As an ace person, I grew up with a fear of sex that led me to read a lot of noncon fics to "prepare", if you will, for (what I saw as) the inevitable. I know its not the same as real sexual assault and I don’t wanna appropriate anyone's trauma, but your focus on survivor fiction still makes me feel better in some ways.
As such, do you have anything on threatened noncon situations that don't actually end in noncon? Or, I guess, situations where whumpee feels the threat of it even if it's not there?
I'm so glad that the focus on survivors/survivor fiction has been helpful--and absolutely, if it helps you heal from something/comforts you, it's doing its job. I'm ace too btw :)
Kidnappee grabbed by the armpit and upper thigh and thrown bodily into the back of a truck. They can still feel where the hands pressed in near their groin as their attackers jump in behind them.
As part of psychological torture. Captive tied to a chair with their legs spread wide open and gagged with a ball gag. Then left to sit like that for thirty minutes as their stretched tendons begin to ache in their legs and jaw, captors walking in and out of the room and eyeing them while talking to each other quietly.
Interrogator walking into the room with obvious bdsm gear--blindfold, gag, riding crop--and setting them down on the table across from prisoner and just making prolonged eye contact until prisoner's eyes drop and they swallow.
Pinning fresh captive down with shouts and grabs all over their body, frisking them with hard slaps and pinches and shouted "where's your weapons? Huh?" And captive grimacing as they feel hands everywhere they're not supposed to be.
Ripping off their clothes to make sure they're not hiding anything. Captive fighting to hide their body, crying when they fail, waiting for the next touch in disgust and terror.
Sensual fingers pressing into grooves by captive's hips, sliding down, then up to rest on captive's nipple as captive's body swerves to the side in their bonds, trying to escape their touch. Captor whispers, "Keep resisting. Make it fun. I dare you."
I was plotting/daydreaming whump scenes for a fic (as one does) when I had an idea that was EVIL but unfortunately not really my style, but it’s collar-related so ofc I thought of you immediately. I present to you:
whumper putting a belt around whumpee’s neck as a makeshift collar and leash.
Pros:
it tightens naturally if they try to pull away and whenever whumper pulls on it
it could still be warm from someone’s body heat, and leather has a skin-like texture, so it almost feels like hands around their neck at first
expectation subversion — whumpee thinks whumper is gonna use the belt for torture, but instead it’s for humiliation and control
nsfwhump implied threat of whumper taking off their belt
nsfwhump implied threat of whumper forcibly taking off whumpee’s belt
bonus psychological torture of binding and humiliating whumpee with a piece of their own clothing for that one
could be a crude addition showing that whumper isn’t thinking things through/whumpee is fighting back more than expected OR a completely unnecessary binding just to assert dominance
the belt is broad enough that whumper could pin it under something/sit on it, leaving whumpee to choose between leaning towards their torturer to loosen it or leaning away in instinctive fear
it’s a mundane everyday item that whimper will constantly be exposed to post-whump as well
Cons:
it can’t be a shock collar :/
I doubt I’m the first to have thought of this lol, but I figured you’d enjoy the regardless. Have fun!
That singular con killed me hdhdhhfhd. What, you guys don’t like your belts to have zappy capabilities??? Jokes aside, EXCELLENT IDEA!!! Honestly I have very little to add, you’ve hit just about every whumperfly-inducing thing about this concept.
Definitely good for defiant whumpees :> I have the mental image of them opening their mouth to say something snarky, and whumper tugging the belt harshly enough to make them gag and cut them off.
Oh, another image giving me whumperflies— whumper stepping on whumpee’s chest or head to keep them on the floor while they pull the belt full force to choke them🙂↕️
I’m flattered that you thought of me with this concept☺️ Thanks for sharing it with me!! :D
Hearing a knock at the door, A looks at the clock in confusion. It's unexpected for anyone to come over on a Friday night without having made plans beforehand. What's even less expected, however, is the scene that greets A on their doorstep.
B is practically stumbling trying to stand straight, a dazed expression on their face. Seeing A, a slight flicker of desperation crosses their eyes then disappears as if had never existed. Their companion holds them closer when Rowan doesn't move out of the doorway, 'May we come in?' It's more of a snarky demand than a question.
A extends a hand to B and helps them stumble toward the door, 'B is welcome to come in. You are not.' B safely behind them, the polite expression A had kept affixed to their face drops away, 'Please never come back.'
B's companion scoffs, clearly taken by surprise, 'What, are you policing their sex life?'
'When they're this incapacitated and they're at my house, sure.'
'I'm going to the police.'
'Something tells me that you're not going to do that. Now do yourself a favour and get off my doorstep.' A slams and bolts the door without waiting for a response.
They turn to see B, looking even more disoriented as they cling to the edge of a table, knuckles white. Slinging one of B's limp arms over their shoulder, they drag them toward the bed. 'B?' A brushes the hair off their forehead, trying to elicit a response, 'B, what happened? What did you take?'
'I feel sick...'
'Yeah, I bet. What did you take? Do you know what you took?'
'Nothing,' B's voice is near-incomprehensibly slurred.
'What made you come here?'
'Needed help...' B retches weakly, their body too limp to throw up.
'Do you know why you needed help?' A pushes. 'B? Do you think the person you were with drugged you? B. Talk to me.'
B murmurs something slurred beyond comprehension.
'What did you say?'
'Are they still here?'
'No,' A reassures, 'Oh god no.'
'A?'
'I'm right here.' A strokes B's hair gently, gingerly settling in to sit on the edge of the bed. 'How are you doing?'
'Why'd it happen again?'
A feels tears prick at the back of their eyes, '...what do you mean "again"?'
CWs (i suck at these just lmk if i need smth): slavery whump, minor whumpee (17), self amputation (its pretty gross), blood, abuse, beating, referenced abuse, anxiety attack, derogatory language, threat of noncon (noncon will be threatened a lot in this story but it will never actually happen)
Masterlist
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Master was having an important dinner. He’d told Kensington that he was to serve he and his coworkers dinner and drinks, and keep out of the way. If he embarrassed his master even once, he’d pay the price dearly for it.
Master’s temper had been getting shorter recently. When he first bought Kensington to help out around the house, he had mostly ignored him aside from assigning chores. It was for a small infraction that Master lost his temper and hit him for the first time. The second time Kensington was punished with two broken ribs because he’d flinched away from his master, something he learned was not allowed under any circumstances.
His chest still ached.
Master was stressed about the dinner, and it was almost like Kensington could physically see him get more and more tense as the day went on, watching the way his jaw tensed and his shoulders stiffened. He could only stand back and wait until his master snapped.
The doorbell rang and Kensington’s head shot up, his hands freezing over the dishes he was placing on the table. Master walked briskly to the door, pausing to run a hand through his hair and shoot his slave a deadly look, saying don’t mess up one last time. Then he plastered a smile on his face and opened the door.
“Grayson! Good to see you!” his boss said, stepping inside and shaking Master’s hand.
“Same to you, Mr. Brown.”
“Hey, we’re not at the office. Call me Nicholas.”
Two more men stepped inside, and were introduced as Carlos and Jordan. Kensington kept his eyes down, trying to focus on setting the table and staying out of the way. The wine glasses clinked against each other and he froze, the sound painfully loud. The one that had been introduced as Jordan caught sight of him first.
“You’ve got a slave, Grayson?” he asked, surprised.
Kensington stiffened as all the men’s attention turned to him. He set the rest of the glasses down slowly, hyper aware of his movements. Don’t mess up, Kensi.
“Yeah,” Master said proudly. “Bought him a few months ago.”
