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
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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.
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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’s pirate au Elliot’s worst memory from before being captured? What about after?
Thank you so much for this ask!! This was a lot of fun to write and I hope you enjoy it!!
It's a long one though, so brace yourselves. 5.4k words
Worthless Pirate AU - Memories
Masterlist
Content: slavery whump, branding, threat of noncon, mention of prostitution, homelessness, minor character death, minor gore, very brief suicidal ideation
If I missed any content warnings, please let me know!
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Pre-captivity
The tight, bruising grip around Elliot’s bicep fell away, only for a quick shove between his shoulder blades to send him tumbling down the porch stairs. He landed on his hands and knees in the thick, viscous mud as the pouring rain pelted him and soaked through his worn, moth-eaten clothing.
“‘Bout fucking time I was rid of you, boy!” came a voice from behind him. Elliot peered over his shoulder at the woman in the doorway. Her long, gray hair was twisted into a thick knot at the top of her head, held back by her loosely-tied nighttime bonnet. She was clad in a stained, yellowing shift that reached to her knees and in her left hand was a lit candle, which she was careful to shield from the rain. Her wrinkled features were twisted into a scowl as she stared at the drenched, muddied boy she’d just pulled out of bed. “Been waitin’ for this day for eighteen long years!”
Elliot’s eyes widened and he quickly scrambled to face her as she began to close the rickety door behind her. “Madam Sibella, wait, please!” The woman paused and glared down at him. “Please, I-I don't understand. What am I being p-punished for?”
Madam Sibella scoffed and Elliot caught a glimpse of her rotting teeth in the flickering candlelight. “This ain't a fucking punishment, you stupid dog!” Elliot flinched. No matter how many times she used that nickname, it never got any easier to hear. “As of about forty minutes ago, you ain't me fucking problem anymore!”
Forty minutes ago? What was she talking about? Confusion clouded Elliot's features. He wrapped his arms around himself in an attempt to shield his exposed flesh from the cold and tears pricked the corners of his eyes. He didn't understand. One moment, he was sound asleep atop his wooden mattress, and the next, he was being shoved out the door and into the rain.
Elliot opened his mouth to speak again, but that's when the realization hit him. His eyes went round as saucers and his frantic breathing ceased for a beat. “N-No,” he mumbled. “No, no, no, please! You can't do this!”
Madam Sibella smirked at the sight of his panic. “Yer eighteen now, boy. The law say you ain't mine anymore and I won't have you taintin’ this house any longer.”
“But that's not fair!” Elliot shouted, several stray tears mixing with the rainwater on his face. He crawled a couple steps forward until he was nearly at the porch again, desperate for a reprieve from the relentless rainfall. “Fletcher's twenty-one and you let him stay as long as he wants!”
Madam Sibella's smirk fell and her eyes darkened. An icy shiver scurried down Elliot's spine and he couldn't tell if it was from the rain or his former guardian's frosty glare. “Fletcher's worth his weight!” She shouted. Elliot flinched again, a soft whimper slipping past his lips. “He's got a job that helps pay for the rest of you wee brats! He helps to carry me heavy shipments in! Fletcher's earned his keep!”
Elliot was trembling now, the frigid rainwater soaking him to the bone as his tears fell free. “P-Please, Madam Sibella. I-I can w-work t-too. Just-Just give me a chance, please!” He begged.
Madam Sibella cackled at that, her heavy laughter flickering the candle's flame. “You?” She exclaimed, eyeing his small, emaciated form. “What could you do?”
Despite the cold night air, a heat crawled up Elliot's neck and onto his cheeks. “I-I could c-clean. I could help entertain the-the younger boys. P-Please, just-just have mercy. I have n-nothing. You can't l-leave me out here. Wh-What am I s-supposed to do?”
“Not me problem, boy. Get a fucking job, why don't you? The brothel's always lookin’ for new whores, I hear.”
Elliot gasped. His trembling lips were parted in shock and he wound his arms tighter around himself in an attempt to shield his shivering body from view. “You-You can’t s-say that to me.”
“Ain't like yer good for anything else! Now get the fuck off me property!” Madam Sibella shouted.
Elliot flinched, but he didn't move. “Madam S-Sibella, I-I'm b-begging you—”
“Fletcher!” Sibella shouted into the house. Elliot gasped. “There's a rat on me porch!”
Elliot scuttled backwards a little, but not before a large, hulking man appeared in the doorway. The man was shirtless and his blond hair was cropped all the way to the scalp. He had a nasty scar trailing from his eyebrow to his chin and his icy blue eyes zeroed in on Elliot instantly. His lips curled up into an ugly, crooked grin, flashing his missing teeth in full display.
“Get rid of it for me, would you?” Madam Sibella said. Without sparing Elliot a second glance, she maneuvered around Fletcher and disappeared into the house.
