holding a loved one, whose mocking words and expressions are not their own
trying to save whumpee’s body by getting the possessing entitiy out before it can damage the vessel
getting attacked by a trusted person and not understanding why, while their friend is trapped inside their own body, forced to watch helplessly
the sinking feeling of horror when the possessing entity slips up, and the people around them realize what happened
watching a love one’s body fall apart because the possessing entity is making no effort to keep the body functioning and is wearing it down
a reformed enemy suddenly turning on them, and no one knows it is not actually them doing it
forced to watch themself hurting the people they love without being able to stop it
taking joy in hurting a demon only for the demon to leave and the human regaining control over their battered, tortured body
living in denial that their loved one is not salvageable and keeping the demon trapped in their home, because at least this way the light in their eyes has not yet died
surviving a possession but living the rest of their life with the aftermath (seizures, twitching, muscle cramping, chronic pains, …)
Whumpee looked at his friends. They were laughing, bumping shoulders as they teased each other about their conflicting music tastes. It was all so…normal.
Whumpee hesitated, just for a moment, and Whumper seized the opportunity to creep back in.
“You know how selfish it is, to keep worrying them,” It said, amplifying the shame already reverberating inside Whumpee. “Always a bother. Never can just join the fun, can you?”
Whumpee frowned. He pushed back at the force in his mind, arguing, They’ve told me- they want me to tell them, when I need help.
“Because they’re good people, who deserve good friends. But you only stay friends with people if they enjoy being around you. If you don’t always-“ Whumper’s voice cut off, reacting to the emotions bubbling inside Whumpee. “Oh, but look, you already know all this, don’t you? You know it’s true.”
Whumpee could feel Whumper’s words whipping up a whirlwind inside him, and he stifled the urge to whimper. Violent emotions battered against the wound in his side, making him feel nauseous.
I’m gonna throw up, he thought, and Whumper purred, “No, you’re not. You’re fine.”
Whumpee swallowed it back.
I- I need to tell them.
“Then do it.”
Whumpee opened his mouth. He tried to speak, but a thick wall of shame and fear and regret blocked his throat.
I can’t!
Whumper hummed. “Dont blame me for that.” They gestured to the burning emotions. “It seems like you just know that I’m right.”
Whumpee didn’t know what to believe. His mind felt like it was slowing, his thoughts becoming slippery as he tried to grasp at them.
Fear began to spark in his belly. I need help, he thought desperately. I’m going to bleed out…!
"Ugh, fuck," the man on the sidewalk, lying in a puddle of what seemed to be his own blood, groaned. "I can't believe this..."
They didn't know whether to go closer. They wanted to help, of course, but something in their gut told them this man didn't get stabbed for no reason. What an awful thought. Also, that seemed to be a lot of blood for any regular human to bleed... And if this man wasn't a human...
"Are you a demon?" they asked, voice quivering a little.
"I have a fucking knife stuck in my back, and several more stab wounds that I'm bleeding profusely from, and this is your first question?" he snapped, and they took a step back. He wasn't dying. Whatever this man was, he wasn't dying.
"Are you or are you not a demon?" they repeated, trying to sound firm.
"Why, if I am, you'll just get the knife out of my back and stab me a few more times with it?" He suddenly started coughing, and copious amounts of blood came out of his mouth, tainting his teeth and the asphalt below.
They had never seen a demon before. Or never realised it, at least. They wanted to run, but morbid curiosity got the better of them; they stayed, watching as the thing masquerading as human slowly got to his feet and started trying to get the knife out of his back.
No, this wasn't a demon. Not a full-blooded one, at least. Those were rare to come by, they mostly resided in hell. This one had to be a half-blood. Less powerful, but still plenty scary for the average human. They watched. Observed.
"First, that dumb witch shows up," he growled, "then, the little pet incubus I've been training for months turns on me and stabs me, then the two of them run off into the sunset... And now this? A human, just staring at me? Interviewing me about my bloodline?" He finally managed to grasp the handle of the knife and pulled it out. More blood hit the sidewalk, and for a moment, he looked like he might pass out. His eyes rolled back, he stumbled, almost dropping the knife, but then he steadied himself, panting a little.
"What witch?" they asked, unsure why. It wasn't like they knew many witches. A name wouldn't help them. "What incubus?"
"Well, no matter," the man said, wiping the blade on his pants, leaving streaks of blood on the fabric. "My pet might've run off, but you seem like a fun time."
Their heart was beating out of their chest. A demon, taking interest in them? This wasn't good. They should've run long ago. They felt like they were rooted to the spot.
"Tell me, are you just a plain old human? Boring as can be?" He dragged his bleeding body towards them, and they backed up in equal measure. Maybe they could still run. Maybe they could outrun a wounded demon. "Sometimes we need plain. As a palate cleanser. Say, have you ever had a broken bone? Anywhere in your body. Doesn't need to be big, just something to require a cast."
"N-No," they stammered, eyeing the knife he was waving around as he talked.
"No? This is like fucking a virgin, then."
Suddenly, he stopped dragging himself. He was immediately in front of them, so quickly that they couldn't follow his movements. The blade was at their throat, and they could feel it digging into their skin as they swallowed.
"My name's Dmitry," he said with a bloody smile. "I'd ask you yours, but honestly, I really don't care. Tell me," he leaned in, whispering in their ear, "do you scream pretty?"
I see a lot of demon whump where it's demon whumpee/angel whumper. But I wanna explore more of demon whumpee and demon whumper.
Two sides of a cruel, dehumanizing system that encourages the idea that you have to push others down to get ahead. The complete lack of empathy, or a moral code. Calling a demon who has any shred of empathy or basic boundaries a "halo licker," or they're "turning holy."
"You're not becoming an angel are you? You think you're better than us? Yeah, thought not."
Sensing kindness as weakness, morality as weakness. Something to be stamped out because it's a sign you're one of them. Driving those around the demon to abuse them harder until they lash out, fight back, get violent. Because that's what a demon is supposed to be.
And hey, if the demon gets out into the larger world, what sort of myths and ideas get in the way of getting sympathy and help?
"Demons can't cry," "Demons don't really feel pain," "You're a demon, you probably had it coming," "At least it happened to a demon and not a human."