It wasn’t like Kensington was expensive -- Master had bought him at a second-hand back auction for a fraction of the price the fancy ones sold for -- but it was still a status symbol to own a slave. He straightened his back and kept his eyes on the ground as the men walked toward him. Carlos took his arm and examined it while Jordan turned his head back and forth. Kensington’s cheeks burned red. It was like he was being examined at the market.
“How old is he?” Nicholas asked.
At a quick glance up, Kensington saw Master shrug, and then look at him.
“How old are you, boy? Do you know?” Nicholas asked again, this time directed at Kensington.
He cleared his throat nervously. “I’m seventeen, sir.”
“Seventeen! You know that’s the perfect age to start selling him off for breeders to use.”
Kensington’s head snapped up as he stared with wide eyes at Master. His master gave him a sharp look and shook his head minutely, his jaw tensing. Kensington hoped he knew what it meant.
Don’t embarrass him. Just get through the night.
The men kept going. “Yeah, my cousin’s got a couple of boys he rents out every so often,” Carlos said. “They pay upwards of three hundred dollars per night.”
To Kensington’s horror, his master actually began to look interested. “Really? How often does he rent them?”
“At least once a week.”
Master let out a low whistle. “Wow.” Jordan and Carlos stepped away and Kensington felt like he might be able to breathe again. “Should we eat?” The men sat around the table. “Kensington,” Master nodded. Kensington gratefully hurried to the kitchen to fetch the wine and steaks.
Once he was alone, he took just a moment to close his eyes and take a deep breath. He couldn't panic about the breeders. He just had to get through the night, and not make Master angry. Maybe if he was good, and after the guests left, he could try to talk to him about it.
Kensington opened his eyes and began to gather the food. Yeah. He just had to be good.
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Dinner went well. Kensington stood by the wall silently, only interacting with the men when told to refill cups or clear plates. When they had finished eating, he wordlessly collected some of their dishes and took them to the kitchen. His stomach dropped when he returned, and found himself the topic of conversation.
“He looks strong,” Nicholas was saying, “I don’t see any reason why they wouldn’t want him. Good genes, it seems like.”
“I’m just not sure he’d be able to handle something like that,” Master responded. “He’s kind of a crybaby.”
Kensington felt himself blush as he picked up Carlos’ plate. He was a crybaby. And he would absolutely not be able to handle something like that. He’d heard the horror stories from other slaves at his past houses or in the markets. Lots of them said they’d rather die than be sold to a breeder. He took Jordan’s plate, his trembling hands making the dishes rattle. Nicholas looked at him.
“His name’s Kensington?” he asked Master quietly. “Kensington, come here.” He obeyed, his legs shaking as he tried to keep his growing panic under control. “Put those down.” He did, risking a glance at his Master. The look on his face was severe enough to make him look away.
Just be good, Kensi. Master won’t let them hurt you too bad. He hoped.
Nicholas surprised him by pushing him down to his knees and forcing his head down, his hand heavy on his neck.
“Not too big of a crybaby,” Nicholas said, sliding his hand down onto Kensington’s right shoulder. Kensington stifled a whimper as he pressed on the welts from his last punishment.
“He’ll be facing more than that at the breeding house,” Jordan laughed. He reached over and slid his hand under Kensington’s shirt, making him flinch and close his eyes, trying to stop the tears stinging his eyes. He wanted to look up at Master where he sat on the other side of the table, but the hand on his neck wouldn’t allow it. Carlos’ chair scraped against the ground, his footsteps echoing as he got closer to put his hands on Kensington too.
Just be good just be good just be good. Just get through dinner, it’s okay. Just breathe, they’re not hurting you it’s fine it’s--
His eyes flew open when he felt Carlos’ hand near his waistband.
“No!”
He pulled away from the hands and stood up, taking several steps backwards. His chest was heaving as he gasped for breath. Kensington might be a slave and he might be given away to breeders at some point in his life, but as long as he had even the smallest chance to defend himself, he would take it.
“Maybe he is too weak for it!” Carlos said, going back to his seat next to Master.
The man all laughed, happy with their joke. Kensington glanced up to see his master laughing, too. There was a smile on his face, but it didn’t reach anywhere near his eyes like it did earlier in the night when the men were buzzed and joking. Instead the icy gray was filled with fury, and Kensington’s heart dropped with newly learned dread.
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“Yeah, have a good night!” Master called one last time. He closed the door and turned immediately to his slave cowering in the dining room, the friendly attitude he had toward his coworkers dropping. “Come here.”
Kensington moved his shaking legs toward his master. He could already smell the alcohol on him, see the rage in his expression. As soon as he was within an arm’s reach, Master grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and backhanded him so hard black spots clouded Kensington’s vision. Master threw him to the ground and kicked him in the stomach, causing him to cough and curl in on himself, the ever present pain from his healing ribs lighting up.
“Do you know how embarrassing that was?” Master yelled. He kicked Kensington again, who was suddenly very glad he hadn’t been fed yet that night. He probably wouldn’t be fed at all now. “My own slave can’t obey me and behave for one night! You’re useless Kensington, absolutely useless!” He emphasized the last two words with three harsh kicks to his ribs again, and Kensington gasped as he felt something crack. Tears pricked at his eyes again, but he forced them back. He couldn’t afford to cry now.
“Get out of my sight. You’ll get your full punishment tomorrow.”
Kensington pushed himself up and began to walk hastily to his room.
“You know,” Master called after him, “I wasn’t actually going to give you to any breeders, but maybe I should! Maybe I will!”
Kensington closed his door behind himself and leaned against it, sliding to the ground. He wrapped his arms around his aching chest and tried to calm his breathing. He flinched as glass shattered on the kitchen tile, no doubt Master throwing something in his drunken rage. Kensington pulled his knees close, buried his face in his hands, and allowed himself to cry.
His mind ran wild with possibilities. The air around him grew thin and stale as he pressed his palms against his eyes, willing the tears to stop. His shoulders shook with silent sobs -- he didn’t want Master to hear him.
Would he be caned again? Whipped? Burned? Beaten? Maybe Master would take away all his food for days or drug him so he couldn’t sleep. Maybe he’d tie him up and lock him in the closet--
Kensington clapped his hands over his mouth in an attempt to stifle the sob that forced its way out of his mouth. Oh gosh when did the air get so thin? His heart beat rapidly as he attempted to get a grip, but his breaths were too fast and too shallow and his hands shook and he couldn’t get any air and maybe his rib had punctured a lung and he would die soon and never have to worry about his upcoming punishment because it would never happen or maybe he would die because of a heart attack because there was no way it was normal for everything to be going so fast all at the same time!
He stood suddenly, moving towards the window next to the cot he slept on. He unlocked it and quickly threw it open, the cool night air flowing over him. The fresh breeze that filtered in seemed to jumpstart his system and he took a deep breath in, not caring as his ribs protested the action.
Breathe, Kensi, he told himself. He closed his eyes, the tears drying on his skin. He took a few deep breaths, but they were still too fast. He had to just calm down because if he stayed up all night freaking out it would only make tomorrow’s punishment worse.
Kensington flinched and looked to the door at the sound of another glass breaking. His breathing went shallow again, tears falling down his face. No. No no he couldn’t be there anymore -- just, just in his room, he couldn’t just sit there and wait for Master to hurt him, he had to breathe, he had to calm down or everything would be worse. He needed a moment all to himself, with no one else getting inside his head and ruining it. He just needed a moment.
The screen on the window had been ripped out before he was bought, so Kensington swung his legs outside with no issue, dropping the couple of feet into the backyard.
