CW: Restraints, stress position (brief), vague threats, bruises, hypersensitivity
Nicholas returned about a half an hour after Killian left. He took his time in Nicholas the chains and finding the keys to the cuffs.
“You been crying?” Nicholas asked as he started to unlock Shea’s wrists.
“… Yes, sir.” It was obvious. Even if Shea denied it, Nicholas would find out momentarily anyway.
“Did anything happen after the group left?”
Shea’s heart started to race. So it had been a test? Had he passed? “S-sir, one of the guests came back and tried to convince me to run away.”
Nicholas paused unlocking the cuffs on Shea’s ankles. “… Excuse me?” His voice sounded tense.
Was it not a test then? Shea was confused. “O-one of… of the guests came back and took the chains off. H-he… he tried to get me to leave with him, sir.”
Nicholas moved in front of Shea and grabbed his face, forcing Shea to look at him. “Who?” His voice was like ice and it made the blood freeze in Shea’s veins.
“I… I-I’m sorry, sir— I don’t remember his name.”
“Then what did he look like?”
“I-I… ah, I-I didn’t see his face.” Shea lied. Nicholas hadn’t set this up and Shea wasn’t about to get Killian in trouble. What Nicholas did to him was admissible by nature of what Shea was, but he feared Nicholas wouldn’t restrain his anger against a human any more than he did against Shea.
Nicholas’s expression changed. “Why are you such a fucking liar? You don’t know his name or his face? And you expect me to believe that one of my friends was in here, trying to rescue you?” Nicholas laughed.
Shea felt relief calm his heart as Nicholas went back to uncuffing him. “Sorry, sir.”
“You know I’m gonna have to punish you for that, though.”
“Yes, sir.”
Nicholas ran his hand up Shea’s back once he finished unlocking the cuffs, pressing his fingers onto some of the bruises he passed, then stroked a hand down Shea’s wing.
Shea gasped involuntarily as a shudder ran down his spine.
What on earth??
“Did you just try to pull away from me?” Nicholas asked, his voice bordering on snapping.
“N-no— no, sir— I don't—” Shea trailed off. What was that? He tried to think back to when the last time someone touched his wings was.
He couldn’t remember. Master Wilson never really touched him unless it was to slap him across the face or pull him by the arm. Nicholas was never allowed to touch his wings or hurt him before Master Wilson died. Since Master Wilson’s death, Nicholas had been much more interested in beating the hell out of Shea’s face and torso than anything to do with his wings.
Nicholas took a fistful of Shea’s feathers and pulled him back. Shea screamed.
Shea hadn’t screamed in years. Had he ever screamed? He didn’t know. He’d never felt pain this bad before. It was like every sensation in his wings was multiplied tenfold— he knew it wasn’t like this normally.
If Shea touched his own wings or if they brushed up against a wall, it just felt normal. He started to cry aloud as Nicholas finally released his wing.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” Nicholas asked, pulling Shea’s hair so his head tipped backwards to look at him. “You’re not usually such a crybaby.”
“I-I-I’m sorry, sir— I’ll sto-stop…”
If Nicholas decided to pull Shea’s feathers again, however, Shea doubted he could keep that promise.
Nicholas didn’t pull Shea’s wing again, but he did draw his hand slowly down the length of the wing. At first, Shea reflexively jerked away, but he consciously focused on not moving, knowing it would only irritate Nicholas. Shea shivered, whimpering quietly.
“Your wings aren’t just delicate, are they? They’re also hypersensitive.” Shea could hear the smirk in Nicholas’s voice. “You’re going to regret that I found out about this.”
CW: Dehydration, refusal of care, questionable Caretaker, kicking, bruises, restraints
“Whumpee? I brought you something to drink.”
“Go to hell.” Whumpee spat, kicking at Caretaker before they even got close.
“Whumpee, let me help you. You need to drink something. You’re dehydrated.”
“I’d rather die. Go fuck yourself.”
Careful to stay out of Whumpee’s reach, Caretaker set the cup on the nightstand. “Aren’t you thirsty?”
Whumpee didn’t answer.
With a sigh, Caretaker braced themself and sat on the edge of the bed again. As they had expected, Whumpee continued kicking them.
Caretaker simply sat quietly, enduring. Again, Whumpee kept at it for about two hours before they finally stopped. Caretaker was sore.
“Whumpee, may I please change your bandages?”
“Go away!”
“Will you at least take a drink before I leave?”
“No!” Whumpee kicked Caretaker one more time.
Caretaker gave a curt nod. “Fine. But I’ll be back later to try again until your answer is yes to one of those requests.” And Caretaker left again.
—
“Whumpee?” Caretaker returned an hour later. “May I change your bandages?”
“Damn you, no!”
“Will you take a drink?”
“I said, no!”
Caretaker sat on the bed once more, biting the inside of their cheek as Whumpee kicked at their already bruised body. “I want to help you— I’m going to help you. I don’t care how many times you kick me, I’m not giving up on you.”
