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ashintheairlikesnow · 1 month

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now i’m craving streetkid chris waaaaa

if you have some time and energy, could you be persuaded to perhaps write some streetkid chris with jake and the safehouse? i’ve never stopped needing comfort for him

CW: Heavily internalized ableism, referenced past dubcon and noncon, some internal dehumanization, referenced drug use

(Street kid Chris au pieces here and here)

He sobers up, more or less, on the bus ride out of the center of the city, his forehead resting against the cool glass window. It's all a blur that moves through and around him, steel and concrete shifting to grass and trees and little houses placed next to each other like a child's toys.

Baldur hides a smile, imagining a giant toddler hand lining the houses up one by one by one by one, picking doll families to live in the little doll houses. Giant baby god giving this family a dog and this family a goldfish and that one a pretty boy like Baldur to do everything they say-

A laugh catches in his throat, dies there with the chill of sudden grief. What is his Sir doing? Is he at home with some new pet, playing games? Was Baldur replaced that quickly?

Of course he was. He was never special, never really very good even. Pretty, until he got too old. Stupid statue-boy trying and trying to hold still and never winning any of Sir's games. Sir would've ordered someone else right away.

He's probably forgotten about Baldur by now.

His throat tightens even more, heat stinging his eyes, but Baldur fights it back. The only thing worse than his wrong words and his wrong hands is when he cries, of course. Sir always says-

But Sir doesn't want him any longer, isn't there to tell him never to cry and then play games and hurt him until he does it anyway.

"Hey." Kauri, sitting next to him, must catch something in the shift of movement in his throat when he swallows or the stare of his glassy green eyes. "What's up, buttercup? You need some water? I know coming down always makes me so thirsty I could scream."

Baldur shakes his head, curling up as best he can, pulling his knees to his chin with his heels pressed against the edge of the seat, pushing the dirty soles of his shoes against the cushioned fabric. "No thank you," He whispers. "I... I'm fine."

"Yeah, yeah. I've heard that before - or I guess I should say that I've said that before. And you know what, Chris? Never once was I actually fine. So. Here." Kauri holds a bottle of water out, shaking it a little as if trying to lure a stray cat with a can of tuna. "Come on, have a drink. It'll help hold off the headache, I swear."

Baldur's fingers are shaking when he takes the bottle, and it takes three tries to get the cap open, but the water is cool and clean on his tongue and down his throat, and before he realizes it the bottle is half empty, his chest feels cold on the inside as the water trickles through him, and he's gasping for breath.

Kauri's smile is soft, gentle, only a little sad. "There we go. Keep working on it, okay? Hydration is the best defense against hangovers, not that I ever take my own advice. But it is still excellent advice."

By the bus reaches a stop that Kauri declares is theirs, he's had all the water and it's an empty bottle he stashes in his backpack. He can refill it at the first sink he sees, have something he doesn't have to beg for or fuck for to drink later on.

Baldur steps off the bus and into a neighborhood right out of TV.

Houses line the street on either side, and Baldur stares at old trees that rise over his head, dappling the ground with shade that blocks some of the heat of the sun. The air smells like grass, and there's a drone from somewhere nearby that he realizes must be a lawn mower, a sound he's only heard from Sir's windows while watching the landscapers work far, far below.

There's a fence around the yard next to them - a white fence, even, with chips of peeling paint. Baldur moves to it, reaching out and letting his fingertips brush the rough wood, one nail scratching at a bit of paint coming free. He doesn't hear himself humming, low and tuneless, repeating over and over, until Kauri pops back into view in the corner of his eye.

"You never seen a fence before?" Kauri teases, but then Baldur flinches back and away and watches Kauri's smile falter, briefly, before it determinedly returns. "Sorry. I scared you, huh?"

"I'm fine," Baldur says too fast, realizing too late that he isn't answering the question Kauri asked - either of them. The blush heats his cheeks and he turns away, jamming his hands in his pockets as hard as he can, hunching his shoulders. "Fine. I'm... I'm fine."