The summer breeze washed over his entire body. He stumbled around the side of the house, somewhere where there were no lights save for the neighbors far away. Kensington fell to his knees, the dewy grass soaking through his sweatpants and sticking to his palms.
He closed his eyes again and allowed himself to take in the fresh air with no distractions, his mind going blank.
Kensington wasn’t sure how long he knelt there, his hands kneading the grass. The night got colder, his chest aching with every breath, but he welcomed it. A dog barked far away. Birds called. Cars drove by. He focused on all of it, grasping onto anything to allow himself to feel like he was somewhere else, somewhere safe. Somewhere he had no memory of but knew must’ve existed long ago, before he was sold over and over again to masters that enjoyed being cruel just for the sake of being cruel.
But he eventually had to give it all up.
He forced himself to open his eyes and stand up. He rested a hand against the house to help him stay upright, his eyes focused on the light from his bedroom on the grass.
Kensington braced himself before hauling himself over the window, falling unceremoniously on the floor. He hissed in pain, taking a moment to let his ribs stop aching before getting to his knees.
It was then that he noticed the shoes.
The breath caught in Kensington’s chest as he froze, staring at the shoes. Shoes he knew, shoes he shined, shoes that had been kicking him not even an hour ago.
He slowly, slowly brought his terrified gaze up. Shoes, legs, torso, crossed arms, shoulders, and then his Master’s furious face.
Neither of them said anything for a long time, just staring into each other’s faces painted with rage and fear. Kensington took a sharp breath once his vision started to blur, and it was then that his master began to move. He hauled Kensington up by the arm and began to drag him from the room, down the hallway.
“You think you can get away from me?!” he shouted. “You think you can open your window and just leave like that?!”
“N-no, no I wasn’t trying to leave, I wasn’t--!”
Master threw him up against the wall by the door, his arm pressed against Kensington’s throat. His hands flew up to grip his master’s arm, but he didn’t dare push him away.
“What were you doing then? Huh? You just wanted to see how disobedient you could be tonight?” He pressed harder, forcing Kensington to gasp for air. “You wanted to see how far you could push me? Well congratulations! You made it!” He let go and Kensington slumped against the wall, his eyes on his master as he grabbed a jacket. “Let’s go.”
“Wh-where?”
“I’m selling you to a breeding company. Maybe you’ll obey them better than you do me.”
Kensington’s heart dropped. It was like someone peeled off his skin and poured a bucket of ice water over his skeleton. He could only stare dumbly at his master and shake his head, tears flooding his eyes.
“No, n-no, no, you-- you can’t--”
“I can. And I am.” Master opened the door. “Go.”
And just like that Kensington fell to his knees and began to sob, his shoulders shaking with the effort. “No, please don’t send me to them Master, please!” he cried. His rapid breaths and heart pounding in his chest were making him panic, his chest protesting every gasp and cry. Hot tears poured in a steady stream down his red cheeks. “I-I’m so so sorry! I’m sorry Master just please don’t send me there please please please…” He kept murmuring pleas between choking sobs, repeating what was going in a loop in his mind. Please please please no no no please please please no no no…
It was something he feared above almost everything else, something he knew would happen to him eventually but not now. He needed time to prepare and have less hope and fight and pride, this wasn’t something he could survive through now. He put his forehead to the ground in front of his master shoes and sobbed pathetically, waiting for him to answer.
“...You want to stay here?” Master finally asked. Kensington vigorously nodded, his head rubbing the ground uncomfortably. “Then you have to prove it to me. Are you willing to do that?”
"Yes Master anything please!” Kensington begged, sitting up and staring at his Master with hope and tear filled eyes.
“Follow me,” Master ordered. Kensington quickly got to his feet and stumbled after him through the living room and into the kitchen.
He had to maneuver through the glass shards littering the ground, evidence of his master’s anger. He’d clean it later.
Master pulled out a seat from the bar and indicated for Kensington to sit. He placed a cutting board in front of him and then began to search through the drawers. His fear spiked when he saw Master take out a large knife, murmuring to himself that it would do. He set the knife on the cutting board and then took the seat next to Kensington, watching him expectantly.
“If you would rather stay here,” he began slowly, “than be sold to a breeder, you have to prove it to me.” He slid the knife closer to Kensington. “Cut off your pinky.”
The room seemed to sway around Kensington, and he had to grab the edges of his seat so he wouldn’t slip off. He stared at the knife, the seemingly only stable thing in the room.
Cut off your pinky.
Kensington looked back up at Master, hoping to see him uncharacteristically smile and say it was a joke, that he wouldn’t really make Kensington do something so awful to himself. But all he saw was cold anticipation.
“M-Master?” Kensington asked breathlessly.
“You claim you want to stay here, but you were trying to leave me not fifteen minutes ago. Prove you want to stay here with me.” He leaned forward. “Cut off your pinky or I’ll cut off your whole hand and sell you to the breeders anyway.”
Kensington squeezed his eyes shut, trying to breathe. Oh why did it seem like his chest had weights on it? Like he couldn’t breathe tonight no matter how much he tried? His breaths came even more rapidly, but it still didn’t help oh why couldn’t he breathe--
“Kensington.” His master’s severe voice prompted him to open his eyes and look up. “Now.”
Tearing his hands away from the chair seemed an almost impossible task, but Kensington managed it. He used the thought of the breeders to give himself enough strength to pick up the knife, although his hands shook so badly he thought he might drop it anyway.
“Cut it off. I’ll let you decide which one.”
Kensington went still, staring at the knife shaking in his hand. Maybe this was worse than what the breeders would do to him. Maybe it wouldn’t be worth it, what his master would make him do, in the end. Master must’ve sensed his train of thought because he spoke, taking Kensington’s left hand and lying it flat so his palm faced the air.
“It’s either this or the breeders’, Kensington. And they’ll do worse than this. They’ll keep you constantly drugged, so you can’t fight back. Not like you would anyway. You’re too much of a pussy. You’ll only get fed maybe twice a week. And even that will be laced with drugs. They will rape you countless times a day. You’ll be forced to rape other slaves. Every day. For the rest of your life. Because you will die there, Kensington, if you go. You’ll die because if you’re not being raped, then you’ll be used for stress relief. They’ll hurt you there, worse than I ever have or ever will.” He guided the knife so it hovered closely over Kensington’s left pinky. “It’s your choice to make. Stay here with me, with one less finger, or go to a breeding company to die.” Master let go of Kensington’s hands, forcing him to try to keep still or accidentally cut himself.
Tears dripped off his face and onto the cutting board. Kensington closed his eyes and took a deep breath, attempting to come to terms with what was going to happen. He had to do it. He had to cut it off. Honestly the fact that this was all Master wanted was incredible. He had the power to do anything -- anything -- to Kensington, and he didn’t have to give him a voice in the matter at all. It was one finger for his life. It seemed fair.
So why couldn’t Kensington do it? Why was his hand frozen against his will, his fingers turning white with their grip on the knife? He opened his eyes, staring at the knife, trying to will it to move.
“You have five minutes, Kensington,” Master said after a while. “After five minutes I’ll just send you regardless.”
“I…” Kensington took a breath. “I want to stay here,” he whispered. “But I can’t do it.” He hiccupped on a sob. Why couldn’t he just do it?!
Master leaned back in his chair. “Then you must not really want to stay.”
Kensington shook his head. “No! No, I do, I do, I promise I do…”
“Then prove it!” Master yelled, with such ferocity that Kensington flinched and cut himself shallowly. He gasped, the air stinging the cut. It was only a small taste of what was to come. Master spoke again, his voice suddenly soft. “Want some help starting off?” Kensington nodded gratefully, another sob forcing its way out of his chest.