“Why won’t you just leave?? I don’t want your help! I don’t trust you!” Whumpee kicked Caretaker in the head.
Caretaker saw stars. “I know you don’t trust me, but I can’t just let you go. You’re going to get an infection!”
“I don’t care— just stay away from me.”
Caretaker closed their eyes and sat in silence until Whumpee stopped kicking them. Maybe it was all in their head, but they felt like it was a shorter period this time. They allowed the silence to hang in the air for a long moment before speaking.
“May I change your bandages?”
“No.”
“Will you take a drink?”
“You’rereallynot going to leave me alone until I say yes to something, are you?”
“Nope.”
Whumpee was silent.
Well, it wasn’t a no.
When Caretaker held the cup to Whumpee’s lips, they drank, glaring at Caretaker the whole time. Despite Whumpee’s glare, they drank the whole glass of water.
“Thank you.” Caretaker said softly before leaving the room.
Caretaker winced, recoiling as they felt their lip split and blood run down their chin. “Why would you do that?” They asked, growing slowly frustrated with Whumpee.
“You bastard! You fucking bastard— you can’t keep me here!” Whumpee thrashed, pulling hard at the cuffs encircling their wrists.
Caretaker wiped the blood off their face with the back of their sleeve. They had been forced to restrain Whumpee and even sedate them at times for the last several days. Whumpee was exceptionally violent and remarkably strong for their size.
“Whumpee, if you kick me again, I’m going to have to sedate you. Please stop it.”
“Might as well do it now, bitch. I’m not just gonna be complacent.”
“Dammit, I’m not trying to hurt you! You need to be rebandaged!”
“Yeah,right. You’re fucking sick! I’m not some doll for you to play with!” Whumpee kicked again, narrowly missing Caretaker.
“I don’t see you as a doll! Whumpee, if you don’t let me take care of your injuries, you’re going to get an infection.”
“Fine by me.” Whumpee spat.
Caretaker grit their teeth. “Damn it all— I don’t want to sedate you! Why won’t you just calm down??”
“Calm down? Calm down?? How about you spend two months locked up by Whumper with them dictating every area of your life! Then we’ll see if you want to ‘calm down’!” Whumpee tugged at the handcuffs and a thin stream of blood trickled down their arm.
This approach wasn’t working.
Closing their eyes, Caretaker took a slow, deliberate breath. “Okay. Okay, fine, I see your point. Allow me to start over.”
“You gonna let me go?”
“I can’t take the cuffs off until either your injuries are healed or you trust me enough to stay.”
“Then it’s not really starting over, is it? You can’t expect to get trust when you don’t giveany.”
Caretaker walked closer to Whumpee and sat on the bed beside them, trying to keep the pain off their face as they were met with a barrage of kicks.
“I want to help you, Whumpee. I know— ouch— I know you don’t trust me. I understand why. Even if you don’t want to trust me, though, you don’t have a choice. I'm— ack— I’m literally the only person you have right now. I can’t make you trust me, but I can hope that you’ll at least let me take care of you.”
Whumpee didn’t answer, only continued to pummel Caretaker with kicks.
Minutes passed. The minutes turned into hours. Whumpee was slowing down. After only a couple hours, they had stopped kicking Caretaker completely.
“Go away.” They rasped.
Caretaker glanced at Whumpee to see they were crying. “Can I please change your bandages?”
I had so much trouble writing this. It turns out that writing stuff that comes too close to militaristic settings and actions makes my skin crawl! So there was a lot of revising to get this to where it sounded more like a scene from Mad Max than one from the news channel.
So. Have a dystopia with a totalitarian government and a rebel group trying to take them down.
CW for implied minor character death, off-screen violence.
“Is everyone in position?” Leader’s voice crackles over the comms.
“Ready,” said Sniper.
“Bring it on,” said Bomber.
“In position,” Youngest replied.
“All right,” Leader said. “Let’s do this.”
The Weapon had just been deployed against a city, leaving little more than burned-out husks of buildings behind. The people there had just wanted clean drinking water after Government had contaminated theirs. They were protesting peacefully. But Government couldn’t let that stand, couldn’t let that challenge to their authority go unchallenged. So they sent in The Weapon.
The rebellion hadn’t gotten the information in time to stop The Weapon on its way in, but the team was able to do something now that The Weapon was leaving.
The Weapon was being transported in a convoy of armored vehicles. It was the middle car, the most protected position. You would have to be an idiot to try to attack it.
The team was just that kind of idiot. They made a plan that was just crazy enough that it might work.
The convoy pulled up past their position, and they put the plan in action.
————–
Somehow, the plan worked. The other cars got scared off, leaving only the one with The Weapon. By the time the rest of the team arrived, Leader had already dealt with the driver and guard. They all walked to the rear of the vehicle where the cargo compartment opened.
