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willowser · 1 year

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i want to write this fic that's like — cowboy bakugou, late 1800's style LOL

with him as a leeeeetle bit older, spent his life in cattle drives, wanted to be a marshal at some point, but his health and injuries from his younger days made it hard 🥺 he doesn't settle down, doesn't have any kids though he's in his mid-30's, and — one day he gets a letter that toshinori dies.

it's really supposed to be deku's responsibility, but only god knows where he is. probably got the news and can't accept it, too chicken-shit to face it. yeah, it tears katsuki up inside, too, but someone has to stick around in musutafu and help figure out his estate, the ranch.

help figure out you.

toshinori married in his late age, an ad he put out on the paper. bought you, as katsuki has always said, though the older man would always just smile wryly at the comment, look around at his extensive acreage, his horses and cattle, and he'd say,

"i only want someone to share this with, young man, do you understand?"

and he didn't. he really, really didn't. especially because you were younger than even bakugou, fresh-faced, hardly knew how to cook anything decent or how to ride a horse. waste of money, in katsuki's eyes.

but when he arranges his feelings right, he meets you on the ranch and — you're scared, because you're now a widowed woman and everyone and their mama wants a piece. you have the money, now, to upkeep the place but you've never done it by yourself. have learned more in the few years you've been married but it's a big place, a big responsibility.

and when katsuki hears that the bank wants to take it all from you, he's all, "over my dead fuckin' body."

it's really all deku's responsibility, since he and toshinori were closer, but you need someone now. and if bakugou has to stay in the house with you and help with the ranch, make sure no one comes to bother you—

then he'll do it. because that's what the old man would've wanted.

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whumpwillow · 1 year

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Demon’s Haven 7

*drops in after a year’s disappearance and vanishes*

uhhh yeah here have a thing

—

masterlist

warnings: conditioning, fucky headspace, implied past torture

—

There was a demon in her house. A demon in her house.

One of her worst nightmares realized, a fear that came to her through all the stories she’d heard of the creatures of the dark, of the way they plagued the witches of the city whenever they appeared. The terrible deals, the havoc, the chaos, the violence. Rogue, unleashed demons escaped from their binds, or from the gates that closed off their realm from hers.

Haven never had any experience with them and had hoped she never would, aside from carefully controlled deal-makings. She’d warded her house so she could have a safe place they couldn’t enter, lest they invade her section of the city as well.

Wards that had hurt the very creature she now sought to protect.

If a demon had ever managed to enter her house, she’d have thought there’d be a awful brawl. Perhaps a snarling, smirking menace, prowling the halls in search of her blood, her magic, her lifeforce. She had not expected a pitiful thing curled up underneath her breakfast bar, wedged in between the barstools. A shivering boy trying to make himself as small as possible.

It took a while to get him inside the house, both from the pain of his injuries and from the diminished trust the protection sigil incident had wrought. He’d still followed her when asked, despite the terror written clear across his face. Haven had a feeling he’d do anything she requested of him, even if it hurt. The realization made her sick to the stomach—even when she knew that was exactly the kind of thing she’d heard demons did to witches.

This one wasn’t trying to hurt her though. She was trying to make sure he knew she wasn’t trying to hurt him.

She’d lead him into the kitchen—the closest place he could sit—and eased him onto one of the barstools, then left to go collect all the first-aid supplies she could find. She came back, her arms laden with gauze and antiseptic, to find the demon huddled on the floor under the bar.

Haven sighed, setting down her supplies on a nearby table. She approached the demon slowly. His eyes flicked up to meet hers, watery and viridian, standing out against the redness from his profuse crying.

Haven crouched down and moved to sit beside him. He didn’t say anything, and neither did she. If this was enough to comfort him, she didn’t know, but at least he hadn’t tried to scramble away like he had back in the summoning circle. His body quivered, pitching every so often with quiet sobs.

“You can lean your head on my shoulder, if you want,” Haven said.

The demon turned to look at her, questioning, painfully hopeful. Utterly soft. Haven gave him a short nod and a sad smile to reassure him that it really was alright.

He shifted, then winced. Haven had to hold back from reaching out to him when he did; she didn’t want to move too fast and scare him. By all the stars, all she wanted was to hold him. He leaned his head on her shoulder, slowly at first, more than a little hesitant. The touch of his silken hair against her cheek was feather light, and she knew he wasn’t putting all the weight he could on her, so she settled a hand on his head. He didn’t move away, and she rubbed a thumb back and forth over his hair until he finally, finally, let himself relax. His body drooped with the weight of exhaustion and Haven felt him sag against her. He nuzzled his head into the crook of her neck just as he’d done on the way to the vineyard and Haven placed a gentle kiss on the crown of his head.