Master took Kensington’s right hand with surprising gentleness. He raised it up, the knife catching the light hanging above them and blinding Kensington temporarily. Then he gripped his wrist, and brought the knife down on the pinky.
Blood covered the counter, spraying up on both Kensington and Master’s faces. Kensington screamed, the sudden reality of what had happened becoming clear through the pain. He let go of the knife, gripping his left wrist like he could cut off the blood supply to his finger. It was then that he realized the finger was only partly severed. His hand was pried away from his wrist, and something hard was pressed into it. Kensington focused on his hand, realizing he was holding the knife.
“Finish it,” Master ordered.
Finish it. Master did most of the work, so it should be easy. Just put the knife on the cut, and press down. Finish it.
But Kensington’s hands were shaking more than ever, and the edges of his vision were tainted with black spots. Just do it. Line it up and press down. He took a few quick, deep breaths, but soon realized that the hot liquid in his mouth was his own blood. Nausea bubbled up inside him and he started to dry heave. Master gripped his hair and pulled his head back.
“If you vomit I’ll make you lick it up. And the blood. Understand?”
Kensington nodded, swallowing. He had to focus.
Steeling himself with quick breaths through his nose, he lined up the edge of the knife with the cut. Just one quick slice. That’s all. Then it’ll be over and Master will let him stay. One quick slice.
Just DO IT Kensi!
The second cut brought on pain more blinding than the first, and for a moment Kensington feared he really would throw up. His ears started to ring as he looked at his pinky again, the pool of blood and severed flesh making him gag in revulsion. But it was done.
To his horror, Master reached over and picked up his severed finger. He examined it briefly before turning around and tossing it into the trash.
“Well done,” he said, standing up. He wiped some of Kensington’s blood off his face with his sleeve.
Kensington himself was still trying not to gag, his breaths hitching with sobs as tears ran down his face, mixing with his own blood.
“Wrap a towel around it. Clean all this up before morning. We’ll talk more then.”
Master walked away, his bedroom door slamming shut soon after. Kensington took a towel, wrapping it around his heavily bleeding wound and praying he wouldn’t pass out. He only hoped he’d done enough for Master to forgive him.
Summary: The Reader finally meets the infamous Lagertha.
Warnings: little arguing, triggering (Bjorn is a little pervert and reader receives a hidden non-con threat that may be triggering so please read with caution.) Smut, fingering, Ivar has turned dark! Possessive!Ivar, dub-con
Word Count: 2,017
Author: Lupy22
Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6. Part 7
Part 8
"Come. It is time for you to meet the lady of the house." Bjorn stood up from his seat.
You remained completely still and darted your eyes towards the open window. Bjorn didn't give you a chance to bolt. He shook his head and reached down to grab you. You dug your heels in the mattress and tried to crawl backwards but he was tall and fast.
He gripped your arms and yanked you off the bed before slinging you over his shoulder like a puppy.
"Hey! Put me down!" You pounded your fists into his back and kicked your feet.
"Keep it up. I like 'em when they kick." Bjorn commented.
You nearly barfed after his comment and stopped struggling. You watched the floor and noticed he was taking you towards the kitchen. There were women all dressed in fancy suits and dresses. They were everywhere. On the stairs, in the hallway, in the dinning room and when you got to the kitchen Bjorn placed you on your feet and turned you around.
It was there you had come face to face with the queen. She had long beautiful blonde hair and gentle blue eyes. She wore a dark red dress that clung to her body and then puffed out at the waist.
She certainly was dressed like a queen. You would give her that. She had two champagne glasses and held one out to you.
"You must be Y/N. Would you like something to calm your nerves? You look a little scared."
You shook your head. Her eyes went right to your stomach and on instinct, put a protective hand over your hardening belly. Lagertha put both glasses of champagne down on the counter behind her.
"I see. I bet this is your first child too." She commented.
"What's it to you?" You questioned.
Her lips curled in a warning smile and started to approach you. You tried to step back but a pair of big strong hands clamped down on your shoulders to keep you still.
"Children are precious. They grow so fast and although they can give you a hard time they always make you proud in the end." As Lagertha spoke she brought her beautiful blue eyes up to Bjorn who was holding you down.
She placed a hand over yours. "I do not want to hurt you or this child. In fact, I don't want to hurt any of the prince's of Kattegate."
You couldn't believe this. Her words made you stiffen as you searched her face. "Then why are you here?"
"Im here to take back my throne. You probably don't know but Aslaug had taken everything from me. Thats why I killed her." Lagertha began to explain.
You shook your head.
Lagertha moved her hand to your face. "Don't worry Y/N, you won't be here forever. I know they will be back. I will allow Ivar to take you with him. As long as he agrees to cooperate and accept me as the new ruler of Kattegate."
"And if he doesn't?" You wondered.
She clicked her tongue. Almost as if on cue, Bjorn began to rub your shoulders. The feeling made you squirm. He brought you closer to his chest and you felt your eyes water.
"Would you like to talk with Ivar? Perhaps you can persuade him." Queen Lagertha asked.
"Yes." You tried getting out of Bjorns tight grip.
"Yes, please!" Bjorn growled beside your ear.
"Yes, please." You were about to cry at that moment.
Lagertha finally nodded her head and Bjorn released you. Bjorn pulled out the phone and handed it to you. You heard ringing from the other end of the phone. It only rang once and them you heard a loud phone go off simultaneously from across the room.
Bjorn released you and searched his eyes through the crowd of women. The ringing of Ivars phone got louder and it was followed by a strong thumping sound. The First thing you noticed was women parting to create a path, then you saw Ubbe with a crow bar swinging in his left hand. Ivar came in behind him with two blades he was digging into the tiled floor and dragging himself closer to you.
You wanted to laugh from the relief that tickled your stomach. You wanted to turn to Lagertha and stick your tongue at her like a 5 - year- old. More importantly you wanted to punch Bjorn in the face.
Hvitserk popped up from the crowd with a girl wrapped in his arms with a dagger at her throat. Sigurd came up from behind you and placed a hand gently on your arm. A few men that you didn't recognize emerged with weapons in their hands.
Lagertha didn't show any signs of a worry. She kept her head held high and brought her eyes down to Ivar who pulled himself up onto a chair.
"Ivar, welcome back." She leaned against the counter.
"You made a mistake coming to my home while I was away. You made an even bigger mistake bringing Y/N into this." Ivar growled.
Somewhere in the midst of everything going on Bjorn had left your side and when he returned he had a herd of men following him. Where the hell did all the people come from? The place had suddenly became flooded with many faces unknown to you.
Your hands trembled as your eyes searched the room. It was starting to get hard to breath. Your mind went into a set of panic and your heart nearly pounded right out of your chest.
"Brothers. . . If you kill her then you will have to kill me too." Bjorn walked up to Ubbe and Ivar with a big axe in his hand.
"Maybe we should." Ivar sneered.
Ubbe clutched his weapon. "Shut up!" He growled between clenched teeth.
The second eldest son looked at Bjorn. "She killed our mother." Although his words were quiet they held a dark threat behind them.
"I know and I would want revenge too." He dangled the axe for a few minutes before he gripped it tight and pressed the blade to Ivars cheek.
Why was he just sitting there? Why wasn't he doing something?
"But we must focus on getting revenge for our father. . . That is why I am here."
Ubbe lowers his weapon as if he completely forgot about everything else. Ivar grunts angrily and slammed his blade into the table beside him.