“I still say it’s a bomb,” Bomber said.
“Of course you do,” Youngest muttered.
“Areusablebomb?” Sniper asked skeptically.
“So a bomb delivery method, then!” Bomber said. “My point still stands.”
“Well, we’ll know for sure once we get this open. Then we can destroy The Weapon for good,” Leader said.
Youngest got out their lockpicks and worked at the lock on the cargo area. After a few moments, it clicked open.
“Okay,” Leader said, pushing the doors open. “Let’s see just what this weapon is.”
The inside of the compartment was dark, and it took the team members a few moments to make sense of what they were seeing.
There was something in restraints in the middle of the compartment. But it wasn’t a machine. It wasn’t anything they would have thought of as a weapon.
“Is that…” Bomber said, leaning closer.
“What the fuck,” said Sniper, quietly but with feeling.
“That’s,” Youngest started, but broke off.
What was there to say? They all could see what was right in front of them.
Restrained in the cargo compartment was not a piece of machinery, but rather a body. The head, covered in a blindfold, turned towards the sound of their voices.
“The Weapon… is a person?”
Ok, I went back to read the first chapter and it’s official, I love it. Everyone go read this series now!!! (mind the tags tho, as most whump it might not be for everyone lol)
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Summary:Killian Jones wakes up from a year-long coma into a world shaken by a plague that caused billions of casualties and turned the survivors into one of three types: Alphas, sexual predators, Betas, human beings as they were, and Omegas, sexual prey.
In his total misfortune, Killian has turned into an Omega and upon waking up he gets immediately sold as a sexual slave to Eloise Gardener, a sadistic Alpha who takes special interest in him.
But he’s soon to learn that even when he escapes the physical prison she keeps him in, his mind is still trapped…
Word count for Ch. 1: ~4.5k
~
Important Notes:
This fic will include: rape and graphic depictions of it, violence, human trafficking elements, forced alpha/omega bonding, forced pregnancy, mpreg, and in general a lot of messed-up stuff. Make sure you’re okay with all these mentioned before you continue reading, and if there’s something specific that may bother you but is not in this list, don’t hesitate to ask me.
I haven’t read a lot of fics in Omega Verse. I looked up some “rules”, and since I’m taking a lot of elements from it, I’m tagging it as Omega Verse, but all in all I’m making my own world here.
There won’t be any animalistic elements other than Omegas experiencing heat, which here basically translates to an intense desire to be with their Alpha.
For the most part there will also be no mention of body changes, but because Mpreg will play an important role here, I’m considering having a male Omega (guess who lol)… go through one certain change. However, it will only be relevant and detailed in one chapter I have planned, which can be skipped and I’ll warn you beforehand.
In general I’m more interested in exploring stuff like rape elements, forced bonding/claiming and forced mpreg, and how all that affects our hapless pirate (who is not a pirate here since it’s a Modern AU, but anyhow). I hope that gives you an idea for how the story will be like.
Again, for any further questions, even ones regarding tagging, don’t hesitate to drop an ask.
Giving my full thanks to this fic, as it was the first one I read in Omega Verse and it inspired me to create and eventually start writing this one.
~
Cold.
Blinding white light seeping through his closed eyelids.
Scent of… of human waste and disinfectant.
A hospital?
A door opening.
Two male voices above him.
“That’s him?”
“Mm-hm.”
“He’s missing a hand.”
“Well, only that.”
“You sure he’s an Omega?”
“Yup. Tested and certified.”
Papers rustling.
“Mm. He’s handsome, but he won’t be easy to sell with such a defect.”
“Shhh. Be careful with your words,” said in a whisper. “He can probably hear you by now.”
“So what’s the story?”
“He’s been in a coma since May 12th 2018. GSW to the head.”
“He was shot in the head? And he survived? What about brain damage?”
“Well, he was in a coma. But tests show he’ll make a full recovery.”
“Since May, 12th, you said? 2018? So, he doesn’t know about the outbreak?”
“Nope. Unless he had some hearing during the first days, you know, with how much people talked about it. Even the nurses taking care of him. But we had no indication of it.”
Killian finally managed to open his eyes. Two men were standing above him, looking at each other. One seemed like a nurse, the other was dressed in black.
“That’ll be quite a surprise for him. And he should wake up soon?”
“Brain activity has been- oh! Speak of the devil!”
The nurse turned to him, noticing that he was looking at them. He fished a penlight from a pocket and examined Killian’s eyes. “Follow my finger,” he said, and Killian did as he was told, still confused and disoriented. The nurse then straightened up, nodding to the other man.
The man in black leaned over him, looking all over his face.
“His beard is freshly trimmed,” the man said.
“Of course. We gotta make ‘em look good, right?”
With a gloved hand, the man in black grabbed Killian’s face and moved it right and left, looking around.
Killian realized he couldn’t move yet… not that he had full comprehension of what exactly was happening.