Out of hell, maybe the demon starts retroactively judging their survival tactics with the moral code of those who never went through hell. The thought of explaining their situation to the world outside would cast their everyday actions as something disturbing, so the shame keeps them silent.
And with it grows the fear (or conviction) that hell was right about them, all along.
“Pretty birds need to be kept in cages. Otherwise they get snatched up by big bad predators.”
The demon grabs their pets chin, holding up his head. His feathered ears are flat against his head, and he tries to look anywhere besides the demons face.
“Oh little starling, don’t give me that face. Someone was going to whisk you away eventually, you should be glad it was me. Other demons would take your wings as trophies and leave you for dead. Or they’d eat you.”
They run their hand across the soft feathers, tightly pressed against his hair.
“Stop… don’t- don’t touch me…”
“Pretty birds like you shouldn’t use their voices to speak.”
They grab the angels chin once more, and push him back against the wall behind him. With another hand, they dig their claws into his side, just under his ribs.
Trigger Warnings: Misgender (both characters are male), Noncon, Assume The Worst
“M-mm… Mast– Master!”
“Easy, shh… That’s my pretty girl… Shhh…”
Whumpee whimpered in response, his back arched, legs wide spread.
It hurt. It hurt in a sort of awful miserable burning kind of way. A way that Whumpee was used to, sort of. A way that Whumpee would never really be ‘used to’ but more so was familiar with. It was a manic kind of hurt, skin fresh against fresh, his skirt ridden up along his waist bunched into globs of silk.
Whumper had Whumpee’s tail laced around his knuckles, taut like a leash, forcing Whumpee back and forth, rocking against his master. Back and forth… Back and forth…
The skirt was a torment all of itself, truly. Even if Whumpee could somehow slip away, break from this reality, that skirt would be there still. It rubbed against his sensitive flesh, silk like shredded glass. He hated that skirt, really hated it. Whumper said Whumpee was so pretty in it, he loved it. Loved when Whumpee wore those long flowing skirts and those tight corset tops, loved when it was so easy to ride up that fabric and force Whumpee over any nearby surface.
“That’s good, pretty girl. That’s so good.”
Pretty girl… Pretty girl…
A thick bile rose up from Whumpee’s stomach and burned. He might have thrown up, just maybe if a sudden rapid jolt of his tail didn’t make him reflexively swallow. Whumper’s body, slick and warm pressed hips down against hips.
“I’m almost done… almost done, sweet thing… Just a little longer, you can do that. Can’t you?”
He could. He could. Of course, he could.
But that skirt… That stupid awful skirt and how could Whumpee ever even begin to forget about the corset? Itchy. Hard. Cinched. Whalebone. Pinned and ribboned and beautiful. It took every inch of air from Whumpee, forced his back straight yet arched at just the slightest of angels. It presented him, with fine satin and lace, a darling little prize for Whumper to take and take and take and take.
“I adore you, you know that?” Whumper’s lips pampered over whumpee’s shoulder, gentle like a lover. It was hot, so hot and wet and Whumpee wanted nothing more than to shift from this skin. He wanted to shed it, twist within its tormented shell, break free and run. Oh, of course he wouldn’t. Not really.
He was a pretty thing. A good thing.
Horned and tailed and collared.
Beautiful work of art. Cut and shredded and burned. Leashed and cuffed. Corset and skirt. Perfect.
“Did you hear me?”
“Yes.” A thrust punched the answer out of him, his head tilting up. Whumper’s horns tangled with Whumpee’s, the obsidian slick with sweat and mingling together. It was such an intimate thing to their kind. Their horns. Their tails. Whumper was such an intimate creature. “Yes, I he–heard you. I heard you– I heard you!”
A satisfied purr vibrated through Whumper’s chest, a sound of pure, predatory ownership. “That’s right.” His voice dropped to a whisper, a hot secret breathed into the shell of Whumpee’s ear. “There is no god who adores more than I. Do you know that?”
The rocking pace changed, becoming deeper, more deliberate. Didn’t he say it was almost over? Hadn’t he said just a little longer? It felt like hours since those lying, hopeful words had been breathed into their shared air. Whumpee parted his lips to answer but found two fingers there to meet his tongue.
Suck.
Whumper did not have to say it, did not even have to think it. Whumpee knew. He was a good trained little creature even if his mind wondered in these moments. His training would kick in, always would or else he’d lose what he no longer had to give.
He finished like that. It was not a grand built it, it was not with whistles or bells. There was no smoke nor mirrors, unless of course you counted the stream simmering off Whumpee’s back. Whumper simply filled him, to the hilt and stilled.
That stillness was more jarring than anything else, truly. The motion had been rhythmic, expected, each trust met with the tug of his tail but now there was nothing. Just their heart beats fluttering, rapid, almost as one, and that god awful stickiness leaking down Whumpee’s pretty little thighs.
Whumpee sucked on Whumper’s fingers until he pulled them out with a wet plop, smearing the spit all along the side of Whumpee’s face. “Who adores you?”
“You, my lord, you do.”
“I do. That’s a good boy.”
A shudder coursed through Whumpee’s body as he was now returned to being a ‘good boy’ instead of a ‘good girl’. It was a mental whiplash that Whumpee had such a hard time keeping up with in his dizzy little head. Boy… Girl… Did it even matter? He was a girl when Master wanted to be sweet, kind, fuck him like a lover. He was a boy when Master was manic, frenzied, fucking him like a whore. Then he was a girl when he was mouthy, when Master slapped him, when Master popped his jaw and forced his cock down his throat. A boy when he was cleaning… When Master needed something to work on, something to cut.
Truly it was meaningless, there was no distinction. It was just what Whumper felt like in the moment. If he wanted to pretend to be fucking a bitch, he would. If he wanted hear his sweet little boy being carved into, he would. The difference was all in Whumpee’s head, just a silly thing trying to make sense of the senseless.
Whumper pulled out, slow, milking every inch. The loss was just as uncomfortable as the invasion, a sudden emptiness that felt so wrong. Whumpee had grown used to being filled but now… It was wrong to be there, wrong to feel the sick spilling down from his hole tracking even further along his thighs.
