#implied captivity

Caretaker swallowed. Their saliva tasted like alcohol. "Well… It's not as bad as it looks."

"Have you been crying?"

"Maybe a little." More tears came, and Caretaker angrily wiped them away. Stupid, stupid, stupid. "Are you okay?"

"Why wouldn't I be? I'm more worried about you right now."

Caretaker set the bottle down on the floor, out of sight. They sighed. "I just… I took so long to find you, you know? Of course you know. You took the brunt of it. And I… I feel so… I can't look myself in the eye, I can't bear to look at my stupid face in the mirror, I messed up. I was late. I left you on your own when you needed me most."

"Hey," Whumpee said gently, pulling out a chair and sitting with Caretaker. "Is that why you're crying? Because you didn't save me sooner?"

"You say it like it's no reason to cry. But I'm so, so sorry, Whumpee. I can never express how sorry I am. I'm a failure. I failed to protect you when you needed protection the most. I failed you."

Whumpee reached out and put both hands on Caretaker's. "You know… You were the only one who kept looking. After I was deemed dead by police and— and my own family, you kept looking. You went to my funeral, but you never gave up. You kept looking. And you found me."

"Too little, too late."

"Too little? Do you think getting me out of that hellhole is too little? Caretaker, I… I would've died there. If you hadn't kept looking, if you hadn't found me, I would've died. How is this too little?"

"I don't know…" Caretaker touched their forehead to Whumpee's hands. "I don't know. I just feel— I feel so ashamed. That I couldn't rescue you sooner. I feel so ashamed."

"You found me. You took me in. You helped me more than you probably realise. My own family couldn't handle the way I've changed, but you could. You loved me through it all. How is that too little? How is that too late? When is it too late to love?"

Caretaker was soaking Whumpee's hands with their tears. Their shoulders shook with each sob. "I just wish— I wish I could've been there that day. The day Whumper took you. I would've protected you. I swear I would've."

"I know, Caretaker. I know. Please, stop beating yourself up. You're my everything. You're not too little, not too late. I… I don't know how else to say it. You've done so much for me."

Caretaker looked up, still embarrassed. Still so deeply ashamed. But they found nothing in Whumpee's gaze that condemned them — the contrary, Whumpee looked at them with such love, it was hard to describe.

"I'm glad you're here," Caretaker said. "I'm so glad."

"I'm glad, too. And I'm so thankful. Never put yourself down like that again. And please, stop drinking during the night. You never know when to stop, not when you're spiralling."

"I'm sorry," they mumbled.

"I'm not mad. Just worried. Let's get you to bed."

Caretaker wiped their eyes. "Okay… I'm sorry I'm such a mess."

Inho and his wife, Mirae falling in love and marrying despite being alphas. Most everyone looks down on them, saying that alphas shouldn’t be with other alphas and that they should divorce and find an omega, or even a beta each.

They do try and find an omega they can share but most of them don’t want to be with an alpha/alpha pairing and they refuse.

But Inho and Mirae love each other and want to be together. Inho loves his wife so much that when her liver starts failing, he goes into the games and kills the finalists so that he can save her.

When she’s all better and Inho tells his wife that he has a new well paying “job”, they start trying to find an omega they can share their life with. They both really want children but even with Inho’s new found wealth, no omega wants to be with them.

Mirae is devastated and is starting to think that maybe an omega wasn’t in the cards for them. But then, one week after Inho came back from his business trip, he takes Mirae to their spare bedroom, a wide smile on his face.

On the bed, is a beautiful omega in a baby pink, silk baby doll, and one of his ankles chained to the bed. The omega is crying quietly and shaking and Mirae immediately opens her arms and sits on the bed, pulling him into her arms.

And Gihun is so scared—because he thought he won the games and he should be free but instead he got taken away to this strange place and the alpha who took him keeps reassuring Gihun that he and his wife will take care of him and their future pups and he just wants to go home…

He sees this beautiful and elegant alpha wanting to comfort him and thinking he might get freed, Gihun lets her settle him on her lap and hug him, and even scents him. Still crying, Gihun purrs and nuzzles closer, feeling like maybe, his nightmare will finally be over.

…but Mirae…Mirae suddenly has a sick feeling settle into her stomach. She wraps her arms around Gihun, patting his back, petting his hair and scenting him. She feels how soft, how pliant and how trusting he is and how much she desperately wants a child, wants an omega to complete their family and…

