#i have a. very soft spot for demon whumpees | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kywaslost · 2 years

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Inosuke x Reader Comfort

A/N: I find all of my prompts on pinterest and am a sucker for comfort lol. Inosuke is a comfort character and I’ve been meaning to write for him for a while. I know he’s a lot ooc in this but it’s ok lol.

Prompt: Can we talk about whumpees struggling to breathe… hanging behind the group because they need to catch their breath. Gentle gasps barely escaping, leaning against a wall, trying to dispel black spots from their vision. Shortness of breath from illness or panic, whumpees knocked over flat on their backs, unable to focus on anything else but choking out the next breath… idk it’s such a good trope

“How much longer?” Zenitsu cried. After a particularly difficult demon hunt far from the butterfly estate, all of you were tired and ready for a rest. Tanjiro was too weak to walk so Zenitsu was carrying him on his back. To alleviate some of the pain Nezuko left her box, walking alongside Zenitsu. The yellow haired boy couldn’t be happier, chatting away with the demon girl. Inosuke and you were walking behind them in a comfortable silence. The boar-headed boy was fiddling with bandages that were wrapped around his bloodied and bruised hands. You were not far behind, leaning against a stick.

“Shouldn’t be too long,” Tanjiro muttered sleepily. “Maybe another 6, 7 hours?” Zenitsu groaned, then turned his attention back to Nezuko.

“Wait, where’s (wrong name)?” Inosuke asked, making everyone else stop in their tracks.

“Yeah, where are they?” Zenitsu repeated.

“Over there,” Tanjiro pointed a little ways back where you were leaning against a tree. “Is she ok?”

“Y/N!” Zenitsu called out. “You ok?”

You shot a quick thumbs up in the direction of your friends, slowly sliding down the base of the tree to sit on the ground. You let out quick gasps of breath, struggling to breathe. Ever since the demons you all were fighting died it had gotten harder for you to breathe. It started off with just a simple deep breath every now and then but it quickly escalated. You started lagging behind the rest of the group, taking shorter, shallow breaths.

Inosuke was closer to you. He could hear your shallow breathing. Ignoring your thumbs up, the man walked over to you, crouching down beside you. “Do you not know how to breathe (wrong name)?”

“Inosuke!” Zenitsu scowled. “Are they hyperventilating?” He went to lay Tanjiro on the ground when the red head stopped him.

“Zenitsu, I know you mean well but your panicking isn’t going to make them feel any better. Let Inosuke handle it.”

“Ino,” you gasped, tears threatening to fall from your eyes. “I-I can’t breathe. I-I c-c–”

“Hey.” The soft voice spooked you. You looked over to your friend. Inosuke had sat down now and took his boar head off. He placed it down next to him, his black and blue hair falling into his eyes. He brushed it away with one hand, the other moving to rub your back. “It’s ok.” He rubbed his hand up and down your back as your breathing grew even more shallow. “Do you have an injury that’s causing this?”

You rapidly shook your head, gripping your chest. “It hurts.”

“I know,” Inosuke soothed. “Breathe with me, ok?” He took deep, slow breaths, taking note of how you attempted to copy him but were too far in panic. “I need you to calm down, yeah?”

When you slowly tried to lay down on your back Inosuke eased you down, moving his hand from your back to your shoulder. “Can you hear me n/n?” You offered no answer, instead stuttering out sobs and coughing fits. You rolled on your side facing Inosuke, gasping to the point of dry heaving. You continued to sob, now clutching to Inosuke’s pant leg. He rubbed your arm and patted your back to offer some comfort.

He grew even more worried when you started screaming, tears of pain and panic streaming down your face. For a moment Inosuke turned to his other friends for help but Tanjiro was trying to calm down Zenitsu and Nezuko was holding her brother upright. Inosuke turned back to you, starting to panic himself. He had no idea what to do. You were very clearly distressed and on the verge of passing out. He didn’t even know if you were comfortable with him touching you, but you weren’t pulling away so he assumed it was ok.

“I’m going to hold you, is that ok?” he asked quietly. “Please breathe n/n. I don’t want you to pass out.” He pulled you up and held you close to his warm chest. “It’s ok n/n,” he soothed softly. “You’re ok. Lord Inosuke is here.” He cradled you, swaying back and forth ever so slightly as you continued to scream and gasp for air.

Inosuke ran a hand through your hair, resting his head on your own as a few stray tears made their way down his soft cheeks. He froze when you suddenly went silent, no longer screaming and thrashing around. He felt you let out a long, deep breath before slumping into him. You had passed out cold.

“What happened Inosuke?” Tanjiro called out. Inosuke carefully stood, adjusting you so you wouldn’t fall and were comfortable. He carried you over to the others and then kneeled down next to Tanjiro.

“She passed out. Is she ok?” he asked quietly, not daring to meet Tanjiro’s gaze. The red head leaned closer to your unconscious form and sniffed.

“She’ll be ok,” he said softly. Looking between you and Inosuke, Nezuko, and Zenitsu, Tanjiro suggested, “maybe we should stop for the night. The next town isn’t too far and I think we all could do with a good night’s rest.” Everyone nodded as Tanjiro climbed back onto Zenitsu’s back and Inosuke picked you back up, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“You’ll be ok,” he reassured quietly. “Lord Inosuke is here to protect you.”

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whatgoeswhumpinthenight · 3 years

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Whumpmas in July Day 6

Prompt: Mistake

Well this can certainly mean many things from who’s perspective you write for, Did Whumpee make a mistake and anger Whumper? Was this this the mistake that lead to them becoming a Whumpee? Did Whumper make a mistake and now needed to fix it or Whumpee may die? Did Caretaker make a mistake and now is back too square one with Whumpee? Just so much variety and I love this prompt because of it.