“Who do you worship?”
Whumpee looked up, a halo of light crowning his master. His teeth were out in a sickening grin, predator’s canines each and every single one of them. His horns curled, wings flared, the ultimate stance to show dominance and not a speck of doubt about it.
“You, my lord– My master.” Whumpee hadn’t even caught his breath yet, didn’t even have time to pry his skirt from the sweat that plastered it to his flesh. “With all my heart, with all my pitiful soul.”
“With all your pitiful soul.” Whumper hummed back, running his hand along his pet’s trembling thighs. “With all your trembling heart?’
“With all my trembling heart.” Whumpee would have agreed to anything, just to be able to get off his back. “With all my worthless flesh, with all my meaningless words. There is no merciful god besides you.”
Whumper’s smile grew just a hair, etched into his face. He reached out, pulling his pet up into a sitting position despite his whimpers. Whumper began to fix him, running his claws fingers along that beautiful soft hair, smoothing his corset, letting the skirt ripple down his legs once more, hiding their sin. “You have a pretty tongue on you, darling.”
The praise was a balm and a brand. Whumpee's body, still trembling, instinctively leaned into the touch, craving any scrap of gentleness after the storm. Whumper's claws, so capable of rending flesh, were now surprisingly delicate as they combed through his sweat-damp hair, untangling the knots. He smoothed the front of the corset, adjusting it so it sat just so on Whumpee's heaving chest. His master was tidying his masterpiece, putting him back on the pedestal.
"Thank you, my lord," Whumpee whispered, the words scraping his throat. He kept his eyes downcast, focused on the way the skirt now pooled around him, a dark, silken puddle that hid the evidence of their coupling. It was a lie, this pristine picture. Underneath, he was a mess of sticky fluids and aching muscles.
“How I adore you, my pretty little thing.” The master cooed, sliding his nails along the length of Whumpee’s face. “How very much I adore you.”
The Original Version
Chapter 6: Almond Milk
Note: The original version of this story is in the process of being rewritten. These chapters are being reposted for the Archive.
Follow @angel-on-the-wall-official for new stuff!
CW: angel whumpee, mute whumpee, demon caretaker, caretaker x whumpee, literal objectification, dehumanization, recovery whump, demon whumper, dehydration, eye whump, choking, noncon prostitution (past/implied)
This blog blocks anyone who is against proshippers, paraphilias, and any paraphilic disorders. Bigotry is not welcome here.
(Past)
He shouldn’t have done it. He never should have left his spot to try sneaking into the kitchen while Vale was taking a shower. He should have known that there would be housekeepers to spy on him, to snitch on him once the master of the home was unavailable. He should have thought things through.
But after weeks with no water, Logan was desperate.
He had never gone this long without drinking. At home, he had a thermos always full of cold water that he was always taking sips of, since he couldn’t handle big gulps of anything.
And he couldn’t handle being this thirsty.
Even if angels didn’t get dehydrated, his throat was painfully dry and irritated with nothing except his own saliva to lubricate it. And there was nothing to distract him from it; he couldn’t talk, couldn’t get lost in his work, couldn’t watch or read or do anything that would get his mind off the pain, the dryness, the heat. He didn’t like how hot it felt, how much it burned, and he had to make it stop. He had to put the fire out.
It wasn’t hard finding a glass to fill, though really, he would have just stuck his mouth under the faucet at this point. He barely waited for the water to fill it halfway before pressing the rim to his lips and tipping it back, too impatient for a small sip, too scared that he would be caught and his water would be taken away.
It felt heavenly. He ended up choking, of course, having to cover his mouth as he coughed, his ribs hurting with the motion. But the burning in his throat died down, and the moment that it started to dry up again, he drank. He kept drinking until tears pricked his eyes, overwhelmed with how much he was taking in, but ignoring it for the sweet relief of cold water flowing down his throat.
And ignoring the voice in his head telling him to hurry up.
He was still in the kitchen when he heard footsteps. And not just any footsteps; Vale’s dress shoes tapping on the tile floor. Logan moved in a panic, trying to put the glass back where it was after dumping the rest of the water in the sink. But as he was running away, the chain between his feet shortened with a snap, forcing them together and making him trip.
He barely covered his face in time before his front hit the hard floor, his ribs screaming in pain as his wings instinctively curled around him. Logan groaned, moving to sit up, and gasped when a hand yanked him up by his hair.
Vale looked pissed.
Trying to get an excuse out would be pointless. All he could do was take whatever his punishment was now as Vale dragged him over to the kitchen table and barked something in Demonish that Logan didn’t understand.
It must have been a command. Because two housekeepers rushed into the kitchen when he said it. And the next part was spoken in Allish, so Logan did understand.
“Hold him down on the table.”
Logan did not like that one bit.
He fought the urge to fight back as his forearms were grabbed. And gasped in pain when his back hit the wooden table, wings aching and flapping to escape. His forearms were roughly pinned down on either side, legs left to kick uselessly. Neither housekeeper was close enough for them to reach, and kicking Vale would have been suicide, so he took a harsh breath and forced himself to go still.
Just take it gracefully. Don’t give him what he wants.
“Apparently,” he heard Vale sneer, “my angel is too thirsty to do what he’s supposed to do.”
There was the sound of water running.
“I must not have realized what a problem it was for him.”
After a minute, the water turned off. Logan watched tensely as Vale approached with a full glass of water and a nasty smile on his face. He stood above the angel and extended his arm, so that the glass was right above his face.
Logan squeezed his eyes shut fearfully.
“Let’s fix that.”
Freezing cold water was dunked on him all at once, making Logan gasp and sputter as it went up his nose. It fucking stung, not just his skin, but going into nose. He thrashed violently as he started choking.
Angels didn’t need to breathe, but their bodies always forgot that.
Vale clicked his tongue. “Look at that. I was generous enough to give him a drink and he just wasted all of it.” As he walked back to the sink with the now empty glass, dread pooled in Logan’s stomach and goosebumps broke out across his skin. Vale wasn’t just going to shock or whip him as usual.
He was giving Logan exactly what he wanted.
He shut his eyes again. Another click of the tongue. “He won’t even look at me when I give it to him! No manners at all.”
