre not going anywhere. Not in this state.
Not that youโd really try. Not with them sitting right there.
Two of them. Theyโre sitting there, scarily still as they watch you. You refuse to look at them, to acknowledge them. Acknowledging opens too many doors, doors youโd prefer remained closed.
Thatโs not your choice anymore.
Instead you lay there, listening to the thumping of your heart, feeling the pulsing aches in your body in time with that steady ba-bump. Ba-bump. Slow, even breaths to keep yourself from showing any fear. Youโre not sure you have any left to show. Youโve gone numb inside, your brain a blank space to push the trauma aside for now. Itโll come back later, but for now, thereโs nothing.
Youโre not going to give them the satisfaction of seeing you cry.
The two on the couch stiffen a bit, the first movement youโve seen from them since they sat on the couch. You can feel the shift, your breath hitching as the strong scent of alpha fills the air. Itโs the volatile one, the big one with tattoos. He moves to stand behind the couch, between the two betas sitting there watching you. They know how helpless you are. They left you in the care of betas. His sharp eyes fall to you, piercing through your skin like heโs trying to see the muscle beneath.
Goosebumps prickle your skin under his gaze, your eyes still glued to the wood beams on the ceiling. You wonโt look at him, you wonโt give him that satisfaction. The last act of defiance you can manage in such a vulnerable state. Left that way on purpose to make you feel weaker, smaller, more helpless.
Youโve felt what those hands can do, the destruction theyโre capable of bringing. Guiltless, soulless, merciless.
The executioner.
The three of them turn their heads, seamless and consecutive as they glance at the hallway behind you. You donโt need to see yourself. You already know.
You refuse to lower your gaze, refuse to move as he approaches, footsteps heavy on the creaky wood. Tension brews in the air, suffocating like the heat starting to prickle painfully under your skin. Youโre too hot under the fur but you wonโt give them the satisfaction of seeing you move, exposing yourself to their eyes more than you already have been.
The creaking wood gets closer and closer to you. You can almost feel the floor shifting, rocking with every step. Theyโre not stealthy, instead meant for brute force. Big and heavy and relentless.
The floor cracks beside you, nearly making you jump. Your hands close into fists under the blanket, fingers clenching into your palms. A hand closes around your jaw, forcing your head down and to the side.
The grizzled face comes into view, thick beard peppered with grey. Bright, icy eyes stare into your soul, seeping past the front of indifference youโve put up. The attempt at being strong and defiant against them. His eyes gaze into yours, boring holes in your skull as he forces his way past your defenses. A battle of wills and you have little will left. Not with him around.
His eyes leave yours to rove your face, burning a trail across your skin.
โYouโre healing well.โ His voice rumbles in the quiet, paired with a cracking of a log in the fireplace. It makes you flinch, pushing against his fingers which offer no give. Steel limbs holding you in place.
Those limbs let up, a big paw of a hand sliding down your throat. Your breath freezes in your lungs, body tense as his hand pushes the soft fur down slightly until his hand rests against your chest. He can feel the racing of your heart against his palm, the rush of blood through your limbs, the throbbing pain in your knee and shoulder. Youโd wish this pain, this discomfort on him if only to bring him to your level, lower him on his pedestal just a bit.
You could only be so lucky.
โBit warm under there.โ He murmurs, fingers curling around the edge of the fur blanket.
The protest dies on your tongue as he rips the fur from you, shame heating your body as youโre suddenly exposed to the room, naked and vulnerable. Itโs not like they havenโt seen you already, but this is so different. Here they can look, they can criticize.
He sits back on his heel, dragging his eyes across your body. Goosebumps prickle at your skin under his gaze, muscles flexing as you tense. You dare not move, hide yourself from his gaze. There would be no use in fighting, no matter how much your brain screams at you to retaliate.
The inhale catches in your throat as his palm comes to rest flat against your stomach, fingers dimpling the skin as he tags weight into the press of his hand against you. Itโs possessive, tagging you like a fresh kill. He sits there, staring down at you with his hand pressed against your womb. Itโs silent in the room, the three others watching the exchange curiously with rapt attention. Waiting, seeking the answer to the question of whatโs going to happen next.