"And my brothers. . . We will get revenge." Bjorn vowed.
***
"Did anyone hurt you?" Ivar asked in the back of the SUV.
You looked out the window and shook your head. "I just want to go wherever we are going and take a nice long hot shower."
You wanted to miraculously scrub off the feeling of Bjorns hands on your shoulders. You wanted so bad to tell Ivar of the hidden threat that had been placed upon you. But for the sake of peace you kept your mouth shut. Bjorn and his mother had outnumbered Ivar and all his men. You couldn't risk their lives. You couldn't be so selfish.
"Where are we going?" You questioned.
"To our cabin far away. Not even Lagertha knows of it. You will be safe." He assured.
You couldn't stop the eye roll that came next. You were supposed to be safe at the manor and look what happened there. Despite wanting to argue you leaned your head against the window and closed your eyes. You were so tired. And the simple turns in the car was making you queasy.
Pregnancy. Joy to the world.
***
After a torturous 3 hour car ride you finally arrived at a big wooden cabin in the woods. The place looked as though people had definitely been occupying it before. You wondered who.
"Y/N, shower's upstairs if you still want one." Ivar began to walk up behind you.
"Finally." You grumbled as you dropped a bag at your feet.
Ivar waited for you in the room across the hall. He had the door wide open and was sitting on the bed when you emerged from the bathroom.
"Y/N." He called your name and you went to him.
The room was dark, the only reason you could see anything was because of the light from the hall leaking into the room. He lifted his shirt over his head and waved you closer to him.
"Shut the door." He spoke in a light smooth voice.
You kicked your foot back and listened to the door click shut. Ivar's hands reached out and grasped your hips. He pulled you closer to him and untied your towel. It dropped to your feet and left you completely exposed.
Your hands held onto his shoulders as he leaned down and placed his lips to your belly. The sound of his lips on your skin ignited a fire burning in your thighs. Your breathing became heavy and your heart started to pound deep within your chest.
"Can you promise me that no one hurt you?" Ivar asked as his hands began to run up to your ribs.
"I promise." You whispered.
"Good. Spread your legs for me." He replied quietly.
You spread your legs and felt his fingers brush against your left thigh. You instantly became aroused. Heat and moisture gathered in your folds as you felt his fingers slowly drag further up into your entrance.
"I know I haven't been that good to you. And I'm sorry for what Lagertha did. She shouldn't have scared you like she did." He curled his finger inside you and you let out a whimper. "I promised I would keep you and this baby safe. And I intend to keep it. I intend to make the whole world know just how precious you and this baby mean to me."
He moved his other hand down to your stomach and fanned his hand against your womb. Your legs were trembling and your knees were becoming weak by the second. As he spoke those words he continued placing light kisses up to your chest.
His hand kept pumping his finger inside you and you nearly came right then and there. Hearing the vow to protect you and his child made you riled up. You wanted to jump right on him and you wanted him inside you.
He brought his mouth to your nipple and gently flicked it with his tongue. You opened your mouth and let out a loud moan.
"I will gather everyone who ever favored my mother and I will take back what is rightfully mine." He pulled away from your chest and brought you right onto his lap.
Your hands held onto the nape of his neck as he reached down and popped open the button of his jeans. The mere sound of his zipper opening made a warm spark flare inside your gut.
"Yes." You moaned in agreement.
"And then you will become my queen and we will rule Kattegate together." He spoke before he lifted you up by your waist and slowly allowed you to sink down onto his erection.
You let out a little sigh in content and rolled your hips. He kept his hands on her hips and thrusted his hips up to meet yours.
"We'll get married." He whispered as he grinded himself into you.
All you could do was hum, whimper, and writhe above him.
"You'll give me many children." He growled .
"Fuck, Ivar." You moaned.
He pressed his lips to yours only for a brief moment. His hands moved possessively up your back and hooked around your shoulders. He pressed your chest into his.
"You and I will stay a family even if it kills me." He vowed just before he let out a quiet grunt and filled your walls with his come.
A/N: fair warning ahead this series is going to be ending soon. Just 2 more chapters left. But I might make a sequel of the series depending on how people react to the ending.
okay! i wrote this a couple months ago and came across it when i was rereading some stuff, and decided to post. idk if i'll write anymore for these characters but i might try to!
CWs (let me know if i missed any): slavery universe, police interrogation, threat of torture, brutality, manhandling, seizure, threat of rape. (he gets called kid a lot, but is 18)
(Also i know nothing about medical stuff or police. So.)
-----------------------------------
Adler heard the door shut in the front room. He stepped away from the food he was preparing and saw Elaina walking down the hall.
“Hi, Miss Elaina,” he said. She didn’t answer, just kept going down the hall. “I made dinner, do you want some?”
“No, I’m not feeling too good. Thanks though, Adler,” she said. She shut her bedroom door behind her.
Adler stared after her closed door for a moment before going back into the kitchen. Was she slurring her words or was that his imagination? … No. If she needed his help, she’d ask him.
He busied himself with putting away the dirty dishes and setting aside a plate for his master when he got home. Maybe he should set aside a plate for Elaina too. He decided it would be worth the risk to ask. Even if she didn’t want any, he could probably get her some ibuprofen or water.
He was walking down the hallway when a muffled thump came from Elaina’s room. Adler froze and listened but he couldn’t hear anything else. He quickly went to her door and knocked.
“Miss Elaina?” he asked. There was no answer. A sick feeling began to settle in his stomach as he knocked again. “Miss Elaina are you okay?” Still no answer. He took a deep breath and pushed open her door.
Elaina lay unconscious on the ground, her head lolling to the side. Adler rushed to her and dropped to his knees by her head.
“Miss Elaina?!” He shook her shoulder, but it did nothing. “Please wake up, please!”
Oh gosh, what is he supposed to do? Call Master? No, there’s a number you’re supposed to call when people get hurt right? It’s short, only two or three numbers. It’s 19, or 99, or 991… 911!
Elaina’s phone was next to her, already open. Alder closed the page she was on and clicked on the phone icon. Numbers filled the screen and he dialed with shaking hands. It began to ring as he held it to his face.
“911 what’s your emergency?”
“Oh, uh, my-my master’s daughter passed out,” Alder said in a rush.
“Your master’s…? Oh,” the woman on the line said. She changed her tone when she spoke again. “Are you the only one home? Is your master there?”
Adler switched hands to hold the phone with. “No, it’s -- it’s just me and Miss Elaina.”
“Do you know the address of the house?” the woman asked. He could hear her tapping away on a keyboard.
“304 West Second Street,” he said.
“In Hallstatt?”
“Yes ma’am.”
Elaina began to move. Adler almost sighed in relief, but it caught in his throat when he realized that she wasn’t stirring -- she was seizing.
“Oh -- oh no! I -- I think she’s having a seizure! Wh-what do I do?” he asked. His heart pumped hard in his chest with panic. Oh, what was happening? What was he supposed to do?!
“Stay calm,” the woman directed. “Clear the area around her, and then turn her on her side. The paramedics are on their way.”
Adler put the phone on speaker and set it on the ground. There was nothing immediately around Elaina, so he went ahead and turned her onto her side, which was harder than he thought it would be, with her body tensed and convulsing.
“Okay, I did it,” Adler said. He kept a hand on Elaina’s side to keep her from falling back over. He could hear the sirens as the paramedics made their way towards him.
“The paramedics should be there any minute. Stay on the line with me and let me know when she stops seizing, okay?”
“Yes ma’am,” Adler breathed. Elaina stopped not long afterwards. “She’s stopped.”