After being asked about it by @cowboy-anon July will be the Olvon backstory stories month for the prompts as too see the devolution from a powerful feared demon into the soft crybaby we see.

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Mistake (An Olvon Story)

Tagging: @whumping-out-of-time @badluck990 @whumpmasinjuly

TW: drugging, implied death, alcohol, swearing

“You realize going alone is a really stupid idea?” Zariel followed behind Olvon critiquing their plan every step of the way. “If something happens no rescue will find you, heck what if you die?” Zariel thought for a moment. “Actually scratch that I could live with that outcome.”

“You only speak that way because you are second in line, if you had not stuck the idea of greater standing into those three you would still be fifth in line.” Olvon looked over their shoulder glaring at Zariel as if they would rip their head off. “Know that I only tolerate you and your scheming because you are too weak to kill me and many of your plans remove mutual enemies.”

“Yes, yes, I dare not fight you.” Zariel would love to remove Olvon but they were too much of a wild card for him too handle; every demon has a unique power which was commonly flaunted but Olvon hid theirs, demons who were summoned or sought something from beings deemed below them would just overpower them but Olvon took notes from Succubi and Incubi by tempting those beings with their desires to gain what they sought, even stronger demons physically fell to them, the only constant was how ruthless they were.

“I will be off Zariel.” Olvon said while readjusting their tie, they had dressed up for whatever they were doing, dress shirt, vest, tie, dress pants, Wherever they were going was important. “You best not meddle with my belongings.”

“Yes yes, now be off so I can go an meddle with your things.” Zariel said in a joking manner, he remembers the last time he messed with Olvon’s belongings and how long it took to regain function in his arms. “Just know you’re making a major mistake with this plan of yours.”

Olvon didn’t resond, they didn’t want to give Zariel the satisfaction of a reaction instead they strode into a hell portal leading too one of the many human world portals, he left hell and entered a back alley, rain lightly fell as Olvon changed their form to hide their horns and eyes, now that they looked human they left the alley rounding the corner to enter a lounge named “Le Rouge”, they had a meetup there for information, as they entered and looked around the lounge it’s red mood lighting illuminating the place Olvon spotted their informant.

“Hot Vodka Toddy, to table 7″ Olvon stated to the bartender while passing by the bar, they strode towards table 7 which held Olvons informant. “Nate you got the info I inquired about?” Olvon asked as they took a seat.

“Yes I do, had to do quite a bit of digging for you, nearly cost me my ass.” Nate was slowly sipping on his Gin & Tonic, Olvon only trusted Nate due to their reliable information or else they would have never worked with them, Nate threw some photos on the table depicting a broken, ornate spear head. “I hope you know it’s going to cost extra for the info.” Olvon didn’t care about the cost when an ultimate trump card was nearly in their grasp; Part of the Spear of the Archangel Michael. Olvon’s Toddy arrived which they started to sip on.

“You know price isn’t a factor when it comes too me.” Olvon had large sums of wealth at their disposal as the heir to the Zekrius dukedom. “How much?”

“2 mil.” Nate kept a stern face, a sign he was set on this number.

“So be it, I’ll transfer it too you.” Olvon fiddled with their phone.

“It’s owned by a Crime Lord in this city called Mr. Esposito.”

“That’s all 2 million buys me?” Olvon was very confused and angry at this minuscule amount of info, in frustration the shot back the rest of their drink. “WHERE, YOU OBVIOUSLY KNOW.”

“That’s the best part, you’re gonna see him soon.” Nate stood up to which Olvon stood up to confront him but instead they fell over after being hit by a sudden wave of dizziness, Nate crouched down in front of Olvon. “You see he has been looking for a demon to laud it over some bitch he knows and knew one would come if he held onto that piece of metal.” Nate gathered up the photos and shoved them in his pockets. “And so he offered me a hefty sum to bring you too one of his establishments, bartender there spiked your drink, anyway goodnight demon I have places too be.” Nate walked off in a hurry.

“Nate you son of a-” Olvon entered the world of unconsciousness before they could finish cussing him out.

#whumpmasinjuly #The sacred theodicy #A Devil's Deal #OC Olvon #OC Mr. Esposito #OC Zariel #tw swearing #tw drugging #tw implied death #tw alcohol #whump #whump writing #whumpee #nonhuman whumpee #demon whumpee #drugged whumpee #whumper

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haro-whumps · 4 years

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Group Whumpees 3: Specter

CW: Implied past noncon, mention of suicide ideation, cigarette burn scars, modern slavery, aftermath of abuse, multiple whumpees,

Tag List: @bleeding-demon-teeth @theycomeinthrees @redwingedwhump @whimperwoods @inpainandsuffering @whole-and-apart-and-between @whump-whump-whump-it-up @whumpingupastorm @newandfiguringitout

First

“Oh, shit, Greyson?” Galo asked as he left the bathroom, wet hair flopping around his face in disarray, sweats on and nothing else. “You forget something?”

Hm. Could’ve phrased that better, Galo thought, watching Greyson twitch.

“It’s okay,” he said, voice going soft. He approached Greyson and sat on his haunches, forearms leaning on his knees and hands dangling limply in front of him. “What are you here for, Greyson?”

Greyson kept his eyes on the carpet and took a deep, shaky breath before stating, clearly and articulately, “My body is present and available for your service and pleasure, Master, please use me as you see fit.”

Galo bluescreened, for a moment, chicken and pasta threatening to come back up.

“You--” he started, words failing him. “That, uh.” Yep, talking still wasn’t too much of a thing. “Greyson?”

“Master.”

“Okay, so, that, makes it sound like you think I’m gonna…” Galo trailed off as his eyes wandered over Greyson’s skin. Over the scars that were now exposed. The lines up and down his back, the pockmarked circles covering his arms like ruddy scales. Galo gently pulled one of Greyson’s wrists forward, out of his own shadow, horrified and hypnotized by it.