Heโs dismantling you, breaking down those last few barriers of self control. He wants you angry and humiliated, broken down and malleable. Youโre waiting, clinging to those last few shreds of sanity, hands still curled into fists as you prepare yourself for whatโs going to happen next. What his next move will be. Heโs the one in control, heโs the one theyโre all looking to for direction.
He could do it now, while youโre in a weakened state. Invoke that right, partake of that offensive ritual. Strip you of the last of your decency, your resolve, your humanity. Youโre trembling under his hand, breaths shallow as you wait, you anticipate.
Youโre helpless, completely helpless.ย
He removes his hand, resting it on his bent knee. He rocks back onto his heels, pushing himself up to stand. You shift for the first time, sweat making the blanket under your back soggy.ย
โWhat?โ You ask, your resolve beginning to come back now that the direct threat is gone. Anger is starting to bubble inside of you, the last bit of your honor still intact. โNot going to rape me in front of them? Not going to let them take turns?โ
A smirk lifts the corner of his mouth, his chest shaking in a chuckle. โNot yet.โย
The words strike a chord of fear in you despite your attempts to remain indifferent. Not yet. He would sink so low as to partake in such a ritual. He's already taken you, stripped you of your freedoms and your pride. He's dangerous, they all are, and they've made sure you know that.
***
โCโmon lass. Donโ make me do it.โ
The one with the god-awful hair is speaking to you. You had decided not to take him seriously because who in their right mind has a mohawk willingly? Deep down you know you should take him seriously. Big, stocky, meant for power not speed. You might have thought him an alpha, if it wasnโt for the playful glint in his eye. He doesnโt hold himself like an alpha, no domineering scent overpowering your senses.
His scent is surprisingly soft. Youโre getting a strong whiff of it with your close proximity.
Heโs pulled you up so youโre sitting, the fur pooled at your waist. Heโs trying to get you up, but youโre trying your best to make it as hard as possible. You could probably get up on your own if you had to, even with one and a half usable legs. Youโre being stubborn on purpose. Not out of hope heโd give up and let you lay there, but instead you do it in your weak attempts at defiance. They probably find it amusing, but to you itโs the only shreds of your hope and sanity you have left.
The situation hasnโt quite registered yet. It still feels very surreal. Despite the painful reminders your injuries conjure up, thereโs still a delightful cloudiness in your brain when you think about your new reality. It still feels temporary, like your parents will walk through the door at any moment to take you back to your home, your pack.
Youโre not stuck in this nightmare, youโre just waiting for the moment when it all gets revealed as some kind of sick joke.
Itโs not a joke. Itโs very real.
The hand groping your chest brings you back into that nightmarish reality.
โStop.โ You say firmly, trying to bat his hand away where it squeezes your bare breast.
He doesnโt stop, not like you expected him to. Instead he grips you harder, his fingers pinching your nipple. You swing at him, hitting his bare chest but it doesnโt phase him in the slightest.
โStop!โ You shriek, and he finally does let go, only to catch your hands.
He grips both of your wrists in one of his hands, the other closing around your jaw, cheeks squished as he holds your face. That playful glint has been replaced by an intensity in his gaze, the back of your neck prickling as the sense of danger rolls through you.
โYer our omega.โ He grits out through his teeth, baring them at you. โI can damn well touch ye if I please.โ
โEase up, Johnny.โ The rough voice of the big alpha cuts through the tension.
Johnny.
Itโs the first of their names youโve heard. It fits him, you have to admit. You wonder what the othersโ names are. They wonโt come easily, you donโt think. Theyโre not likely to do a meet and greet with you.
โI donโt want no sniffling bird at the table.โ The big alpha says, continuing on his path into the kitchen.
Johnny releases you slowly, lowering his hands. Your chest is heaving from the adrenaline that had coursed through your body. Your poor adrenal glands are probably exhausted and itโs not even dark outside yet. Thereโs tears in your eyes, but the words of the big alpha come back to you. The last thing you want to do is anger him. Your knee throbs as a reminder as to why.
โCan I get a shirt?โ You ask quietly, wrapping your arms around yourself. The fire is hot against your back and you know as soon as youโre away from it youโll be cold.
โNo.โ Johnny says before tugging the blanket off you completely.
Tears prick behind your eyes, tears of shame as youโre lifted off the floor and into his arms. You refuse to look at him, refuse to hold on as he begins to move, carrying you from the living area over to the table.