The word sounds good in his mouth. Soothes his mind. He opens his mouth to say it again, fine fine fine - but Baldur catches himself this time. He can't repeat words he hears, that's wrong. Can't stammer, that's wrong. Can't move, or sway, or use his hands - wrong.

All wrong.

"Right. Well, come on. The house is this way." Kauri walks a little ways away, then looks back over his shoulder. Baldur hurries to catch up, keeping himself hunched. The weight of his backpack is familiar and comforting, all his things in there. The usual headache when the pills wear off teases around the edge of his mind, but it doesn't take hold. Maybe Kauri was right about the water.

Kauri talks, chatting brightly. His hands move constantly, in gestures and emphasis, and Baldur keeps staring at it. Sir would have slapped his hands if he moved them so much, but Kauri doesn't even notice he does it.

The house has people there like them, Kauri explains, although not like them like them, just - other pets. Domestics, mostly. The woman who runs the house, like the shelters Baldur has stayed at but they won't make him pray.

"Trust me," Kauri reassures, "I wouldn't stay there if they did. I've traded a bed and some food for having to go to their church and let them tell me what a bad boy I am enough for one lifetime, thank you. Sinners have more fun, anyway." He winks, and Baldur blinks back at him. "The last time I stayed at one, the pastor hit on me. The very, very married pastor. Which goes to show you - when you are as good in bed as I am, even God doesn't measure up."

Baldur swallows. He should say something - something witty. Kauri seems to have things to say about everything, all of the time, but Baldur's mind is still slow from the pills, even though he's sobering up. He can't think of anything except to say, "Really?"

"Really." Kauri's smile is bright, flash of sun off the hood of a car blinding but with something about it that seems cracked, too. "Once we get there, I'll make introductions. But I promise, everybody is nice."

"... Nice," Baldur murmurs. Nobody is, not really, in his experience. Everybody takes something in return for every bit of nice they offer. Everybody sees his barcode and knows they can do whatever they want to him, and then they do. And if he's lucky it's only to make him eat food that makes him feel sick, or talk to him about how he's walking a dark path, as if there has ever been a lighter one. Or sometimes they tell him to go lay down on the bed-

"We're here!" Kauri's voice cuts into Baldur's thoughts, and he looks up.

In front of him there's a two-story house with white siding, flat-faced with windows that look down on him like eyes. There's a porch with chairs on it, and sitting in one of them is a tall, thin man with a mess of dark hair and sharp, dark almost-feline eyes. He's fiddling with something in his hands, but when he sees them he shoves whatever it was into his pocket and quickly stands.

Baldur hesitates - but Kauri moves right up the overgrown path, flat stones half-covered by grass and weeds. "Hey, Ant! I brought someone."

"I see this," The man says, in a smooth, accented voice. He sounds like velvet. Baldur looks at him, trying to think. Just a blowjob, probably. Easy. Baldur has traded those for lots of things. He barely has to do anything, once they grab his head. "Kauri-"

"Oh, wipe that worry off your face, Antoni, he's one of us." Kauri waves a hand back at Baldur, then grabs at his arm to pull him forward. "I brought him to meet Nat and Jake. Chris, this is Antoni. Antoni, this is Chris."

Antoni looks at him, then turns and silently heads back into the house.

Baldur swallows, shifting to half-hide himself behind Kauri. "... he doesn't... like me."

"Nah, Antoni's just kind of a mood killer professionally. He's a softie once you get to know him, I promise." Kauri half-drags him up the steps and through the front door, into an entryway that has a pile of coats abandoned on a coat rack, shoes on a mat. The house smells like something cooking, and Baldur's mouth waters, his stomach twisting as it remembers how to feel hungry and not just emptied-out and light. "Jake! Hey, Jake!"

"Jake's out," A woman's voice says. Baldur stares as an older woman pops her head in. She has brown hair with bits of gray in it in a braid that lays over one shoulder, a flannel shirt over a t-shirt and ancient jeans, and a soft smile ringed in laugh lines that crinkles at the corners and near her eyes.