Auntie Bethany had been a chainsmoker, once. She’d kicked the habit after her first surgery (well, been forced to kick the habit, more like). But he remembered the stench cloud that had followed her everywhere she went, the way he could tell which rooms she used more frequently than others due to how rank they were.

All up and down Greyson’s arms were tiny, circular burn scars, old and faded but still present. Multitudinous. The scars overlapped, there was no grid or order to the markings, nothing methodical and yet everything deliberate, clustered tightest on his lower forearms and sparser near the shoulders.

“Holy shit,” Galo breathed, eyes wide, fingertips gently skimming over the scarred skin. Suddenly, the size of his own hands was exaggerated in his vision, his thick wrists and muscled arms cartoonishly huge when contrasted with the thin outline of Greyson’s arm, his delicate wrist, his knuckled hand.

“Greyson, Auntie Bethany did this to you?” Galo asked, still with muted horror, unable to look away.

“Yes Master. I am capable of acceptance without complaint, Master.”

Galo’s head snapped up, Greyson not even twitching at the motion. “And now you expect me to do something similar?” Galo asked, voice pitying and sorrowful and maybe a little scared.

“If I am the one you would like, Master,” Greyson said evenly, still kneeling, eyes still downcast, “If I am not suited to your tastes, I could fetch Evan, or Nyla--”

“No,” Galo cut him off, too loud, stomach roiling. “No, Greyson, no, no that’s not--that’s not happening. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not,” Galo covered his mouth for a second, feeling like he might puke, “I’m not, okay? I’m not going to hurt any of you, holy shit.”

“Master is kind.”

“That isn’t-!” he cut himself off as soon as he heard himself yelling, covering his eyes with his hand. This was too fast. This was too much, while he was too tipsy, and he couldn’t think, he needed to think!

“Greyson, go to bed, okay? I’m a little drunk right now, and I’m not thinking very clearly,” he stated as calmly and evenly as he could. “None of you are going to get hurt, it’s okay, just, go to bed.”

“Yes Master,” Greyson said, very quietly, before curling his fingers around Galo’s hand and lifting it, kissing his palm. Galo watched Greyson pick up his shirt and glide out the door, silent as a ghost, with a dizzy horror. He stumbled over to his phone, knocked off-balance, and set an alarm for an hour earlier than he usually woke up. He wasn’t going into work tomorrow, but he absolutely needed to sort through all of… this, sometime when he was thinking straight.

“What the hell, Auntie Bethany?” he asked the silent room before mercifully, swiftly falling asleep.

Sasha was almost asleep when the door opened. That was never good.

“Grey?” she whispered, careful not to wake Lilah, who was (thankfully) sound asleep in her arms, or the others, who were also probably asleep. Nyla was spooning Lilah, and Evan was behind her, arms wrapped around Nyla’s waist tightly.

“He didn’t want anyone tonight,” Greyson informed her, just as quiet. He climbed in behind Sasha, a comforting warmth to her back that she hadn’t expected to have. It was so, so rare that the five of them all got to sleep together, usually only when Mistress was out of town.

“Was h-he disp-pleased?” Sasha asked, allowing herself her stutter that she’d never managed to get rid of, even after all these years serving Mistress and being punished for her failures. The others didn’t mind the sound.

“...Yes, but,” Greyson started, then halted. “I don’t know what he was displeased with. He didn’t punish me for it, and said he wouldn’t hurt us.”

Sasha didn’t understand, but she’d never been very good at Mistress’s games. Why should she think she’d do any better with Master’s?

Greyson pressed his nose to Sasha’s hair and rubbed his thumb in familiar motions over her arm. “It’ll be alright,” he assured, “Go to sleep, Sasha.”

So she did. What else would she do? If she stayed up worrying every night there was something she didn’t understand, she’d never sleep, and there was bread to make in the morning and a new master with new tastes to cook for and a bed full of her family keeping her warm. She rose before the others, which was why she’d been picked for chef, really, and slipped out from between Lilah and Greyson.

“You’ve g-got an hour,” Sasha murmured when Grey’s eyes cracked open, and he shifted in to fill the cold spot on Lilah’s front that Sasha had left. She smiled at them, the four of them safe and still asleep, and then sighed when Nyla lifted her head.

“You should sl-sleep more,” Sasha told her, barely a whisper.

Nyla gave Evan a fond pat to his messy hair and slipped out of the bed.

“With a new Master? I’m surprised I slept at all,” Nyla said, taking Sasha’s place in front of the shared dresser and opening her drawer, the second from top. Sasha couldn’t exactly fault her. This was pretty early, even for her, and she wasn’t going to blame the lack of food for her stomach twisting up in knots.

They were being given an adjustment period. She had to remember that, or she would probably lose her mind. They would figure it out, and hopefully they’d figure out their new Master’s wants quick enough to avoid the worst of the punishments.

She thought, very briefly, on what Mistress had done to correct her early mistakes, when Sasha was still adjusting to the new environment, and then quickly shut that line of thought down with a sharp thump of the flour tin meeting the counter. Just make the bread, Sasha told herself. Just follow her routine, she didn’t even have it particularly bad, like Nyla or Greyson, who would have to interact with Master the most. She was tucked away in the kitchen; not even the sun paid her visits, here.

The main problem would be learning what he wanted. So far, all she knew was that he couldn’t eat mushrooms, and he liked pasta and carrots. But that still left the rest of everything, and she wasn’t sure if he’d like or dislike any of it! Pasta, bread, wine, those were hard to go wrong with, they were staples of the human diet for a reason, but what about the rest? Did he prefer sweet foods? Spicy? Would he be upset if she made something spicy for him? How salty did he prefer his food? What would she be able to send to him that would leave her mercifully, quietly ignored, and what foods would have him storming in here with his broad shoulders and heavy arms that were so, so terrifyingly strong.