And she briefly looks at her husband and nods. Inho smiles at her, because he knew that his wife would love Gihun just as much as he did.

~~~

Nykim’s body shuddered when she pressed the cloth to a lash wound that was still sluggishly bleeding, and Riah flinched, her heart jumping into her throat. It wasn’t the first time he’d done that, even unconscious, but it scared her almost senseless each time. 

Her eyes flicked up, ensuring the chains were still stretched tight, holding his arms out to his sides. Even if he woke, he couldn’t hit her, she reminded herself. Or kick her–kneeling on broken kneecaps would ensure that. She supposed he could headbutt her, though, so she made sure to stay out of range in case he roused. 

And she stayed on the stone. No matter that it hurt her knees and aggravated her hip. 

But when she removed the cloth again, she decided that his back was as good as it was going to get. No point staying there, making herself suffer for a man who would only laugh at her pain. A man with a reputation worse than Merrick’s. Gods. 

Biting back a whimper, she rose, gathered her supplies, and limped over to the table at the side of the room. Her eyes slid off the cruel devices of torture littering its surface, including the barbed whip laying in a puddle of coagulated blood, which she placed the washing bowl in front of to hide. 

With nothing else to do, Riah sacrificed some of her clean drinking water to get the blood off her hands and pulled out the stuffed bun she’d swiped from the pocket of her gown. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, but she only took a small bite, chewing carefully before she swallowed. 

The spices in the savory center were probably good, but she couldn’t taste them, not while she was in that room, staring at a back that resembled nothing more than a slab of sloppily butchered meat. 

Half the bun was all she could tolerate, so she wrapped it back up. Shifting from foot to foot was no longer a viable option, her hip all but screaming at her, but what if–oh, screw it. If Merrick returned and found issue with her sitting on the ground, she’d deal with it then. 

She’d rather suffer later than suffer more now. 

Of course, after what felt like hours of sitting on a stone slab watching an unconscious man do nothing more than breathe and occasionally moan, Riah was forced to revise her opinion. Her life was measured in degrees of suffering, and it always would be. 

The degree was rather high right then. Riah decided that maybe moving, miserable as it would be, might serve her better than sitting on hard stone that leached away her body heat. 

Unfortunately, halfway to her feet, one of Nykim’s semi-conscious moans turned into a barrage of curses so colorful that her ears burned. Riah’s foot slipped, and she fell, yelping as her hip hit unyielding stone. 

“Who’s there?” Nykim asked.  

Even with his voice hoarse from screaming, the man managed to make the question more of a demand. A threat. 

Riah froze, her heart thrumming. A quick look at his back revealed no change to its sorry state. She wasn’t sure about the knees, not without touching them, and she’d rather be thrown in the sea of flames than do that now. But why… how could he even speak? 

“There’s… light,” he said, subtly gasping for air between the words. “Are you… the shadow woman?” He tried to turn his head to look but gave up rather quickly, biting back another curse. 

Riah didn’t move. Couldn’t move. 

“Little shadow…” the thief master taunted. 

Bone crunched as the man shifted, and Riah almost threw up her meager meal from earlier. Guess that answered her question about his knees. 

Or–her eyes focused on the obvious deformity of his forearms–maybe it had been those bones shifting. Her stomach churned again, so she looked at the ground, swallowing convulsively. 

“Why are. You here. Little shadow?”  

He couldn’t hurt her he couldn’t hurt her he couldn’t 

“Your breathing sounds… worse. Than mine,” Nykim remarked drily. 

Gods, and what did that say about her? She opened her mouth, intending to say what, she didn’t know. Anything other than what actually came out–

“How are you alive?” Riah cringed, curling in on herself, halfway expecting a blow… from a restrained man. Mother help her. 

That man released a disappointed-sounding sigh. “If you don’t know. Rather not say. Would have to kill you… too, then.” 

She clapped a hand to her mouth, too late to completely stifle her gasp. Impossibly, her heart beat even faster, black flecks dancing in front of her eyes.  

“Fuuuuck,” Nykim groaned, so softly Riah almost missed it under the sound of her throbbing pulse. 

Ironically, the expression of pain soothed the edge of her panic, loosening the tightness in her chest. It reminded her that despite his terrifying reputation, he was still just a man, beaten and bloodied and broken, at the mercy of Merrick, of all people. Perhaps he even deserved this treatment.

Powerless.

Miserable.

Hair too long and clothes too big, clearly borrowed. They weren't wearing shoes and stood in their socks, wiggling their toes on the tiles.

"Whumpee," Whumper smiled their name, one thumb tracing their cheek.

Whumpee snapped out of it. "Huh?"

Whumper's expression darkened and his grip tightened on their face, squeezing their chin.

Wrong answer.

"Sorry--" Whumpee choked. "Sir, sorry!"

Whumper's grip relaxed and he moved to place a hand on the small of Whumpee's back.

Whumpee stiffened when he pressed down on the fresh wounds. "I said sorry!" The defiance was a spluttering flame, dying out every second it was exposed to the light. It was quickly replaced with terror-- synonymous with Whumper's smile.

But Whumper was talking again, guiding them to the small bed. "See," he said to the doctor. "I can have them ready for service within a week, but..."

The doctor shrugged "It's a tight schedule." She looked from Whumpee, who sat on the edge of the bed, to Whumper. Sighed. "After this, don't bring any more of your strays in here."

Whumper chuckled, and it was a dangerous sound.

Whumpee flinched without meaning too.

The doctor frowned. "I mean it."

"Sure, sweetheart."

The doctor ignored him and started writing down notes on her clipboard. She rifled through her cupboards before pulling out an orange, unnamed bottle from the back. With tired movements, tapped two pills into the palm of her hand.

She crouched next to Whumpee with the pills and a glass of water. "Hey, kiddo." Her voice was kinder than they expected. Calming, like the sound of the ocean in a seashell.

"H--hey."

"You're going to be okay," said the doctor.

They looked up.

Her eyes were brown and exhausted, holding a weight to them that Whumpee didn't quite understand. "Really?" They wanted to believe her.

They wanted to believe her so badly. They were ready to cling on to any comfort, any hope thrown at them.

The doctor dropped her gaze. "No," she whispered, the word escaping without her meaning for it to.

Whumpee shrank back.

"But you should take these." She offered the pills.

The nausea became stronger. Whumpee tried to push them away, shaking their head. "No! I'm not-- I don't want--"

It was no use.

Whumper grabbed their wrists, pinning them behind their back with minimal effort. He nodded to the doctor, impatience edging its way into his voice. "Get on with it. I don't have all night."

The doctor refused to meet Whumpee's eyes as she pinched their nose shut.

It was a brief struggle.

Flailing limbs and black in the corners of their vision.

The pills swallowed.

Whumpee gagged. And gagged again.

Whumper released them, and they doubled over coughing. If they cried, they didn't realize it. They were trembling, limbs hardly their own.

Nothing was their own.

Nothing.

They dry heaved.

Whumper ruffled their hair and picked them up. "That wasn't so bad now, was it?"