She's beautiful.

"Who's this?" The woman looks from him to Kauri, with curiosity - not trepidation, not worry, and not anger. "You brought someone by?"

"Yeah. This is, uh, this is Chris. He's one of us. Chris, this is Nat. She feeds me sometimes."

"Love that description." Nat's voice is wry with good humor, and she steps forward, holding out her hand. "I have hobbies, too, you know. Hello, Chris. I'm Nat, and this is my house. I help runaways from WRU start over."

He stares at her outstretched hand, then back at her, before hesitantly shaking. His grip is limp compared to hers, but she doesn't say anything about it. "I-... I thought... you were... a man."

"No, that's Jake," Kauri corrects him. "He insists on having a life outside of waiting for my beautiful ass to show back up, so we'll see him later."

"... Okay." Baldur studies the woman - Nat - thoughtfully. Then he offers, "I can... do women, too."

Nat's expression changes - so subtly he can't tell what the change is. But he sees it. Baldur knows how to tell when the mood of a room goes sour, to try to protect himself. "Romantic," She murmurs. "I see. Kauri-"

"Don't say he can't come here," Kauri interrupts, bristling, and Baldur stares at him in open terror as his heart drops to his knees. He's angry at one of them. Baldur didn't know you could do that. "He's got as much a right as anybody else does, and you let me come here, and he could use the help, Nat, so don't you dare-"

"Kauri. Hey." Nat puts her hands up, as if surrendering in a fight. "That's not what I was gonna say. I was going to say, Kauri, how about you set him a place at the table for dinner. Okay?"

Kauri's jaw is set, and it takes him a moment to stop looking ready to keep up the argument that isn't even happening. "I-... yeah. Okay. Yeah, I'll do that. Just-... Nat, you know that a lot of places won't-"

"I know. It's okay, honey. It really is okay. Just go get him set up. And you." Nat smiles at Baldur, and he tries to see the mean she's hiding, but it isn't there. Too buried underneath a kind face, maybe. Baldur can't imagine there just isn't any cruelty there at all. "We take all kinds here, and you're welcome. No one touches you here, and I'd prefer if you kept your hands to yourself at first."

Those words don't mean anything. The shelters say that a lot, too, but Baldur still wakes up to a hand over his mouth and a voice whispering to him to be quiet sometimes when he sleeps in one. He'll find out the real cost of staying here at some point.

But he'll find out with food in his stomach, and that's worth something.

"Yes, ma'am," He murmurs, looking up and around at the high ceiling in the entryway, carpet-covered stairs that curve up and disappear around an angle. Bookshelves, and off to one side the corner of a living room with a TV playing.

"Just Nat is fine. Kauri?"

"Got it." Kauri gives a mocking, if still friendly, salute. It makes Baldur smile - but he hides it behind his serious face when he sees Nat look at him. "I'll get him settled in. Maybe we'll stay over tonight? If that seems like a good idea, if not-"

"It sounds great."

Baldur watches her go, heading up the stairs - that creak as she walks, giving away the house's age. Wondering what she'll want him to do later on, to pay for the food, to earn the bed he'll sleep in.

He has more pills in his pocket. He can take some, and drift through whatever staying here costs, let his body and training do all the work. He's done it before, over and over again.

He'll always have to do it again, sooner or later.

When Kauri takes his hand again, he lets himself be led.

He doesn't notice the dark-haired man, Antoni, watching him from a doorway as Baldur digs out two small pills and swallows them dry while following Kauri into the kitchen.

#streetkid au chris #streetkid chris au #I can't remember which I used #whump #whump oc #bbu #box boy universe #box boy #box boy whump #escaped whumpee #drug references #referenced dubcon #referenced noncon #conditioned behavior #drug use tw

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ilasknives · 1 year

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INK BLACK AND BLUE (A whump fic introduction).

hello and welcome to my newest whumpee! I swear I'm writing my other stories but for now you can have him :)

CW for: BBU/BBU Adjacent, pet whump, brief mentions of non-con touch, non-consensual drugging.