He wouldn’t need a cane or knife or poker in order to hurt them badly.

Focus on this morning’s bread. Just focus, Sasha, she thought.

His fists alone could probably do as much damage as Mistress had with tools, if he got angry enough. And if he picked up a cane--

Focus on the bread. You need to knead it, focus on that.

But it was hard not to think about how tall he was. How the sleeve of his tight t-shirt had strained when he flexed his bicep during inspection, reminding them all that just because he was new didn’t mean he would put up with backsass. Honestly, what had Grey been thinking, making a joke like that!? Did he want to die?

Well… she wouldn’t blame him, if he did. He’d been there longest out of any of them, but she would miss him terribly.

The main door opened. “Oh, morning Sasha,” Master said.

She whirled, not quite believing her ears, but there he was, in a tanktop that showed off even more of his terrifying muscles and his hair not yet gelled.

Fear took her knees from her, and she knelt with her palms and forehead to the floor. She’d been graceless, she knew it, ugly and jerking, but she hoped what she lacked in elegance she’d made up for with effort. It was the only thing she had going for her, since her attempts at keeping her ragged breathing quiet were also lacking.

“Woah, easy girl, easy,” Master Galo ordered softly, and she grit her teeth and closed her eyes against her tears when she heard his footsteps approach. If he kicked her like this, he could knock her out, she was sure.

“I’m not gonna hurt you,” Master intoned, and Sasha felt his hand smooth over her hair. She wasn’t used to being in arm’s reach when she was on the floor. A foot or a cane, yes, but not a hand. But Master was not Mistress, and the rules were different now. She lifted her head into the touch, just a little, ideally showing Master she was receptive to it (and, honestly, she was. If he wanted to pet her hair, she’d take that to him hitting her any day).

“Atta girl,” Master Galo praised, “Didn’t mean to interrupt you; come on up.” Master grabbed her hands and she struggled to get her legs under her fast enough. Nyla would’ve been able to. Evan would’ve. But Sasha was clumsy and keeping any semblance of grace meant leaning into his hands, a little. She was prepared to be struck for it, but he just gave her head another pat.

“There we go!” In her peripheral, she could see that he was smiling at her. She didn’t know if that was good or not. “Go ahead and wash your hands--it is Sasha right?”

Sasha nodded, and hurried to the sink. She twitched when he opened the door of the fridge and bent to peer inside. He was so big. His shoulders were two of her. He was practically the same size as the fridge itself.

“You did a good job with dinner, last night,” Master mentioned, and Sasha flushed, momentarily pleased. “I really enjoyed it, so thank you.”

Her lips parted, but then locked with fright. If she tried to thank him, she’d stutter, there was no way she could avoid it, but if she bowed down to show her gratitude, that would ruin the point of washing her hands, which he’d specifically ordered her to do. But she couldn’t just ignore Master, not when he was addressing her directly! The edges of her vision hazed, her stupid, clumsy hands shaking underneath the water’s stream.

“Hey, you know where the blender is?” Master asked, seemingly unbothered by her lack of response, his voice perfectly casual and chipper. He’d pulled out a bag of spinach and was observing a cucumber, and she tried to make a mental note of that, fairly sure that meant those were foods he liked.

She got her footstool and reached up for the high cupboard. Of course Mistress had owned nearly every kitchen tool known to the modern age, but the blender had rarely been used. She hadn’t liked the texture, much, and if Sasha ever ran it when she was in a room nearby she would punish her for the noise.

“Thanks,” Master said, and he was right there, his hands extended up to her expectantly, and she passed him the blender mutely. He set it down on the counter, popping the lid off, and Sasha saw the sharp metal blades inside it. A vivid mental image of Master forcing her hand inside and turning the blender on flashed before her, and her foot missed the step down.

“Careful!” He caught her like she weighed nothing. To him, she probably didn’t. “Easy there, it’s alright,” Master continued, settling her more steadily on her feet. “You good?”

Sasha nodded emphatically. She could be good. She wanted to be good, she wanted to be so good.

“Okay, good,” Master said, sounding--relieved? No, that couldn’t be right. She bore a few more seconds of his scrutiny, head down.

“Hey,” he said, very softly, and Sasha didn’t understand what it meant when he spoke like that! “I don’t know what all my aunt did to you, but I’m not like her, okay? Things are different now.”

She nodded, blinking hard. She knew that! She knew that! She knew that rules were different now, that he would have different expectations. But Mistress had been her first owner, all of their first owner; none of them any other experience to go off! She would try, though, she’d try so hard to learn quick and behave how Master wanted!

He huffed out air through his nose, and she tried so, so hard not to flinch. He returned to the fridge and, not knowing what else to do, she returned to the bread. It was much, much harder to focus when Master was actually in the room, instead of just a specter haunting her thoughts.

“Do you have any ginger?” Master asked, opening various cabinets.

Technically, yes, but was it the kind Master wanted? If it was just a yes or no question, she could answer, but she wasn’t sure if he wanted the root kind or the ground kind.

“...I…” she squeaked, but had to silence her open mouth. She was going to stutter. She couldn’t avoid it, she couldn’t, she wanted to but she couldn’t!

“Hey, hey, breathe Sasha,” Master ordered gently, and she complied. “Sorry, I’ve been trying to keep it yes or no, but I guess this answer’s complicated?”

Sasha nodded, feeling a small flicker of hope. Was this the leniece Greyson had mentioned?

“Do you know if Nyla’s awake?”

