CW: BBU/BBU-ADJACENT SETTING, PAST REFERENCED NONCON, GASLIGHTING
TAGLIST: @siren-of-agony , @girlsjustwannadrawwhump , @gottawhump , @flowersarefreetherapy , @writingbackwards, @winedark-whump @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @oddsconvert (please let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist)
Every panting breath, light and fluttering against his ribcage, caught in his throat as his fingers curled into tight fists in the duvet. Whatever nightmare it had plagued him was already beginning to slip through his fingers like sand until the details were only hazy, shapeless things he couldn't hope to grasp. And as that dissipated, the real and waking world began to seep into his senses. The sunlight spilling through the curtains to play against his eyelids; the smell of linen with each slowing intake of breath from the pillow and sheets; the distant commotion of the streets beyond the penthouse.
Wick was vaguely conscious of there being something odd about the bed that hadn't been odd when he had fallen asleep.
He could tell that Valerian wasn't in bed with him, though with the sunlight promising that it was at least late morning so that wasn't too much of a surprise. There was even a chance it was nearly noon already. Wick let out a low huff while a small, weary smile pulled at his lips, smoothing away the sharp edges of fear that still lingered within him, despite the shake that still settled in his hands.
For once, he was alone. A lump formed heavily in his throat at the thought. With considerable effort he swallowed the it back down and stood up. He wanted to go home.
He opened the door to his room and rolled his shoulders.
"Finally."
A familiar voice came from across the room. The taunting tone is impossible to miss, and Wick could just imagine the sneering grin on the their face. His eyes lifted to the source. He tensed for a second before forcing himself to relax.
He rolled his eyes. "Leave me alone, Val."
“Don't be rude, Wicky. Greet our guest.”
Valerian sat up so that the sofa was no longer hiding them.
The panic set in.It surged in his chest and gripped around his heart tightly.
Flexing his now sore fingers, Wick’s heart lurched.
As he came into view, he stumbled and stopped dead in his tracks
It wasn't a ruse nor was it a figment of his imagination; Peyton knelt at Valerian’s feet. Their nails scratched his head. Static filled his head. Static and rage and the sound of his heartbeat rushing through his ears like a storm. Unease roiled within him.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, echoed a strangled noise that sounded eerily close to his name.
“It’s so nice that we could all be together again, isn't it, Darling?" Their piercing glare softened into a far more cunning look, and the corners of their mouth quirk into something like a smirk as their face set itself in an expression he couldn't fully read. It was plain they were taking some sort of pleasure in this.
Of course they were.
“It has been some time since we saw one another,” Their voice rang with amusement. Wick scowled at them, quickly, before it fell. His gaze returned to Peyton.
“Peyton..... Bunny..... you're not, not... you're not supposed to be h-here.”
Peyton paused, taken aback both by the greeting. He spoke slowly, hesitantly, hands fidgeting in the sleeves of Dami's hoodie. “You... texted. you asked me to come? You um….I saw the text. You asked for help. You were crying.”
The last sentence was said barely above a whisper. Peyton's brows furrowed, concern shining deep in his eyes. Second-guessing himself, he pulled out his phone to check and flipped the screen to show him.
Wick's body froze with the words. Oh, oh fuck. Oh fuck. When? When had he done that? He couldn't have done that. He wouldn’t have included any of them in this even if he were actively dying. No. Val had to have done something.
“And then you called,” Peyton continued, “You were, um, really upset. You had a really, um… high fever and were kinda saying things…like when Dami was sick at the motel. You were really sick, Wick.”
Confusion warred with disgust. His mind slowly processed what he was seeing in parts, images, like a series of disconnected paintings.
"It would seem like you did,” Valerian confirmed. Their lips twisted into a red-coated smirk, dark eyes gleeful. "Don't you remember, Wicky?"
They leaned across him and plucked Peyton's phone away. They didn't return his phone, and when he took off his shoes and stepped into the kitchen they tuck both into a small box under their arm.
"You, you said you wouldn't include him," Wick snapped. "I fucked him for you. I, I, I begged, Val....please."
"You did, and it was so good.”
Almost instinctively, they reached for Wick. He recoiled.
"Please, Val."