The light is on above the table, casting a bright, warm glow around the nook. Youโre placed in a chair on the far side of the table facing the door. The way out so close, but yet so far. Thereโs no way you could get out. You canโt run, not in this state.
It feels so cruel.
The others join you, the other beta and the big alpha bringing steaming bowls of soup to the table. Theyโre all still bare chested, clad in only bottoms of varying sorts. The big alpha sports jeans, the other beta having chosen sweatpants. Johnny wears a pair of basketball shorts, and the head alpha sports a pair of cargo pants. You canโt help but wonder if theyโre wearing them simply for your comfort, if theyโd otherwise be walking around naked.
No, they wouldnโt have given you such a comfort.
If nudity was the norm for them, they wouldnโt have stopped it on your behalf.
The donโt seem to hold the same care for you, though.
The wood of the chair is cold against your skin that had been heated by the fire under the fur. It has your nipples pebbling, your arms still crossed in front of your body as a bowl of soup is placed in front of you. Itโs brothy, and you can see various vegetables floating in it. Thereโs a biscuit on the side, butter and jam placed on the table.
You watch them sit, the big alpha taking the lone seat on the right side of the table, the two betas taking the chairs on the left, Johnny sitting closer to you. The head alpha takes the seat at the head of the table, directly across from you. Itโs a purposeful placement. Second alpha to the right, the beta closest to the alpha on the left, the omega across at the other end of the table. Positions based on rank of power.
You doubt youโll be allowed such power in this pack.
โSomething wrong?โ The head alpha says, and you quickly realize youโve been staring. Youโre tired, your brain exhausted from fighting. Itโs purposeful. Itโs all so purposeful. Put you through the ringer until youโre exhausted and forced to submit.
โIโm cold.โ You say quietly, arms still wrapped around yourself as you hunch in the chair, trying to give yourself some modicum of modesty.
โSoupโll fix that.โ He says simply, picking up his spoon.
The others follow, the clinking of silverware starting to fill the quiet cabin. You continue to stare at the soup, your eyes filling with tears. Youโre not hungry, but you know theyโll force feed you if you donโt eat. Itโll only heighten the shame already burning through you. You feel violated, embarrassed, vulnerable. The worst part is none of them seem to even care. Not one of them seem bothered by this treatment of you.
There truly is no mercy to be found here.
You pick up your spoon, one arm still across your chest as you stir the soup. Chunks of meat kick up to the surface. You wonder if they grow and hunt themselves, or if they go into town for food. Youโve never seen them in town, but then again, you never get to go to town often. Too many eyes, too many possibilities. You were to be hidden away, kept secret and protected.
Now look at you.
You try not to cry as you lift a spoonful of soup to your mouth. I donโt want no sniffling bird at the table, the big one had said. You donโt want to test him, scared of what he might do. Instead you shove the emotions down, focusing on the soup. You are hungry. You can feel the beginning pangs deep in your stomach as the savory scent of the soup fills your nose. You havenโt eaten since this morning.
How long ago that feels now.
The soup is good. Decent flavor. The biscuit is a bit dry, but thatโs what the soup is for. Itโs quiet at the table, though, no conversation to drown out the sound of silverware and chewing. You wonder if thatโs normal, or if no one really knows what to say in this situation. They all eat, none of them looking at each other. None of them look at you either. Itโs a small relief.
Your hand is shaking by the time you finish your soup. Nerves are still eating away at you, your brain still hypervigilant of the danger youโre in. Youโre sitting with an unknown pack in an unknown place, injured and frightened. You canโt overpower them, you canโt even outrun them. They had proven that. Theyโre bigger, stronger, faster than you. Youโre just an omega, forced to be at their mercy.
You wrap your arms around yourself again, trying to seem as small as possible in your seat. All you want to do is lay down and sleep but youโre too aware, too afraid. You donโt want to know what kinds of things they might do to you as you sleep. Nothing would stop them anyway, but the prospect of you being unaware has your skin crawling.
Youโre shaking as you sit there, wrapped in your own arms. Your knee is throbbing from the position itโs been forced into. You canโt wait for that to heal. Itโs a nuisance and itโs inhibiting your ability to run. If youโre going to escape and get back home, you need to be able to sneak around and run when you get the chance.