Logan felt two fingers roughly pry one of his eyes open and gasped at the unpleasant sensation. But his blood went cold when he saw the glass dangling right above his open eye, water already starting to slide down over the rim.
“N-No-”
“Let’s fix that too.”
It all came pouring down again, like a freezing cold waterfall, and the moment that it hit his eye, Logan screamed. The pain was blinding, literally, as his vision went white and the pain drilled through his eye into his skull, throbbing at how cold the water was, at where the water was being poured. A wretched sob ripped out of his throat -- his dry throat, yet again, which didn’t even compare to what he was feeling now in his eye and his head.
He struggled desperately against the hands holding him down, his wings stretching out to try shoving them away. But his efforts only got him to scream in pain again when Vale slammed his fist down on the top bone of his wing, holding the twitching thing down on the table, as if waiting for a bug to die.
“I could crush the other one too,” the demon warned, and Logan got the message. He choked back another dry sob as he forced his shaking wings to hold still, forced his eyes to stay open, despite how much he wanted to close them. To protect the other one. To find some relief from the stinging in the wet one.
Vale smiled and Logan felt sick. “That’s better,” the demon cooed, going back to the sink for a third refill, and Logan thought he might pass out. “But none of it got in his mouth. The poor thing must still be thirsty.”
Not anymore, he thought, silently begging the demon with his eyes. I’ll never drink again after this, I’ll never disobey you, please, don’t pour it down my throat.
“Open his mouth.”
Logan went tense as two hands pried his mouth open. And then he was spasming on the table, choking, drowning, as the freezing cold water was poured down his throat, barely even hitting his tongue as it went right down his esophagus.
He couldn’t even cough. He swallowed reflexively, convulsively, but there was too much for him to swallow and he started gagging. And as more of his face got wet, the plaster started to crumble, filling his nose with the stench of himself.
Vale made a disgusted face. “Ugh. Forgot about that.”
Logan gasped for air when Vale stopped. He felt sick. Scared. His brain was still trying to tell him that he was choking, or drowning, but it was just water trickling down his throat now, sliding down his face, dripping from his chin to his clavicle.
He hoped Vale was done. Even if the demon wouldn’t have mercy on him, maybe the smell of Logan not being able to bathe for weeks would do it. Maybe he would rather get the plaster back on. Logan would gladly take that over this.
But when Vale called in another housekeeper and handed them a full glass of water, the angel knew, with a sickening feeling, that his punishment for drinking without permission -- for doing anything without permission -- was far from over.
“Keep going. I’ll watch from the doorway.”
—
(Present)
His owner typically slept eight to nine hours, so Logan wakes up after five.
The change in surroundings surprises him, until he remembers what happened last night. Being stolen by Mr. Bornachi. Watching his owner -- well, his former owner now -- be murdered in his own home by the mobster. Getting kisses to numb his pain. Being touched gently, carried gently, spoken to gently. Gentleness and kindness that he didn’t earn, didn’t deserve, and couldn’t trust.
Which is why he tried to kill his new owner.
The memory just embarrasses him now. He thought that, even if it didn’t work, Mr. Bornachi would lash out, punish him for such defiance, such disrespect. And then he would stop pretending to care about his stolen property.
But he didn’t. Sure, he scared the shit out of Logan when he pinned him down, but he apologized afterwards and said it was because of a nightmare. Logan would have thought that a lie if the guilt in his eyes didn’t look so genuine.
And there was something else weighing down on his mind about the whole thing. It was like having a word on the tip of your tongue, close to remembering what it was, but getting frustrated when you couldn’t. He remembered something. He saw a different room, but the same face. The same demon snarling down at him.
Very different from the demon sleeping next to him.
He shoved those thoughts away as he curiously looked over at Mr. Bornachi. It seemed like the demon had escaped the nightmares for now. He still had his arm around Logan’s small waist -- a solid warmth that comforted the angel -- and his head had rolled to the side, so his face was nestled against Logan’s blonde hair, turned slightly to keep his horns from poking the angel.
He had a sudden urge to touch the demon’s face, but Logan shoved that away too. Even if Mr. Bornachi didn’t draw the line at attempted murder, there had to be a line somewhere. And touching his owner seemed like an obvious one.
But he still turned slightly to look. This close, he could see the demon’s dark eyelashes and thick eyebrows beneath his silky brown hair, currently falling in his face instead of brushed behind his ears. His braid was undone, letting more of the wavy locks fall over his shoulders. And he was still shirtless, an observation in Logan’s mental notes that he tried to crumple up and throw away.
Emphasis on tried.
Well. If he was going to get distracted by his owner’s physique, he would at least take notes that mattered. Like the scars scattered across Mr. Bornachi’s body. It was common for demons to have them, but Logan noticed some of them looking cleaner than the ones obviously gotten during a fight.
Like the ones subtly hiding under his tattoo.
He risked leaning down slightly to get a better look. And he realized that they weren’t quite under the ink; they were part of the letters. Straight, vertical lines that went in a row and were consistently spaced apart, until you got to the ‘V’ in Diavolo. There was a horizontal line slashing through four vertical ones.
Like the tally mark for five.
“Looking for something?”
Logan probably should have jerked back. But the sound of Mr. Bornachi’s voice, clear and tinted with amusement, startled Logan into going still. Which was a rather awkward position to be in when you were looking at someone’s chest.
He heard a chuckle as Mr. Bornachi shifted, moving his arm away to put some distance between them. Logan missed it already. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t looking for an artery to cut.”
Maybe it was the stupidly amused smirk on his owner’s face. Or maybe he was just getting too used to reacting without consequences. But the angel gave his owner a decisively flat look and pointed at where the aorta, the largest artery in the body, would be inside of the demon.
Rather than feel threatened at all, the demon grinned, and it looked way too good on his stupidly good-looking face. “I better pick up that knife then. But first…”
He stood up. Logan stayed sitting, assuming that his owner would leave him there to do whatever morning routine he had. But the demon turned and offered him his hand and said, “Let’s figure out what we’re going to do about breakfast.”
Logan looked down at his hand. His previous owner never would have offered; he would have just grabbed Logan or ordered him to stand and follow.