"Sshhh." They kissed him. "There's a time for begging, and we'll get to it later. For now, play along.”
“He's not supposed to, to, to be here."
He broke off the kiss with a defeated murmur, the quiet demand nearly spoken against Valerian's mouth, though there’s an undercurrent of steel in his tone. They leaned in further, nipping at his lower lip, but he turned his head, breaking away again to add, “Haven't you done enough?”
“Wicky was just saying how much he missed you, Peyton. Weren't you, Wicky?"
For a moment, he couldn't speak, couldn't breathe, could only stare at Peyton with the heavy weight of Valerian's arm wrapped around his shoulder before he managed a surprisingly calm, slightly broken and hoarse, "No."
Green eyes darted, again, to Valerian. His tongue slid out and over his parted lips. His wavering voice spoke, softly enough to break his heart, to shatter it, "That's um, okay. I missed you. I wanted to see you."
"Peyton," They swung around to look at him, "why don't you make Wick some lunch. He and I need to have a chat."
Valerian's arm tightened around him. Peyton’s eyes continued to dart between him and Valerian, several questions written in them. Wick could see his mind turning, slowly, in an attempt to answer them, to come up with something that made sense.
Wick silently let Valerian lead him into his room, and didn’t protest when they quickly closed the door open with a small crack.
"I've done everything, done everything, you've, you've asked," Wick hissed, feeling the tension of the situation winding through his aching body. He wanted to scream in frustration. "I'm, I'm, I'm here Val. You, you, you have me. I'm not, I'm not leaving you. Please. Let him leave, Val."
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“Oh-okay, I, I think I got it.” Sunny holds up his sketch pad to Wick’s shirt, comparing his drawing with the Guns N’ Roses logo. He frowns. “C-crap. I’m, um, I’m, I’m off.”
He doesn’t wait for an answer, pulling the notepad back and erasing part of the blog before bringing his pencil back down. It’s just them tonight. Dami and Star are on a date, Kestrel is working.
Wick makes a soft noise of pain and Sunny’s head immediately shoots up. “N-number?” He likes taking care of Wick because at least Sunny gets honest answers when he asks questions. Star will tell everyone but Sunny the truth, but Wick lets Sunny feel useful.
Wick holds up six fingers.
Sunny checks the time and stands up, leaving his sketch pad next to Wick. “I-I’m going to go get, get your m-meds and call S-Star to r-remind her to, to take hers.” He knows Dami will remind her, but still. He likes to feel useful. Sunny kisses Wick’s cheek. “I’ll be, be right back. W-why don’t you t-take a l-look at the drawing and s-see what I, I got wrong? I’m, I’m not an expert on r-rock.”
A small orchestra played on the other end of the room, right next to the door to the garden. Fancy parties and social events had their downsides. Most of which came with being partnered with Wick and Kestrel. Too many people held the belief that they were a means to gaining access to the other two. There were too many fancy words, too many pleasantries. Damiel could only endure so much. It was worse than Saint Andrew’s Cross - at least that device had been intended for pleasure. There was none of that to be found here and Dami’s face ached from the smile they’d been forced to hold onto all night.
They were going to be out of this party the moment they deemed they’d had spent enough time here. From his vantage point at one of the bar tables, he let his eyes sweep through the room and watched as a young woman smiled up at their boyfriend. She placed her hands on the small of her back, pressing her chest forward. They stilled, champagne glass in their hand, and leaned against the wall. They trusted him. Peyton could handle himself. He wasn't new to this arena, neither of them were, and Dami wasn't in charge of who he talked to. They weren’t his knight in shining armor. They didn't control him.
That didn't stop them from keeping an eye on the two of them.
A moment later it was starting to turn out this young woman wasn't just overly friendly, she was plain out flirting. She laughed at something Peyton said, and he smiled down at her. The woman’s giggles could be heard where they stood by the buffet table.
Overly friendly and probably a little drunk too. Flirting. Dami hummed, lips pinched, eyes narrowed, as they searched Peyton’s face and waited. He didn't show any signs of distress. He wasn't touching alcohol himself, naturally, since it would take until next year until he was legally old enough to drink, and he was already considering leaving drinking to a minimum in official parties. Then again, with the type of people they had to talk to, something alcoholic was always a bit tempting.