Elliot's stomach twisted into a knot. He scrambled to his feet and attempted to run, but the slick mud sent him tumbling back onto his hands and knees before he could make it three steps. Elliot whimpered and sobbed as a large hand tangled itself in his sandy-blond locks and hauled him to his feet. The boy whined in pain as Fletcher dragged him into an empty alleyway not far from Madam Sibella's.
“P-Please!” He begged as Fletcher shoved him against a stone wall. “P-Please, Fletcher. I-I'm s-sorry. I just—”
“Quiet, mutt!” Fletcher's booming voice commanded as he pushed Elliot to his knees. Elliot wept. Fletcher harshly shook Elliot's head from side to side with the hand tangled in his hair, laughing as he did so. “You're fucking lucky Sibella ain't selling you, Córdova. She could make good money off a pretty face like yours.” He tightened his grip on Elliot's hair, bringing the smaller man's face ever closer to his groin, despite the boy's struggling.
Elliot whimpered and thrashed against the tight grip in his hair.. “P-Please, n-no! Please don't!”
Fletcher chuckled as he pinned Elliot's head against his thigh and carded his fingers through the boy's rain-soaked hair. Elliot sobbed, squirming and punching while Fletcher laughed. “You poor thing,” Fletcher mocked. “Tell you what, mate. I'll come by and visit you at the whore house someday. Maybe then I'll give you the honor of letting you swallow my cock.” Fletcher roughly threw Elliot to the ground and pressed a foot to his back to keep him there. Elliot whined. “But until then,” he continued. “Don't show your pretty face here again, mutt. Or I'll sell you to one of the merchant crews at my dock. They're always in the market for a pretty little thing to join them.”
Elliot sobbed, his shoulders shaking. The boot between his shoulder blades kept his face pressed firmly into the mud.
When Fletcher finally removed his foot from Elliot's back, it was only to deliver a swift kick to his ribs instead. Elliot yelped and curled in on himself, shielding his head with his arms while the rest of his body trembled and shivered. He didn't know how long he lay there, but by the time he finally looked up from the protective cage his arms had created, Fletcher was gone.
Elliot sniffled and pushed himself into a sitting position against the stone wall at his back. He hugged his knees to his chest in order to fully conceal himself beneath the overhang of the building behind him. It did little to shelter him from the rain, but it was enough.
As Elliot sat there, eyes fixated on the muddy ground, the full reality of his situation started to catch up with him.
It was his eighteenth birthday.
He was homeless, penniless, and without any friends or family to turn to. He had nothing but the torn, muddy clothes on his back.
Elliot hugged himself a little tighter. Madam Sibella's home for boys had never been kind to him, but it gave him a roof over his head. It gave him consistent meals, as lackluster as they were. Now he had nothing.
Elliot couldn't help the burning rage that boiled over in the pit of his stomach. Fuck Madam Sibella! Fuck Fletcher! Fuck Port Iryss for treating him like this, for leaving him orphaned and unwanted.
Hot, angry tears welled in his swollen eyes. He was cold, tired, hungry, and completely alone. There was no place in the world that wanted him and no person that cared enough to remember his name. As far as the world was concerned, Elliot Córdova was nothing but a ghost.
…
In Captivity
“Looking good, mutt,” a deep voice commented, followed by a quick slap to Elliot's raised backside. Elliot flinched and suppressed a whimper. The slave was on his hands and knees, vigorously scrubbing the gun deck in an attempt to rid it of the leftover gunpowder residue. He hated the fact that he was starting to recognize the voices of the crew. He hated how familiar he was growing with his buoyant prison.
Elliot didn't even have to look at the man to know who'd spoken. It was the ship's navigator, Hess. Elliot's face burned red-hot and he wordlessly returned to his scrubbing. That was, apparently, the wrong choice, as Hess's fist tangled itself in Elliot's hair and wrenched his head back. Elliot squeaked, his neck straining against the angle at which Hess held him.
“I'm payin' you a compliment, rat! What say you?” Hess growled, his long salt and pepper hair threatening to brush against Elliot's face. In any other circumstance, the navigator may have been considered attractive. But his grimy skin, stringy hair, and overgrown scruff took away from his more desirable features.
Elliot choked on the air in his lungs. His scalp was burning and his eyes began to water. “Th-Thank you, S-Sir,” he choked out.
Hess grinned and released the slave. Elliot's head fell forward and he squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to catch his breath. “Good boy,” Hess praised before moving on to continue his duties.
Elliot bit down hard on his tongue until he tasted blood. He hated this. He didn't know just how long he'd been aboard the Serpent's Wrath, but he hated every inch of this ship. He hated every slimy member of the crew, every degrading nickname they called him, every little touch. He hated all of it. He wanted off of this ship, away from these revolting pirates. He wanted to go home.
Elliot lifted his eyes just enough to peer at the open ocean through the gun ports. There was longing in his eyes and a deep ache in his chest as he watched the sun glint off the tips of the waves. He wondered how long it stretched, if it truly was as endless as it looked. He wondered if the sea could hear his screams, if it pitied him. He wondered if the ocean would welcome him, wrap him in its arms as it drew the breath from his lungs and lulled him into a tranquil slumber. He wondered if the sea would spare him. Or grant him the mercy of a peaceful escape.