You donโt know when that chance will be.
Youโre not sure it will ever come. Youโd have to get past all four of them, which you doubt theyโll make an easy task for you. One of them will always be hovering, always near the door. A window is a possibility, but you havenโt seen much else of the house besides this main area. There have to be windows you could possibly climb out of if you can just get a moment alone.
You donโt know when that will be either.
First you need your knee to heal. Then youโll deal with creating an escape plan.
Sweat is beading on your forehead from the deep throbbing in your knee. You try to shift, straightening it as best you can even as the edge of the chair bites into the back of your leg uncomfortably. Youโd love to lay back down, but youโre not sure what their next move will be, what their plan is.
The head alpha is staring at you, no doubt having sensed your discomfort. He doesnโt say anything, his elbows resting on the table as he watches you. Maybe heโs waiting, testing how strong your resolve is, how far he can push you before you break. You refuse to give in that easily, refuse to let him win. Itโs what he wants, your full submission. Youโre not going to give him that pleasure.
Your skin prickles as his gaze darkens, his eyes trailing down your front to where your breasts peak out above the table. The urge to cover yourself is strong, but you wonโt give him that satisfaction. You wonโt give him any satisfaction.
Youโre going to make this as hard for him as possible.
โWeโre going to lay down some ground rules.โ He finally says, breaking the tense silence around the table. All eyes flicker to him, waiting, ready to obey. โYouโre not to leave this house.โ He says, staring pointedly at you. โThe world is a dangerous place for an omega. You never know whoโs lurking out in the woods.โ
Heโs taunting you.
โWeโre nowhere near civilization, and I wonโt have you getting lost in the woods.โ
You doubt heโd let you go far enough to even touch the door, much less pass through it.
โYouโre part of this pack now, so youโre going to pitch in.โ He continues. โI know you have skills. Cooking, cleaning, mending. You do your part, we wonโt have any problems.โ
He speaks as if youโre going to be here forever. Well, in his mind you are.
โYouโre the lowest rank in this pack. Youโre here to serve. My boys ask something of you, you do it.โ He says. You ignore Johnnyโs smirk. โThereโs punishment for making trouble. Iโd hate to have to enforce that upon you.โ
No you wouldnโt.
โThis is your home now.โ He says. โThe sooner you accept that, the easier this all will be.โ
You doubt it.
Your gaze leaves his as Johnny stands, your eyes flickering to watch him as he starts to gather bowls. He does so wordlessly, the other beta standing to join him. The meeting is adjourned, the conversation over. He takes your empty bowl, the spoon clacking as he drops it inside before taking it from in front of you. Your eyes flicker back to the alpha, his eyes still on you. You feel more exposed now without the safety of the bowl before you. How strange that such a little thing could offer so much security.
The other alpha pushes his chair back before standing. You canโt stop your gaze from lifting to stare at his hulking form. Heโs not any taller than the head alpha, but he seems bigger. He carries himself differently, with more power. If you hadnโt known, you would have assumed he was the head alpha just by looks.
The head alpha stands as well, looming over the table. You lower your gaze to the wood in front of you, not wanting to stare at him as he slowly approaches you, stalking towards you like a predator hunting his prey. You suppose you are his prey. He hunted you down like you were.
How stupid you were going so far into the woods.
Tears prick your eyes as his hands slip under you, arms looping under your knees and around your shoulders. He lifts you easily, hoisting you up into his grasp. He doesnโt even seem to struggle with your weight, a show of power. How easily he can control you. If he canโt break you mentally, he will break you physically. His words had bordered on that threat, the double meaning not lost on you.
He had proven that to you already.
He lays you back down in front of the fire, head pillowed on the cushion, his hands propping your knee back up on the stack of pillows and blankets. That hand drags slowly down your thigh, rough skin catching on yours. A workerโs hands. He pauses for a moment, big hand gripping your thigh before he removes it, grabbing the white fur and draping it back over you.
****
Itโs the head alpha that carries you to bed. You hadnโt slept any, even as the night crawled on. Itโs late, the moon already up and drifting through the sky. How you wish you could see her, beg her to fix this, to take you away from this nightmare. Instead youโre met with a small window above the bed reflecting the light fixture on the ceiling in the inky blackness.