It was difficult not to flirt with Peyton. He was picturesque. He had beautiful skin and gentle eyes and dark, black hair His emerald green eyes sparkled in the light from the chandeliers.
He was being polite about all the touching, but his eyes and the lines around his mouth said otherwise. He seemed to shrink even more. He tilted his head and looked down at her, biting his lip and graced her with another shy smile.
One that didn't quite reach his eyes. She took it as an invitation. Dami stiffened.
A hand moving across his back, threatening to move lower as he shifted to squirm away. hin tilted to his chest as he attempted to avoid her eyes. Everything about him screamed how uncomfortable he was and his eyes grew wide when she grabbed his chin and forced him to look at her.
Peyton gave them a quick glance, silent check in. Their eyes met, if only for a split second, but enough for Dami’s hair to stand on end.
That was it. The silent cry for help and Dami nodded. Abandoning their drink, they crossed the room. The ballroom was trimmed with tables and filled with people. They weaved through the crowd, brushing past them.
Looming over him, they took a moment to admire him in all his tone and muscled beauty.
They didn't have to say it. As it often did, their body spoke for them. Their arms wound around Peyton’s from behind, pressing him back against them. The smile they reserved for times like these, times they had to wear a mask, slipped into a genuine smirk as the other man melted into them. His fingers slipped through their; the perfect fit.
Control didn't take words, especially not with Peyton. This guest had yet to realize it. Damiel looked them up and down, gaze burrowing into them until they blushed and were forced to look away. It was only then, Dami kissed their boyfriend’s neck. Their lips brushed his ear, their smirk growing when they felt the heat radiating from it.
“Find Kes,” Dami ordered him, leaving no room for objection, “Leaving now. Excuse us.”
“Nice try, pretty boy,” she taunted, breathing acidic with alcohol, “you’re both gonna stay right here. And you’re both going to show me the respect I deserve.”
The music faded into the background. A strangled noise ripped out of Peyton’s throat.
They stepped out of his space and into hers, putting their hands in their pockets and pressing their arms as tight to their sides as they casually could. They didn't have to turn around to know Peyton was on his knees. They could see it all over her smug face. It twisted with a sick sort of glee that made Dami clench their fists in their pockets. They couldn't embarrass Wick at this function. Kes would throw a fit. The press would be bad and their face would be all over the tabloids in the morning.
She laughed. Shrill, greedy, vicious. "So that's what Imogene Montgomery has been hiding. Her son. A damned pet. A fucking Romantic. Oh, that’s rich."
Still, they wanted to hit her. They bristled at her smug words. Peyton’s wide, glassy eyes looked up at her, concern and curiosity filled them with the slightest hint of true fear. Both of them knew how bad this was.
“What are you doing? I didn't order you to give respect.”
They looked up, startled when they saw Wick's expression and almost flinched at the ice in Wick’s voice. They hadn't heard him come up.
They stood frozen in place, barely breathing, unable to think. Their body locked with tension, at war with their desire to escape and desire to give into the authority flowing from Wick. They stayed, although they kept their eyes off of him.
Between them, still on his knees, palms up and head down, Peyton stayed kneeling. Dami almost wanted to run their hands over the graceful arch of his back.
“Allow me to ask again, pet,” Wick said, “What are you doing?”
“She told him to,” Dami said quietly. Their answer was met with a raised eyebrow. He was feeling far from gracious. He frowned and shook his head in irritation.
“The pet can speak for himself.”
Their mouth snapped shut.
Despite the order, Wick didn't look at them and Dami blinked, raising their own brow as their stomach clenched. So did their fists. God, they wanted to reach out and throw the other man against the wall. This was an act. It was all an act. Wick was playing a role. He would never talk to Peyton that way. Never talk to them that way unless they wanted him to. It was him or this woman who didn't give a shit about how this would affect Peyton.
That didn't stop their stomach from dropping as Wick began playing with Peyton’s hair, running his fingers through his scalp and down his back. He gripped his boyfriend’s chin.
Peyton’s eyes clouded and his jaw relaxed. Wick watched him attentively.
“Good boy.” Wick petted the strands and then shoved his face back down. “Show respect.”
Peyton dropped. He bent in half, forehead on the floor. “Tell me what you are.”