That's when he saw it, a sliver of hope cresting over the horizon. An island. He didn't know if it was a hallucination borne of his exhaustion, but the lightest glimmer of hope ignited in his chest.
The gun port was about one square meter wide, and Elliot was sure his small frame could easily slip through. All he would have to do is swim to that island and he'd finally be free of this place.
The sound of wood banging against wood stirred him back into reality. Elliot flinched and turned his gaze over to the other end of the gun deck, where Hess was swiftly slamming each gun port shut. Elliot's heart began to race as his eyes returned to the port in front of him. His opportunity was slipping. He had to get out of here, even if it meant he'd never get home. But he was terrified. He didn't know what would come after, if he would survive or if darkness would swallow him instantly. He just needed to escape, however that would look. He couldn't take it anymore. He didn't want to be a slave anymore. Freedom was right there. All he had to do was—
“Who the fuck said you could stop working, slave?” Hess shouted.
Elliot flinched again, his eyes finally lifting to meet the navigator's. Hess stood only a few feet away, in front of the gun port directly beside Elliot's. The boy was out of time. If he didn't do this now, he'd never taste freedom again.
Despite his emaciated state and the chains around his wrists, Elliot had always been fast due to his small stature. It didn't even register in his mind that he'd started moving until he had maneuvered around the cannon and dove into the water.
The warm air falling back to allow the frigid ocean to wrap around him was a shock to Elliot's system. The bright, vibrant light of the sun broke beneath the surface of the water, the shards dancing in tandem with the gentle ocean waves. The sound of Hess's panicked screaming was snuffed out, replaced with the gentle hum of the open sea.
Elliot felt weightless. Every move he made was in slow motion. His long braided hair danced with the current, as did his torn poet's blouse and maroon petticoat—his former barmaid's uniform. Even his heavy iron shackles, which normally served to remind him of gravity's constant presence, offered absolutely no resistance beneath the surface.
Elliot had never been a strong swimmer and it wasn't until he attempted to kick back up to the surface for air that he realized his grievous error. The chains around his wrists didn't allow for much movement, which made maneuvering through the water that much more difficult.
When his head breached the surface, chaos assaulted his senses.
“There he is!” Someone shouted from above. Elliot craned his neck to peer upwards, using his bound hand to block the ruthless sun. Dozens of crew members were leaning over the side of the ship, pointing and staring at him with expressions that Elliot couldn't see.
“To the longboat!”
Elliot gasped. He didn't have long. He peered over his shoulder at the stretch of land that suddenly looked much further away. He didn't have a choice.
Elliot kicked and paddled as best he could, his chains yanking relentlessly at his wrists. He dove beneath the surface, hoping to hide his location from his pursuers, but he could only do so for so long. He forced himself to remain submerged until his lungs ached and his head began to swim. Gasping desperately for breath as he surfaced, Elliot kept his gaze firmly planted on the island, which, to his dismay, didn't look any closer. He dove again.
Each muscle in his limbs was on fire and still the island looked no closer than when he started. But he knew he had no other choice than to carry on, lest he face the punishment of a lifetime. He continued his routine of diving beneath the waves, swimming until he could feel his consciousness slipping, and coming back up for air. Over and over and over for what felt like hours. Elliot couldn't make out any shapes beneath the ocean, just the endless blue abyss and the blurry refractions of light splitting at the surface. The next time his head broke the surface, a fist tangled into his dripping locks and wrenched his head to the side, tearing a yelp from the boy's throat.
“Going somewhere, slave?” Hess hissed through clenched teeth. Elliot blinked the stinging sea water out of his eyes, giving way for a longboat captained by two serpents to seemingly materialize beside him. Hess glowered at him.
Elliot didn't have time to respond before the second pirate grabbed him by the arms and attempted to haul him into the longboat. Elliot screamed and thrashed, fighting with all his strength to break free, but the sea had sapped all of his energy. From the pirates’ perspectives, the boy's desperate attempt to free himself was nothing more than a pathetic wriggle at best.
Without issue, the pirates hauled their prize out of the water and into the longboat where Hess made quick work of restraining him while the other man rowed back to the ship. Once the adrenaline of his escape started to wear off, Elliot's exhaustion crashed into him like a wave against jagged rocks. All he could do was stare at the gargantuan ship that, to his horror, was no more than a dozen or so meters away.
As the longboat began its short journey back to its mother ship, a devastating realization brought burning tears to Elliot's eyes.
Escape was never a possibility. The ocean had toyed with him. It had taken his greatest hope and presented it to him just out of reach. It was close enough to see, but still much too far. He never had a chance. This was always going to be the outcome.
…
Elliot whimpered as he was unceremoniously deposited back on the deck of the ship in a sopping heap. His drenched, translucent clothes clung to his skin and shivers wracked his small body.