Sasha nodded. Please, please let her go get Nyla, Nyla could make this better. Sasha knew that even just having Nyla here would make things better.

“Do you know where to find her?” Another nod, hope rising. “Go get her, please.”

If she could thank him without ruining it, she would. She consciously reminded herself to move smoothly, not to rush and make her motions all gangly and ugly, but as soon as the kitchen door swung closed behind her she bolted through the mansion.

“Sasha?” Nyla hissed, confused and worried, and Sasha grabbed onto her sleeve.

“M-M-Ma-ster’s aw-a-aw-awa-awake!” Sasha gasped out, breaths coming out ragged. Nyla holding her steady.

“He’s in the kitchen?”

Sasha nodded.

“Okay, okay, I’ve got it, Sasha, I’ve got it, shhh, hurry now.”

“G-g-g-ginger,” Sasha got out, following close on Nyla’s heels.

“Okay, thank you, I’ll handle it,” Nyla whispered. Sasha always admired how Nyla was able to change her pace on a dime, going from rushed to beautiful in an instant. She glided into the kitchen in front of Sasha, patting down her skirt apron.

“Master, you need ginger sir?” Nyla asked, graceful and poised and artfully submissive. Sasha almost envied her, but what she felt wasn’t a negative emotion. Just the desire that she could be like Nyla, too.

“Morning Nyla, yes please.”

“Would you prefer ground or the root itself, master?” Nyla asked, bowing with her hands clasped in front of her apron. They kept ground ginger for cooking, the ginger root for when Mistress had been particularly cross with them, or exceptionally bored.

“It’s uh, all going in the blender,” Master Galo said with a rub to his hair, before looking at his own hand like he’d disgruntled himself. “So whichever we have more of, I guess?” Master said as he rinsed his hands off.

Nyla paused almost imperceptibly. Even Mistress wouldn’t have noticed, but Sasha loved and respected Nyla and paid attention to her often, so she caught the moment’s hesitation.

“I believe the root may be the best option, Master.” Nyla swaned over to the pantry, and Sasha tried very hard to finish kneading the dough. But, oh, Nyla was shorter than Sasha, and the ginger was just out of reach.

“Here, I got it,” Master said, approaching her slowly, and Nyla rolled off her tiptoes to dance away from him, light as a feather.

“Apologies, Master.”

“No big,” he said, easily reaching it. “You did exactly what I asked, there’s nothing for you to be sorry for, Nyla. You’re good.”

Nyla’s cheeks reddened at Master’s praise. Sasha felt thrilled for her. She wanted to be good, too, good like Nyla was.

“Loud noise,” Master warned after adding the ginger to the blender, and Sasha was grateful. Even with the warning, she jumped, nearly fumbling the pan she was settling the dough into.

Sasha got the bread in the oven as Master poured out his weird, green juice into a thermos, and Nyla bowed again.

“Master, do you require anything else?”

“Nah, I’m--actually, yes. How does grocery shopping happen around here?”

“If Master would be kind enough to list some likes, I would gladly construct a shopping list and order the groceries to be delivered, as we did with Mistress,” Nyla offered.

“Oh yeah, she would definitely do that,” Master Galo murmured to himself. “I just need spinach, apples, celery, and romaine lettuce, for now. I make the same shake every morning, so I burn through those ingredients really, really fast, and Auntie doesn’t seem to keep a ton of them stocked up.”

“I will see to it, Master. If you ever need anything, I am eager to attend,” Nyla said.

“Thanks, for that. Uh, yeah. Thanks. I promise I won’t ask for anything--weird, though. So don’t worry.”

Nyla bowed with a hand over her heart in acknowledgement.

“I’m going to the gym and then I’ve got a lot of funeral arrangements to make, plus a lot of family to contact. And some… planning, to do. I probably won’t be home until after lunch, so don’t wait for me to eat. Okay?”

“Yes Master,” Nyla answered, and Sasha breathed a soft sigh of relief. They were allowed to eat without permission, that day. He was being very generous, and she wondered if that was intentionally part of the adjustment period, or just because he was too busy to be bothered because Mistress was dead. “Does that include breakfast, Master?”

“Oh, yeah, mine is this,” he twiddled the thermos. “I never eat like, solid foods for breakfast, y’all go ahead without me.” Two meals! And neither of them earned! Sasha was as grateful as she was terrified, wondering when the other shoe would drop.

“Yes Master.”

“Need anything from me before I go?” Master asked.

“No Master. I will see that all operations continue as normal in your absence, Master.”

“Okay well, don’t push yourselves too hard, yeah? Especially Lilah--oh fuck, actually, her injuries probably weren’t--anyway, yeah, just, yeah don’t push yourselves. I said that already. Anyway, bye!”

Sasha watched Master leave, a couple mumbled words she couldn’t make out filtering through the swinging door, and her knees gave out again, hands covering her mouth.

“Sasha, Sasha hush now,” Nyla scolded gently, gripping her softly by the shoulders. “Pull yourself together, Sasha, Master hasn’t even left the estate yet!”

“I--I--I, I c-can’t,” Sasha gasped, trembling too hard, she couldn’t stop it.

“Shhh, shh, you did great, Sasha, you were so brave. Now stand up. Come on, up, up,” Nyla urged, tugging on Sasha’s arms. Sasha stood shakily, legs threatening to give out again at any moment.

“Hey,” Nyla said, her own voice shaking now that she wasn’t controlling it so precisely. She fondly stroked a dark curl from Sasha’s face. “We’re getting breakfast today, and Master didn’t specify what.”

Sasha perked up. That, with Mistress, meant Sasha could make whatever she wanted for them, and however much of it she wanted. It was a rare treat, one they were always sure to show proper gratitude for, but a treat nonetheless.

“I’ll go wake the others,” Nyla said, and Sasha nodded.