“A, a whore.” Doubt could be heard in the back of his tone, fear and need, craving, everything could be layered in front of it.
Wick wasn't finished. “Whose whore are you?”
“Y-Yours.”
Wick wheeled himself forward.
"Then be mine. Get up,” he snapped, “Don't embarrass me again. Go find your Mistress.”
Slowly Peyton crawled up, flinching a little when he did.
“What the hell is the matter with you?”
The woman’s smile didn’t falter. Instead, it widened. She stepped forward and extended her hand. Wick gave her a chilling stare. She retracted it with a shrug, and returned it to her side.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t want to share? It could be a lot of fun for all of us.”
She gestured to Dami. “Perhaps you could introduce me.”
Dami couldn’t help but bare their teeth, letting out a low growl. Wick raised a cautious hand across their chest to stop them from launching at her and ripping out her throat.
He scowled.
“Perhaps you're new to the rules of pet ownership,” he looked her up and down, glaring daggers, “You never, ever give someone else’s pet an order. It’s like breaking into someone’s home and sleeping in their bed.”
“Oh dear,” she purred, “Am I Goldilocks then? Will you have your three little bears come and eat me up? I was told you only had two pets. How the hell did you get Peyton Montgomery?”
“None of your damn business. Excuse us. We have other engagements.”
The little glade was miles outside of the city. Valerian almost ordered the driver to turn the car around when the sounds of the city gave way to the quiet of New England’s forests. They turned up their nose when Wicky insisted it was too late to back out.
They’d thought they were going to Rockefeller. What was the point if it wasn't somewhere famous? No one would care. But Wicky promised it would be worth it. He’d also promised them a shopping trip if Valerian hated his idea.
Unfortunately, they didn't loathe it but that wouldn’t stop them from pretending they did. A shopping trip was a shopping trip after all. And most importantly, they had Christopher Wickham all to themself.
Damiel Cartier/Peyton Montgomery BBU AU (COLLABORATION with @wildfaewhump)
They love him the way a bullet loves a gun, the way a knife loves a sheath, silent and calm, harmless until it's unleashed to wreck the destruction it was created for.
BURNING AT BOTH ENDS
Love is a fickle flame; Obsession a deadly one.
Both should be handled with care.
GOOD AS GOLDIE
362 is a pet, Designation Platonic, not a human.
LOCATION: REDACTED
Even still, they wish they'd been able to keep this one.
DAMIRA AU
(collaboration with @justplainwhump)
Damiel Cartier/Ira White AU (CLICK HERE for more of Ira's canon story!)
They hope she doesn't break them. They hope she does.
All The Buried Truths
“I… I’m not sure if I really belong here,” she finally admitted. “I mean, I don’t….I'm just… me. I wasn't a…wasn't from WRU. I'm not a pet.”
OTHER WRITING
A TALE OF TWO PRINCES - TYR HUNTLEY: MAFIA MADNESS SUBMISSIONS (FT. CHRISTOPHER WICKHAM)
THE CULE KIDS CLUB URBAN FANTASY AU
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
Taron and Jameson AU: Shells and Spikes - collaboration with @ashintheairlikesnow
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“I expect more from you than this, Leigh.” He took another long drag from his cigar and blew the smoke into her face. “I don't ask that you anticipate my needs. That’s not your job. I have Oslo or Savanna for that. All I ask is that you anticipate Christopher’s needs and actions.”
Stargazing
CW: BBU/BBU-ADJACENT SETTING, LADY WHUMP, SETTING THE STAGE, SLIGHT DUBCON IF YOU SQUINT AND TWIRL AROUND THREE TIMES, CONDITIONED WHUMPEE, MENTIONS OF RACISM AND ABLELISM, GUN
She nodded. They rivaled the sea, seemingly endless, spreading far beyond the horizon, gently twinkling one at time as if to say hello.
Air, blessed air. She sucked it in greedily, clearing the blackness from her eyes and the ringing from her ears. She'd been drowning once again, but not any more. They had seen sense, let her breathe, let her live…
Pray For Us Sinners
CW: LADY WHUMP, BBU/BBU-ADJACENT SETTING, BROKEN BONES, DEATH THREATS, DEHUMANIZATION, RECORDED TORTURE, RANSOM VIDEO
“Smile for the camera!” Shorty chirped.