“Well, well, well,” an unfamiliar voice said. Elliot's head snapped up, eyes wide as he gazed upon the stranger towering over him. It was a woman, which confused Elliot more than anything thus far. In the few days he'd been aboard the ship, he had never seen this woman before. In fact, he hadn't seen any women since his final shift at the tavern. He'd assumed the crew was made up entirely of men. Then again, he'd hadn't seen much of anyone since they left Port Iryss. He'd been spending an awful lot of time in the brig lately.
The woman was tall, though that could've been attributed to her heeled boots and the fact that Elliot was kneeling at her feet. Her hair was the color of the sea and it lay in a pattern of long, wavy strands and tightly woven box braids. She had two thick braids framing her face that were adorned with silver jewelry, a stark contrast to her midnight hair and skin the color of oak. Her left eye was a warm, deep brown and her right resembled that of the sky, though it was impossible to tell if that was natural or simply due to the large, jagged scar running through it.
Elliot froze, terror seizing control of his heart. Was he on the right ship?
The woman smirked and chuckled at the way his face paled, but she didn't say a word to him. Instead, she shifted her gaze over to the men stepping out of the longboat. “Fetch me the captain,” she instructed.
“Aye,” one man said before scurrying off to the captain's quarters, leaving Hess to linger behind the slave.
The woman looked back down at Elliot. Her gaze was like ice. If Elliot wasn't already shivering, her gaze alone would send chills down his spine. He tore his eyes away from hers, desperate to escape them, but to no avail. He could still feel the weight and the chill of her gaze on him.
The woman lowered herself onto one knee, the other acting as an armrest while she took in the sight of him. “You must be Whitlock's latest acquisition,” she said, her voice like soft leather. “I've heard much about you.” When Elliot didn't respond, she scoffed. “Scrawny little thing, ain't you? You've a name, boy?” Elliot still didn't speak, which would normally earn him a good backhand, but the woman simply waited for his answer. Elliot still had no intention of giving one, and Christian's sudden entrance gave him the excuse he needed not to.
“Hess!” The captain shouted, footsteps reverberating through every plank of wood on the ship. Elliot flinched in tandem with the planks as the captain grew closer.
Hess stepped out from behind the slave and approached the furious captain. “Aye, Capt—” a sharp smack rang through the air as the captain's fist collided with Hess's face, sending the navigator tumbling to the ground.
“You let my slave escape on your watch?”
Hess clutched his nose as he righted himself. “Aye, Captain, but I got him back—”
“I gave you one job, Hess! One!” the captain interrupted. “And you couldn't even do that. What use have I for you if you can't keep an eye on one little slave?”
Hess was speechless, but the way his face blanched betrayed his fear.
“Calloway?” the captain said. The woman stood to her feet and brandished a blade from her hip. The captain said nothing as the woman twirled the blade between her fingers before slicing cleanly across Hess's throat. The navigator wobbled backwards, hands clutching the oozing slit across his neck. Blood spurted out of the gash, dripping down Hess's lips and between his fingers as he stumbled on shaking legs over the side of the ship. Choked gargles and gasps were cut off by a sudden splash as the ocean accepted her gift, dragging Hess's body to the depths in the wake of a trail of red.
Elliot couldn't breathe. It had happened so quickly and there was no processing what he'd just witnessed.
When Elliot finally shifted his gaze from the droplets of Hess's blood on the deck, he found the captain's eyes searing through his skull. If the woman's gaze was like ice, the captain's was fire, and Elliot couldn't shake the feeling that he'd be joining Hess in a matter of moments.
The captain's glare shifted from his slave to the gathered crew. “Seems our guest hasn't quite grasped his role here.” Christian's voice was deceptively calm, given the way his face contorted with rage. After gracing each pirate with a single glance, his gaze landed on the woman. “Remind him of his place. And make sure he doesn't forget this time.”
The woman smirked and Elliot's blood ran cold. “Aye, Captain.” The captain spared one last glance at his slave before he turned on his heel and disappeared into the captain's quarters. The woman's gaze fell upon the shivering slave at her feet. There was a hunger in her eyes that Elliot was far too familiar with, a level of bloodlust that sent icy tendrils down his back. She didn't take her eyes off of him as she said, “Tie him to the mast.”
Hands wrapped around Elliot's upper arms, curling beneath his armpits and around his waist, one even tangling in his hair, in order to drag him from his puddle and haul him over to the mast. Elliot screamed, fighting with all his strength to avoid whatever was about to happen to him, but exhaustion had already settled over his body once the adrenaline had worn off. His limbs were practically useless.
Why Whitlock wasn't overseeing his punishment, Elliot didn't know. But this woman, whoever she was, terrified him. She'd killed Hess in less than a second without hesitation. If the bloodlust in her eyes was any indication, Elliot wouldn't be walking away from this in one piece.