“Alright. Stay on the line. The paramedics are on your street. When they get there, hand them the phone, okay?”
“Yes ma’am.” The front door opened and heavy footsteps got closer.
“You did a good job,” the woman said.
Adler sighed in relief as the paramedics came into the room, rushing to Elaina. He did a good job.
-----------------------------------
After the EMT’s left with Elaina in the back of the ambulance, Master finally got home. Adler had called him a few minutes before when he was on his way home, and told him what had happened. Honestly, Adler was shocked that Master wasn’t going straight to the hospital.
Adler waited nervously by the door, his master’s footsteps getting closer. The door slammed open and Master had his hands on him in a second.
“What did you do?!” Master yelled, pushing him against the wall.
Adler cried out as his head hit the wall, the air knocked out of him with his master’s hands on his chest. “Wha -- Nothing! I didn’t do anything!”
“What did you do to Elaina?!”
To Elaina? Adler only helped her! He opened his mouth to answer, but the sound of a car pulling in the driveway made him stop.
Master smiled. “Doesn’t matter. You’ll have to answer to the police now.”
“To -- what?!” Despite knowing better, Adler began to struggle, pushing against his master’s grip. “Why?! Master why? Please, I -- I didn’t do anything!”
There was a knock on the door, and Adler’s head whipped around. He turned back to his master, pleading with his eyes. Please please don’t let them take me.
“Come in!” Master called with a smile.
-----------------------------------
Adler folded his hands on top of the metal table. There was no clock in the room, but he was sure he’d been sitting there over an hour. No one had come in the room since he’d been brought there.
The police had come into the house and pinned him against the wall. He didn’t fight back against them, but he still had a bruise forming over his jaw where he was hit.
The door opened and a slave trainer entered. Adler tensed, straightening his posture. He thought he'd be questioned by an officer, not a trainer from a facility or auction house. He wished it was an officer. They had more rules. He put his hands under the table so the trainer couldn’t grab them. He sat across from Adler, staring at him and forcing him to break eye contact. Slaves aren’t meant to look their betters in the eye unless told to.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. Adler stared at the table in front of him, focusing on controlling his breathing. He was trying to do everything in his power to not give the trainer a reason to hurt him. But he also knew that when when it came down to it, he was just a slave. And the man in front of him could do anything he wanted.
“So you hurt your master’s daughter?” the trainer finally asked.
“No, sir,” Adler answered.
“Look at me when I talk to you.”
Adler closed his eyes for a moment, and took a breath. He looked up. The nametag on the trainer’s chest read Miller. Adler quickly looked away from it and into his eyes.
“Don’t lie to me,” he said.
“I’m not lying, sir.”
“Listen, slave, the punishment for hurting a free person is bad enough, you do not want to add lying on top of it.”
“I’m not lying, sir,” Adler repeated. “I didn’t hurt her.”
Miller leaned forward suddenly, making Adler flinch. “Do you know what happens to slaves that injure free people?” Adler swallowed. “Why don’t I let you know? Slaves that injure free people -- their own masters no less -- have one of three things happen to them. The first is that they go to prison. Slave prison, where it’s full of trainers like me. Except most of them are a lot less civil than me. You look pretty well fed. That won’t happen in prison. You’ll get fed once every three days. Maybe four. It depends on the trainer in charge of you. Then every day you’ll either go to do backbreaking work, or you’ll stay in and be the trainers’ toy for the day. And I’m telling you now -- you’ll pray that you go to break rocks. I’ve seen trainers’ toys gutted, burned, raped, broken. Recovering from a broken femur bone in slave prison is hell. You don’t want that do you?”
Adler shook his head, his breath hitching. He knew that those things happened to slaves, but hearing it from a man who’d done those things himself and was threatening to do them to Adler? It made him sick.
Miller smiled. “I didn’t think so. So let’s look at the other options, yeah?
“The second option is that you’re sold off at a back auction. You know, to the people that run fighting rings and brothels. I’ve heard of a few poor suckers that had the unfortunate luck to be sold to psychos that used them for experiments. Cut parts of them off, rearrange their faces, things like that. Nothing good comes from being sold at a back auction, you know that?”
Adler looked down. He didn’t want Miller to see the tears gathering in his eyes. He wrapped his arms around his waist, balling the fabric of his shirt into his fists to hide his shaking hands.
“Look at me.” Adler closed his eyes to hold back the tears. Miller suddenly slammed his hand on the table. “LOOK AT ME!” Adler jumped and forced himself to look back into his cold eyes. The tears fell down his cheeks, making Miller smile.
“Let’s talk about your last option hmm?
“The only other thing that could possibly happen to you, is you getting put down. Put to sleep. Executed. You get it, don’t you?” Adler didn’t answer, only took a shaking breath. “And let’s be honest, that one seems like the best option out of all of them right?”
No. All of them sounded like Adler’s worst nightmare. But the trainer was right, wasn’t he? There was no way they’d believe that he didn’t hurt Elaina. Adler knew the only reason they were interrogating him instead of sending him straight to the gallows was because of that law Master hated. The one that said that all slaves needed to confess to their alleged crime before they were punished for it. There were no cases of a slave being innocent or not confessing.
Because trainers really didn’t care. They’d just keep threatening or hurting slaves until they confessed to something they didn’t do just to get away from them. And now it was happening to Adler.
But he didn’t hurt Miss Elaina.
“So why don’t you tell me what you did now, and I’ll make sure you get that last option?” Miller said. He leaned back in his chair and smiled like he’d just gotten praise for a job well done. “We can spare you being unnecessarily hurt, and just get right to the end. That sounds good right? So tell me--what did you do to your master’s daughter?”
Adler closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Nothing. I didn’t touch her.”
-----------------------------------
Two more trainers had interrogated him since Miller. They were getting more and more impatient and violent every time. The last one, a woman named Neisler, twisted Adler’s arm behind his back and threatened to break it unless he confessed. She was eventually called out from the intercom.
Adler was getting more and more desperate trying to convince them that he didn’t hurt Elaina, but every time he tried to tell them what happened, they accused him of lying and told him that he didn’t want to get punished for that on top of everything else he’d done.
He was sitting across the table from another trainer. Pask, his nametag said. He’d been sitting across from Adler for quite a while, not saying anything. It seemed like he was waiting for Adler to speak first, but he knew better.
Finally: “So why’d you do it?”
Adler wanted to cry again. “I didn’t,” he said miserably.
“Oh come on,” Pask said casually, “we all know you did. Just tell us why. Did she hurt you?”
“No. Miss Elaina has never been anything but kind to me. I’d never hurt her.” Adler looked at Pask’s eyes, too exhausted to care about the rules. He wasn’t yelled at for it.
“So would you hurt her if she’d been aggressive toward you?”
“No!” Adler said, with a little too much force. “I’d never hurt any free person! No slave in their right mind would ever hurt a free person!”
Pask took out his phone and stared at the screen. “Maybe you’re not in your right mind.”
He’d said it so nonchalantly that Adler almost missed the meaning of the words. But as soon as they processed, he felt cold dread fill the pit of his stomach. “Wh-what?”
Pask set his phone down and looked up at him. “Have you ever been called...unstable before?”
The panic that hit Adler was almost blinding. Before he knew it he was standing up, his chest moving rapidly with his heavy breaths. “What -- no! N-no! I’m -- I’m not unstable, I’m not!”
“Sit down.”
“I am not unstable,” Adler said desperately. “You have to believe that I’m not!”
“Sit.” Pask’s tone indicated that there would be no debate. Adler sat and wrapped his arms around himself again, his whole body shaking.