Rule 1: Desire to Live
CW: BBU/BBU-ADJACENT SETTING, RESCUE, GUN VIOLENCE, LADY WHUMP, PASSING OUT, CONDITIONED WHUMPEE, MENTIONS OF TORTURE AND DEATH (NOT MAIN CHARACTERS)
I am already dead. I don't want to die. I'm not going to die. I'm not going to die.
CW: BBU/BBU-ADJACENT SETTING, REFERENCED TRAFFICKING, REFERENCED SLAVERY, REFERENCED AND IMPLIED NONCON, FAMILIAL CONFLICT, ABLELISM (IF YOU SQUINT), LADY WHUMP
"Mama, Papa," he announced quietly, "I'm moving to New York."
Cool Title Here
CW: BBU/BBU-ADJACENT SETTING, NUDITY, IMPLIED NONCON (PAST AND PRESENT), DEHUMANIZATION, INSTITUTIONALIZED DEHUMANIZATION, NONCON TOUCHING, LADY WHUMP, PTSD
“Whatever happens, don't, don't, don't leave my side.”
Deal With Devils - written by @wildfae-afterdark
"Deal," Peyton agrees mildly. "If you ruin that lipstick on my cock, too."
Fuck You Mx.
CW: AFTERMATH OF NONCON, VICTIM BLAMING, BBU/BBU-ADJACENT SETTING, REFERENCED NONCON, ABLELISM, WICK IS A DUMBASS HERE AND A JERK
She walked, heels clicking, staccato tapping on the pavement, and didn't look back.
He's Not My Owner
CW: BBU/BBU-ADJACENT SETTING, ABUSE DYNAMICS, SURVIVORS NAVIGATING RECOVERY, GROUP THERAPY SETTING, CONDITIONED WHUMPEES, DEGRADING LANGUAGE
“I… I’m not sure if I really belong here,” she finally admitted. “I mean, I don’t….I'm just… me. I wasn't a…wasn't from WRU. I'm not a pet.”
Safety
CW: BBU/BBU-ADJACENT SETTING, PAST REFERENCED NONCON, VICTIM BLAMING, RECOVERY WHUMP, REFERENCED BURNS, PAST REFERENCED NUDITY, COMPLICATED FEELINGS ABOUT AN ABUSER
“Why can’t you….why can’t you feel safe with, with, with me?” He sounded like a child who’d just lost his favorite toy. “I can, can change. I can do, do, do better. I promise.”
I Don't Have Those
CW: LADY WHUMP, PTSD, PANIC ATTACK, BBU/BBU-ADJACENT SETTING, RECOVERY WHUMP
She shakes her head and clutches her stomach. It aches and the nausea doesn't abate. It only seems to get worse, eclipsing the throbbing pain in her wrapped - when had Charity done that?- foot. That's secondary to everything else. "I don't ge-et those."
Kestrel Discovers Asexuality
CW: IMPLIED PAST NONCON, NUDITY, SURVIVORS NAVIGATING CONSENT, INTERNALIZED ACEPHOBIA
"No. Um….Red." She pushed them away, wiping a hand across her mouth as she stared them down. "Red, please. S-sorry. Sorry, Dami. I'm sorry."
“What about them?” she snaps. “No, seriously, what do you want to know? I mean, Wick’s annoying. They made me, you know…” She leans forward to whisper, “Made me go to therapy.”
She leans back in her wheelchair, tapping her scarred hand against the side. “They’re stubborn and cocky as fuck. And they’re a really bad loser. Like, seriously. Worse than me, and I’ve stabbed a dude.” She smirks, slow and lazy. “I just hang around them because I love Kestrel. And their taste in music.”
“And maybe, just maybe, I think they’re not that bad of a friend. Maybe. But if you repeat that, I’m saying it’s a lie.”
They staggered a little, feeling the thud of their feet slamming against the ground as they tried to catch their balance. And then what little they could see of the world tilted. They realized they were falling, couldn't remember how to move their arms to catch themself, and braced for a hard impact. Instead, while their body crashed down at an odd angle, their head and shoulders landed on something soft.