“I don't believe we've been formally introduced,” the woman said as she began her slow saunter over to Elliot. His hands were quickly relieved of their shackles, only to be wrenched behind his back, coarse rope wound tightly around his wrists. Elliot sobbed, heart pounding relentlessly against his ribcage. “Name's Na'Krisha Calloway. But you, little thing, will refer to me as Sir and nothin’ else. Savvy?”
Elliot could barely hear her over the pounding of his own heart. He hadn't registered that she'd asked him a question until her blade was at his throat. Elliot gasped, neck straining to avoid the dagger still dripping with Hess's blood. “I asked you a question there, darling. You ain't ignorin’ me, are you?”
Elliot shook his head as much as he was physically able, tears steadily trickling down his face.
Calloway smirked, but her eyes narrowed. “I'm gonna need a verbal answer from you there, love. Show me that you heard what I said.”
Elliot gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing against the sharp blade. “N-No, S-Sir. I-I'm not ignoring you, I-I s-swear.”
She dug the blade in deeper, drawing a sharp hiss from the slave. She leaned in so close their foreheads were nearly touching. Elliot could feel her steady breath against his cheek as she whispered. “The captain may be your master, but I am his first mate.” Elliot's stomach dropped. “You will treat me with the same respect you show him, slave. Savvy?”
Elliot whimpered, tears stinging his bloodshot eyes. “Y-Yes, S-Sir.”
Calloway's amused smirk shifted into a pleased grin. Elliot's heart slowed ever-so-slightly as she retracted her blade, only to trace it down his collarbone, bringing it to rest just over his chest. Elliot squeaked. He braced himself, tensing every muscle and squeezing his eyes shut as he awaited the pressure of the blade plunging into his heart. Instead, the dagger fell away, slicing cleanly through his shirt instead and exposing his chest for all to see.
Elliot whimpered and curled up as tight as he could to maintain any semblance of dignity, but to no avail. With his hands so tightly bound, he had no means of protecting himself from the prying, hungry eyes of the crew.
Na'Krisha grinned at the way his cheeks reddened and the soft quivering of his lower lip. She could see why Whitlock had chosen this one. He really was a precious little thing.
Elliot gasped at the feeling of Calloway's cold touch near the base of his hips. She traced lines across his bare skin, a trail of goosebumps rising in her wake. Elliot's skin tingled wherever she touched him, and despite her gentleness, there was an anxious twitch to her fingers, like the urge to tear him apart was becoming more difficult to suppress. She drew shapes into his skin, trailing upwards until she reached a spot directly over his heart. She tapped it once, twice, and drew a circle around it with her finger. “Right there,” she whispered, meeting Elliot's eyes with a look of pure, unsullied bloodlust. “Light the iron,” she commanded, her eyes staying locked on her victim's.
As the crew scrambled to obey her instruction, Elliot's stomach shriveled. He still didn't understand what was going on, but the excitement in the woman's eyes wrought fear into his own. “P-Please,” he mumbled, because he had nothing else to do but beg. “Please, h-have m-mercy.”
Calloway chuckled and raised her hand to gently cup his tear-streaked face. Elliot flinched, but the touch was so gentle that the boy couldn't help but lean into it, which only made the woman smile wider. “You poor, sweet, stupid thing,” she said in a voice that, under any other circumstances, would almost sound comforting. “This is for your own good. This way, you won't ever forget who you belong to.”
Elliot didn't understand. They had tied him the wrong direction to be whipped. If they were planning to slice him up, she wouldn't have put her dagger away. He didn't know what light the iron meant. What was about to happen to him?
That was the question he'd meant to ask, but fortunately or unfortunately, he didn't have to. A pirate he'd come to know as Paxton entered his field of view, carrying a long, glowing branding iron.
Elliot's mind went white.
The glowing image at the end of the iron was that of the serpents’ insignia; a human skull flanked by two hissing snakes.
Elliot screamed and thrashed against his restraints as Paxton happily handed the branding iron over to Calloway. “Sir, please don't do this!” He shouted. Though his pleas seemed to go unheard, Elliot didn't stop. “Please, I'm begging you! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!”
Calloway inspected the iron as she sauntered back over to the bound slave, looking wildly entertained.
Elliot sobbed, his sore muscles straining against the coarse ropes as she brought the iron closer. “P-Please, Sir! I-I'm sorry. I've learned my lesson, I-I swear! I-I'm just a s-stupid slave. I wasn't thinking. Please!”
Calloway took a moment to look him over, as though genuinely considering his pleas, before drawing a circle with her finger on the spot over his heart. “Stay still, pet. If you mess this up, we'll have to cut off the skin and try again.”
Elliot wept, his knees struggling to hold his weight. There was no escaping this. She was going to brand him like cattle, burn the serpents’ insignia into his skin so no one would ever question who he belongs to. After this was done, he would well and truly be owned.
Elliot squirmed and thrashed, though he knew there was no chance of escape. Calloway was directly in front of him, the deck was crawling with pirates. Even if he did somehow slip his bonds, he had nowhere to go from there. Despite that, he couldn't stop.