“I’m not unstable,” Adler repeated quietly.
“That’s not for you to decide,” Pask said. Then he left.
Adler slumped forward in his chair and rested his forehead on the table. He was hungry, and thirsty, and tired, and so, so scared. This couldn’t possibly be happening. It was bad enough that he was being accused of attacking a free person, but being accused of being unstable? That was a guaranteed death sentence. If he was declared unstable, then the trainers and police could stop bothering with the interrogation and skip straight to putting him down. He squeezed his eyes shut at the thought. If they would just listen to him then none of this would be happening.
But they’d never listen to him. And it was happening. And Adler was going to die.
-----------------------------------
Detective Morgan watched the slave boy slouch against the table, all the fight drained out of him. He’d been in the interrogation room for almost six hours, being grilled by trainer after trainer with no results. Pask entered the observation room and stood next to him.
“I feel like we’re close,” he said.
“You’re wrong,” Morgan answered.
Pask rolled his eyes. “If he thinks we’re going to declare him unstable, he’ll confess to anything. That scares slaves.”
Morgan sighed. He hated trainers in the precinct, especially when they were interrogating slaves. They were cocky and needlessly aggressive. Morgan honestly didn’t even think this kid did anything. “But being declared unstable and confessing are going to yield the same results. He’s going to keep trying to get out of it.”
“Alright, well why don’t you do it? Go in there and talk to him,” Pask said, annoyed.
Morgan looked through the window at the boy. “I will.”
-----------------------------------
The door opened and closed, heavy footsteps stopping in front of the table. The chair scraped against the ground as someone pulled it back and sat in it. Adler pushed himself up to see his new tormentor.
It wasn’t a trainer. It was a man who looked a good ten years older than the brash young trainers he’s been dealing with. He was in plain clothes, with nothing to determine his rank except for the badge hanging from his neck. He set a bottle of water on the table, which immediately stole Adler’s attention.
“You want this?” the man asked. Adler looked up with what he hoped was pleading eyes. Please don’t force me to confess to something I didn’t do for some water. Please. The man surprised him by sliding it across the table in front of him. “Here. Drink.”
“Thank you,” Adler whispered, taking it. He hadn’t had anything to drink for hours--before he’d even begun making dinner earlier that evening. Or the day before. He really had no way to determine how long he’d been there. He’d drained about half the bottle before the man in front of him spoke again.
“I’m Detective Cody Morgan. Can you tell me your name?”
Adler blinked, and realized none of the trainers who’d been in there before had bothered asking his name. “Adler,” he answered.
Detective Morgan nodded. “Adler. Listen Adler, I’m going to ask you something, and I want you to answer me honestly, okay? Because I don’t want to ask again.” Adler swallowed reflexively, fiddling with the lid on the water bottle. “Did you do anything to hurt that girl?”
Adler took a deep breath and looked up. “No.”
Morgan tilted his head. “All those trainers seem to think you did.”
“I didn’t. If they would listen to me, they’d know I didn’t.” It was daring to say, he knew that, but he was tired. And so sick of being there, and accused of something that didn’t happen.
“Tell me.” Adler looked up in surprise. Morgan’s face was relaxed, his pose non-threatening. He pointed to a camera in the corner of the ceiling. “I’m listening. Tell me what happened. Back up your claims. Say everything that happened from the time this started to the time you were put under arrest.”
Adler quickly recovered from his shock and began talking. “Uh, I was finishing making dinner--”
“Do you know what time it was?”
“Around six fifteen. Master gets home about six thirty every day, and he likes dinner ready. I was putting aside a plate for him when Miss Elaina got home.”
Morgan leaned forward. “Where was she?”
“I don’t know. She’d left the house earlier in the day, but I don’t remember what time.” Morgan sat back and indicated for Adler to continue. “She got home and I asked her if she wanted any dinner, she said she didn’t feel well and went to her room. A few minutes later I went to go see if she needed anything when I heard her fall. I knocked on the door, but she didn’t answer, so I went inside and saw she was unconscious.”
“What then?” Morgan asked.
Adler took a breath and continued, so relieved someone was actually listening to him, all his words were coming out in a rush. “I called 911 on her phone, and told them what happened. The operator said she’d send out an ambulance and paramedics. That’s when Miss Elaina started seizing.”
“When did the paramedics arrive?”
“I don’t know, just a couple of minutes after I called.”
“So you never laid a hand on Elaina?” Morgan asked.
Adler paused. “I mean, I turned her onto her side. The operator told me to. And when I first saw she was unconscious, I tapped her shoulder to try to wake her up. But that was it.”
Adler folded his hands on top of the table and exhaled. He’d been so desperate for someone to listen to him, but what if it didn’t mean anything? Would Detective Morgan ignore his story, and the way it wasn’t possible for him to have hurt Elaina? Would he still be declared unstable and sent to die? He held his breath and waited for him to speak again.
“So, you never hit her? Gave her anything?"
“I didn’t. She came home, went to her room, and passed out.” He took another drink of water. “Is...is she okay?”
“Hmm?” Morgan asked, like he’d been lost in thought.
“Miss Elaina. Is she alright?” Alder hadn’t really thought about her since he’d been arrested, but he was extremely worried. He knew seizures were serious. Was the reason he was being so forcefully questioned was because she was really hurt? Would she die?
“She’s in the hospital. Still unconscious. Last I heard, she was stable, though.”
Adler let go of a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “Good,” he said. Then: “When she wakes up she can tell you! She can tell you that I didn’t do anything!”
Morgan put up a hand. Adler fell silent. “That really won’t be necessary.”
His grip on the water bottle tightened. “Why not?” he asked nervously.
“Because I believe you.”
Adler’s eyebrows shot up. “You do?”
Morgan nodded. “Yes. I do. The trainers are just an angry mob -- they want someone to condemn. But there were no signs of struggle on Elaina, and no signs of her being hit. Your story matches with the timestamp for the 911 call. Plus, if you did hurt her, I don’t see why you’d call 911 at all.” He thought. “Unless you were unstable.”
“I’m not!” Adler said quickly. Morgan scrutinized him some more.
“No, I don’t think you are. You’ve been very reasonable.”
Adler slouched in his chair, relieved and upset at how his night had turned out. He crossed his arms, the muscles in his right shoulder pulling painfully. “Thank you,” he muttered.
Morgan stared at him for a moment before checking his watch and standing. “Alright. Well. It’s late, so I’ll have you stay the night. You’ll go home tomorrow.”
He sighed at that, some of the tension dropping from his shoulders as he stood up. “Thank you sir.”
-----------------------------------
Morgan had put Adler in a small holding cell with a bed, and gave him another bottle of water and a sandwich from a vending machine, which he took gratefully.
“Okay. So your master should be back sometime in the morning. If I’m not here, then one of the officers will take you to meet him.” Adler nodded, sitting on the bed and eating. Morgan closed the door to the cell. “You did a great job cooperating, kid.”
As soon as he left, Adler wanted to collapse into bed. He was exhausted--both mentally and physically from the day. Morgan had told him it was a little after 1 o’clock in the morning, and he’d been awake since five a.m. He’d hardly sunk into the cot before he was asleep.
-----------------------------------
Adler was awakened by the sound of the cell door opening. He blinked against the bright lights and rubbed his eyes. Morgan stepped inside with a bag in hand.
“Morning, kid,” he said. He handed Adler the bag, which contained two donuts and a chocolate milk. “Eat up.”
“Thank you,” Adler murmured. He usually never got breakfast, so one as good as this was a nice surprise. Morgan sat next to him on the cot as he ate.