1: Hand to Hand to Hand

Pet practically belonged to the casino by now. He was here more often than not, these days, tucked uncomfortably under some table in the back corner with his head down and his knees underneath himself, hands bound tightly together and chained to a table leg. It was a small place compared to most, low-lit in the yellow wash of the dying lights on the ceiling, hidden in some back alley somewhere. The kind of place people went when they didn’t want much competition, or when they’d been kicked out of every bigger casino in the area. Pet could find his way here from any corner of the town in his sleep.

Most days he’d be dragged in the doorway to a handful of pills shoved down his throat and a hand - or several - blocking off his breathing until he swallowed, then he’d be shoved down to his knees on the moth-eaten carpet to wait.

Today was no different. He couldn’t see much beyond the shoes of the players and the table legs around him, but by the force of the poker chips being dropped on the table and the anxious shifting of the pair of legs beside him, it was going to be… a long night. It had already been a long night. His owner - current owner, anyway - was losing, and badly.

A hand dropped down to rough up his hair and Pet gritted his teeth, curling his fingers into the carpet fibres and hunching down lower. Every muscle in his body drew tense, the urge to bite swelling in his chest, raging and painful, dulled only by the drugs in his system. Somewhere else, he would thrash and turn and sink his teeth in. But he didn't bite here. He'd learned that lesson well and truly by now. He worked his teeth into his bottom lip instead, and the hand drew away to throw another card down on the table.

The game dragged on. Poker chips slammed on the table above him, a kick to his side, yelling from the men who were losing, yelling from the men who were winning. A hand in his hair, more chips on the table, more yelling. Cards, chips, hand, yell. Teeth into lip. Cards, hands, yelling. Nausea, climbing his throat. Drugs and swimming vision. The urge to fight, stuffed somewhere back behind his teeth. He didn't bite here.

The table cleared slowly as time wore on, players running slowly out of cash as it piled in the centre or finally deciding to escape with their winnings before they lost them again. His owner kept reaching down to pet his head – something that only this owner did, really, and Pet didn’t know if it was a nervous habit or if he thought it was some odd form of good luck. Pet had never asked, too focused on keeping his teeth in his mouth and ignoring the way it made his skin crawl. He’d never be seen like that, anyway. At worst he was bad luck, at best he was nothing to them at all.

He gritted his teeth together under the table and dug his fingers into the carpet. It was worn, here, from how often he did this. His table, his spot. Casino property, or whatever. He didn’t want to mean anything to them.

It was some time before the sound of the door opening drew his attention and he lifted his head to see a new pair of shoes stepping across to the table.

“You have time for another round?”

The newcomer’s voice was not one that Pet had heard before. He stilled, listening. The men here were all violent and mean, slurred voices, rough hands. Pet knew them all personally. Intimately. He’d been to each house, each bed, each basement floor many times over but this man – he didn’t recognise him. There hadn’t been a newcomer to this casino in months.

“Just packing up,” said his owner, but there was an edge to it, like he was hesitating. The newcomer shifted his feet.

“Are you sure?”

“… You play cards?”

“I’m quite good at cards, yes.”

His owner sat up straighter and laughed. None of them could resist a challenge. This was going to drag out into another few rounds of back and forth, and his legs were already numb. It was a goddamned miracle his owner had kept him this long as it was, but he was quickly running out of money and Pet knew he didn’t know when to stop. This owner was always more hesitant to give him up, for whatever reason, but he’d done it many times before. He’d do it many times again.

There were three of them at the table now – his owner, another regular, and the newcomer. The cards shuffled, and someone started tossing them out. One fell, fluttering down to the floor, and the newcomer leaned down to pick it up. He glanced up when he did, face-to-face with Pet as he reached for it. The man blinked at him, picked the card off the floor and straightened. That was fine. He’d prefer to be ignored, anyway. Above him, the conversation continued.

“You have a pet here?” asked the newcomer.