Na’Krisha giggled at the boy’s pathetic attempt at resistance. As entertaining as he was, the iron was cooling quickly and she didn't have another second to waste. “Paxton, Reynolds, hold him still.”
“Aye, Sir,” the two men said in unison. Each of them took hold of one of the boy's arms and wrestled him still, though the poor thing continued to cry and wiggle, as though he had any chance of escaping. It was adorable.
Once Elliot was sufficiently immobilized, Calloway hovered the iron over the spot she'd chosen. “Ready, slave?” She asked.
Elliot violently shook his head. “N-No, please—” Paxton's hand clamped over the boy's mouth, keeping his head pressed flush against the mast as Calloway leveled the iron. Elliot whimpered and moaned against Paxton's palm, brutally awaiting the agony that was only seconds away.
As if on command, Calloway pressed the glowing iron squarely over Elliot’s heart, pushing in as deep as she could, as though trying to puncture a hole in the boy's chest.
Elliot was deaf to his own screams, the intensity of the white-hot pain replacing each of his other senses. His skin sizzled and seared, nerve-endings burning alive as his skin formed around the shape of the insignia. The pain was worse than he could've ever imagined, overloading his senses and shutting down every other part of his brain until all that was left was pain. Burning, agonizing, relentless pain.
The iron was pulled away after no more than five seconds, but the slave screamed for at least ten before his body went limp.
Na'Krisha's eyes roamed over the flawless insignia seared into the boy's chest. The skin was glossy and an angry shade of red, but the image was beautiful. She examined the artwork she'd created for another few seconds until the slave began to stir.
Na'Krisha grinned, a sense of pride swelling in her chest as she stepped back and motioned for the semi-unconscious boy to be relieved of his bonds. Almost as soon as he was untied, the boy's knees buckled, sending him tumbling directly into Reynolds's waiting arms.
“Take him to the med bay,” Na'Krisha commanded. “He will remain there until he's healed, or until the captain requires some stress relief. Until then, should any of you lay a hand on him, you'll be returnin’ home without it. Savvy?”
A chorus of affirmative grunts rose from the gathered crew as Reynolds and Paxton both worked to haul Elliot's limp body down to the med bay. Na'Krisha watched until the boy disappeared below deck.
In all the years she'd known Whitlock, she had never before been on board with his desire to possess a slave. In her mind, they were dirty and useless and nothing but cargo that needed to be fed. She couldn't control the captain, unfortunately. So when he told her he'd picked up a slave from that tiny coastal village they'd stopped at for a booze restock, Na'Krisha had been more than pissed off. A slave was an investment that the crew simply couldn't afford.
But after seeing the boy for the first time, drenched, shivering, and kneeling submissively at her feet, she couldn't deny the slave's appeal. He was tiny and adorable, and the sight of him triggered something within her, something that longed to tear him to pieces and watch him helplessly writhe in pain.
Needless to say, she couldn't wait to play with him again.
-
I will be posting picrews of Na'Krisha Calloway soon. I'm a little bit in love with her.
I hope you enjoyed this!! This ended up way longer than I expected it to be, but it changed directions like three times while I was writing it. I'm pretty happy with the end result though! My next chapter will be a post-rescue chapter. So those of you that have been itching for some comfort for my boy, don't worry. Its coming.
If anyone else has any requests for things they'd like to see in my pirate au, feel free to send me an ask!
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!
Hehehe I was hoping someone would ask about this one😈
This is a personal project I've been writing on my own involving my royal ocs Prince Asa of Valenires (Whumpee) and King Demarian of Dalvyst (Whumper) and my non-royal oc, Sergeant Loren of Dalvyst (Caretaker)
Picrews:
Asa, pre-captivity and in captivity (Whumpee)
Demarian (Whumper)
Loren (Caretaker)
Short Snippet:
Asa screamed. At least, he thought he did. Following the metallic shing of the sword, Asa couldn’t hear anything, nor could he watch as his parents’ bodies slumped to the ground. The young prince became limp in his captors’ grip. Heavy sobs wracked his small body and despite the hazy image of the vampire king entering his field of vision, Asa could do nothing but wallow in his overwhelming grief.
“Release him,” the king commanded, not an ounce of remorse in his voice. As the iron grip around his upper arms fell away, Asa collapsed to his knees, his shoulders heaving beneath the weight of his despair. The King kneeled before Asa's broken form and used the gentlest of touches to tilt the boy’s head up from where it was angled at the ground. Asa sniffled, instinctively lifting his eyes to meet the King’s. Demarian softly swiped a thumb across Asa’s cheek, catching one of his ever-flowing tears. “You poor, sweet thing.” The King licked Asa’s tears off of his thumb, never breaking eye contact with the boy. Once he was finished, he backhanded Asa across his tear-streaked face. Asa yelped, his head whipping to the side as a sharp stinging bloomed across half of his face. Demarian laughed at the sight of the shocked and pained look on Asa’s face. “You are going to be so much fun to play with, my little seedling.” The King softly tapped the tip of Asa’s nose, eliciting a small flinch from the boy.