Hesitantly, he took Mr. Bornachi’s hand, ignoring how much bigger the demon’s hand was, how his muscles moved when he lifted Logan to his feet, and the proud smile that made no sense being there.
—
Derek wishes he could say that he had a clear plan for helping Logan recover from his physical and mental trauma. But aside from a mental list on what they might need to work on, he didn’t plan much beyond killing Christian Vale and making sure his family was away, so Logan wouldn’t get overwhelmed.
Already, they had run into a few obstacles. Getting the angel to move his wings and bend his spine without pain. Sleeping without standing. And of course, his trust issues. But this morning brought another obstacle that Derek hadn’t fully planned for.
Breakfast.
He wasn’t sure if Logan just couldn’t speak or open his mouth at all. But even if he could, he would still need to be able to chew. Which is why, once Logan was sitting down at the table, his back not even touching the chair, Derek turned towards him and asked, “Did you eat at all when you were with Vale?”
It took a moment for Logan to register that he was being asked a question. And then he looked up at Derek without moving his head to blink once.
No.
That was a problem. If he tried giving the angel anything solid, he might choke, and Derek didn’t want to make his first meal in two years to be a painful or uncomfortable experience. Maybe they could start with a liquid?
He paused. “Did you drink anything?”
Logan’s amber eyes flashed with fear before he quickly blinked once.
No.
Derek felt like there was more to that, but he didn’t question it. “Well, I think before you eat anything, you should try to get used to drinking again. I can show you what I have and you can choose what you try. Does that sound okay?”
Logan didn’t just look unsure. He looked suspicious, like this was some kind of trap. Derek couldn’t even imagine what that would involve.
“If you don’t want to do it this morning, we can wait,” he added. “But I don’t want to wait too long.” His family would demand to help when they got back, and he was pretty sure Logan wouldn’t appreciate having a bunch of demons arguing about who was doing a better job at helping him.
Bornachis were quite competitive.
“So, do you want to wait?”
Logan hesitated. But he must have decided that it would be better to get it over with, because he blinked once. Derek smiled and opened the fridge to take out all of the drinks stored inside, setting them on the table in a straight row.
This part he did plan for. Derek made sure the kitchen was fully stocked with vegan and organic alternatives that would fit Logan’s dietary needs. “Aside from water, we’ve got soy, almond, coconut, oat, and rice milk. And for juices, we have apple, orange, grape, cranberry, and kiwi. And none of them are concentrated. I read that juice without pulp is usually distilled through non-vegan ingredients, so I made sure all of these had a vegan label. See?” He points to one of them.
He looks at Logan. His expression hasn’t really changed, but his eyes look slightly wider, as if he’s shocked that Derek put this much effort into buying drinks that he would like. And then, to Derek’s own shock, he sees a new emotion flicker in those amber eyes.
Amusement.
Derek hopes that’s a good sign. “You can just point instead of blinking. Since I know you can do that now,” he jokes, grinning at the angel’s mental eye roll.
Sometimes he thinks Logan purposely doesn’t do anything just to see if Derek will get impatient and choose for him. But when it becomes clear that the angel is overwhelmed by all of the options, Derek tries to help him out. He takes out his phone and does a quick Hoogle search for drinks that would be best for someone who has trouble swallowing.
After reading some of the results, he hums. “I would suggest sticking with one of the milks for now. I read that thicker liquids are easier to swallow, and I don’t have any thickener for the water or juice.” He pauses to read another article and raises his eyebrows. “Apparently carbonated drinks work well too. Something about a process called,” he struggles to pronounce it, “chemesthesis?”
Though his face stays the same, Logan’s eyes light up. Realizing that he’s caught the angel’s scientific interest, Derek holds back a grin and reads some of the article out loud. “In this process, the carbonated beverage acts as a…Trigeminal irritant, which stimulates the Trigeminal Nerve or Cranial Nerve V, one of the major swallowing nerves.”
It makes little sense to him, but it obviously makes sense to Logan. He looks like he wants to say something, and Derek waits to see if he will, but the angel stays silent. “Well, if I had known that, I would’ve bought soda too,” Derek says, mentally kicking himself for not researching this before his shopping trip.
He’s about to send a housekeeper out to buy some, but then Logan finally makes a decision and points to the almond milk. Derek looks at him. “Are you sure? I can always-”
Logan blinks twice to cut him off.
Yes.
The interruption makes Derek smile. “Alright. Almond milk it is,” he says, grabbing a small glass to pour a small amount. He’s about to offer a straw, thinking it might be easier since Logan wouldn’t have to open his mouth as much.
But first, he goes back to his Hoogle search and asks if straws are a good idea to help someone with trouble swallowing. And it’s a good thing he did. Turns out that straws are more likely to increase flow rate of liquids in the mouth, making it harder to swallow because of the increased amount.
He reads this out loud to Logan before pushing the glass over to him. “If you need help holding it, I can hold it for you. But you have to open your mouth enough to get a sip in.”
There was that suspicious look again.
Suspicious and confused.
—
Either this was the weirdest mind game ever or Mr. Bornachi -- a mobster who had just murdered another demon in cold blood to steal Logan from him -- actually cared about Logan’s dietary needs. Which he must have learned from David somehow, because Logan sure didn’t tell him that he was a vegan.
And he didn’t ask him to do all of this research either. But here he was, watching his new owner grapple with simple words like trigeminal, all for Logan’s sake.
It was kind of cute.
But now he had a task to complete. Another problem to solve. Logan wasn’t actually sure if he could hold the glass himself, but he was determined to try.
The glass felt cool and smooth under his fingers. Too smooth. That, combined with the weight of it, had Logan setting it down before he could drop it, too scared of breaking something that belonged to his owner.
Mr. Bornachi smiled patiently. “Want me to hold it?”
Logan reluctantly blinked twice.
His owner picked the glass up easily. “Blink once when you’re ready. I’ll pour it very slowly,” he said, holding the glass up to Logan’s face. The sweet smell of almond milk tickled his nose and Logan was shocked to feel himself salivating, excited to be having one of his favorite drinks after years of going without it.