His owner huffed out a laugh. “He’s not worth much, if that’s what you’re wondering. A pain in the ass, more than anything. Aren’t you, pest?” He reached down to rough up Pet’s hair again. He gritted his teeth together and refused to respond, which earned him a smack up the back of the head. “See what I mean?”

“I didn’t know they were allowed this close to the tables.”

A scoff. “You think this place cares? You’re not in a big city anymore, mate.”

The newcomer hummed in agreement. “Guess not.”

Pet glared at the floor, tearing carpet threads up with his fingers, bottom lip worked painfully between his teeth. He’d bitten it raw, but no one cared, least of all himself. It’d just be a point of mockery later, of wow, pest, had to try real hard to keep your teeth to yourself back there, huh? and rough hands holding his face still so someone could lick the blood away. He told himself he’d smash his face into theirs.

Bad pet. Pest. Fucking menace. He revelled in it.

Just not here, he reminded himself when his owner shifted his leg to press it against his side. The contact made his stomach turn.

The game went on.

“Not as good as you said, huh?” Someone said, late into the game, late into the night. “Bet that hand you got dealt isn’t looking as good as you thought.”

A laugh. A shuffle of cards. “I guess not. You’re doing well, though.”

“You’re too fuckin’ polite for this place, mate,” his owner laughed. More chips dragged over to his side, piled so dangerously close to the edge that if Pet craned his neck, or shifted just a little too much, he’d be able to make them fall. Somehow they didn’t when his owner leaned across the table. “Got another round in you? Or are you gonna tuck your tail between your legs and run home? Easy winnings from someone who claimed to be good at this.”

The newcomer sighed and shifted, a hand coming down to pat at his pockets. Pet had been here long enough that he understood what was happening, the desperate search for something else to put up, the draw to the game even when he’d done nothing but lose.

“… I’ll put my car in.”

The owner laughed heartily and accepted. The other regular had left, by now, and it was these two alone, nothing but Pet and the casino staff behind the bar to watch them. This game, another. The tide turned, and his owner started losing, the newcomer’s skills seeming to come through for him.

His owner was scrambling, now, the wins he’d been gloating about ripped right from underneath him.

Pet felt the tug on his leash before he heard the words.

“Throw him in, too.”

“Your pet?”

“His attitude isn’t worth shit, but a pet’s worth a lot of money, you know that.”

“… Sure,” shrugged the newcomer. “My dad could use another pet.”

If his owner had been any decent kind of person, he might have mentioned that Pet was not the kind of pet that anyone would want. He was disobedient and angry. He didn’t get passed around the casino because he was good. They all just wanted their shot at breaking him – it’s all he was good for, anyway. A bargaining chip, a game piece, something to be taken and given up. Just a monetary value and a source of bragging rights.

But his owner was a bitter, arrogant kind of man, just like the rest of them. He was a desperate one, too. So Pet became part of the betting pool once again, and the cards were shuffled above him.

In the end, no matter how hard his owner had tried, no matter what cards he played, it hadn’t mattered. He lost the money. He gave up Pet.

At some ungodly hour of the morning, after a scuffle between the men - over one claiming the other had cheated, or scammed him, or something like that - that the casino staff had to break up, Pet’s chains were taken off his wrists. He heard one of the staff mutter a recommendation for a muzzle.

The newcomer wrapped Pet’s leash around his fist and dragged him outside.

The world swam, and his legs barely had feeling back, and he didn’t fight when he was pushed into the back of a car, still too close to the casino.

He didn’t bite here.

But almost. Soon. When the drugs weren’t making him so tired, when he wasn’t trying to figure out what this new owner would be like and how hard he’d have to fight.

He didn’t answer when the man asked for his name. He’d stopped keeping track of those a long time ago.

They drove the rest of the way in silence.

Taglist (please let me know if you'd like to be added or removed!): @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @whumpinthepot

#whump #whump fic #bbu #bbu fic #box boy universe #pet whump #whump series #whump series introduction #box boy universe fic #whump writing #whump oc #tagging things on tumblr my beloathed #writing: ink black and blue #writing: ib&b

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