Asa’s eyes widened, a small gasp escaping his dry lips. “You-You can’t call me that.”
Demarian laughed louder this time. “Oh, little Asa. You have so much to learn. I own you now. I may call you whatever I please.”
Asa frantically shook his head as he watched the King rise from the floor. “No! You can’t call me that! That’s my mother’s name for me. You can’t take that from her!”
The vampire didn’t laugh this time. “Perhaps you didn’t notice, Prince Asa, but your mother is dead.” Asa flinched, fresh tears flooding his eyes. “I now own this kingdom, along with everyone in it.” The King once again tilted Asa’s head further upward, only harsher this time. “That includes you, my little seedling.” Asa clenched his jaw, doing his best to look defiant, but the King clearly wasn’t buying it. He smirked and lowered his clawed hand from the Prince’s chin. “Take him to the dungeon and make sure he stays there. I am going to get acquainted with my new home.”
The strong hands of the vampire soldiers grabbed hold of Asa’s biceps once more and hauled him to his feet. He wanted to struggle, but he knew there was no use. Even against fae soldiers, his feeble strength would be no match.
Asa’s eyes drifted to the walls as he was dragged through the corridors. He gazed at portrait upon portrait of his family throughout the years. He thought about Asterian and the way he’d always push Asa to be the very best version of himself. He thought about his mother and her warm hugs and kind words. He thought about his father and the stern but loving way he spoke. He thought about Astrid. She was his best friend, the one person that he knew would never belittle or look down on him, who saw him for his intelligence and not just his pretty face. With each thought of his family that crossed his mind, Asa was brutally reminded of one fact.
He was never going to see them again.
In addition to the depressing portraits, Asa found his eyes drawn to the numerous fae servants and guards being pushed and dragged around in a similar manner as him. As their gazes met his, Asa’s skin flushed a deeper crimson than the Vampire King’s eyes. Each of them looked at him differently; some with sympathy in their eyes, others with despair and utter hopelessness. Asa snapped his eyes shut, unable to bring himself to look at them for a second longer. He couldn’t bear the humiliation of being watched as he was led through the corridors of his own home like a prisoner—which, he supposed, was exactly what he was.
Overprotective older sibling villain x younger hero sibling they'd find of but who IS a hero and they sedate them and have to watch their sibling take over the world? LOVE UR WORK. BONUS POINTS IF THIS IS A VILLAIN FAMILY SO THE WHOLE FAMILY KIND OF TEAMS ON THE HERO.
Thank you so much!! I think @oddsconvert wrote something similar with this exact prompt so I tried not to make it too similar to hers. I hope you enjoy!!😊
-
"See that?" Villain asked as she slowly circled her prisoner. "All of that gorgeous carnage and destruction? Do you know why all of this is happening, Hero?"
Hero refused to lift his eyes to the news feed. He could picture the display already; the city he'd dedicated his life to protecting being reduced to fiery ruins, innocent blood soaking into the asphalt, sirens permeating the smoke-filled air. To gaze upon the display would accomplish nothing but solidifying the hero's defeat.
Hero didn't dignify her with a response. No. No matter how satisfying the thought of biting back was to him, the reality of his situation remained; he was in chains at her feet, his powers suppressed by the collar at his throat, and she was moments away from ruling the world. What good would a sarcastic remark be in a time like this?
"Well?" Villain said, still impatiently waiting for an answer. "Aren't you the least bit curious?" Still, Hero said nothing. Villain chuckled darkly, her arms folded over her chest. "You haven't changed a bit."
"Neither have you," Hero mumbled.
"Ah, he speaks!" Villain exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "How wonderful."
Hero couldn't look at her. He couldn't bear to see the monster she had become. But in the end, he didn't have a choice. She took two fingers and gently tilted his head up, forcing him to instinctually lift his eyes to hers. A wide smirk split her face. "There you are. It's nice to properly see you again, little brother."
Hero glared at her. "Let me go, Villain. You don't need to do this."
Villain hummed. "You're right," she said as she released her grip on his chin and sauntered over to the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Her hands came to rest on her hips, a sadistic smile splitting her face. "It didn't need to come to this, Hero," she said. Hero glared daggers into her back. His wrists strained against the chains binding them at the small of his back. "I gave you a choice. Everything that's happening now is due to your own decision."
"How can you say that?" Hero asked, unwanted tears burning his eyes. "If I had decided to join you, all that would've changed is that I would be participating in this reckoning. This was your plan all along. Whether or not I joined you would not have changed this outcome."
Villain smirked. "Perhaps not," she said, spinning on her heel to face her youngest sibling once more. "But truly who's to say? Perhaps this could've all been avoided. Perhaps if you were just a little bit stronger. A little bit more...heroic." Hero's expression faltered. Guilt burned in his stomach and turned his blood to ice. He should've known. All his life, Villain always knew exactly what to say to make it hurt. "Perhaps you could've stopped me."