Youโre laid down on the bed gently. Wood framed, hand-made you think. The mattress is soft, the pillows fluffy. Feathers, you think. Heโs nice enough to tuck one under your knee, moving the blankets down out of the way. The white fur has come with you, draped over your form as you lay there on the bed. You wish you were home, you wish you were being tucked in and kissed by your mother. You were too old for that but she still insisted. Youโre her baby, her only child.
Does she think youโre deadโ?
Theyโll be looking for you. All night theyโll search. Maybe theyโll find the blood, maybe theyโll assume the worst. Or maybe theyโll know. Maybe theyโll come looking. Maybe you wonโt have to escape at all.
The alpha moves away from the bed, heading towards a door on the far wall. It opens, a light switching on inside. A bathroom. He doesnโt close the door as he goes in, your eyes floating to the ceiling as you listen to him. Running water, a toothbrush, a stream of piss into the toilet, the light switch flicking as he comes back out. Your eyes dart to him before quickly jumping back to the ceiling.
Heโs nude.
Itโs not unusual, but this feels different. Itโs intentional. Degrading.
You continue to stare up at the ceiling as he approaches the bed, cock swinging between his legs. If you had the strength you would have stared at him, fighting that dominance heโs engaging by presenting himself in such a state. Heโs testing you, showing you where the boundaries lie. There are little boundaries between the two of you. Youโve been claimed, a shackle of ownership placed around your throat where his teeth dug into your skin and tore out a chunk. Youโll wear that shackle for the rest of your life, a constant reminder of who you belong to, who you answer to.
He turns on the lamp beside the bed before turning off the overhead light, bathing the room in the soft glow of the yellow light bulb.
Tears prickle your eyes as he climbs onto the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. Your leg twitches as his hands touch your skin, pressing against your bruised and throbbing knee. You hiss, your eyes squeezing closed at the pain as he pushes lightly against the swollen joint.
โItโll be healed by tomorrow night.โ He says, releasing your leg to lay against the pillow again.
You keep your gaze up, fighting tears as he settles onto the bed next to you with a sigh. He pulls the blankets up, covering you with them before he settles on his side facing you. Heโs staring at you but youโre not brave enough to stare back. All that strength you held at the dinner table is gone, exhaustion pulling at your limbs. Youโre too afraid to sleep, laying next to a stranger. A stranger who attacked you, forced you to be his mate, forced you here into his home, into his pack.
Why did you stray so far from home?
His fingers close around your jaw, forcing your head to the side. A tear slides down your cheek as you stare at him, his eyes lidded. โYouโll be happy here.โ
Itโs not a question, not even a suggestion. Heโs telling you what youโre going to feel. Youโll be happy here because you have no choice. This is your home, your family now. These men who stole you away and forced you to be one of them, these men whose hands only know violence.
The rough grips on your body, hands pinching and twisting and breaking, teeth sinking in deep, ripping and tearing you apart.
His thumb wipes the tear that slides down our cheek. Such a soft, tender caress compared to what you know heโs capable of. He stares deep into your eyes, digging, searching, reaching in to find your very soul tucked safely away. Thatโs one thing he can never have. He can take your body and your mind, but he canโt touch your soul, no matter how hard he tries.
He pulls your head forward, leaning close to you. Your breath hitches, your heart racing hard in your chest. Thereโs a moment of stillness before he closes the distance, pressing his lips to yours. Itโs shockingly soft and gentle, a small peck of the lips, but it does nothing to quell the fear rising in you. How contradicting his actions are. The tight grip on your jaw keeping you in place, the soft almost tender press of his lips.
Danger! Your mind screams. Heโs dangerous and heโs only further proving it right now.
He pulls back, holding you there for a moment before he releases you. He rolls over onto his back, laying there in the bed next to you. In bed with a stranger, wounded and claimed. Not an ideal situation, and certainly not how you expected your night to end. You want to be back home, back in your bed, back safe with your parents. Youโll never see them again.
More tears cascade down your cheeks as you lay there, the reality of your situation hitting you.
โCan I ask you something?โ You speak quietly, your voice trembling.
โHm?โ He hums, already half asleep.
โWhatโs your name?โ You ask.
Heโs silent for a moment, and youโre worried he might have fallen asleep already. Instead he speaks, giving you his name in the darkness.
โJohn.โ