“So, I have some bad news.”
Adler froze mid-bite, his stomach dropping. Oh no, was it Elaina? Did something happen overnight and now Adler was back under suspicion? He wasn’t sure he’d walk away from the interrogation room scott-free again.
“Your master doesn’t want you back.”
He swallowed his food thickly. “He doesn’t? W-Why not?” Adler could hardly hear Morgan’s answer over his own growing panic. Master didn’t want him back? Then what? Was he going to get sold again? Oh he hated auction houses so much. They were loud and scary and he was always hurt for getting returned. He’d really really liked Master’s house and he swore he would be good so why wouldn’t his master want him back?!
“He said he doesn’t feel like he can trust you to be in his house,” Morgan said. “So I’m taking you to the auction house as soon as you’re ready. Alright?” Oh gosh no it was not alright. Adler felt himself nod. “Finish eating, and we’ll head out.” Morgan patted Adler on the leg and left.
Despite the horrible dread filling his stomach, Adler forced himself to eat the rest of what he was given. He knew that he wouldn’t be fed until he was sold, and who knew when that would happen? He’d spent almost a week at an auction house once -- he’d known slaves who were there for longer. They survived off of scraps sympathetic browsers gave him. If he became one of them, then every little thing counted.
He took a deep breath and made himself get up and leave the cell.
-----------------------------------
Morgan glanced at the kid in his passenger seat for the umpteenth time. He wondered if he gave him too sugary a breakfast -- he wasn’t looking too good. Morgan pulled into the parking lot of the auction house and turned off the car. He unbuckled and got out, but the kid didn’t.
“Adler?”
Adler jumped and looked up, like he’d just realized they’d arrived. He unbuckled his seatbelt with trembling hands and followed meekly behind Morgan.
“Hello, buying or selling?” the receptionist asked inside.
Morgan gestured to Adler behind him. “Selling.”
The woman wrote something down. “Alright, just let me scan his barcode, and I can send you back to talk to the auctioneers.”
Adler let the receptionist take his hand, and Morgan really noticed how badly he was shaking. The receptionist scanned the code on the back of his hand and they were sent through the back doors to the auction floor.
A few slaves were standing on the stage, but Morgan knew that most were kept in the back houses, waiting for their turn that day. A few early-risers were on the floor, bidding. Trainers were spread throughout the house, presumably keeping the slaves in check. Morgan noticed Adler’s gaze linger on the stage before he continued to follow Morgan as he searched for an auctioneer.
“Hello, can I help you with anything?” a young man asked. His nametag read Nate.
“Yeah, I’m selling him on behalf of the police department,” Morgan answered, pointing at Adler beside him. He hung near Morgan, but he was far enough away from the auctioneer that it was noticeable.
“Did he do something illegal?” Nate asked.
“No. it was a misunderstanding, but his master doesn’t want him back.”
Nate exhaled in visible relief. “Follow me and I can get everything down.”
Morgan glanced back at Adler as they began to walk to one of the desks lining the left-hand wall. He was looking more and more nervous as time went on, and Morgan worried he would try to bolt. But one look at the trainer guarding the desk area told him Adler would never risk it.
Nate sat and gestured for Morgan and Adler to do the same across the desk. He pulled out some papers and a pen. “Alright, what’s his name?”
“Adler,” Morgan answered.
Nate began to write. “What type of work has he done?”
Morgan looked at Adler and waited for him to answer. Adler cleared his throat and spoke softly. “Field and house, sir.”
“How many years did you do both?”
“I’m not sure how long I’ve been doing house. Most of my life, though. I only did field for three.”
After writing the information down, Nate furrowed his brows and looked up at Adler for the first time. “How old are you?”
Adler swallowed. “Eighteen.”
“Have you ever done any sex work?” Morgan felt his eyebrows shoot up. He watched Adler for his answer. He shook his head. “Hmm. I’ll put it on your file as an option,” Nate said casually.
Adler looked like he was going to be sick. He closed his eyes, his chest rising dramatically with a deep breath. It looked like he was trying to calm himself, but, based on the sweat beading on his forehead, it wasn’t working.
“Hang on, doesn’t he need to be a little older for that?” Morgan asked, trying to ease the situation.
Nate didn’t even look up from the papers. “No, he’s of age.”
Adler took a shuddering breath and opened his eyes, staring at nothing. Morgan worked his jaw. He wouldn’t consider himself anti-slavery but something about selling this kid, barely grown, to do who-knows-what against his will seemed wrong. Immoral. Illegal. His discomfort only grew the auctioneer continued getting information -- pulling out a measuring tape and taking down his height, directing him to the scales to get his weight. It felt like he was taking him to the gallows.
Finally everything was ready. Nate bid Morgan goodbye and took Adler away to the back houses. Morgan didn’t watch him go. He just left and sat in his car, feeling...gross.
He kept telling himself to put his key in the ignition and leave -- just leave. But he couldn't. The more he thought about how pale and shaking Adler was walking through the auction house, the more he felt like he couldn’t leave him there. He swore under his breath as he got out from his car, and went back into the building.
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Adler was pushed into the dark holding cell. There were already two other slaves there -- one boy who couldn’t have been older than eleven or twelve, and a girl who seemed to be in her mid-twenties. They were both in opposite corners of the cell, heads down. Adler took a free corner and did the same, trying to not think about what would happen to him later.
He’d be punished. The trainers always had the slaves punished for getting sold again -- for not doing a good enough job for their previous masters. Adler already had scars from his other trips to auction houses, and the thought of new ones being added made his hands tremble.
Footsteps sounded down the hall, and Adler put his head in his hands, waiting for the trainer to pass. But they stopped at the cell he was in, and the heavy door opened. He held his breath, hoping they’d go for one of the other two in the cell, but rough hands gripped his shirt collar and hoisted him up.
He bit his tongue to keep from crying out. Was he really being sent to be punished so soon? Adler trained his eyes on the ground, his breathing becoming more and more rapid. He waited to turn down the hall and into the punishment rooms -- full of whips and crops and restraints -- but they didn’t. Instead the trainer pushed him out the back door. Outside.
Adler blinked against the bright morning light, waiting for his eyes to adjust. When they did he saw Detective Morgan talking to the auctioneer they’d talked to before, who looked very upset. His heart jumped in his chest. Did his master want him back? Was Morgan going to take him back?
“Here,” the trainer said, pushing Adler forward gruffly.
Morgan gave him and the auctioneer a stern look before walking away, signaling Adler to join him.
Inside his car, Adler finally had the courage to speak up. “Did -- did my Master change his mind?” he asked, daring to hope.
Morgan put the car into drive and left the parking lot. “No. He didn’t. I did. You’re coming home with me.”
Adler felt his jaw drop. “I -- I am?”
“Yep.”
And before Adler knew it he was crying. He honestly didn’t even know why. He was just so exhausted from the interrogation, and spending a night in jail, and the fear of being sold again that when he heard he’d just be going home with someone who’d actually been nice to him, he broke. He put his head in his hands and tried to keep quiet, but he knew Morgan had already noticed. He put a hand on Adler’s back comfortingly.
“Hey, it’s alright. I know this has been stressful, but I promise I’ll treat you good, Adler.”
Adler looked up and wiped away his tears. “Oh I’m just -- thank you! Thank you so much, I promise I’ll do my best for you. I’ll be good and do anything you want me to, I promise!”
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Morgan smiled. “I know you will, kid.”
He wasn’t exactly sure what he’d gotten himself into with this, but he knew one thing -- Adler’s life was about to get much better.