“You’re gonna be okay. You’re safe now. I’m not going to let anything happen to you,” she murmured, keeping her voice low and soft.

She continued whispering reassurances to him until her limbs began to go numb, but she refused to move. His wounds needed tending, but he seemed so tired. She had to give him what must have been the first bit of rest without fear that he’d had in…who knows how long. She understood something had happened to him. That much was obvious. But it occurred to her that she had no idea how long the pain had gone on for—was it one night? Two?

Looking over his wounds and his skittish behavior, she knew in her heart that it wasn’t.

Demons lived forever. What had been done to him could have lasted months, even years, and he never would have died no matter what had happened.

Haven gulped, sick to her stomach. Her eyes burned with unshed tears and she experienced such a rush of protectiveness like nothing she’d ever felt before.

“Hey,” she whispered. “Hey, demon.”

She didn’t even know his name.

“Demon,” she tried again. He turned his face up to meet hers and she was again struck by his beauty. His dark lashes fanned over high cheekbones, tears glistening among them like stars. “I need to clean your wounds.”

Clearly, the wrong thing to say.

The demon screeched, a high-pitched wail that shattered any of the peace Haven had managed to bring to him. He scrambled away, toppled over, and hit his head on the leg of the barstool. He whimpered softly, holding up hands to push away whatever torment he imagined might be laid upon him.

What had been done to the poor thing?

Haven swallowed down the uncomfortable feeling in her throat and held up her hands, palms out. “Hey, hey it’s alright. It’s alright.”

The demon had gone back into his usual pleas, saying that he would be good, whatever that meant. Haven fetched the supplies she’d dumped on the table and came back, ignoring the clenching of her heart as she saw the demon draw away from her. She set the supplies on the breakfast bar and held out a hand to the demon, which he took, albeit hesitantly. It seemed like one of those things he didn’t want to do, but thought he had no other choice but to obey, which Haven didn’t like, though it was necessary for now. The demon had so many injuries and she had no idea if they would get infected like a human’s wounds would, but she certainly didn’t want to leave them long enough to find out.

She helped the demon up and settled him on a barstool, the wicker weaving of the seat barely creaking under his dismal weight. Haven tutted at his emaciated form—so thin she could see his ribs, as well as every cut and bruise. She wasn’t sure if he’d bounce back from the malnourishment any time soon.

One thing at a time.

Haven poured some water into a bowl and set it on the table. The demon eyed it with ferocious dread.

“It’s just water,” Haven said. “I’m going to clear away the blood.”

The demon nodded, tense. His muscles were taut and his face scrunched up as if he were bracing for something, but he complied all the same.

“Yes. The holy water will make me pure,” he replied to her, his voice rote and mechanical, like this was something he’d been made to say many, many times before.

Rage surged within her, but Haven tried to keep it off her face. It wouldn’t do any good to display anger in front of him, not when he was so afraid.

And holy water? Really?

No wonder he was afraid of her cleaning the wounds—he thought she was going to hurt him further. That the holy water would seep into the cuts and burn—

Haven shook her head, trying to clear away the mental image. She didn’t want to imagine the demon in front of her, writhing in agony as some nameless horror doused his skin in what would send a roaring fire through his veins. To imagine the sharp, endless scorching that would tear through him, mixing with his blood and travelling through his body until he was nothing more than a searing husk, melted from the inside and begging for release—

No. No, she did not want to think about that.

She set a hand on the table, then gave the demon a steady gaze. “I’m not going to hurt you. I will never hurt you—” she thought of the protection ward incident, of her own inexperience with this strange situation of taking care of an injured demon. “…Not intentionally, anyway. I don’t want to hurt you.”

The demon blinked at her, as if he couldn’t quite process the words. She’d tried to fill her voice with as much conviction as she could without making it sound unpleasantly forceful, but she wasn’t sure he believed her.

“But I am…evil,” he replied. “I am a sinner and must be made pure.”

Haven typically didn’t swear as she felt it reduced the potency of her words, but right now she really wanted to.

She set a hand on the demon’s cheek, looking into those fathomless emerald eyes. “You are not evil. You do not need to suffer to be good.”

A crack. Not a physical one—Haven had heard enough of those in all the times the demon had accidentally injured himself. But a breaking point, a seam in the appearance of a person that had been through so much and lost everything. The tears came again. Gasping, hitching sobs, and he broke. He laid his head on her shoulder and she set a hand on his hair, and told him what she knew he needed to hear.

“You did not deserve what they did to you.”

This. This was everything the demon hadn’t ever dared to hope for.

—

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#i'm sorry i've been gone for seven years #i've been focusing on original writing and have written exactly zero things #whump #whump writing #my writing #willow writes #demon whumpee #witch caretaker #original work: demon’s haven #oc envy #oc haven

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