But he had to open his mouth first. So, with a little difficulty, he blinked once before parting his lips, nearly startling when they touched the rim of the glass.
“You may have to tilt your head back a little bit. Do you want help?”
The thought of moving his head brought back painful memories. Logan blinked twice, and tried to relax his neck muscles as Mr. Bornachi used his free hand to gently tilt his chin up, moving the glass with it. The almond milk started sliding from the bottom of the glass towards Logan’s lips.
Like water sliding down over the rim, about to hit him, about to be poured into his eyes and down his throat, and it wouldn’t stop, it would never stop-
Logan recoiled with a gasp.
His owner let go of his face instantly, jerking the glass back. A bit of the almond milk spilled on the table, and Logan panicked, expecting to be punished, scared that his new owner would have the same idea as his previous one.
He had just wasted Mr. Bornachi’s drink. Wasted his time, effort, and money. His owner would realize now that he didn’t deserve any kindness, because he always wasted it, and it was even more of a waste of time pretending like he was more than just property.
“Hey, it’s okay,” his owner said gently, but Logan didn’t move, too scared of making another mistake. “I’ll just wipe it up later. Logan,” he said, and Logan’s eyes snapped up to him, not wanting to get punished for ignoring his owner.
But his owner didn’t look mad. He had that soft, proud smile on his face as he set the glass down, as if Logan didn’t just fail to take a simple sip of milk. “That was a good first try. And it’s okay to be scared; you haven’t done this in years.”
Logan tried to take some comfort in his words. But he was worried that this wouldn’t work. That he would just get scared again, and again, until it was no longer okay and his owner gave up on him. Logan didn’t want him to.
He was used to being a disappointment, but Mr. Bornachi smiled at him like he wasn’t. And the angel didn’t want to lose that smile this soon.
Mr. Bornachi seemed to sense his worry. “Maybe it would help if I knew what exactly startled you. Was it seeing something come towards you? That seemed to be the moment where you jerked back.”
Logan hesitated.
“You can blink three times if you’re unsure.”
It’s not that he was unsure. He knew the reason why, he just didn’t know how to communicate it. But he was going to try.
Instead of blinking, he circled the rim of the glass with his finger, trying to emphasize how big it was, so anything inside could be spilled or poured on him easily. Mr. Bornachi frowned, confused, and asked, “Something wrong with the rim? Is it too cold?”
Logan blinked once. This time, he cupped his hand around the glass and kept his hand like that when he pulled it away. He made the pantomime of throwing the glass towards his face and that’s when Mr. Bornachi’s eyes widened.
“You’re afraid of it being splashed on you?”
Logan blinked twice. And though it was such a small achievement, he was a little proud of himself for figuring out how to communicate his fear. He hoped Mr. Bornachi was too.
But the demon looked more troubled than proud. And the angel’s hopes sank when he stood up. Did I do something wrong? Wasn’t that good enough?
Has he given up on me now?
He was expecting Mr. Bornachi to just walk out of the kitchen and leave him there, like Vale would often do. Because owners didn’t need to announce when they were leaving, or why. And their property never questioned it.
But instead, his owner just went to the fridge, took out a water bottle, and dumped the water into the sink. He sat down with the empty bottle and said, “I’m going to try pouring it from this. You’ll need to open your mouth a bit wider, but since your lips will be covering the opening, it would be impossible for you to get splashed.”
Now that he knew what Mr. Bornachi’s intentions were, Logan was relieved. And a little impressed. It was a smart idea, and the bottle would be much lighter than the glass. He extended his arm to pick it up, and though he struggled with curling his fingers around it, the material was much easier to grip.
Mr. Bornachi smiled proudly again.
Logan felt irrationally pleased.
“Very good. Can I show you how to take a sip of it?”
Logan blinked twice. And though he was paying attention to the lesson, he also enjoyed the feel of Mr. Bornachi’s hand on his, gently holding the bottle up to show him how to tilt it back.
They practiced with the empty bottle. Together, with the demon’s calloused fingers covering his trembling ones, making sure his grip on the bottle didn’t slip. And then Logan tried it on his own, being praised again when he not only managed to hold it right, but opened his mouth wide enough for his lips to fit around the opening.
“Ready to try with milk this time?”
Logan, feeling more accomplished than he had in years, blinked twice.
Mr. Bornachi carefully poured the milk into the bottle, handing it to Logan with a smile. Logan repeated what he had just learned -- or rather, relearned, since he used to do this all of the time in Heaven. And now, the muscle memory was finally kicking in, despite his training still telling him not to move.
But technically he was being given permission, even if his new owner liked to ask him questions instead of giving him orders. So, after telling that voice in his head to shut up, he picked up the bottle and stuck the opening in his mouth again.
“I’ll still help you tilt your head back,” the demon said, doing just that.
This time, Logan closed his eyes, so he wouldn’t see anything rushing towards him. And after a moment, he felt the cold liquid enter his mouth, washing over his tongue and taste buds, hitting him with a burst of sweetness and a hint of almonds.
And blessed Divine, it was creamy, the best texture to touch his tongue in fucking years. He really missed this, doing something as simple as drinking, a personal freedom that he had just taken for granted until it was taken from him.
He didn’t even realize he was tearing up. Not until the bottle was gently pushed down and his head was, just as gently, being brought back down.
He opened his eyes. That’s when he felt them stinging, blinking them harshly to try and stop the tears from spilling down his cheeks. The demon helped him with a soft smile, brushing the tears away before they could get on the plaster.
“Does it taste good?”
Logan instantly blinked twice. His owner looked relieved and delighted to hear that. And for once, Logan didn’t worry about this being a trick. He was just grateful to have this. Grateful to savor the sweet taste of almond milk while his owner grinned and looked proud of him. He couldn’t remember the last time that anyone had been proud of him.
“Are you able to swallow it?”
The demon’s question snapped him out of his blissful thoughts. Logan realized that, despite tasting the almond milk, it wasn’t down his throat yet. He was too distracted by the taste and texture to remember what came next.
Swallowing.
He thought that his muscle memory would just do it for him. But just like before, another memory assaulted him, one that involved Vale again. Vale’s voice, from a distance, talking to one of his patrons.
He doesn’t swallow.