“I’ll, s-start up s-some eggs.”

They shared a grin, and Nyla rushed out, silent on her feet, as she would be until the telltale boom of the door signaled their Master had left for the day.

#GW #whump #multiple whumpees #referenced noncon #aftermath of torture #slavery #slave whump #referenced abuse #referenced mind games #Galo #Sasha #Greyson #Nyla #mine #writing

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whumpwillow · 2 years

Text

Demon’s Haven 4

they’ll get out of that cave at some point

masterlist

warnings: past torture, mentioned suicide & murder, mentioned church, bowing, begging, blood

—

Dark mages had a bad reputation. It wasn’t that they were evil—well, some were—they just used methods considered…unclean? Impure? Haven wasn’t sure which words the church used nowadays. It didn’t really matter all that much; they all meant the same thing. Despised. Even among purist mages, who stuck solely to light magic, dark magic was regarded with scorn and fear.

Chaining her undying soul to a demon certainly didn’t help the image.

Haven and the demon sat there for a while after the bond had completed. It was only minutes—she could tell by the disappearing sunlight that reached out its colorful tendrils through the mouth of the cave—but if not for that outward sign, she thought it could have been hours. Haven sat on the ground, knees bent with her legs to the side, watching the demon in front of her. The creature still bowed low on the ground, but thankfully had not taken advantage of her dagger that still lay by its side.

It watched her, still suspicious, but there was a desperation in its eyes that pulled Haven into action. It was injured—for real. Not an illusion, nor a trick. The blood flowed freely and the bruises stained its skin with startling regularity, making the creature look like a patchwork of colors. Its fingers twitched in the dirt, shaking all the while. Its body trembled and Haven wondered if it was solely from fear or if demons could feel the cold. Even if the nights were warm in the late summer, it wasn’t wearing a shirt. The absence of one left the long, roping scars that ran down its back to Haven’s full view.

She felt pangs in her heart and her stomach just looking at the poor thing, so any ruminating about her mistakes would have to wait until later.

“Can you walk?” she asked, keeping her voice low and soft.

She’d snapped at the creature when she thought it was pretending, but now that she knew it was truly afraid she’d hurt it, she couldn’t bear to do anything like that again and regretted it immensely.

Oh, how things turn. She never expected to care about sparing the feelings of a demon.

The creature didn’t answer in words. It splayed its hands out on the ground in front of itself—the broken fingers of its right hand bent in the wrong directions—and pushed itself up onto its knees. Its breath hitched and caught, and it squeezed its eyes shut in obvious pain.

Haven came forward to try and support it, but she must have moved too fast or threateningly because the demon fell over and scrambled back, clawing at the ground in an attempt to get away. It cried out in pain as it hit the hard, rocky surface, and Haven could see its ribcage expanding on one side and contracting on the other in paradoxical movement. A low keening escaped its clenched teeth and it threw its head back into the dirt and stone, fingers still scrabbling around at its sides for stability or escape.

Haven froze.

The thing was still trying to get away from her. Still afraid. She was too—she couldn’t forget that it was a demon. A creature she’d heard about possessing only evil and cruelty and not an ounce of compassion for any mortal or mage.

And here it was, crying in front of her.

Her heart took over her reason and she wanted nothing more in the moment than to comfort it. To make it—him, him—stop weeping.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she whispered. She held out her hands, palms out in a placating gesture. “No one’s going to hurt you.”

She crept forward slowly, keeping her body low so she didn’t tower over the demon and spook it—him, she had to think of it as a him—even more.

“You’re gonna be okay. You’re gonna be alright,” she continued to say, trying to soothe him. “You’re safe now.”

The demon sniffled and looked up at her with eyes shining with tears. Haven placed her hands flat on the ground in front of her and bent down, legs tucked under herself. The demon eyed her warily, but shuffled closer. Haven gave him the barest hint of a smile.

He edged his hand closer to hers so that their fingers brushed. It was the third time they’d touched, and for some reason, Haven thought something would have happened. A spark, or a sense of unease from touching a demon. But it was warm and soft, just the same as anyone else.

The demon jutted his bottom lip out, like he was pouting. Haven wondered if he was doing that intentionally. She didn’t ask.

“Can I touch you?”

The demon nodded slowly, unsure. Haven reached out, keeping her movements slow and visible, ghosting her fingers over his own and trailing upwards until she set her hand on his upper arm. She rubbed her thumb up and down in what she hoped was a comforting gesture.

“There,” she said. “Now can I help you stand?”

The demon gulped, but nodded. He leaned forward and Haven put her other hand on his arm to steady him, then tried to support him as he got to his knees. He hissed through gritted teeth as he did, but said nothing to voice his discomfort. Haven laid one of his arms over her shoulders and the demon tried to push himself onto his feet with her pulling him up. He let out a cry of pain, so Haven stopped, not wanting to overwork him, but the demon didn’t relent. He moved through the pain, face scrunched up, and got to his feet. His legs bent and he pitched forward, and would have fallen had Haven not been holding him up, but he did it.

“Good job,” she said, unsure of what else to say in a situation like this. Was praise even appropriate? Or was it just patronizing?

Whatever. All that mattered was getting him out of here.

“Can you move?” she asked.

The demon gripped her shoulder tight and leaned into her so much that she had to adjust to balancing the added weight or they’d topple over. With his body pressed against hers, she could feel him shaking.

She was wearing a jacket but he was without a shirt, so where they touched she could feel his skin was hot and feverish.

The demon took a step and Haven moved with him, but he pitched forward as his legs buckled beneath him. He grabbed onto her with both hands and Haven gently guided him down to a sitting position, then sat beside him. She rubbed up and down the uninjured part of his upper arm, making shushing noises to try and calm him. His eyes had closed again, jaw clenched tight and chin tilted upward like he was trying not to cry.