Hero could practically feel the strength draining from his body. He was utterly helpless, a sitting duck, while he listened to the screams of thousands of people he'd sworn to protect.
"What do you want?" Hero asked, his voice breaking. "What will it take for you to stop this?"
Billowing laughter erupted from the villain's chest. "Stop this?" She repeated. "There is no stopping this, Hero. Haven't you been paying attention?" With a snap of her gloved fingers, several henchmen descended upon the hero, snatching his head and guiding it to face the broadcast he'd been so cautiously avoiding.
It was just as Hero had feared. The frantic screaming of burning civilians was drowned out by the pounding of blood in his ears. Broken glass and debris littered the streets, as did the charred bodies of innocent people. People that had woken up that morning to the shining sun, that had unknowingly kissed their loved ones goodbye for the final time. Regular people with regular lives that had been cut too short. All because their hero wasn't strong enough.
"Are you finally understanding, Hero?" Villain questioned, tracing the edge of the screen with her fingers. "Soon enough, this city will be reduced dying embers and I will be here to rebuild it into my utopia. There is no stopping what is already happening. Face it, Hero. You've failed."
Tears slipped down Hero's cheeks. He couldn't help it anymore. Villain was right. He'd failed.
I'm no hero. Not anymore.
Content with the psychological damage she'd inflicted, Villain strolled over to a control panel against the far wall. She pressed a button and whispered something brief into a microphone before rejoining her prisoner in front of the screen.
"Don't worry, Hero," she said, ruffling Hero's tangled locks. "If you think this is bad, I have one more surprise for you."
A sob escaped Hero's throat. "What more could you possibly do to me? Kill me?" He'd expected Villain to laugh again, but no such sound reached his ears.
Instead, she knelt down to look him in the eyes, her face a mask of intensity. "Is that why you think you're here?" Hero said nothing, but his expression must've given away his confusion because Villain said, "Hero...you may hate me. Lord knows I deserve it. But you're here so you don't get caught up in the reckoning."
"So I can't stop you?"
"So you don't get hurt," Villain corrected. "You can hate me all you want, but I'm your sister. It's my job to protect you, and I will do so until the end of my days, whether you like it or not." Hero had nothing to say, but he silently cursed the traitorous tears that seemed to fall harder beneath the weight of her words. Villain sighed. "I'm disappointed in you, Hero. You could've been a part of this. With power like yours, you would've been absolutely brilliant. We would've been unstoppable."
"You already are," Hero said. "As long as you have me prisoner, there's no one to stop you."
Villain shrugged, standing to her feet once more. "Still, it's a shame. It would've been nice to have all been together."
A crease formed between Hero's brows. "All? All of who?"
As if on cue, the massive chamber doors slid open and Hero craned his neck in order to see who entered. All the blood drained from his face and his pounding heart skipped a beat. "Mother? Father?" He whispered in disbelief.
Neither of his parents even bothered to glance in the direction of their youngest child. Instead, they made a beeline toward Villain. Hero couldn't help the ache in his chest as he witnessed their clear lack of concern for him. He shouldn't have been surprised. Villain had always been the golden child. But that still didn't make it hurt any less.
"What is this?" Hero exclaimed, wrists straining against his shackles. Tears threatened to overwhelm him, but he fought them back. "Mother, Father! You can't possibly be okay with this, with what she's doing! This is a massacre!"
As they stood on either side of the eldest daughter, they finally bothered to look down at their son. "Don't be so naive, Hero," his Mother said. "Villain is right. The world is broken and needs to be reset."
"Besides," his father continued. "Villain offered us a place at the top of her hierarchy."
Understanding bloomed across Hero's face. "So that's what this is about? Power?!"
Villain sighed and unlatched the locks on a briefcase that Hero hadn't noticed. After reaching inside, she extracted a syringe full of clear liquid. Hero's stomach dropped.
"This isn't about power, Hero," Villain claimed as she approached her brother with the syringe. "This is about rebuilding a broken society. Those that survive will be more than welcome to join us. Those that resist, well...let's just say, they won't be."
Hero eyed the syringe nervously. "What are you gonna do with me, then?" He asked. "I'll spend the rest of my conscious life resisting you!" Villain's henchmen snatched a fistful of Hero's hair and yanked his head to the side, exposing his neck.
Villain smirked. "I'm counting on it," she said as she plunged the mysterious liquid into his bloodstream.
Hero almost instantly felt his body go limp, his eyelids fluttering despite the strength of his willpower.
A sense of utter hopelessness settled over him as darkness began closing in from the corners of his vision. With his very last shred of awareness, all he could think was,
It's over.
-
I hope this was okay! I've never written a hero/villain fic before so I wasn't quite sure if this was right, but I'm happy with it! I hope you enjoyed it!
If anyone else has a request for a non-worthless whump fic, feel free to send me an ask!
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