Before he could stop himself, Logan spat the milk out on the table.
It took a moment for him to realize it. To remind himself that the splatters of almond milk on the table were just almond milk. And once he did, he looked up at Mr. Bornachi, horrified and ashamed, instinctively bracing himself for the disappointment, the anger, the punishment.
But the demon just looked surprised. And then concerned when he looked at Logan, gently taking the bottle from him to set down. “Was it too painful?”
Logan’s face burned under the plaster. Just a few seconds ago, he felt proud of himself, happy to have one of his favorite drinks again. And now he just felt like absolute shit. Mortified, frustrated, and feeling like he should give up on himself first if his owner wouldn’t.
What if that was the catch? Making the angel humiliate himself repeatedly? Subjecting himself to all of these traumatic memories?
Would he even let Logan stop if he wanted to?
“It’s okay, Logan,” Mr. Bornachi said, which was obviously a lie.
It wasn’t okay. None of this was okay. He shouldn’t be here, sitting at a table with his owner, trying to drink some damn almond milk. He should be standing in a corner with his wings spread out, with his usual expression painted on, unfeeling and uncaring. That sure seemed easier than this.
Mr. Bornachi looked really worried. “We can stop if you want to, Logan. Do you want to stop?”
He did.
And he should.
But that stubborn side of him was coming back. His pride stung at the thought of giving up now, and he didn’t want his owner thinking that he was incapable or, worse, someone who gave up easily.
David Helterson did not raise a quitter.
He blinked once and went to grab the bottle again, since there was still some milk left in there. Mr. Bornachi smiled at his determination and helped him tilt his head back again as Logan felt the drink in his mouth, tasting what he did before.
But this time, he opened his eyes and focused on his owner, looking down at him with a fond mix of pride and admiration. He focused on the calloused hand touching the bottom of his chin, warm and gentle, always gentle.
He was amazed and confused by how much the demon must have been holding back his strength just to keep from hurting him. And that’s what he focused on instead of the voices in his memories, the hands that always hurt instead of helped, even when they were gentle. That always came at a price.
But the only price here was sweet, creamy, and tasted faintly of almonds.
—
Derek wouldn’t have cared if Logan ended up spitting more milk out on his table. But he knew how frustrated the angel could get when he couldn’t do something, or, worse, when he felt like he was failing at it. So, for Logan’s sake, he hoped that his second attempt would go better.
And to his relief, he heard Logan swallow as his Adam’s apple bobbed.
Derek grinned as Logan set down the bottle, forgetting that he was still touching the angel’s face. “I knew you could do it,” he praised, trying not to sound patronizing.
But he was proud. He didn’t know why swallowing was hard for the angel, but he didn’t need to. He was just happy to help. And he was happy that Logan seemed happy, pride and satisfaction sparkling in his amber eyes. Derek thought he almost saw the angel’s lips twitch up.
He had to ask. And seeing the look on Logan’s face -- much like when he got the fluffy bathrobe -- gave Derek an idea of what his answer might be.
“Do you want more?”
Logan looked at him. And though it hurt to still see him hesitate, to see that flicker of suspicion break through the sparkle in his eyes, Derek was more than pleased when the angel blinked twice.
“I just want people to stop lying to me!” Whumpee sobbed, tugging the shawl the woman sitting on the steps next to her gave her. The woman, Whumper, rubbed Whumpee's back, saying
“I'm so sorry, darling. Men can be terrible sometimes.” Whumpee sobbed and leaned into Whumper's open arms, saying
“I'm just so tired of being lied to, again and again! Everyone lies to me! I just wish they would stop!” Whumper gently rubbed her arm, sharp red nails ghosting over her skin, the metal of her ruby bracelet as cold as the rain falling outside the little gazebo they sat in. Whumpee turned her head and sobbed into Whumper's shoulder. Whumper petted her hair as she said
“It'll be ok, darling.” She paused, then asked
“You want people to stop lying to you?” Whumpee looked up at her, meeting her strange red eyes as she nodded. Her red lips curved into a soft smile as she asked
“More than anything?” Whumpee nodded and said
“More than anything. I want people to stop lying to me.” Whumper smiled and took Whumpee's hand, saying
“I can do that.” Whumpee frowned in confusion, asking
“What?” Whumper chuckled and said
“I'm a powerful person. I can give you whatever you wish. I'll need you to do some things for me, but we can figure that out later. How does that sound?” Whumpee laughed and said
“This has gotta be a joke.”
“Humor me.” She replied with a gentle smile. Whumpee paused, then smiled and said
“Sure” Whumper's gentle smile turned chillingly wicked as she said
“It's a deal.”
A blink. That was all it took. That was all it took for her world to shatter as she looked at the woman in front of her.
Sharp red nails now claws. Red jewels now studded into skin, not just bracelets. Red lips parting to show sharp teeth. Horns appearing in flaming red hair. Skin turning red as blood.
Whupee went to scream, but Whumper's hand covered her mouth and she said
“Quiet, darling. You said you didn't want to be lied to anymore, didn't you? So I've let you see through all the lies. Including false appearances. And it has just been so long since I showed my true form to a mortal. It's been a while since I showed my true form at all, even when that angel showed up. I wasn't particularly trying to keep the human disguise, but it becomes easy, you know? Ok, darling. I think it's time for us to go. Up, up now, no screaming.” She slowly removed her hand, leaving Whumpee staring at her in shocked terror at what she was looking at. No. No. This couldn't be real. She drank too much at the party. Someone slipped something in her drink. She, she was dehydrated from crying. She passed out and this was just a nightmare.
“This can't be real,” Whumpee whispered to herself without thinking. Whumper laughed and pulled her to her feet, patting her cheek and saying
“Oh, but it is, darling.” She flicked her hand and a limo drove up nearby. She said
“We'll have to walk through the rain a bit, but that's not bad. I have some lovely clothes for you at home! Come now!” Whumper's red claws wrapped around Whumpee's wrist and pulled, but Whumpee didn't move. She tried to pull away, saying
“No.” Whumper laughed,
“You don't get to say that to me anymore, darling.” She pulled, and Whumpee didn't move. Whumper sighed and said
“Fine. The hard way it is.” Whumpee yelped in pain as Whumper's nails dug into her skin. She tried to pull away, but Whumper pulled her close, kissing her forehead as things went to black.