“I’m—” his voice caught. “I’m s-sorry, I—I’ll do—I’ll do better.”

His eyes brimmed with tears. Haven felt her heart wrench from her chest and lodge itself into her throat. He might as well have torn it to pieces.

“No, no, it’s okay,” Haven said, continuing to rub his arms softly. She leaned forward a bit, lowering her body so she was looking up at him. “It’s okay. You’re doing fine.”

The demon met her eyes and Haven saw something frantic there—anxious to please, to satisfy, to find safety and comfort. She wasn’t sure if she could give him all that he was after; she was already in way over her head.

What was she supposed to do in a situation like this? Was this even right?

The demon sniffled and tipped his chin up, but the tears that had been threatening to spill finally fell. They streamed down his cheeks in glossy lines, illuminated by the moonlight. Haven reached up slowly, giving him time to pull away, before settling her hand on his cheek. The barest flinch under her palm, but otherwise, he didn’t reject the action. He continued watching her, that gaze searching a soul now bound to his.

She rubbed her thumb over his cheek, brushing away the tracks of tears. More fell. Haven wiped those away too.

She’d prepared for her first demon summoning—not to do so would have been folly. She’d prepared for a battle of wills, for a monstrous creature to twist her words and lull her into something more than she could handle. She learned all about how to combat the wit of an immortal. Demons felt no remorse. No pity. No sympathy, and no mercy. She’d heard stories told by other mages, of witches slaughtered in their homes, who’d been manipulated by power to take their own lives or those of the ones they loved, and to give up that which was most precious to them.

Haven had expected evil. She knew what to do in the face of such things—or at least, felt she had been ready enough to try.

She had not prepared for this. For the demon to come to her, begging and pleading. For him to feel such pain, such anguish, that she could feel it herself. She knew not to let a demon steal her heart—but what about when it hurt this much because of one?

The demon continued to cry. Hot tears dripped down his face and over Haven’s fingers. With her other hand, she drew him close, so he could rest on her shoulder. His back was too injured for her to touch, so she put her hand on his head. Threaded her fingers through his hair. Despite the state he was in, the black locks were soft as silk, sticky with blood at the ends.

The demon wrapped his arms around Haven, clutching onto her like he was sinking into a bottomless ocean and she was the only thing keeping him afloat.

—

taglist: @whumpsday @whump-cravings @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @elrys-creates @cupcakes-and-pain @emcscared-whumps @wolfeyedwitch @inpainandsuffering @kira-the-whump-enthusiast

#whump #whump writing #my writing #willow writes #demon whumpee #demon whump #i have a. very soft spot for demon whumpees #witch caretaker #suicide mention tw #church mention tw #original work: demon's haven #oc envy #oc haven

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whumpwillow · 2 years

Text

Demon’s Haven | one

remembered this old series I used to write last year but then deleted because I didn’t like it so I edited it a bit and I’m gonna re-post it ✌🏻

masterlist

warnings: past torture, church mention, graphic wound description, demon whumpee, witch caretaker

—

Haven made sure to get everything correct. The runes drawn with pristine, painstakingly straight lines, the points in the proper directions, and the offerings in their proper places. She’d never done this level of dark magic before and no matter what anyone else said about it being commonplace to the dark mages of today, she did not want to mess it up. There was quite a bit her mind could conjure up about what could go wrong when summoning a demon.

Haven decided to readjust things, just a little. Just to make sure it was ready. She spread out the flowers more so they filled in the runes better, made sure the gold ring was still there, and stood back to inspect her work.

Contrary to popular belief, especially that of a non-mage perspective, summoning a demon did not require a human sacrifice. Nor a sacrifice of any kind. She was quite glad she didn’t have to find a lamb’s heart or buy pigs blood from some shady back alley; all she had to do was draw an intricate set of lines and symbols that took nearly two hours on her hands and knees. It was hard work, but it had to be perfect. There was no room for error—no smudged runes or wobbly lines. She had no idea what to do if she ended up setting a demon loose in the city, and whatever the church said about witches being unholy, she was pretty sure those folk didn’t have what it took to defend against the worst of it.

She wasn’t going to find out. This were going to work; she had to tell herself that to believe it. She prepped for this, read all the demonica books she could get her hands on, and practiced what she would say when she actually summoned the thing. The demon would try to trick her, to twist her words and logic to its own gain, or at the very least, its amusement at her suffering. She was ready. She wouldn’t fall victim to any sort of deceit, and besides, she had only a simple request. A favor in exchange for a favor. Not a soul.

Another thing the mundanes didn’t know about summoning was that trade with demons was a popular enterprise, dealing with but not exclusively limited to souls. Haven certainly would never sell hers, though she’d heard no one ever had to. Summoning a demon could be for the smallest of things in exchange for a price equal to the request. Erasing a tricky spell, casting a more powerful hex, whatever anyone could wish from the dark magic of a demon. Small favors, in return for something less than one’s immortal soul. The reason it wasn’t all the more common than it was—despite its growing popularity in recent years—was the amount of danger that came along with it. Summoning a demon into this plane of existence meant exactly that: there was a now a demon in the same space as oneself, and it was the mage’s responsibility to make sure it didn’t escape.

Hence the protection runes that took forever to make.

Haven took a deep breath to settle her nerves and began on the candles, one by one tipping the flames into each other to light them. Setting down the last one, she stepped back and admired her handiwork for a moment, hoping it would be enough. She then began the incantation.

The candles flared the moment she began speaking, their quivering plumes of fire rising high into the night air. As Haven called to whatever demons lurked in the depths, she wondered what the creature would look like. Would it be a towering monstrosity? Or a beautiful humanoid, too perfect to be real, ready to seduce her into the darkness?

She certainly had not expected it to look dead.

The demon materialized in the circle just as planned, but it wasn’t smirking or snarling or even standing up. It just lie there, motionless except for the shaky rise and fall of its chest. It moved its hands, tracing its fingers over the ground with trembling motions, just barely touching the rough stone it now lie on, as if it didn’t believe it was really there. Realizing it had been summoned to the human realm, it curled into a ball and continued to shiver.

Haven, too stunned to speak, merely stared, trying to process what she’d just done. She’d braced herself for a fight, or for a battle of wills and wordplay at the very least. She’d expected to be facing a monster.

What she got was a broken thing, huddled on the bare floor.

Haven took a cautious step closer, wondering if this might be a trap. Perhaps the demon was trying to garner her sympathy, to entice her into the summoning circle or lull her into a false sense of security that would cause her to make a mistake. Maybe she’d already made a mistake—this wasn’t what she was expecting at all.

The demon in front of her looked nothing like what she thought one should look like. She thought it would stand tall and proud, and would at least look at her. Here, It appeared as a human male would, albeit one who’d been badly beaten. It had curled in on itself so Haven couldn’t see its face, but its torso was uncovered and a pattern of long scars ran down its back, overlapping one another, layered deep and ruthless. Bruises marked its sides, shoulders, and pretty much everywhere else. A patchwork of purple and brown and blue.

Haven felt a pang in her stomach, then quickly chided herself. There was no room to feel sympathy for the thing. It probably wasn’t even injured—the blood and bruises just a glamour put on with magic.

Haven huffed, crossing her arms. The demon flinched at the slight sound, curling further in on itself, shivering violently.

“I want to make a deal,” Haven said, going into her rehearsed scripts.

The demon could play it’s tricks, but she would never fall for them. No matter how pitiful it seemed, cowering in front of her, she would make sure to have the upper hand.

No response.

Haven waited a beat, but only the sound of waves and distant crickets met her ears. If she listened hard enough, she could hear the demon breathing, a fast-paced and shallow beat. Occasionally its breath hitched, catching, resuming.

Haven swallowed awkwardly. “I said I would like to make a deal.”

No reaction from the demon. Haven observed it, with its knees curled into its chest, head bowed and arms raised as if to protect itself from a blow. From this position, Haven could see its ribs, which must have been broken. The movement of them was decidedly wrong. A bruised portion of its chest drew inwards as the creature breathed in, while the rest expanded as it was supposed to. The effect was disconcerting—lopsided and awkward and definitely not something that should have been happening. Bruises littered its skin, ranging in severity from small brown dots to large patches of blue and purple that stained its side like runny watercolors. Long scars ran down its back from the tops of its shoulders, crisscrossing and overlapping one another. Some looked fresher than others, still bleeding red on top of fleshy pink. Symbols—the meaning of which, Haven could not decipher—marked its body as well, burned into it with a precision that couldn’t have come from fire.

Holy water, Haven’s mind supplied. She knew it burned them, but she hadn’t known it would leave actual burns.

Whatever. Maybe it didn’t.

Haven shook her head to clear away the thoughts. She needed to focus. There was no use getting caught up in the grotesque imagery when it was all a lie anyway. She didn’t know why the demon kept up this act, but she wasn’t going to fall for a trap just because this was her first time summoning.

The demon whimpered softly.

The wounds were awful.

It’s just an illusion, Haven told herself. A magical glamour.

She sighed, trying to ignore the urge to take the figure into her arms and stop his shivering. Because it was not a he. It was a demon.

If she took one step into that summoning circle she was dead—or worse.

“Demon,” she said, more forcefully.

The demon cried out and scrambled backward, hitting the edge of the summoning circle and yelping when the magic zapped it. It curled its legs to its chest and held up its arms to try and protect itself, all the while quivering something fierce. Its breathing grew rattled, short and pitchy. The motion made its ribs look even more unnerving.

Haven could finally see its face.

And it was beautiful.

Beyond all the blood and bruises, Haven knew this was a creature that could seduce unwise summoners into treacherous water, able to lure them in like a shark disguised as a lustrous jellyfish. Both of which were deadly. High, sharp cheekbones, full lips, pointed ears, and the most vivid green eyes Haven had ever seen. A shade of emerald that could only belong to a demon, too lurid to be born to any mortal or mage.

Tears trailed from these gorgeous eyes, the red around them making the color stand out even more in the contrast. Haven really had to admire the work the demon was putting into the act—she could almost believe it.

The demon held up its hands, trying to shield its face as if Haven would spontaneously leap forward into the summoning circle. As if she was that stupid.

“P-ple-please,” it croaked with a voice that was rough and hitching. “P-please—I—”

More tears fell from its eyes and it brought its hands up to cover its face, bowing its head to rest upon its knees. Haven stood there, not sure what else to do. Everything she’d used to prepare had said that all she needed to do was summon the demon, ask to make a deal, negotiate the price, try not to die, and that was it.

Nothing about what to do when the demon refused to make the deal in the first place. Maybe she’d summoned a low-level one that was too powerless to do anything? Or was it a high-level demon she’d somehow acquired and it recognized her newness and decided to mock her for it? Using this pitiful, injured guise. She thought demons would have more self-respect.

Either way, she wasn’t getting her deal tonight.

Oh well.

The summoning circle lasted for three days—she’d come back tomorrow and try again. Hopefully the demon would be back to normal by then. She didn’t think it would want to stay a sobbing mess forever.

—

spoiler alert: the injuries are not a lie :)

#whump #whump writing #my writing #willow writes #original work: demon's haven #oc haven #oc envy #demon whumpee #demon whump #i have a. very soft spot for demon whumpees #witch caretaker #reluctant caretaker

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