Whumpee blinked back to consciousness in a strange room, sitting in front of a vanity mirror with a ruby necklace around her neck that she didn't recognize. Red hands landed on her shoulder and red eyes looked into hers through the mirror. Whumpee let out a scream and kicked herself back. Whumper smoothly stepped out of the way and looked down at her with a disappointed look, saying
“Darling, get up.” Whumpee scrambled to her feet and backed off as she snapped
“What the hell do you want?!” She tried to take off the necklace, but it wouldn't come off. It seemed the clasp had been welded together. Whumper laughed, smiling with sharp teeth as she said
“Oh darling, you already gave me what I wanted. A deal means we both get something. No one can lie to you now, including me.” She paused, then asked
“What did you get?” Whumper laughed and raised her hand, the studded rubies glowing. Whumpee yelped as the strange necklace dragged her towards Whumper until her face landed in her hand. She smiled and rubbed her thumb over Whumpee’s cheek, asking
“What do you think I got? You’re a smart one. Look at me and think of what I might want from a mortal.” Whumpee’s mind raced, then shuddered to a halt.
Oh. Oh no.
“My soul” Whumpee said quietly, the realization setting in like a stone sinking to the bottom of the ocean. Whumper smiled, red eyes glowing as she said
“Yes! Good job darling! You got it right on target! Look at this!” she flicked her fingers and a ghostly red line looped around Whumper’s wrist, connecting to Whumpee’s head and heart. Whumper smiled,
“You’re mine now, Darling. That’s how it works. I own what makes you… you. Even when you eventually die, your soul just makes me more powerful. And the best part? There’s no getting out of it.” Whumpee’s knees gave out and she crumpled to the ground, hugging herself tightly. No no no. This couldn’t be happening. Whumper kneeled down next to her, her red face looking almost kind as she grabbed Whumpee’s hands and pulled them in front of her, smiling gently and saying
“Don’t look so terrified, darling. I’ll give you everything. A wonderful life. A manor, food better than anything you’ve ever eaten before, glamorous parties all the time! Doesn’t that sound wonderful?” Whumpee tried to pull away, but Whumper’s grip was titanium as she snapped
“No! I don’t want to be here! Let go of me!” The kind facade fell and annoyance entered Whumper’s eyes as she asked
“Why are none of you mortals grateful! I give you exactly what you ask for!” She let go, Whumpee scrambled back, Whumper stood and stepped away as she snapped
“All the other girls before you, I gave them what they wanted but they were never grateful! My sweetheart wanted to be strong, so I gave her strength! She became stronger and more dangerous than any other mortal! And she was so useful! It made it so easy to get myself in a good position, I just had her kill whatever mortals I needed dead! But I took care of her! Yet she tried to run, so she forced me to use my mind control on her again, and her mind broke! She was useless after that, half her soul breaking and all, that was so annoying!” Whumpee glanced around for a weapon as Whumper kept talking,
“And then there was my pet. She was living on the streets when I found her, so I gave her a better life, but she never appreciated it! It’s not my fault she was weak!” Whumper’s hair started to literally burn red as she paced around the room, snapping
“I don’t understand why she hated it! I was being perfectly reasonable! She had no reason to complain! And then, and I’m still so angry about this, there was my love… she died such a stupid death! She wanted to be loved, so I loved her! I kept her safe at my country house! I never hurt her! I was careful to only use kisses to sway her rather than full mind control! She had everything she wanted! She was happy and loved! I kept her safe! But then that damn angel showed up and ruined everything! Her presence broke my sway, because of course it did! She took off the necklace and tried to leave! But she was mine! I didn’t mean to push her! She moved at the wrong time! That’s not my fault!” There. The candle. Whumpee slowly moved towards it as Whumper turned her back
“Sunshine though, the next one, that was just boring. I was trying to show Angel that I could be much crueler, but she was locked in the basement, so I don't know what I was thinking, really. The vacation was nice though. I probably would have brought Sunshine back home with me, if she hadn’t run. But it was really just too much trouble to keep around a girl with so much fight in her, so I killed her.” Whumper paused as Whumpee carefully approached her with the candle raised. Whumper hummed and started to turn as she said
“Oh wow, the lying thing I did for you is really work-” Whumpee didn’t let her finish, slamming the candle into her head, just below the twisting horns. Whumper yelped as she fell, caught off balance. She held her head, saying
“Ow!” Whumpee threw it at her and ran out of the room, looking for a door.
Whumper’s voice echoed through the hallways, coming from every which way,
“That was a bad idea, darling. That hurt. I don’t particularly feel like playing cat and mouse though,” Whumpee screamed as a wall of fire rose up in front of her and she stumbled back, falling, but she climbed to her feet and went towards another hallway, only for another wall of flame to appear, this time catching the hem of her dress. She screamed as she ran back towards where she came, hoping her movement would put out the fire.
But it didn’t. Especially not as the last hallway erupted in flames and burned her hands, so hot it felt cold, until it felt like nothing at all and she stumbled back into the wall, screaming and crying as she looked at her blackened hands. She looked up in horror as she heard a low and smooth chuckle.
Whumper stepped through the flames that were quickly enclosing on Whumpee, red lips curled into a wicked smile as her red eyes burned with anger and sadism.
“Oh, what a shame” Whumper hissed as she approached, “Perhaps I won’t keep you, Darling. Too much fight and all.” She flicked her fingers and the necklace fell to the ground, only to be replaced by Whumper’s burning hands, cutting off Whumpee’s scream with fire.
The last thing Whumpee saw were Whumper’s red eyes.
~~~
@watsonbee
IT MAY BE TEN HOURS LATE, BUT IT'S DONE, IT'S LONG, AND I'M HAPPY WITH IT!
WELCOME TO THE TWIST I'VE BEEN PLANNING THE WHOLE TIME!
MUWHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA
Hope you enjoyed, and make sure to check out the previous parts!:
Red Nails
Red Jewels
Red Lips
Red Hair
Red Skin
And tomorrow you can look forward to the final part:
