#obey me sneeze content | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

petit-etoile · 5 months

Note

Astarion/Tav prompt (or Reformed Durge): "I would have you smile again. You will live to see these days renewed. No more despair." I know it's a Lord of the Rings quote but gosh if it doesn't remind me of them ;-;

this is the end of the world ( a time for something biblical )

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 5,219 content warnings: canonical mentions of death, spoilers for the dark urge storyline & astarion's act iii romance, graphic mentions of injuries, references to cann.ibalism as a metaphor for love, mental health issues & physical ramifications from the tadpole + rejecting bhaal, i highly recommend listening to the exogenesis symphony by muse other tags: canon compliant, canon-typical violence, character study, introspection, hurt/comfort, whump, canon temporary character death, the dark urge as player character, codependency, religious imagery & symbolism, p.orn with plot archiveofourown: here.

tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, @ghosts-and-ink, @b4um3pfl4um3, @gunslingerorchid, @hypopxia, @m0ssytrees, @erysione, @odette-attackattack, @catching-fire-in-the-wind, @ashrio20, @wills-mental-illness, @queenofcarrotflowers-s, @kirahlene be added to the taglist here

summary: ‘Stay,’ Astarion says weakly. ‘I don’t want to be alone.’

‘Your life is mine,’ he says, cruel eyes gazing at you. ‘Accept your inheritance, or I will reclaim it.’

‘I would rather die,’ you say.

His hateful eyes narrow dangerously. It was never a good idea to betray a god, nonetheless one who had created you so lovingly. His voice is a low growl when he dismisses you — and suddenly, white-hot pain shoots through your veins and threatens to swallow you whole. Bhaal raises his hand and your blood obeys.

‘You were made to conquer,’ he snarls. ‘To devour!’

‘I don’t need any of this,’ you spit out. ‘I don’t need you. The only family — I know are those who fight by my side! I will not be what you made me!’

The sickness in your belly surges until you think it will overcome you. You stagger forward until your knees hit the stone floor. Bhaal is forcing you to submit, to become what he had made Orin. This thing won’t have you, Astarion whispers against the curve of your ear. It won’t win. You’ve got this, darling. And I’ve got you. You want to believe him, but your blood-kin has done damage beyond repair. What were children beyond the sins of their father?

‘You reject my blood?’ Bhaal asks.

‘Yes,’ you whisper.

‘Then I shall reclaim it,’ he says, his promise a growl in his throat.

You were your father’s seed cultivated to perfection by determination and bravery. Now, you were nothing more than a disappointment to be snuffed out root and stem. You choke on the warmth in your throat. Your veins seem to have exploded beneath your skin. You sneeze, red oozing from every orifice.

‘I will make another who is worthy,’ says Bhaal, lifting his hand.

As he raises his hand, you are forced to kneel. Every single one of your muscles contracts in agony. The others might be shouting but you can hardly hear them over the roaring in your ears. Your blood is rejecting you. Festering inside your flesh like a disease. Like the skeleton carved into the wall, you weep blood down your neck. No matter how hard you try to close your eyes to prevent it, your rich ichor abandons you.

No, you want to tell him. The rot of his blood will end with you as it had with Orin. The abomination of murder will never set forth and harm another. You reach for the dagger at your hip and raise it, but the Avatar of Bhaal dissipates before you can strike. The weight of your body collapses forward.

Like a wounded beast, you keen loudly, shaking your head as if that will free your ears from the blood inside of them. You were born from this blood. You were created by this blood to be who you are today. Rejecting it should be like a sin — but if sin is a seed, you have eaten it willingly from the hand of mortality. If Bhaal is to reject you, then you will reject his godhood.

You close your eyes as blood overtakes your sight. You press your forehead into the stone to fight your fever. You shiver and gasp. You gargle on the proof of vitriol and lean into the chilled floor, resigned to your fate. At least you wouldn’t become a mindflayer…

“No!” Astarion wails. Your heart shatters. ‘No, please — Not you!’

I’m sorry, you say. You close your eyes and remember the color of the sun in his hair. I didn’t mean for this to happen. This isn’t what I wanted. Your fingers curl against the stone, and then — There’s nothing. Astarion touches the sleepless bruises beneath your eyes with such tenderness you forget his strength. You lean your cheek into his palm and sigh sleepily, but even as exhaustion overtakes your body, you shudder. You’re afraid to sleep, to dream. You don’t want to hurt anyone else ever again.

‘You have to rest, my love,’ he murmurs. He allows you to lay on his hand as though it were a pillow. ‘When was the last time you slept through the night?’

‘I’m not sure,’ you confess.

‘I might be a sleepless creature of the night,’ Astarion says, ‘but you… You needn’t fear your dreams when I am here. I’ll protect you no matter the cost.’

‘And who will protect you if I sleep?’ you ask.

You must be frowning, because Astarion uses his other hand to soothe the crease between your eyebrows. He sounds so outrageously heartbroken that you want to cry. You don’t want him to think he isn’t a comfort… You haven’t slept beside someone in so long, and the warmth of his body has always lulled you to your dreams peacefully until recently.

Astarion swallows thickly. ‘I’m not afraid of you. I’m not afraid of this. I’m with you forever and always.’

But what if there isn’t an always?

‘There is always a future for you and I,’ Astarion vows. ‘Now sleep. He can’t control you as long as I’m around.’ When you open your eyes again, you’re greeted by the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. His eyes are a soft cerise, and his cheeks are high and sleek, his lips plump and his hair soft and curled. An angel. You’re unable to control the way you reach your hand to touch his cheek, smearing a crystalline tear across his wan skin.

‘Who are you?’ you whisper, voice caught painfully in your throat.

‘Hush now, my love,’ he whispers. He presses a sweet kiss to your mouth, and when he pulls away, his lips are ruddy and wet. ‘Thank the gods… I thought I had lost you.’

Oh, you think. You remember now. This is the man from your dream… You try to recall the details of how you know him, but it’s hard to follow a train of thought. You turn from side to side. It’s so hard to move, to focus. Your limbs feel as though they are made of lead and marble. Everything aches. The tips of your fingers and your nails down to the little bones in your toes. Your head, though, is the only part of you free from intense pain. It’s as though a weight has been lifted from the veil of your memories. You rest your arm across your waist, too tired to keep it lifted.

‘Who…’ Your brows furrow in confusion. ‘Who am I?’

‘I know you were once a child full of life and love,’ the angel says to you, gently cradling your face in his hands. ‘I know one day you were afraid and unsure and half-mad. I know you stained the streets red with cruelty and devised a plan larger than all of Faerûn. But I know you are strong and that your heart is good. You saved the tieflings, and you saved the refugees, and now you will save the world that threatens to be plunged into darkness.’

You smile. ‘That doesn’t sound like me at all,’ you confess.

The angel shakes his hand, fingers pressing hard into your skin. His voice breaks. ‘But I know it to be true, so you must believe my every word. You are brave. You are kind. You are good. You are my love, and I know that I am loved by you in return. You are a protector,’ he tells you. ‘You have protected everyone, and now it is time to protect yourself. You have survived two gods and now you must survive a third.’

The knot in your throat grows larger with every word. You think you remember now. Yes, you can remember it all very clearly. You know the weight of his hands like baptism. You turn your cheek and kiss his palm, smudging his skin pink.

‘Astarion,’ you whisper.

Your love smiles down at you, your blood dribbling down his chin.

‘What happened?’

‘Let’s not worry about that,’ he shushes you, massaging the bruises beneath your eyes. ‘Come, let us get you cleaned up.’

‘I don’t think I can walk yet,’ you say. Admitting it makes you feel weak.

‘Don’t worry,’ Astarion says softly. ‘I can carry you.’

‘I will bloody your clothes,’ you say.

‘Bloody them,’ Astarion says. ‘I don’t care.’

Astarion does carry you. He carries you all the way back to the inn, to a private room just the two of you share. He orders a tub to bathe you in and then takes an hour to scrub your skin clean, carefully cleaning your gore from your hair and scalp.

You watch as Astarion passes a bar of soap against the skin of the top of your arm over and over again until it is red then pink then flesh. Then, he gently twists your wrist. He cleans the underside of your arm next, and your palm. He washes your fingers until they do nothing but shake in the cold air. You curl your fingers around his.

‘Was it hard?’ you ask him.

‘I will never forget the smell of your scent,’ Astarion replies.

He moves to wash the hollow between your collarbones, encouraging you to recline in the water. He washes your chest and your stomach until his grief washes over him in waves. His chin shakes until a sob escapes. He presses his face into your hair and wails softly into your crown. When he’s done weeping, Astarion returns to his cleansing. He speaks not of it again. There is so little of you left.

You often wonder how much of your brain is left between the parasite and the hole your father has left you. Sometimes Jaheira still looks at you as though the rot of your father isn’t entirely gone. You don’t blame her. You’re waiting for your control to snap. You were good once. You could be good again. You want to be good again.

Shadowheart smiles at you now. Lae’zel no longer frowns. Even Wyll has taken up eating beside you again when it’s nighttime and the adventure can go no more. Gale pours you an extra serving of wine. He says you need it. Karlach lets you hold Clive at night when Astarion goes hunting, and he goes hunting often now. It makes you wonder if your blood is vile.

Part of you wants to ask him if you’ve done something wrong. You’ve committed no crime, but you feel like you have. Your memories of before are slipping away. Your memories of now seem to do the same.

You wait in your tent that night for Astarion to return, your blanket pulled around your head and shoulders. You rehearse what you’re going to say. You want to reassure him you’re not angry. You just…feel loss. Empty. The loneliness nips at your bones like crows at carrion.

When Astarion slips inside, he looks guilty. It almost makes you want to change your mind, but you have to know. You feel as though you’re going mad. A flightless bird trapped in a cage. Like Dame Aylin trapped in Shadowfell. He refuses to meet your gaze.

‘Have I done something — ’

‘You,’ Astarion says through gritted teeth, ‘are perfect. Every time.’

You want to cry. ‘Then why do you avoid me?’

‘Avoid you?’ Astarion repeats incredulously. He looks at you now despairingly. ‘No, that isn’t what this is at all. I would never avoid you.’

‘You’re hunting more often,’ you say in a low tone, a whisper. Accusatory.

‘Can you blame me?’ he asks plainly.

It’s your turn to look away in shame. ‘If it’s too much, you should sleep somewhere else.’

‘I don’t want to be apart from you,’ Astarion says.

‘Then how do we fix this?’

‘You cannot fix what is not broken.’

‘Astarion,’ you plead. ‘Hold me or — I don’t know who I am anymore.’

Astarion wraps his arms around you before you can say another word. His lips are like a halo against your head. Each kiss he presses against your scalp is a prayer from a sinner. You turn your cheek, and he kisses you so passionately it makes your empty head spin.

You relearn who are you in his arms that night. And as he regales you with tales of your history, you think you can imagine them in your mind’s eye. He kisses your wrist. He tells you a happy memory when he kisses the curve of your belly, and when he kisses your ankle, he promises you that everything will be worth it.

It wasn’t you that was the problem. There wasn’t a problem, not really. Only an impiety he wanted to atone for. He struggles with telling you, but when he whispers it against your thigh, you understand.

‘Your blood,’ he says, voice strained. ‘I cannot escape the smell.’

‘I’m sorry,’ you say, but he shakes his head and his hair tickles your sensitive skin.

‘No, I — It is my shame,’ he confesses. ‘I’ll admit I’m a lech.’

Astarion struggles to put his words in a coherent structure. When you died, he was horrified and distraught. Only the gods know how hard he wept seeing you lifeless. Yet it was his vampiric nature that had betrayed him almost as much as your life’s blood had betrayed you. He felt hunger.

How could he be sad when he was so ravenous? Was he not an evil man, or is this what made him evil? That, in all of his beautiful tears and lamentation, the urge to devour you, bones and all, nearly consumed him? Your death was horrible, ugly, wretched. Your death was beautiful and coveted.

Astarion devours you again that night, mouthing and licking and sucking at your swollen core. He makes you a martyr in his grief. His tongue teases you over and over again. When you’ve climaxed once, Astarion seeks out to make you do it again until your legs are shaking violently and your voice has gone hoarse. He doesn’t take you that night, not in the traditional way, but he swallows you up regardless.

It isn’t until afterwards when he’s laying with his head on your chest that you understand his tragedy. It’s a misfortunate impossibility trying to grieve when you can’t stop salivating. Astarion thinks you’re horrified by the admission, but after knowing your past, it was hard to feel scandalized by anything.

You pet his curls away from his face, watching as he listens to the hum of your heartbeat. He might have it memorized by now, but each time it beats, Astarion’s eyelashes flutter with admiration. It is a hymn, a doxology, a liturgy that only he knows the words to. After all, he wrote them on your skin and immortalized them forevermore. He is so beautiful, you think, when there is no trouble to be seen.

You were once both trapped by your dark god’s design. You had set yourself free. You had sprouted the wings of a swan guided by the empathy you had planted in a garden as a child. It would be Astarion’s soon, and you would carry him in compassion until the thorn crown was placed upon his brow.

Astarion’s eyes are closed. In your perpetually confused state, you mistake him for having fallen asleep and resort to doing the same. The city becomes chilly at night and your skin is decorated with gooseflesh. He rises almost immediately and you try to chase after him, fingers piercing through a ghost.

‘I wasn’t going anywhere,’ Astarion says immediately. He drags his cape from the corner of the tent and lays it across your shins. ‘You were shivering.’

‘I’m not used to this — ’ Will my mind ever be the same? ‘ — chill.’

‘I will be here,’ he promises. ‘Here, let me hold you for the night.’

You clumsily trade places with him, and he tucks your blanket and his cape around your body as tightly as he can. He kisses you passionately and you taste your familiarity in his mouth. It’s so sweet that you sigh. ‘I know what you did,’ Orin says hatefully, spitefully, cruelly. Her voice is like honey.

‘What have I done?’

‘Did you think I wouldn’t know?’ she asks. ‘Filthy rotten blood-kin undeserving of our father’s gift!’

You repeat yourself. ‘What have I done?’

‘You,’ Orin spits, ‘think your grey matter deserves to be loved! I should carve it out! I should make it disgusting and sticky again! Split it’s skull open! You foul traitor!’

Slowly, you pull Orin into your chest. You hug her and smooth her hair down her back. Her arms wrap around you begrudgingly until the lovingkindness causes her to rupture. She sobs into your neck hideously, clinging to you. She wails and she wails until you are both children again staring up at your grandsire for approval.

‘It isn’t fair,’ Orin tells you, hiccuping. She wipes her nose with her fingers. ‘It isn’t fair.’

‘I love you, blood-kin,’ you say. You kiss the top of her head.

‘Slaughter kin,’ she says sadly. She holds your hand with her snotty palm.

‘Sister,’ you say. In the coming weeks, your mind hardly gets better. Memories are still missing. You catch yourself gazing at the mirror longer than you expect to. You used to be so beautiful. It’s hard to recognize the face staring back at you. You touch one cheek and then the other. You turn your head and watch your jawline.

No, it still isn’t you.

You take the knife in your belt to your hair and begin cutting away pieces you don’t remember. You lean forward and smudge your eyes before sitting up straight and trying again. You recognize a part of yourself. You chase that feeling. You press your hand against your heart. You smile faintly. Astarion sobs so hard you think you might lose yourself. You’re at a loss of what to do. He’s alive but he keens like a dying deer. It’s supposed to be healing, you think. Cazador is dead. His reign of terror should end. Astarion is saved and he saved himself. You couldn’t be prouder of him.

Slowly, you step forward one foot after another. You collapse to your knees at his side. It’s easy to pull Rhapsody from his fingers. You drop it by his side. Slowly, as if in a dream, you hold him like you held Orin. Astarion sobs harshly into your collarbone and clings to you so tightly you might break.

‘I thought — I thought — ’ he cries brokenly.

I thought it would make me feel better, he says without saying. You shush him and pet his hair. Cazador’s blood smears against your cheek when Astarion burrows his face into your neck. You let him linger. You aren’t sure how long you sit on the hard marbled floors, but when you stand up, your knees creak so loud you’re almost insecure about it.

This time, it’s your turn to carry Astarion. He won’t let you pick him up, but you hold him by his waist. You carry him past your allies, past the onlookers who once saw you in opposition. You order the maids to bring you a bath, and as Astarion hiccups in the water, you bathe him.

You wash the taint of Cazador from his body. The soap cleans the dirt and the blood and the memory. You wash his chest and his belly and Astarion thanks you hoarsely. He looks at you, and his eyes are so wide and beautiful that you cry too.

Dying isn’t easy. It isn’t beautiful or romantic or a sweeping gesture. Dying is painful and hideous and ugly, and you have saved Astarion from a lifetime of torment. Rather, he did it by himself with your help. You swipe the soap against his cheeks and use a rag to clear it away. Astarion’s hair is somehow curlier when it’s wet, and you part the curls so they’ll dry without tangling.

Astarion watches you miserably as you towel his hair. You wipe droplets of water off his skin and slowly slide him into his smallclothes. He accepts your blanket and wraps it around his shoulders, staring at the wooden floor, at his feet.

‘Stay,’ Astarion says weakly. ‘I don’t want to be alone.’

‘I would never let you be alone,’ you say.

It isn’t what you bought the room for. Really, you only wanted to wipe the blood from his face but now, you climb into the sheets next to Astarion and hold him tightly. He doesn’t seem to want to talk about the future. He doesn’t want to talk about his siblings either or the thousands of spawn waiting to hang on his every word.

And you can’t even blame him. The gods know how long it took for your tongue to become free from the weight that held it still after you betrayed your father. Karlach said you talked a lot before, but now it’s hard to say anything without wondering if your words are in the right order. Astarion cries softly as if to not awaken you from your slumber, but you can’t fall asleep. You can’t toss or turn either, but dreams evade you.

Dawn peeks through the window. Dawn-bringer, Jergal had called you. You slide out of bed carefully then and cross the room. You draw the curtains shut. Astarion watches you curiously from where he burrows in the sheets. His brow furrows adorably when you climb back into bed and plaster yourself to his spine.

‘Ah,’ you say monotonously. ‘The sun is gone. I suppose we'll stay in until it returns.’

After a day of lounging, Astarion still isn’t ready to talk about what’s on his mind but he watches you do your favorite mundane mortal things with explicit interest. He has you read the book you’re reading aloud, and if it takes you a few hours to struggle through one chapter, he says nothing about it.

Every once in a while, another one of your companions comes to sit in.

Lae’zel tries to commend Astarion for his warrior’s heart without sounding stilted, but eventually she gives up on complimenting him to sympathetically let him know she understands. They had all seen Vlaakith. Karlach brings Clive by and carefully arranges him in the bed next to Astarion. She tells him that he’s fucking awesome and asks permission to hug him.

The touch nearly sends him spiraling.

Gale approaches in his usual manner. He brings Astarion a bottle of wine spiked with blood and lets him know he’s available to chat whenever Astarion feels up to it. Wyll spends thirty minutes apologizing for the bad blood between them, which is funny considering their bickering was hardly vitriolic. Shadowheart visits and gifts him a perfume that makes his lip wobble dangerously.

Jaheira, Minsc, Boo and Halsin come together solemnly. They might be the least offensive of the bunch. Boo gives Astarion a thousand kisses on his cheeks, and Jaheira finally tells them a story of her youth. Halsin has Astarion drink a potion, not because he’s injured physically, but because it should help with his pain. Minsc tries teaching you a Rashemen dance, but Astarion laughs for the first time that day and you do too.

‘It is good,’ Jaheira says, ‘to see you both smile again.’

You touch your mouth shyly. Your cheeks are sore. Astarion’s smile fades slightly but returns in full, timid confidence lighting his features once more. Halsin crosses the room and opens the curtains you’ve closed. The light douses the room in holiness, and you turn your face to watch the sunset, unafraid of what the future will bring.

‘That which troubles you will soon be over,’ she promises. She pats Astarion’s hand, and although she doesn’t say it, you know he’s her son. ‘You will live to see these days renewed. There will be no more despair.’

You’re both left alone again together. Astarion beckons you to the bed instead of your chair and you join him, carefully sitting atop the covers, a respectable distance between your thighs. You inhale carefully.

‘You did the right thing,’ you say. ‘Not completing the Black Mass.’

‘Perhaps I had inspiration,’ Astarion replies. ‘You had a chance to become the Slayer, a being more powerful than you could have known. But you didn’t.’

‘I betrayed my father,’ you whisper, staring at your hands. ‘And he killed me for it.’

‘And if I had completed Cazador’s ritual,’ Astarion says, ‘I would have become Mephistopheles’s whore. I refuse to bow to the whims of others. Being an Ascendent…was blinding me to the truth.’

You look at him curiously then. He confesses to you his sins. He has thought of ascending, and thought of it often but it was never to protect himself. After a certain point, he wanted to protect you too. Your Urges had been mistaken for something else then. A possession, an invasion. Astarion sought to exorcise you of your demons.

But when you had died and the diseased lifeblood fled from your veins, Astarion realized the truth. The ascension would not have helped him protect you. It would have tainted him. It would have contorted him. Rising above all other vampires, Astarion would have become cruel like those before him. He does not want to be cruel to you. He wants to learn kindness as you have. He reaches for it like he chases the sun.

Astarion takes you by the hand, smoothing your skin with his thumb over and over. His skin is cold beneath yours. You curl your fingers into his. He did not want to make you a slave, not again. Not to him.

‘You are the dawn-bringer,’ Astarion says. ‘Even if I never see the sun again, I am free.’

‘I love you,’ you say, voice shaking. ‘I’ll be with you. In the darkness.’

‘You fool,’ Astarion laughs affectionately. He leans across the distance and kisses your temple. ‘There is no darkness. You are daylight incarnate.’

You look at him sharply.

‘I’ve been thinking about something,’ he says. ‘It’s…been on my mind all day, but I think it’s time. Say you’ll come away with me.’

You and Astarion dress slowly. You would follow him almost anywhere, but this is different. There’s something to be done. You don’t dress in armor, and for that you’re almost grateful. You’re tired of fighting. You’re tired of seeing blood.

But it isn’t blood or anything blood related that Astarion takes you to see. One minute, you are wandering Baldur’s Gate at night, and the next, you’ve come to the hollow of a tree where a gravestone is coated in vines.

‘This…is where my old life began,’ Astarion tells you softly. ‘Beneath there, I was turned into a monster. But Cazador is dead now and I get to decide my own fate.’

Astarion tells you in painful detail about his transformation. How his wounds fused themselves shut but the pain never went away. He tells you about breaking through the wood of his demise and the fear that flooded his veins and how, just when he thought he had found his savior, Cazador had laughed wickedly with his cruel glowing eyes.

‘I was his,’ Astarion murmurs, ‘but not anymore.’

He kneels before you on the dirt before his tombstone and bows his head. The prodigal son returned home. The sight of it causes your heart to squeeze. You want to step away but you can’t. You’re afraid.

‘There is nothing left of the person I was before,’ he tells you. ‘I am free to become who I want to be, free to start a new journey. I have all the time in the world to figure out who I am and what I want, but I think I know.’

‘I love you,’ you say again. ‘You’re what I want.’

‘You were by my side through all of this,’ Astarion says, eyes glimmering in the moonlight. ‘And now I want you to christen me. Inaugurate me here on the site of my rebirth.’

This is another dream. You hold your hands over Astarion’s head and sprinkle imaginary water over his head. His eyes close instinctively. Love washes over him, something golden. You kneel down and pluck a flower from the earth and it does not bleed. Relief floods your veins. For once, you touch something and it does not rot. Carefully, like a ghost, you slide the flower into Astarion’s hair and watch as his crimson eyes spill open with tears and devotion.

Astarion kisses you, and for the first time in a long time, he presses his body against yours. He takes you that night in the dirt. His leg is tucked under yours, his cock against your core, his lips never leaving yours. Astarion recites verses in your ears until you burst with ecstasy, tightening around him so much that he can hardly move. He cradles the back of your head to comfort you as he drinks your blood. He cradles your head tonight because he loves you.

‘I am yours,’ he whispers against your skin, ‘and you are mine.’ You aren’t sure when or how Astarion has the time, but he presents you with a gift the night before the world ends. He wears a matching flower from his grave pinned to his armor at all times now. And on his hand, a ring with a silver band. He slides one over your finger as well and kisses your palm as you slowly realize what it means.

The family you’ve chosen throws you a celebration. The next day, Dammon arrives and shows you your repaired armor now dyed white.

You cry for hours out of happiness. ‘This could be the last chance we have for this,’ you whisper to Astarion.

Everyone keeps telling you that a light has returned to your eye, but you don’t see it. It isn’t until you’re laying naked with Astarion again, his skin pressed against yours, that you think you can see it too.

Astarion fucks you tenderly until you’re sore, and you cry and plead sweet things against his shoulder while he holds you safe in his arms. When the pleasure becomes too much and your spine arches from the mattress, he pulls you into his lap and holds you safe against his chest. You kiss him until your lips are sore.

‘Your life is mine,’ Astarion murmurs. ‘You belong with me, my love.’

‘I’ve never been happier,’ you moan weakly.

He has taken you again and again this evening. He doesn’t say it, but Astarion is afraid of what tomorrow might bring. You have outsmarted gods and men. You have found goodness where there was nothing but darkness. You refuse to be afraid now.

‘We were made to conquer,’ Astarion says. His mouth is like a fire across your cheekbone. You shudder around his cock.

‘Take my love,’ Astarion commands you, so you do.

You kiss a ruby bruise into his neck, and Astarion fills you with a grunt. He doesn’t part from you. He guides you back down into the sheets and burrows against your body as if determined to climb between your ribs. You smile. Astarion has already made a home in your bones and flesh. He has eaten the rot from your core and recreated you anew. You were not his sin but his salvation. Perhaps he was yours too.

#astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x oc #extremely #aeristarion #coded #from ，carcosa .#anonymous #my fic #this might be my favorite thing i've written in a really long time #i think it vaguely fits the prompt i tried my best #sometimes...................sometimes.

366 notes · View notes

zephyrchama · 2 months

Text

Post Masterlist

Headcanons and Silly Ideas List

Groupchat without MC High Pitched Noises When the HoL is too dirty Angrily using their full titles MC and alcohol MC's schedule Mammon's Nightmare Levi's Room Password Satan and Goncharov Sneezing Solomon in Nightbringer but based on WandaVision Brothers & Long haired MC Outside their Comfort Zones Soap Cursing False Eyelashes Chin on Palm Challenge Diavolo's Events Morning Routine Fasting MC April Fool's Sleeping in the HoL's shared space Luke learns slang Different Tastes Unnoticed

Mini Fics

From Sheep to Human Free Massage Tickets Movie Night with Diavolo and Barbatos Church Wedding Back cracking Lap Pillow (Mammon and Belphegor) Rushed April Fools Day 2024 piece (boop) Levi needs a break Is Simeon's fridge running? Paper cut (Satan)

Ask Requests (that I've gotten to so far)

Wasp fear

Info about the blog owner:

Hi! I've very recently gotten into writing and wanted to give it a chance, in vague hopes of writing an original story some day. I've been playing Obey Me! since literally the day the OG was released. I don't read much fanfic or do fandom stuff much at all, but it seemed fun and I wanted to try getting closer to the fandom. I am a hardcore cosplayer so whenever a convention is coming up this blog will get slow as I focus on sewing. I'm close to 30 years old, I'm ace which is why this blog has suggestive content but won't really get more intense than that. My asks are open but expect a really slow response because I am so shy hkgahkj. I take requests but no guarantee I'll write them, or it may take several months. Am also very open to constructive critique! Thanks for reading.

#now that I have some time and more than 5 posts I made a masterlist! I'll keep it updated after each post. or at least try to.#obey me #obey me fanfic #obey me headcanons

114 notes · View notes

irishmammonagenda · 1 month

Note

PLEASE MORE MICHAEL CONTENT I AM ON MY KNEES BEGGING U CRYING PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLESASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEA

-yk who 😞

i do know who😈😈‼️‼️‼️

i love writing michael sm heehee anyway thanks for the ask pooks 🫶🫶🫶

grma <3

Unsane Uncles-An Obey Me x Reader

Summary: Michael realises some shocking news, has a crisis, as per usual, chaos ensues. Word Count: 1.5k Warnings: nothing I don't think, for anyone that doesnt know, i headcannon michael as lucifers twin, this was written with my 'Death is a Debatable Thing' Au in mind, but it can be read as a stand alone <3

post dividers by @saradika-graphics

The café was quaint, quiet and out of the way. It had been ages since you'd last visited the Human Realm. The soft sounds of chatter and cutlery clinking created a calm atmosphere. Well calm for the most part.

Michael sat on the chair opposite to yours looking quite frazzled. His white button down rolled up to just above the elbows and a few of the topmost buttons undone. His long golden curls done up in a messy plait, nonconforming strands coiling around his unusually antsy face. Long dexterous fingers wrap around his coffee mug, he brings it to his lips and takes a sip before setting it down with a little too much force. You watch the scene amusedly.

“I just- I don’t know what to do!” he runs a hand through his hair, looking up at you with stressed, ruby red eyes. "I mean?- Is it too late to give my congratulations?!...Or a push present?!"

You bite your tongue to keep from laughing, the Archangel notices. "This is serious MC! I am the worst uncle ever!"

You tilt your head, "Did you not think it was strange when the brothers first fell that Satan just kind of poofed into existence?"

Michael gives a thoughtful look, before making a 'meh' face and shrugging his shoulders. "I kind of just thought Satan was a low ranking angel that fell with the actual memorable ones, and that I had just... never cared to learn his name before he fell."

"You didn't ask?" You take a sip of your warm drink, revelling in how satisfying the hot liquid felt when it hit the back of your throat and warmed you up from the inside, especially as it was fucking baltic outside.

"Yes." Michael smiles sarcastically, "Because taking a trip down to the Devildom straight after the Celestial War to ask about the demon who kept biting people and snarling would've gone great for me."

"Touché." You grin. Michael's expression falls back from sarcastic to strained, his gorgeous features bathed in stress.

"But seriously MC! I've missed out on centuries as an uncle! That's so many birthdays! Luke must think I'm a deadbeat! I already act like I'm a divorced dad with visitation rights because I can't visit very often!"

You snort. "I don't think Luke knows."

Michael sinks into his seat, "Oh thank Father."

He stays there for a moment, the soft golden glow of the café lights on his dark skin so similar to the aureate ambiance of the Celestial Realm that you almost forget that you're back in the human world. He flutters his eyes closed, a hand over his brow in what can only be described as a himbo-ified imitation of a sickly Victorian woman saying something along the lines of 'Woe is I!" after finding out poor people actually have feelings. What a fucking drama king. You hold back a snort. Michael groans before swinging back up like a jack-in-the-box, his usual cheerful yet cheeky smile on his handsome face, he joins his hands together as he rests his arms on the wooden table, as if completely oblivious to the complete 180 he had turned. "So! MC, have I ever told you about the time Lucifer ran into a glass door in the Celestial Realm?"

You shake your head, grinning mischieviously, "I don't think you have!"

Hours Later, down in the Devildom, in RAD's royal library, Satan sneezed. He paused for a moment more before folding his handkerchief up and putting it back in his pocket, making a mental note to wash it when he got back to the House of Lamentation.

He groans, arching his back and stretching his arms out in an attempt to weave out any knots in his muscles. He'd been in the library since school had ended. Still unable to shake the feeling something was going to happen, Satan got up off of his chair, packed his books away, and made the journey home.

Walking alone through the cobbled streets of the Realm was calming and peaceful. Halfway through his siúl suaimneach, he comes face to face with a gathering of the stray cats he'd normally feed.

The Avatar of Wrath coos at them, hunkering down and reaching into his bag for some of the cat treats he'd normally kept in there. "Aww..." He mutters, speaking in a baby voice to the cats, scratching an old tabby's fur. "You've gotten so big, Purrsephone!" He scritches underneath the young cats chin, smiling as she purrs and remembering fondly when the cat was just a small kitten trailing behind her mother like a second, small adorable shadow.

As he pulls out the bag of treats onehanded, the symphony of meowing reaches a polyphonic crescendo, cats and kittens of all shapes, colours and sizes scramble towards Satan with more purpose now, all meowing for food. He chuckles, indulging the felines, petting them as they nibble and chew on the kitty treats.

Unbeknownst to the Avatar of Wrath, a good quarter of a mile away from where he congregated with the cats, a certain Archangel and his accomplice stood hiding in an alleyway.

In the shadows of the alleyway, Michael was clumsily putting on his batman mask. He already had a matching batman suit and cape on, you however were much more serious, and were dressed up as Robin.

"Michael." You hiss exasperatedly. "You seriously can't think that sneaking up on the Avatar of Wrath is a good idea!"

Michael merely waved you off with one hand, his other carrying his 'surprise for his most favouritest nephew in the three realms' as he'd deemed it. "Besides MC is worst comes to worst, you can just pop out!"

You nod. "Good point. "You face breaks into a grin matching Michael's, "This is going to be fun to watch."

Michael goes to say something before you both hear footsteps, your eyes widen. "Oh shit...he's coming..."

Quickly you dart behind the dumpsters, Michael moves to the wall of the alleyway. Holding his breath as he listens to the footsteps of a certain green-eyed demon.

After having petted the cats, Satan got up and begrudgingly left them in order to continue his journey home.

Lost in his thoughts, he can't help but feel as if something is watching him, thinking its just his imagination, he walks on. Who would be stupid enough to sneak up on the Avatar of Wrath?

An idiot in a batman costume apparently.

Satan jumped as the lunatic hopped out from the alleyway, hands behind his back.

"Psst! Kid!" The stranger in the batman costume says, ruby red eyes that reminded him of Lucifer staring at him. "I have a surprise for you!"

Satan's tail whips around his legs, on the defensive. "I'm not a kid." He says coldly. "And what surprise?"

"Heeheehee." The strange man giggles, before taking his hands away from where they were behind his back and revealling a small tiny little kitten, fur as dark as night, with an emerald green bow wrapped loosely around its little neck, having been jostled, the tiny creature meows in protest, big green eyes blinking sleepily. Satan's harsh, mistrusting glare softens as he looks at the kitten, moving to take it out of the strangers hands before his eyes narrow.

"What's the catch?"

"The catch?" 'Batman' says indignantly, as if Satan had gravely offended him. "The catch? How dare you! There is no catch! Can't an uncle give his nephew a present to make up for millennia upon millennia of missed birthdays?!"

Satan blinks. "It's March. It's nowhere near my birthday. And Uncle?" Green eyes narrow again. "I don't have any uncles."

The stranger sticks his tongue out. "Blah blah blah. You are just like your father. Take the fucking cat or I'm telling everyone that you're secretly Lucifer's son."

A vein pops on Satan's head. "Excuse me?!"

The stranger chuckles nervously upon sensing Satan's wrath bubble like magma beneath the surface of his skin, ready to boil over and erupt. When Satan's eyes flashed dangerously the stranger spluttered out. "Oh shit....! Uhhh....Cat Attack!!!" That was the only warning Satan got before the tiny kitten was shoved gently but firmly into his hands, his eyes immedietely softened, the rage slowed down from a boil as he looked into the soft innocent eyes of the kittykat.

He looked up at the stranger, who in his frenzy, had lost his batman mask. Ruby red eyes and golden curls tied in french plaits and tucked into the rest of the suit greeted him. Unholy fuck. Was that Archangel Michael.

The Archangel grins at him, "Enjoy your gift! Tell Lucikins I said hi! Oh and also the cats a girl, you can name her! Come visit your favourite uncle soon! Byebye!" Michael shouts to him, before he turns around, and fucking books it, sprinting away from the Avatar of Wrath at a speed that could rival Mammon running from Lucifer.

Satan stood shellshocked by the whole ordeal having acquired a tiny kitten and an uncle who needed to be institutionalised.

He grinned down at the kitten, "I'm gonna call you Dorcha."

Judging by the small creatures tiny meow, he'd gamble that she liked that name.

A/N: im so sorry this is so short, ive been busy w irl stuff, but this was a fun ask <3

also dorcha is sort of pronounced 'door-ah-ha' but you sort of say the 'ch' with your throat, idk how to explain it, but it means 'dark' 💗💗

siúl suaimhneach (shoe-el soo-ehve-neyak, except dont pronounce the 'ch' as a 'keh' and pronounce it liek gutturally!!!) it means 'peaceful walk' but suaimhneach can also mean tranquil or quiet

#ive decided that since irish is better than english in every way that im just gonna start chucking words in irish into my writing #im going to forcibly teach people some irish through reading my fics 😈😈😈#obey me imagines #obey me shall we date #obey me x reader #obey me headcanons #omswd #obey me mc #obey me michael #obey me satan #asks #ask #request #obey me fluff #obey me crack #obey me shitpost

103 notes · View notes

physicsgoblin · 6 months

Text

Ugh so I am not happy with how my @inklings-challenge story is turning out. I like the idea, don't think it's executed the best and it's not done, but I want to publish some of it anyway. Maybe sharing some of it will help. This as been a great exercise so far for me though. Any feedback is appreciated.

I fully intend to rework this into something bigger. I've got other ideas...

Anyway. Here is part of Strange Gods.

Look, you won’t be hearing telling this story at any other time, but it’s a party and I’m a little drunk. You know how it is, after almost everyone’s gone home, it’s late August and the air’s warm but it’s almost midnight and it’s got that coolness in the air, plastic chairs are huddled around a dying fire and it’s only the friends that are closer than brothers. The heart’s nocturnal. I guess this is when it comes out.

So here we are and I’ll tell you. I’ll tell you and I don’t care what you think. Well. I guess that’s not true. I don’t know if we did the right thing. But you’re not the one we have to answer to.

Since Brad brought you in with us, I guess you know we used to be a band. Strange Gods. Ever heard of it? Well, little before your time. We were never big. Mostly local shows and Metal Fests. Opened for some bigger names a couple times. We had fun, we had hair longer than our girlfriends’ and sometimes more makeup then them too. Mostly we were just guys in jeans and T-shirts with a passion for music. We fancied ourselves artists. My wife calls music “the art most like divinity”. Like how God could just speak and His words obeyed and music is a little like that. Ours was more like a sneeze than divine speech maybe but she loved it still. I still play for her, sometimes.

Oh the best part was the fans. The girls. You know how it is. You’re kinda weird in high school, a little awkward, but then you start strumming on a guitar, you say oh yeah I play drums in a band and suddenly you’re doing ok.

The worst part? The fans. We weren’t too big, but you’d get recognized every now and again. Sometimes it was all cool, just talking about music and shit. Other times people got a little weird. They thought oh, here’s someone famous, and then you’re almost not human to them anymore. But it was usually alright. And there was one in particular that I—none of us—will ever forget.

The kid was a local. Not much younger than us, but a hell of a lot more awkward. It was alright though. He wore these glasses and those kinds of shirts with full moons and yellow-eyed wolves scattered on the front and he’d sort of talk at the ground instead of at you and he loved the fact that a lot of our songs were based on local history and legend—half-hanged witches, wolves with a thirst for human flesh in winter, earth that won’t accept the dead—a lot of what you’d expect. Well this kid’s name was…I’ll call him Louis. Louis met us at Outer Realms (you know that pub on 114th?) after a very small gig, but we hadn’t been in Strange Gods for very long, so even small gigs were celebrated. Maybe we would have been more weirded out by this kid kinda staring and shyly shuffling up to us if we were sober but you know what, it was ok. Jason even let him have one of his guitar picks and we got him a beer, which he accepted enthusiastically but didn’t drink once. He said he loved having someone write songs about all the stories his dad told him as a kid. He said if we wanted more inspiration, he could help us. He collected stories, he said, the ones you whispered at sleepovers and summer camps, the ones that changed a little bit every time you told them, the ones almost nobody really believed. And we were like, hell yeah brother. That’s how Louis became our consultant for lyrics. Winter Walker, Thy Iron Refine, and Dance at the Bottom of the Sea all had songs with lyrics by him. But he never wanted credit, never wanted his name listed on the albums. He just seemed content to hang out at our house and tell us stories. Whenever we went on tour he would ask us to collect legends of the cities we visited. Brad told him he was welcome to join us but he just smiled at the ground and shook his head. He liked it here. Why would anyone ever want to leave?

Louis was friends with us for almost two years. He even spent Thanksgiving and Christmas with us since he didn’t have anyone else since his dad had died. He worked two part-time jobs, one at Seeny’s Pizza Arcade and one at the post office sorting letters, but most evenings and weekends he would come join us, sometimes bringing over a new boardgame all the way from Europe or a home-baked apple-pie (this guy could bake). Or he’d go on long walks wandering in the woods and fields outside town.

One day in November Louis didn’t show up for our usual Saturday night jam. We were working on the song Night Rite for the album that ended up being Seven Red Seeds and he was supposed to show up and work on lyrics with me and Jason. We were supposed to be filming a music video to go along with the new release and that was pretty exciting. But the kid never showed. We shrugged it off. After all, he was a bit of a loner. Besides us he didn’t seem to have any friends. He took long walks, sometimes after midnight.

Yeah. I’ll have to answer for not looking a little harder sooner.

Brad tried calling him Sunday with no pick-up. We drove down to the house that he rented from Mrs. Ozeki, but she said he want out on one of his little tramps at around 4pm yesterday, but she hadn’t heard him come in.

No, it’s alright. I’m fine, I’m just getting a little too sober I guess. I mean it’s not alright but it has to be.

We reported his disappearance after checking in with his work and learning he didn’t show up there either. The police investigated us, briefly. We were basically the only people he hung out with and maybe all the songs about murdered kings and lost whaling ships freaked them out a bit. Ultimately they ruled us out. They ruled almost everything out.

Brad, Jason, and I were all volunteers for when they swept the woods in long lines looking for scraps of clothing, his glasses, anything. I remember us all looking at each other, thinking the same thing, but Jason was the only one who said it out loud. He said, I don’t want to be the one to find his body.

The most they found when they swept the woods was his camera. Someone else had found it and we never got to see what exactly was on the film. Someone clearly has. The newspapers speculated about if it had held any clues, but any questions for the Sheriffs department was met with a “we do not believe the photographs from the victim’s camera hold any information about what led to his disappearance.” Yeah, bullshit. We heard stories around about most of the pictures just being of the few remaining winter robins, which Louis loved. And then everyone had a different version of what was on the last three. Some said close shots of a man in a red windbreaker. Some said blurry images of a great white wolf like the legends.

But the one that we all thought sounded the most real, was that of a field. You know the one near the old Pressfield cemetery? Photos of seemingly nothing but brown grass and gray skies but in the distance what looks like an enormous black bird flying near the ground. And over the last few photographs, the thing gets closer and closer, until the last picture is a smeared mess of Louis turning around, I guess to run. I don’t know for sure though. I pray to Christ I never do.

What we saw was enough.

In the end the case ran absolutely cold. They had nothing. If some psycho got him, he left no trace. If he got hurt and died of exposure, where was the body? If an animal got him, where was the blood and torn clothing? He sure as hell didn’t just ditch town out the blue.

We took a little time off from everything. It just didn’t feel right, you know, writing about death and ghost stories when our weird little friend had just become one. I’ll always wonder. If he thought, you know, this is fitting. To become what I have always chased. God I’m still drunk. Of course not. You don’t think about all the badness you write songs about until you can’t even bury someone’s son.

His uncle and a few cousins came down to collect his things and clear everything up. The oldest cousin met with us a few times, let us know that she was glad Louis had had some people here after his dad had passed away. She invited us to the little funeral they had at Salve Regina Church. Brad almost didn’t go. He gave in eventually but he sat in the back and didn’t stay afterward. No, I’d never been until then. There were moments, you know, moments where I forgot why we were there and the strange chants and the candles and the silence dropped over you like heavy night and bright day and I remember looking at the wrinkled man in black and gold and thinking, this is crazy and I think I’m wanting to be crazy too.

The priests shook our hands as we left and spoke to us about Louis and about how he would pray for us and ask the other Fathers to pray for us too. And they nodded and smiled gravely and the taller one, Father Nicholas, said, we will be happy to see you next Sunday. And Jason said we’d think about it.

Eventually we had to get going with life again. Things felt a little more somber. I mean really somber, not this adolescent misery we’d been playing with. We stopped going to Outer Realms after every work day, Brad flushed all our weed. It just felt cheap. Jason spent more time with his little sisters during his free time, Brad flew back to Chicago for a few days during Christmas to spend it with his parents. Me? I hung around. My future wife was here and that’s where I wanted to be.

It was mid-February when our producer started kicking us to get back into finishing our songs and making the music video that had been put on hold. And you know I guess without really discussing it, we knew what we wanted to do.

Dies Irae isn’t our most famous song, but I don’t care, it’s our best. When we talked it over with our producer, we drew a hard line: Pressfield cemetery. That old one where they found that kid’s camera? Yeah, that’s the one. We want it filmed there.

That’s what we said and that’s what we did. And yeah, old natures die hard, it was still over-the-top, it still had some goth-looking girls (one of whom eventually became my wife), and when we got there it was freezing and gray and brown-iced earth. It was still us and we hoped it would still be Louis.

We had a couple of days to film. On the first day Jason went for a little walk around the perimeter of the cemetery, fingers red from the cold as he held his cigarette, and when he came back around he looked a little jumpy. He said, I don’t like it here. Them birds are talking. Talking? Yeah talking. Well, laughing.

It felt weird being there again. There was a feeling in the air even from the film crew that had never been there before. One said it was bad luck to be walking around all these bodies and the only reason he was doing this was because he needed the money.

And it was weird to think that the gravestone that had Louis’s name carved into it was just a false monument.

On the third and last day it started pouring rain. Just pounding. You couldn’t hardly see a damned thing in front of you. It was the kinda rain that hurt when it hit you it was coming down so hard.

We were packing up, almost everyone had left, when Jason comes up to our pick-up and asks if we heard a weird noise. Weird noise? Well hell yeah, those girls were wild. No, he says, I ain’t kidding. Like a growl but more human. Like a scream, but more animal. Well, we kind of laugh at him, say it’s probably a cougar. And before Brad can make a joke about that—

There it is. It’s not a scream. It’s something that slices through the tombstones and rattles the eardrums so it was a sound—but of what I don’t know. I don’t know. Everyone got this look, this dead look like the world fell out beneath our feet. Nobody said a word. It sounded like it had come from somewhere in the middle of the cemetery. And there was a smell too. You know when it rains it mixes up the dirt and the plants and it just shocks you with the scent? It was like that, but as if the dirt was freshly dug and something rotten was unearthed.

And like I said, you couldn’t hardly see. Just dark blotches where the graves were blinking in and out of sight between raindrops. We just stood there, watching, listening. My heart has never pounded harder. I saw those rumors in my mind of gray skies and something big flying towards you and those are the last pictures you ever take.

Finally nothing happens and we start looking at each other, feeling like of course it was just an animal prowling around. Gosh, you had us scared man. Let’s get the hell out, let’s get back to my place, I’m cooking alfredo and Brad’s got a couple of bottles from the producer’s vineyard. Sure it was nice of him to share. Yeah actually I did get that girl’s number, the one with the green eyes? Come on, get the heat on, I’m freezing.

And we’re driving away, the noise forgotten—except Jason keeps looking out the rear window, just quick little checks. I pretend not to notice. But he twitches a couple of times, opens his mouth as if he’s about to say something, but no. He keeps quiet. Eventually he stops looking and seems to relax.

I don’t stop though. And a couple of times through the sheets of rain and the obstruction of the trees, I wonder if I see something wet, dark, and shiny slinking along the road. But it’s impossible to tell.

I get up the next morning and find this thing slung across the back porch. The ground is still soaked from last night’s rain but it hasn’t managed to wash away the shear amount of blood that’s coating the concrete patio. And I need you to get this. It was so much blood. You could’ve splashed around it. My stomach almost couldn’t take it. My sense of smell certainly didn’t.

Brad and Jason got up because of the smell. They shuffled out like the dead awakened and found me staring at this thing on the porch. Jason started retching and I told him to puke in the sink. I wasn’t about to clean up this thing and then clean up after him. What the hell is it? Brad says. Who cares? It’s got to get off the porch. Looks like a malformed-newlyborn-mut or something. Maybe it got suckered by a car.

We dug it as deep as we could and it crossed my mind that, damn, maybe we shouldn’t have a thing that smells that bad, a thing that looks that rotted decomposing God knows what into the soil. And Brad didn’t say anything but I knew we were thinking the same thing. Something about it just feels wrong. Like we shouldn’t be touching it. Like we shouldn’t have even looked at it. It crossed my mind that maybe Father Nicholas could come over and do whatever it is priests do to make things clean.

The paws though, check those out. They kinda look like hands, thinking maybe it’s a raccoon but the bastards too big. Good lord, it looks almost rotten. Maybe something else dropped it off. On the porch? On my porch man? Get the hose too, we got to wash off the whole backyard after this. Get the shovel and help me out—of course we’re going to bury it, that’s just what you do. Something’ll dig it out of the trash if we chuck it in there. It looks sorry enough, that’s just what you do.

How big? Maybe about four feet long. It looked pathetic and disgusting and I didn’t tell Brad this but I almost was glad. Maybe that ain’t it. But it felt right that we had our shovels and we were digging a hole and we were going to lay this bloody pulp in it. Father Nicholas once told me about things being fitting. And I guess that’s what it was, fitting.

No, I didn’t, make that connection, between this thing and what we heard in Pressfield cemetery. Not yet. But you know how it is. You never think you’re going to get a story out of something while you’re in it.

The thing was buried and we scrubbed ourselves off and then moved on with our day. Jason seemed much quieter, but he’d been that way since Louis vanished. So maybe it was nothing.

During the night I drempt I was on a boat. It was a boat that my parents had taken me to once, on a family vacation to Main. It was white and blue and unlike that July day years ago, the sea was wine-red and wild with storm. The waves were flooding the deck and the red foam left behind looked like clumps of flesh. I was stumbling around, looking for my mom or my dad or anyone at all—but the deck was empty. I found the door that led down into the lower deck, and the wood was almost black. I put my hand against the icy door, about to push it open, but somehow through the crashing of the waves I heard a scratch, like a single long claw dragging from the top of the frame all the way down to the bottom. I pressed my ear to the door. I don’t think I was breathing. And I listened to the scratching go all the way back up and down, slowly, over and over again.

When I woke up, it was still dark and at first I was thinking I was still sleeping. The scratching sound was still ringing in my ears, and I sat up trying to shake it away. My stomach churned. The clock said 2:36 A.M. I turned my head to the small window that looked into the dark backyard and realized that the scratching noise was coming from that direction. A long, slow scratch from the top of the window to the bottom.

I wasn’t as scared as you’d think. Maybe I was still too asleep, maybe all my panic had been used up over the last few days but I found myself crawling over to the window and just—waiting. I couldn’t see jack. I hadn’t flicked on my lamp. I just waited until the scratching started over at the top and I followed it down the glass, trying to see something, anything. But all I could see was what looked like a glint of a knife and a clearly defined scratch down the middle of the pane. And that’s when it kicked in, me getting scared. Someone was dragging a Goddamn knife down my window.

The most sensible thing to do, or at least the most sensible thing my half-awake brain could think of to do, was go wake up Brad and get the rifles from underneath his bed. He was not happy. He told me I should quite drinking so much before bed, but eventually he got up, gun on his shoulder.

I kept the light off and nodded to my window. We held our breath listening. Brad got closer, looking out into the blackness. The scratching had stopped and I didn’t see anything outside. But Brad noticed the crack in the glass and suddenly looked very awake.

I’m going to go check outside, he said, and as he headed toward the back door, the one closest to my bedroom, there was a series of loud slams that sounded like a person jumping off the roof. At this point Jason was up, and he’s asking what the hell was going on and Brad told him there’s a wildcat clawing Steve’s window or some crap. I’m going to fire a shot up and scare it away.

But two things happened before Brad could slide open the back door. I hadn’t thought about it until now, but there was an familiar smell that had been growing steadily stronger, a rotten, turned-earth smell, and I couldn’t say anything except stop. Don’t open it, wait.

And Jason, stone still looking out the back window at the porch right behind the door, called out the same thing. Stop.

That’s not a cougar. You gotta look.

I’m telling you, we did look. And there was the slimy pink thing with long skinny limbs crouched in front of the back door. It looked like it had a fleshy cape on its back and it twitched as if in pain. We watched unmoving as one long claw flicked up, digging into the door, dragging it down slowly to the ground, and then repeating the act, slowly, slowly.

And you just knew, you just knew, this was the thing that wasn’t supposed to be here.

No, no way, Brad was saying, this is getting too weird. We buried this thing. We put it in the ground. And it crawled out. And we saw it. It was dead. We threw it in the hole and it got back up.

Jason was still watching the thing as it lay on the doorstep. We don’t know if it was actually dead, he said. He said it in a whisper. Well you didn’t bury it, says Brad.

***

#inklingschallenge #team chesterton #genre: intrusive fantasy #theme: burial #story: unfinished

14 notes · View notes

mimisempai · 9 months

Text

In sickness and in health

Summary

Greg is sick, really sick, so Mycroft, taking his husbandly duties to heart, decides to take care of him to get him back on his feet.

Notes

Mystrade Monday 1.0 #51 - “I’m your husband. It’s my job.”

@mystradepromptsandscenarios

On AO3,

802 words - Rating G

"It's nothing, just a little cold."

Mycroft had heard this several times since the beginning of the week, every time Greg sneezed or coughed slightly, but today even Mycroft could see that it was more than just a cold, judging by his lover's condition.

So he decided to take matters into his own hands.

He said quietly to his lover, who was trying to suppress another coughing fit, "Greg, go back to bed."

Greg tried to protest weakly, "But I have to work..."

Mycroft shook his head, put his hands on Greg's shoulders, turned him around and pushed him towards the bedroom, "I'll call, you do as I say. Go to bed."

Greg replied, "I love it when you're so bossy..." the end of his sentence ended in another coughing fit.

Mycroft chuckled softly, "Then you'll have no problem obeying."

Greg didn't reply, a sign of his weakened state, and made his way to the bedroom with a shuffling step. When he was sure that Greg had gone back to bed, Mycroft called Detective Donovan and returned to the kitchen.

He reappeared half an hour later with a tray laden with a bowl of steaming soup, a glass of water and a pill.

When he reached the bedroom, he saw Greg curled up in the middle of the bed, shivering and wrapped in the covers. He could only see his face and was struck by how pale his skin was against the dark sheets.

He placed the tray on the nightstand and sat down beside him, asking softly, "Greg, love, how are you?"

He gently brushed Greg's hair back and Greg let out a soft moan as he opened his eyes to look at his lover before muttering in a husky voice, "Not well."

The fact that Greg made no attempt to downplay his condition spoke volumes.

Mycroft stroked his cheek gently and said softly, "My poor love, do you think you could swallow something?"

Greg nodded weakly and Mycroft helped him to sit up. First he handed him the fever-reducing pill and the glass of water, and when he'd swallowed them, he placed the tray with the bowl of soup in Greg's lap.

Mycroft said quietly, "I made you some soup. I hear it's good for..."

Greg interrupted, "You made soup?"

Mycroft replied in a falsely pouty voice, "Are you questioning my culinary skills?"

Greg replied in a hoarse voice, "Just kidding. I'm just pleasantly surprised by all this attention."

Mycroft replied gently, "I'd say I'm your husband. It's my job. And as you know, I've always taken my work to heart. But to be honest, I just like taking care of you."

Greg gave a small laugh that turned into another coughing fit, then wrapped his hands around the bowl as if to soak up the warmth and brought it to his mouth, blowing on it several times to cool the soup before beginning to drink it slowly. Only a few moans of pleasure as the hot drink flowed down his throat broke the silence. Mycroft watched him, and when he saw that the bowl was empty and his lover's head was beginning to wobble, he said quietly, "I think it's time for you to get some sleep."

Greg nodded, and as soon as Mycroft had cleared the tray, he immediately slipped under the sheets. Mycroft was about to carry the tray to the kitchen when Greg's hand stopped him and he asked, almost shyly, "Will you stay with me?"

As if Mycroft could refuse Greg, who so rarely asked for anything for himself.

The time he'd just taken to think must have been too long, because Greg continued, "Forget it. You don't have to do it. I don't want to make you sick."

But Mycroft had seen the longing behind the deflection.

He replied gently, "Don't worry about me," then climbed into bed, wrapped his arms around Greg and pulled him to his chest.

Not having the strength to protest, Greg sighed with contentment before coughing again and had no choice but to lean against Mycroft, who rubbed his back to help him ease the coughing fit.

Mycroft held Greg close and whispered into his hair, "Try to get some sleep now," before kissing him gently on the forehead.

Greg hummed softly in agreement, and gradually Mycroft felt his lover's body grow heavier against his own, his slightly wheezing breathing slowing and deepening, signs that Greg was rapidly falling asleep.

Mycroft didn't move an inch, even as his arm went numb from the position and weight of Greg's body against his own. He wouldn't have moved if it meant disturbing his lover's sleep.

For him, it was one of the most satisfying things he'd ever done.

For one of the few times in his life, Mycroft felt truly fulfilled.

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story 🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Mystrade masterlist here

Mystrade Monday 1.0 : here

#mystrade #mycroft holmes #greg lestrade #mycroft x greg #some fluff as always #sherlock bbc #emotional hurt/comfort #established relationship #mystrade monday #mystrade monday prompts

19 notes · View notes

accidentalmistress · 1 year

Text

Accidental Mistress - Take

Know what today is? IT'S DOUBLE POST DAY.

That's right, I'm posting two Accidental Mistress fics, because the one that was scheduled to be posted today (this one) is really dang short. And you, my lovely readers, deserve more. So more you shall have!

Also this one is kind of sad and doesn't have any sneeze content, only whump. WARNING: this piece delves a bit into Noelle's past trauma and therefore may be a little heavy. If you're only in the mood for sexy fun, you may want to skip to the next piece.

(More Accidental Mistress content can be found on the Master Post.)

Title: Take

Word Count: 660

Content and Warnings: whump, sexual assault (remembered)

In which painful memories make a midnight manifestation.

---------------------

"You are forgetting your place, my dear little Single-winged Sparrow."

Such a voice, soft as a mother's caress and beautiful as the rain, should not be able to say such things. If felt as an injustice to the very order of the world.

"Remember, I have but a single use for you, as you have failed my every other expectation."

Fingers cold as death touched her face. She wanted to shrink away from that touch, but her body would not obey.

"I do not tolerate failure, my dear… but I am not wasteful of things with some value. There is still a chance for you to bear the Sisterhood a daughter who possesses the aptitude you do not. So long as you serve this purpose, you have worth to me."

Those fingers grabbed her jaw, sharp nails digging into her cheeks, as the smoking void that was a face glared at her with unseen eyes.

"I will send another this night. You had best hope that this time your womb accepts the seed, for if you cannot fulfill even this simple task… then I have no use for you."

The hand released her jaw with a harsh shove that knocked her back onto the floor.

"Things that are useless, worthless, have no purpose or value—such things I do not squander my time upon. I am not wasteful. Remember that, little Single-winged Sparrow."

Somehow she found her voice as the sound of footsteps retreated and darkness closed in.

"Mother… Please, no… Please! Mother?"

The gilded cage with the void-face inside swayed as it was carried further and further away, ignoring her cries.

"Mother! Please don't… I don't want to…"

As the last of the light faded, leaving her in suffocating darkness, another set of footsteps approached. Heavier. Harder.

"No… No, please! I don't want to! Mother!"

A vague shape in the dark, an oppressive shadow, pressed in on her, smothering her as rough hands touched her body, held her down. Her movements were sluggish and weak, powerless against the unfolding horror. The shadow forced her legs apart, even as she sobbed.

"Mother!"

Noelle shot up in bed, clutching her blankets to her chest as sweat ran down her back and dripped from her brow. Her lungs pulled in gulps of air with shuddering breaths. The room swam in the darkness without her glasses, but relief washed over her with the affirmation that it was indeed her room.

"Mmh? What is it?"

His sleepy voice beside her was tinged with concern. Even as traces of the nightmare lingered in the tears on her cheeks, she didn't want to worry him. Those memories belonged in the past.

"It's n-nothing." Her voice betrayed her with a quaver. "Just a… a dream."

She waited for him to turn over and go back to sleep. She could process this on her own, always had. Instead Oraion sat up next to her, his touch a gentle warmth on her arm.

"What do you need?"

A sob welled in her throat. His hands were never rough with her, never touched her in ways she did not like, never forced her to do things she did not want. Noelle fell against him, pressing her face into his chest. How could a demon be the kindest person she knew? The only people in her life that deserved to be called demonic were always human.

"It's all right, I’m here. I will never allow anything to harm you… my dear Mistress."

Strong arms pulled her in close, rubbing her back with a large, warm hand. Sheltered in his embrace, she believed him. Under the protection of Oraion, wielding the power of a Greater Demon, she would never again experience those horrors. Even if she was a sparrow with only one wing, Oraion would always be there to lend her his.

Once Noelle’s tears had dried, she fell asleep cradled in her beloved Servant’s arms, and that night she dreamed no more.

#accidental mistress #oraion the allergic incubus #noelle the awkward witch #whump fic #whump

10 notes · View notes

the-travelling-witch · 2 years

Note

Heyooo

There's a saying that goes "It takes an amazing author to know an amazing author" and considering you are a really good author {who deserves so much more recognition than you get but don't worry I know you'll get there}

But can you recommend some of your favorite/most highly rated fics the genres don't matter? Some authors write good ones but some are just hella ooc and cringe.

i’m really flattered you think i’m a good author, i honestly can’t see it myself but thank you ଘ(੭˃ᴗ˂)੭

it’s been a while since i actively read fanfic, so this list probably isn’t as extensive as it should be; i’ll try to structure this to the best of my abilities and i might add more in the future ♡ there’s so much good content to recommend, my brain just flaked on me especially when it came to recommending fics specifically, so i probably forgot half of all the blogs and fics i want to recommend </3

genshin impact ❀

blogs:

@dustofthedailylife- my lovely moot but i promise i’m not playing favourites, her fics are really high quality; if you’re looking for a longer fic, check out her series ‘a heart of stone is a heart nonetheless’

@witch-hazels-musings*- i don’t think i have to say a lot about my fellow witch, hazel; if you haven’t heard of her blog yet, welcome to tumblr, it’s great to have you here

@genshin-karebear*- another talented author i’m sure you’ve heard of already (and if you haven’t, this is your sign)

@primofate*- wow i’m really just recommending blogs all of you already know, huh? not only does lena write for a multitude of fandoms, the variety of characters she includes is nothing to sneeze at

fics:

yours truly/ sincerely by @xiaowhore

subtle by @glazelilyy* (nsfw implications, so you get a star)

genshin boys as your prom knight by @alatusxiaoo

this theory by @zaneswhite

this helpful tidbit on scara’s hat by @kyquu

haikyuu ❀

blogs:

@luvbub- if you’re looking for lots of cute and fluffy fics with some angst sprinkled in between, this cutie is the blog to go to

@toru-oikawas-milkbread*- looking for a wide variety of written fics and smaus? well look no further, kasey is here to save the day!

fics:

the flirt by @cutenimi (skater!suna makes my head spin)

victory high by @kewrai (honestly you can go through the whole masterlist, everything is good, why didn’t i just put you in the blog section of this post?)

cold brew by @meiansmistress*

what the haikyuu boys (realistically) wear by @ryoccoon (not technically a written fic but i want to mention it anyway; also, rose, if you see this, your blog is so cute and aesthetic~)

tokyo revengers ❀

blogs:

you can basically look at my moots list and have your pick but i’d like to filter out @crown5* @softbajis* @feitania* @virtue-and-beneviolence*

fics:

bonten husband fics by @sukirichi*

trouble by @sakusins* (this one belongs in the blog section as well)

touch starved + feeling loved by @kshira*

this edit by @haruchyio* (i’ve seen this video in so many variations and it’s still so funny to me)

miscellaneous fandoms ❀

@demonfamilytherapist [obey me!] (i recommend especially the pact mark headcanons and aftermath of lesson 16)

@house-of-laminations [obey me!] (if you’re a sucker for world building like i am, this is a gold mine; i also recommend evolutionary biology 101 with prof. mc, i had a good laugh reading it)

@aemoonie and @k-rising [kpop, zodiac] (even if you don’t like kpop, their astrology content is still really interesting)

this case study on bakugou katsuki by @randommha

fanart ❀

i could go ahead and tell you that all their art is incredible and that i enjoy each and every art style found on this list but i honestly think you should go and see for yourself ✧.*

@koyuxim

@kkumri

@burucheese

@emaiiyaru

@chouchen

@ainudraws

appreciation/ mail blogs ❀

not really fanfic blogs either but they allow people to send anonymous love to genshin creators on tumblr, which i think is such a cute idea it deserves to be mentioned ༊*·˚

@teyvatmail

@sakurashrine

@teyvatlove

*=this blog posts/ interacts with 18+ content

this list has officially drifted away from being about fanfics, so i’ll end it here (as i said i might expand it in the future); i hope all of you don’t mind being mentioned here and i’m sorry to everyone i might have forgotten ♡

#coffee & tea break #letter from: a mysterious sender ❁#this list is a mess #but i hope you can find something or someone interesting on here regardless <3 #holly recommends stuff ♡#recommendations

20 notes · View notes

nanawritesit · 2 years

Note

I'd like to request MC who sneezes and accidently moans. (Obey Me, Brothers and Side Characters except Luke)

Happened to me once and I was like: How would the Obey Me Characters react? 😅

Hello lovely! I intend on writing this request and already added it to the to do list! I would just like to know, would you like this written in a strictly comedic way or in a suggestive/ nsfw way? or perhaps a mix of both between all the characters? i’m comfortable with either one but i just wanted to know so i can make your request as enjoyable as possible! (also keep in mind nsfw content is for 18+ audiences only please!)

Love, Nana <3

8 notes · View notes

miracleonice87 · 3 years

Note

3 or 4 w matty tkachuk please (whichever one isnt taken yet!)

“I’d do anything for you.” with Matthew Tkachuk

a/n: just a fluffy little cliche blurb about being taken care of when you’re sick (with just a cold). this was also requested by @vicbug74!

You didn’t get sick often, but when you got sick, you got sick. And today, you were sick.

From the moment you woke, your head was pounding, and the pressure in your sinuses was enough to make you dizzy. You were coughing and sneezing seemingly constantly, and you’d been alternating all day between burrowing under the covers and then waking up from a restless nap sweaty and overheated, throwing your blankets off of your body.

The worst part was, you had had a whole day planned with Matthew — he had the day off, so you had planned to watch movies at his house all afternoon and then go out to a nice dinner. You felt terrible cancelling on him, but you knew it was better to postpone than to risk getting him sick mid-season. Besides that, it quickly became clear that you wouldn’t be getting out of bed anytime soon. As soon as you fired off a quick text apologizing and letting him know that you wouldn’t be coming over because you were ill, you had given in to the weight of your heavy eyelids and drifted back to sleep.

What felt like two minutes later, you woke to a cool hand on your face — a welcome sensation against your flushed skin.

But your eyebrows knit together in confusion then as you wondered just who the hand belonged to. You blinked away the drowsiness as best you could and focused on the blue-eyed boy knelt at your bedside, a neat mop of auburn curls atop his head, a worried look on his face.

“Matty?” you questioned, groggy. He smiled.

“Hi, baby girl,” he replied, leaning closer to press a kiss to your temple.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, rubbing at your tired eyes. As you sat up straighter, propped against your collection of pillows, he took a seat beside you on the bed.

“I was worried about you,” he explained. “So I used the spare key you gave me. I hadn’t heard back from you, so I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Even in your state, your lips twitched upward into a smirk.

“That’s sweet, Matty,” you said, your voice raw from coughing. “I’m okay,” you lied, a sneeze sneaking up on you and betraying you. Matthew eyed you skeptically.

“Yeah, okay,” he chuckled sarcastically, shaking his head. “Have you eaten anything?” he inquired, pushing back some hair from your face before resting the backs of his fingers against your forehead. You closed your eyes, relaxing into his soothing touch.

You thought about lying, but decided the better of it. Matthew would call your bluff anyway. You shook your head bashfully and forced your eyes open.

Matthew’s expression had morphed from slightly scolding to soft, and he offered a gentle smile.

“‘S’okay. That’s why I’m here,” he said proudly. He stood and crossed the room to your dresser, and you turned onto your side to follow him with your eyes. It was only then that you noticed two giant paper bags, a bouquet of flowers, and a teddy bear sitting on the piece of furniture.

“Matty... what did you do?” you squealed — or, at least you attempted to squeal, but the sound got stuck in your throat and caused you to cough instead.

He turned at the waist to smirk at you.

“You’ll see,” Matthew promised with a wink. You shook your head in disbelief as he began pulling items from his bag of tricks — cough drops, cold medicine, essential oils, ice packs, magazines, a plush new oversized blanket, and more sick day essentials.

But Matthew hadn’t stopped there — he reached into the next bag to retrieve a large container of vegetable soup from your favorite downtown cafe near his place, along with fresh bread and a big cup of iced green tea.

Tears filled your eyes as you watched him open a packet of plasticware, bringing you a spoon, a napkin, and some soup. You couldn’t remember the last time someone had extended such a kind gesture your way.

“You did all of this... for me?” you asked incredulously, your voice quivering as he took his place beside you once again, setting the takeout container on your bedside table so that he could cup your face in his hands and press a lingering kiss to your forehead. When he pulled back to look you in the eye, he said, “I’d do anything for you.”

You beamed, overwhelmed by his thoughtfulness and tender care. You hugged his neck before releasing him quickly.

“I shouldn’t have hugged you! I’m gonna get you sick,” you lamented, guilt thick in your words.

He scoffed. “Baby, I have an immune system of steel,” he bragged jokingly, brimming with pride at the way his statement made you giggle. “Now scoot over, and I’ll feed you your soup.”

You did as you were instructed, and Matthew climbed into bed next to you before reaching for the container. He fed you a couple of bites before you glanced up at him with concern.

“I really can’t get you sick, Matty,” you asserted again. “Or else your team’s gonna kill me.”

Matthew shook his head. “Even if I do get sick, they’ll never know it was because of you,” he assured with a carefree shrug. “Besides, you’re not getting rid of me that easily. I’m stayin’ ‘til I know you’re alright. Now, c’mon, eat up,” he ordered, pushing the spoon closer to your lips. You accepted it with a grateful smile, though after a few more spoonfuls, you couldn’t stomach any more. Matthew put the lid back on the container, and after handing you your tea and insisting you drink a couple of sips, he pulled the tag from the new blanket and carefully spread it over you.

“Thanks, Matty,” you said softly, pulling back the far corner of the fabric. “Cuddle with me?”

He nodded, kneeling on the mattress. “Obviously,” he remarked. “Scoot over.”

You obeyed his request once more and soon, you were asleep on his chest, Matthew more than content to have you in his arms, whether sick or not.

#m and her prompts #matthew tkachuk #my writing #requests #matthew tkachuk writing #matthew tkachuk fanfiction #matthew tkachuk blurb #matthew tkachuk imagine #matthew tkachuk fanfic #matthew tkachuk fic #hockey writing #nhl writing #hockey fanfiction #nhl fanficfion

261 notes · View notes

aceoftrashies · 2 years

Note

Inducing Simeon with one of his feathers (i think he would be REALLY MESSY, maybe he have a bad cold and can't sneeze)

No joke, I had this EXACT thought last night. Simeon inducing with one of his feathers. <33

Simeon laid in bed with a cold, voice scratchy and nose stuffed up. He sat up when his nose started to tickle, wings twitching behind him.

"hh... hihh..." He felt it, it was riiight there. But it wouldn't come out so easily. It toyed with him, almost like a tease.

"Ahhh.. hahh... c-come on... come out..." Simeon spoke softly to himself, fanning his face with one gloved hand.

The tickle was still there, but the sneeze just wouldn't come out. Simeon decided to see if he could make himself sneeze and get it out.

He reached behind him and plucked an old feather off of himself, it didn't hurt very much. He examined the feather's length and knew it was the perfect one for this.

He brought the tip of the feather to his nose, tickling the inside of it and causing his breath to hitch even more.

"Hehhh... ahhhh... h-hahh..." his back arched slightly as his wings twitched in anticipation.

After a little more nose tickling, he finally, finally sneezed. It wasn't just one though. Nope. It was a whole fit of ticklish sneezes.

"Hih'tchiew!! Hah'tshiew!! hh... hihh.. Hah'tschew! HIH'TSCHEW!!" He pulled the feather away, a thin string of mucus from the nose connecting to the feather.

He continued to sneeze, mucus dripping from his nose and almost touching his top lip.

"Hiihhh... nuh... no... no muhhh... no more... p-pleee- hehh-!! Hih'tCHIEW!!"

After the fit was done, he blew his nose and laid back down, trying to get some sleep.

Hehe, this was fun to write!

#obey me sneeze content #obey me simeon

11 notes · View notes

thedevilsdom · 3 years

Note

Im so nervous lol.

just wanted to say that you made me accept a lot of my kinks that I thought were gross and felt bad for having so thank you soo much 💕

I saw an Obey me snz fic you made and was wondering if you take requests?? I have been looking everywhere for a Mammon snz fic and sadly there isn't almost any snz content in the fandom 😢

It's okay of you can't take requests now tho!! I don't want to make you uncomfortable lol

aw I’m glad I could be of some help!!

Ships: Mammon/GN!MC Contents: Sneezes, Dom/Sub, Handjobs, Rope bondage, Butt Plugs, Praise Wordcount: ~1.5k

He’s your good boy. He’s always your good boy, and you’re always delighted to see that he’s usually willing to indulge you in whatever it is you want to do.

Though this time, as you’re tying him up, something feels just a little bit off.

You had called him over to your room, putting on a little bit of perfume on your neck and wrists as you prepped the rope and anything else you’d need. Some silky white rope, a spreader bar, and a cage muzzle. All things you’ve used on him before, so really there was no need to suspect that a single thing would be off.

Now, as you finish the knots securing his hands over his head and tied to the bedframe, you pull back and notice that he doesn’t look quite… There. His eyes aren’t quite focused, and his brow is juuust a little bit pinched. He looks like he’s trying to focus but can’t.

“Mammon?” You ask, kneeling between his spread legs, “Everything alright?”

“Eh? Yeah, yeah of course.” He’s quick to nod and try to dismiss your worries. You give him a disbelieving look while you reach behind you on the bed to grab the little vibrating plug and the lube you’d brought,

“Okay, if you’re sure. Make sure you tell me if anything’s wrong, ‘kay?” You say, apprehensive. He smiles and agrees, eager to have your hands on- and in- him. You lube up your fingers and bring them down between his legs, easily slipping one into him and pulling a low sigh from his throat.

“Theeere you go,” You begin to slowly drag the pad of your finger along his inner walls, stroking across his prostate and making his legs give little shivers. He’s so pliant and willing like this, not to mention needy. It didn’t take long to get him squirming and trying to push down onto the single finger that’s inside him.

“Does my good boy need more inside him? You want something to fill you up?” You purr. His whole body shivers. His hands form fists, discontent with being uselessly tied above him, wanting to reach out and grab you and hold you up to himself.

“Please, ple-mph- please!” Mammon cries out. He always gets so needy, all for you. You add a second finger, listening to him whine. Though, normally by this point, he’d be begging you to kiss him. Tying him up and muzzling him like this is your favorite way of depriving him of that closeness he loves so much, only to give it to him tenfold later in the night, but it isn’t any fun if he doesn’t beg for it.

“Mammon, baby,” You hum, slowing the push of your fingers to a crawl, “You don’t want kisses?”

He freezes as your eyes lock onto his. Even he recognizes that that isn’t normal behavior. After a moment, he breaks eye contact to look to the side and mumble something. When you don’t respond, he speaks up.

“You muzzled me already, I know that I won’t be getting any kisses now, what’s the point in asking?” He pouts.

“Oh, so we’re being bratty tonight? Is that it?” Your free hand squeezes the meat of his thigh and he blanches.

“I- I’m sorry! Please just- just keep going?”

“Hmph,” You start stroking his cock as you fuck him with your fingers, “You’re lucky I’m feeling so generous tonight. Any more attitude from you and I’ll have you over my knee.”

“Yeah- ngh- yeah, MC, thank you,” He mutters. Normally something like that would earn you a snarky comment in return, but you suppose he must just be feeling awfully subservient tonight. You cast a glance up at him and catch that same bleary, unfocused look from before. You give him a few more pumps of your hands before pulling them back completely. You easily slide the plug into his ass and press the button on the little remote, setting it to a low vibration, then you get up on your knees and move to over him. He looks confused when you suddenly straddle his lap.

“I wonder how long you’ll last like that.” You grind your ass back on his cock.

“I- hih- I don’t think- wait, hang on, MC-“ He mutters. You see him squint for a moment before a look of what you can only describe as shock crosses his face for just a split second before he quickly, desperately, turns his head to the side, the metal cage of his muzzle hitting his bicep, his whole body tensing-

“ha’ikshiew!” He sneezes to the side, uncovered. Immediately after, he looks mortified. Eyes wide, brow pinched, not-even-looking-at-you mortified. “I-I’m- That was so gross, I’m so sorry, MC, something’s been makin’ my nose itch all ni-hih! Fuck- huh-tshh! Hih-knxght! Huh-ktshiew!” A barrage of sneezes hit him, try as he might to stifle them.

The poor boy looks like he’s about to start crying, he’s so embarrassed.

He’s supposed to be your good boy, your always-sexy sub who gives you all the best reactions, how is he supposed to do that if he just made a fucking mess of his arm and muzzle with his sneezes? You probably think he’s disgusting and gross. He keeps his gaze trained away from you as he anticipates the incoming rejection and demand for him to get out of your room.

It doesn’t come.

Instead, he feels a warm hand on top of his head, and fingers carding through his hair, pulling his fringe out of his face.

“Cute.” You chuckle. “Must be my new perfume.” You turn up the vibrator with a press of the button, and his hips buck involuntarily behind you, head falling back with another hitch of his breath. “Here,” Your hand presses at the back of his head, urging him to lean forward and rest his forehead on your shoulder. You feel the warmth of his skin and the cold, wetness of his muzzle. “Can you smell it?”

“Can’t- hihh… I can’t smell much of an-anything,” His words are punctuated by soft sniffling as he tries desperately to keep the mess from dripping. “MC, MC, I’m hehh go-gonna- hik-TchEW! HAKNT-tchiuhh- HikTCHIEW!” He lets out a handful more sneezes against you as you pet his hair, offering a tired little huff at the end of the fit. He sniffles, strong and wet, in a desperate bid to not make any more mess than he already has.

“Oh, my poor baby,” You reach behind with the hand that isn’t on his head, beginning to stroke his needy cock. His head felt light and dizzy from the sneezing, and somehow that made your touch feel even more intense. He lets out a little cry, thighs tensing when you jerk him off. “This feels good, doesn’t it Mammon?”

“’S good, so good,” He sniffs, “wanna kiss you,” He mutters, small against your shoulder. You barely heard it, and you know that he must be so embarrassed asking for such a thing, especially now. The hand on his head undoes the muzzle, dropping it into your lap. He doesn’t have a second to object or even to process before you’re taking his chin between your fingers and angling his head up, pressing a kiss to his lips. They’re wet from the spray, and the humiliation of it only makes Mammon’s blood run hotter.

“My good boy,” You hum when you pull away, guiding his head back down to your neck, “You close?” The sound that leaves his lips is something akin to a rough, ragged sob. Your hand holds the back of his neck possessively. You may not have him collared this time, but this has very much the same effect.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m close,” He nips at your neck, the scent of your perfume hitting him full force now, but he still doesn’t have his hands or arms to cover himself. “Ah- Aktchiew! HekTSHH!” He sneezes hard against your skin. “Huhh- fuuuck- ‘m so close, MC,” He whines, hips twitching and squirming under you.

“Such a needy boy I have,” You purr with what almost sounds like pride in your voice. It’s intoxicating to him. “Cum for me.”

Like a wire snapping, his back bows and his orgasm crashes through him. His cock throbs, sticky white cum spurting across your fingers and the tops of his thighs, some spilling over your hand. He moans, fucking up into your hand again and again, until his shivering and crying out from the overstimulation he’s giving himself. Only then you give him some mercy, turning off the plug and pulling your hand away. He lets out shaky sighs against you.

“My good boy,” You lean back, “Always my good boy.”

“Mhmm,” He hums with a dopey smile and a sniffle, “Always yours.”

You lean forward and give him a kiss to his heated forehead, then push your cum-slicked fingers past his lips. He dutifully gets to work lapping up his mess and suckling on your fingers obediently, humming contentedly as he does it. Once you’re all clean, you untie his hands and start rubbing feeling back into them.

“I’ll never know what I did to deserve such a good boy,” You plant a kiss to his wrist, where the rope was tied, “Thank you, Mammon. ‘M gonna take good care of you now, okay?” You look up at him through your eyelashes.

“U-uh- yeah- can… Can we shower first? So- snf- so you can get that perfume off at least? I don’t think I’d be able to handle any more sneezing.” He says with a shy laugh. “Not that- not that I’m not down for uh- for a repeat some other time.”

A repeat, hm?

You tuck that thought away for now, giving him a quick pet on his head before skipping off to get a bath ready.

#sneeze #snez #sneezefic #obey me #omswd #mammon #obey me mammon #my writing #Anonymous #snz

170 notes · View notes

jaeheewillalwaysbemyfav · 3 years

Text

Obey Me x The Magnus Archives: Avatar MC (Asmodeus/Corruption, 5/7)

The “Cursed TMAxObey Me crossover” continues! It’s basically what it says on the tin: what if the settings of the horror anthology podcast The Magnus Archives and the goofy dramedy demon dating sim Obey Me were merged in some way?

This is Not the sexy/kink kind of corruption! TMA’s Corruption, aka The Crawling Rot, is about filth, decay, disease, and insects! (And unhealthy/toxic love/relationships) Basically anything on the “disgust-fear” side of horror. If I did my job right, you’re going to want to take a shower after reading this.

For those unfamiliar with tma but intending on reading this anyway, I would like to warn you that this series is going to be horror-based, and include potentially disturbing content. Specific content warnings will be provided at the beginning of each fic, and some may be more upsetting than others. Please use your discretion when deciding which parts to read, if any. I can only warn you, I am not responsible if you decide to read and are upset by what you see.

Additional Warning, No Seriously Guys: To no tma fans’ surprise, this is the section I’m most worried about. The Corruption is a very specific intersection of fear, disgust, love, lust, and trauma that can be upsetting on multiple levels. It’s also unintentionally become Extra Spicy because, well… we’re in a pandemic. So reader discretion is Absolutely Mega Advised.

Anyway.... buge :)

Content Warnings: Horror, implied bad end, pests/vermin, insects, rot, mold, unsanitary behaviour, illness/fever, noncon/dubcon touching, bad caretaker

Lucifer (X), Mammon (X), Leviathan (X), Satan (X), Asmodeus (You are here), Beelzebub (X), Belphegor (X)

It starts with pests.

A simple series of nuisances, at first. Vermin keep getting into the House of Lamentation, picking at food, nibbling on clothes and degrading furnishings, leaving behind all sorts of mess. So the brothers set out traps, inspect the windows and foundation, and up their cleaning routines. Asmo’s room is spotless, as always, but he turns his floor into a minefield of hexes, just in case.

Then the food starts to turn on its own. Even with the pests (mostly) under control, they can’t seem to stop any perishable goods from spoiling within a couple of days, regardless of their expiration date. It’s one of the few times Beel’s insatiable appetite is more of a blessing than a curse. Asmo laments the loss of fresh produce, but settles for frozen. Even if he obsessively picks through it before preparing any meals.

But then the rot creeps into the brothers’ personal belongings. Satan loses an entire wing of his personal library to mildew, Levi’s tank gets contaminated with a nasty strain of aquatic mold, and Belphegor whines at the loss of his favourite blanket to an eclipse of moths. Asmo checks and triple checks his cosmetics to make sure they’re sealed and stored in a safe, dry place, but nearly faints upon discovering the clutch of eggs something had laid in his foundation. He bins all his products and scrubs his skin until it turns red.

Thankfully, MC doesn’t seem to mind all that much. Asmo would almost respect their resolve, if he hadn’t seen them once pick the mold off of a piece of fruit before eating it without a care in the world. Doesn’t that kind of thing get humans sick?

Nonetheless, they’re quite sympathetic to the distress Asmo is in, even offering him some of their own makeup to use, but he took one look at the jaundiced creams in their bag and politely declined, citing a concern about different skin types.

Why does his skin itch so much lately?

Demons don’t get sick. It takes a lot for one, especially a high ranking demon, to truly feel under the weather. Asmodeus, especially, never gets sick.

But lately…

Maybe it’s the stress. Maybe it’s because everything around him seems to be falling into ruin and decay.

Asmo doesn’t feel well. He holds out as long as he can, but it doesn’t take a master detective to figure out that he’s seriously ill. Nausea, fever, cold sweats, fatigue, dizziness… After Asmo is nearly knocked unconscious by the force of his own sneeze, Lucifer puts his foot down. He’s forced into bedrest.

Luckily, he has MC to take care of him. They’re very eager too, rarely leaving his side. He would find it more comforting if not for their… habits.

As they stroke through his matted hair and place a cold compress on his forehead, he can’t help but notice that their hands feel… normal. That’s impossible, he’s burning up, shouldn’t they be much cooler than him? Are they…?

Gentle touches glide down his body, across flushed and sweat-slick skin, tracing small circles around the scars left by Asmo’s frantic nails. As they pass over an inflamed cut (when did it become infected? He could have sworn he was cleaning them…), Asmo can’t help but shudder as he feels tendrils of something taking root in him as they go.

#obey me #tma #obey me! asmodeus #tma the corruption #cursed tma x om crossover #mine #my writing #asmodeus #buge :)#fun fact: on my main blog i ran a survey that about 200 people answered #about which tma entity they considered the sexiest #and the least sexiest #and the corruption won the award for least sexy by direct vote #nearly half of the voters said it was the least sexy #now the least Popular entity when asking about people's preferences was the lonely #literally no one picked the lonely as sexiest #so which is truly the least sexy?

34 notes · View notes

perfectpaperbluebirds · 3 years

Text

Better Now

A Bla/ck Tap/es podcast sickfic.

I have so many wonderful prompts in my inbox but the only thing I wanted to write was this wildly self-indulgent and overly long fic that's jam-packed with all my favorite tropes. I blame @matilda3948 for her recent amazing Dr. Strand sickfics for inspiration and @sanquintina for getting me into the podcast in the first place

This is technically Bl/ack Ta/pes fanfic, but you don't need to know anything about the series other than Dr. Strand is a persnickety, serious, stoic, skeptic with a very deep voice and troubled past.

Set after the end of the series as it stands currently and written in 1st person from the perspective of Strand's unnamed female partner. Could be Alex if you want, could be someone else with whom Strand finally found happiness and contentment. I kept that part generic on purpose.

Richard Strand is many things, but clumsy isn't one of them. So naturally I had to go investigate when early one morning I was startled by the sound of a tea mug shattering on the floor followed by a hastily bitten-off swear word.

In the kitchen I found my husband, the world renowned Dr. Strand, kneeling on the floor mopping up spilled tea. He glanced up with a sniffle as he heard me approach.

"Had it too close to the edge. At least it missed my pants. I think I got all the ceramic bits, but be careful."

His voice was even deeper than usual, low and gravelly from the cold he'd been developing over the past few days. That, paired with his heavy, reddened eyes and generally haggard appearance, gave me concern.

"You look like you hardly slept. How are you feeling?"

"I tossed and turned a bit last night. Couldn't get comfortable."

"Couldn't breathe I think would be more accurate. You were snoring and breathing through your mouth all night."

He sat back on his heels and frowned. "Sorry if I kept you up."

"You don't have to apologize. I'm just worried about you," I added as he winced when he stood, massaging the space between his eyebrows.

He shot me another irritated glance. "I'm fine. I just have a bit of a cold." I couldn't help but notice the weary slump of his shoulders, however. Even his suit looked less crisp than usual.

I summoned all my wifely tact and tried to make my voice persuasive: "Maybe you should stay home. You don't look like you'll be much use to anyone today."

He made an annoyed sound. "That's very unnecessary. I'm not staying home for a cold."

I looked pointedly out the window where a chilly November rain was pouring down steadily. "You really want to go out into that when you have a perfectly valid excuse not to?"

He too glanced out the window. After a moment he shook his head and cleared his throat, meeting my eyes again. "I'll be fine. It's just a little rain."

He headed toward the door, massaging his forehead once more.

"Don't you want your tea?"

"Oh, right." He whirled around quickly, grabbed the thermos, and headed toward the door again with a wet sniffle. I could only roll my eyes and sigh as the door closed behind him.

Most workdays I left after him and returned before him, and this Thursday was no exception. The rain was still pouring down when I arrived home from work that evening. I decided dinner was going to be vegetable stew and biscuits, not only for his cold, but also because I wanted some rainy November comfort food. Everything was nearly ready when I heard him coming up the steps. He opened the door, bringing with him a chilly gust, and I turned to greet him, but instead my mouth dropped open a bit at the sight of him.

His hair and clothes were completely soaked with rain, to the point of dripping puddles onto the floor as I watched, and he was visibly shivering, something I'd never seen him do before. Inexplicably, he was also shaking the loose drops off of his soaked umbrella, his expression drawn and miserable. I was noticing how diminished he seemed when suddenly his breath hitched violently:

"HehZIHH'shiew! HrrUUHHZchoo! HehhGIHH'nkkchoo!"

I rushed to his side, relieving him of his umbrella and briefcase and pulling his sodden coat off of him as he slumped down onto the nearby stool. Beneath the coat, his suit was nearly just as wet and cold.

"Oh, Richard, bless you! You're soaked to the skin. Ugh, and your hands are freezing. How did you manage to get so drenched?"

"A w-woman and her ch-children were w-waiting for the b-bus without c-coats. I held my umbrella f-for them until it c-came," he said, his teeth chattering and his lips blue with cold.

I toweled off his hair and clothes as best as I could before helping him undress. Any other day he would have brushed me off, saying he was perfectly capable of doing that himself. The fact that he allowed me to assist him spoke volumes to how poorly he felt.

I was behind him, trying to peel off his sodden linen shirt when he lurched forward for another volley of sneezes:

"HrrUUSCHH! HnnxXT! HHGGTchh!"

"Bless you again, poor love. You've made your cold worse going out in this," I gently chastised.

"I'm f-fine," he sniffled, still barely able to speak around his shivering. Yet he leaned back against me wearily as I removed his undershirt and replaced it with a blanket, and I thought I heard the softest hint of a groan.

I used my fingers to comb his disheveled hair, but frowned when I felt his forehead. "You're running a fever. You weren't feverish this morning."

He merely shrugged, wordlessly asking me to continue massaging his scalp, which I did. Slowly his shivers subsided, but he was clearly exhausted, and sniffled wetly every few moments.

"You look like you could use a hot drink and a warm bed," I said eventually.

"I'd start with a hot shower," came the mumbled reply.

"Hmm… what about a hot bath? I was thinking of taking one myself tonight, and I'm willing to share. No reason to waste the hot water. Dinner will keep for a bit longer."

He turned slightly, giving me a curious look. It wasn't that we had never bathed together before, but it was usually under very different circumstances. However, I happened to know my husband craved physical touch when he wasn't feeling well, though he would never ask for it. I was simply making life easier on both of us by preemptively offering it.

"I suppose that might be nice," he finally said. "But I'm very tired…."

I kissed his cheek. "No strings attached. Bath only. Then dinner and sleep. No funny business, I promise."

He relaxed slightly. "That's fine then."

"Good. Let me go run the water." I kissed his hair once more, then headed to the bathroom. He joined me there with a cup of tea after a few minutes. While the oversized tub finished filling, he leaned in the doorway, rubbing the back of his neck and looking distant and hazy, not to mention sick.

I shimmied off my clothes and slid into the water, gesturing for him to join me. He sluggishly obeyed, hampered in finishing his own undressing by his dripping nose. He set his mug of tea and a handkerchief on the little table beside the tub, then slid into the water in front of me.

His sigh of ecstasy as the hot water surrounded him was exactly what I hoped to hear, and he leaned back against me readily with a satisfied groan.

"Better?" I murmured in his ear.

"Much," came the rumbling reply, followed of course by a sniffle.

I pressed my lips into his hair again and again. He hardly moved as the heat soaked into him. I let my nails trail all over his skin and gave him a gentle massage, trying to help him relax, a feat he was rarely able to accomplish on his own

"Would you like me to wash your hair?" I murmured after a while.

He gave the barest nod in reply. Wordlessly I did just that, something else he would never consider allowing in any other circumstance.

I kept the soap far from his face, but the fragrance still had its way with him. I had nearly all the suds rinsed out when he suddenly jerked forward and leaned over the edge of the tub.

GihhIIISSHH'UH! Hhigg'CHUH! HihYEHSH'ooo!" He directed the spray as far away from me as he could, grabbing for the handkerchief to catch as much of the mess as possible. He mopped his face with a growl as he slid back into the water, but the spell was broken. He fidgeted against me, sniffling in irritation again and again as I finished rinsing his hair.

I suppressed a disappointed sigh. "You might feel better if you went and laid down now that you're warmed up. Get yourself a bowl of soup while I finish up here."

He grunted his assent, lifting himself out of the water and quickly toweling off as he began to shiver again right away. He donned his robe, took his tea, and went to get his supper.

The evening came to a quick close after that. Richard ate a small portion of soup, drank two mugs of tea, and refused any medication, but did little else. He wouldn't be described as loquacious on his best day, but he spoke even less than usual. The only noise he made was the occasional soft cough or explosive trio of sneezes and his perpetual sniffles as he attempted his usual evening reading. His eyes never lost their weary, hazy look though, and he was constantly shaking his head or wiping a knuckle under his nose, so I wondered how much he was actually absorbing.

When I suggested we go to bed, he didn't argue though, which was very unlike him. He fell into bed wearily, and it seemed he was asleep even before his head hit the pillow. I silently wished to myself as I drifted to sleep that he would either be recovered in the morning, or else have the sense to stay home if he was worse.

~~~~~~~~~~

Richard's alarm went off at the usual hour the next morning, and he shut it off right away. Normally he was out of bed in moments, but today he lingered, pulling the blankets closer around himself with a little groan.

I rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, but he continued to shift restlessly. After a moment, I heard him take a wheezy inhale and then break into a coughing fit, wet and hoarse. I turned to look at him again. He was on his back now, with an arm flung over his eyes.

"Aww, love," I murmured. "You ok?"

"I'm not feeling quite like myself," came the mumbled reply.

I reached out to stroke his cheek, letting my hand rest on his neck where I could feel his hugely swollen lymph nodes. He was well and truly sick now, and he needed to stay home from work. However, I couldn't be the one to suggest that, or else he would turn me down immediately and insist he was fine, as he had the day before. It needed to be his idea. I went with a different approach.

I nestled close to his side, kissing his shoulder softly. I could tell he was still feverish even through his clothes. "Busy day today?" I murmured.

He grunted wearily. I couldn't tell if it was affirmative or negative.

"I packed a big bowl of soup for your lunch. I hope it's enough to keep you full through the whole day. And don't forget, I'll meet you at your coworker's reception tonight. Was there anything I needed to bring to that?"

He slowly uncovered his face. "I was… actually considering staying home from work. It shouldn't be busy today, I can afford to miss. And… I'm really not feeling well at all. I'll make our excuses to John about his reception.

I did a silent victory dance in my head. "Oh, are you sure? I thought you had some important meetings."

"Nothing that can't be rescheduled." He cracked a red eye open, glancing at me suspiciously. "Why? Do you want me to go in?"

I shrugged nonchalantly, kissing him again. "I want you to do what you think is best. If you're not feeling well, you ought to stay home so you don't risk getting other people sick though."

"I suppose." He coughed hoarsely again, rubbing his chest with a grimace. "Yes, I'll stay home today. Let me call Carol and John."

He slowly stood and made his unsteady way to his phone, sniffling and coughing the whole way. The two phone conversations were very brief, for he hardly had to try to make a case for his illness, congested and hoarse as he clearly was. After he finished the calls, he shuffled back to bed immediately, heaping the blankets back over himself with a shuddering cough. I rubbed his back as he got settled.

"Can I get you anything, hon? Water, medicine?"

He shook his head. "Going to try to sleep this off," he mumbled, sleep already (or still?) heavy in his voice.

I knew medicine would almost certainly help his endeavors at sleeping. At minimum it would improve the quality of his sleep. However, I also knew he was stubborn about such things, so I didn't press the issue yet. "Alright." I kissed his hot cheek gently. "Then I'll leave you be for now. Let me know if you need anything. Sleep well."

I made the bed around him, straightening my side and tucking him in, then quietly left. The sound of his deep snores followed me out. So much for me sleeping in today.

He emerged again later that morning. I didn't notice him at first when he did, though. I had my headphones in and was dancing around while dusting. Turning around, I almost bumped into him, scaring us both. I yanked my headphones off right away, taking in his disheveled, sickly, blanket-wrapped appearance.

"You're awake! I'm sorry, I didn't hear you come out."

"Clearly," he rasped with the tiniest ghost of a smile. "You stayed home too?"

"It's my normal Friday off."

"Right, right," he sniffled. He then shuffled to the couch, collapsing onto it with a yawn. I went to sit beside him, unable to keep the concern from my face. I felt his forehead again, noting how he wearily leaned into the touch. I was forced to jump back though as he erupted into a volley of thick, chesty coughs.

I sighed, surveying him with worry. "You're running quite the fever, love. And the cold has obviously settled into your chest now too."

He nodded limply with another sniffle.

"I'm not taking no for an answer this time, I'm giving you medicine and you're going to take it."

He managed to fix me with a condescending look. "Medication for a cold is essentially pointless. It just treats the symptoms."

"You think making yourself more comfortable is pointless?"

He opened his mouth to answer, or so I thought, but instead he lurched forward into a trio of wet, spraying sneezes:

"Heh'YEISSHH'oo! YEEIISH'uuh! Gih'HIH-shoo! --ugh…" The forceful snapping motion of his head when he sneezed looked incredibly painful, so much so that he pressed the heels of his hands to his forehead with a groan in the aftermath.

"Bless you, hon!" I waited a beat as he composed himself. "So… what was it again you were saying about the futility of treating the symptoms?" I asked, admittedly snidely.

He only grunted softly. I couldn't keep the smug look from my face when he met my eyes once more. However, seeing how thoroughly miserable he was reawakened my sympathy immediately. I reached out to caress his hair and cheek yet again.

"How about I make you some tea, yeah? And maybe a bowl of soup?"

"Please," he mumbled.

"Coming right up."

Another round of his thick, exhausting coughs followed me into the kitchen, and I couldn't help but wince in sympathy, even though he couldn't see me.

In a matter of minutes I had his meal ready. When I brought it back out to him, I placed the soup on the table and dropped a handful of pills and a capful of medication beside the bowl with a meaningful look. His only reply was a small frown. I resumed my seat beside him and was about to hand him the steaming mug when an idea occurred to me.

"Is your throat hurting badly?"

He nodded heavily with a little scowl, as if he hated being reminded of it.

"Here, this may help a bit." I raised the mug to the level of his neck, pressing it against his visibly enlarged lymph node.

His eyes widened and he half-jumped back from the initial sensation.

"Trust me for a sec," I said gently, placing it against the swelling once more.

He closed his eyes and gritted his teeth, but allowed it. After a moment though he visibly loosened. Making a sound between a whimper and a groan, he leaned harder against the heat.

"Better?"

"Mhmmmm," he sighed.

After another moment I switched to the other side of his neck and repeated the process. He angled himself here and there to get the most heat coverage over the tender areas. Finally I slid the mug into his hands, kissing his forehead.

"Thank you," he breathed. "That was… relieving."

"You're very welcome. Now, can I do anything else for you at the moment?"

"I'm fine. You don't need to fuss."

"I may not have to, but I want to, first because you're my husband and second because I know you're not 'fine.' But if you're going to insist you are, I'm going to go fold some laundry. Holler if you need anything. Or cough loudly if that's easier."

That earned me a Dr. Strand signature, the 'amused huff.' "I will. Thank you again."

"No thanks necessary." He received another kiss to the temple before I stood and headed to the laundry room with a last pointed look at the medicine. It occurred to me as I walked away that I was likely giving him an overabundance of kisses considering how contagious he clearly was, but he was just so darn pitiful.

Twenty minutes later, I returned to check on him, bringing a glass of water as well. The tea mug and soup bowl sat empty on the coffee table, surrounded by a few scattered tissues. The medicine was untouched. The doctor was huddled to one side of the couch with another tissue held loosely in his hand and one pajama-clad leg tucked under him, staring listlessly at the wall. However, at the sound of my footsteps he stirred with a sickly sniffle, scrubbing a hand over his face wearily. I smiled in greeting, and though he didn't return the smile, he did brighten a bit upon seeing me.

"What were you contemplating so deeply just now? You looked very lost in thought," I asked, handing him the water, then tidying up his little mess on the coffee table, leaving the pills.

He huffed a humorless laugh, looking self-conscious as he fiddled with the glass. "I was actually imagining how extensive the trial and error process must have been to determine how best to brew tea versus brewing coffee versus, for example, brewing beer. Roasting the ingredients versus drying versus fresh versus ground and boiling versus steeping versus fermenting. The amount of time that must have been necessary to perfect something so simple is rather astounding," he rasped, with many sniffles and throat-clearings thrown in.

I raised an eyebrow at him curiously. Aimless ramblings about random topics were not the norm for my painfully disciplined husband. "It is astounding I guess. I'd never thought about that before. Anyway, how are you feeling after eating?"

"I'm fine," he said, finally setting down the untouched water, though the nasty cough that immediately followed his statement contradicted him.

This time I audibly sighed. "You do realize that you saying you're fine all the time is very counterproductive to helping me assess your needs? You don't have to be fine, love."

He gave me an odd look. "Conceptually, I know that. But you have to remember, for a long time I *did* have to be 'fine.' I didn't have the option to be otherwise. You, all of this… still feels like a new development or a dream at times. Old habits die hard, I suppose."

I sat on the arm of the couch beside him. He wordlessly leaned in toward me so I could lightly run my fingernails over his scalp. He softly groaned in pleasure.

"I'm not going to waste my breath telling you that I'm not going anywhere and I'm here for you, because you already know that. So I suppose I'll just have to keep showing you."

I went to press a kiss to his head, but I caught a glimpse of his face and changed my mind when I saw he was about to sneeze.

"Gihh'chuuh! Hehh'choof! Ghnxt'choo!"

The sneezes were brisk and wet and left him breathless. He blew his nose with a wince before he spoke. "Sorry, could you repeat that? I missed most of it," he said, sounding stuffy and a little peeved.

I chuckled and complied, going for the kiss this time. He had no reply, but instead leaned against me wearily as I massaged his neck, yawning deeply.

"You should rest again, love. Take a nap if you can. It's either that or watch TV, which you'll never do. I'm not sure you should attempt much else."

He wrinkled his nose. "I hate being so unproductive. I don't want to sleep the day away."

"Sleeping when you're sick isn't being unproductive, it's being wise."

"HehhGIH'choo! HEHHH-choo! Hihhh'YESSHH'uuhh!"

I was quite sure he didn't hear most of my statement, since he sneezed right in the middle of it. With a pitiful sound he tended to his nose yet again as I blessed him earnestly. Eventually his watery, heavy lidded eyes met mine. I couldn't help but notice yet again how flushed and disheveled he was and how utterly pathetic he looked, quite the opposite of his usual cool, collected self.

"Guh. Sorry. What was that?" he asked with a pathetic sniffle, sounding very annoyed now.

"Aww, your nose. You really are sick, huh? Poor guy," I said, continuing to stroke his hair.

He looked slightly offended. "You were having doubts about that?"

I rolled my eyes good-naturedly. "It's just something you say, dear.

"I'm aware of the colloquialism," he grumped. "But I find it a very odd one. And it's never been directed at me before."

"There's a first time for everything, then."

I was rubbing his back now. He yawned again, grimacing after, I assumed due to the sore throat. I also noticed he was starting to shiver.

"Ok, now seriously, tell me what I need to do to convince you to nap."

"I'm not sure," he said with a chesty cough, nestling deeper into the couch.

"Hmm. I accept that challenge."

"And what challenge is that?"

"You won't tell me what I can do to help you, and perhaps you don't even know yourself, so I have to figure that out for both of us."

"I don't think there's anything I need though."

"You need to sleep."

He rolled his eyes with an annoyed huff, but I could tell he knew I was right.

I stood and went to put some smooth jazz on the record player in the room. Sitting down again, this time on the couch on the other side of him, I gestured to my lap.

"Come lie down."

"Wait-- lie down… right there?"

"Correct."

"Why?"

"Because you love hair scratches and neck rubs, so I'm making it easier to give them to you. Also you're apparently freezing and need to share some body heat."

He frowned, suppressing his shivers as best he could. Still, I knew he wouldn't be able to resist for long, tired and miserable as he was. Sure enough, after a moment he slowly levered himself down with a resigned sigh.

I quickly threw a blanket over him, and then began the hair scratches. He made a tiny, appreciative sound.

"Better?"

"Mm," he grunted.

"Good. But you're sweating, love," I murmured.

"I'm not sure how since I'm freezing," he mumbled with a cough.

"Your fever is higher. I can feel it just by touching you."

He groaned, snuggling deeper against me.

I massaged his neck for a while longer, trying to ease the tension from his muscles. He continued to be restless though, and apparently unable to regulate his body temperature. One moment he would be shaking with chills pulling the blanket closer, and then the next kicking it away from his legs with a moan of discomfort.

The final straw for me was when he was overcome with yet another hacking coughing fit, curling in on himself miserably, trying to muffle it into his arm, the other hand clutching his chest.

Before he settled again, I leaned forward to grab the untouched pile of medication and glass of water from the coffee table. When he was again lying against me, I wordlessly held it out to him. He of course made a sound of irritation.

"Why are you being so stubborn? You need to sleep, and you can't sleep in the state you're in, at least not well. This will help your headache, fever, sore throat, everything so you can rest. I can tell you're exhausted."

After a final moment of consideration, he held out a reluctant hand. I handed him the items and he swallowed them without comment.

Neither of us spoke again for a long time, and didn't move from our places. I soothingly stroked his hair or rubbed his back, putting myself in a trance almost as much as him.

I could see the medication talking effect. His restlessness slowly eased along with his coughing. It seemed I could even feel his body temperature decreasing.

"Hnnkkt'CHUH! Hehgg'CHUHH! EHHG'choo!"

Just as I thought he was asleep, his body twitched with a trio of sneezes, the quality of which could only be described as lazy--slow, thick, and dulled. They hardly seemed to stir him from his stupor.

"Bless you. Are you ok?"

" 'm fine," he croaked tiredly. We were both quiet for a while, then he spoke up again. "You know, one of the reasons I keep saying I'm fine is because I can't begin to describe what an improvement it is to be with you while being sick compared to being sick in bed alone. The difference is as drastic as night and day--better doesn't begin to describe it. Asking for anything more than what I already have just by your being here feels selfish."

Richard would never express such sentiments under normal circumstances, and hearing it said so plainly overwhelmed me with emotion. Yet I knew he wouldn't want me to reply in kind. He would prefer to state his piece and let it be. And indeed, I saw his eyes drooping heavier by the second, so I kept my thoughts to myself for now, but leaned over to plant a series of kisses all over his hot face.

He hardly moved and didn't respond even when I finally stopped, but I couldn't help but notice the tiny smile playing around his lips as he drifted off to sleep.

#Sickness #sicknario #sickfic #snzblr #snzario #snzfic #everyone is hotter with a fever

44 notes · View notes

jojostylesposts · 3 years

Text

As promised, new content! We hope you guys enjoy🤍

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜

ꔫ*+ﾟ Kars x reader ꔫ*+ﾟ

.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・゜゜・.・

You were kept as bait by his command. He wanted nothing from you, just the desperation of the hamon users since he knew they cared about your life and your well being. You were of absolutely no power, you didn’t even possessed hamon. You were incredibly powerless so he knew how to manipulate the hamon users.

You were kept in an abandoned like mansion. Against its darkness, you could see crumbling walls and the silhouette of once alive furniture. It disturbed you, it all made you extremely uncomfortable. Cold night air entered the broken windows sending shivers down your spine. Your hands were chained and you were walking due to following instructions of this man you couldn’t see very well. You only knew it was a man due to the raspy deep voice. You stumbled a couple times due to broken tiles which he made a few commentaries about it.

“Stop.” He instructed and you obeyed. Suddenly, a few candles were lit out of nowhere lighting up the room you were in. It hurt your eyes since they now had to get used to the light. Once your eyes got used to the light, you saw a large room in very poor condition. Broken windows were poorly covered with long wooden pieces and broken glass was scattered all over the floor. Your eyes traveled along the walls watching the old paint coming. The place was dusty sending tickles up your nose for upcoming sneezes.

“What in the world is this place...” you whispered to yourself feeling very disturbed at the sighting completely forgetting you weren’t alone. You suddenly felt someone moving behind you and walking past you. You realized you’ve never seen this man, just his silhouette. The first thing you noticed was his humongous height. He was incredibly tall, it was unreal. Your eyes traveled to his back noticing how incredibly broad his shoulders were and how every back muscle was visibly perfect. You also noticed how very little clothing he was wearing, just a small piece of fabric between his legs and it made you...nervous.

“Sit, human. We have some things to discuss.” He said sitting down on a fancy looking chair. That’s when you saw his face. He had this kind of face that leaves you breathless. He had this tousled purple like long hair that was thick and lustrous. His eyes were deep and mysterious. His face was so strongly defined, sculpted by the gods themselves. A prominent jaw curved gracefully and the strength of his neck showed in the twining cords of muscle that shaped his entire body; strong arms, bold thighs and calves, a firm chest and abdomen. There was no mistake when making this man.

You stood there in shock, you weren’t expecting a god like being to be sitting right in front of you. You closed your lips and gulped hard trying to process the whole situation.

“I told you to sit.” He looked serious and you sat as fast as you could in the cold ground.

“You filthy creatures annoy me so much.” He cuffed in annoyance. You didn’t understand a single bit of the situation, in fact, you didn’t know how he was real. “Who are you?” You asked recklessly."How dare you speak like you are not scared at all?" he asked in annoyance. “I’m going to give you reasons to be scared.” His said with a commanding tone. The tone of his voice gave away how much disgust he held by that question as if everyone should know who he is.

You started to shake with fear. This man no this beast could tear you in half without even blinking. You may have an advantage with hamon, but what good is hamon if this man will just keep getting back on like nothing. "You will treat me with respect, do you understand?" He asked with authority. "I understand." You said through gritted teeth locking your eyes on his. He looked at you with anger clearly shown in his eyes, but he walked away from you.

A couple of days later he interrogated you. "Where is the stone?" He asked, more like demanded. You stayed silent and ignoring the question. "Where is the stone?" He asked again and this time you could hear the impatience on his voice. "Where’s the damn stone!" He yelled at you grabbing your face making you look at him. "You can eat shit." You said with a smirk on your lips. He let go of your face placing his fingers in his chin. “You’ll learn what respect is.” He said with a grin. You knew it was on now. You can’t lie to yourself, you feared this man. If you could call that a man, he was more than just a simple man.

Day after day, he would ask you the same question only to be left with no answer from you. You weren’t going to betray your friends, you would die with the secret of the stone if you had to. And each day, he’ll taunt you, scare you and just mock you for being a simple human.

“Your presence bores me.” He yawned. “Wamuu and Esidisi will take care of your beloved friends while I’m going to have to take care of you.” He scuffed. You thought your death was near, you were scared but prepared for it. You lost track of how many days you’ve been trapped with this man. He suddenly came really close to you, only a few inches away from your face. Every feature that his face carried was just breathtaking. And as weird as it sounds, it felt magical to stare at his face. That’s he placed his hand on the back of your neck bringing you closer to him. His lips touched your ear trailing them down to your neck painfully slowly. It made you feel weird and yet you enjoyed the sudden action.

“You smell delicious. Might as well drain every drop out of you.” He said inhaling your scent as he ran his nose along your neck ticking your skin. “You seem real quiete today.” He took cupped your face harshly making your eyes meet his. “I have nothing to say to you.” You were angry. Angry at the monster right in front of you. This was a life or death situation and he had no business teasing you like that.

“I’ll make you speak then.” He said taking a handful of your hair in his hand pulling it taking you by surprise. “Let go!” You yelled pushing him away with your legs but It didn’t do much. You stopped moving when you felt a we like thing on your neck. You didn’t even realize his face was on your neck and it made you freeze. What was he even doing? What exactly is this?

“What are you-“ You were cut up with a sharp like pain on your neck. You felt a runny sensation of a warm liquid down your back. You immediately put two and two together and came into the conclusion that he bit you. You groaned in pain since it sorta stunned a bit. “Get away from me.” You groaned. You knew trying to push him away was impossible. He was huge and heavy.

You felt wet strokes on your now new wound and it honestly felt relieving. You felt your hair being pulled to his direction so could could face him as he left your neck. “You taste devine, might as well keep you alive for a while.” He said as he cleaned the corners of his mouth. “I rather die than to be your little feeding toy.” You honestly didn’t think that through before saying it and you knew you were going to regret it. “You see, you got a big mouth, human.” You tested the waters and clearly took a dive in. You were prepared to whatever he was going to do to you. You fucked up and you knew it.

You hands were chained, there was no where to run. You had no hamon to defend yourself with, you were starting to loose hope. You knew you couldn’t win this.

“How about I take these chains off of you?” He asked with a grin. What the hell was he planning? He could end you right there, the power that being held was incredible. He took the uncomfortable chains off you but at an incredibly slowly almost as if he was teasing you. “How about we play a fun game, just you and I?” He asked taking your chin on his hand. His hand was rough, his palms were quite firm. A game? Oh no.....

172 notes · View notes

obeywho-meduh · 3 years

Text

February 2 - Werewolf

February Monster Boyfriend Challenge

GENDER NEUTRAL READER

Non-Obey Me content

Based off @cosmic-whorror Character: Claudio

Warnings: Mentions of blood, animal cruelty (bear trap mentioning), Clastrophobia (avalanche), Near-Death Experience

Everyone around here has heard about the Legend of The Great White Wolf. You’d only lived in the area for a couple of months now but the stories of it now feel like a daily ritual when you went into town to get breakfast at the diner.

“I’m tellin’ ya! It’s at least 15 feet tall! With claws as big as a bear! I don’ know why it would attack me but it did!”

You drank your coffee as you heard some of the hunters complaining about the clearly fake animal. Or probably just a really big wolf, they aren’t as small as most people think, you would know. You’d nursed some when you were younger with your family, probably why you became a vet. But this wasn’t your concern, clearly, they haven’t been able to catch it. And no one seems to really like having these hunters here. Especially him.

He’s a pretty tall guy with pale blue eyes and blonde hair, always has a snowboard with him and is actually pretty well liked around here. “Shut the fuck up already. If you got attacked by the wolf you were doing something you shouldn’t have been doing. Let me eat my damn breakfast in peace.”

[image made by @cosmic-whorror link to image]

He seemed like a hard ass but he’d never been rude to anyone unless they deserved it.

“You gonna make me shut up? Huh? Claw??”

Getting up, you leave before anything gets worse or you get caught in the crossfire. Because you yourself had a pretty strong opinion of animals.

You love animals, maybe that’s why you found yourself living out in the woods, the trek up to your remote cabin seemed like you were entering another world. And as you were about to head inside you heard howling in the distance. Wolves are after all very common in the area but no one has ever been attacked by one. Even the supposed ‘white wolf’ has never attacked anyone. You brushed off the howl until it was followed by a whimpering wail that hit your heart as if you could feel its pain.

Quickly you set down your stuff inside and then grabbed a bigger jacket as well as your personal medical kit. Rushing out of the cabin you wrap your scarf tightly around you and head in the direction of the noise.

You knew the sound, but looking at an actual wolf is always intimidating, but when one growls at you as you approach its even more daunting.

You get down on your knees and present yourself to the wolf as you slowly move closer. You could finally see why it had been whining. It’s caught in a bear trap, its back paw was coloring the snow red around it.

“I’m not going to hurt you…” It wasn’t like it could understand but it still seemed to calm down as you inspected the trap. “I’m going to get you out.” Bear traps are terrible things, and they are even harder to get open if you didn’t have the strength to or if they were rusted. While you pushed it open you could feel the metal piercing your gloves and puncturing your hands, it stung but you needed to save this wolf.

Once it was open enough, it took its foot out and you let it go. You had assumed it would run away but it limped beside you and laid down on its side, and you could hear it panting from the pain.

Taking a deep breath, you then get your kit out and begin to stitch up what you could. To your surprise the wolf let you help it. And when you finished, it then quickly got up and while still limping ran into the woods.

“TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF!” You exhale heavily and look at your breath in the air before looking down at your bloody gloves. Luckily the cold made your hands numb and you didn’t feel the pain as much. And you can take care of your hands when you get home. Which you needed to do soon, wouldn’t be good to get frostbite.

The sunlight was waning as you finished putting together your medical kit, you didn’t bring a flashlight so you needed to head back. You could feel the temperature dropping rapidly and it looked like it was beginning to snow. The woods seemed so quiet. You didn’t hear any owls, no chickadees, the only thing that echoed were the sounds of you crushing snow under your feet. Then your nose started to tickle and you sneezed.

That became the loudest echo as it bounced around the wood of the trees and the sheets of snow. You shivered, you knew you’d walked far but it still seems like you should’ve been home by now.

Rumble

What was... No. There’s no way… The sounds of trees breaking made you turn your head. NO! You started to run in the opposite direction, this wasn’t the time for an avalanche to be descending on you. You knew you weren’t going to outrun it. There was no way.

Help...

Snow surrounded you, it hurt as it pressed you down, it’s cold and you couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe, there wouldn’t be a point in even trying to open your eyes. Plus... You were getting sleepy. No one would show up to save you. You at least helped that wolf today, that… that was enough… right?

You could feel the pressure of the snow against your chest, everything started to sting. It wasn’t going to help to cry from the pain. If you let go and you won’t have to worry about the pain anymore.

How long have you been under here? Waiting was pointless. Letting go would be easiest. Fine. You exhaled one more time before you just let your body succumb.

Not feeling how light the snow felt on you, but you did know that your body loved that soft warmth that held you. Were you dead now? Is the warmth you feel from the supposed light you see when you die?

You still didn’t want to open your eyes, but when you did the feel of the fire only made you want to go back to sleep. Yeah, it would be better especially… Wait. Fire!?

Your body tried to shoot up but you were wrapped in a big mound of fur.

Wait… This fur. IS MOVING?!

Again you tried to shift, as you did you were met with bright beautiful blue eyes as a thick tongue licking your cheek.

As your mind processed, you noticed the immeasurable size difference between you and this.. Wolf?! How’d you get here? Where was here? You look around frantically and you realize it’s actually your cabin. Your heart pounded, what was happening?!

[image made by @cosmic-whorror link to image]

Once again, the wolf licked you, only this time starting from your neck and finishing at your ear.

Your body shivered as you reflexively bonk its nose.

“Owowowow! Geez! What the hell did I do!?”

Eyes wide, jaw on the floor and it felt like you couldn’t breathe. Did… Did it just speak!?

The shock made you pass out. There would be no way an animal that size existed and on top of that! BE ABLE TO SPEAK!

When you opened your eyes again, you were on your couch but the warm feeling you got from the fur was gone. It was all probably a dream... Thank goodness…

“I just want to say that fucking hurt, can you not hit my nose anymore?”

You froze, your hand was touching something warm and as you look down you see a thigh and leg. Well… that’s not a furry body, but… You turn your head around to see that guy from the diner!

NAKED!

With you in his lap! You shoot straight up, headbutting him in the process. Oh great, now you have a splitting headache.

You could hear him growl a bit, “Why… in the fuck…” You were both holding your heads while you grabbed the blanket and put it over him.

“Uuuggghh… I think that was hard enough for a concussion…” Then your mind shot back to the avalanche and you breathing started to hasten.

“Hey!” He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into him, “You have to calm down, your body took on a couple pounds of snow.”

So it did happen. Wait…

“Did you… did you say earlier… that I hit your nose?”

“Ah…” He sighed heavily before scratching the back of his head, “Shit. Well, guess there’s no point hiding it.” His whole body morphed and about tripled in size as his blonde hair turned while but once you saw his blue eyes you knew it was the same wolf as before.

So it really wasn’t a dream.

Fuck.

“And now that you know, if you tell anyone.” He lowered his head, his breath was hot against your ear. “Then I’ll have to eat you and them.”

After a few minutes of hearing multiple threats he turned back and put on some spare clothes I had. Good thing I always buy miscellaneously large shirts and keep plenty of different sized pants. Easier to stay bundled with layers if the layers can actually go on top of one another.

“I’m Claudio by the way. Claw, preferably. And you don’t have to thank me for saving you, it was actually Nuka who told me about you being out in that area. So it’s a thanks for saving him and bandaging that wound.”

“Nuka?”

“The wolf.”

“Is he your pet?”

“No, why would he be? He’s a good friend.”

“Well he has a name so I thought..” “No, that’s what he said they call younger siblings where he comes from. So I guess he sees me as an older brother?” He shrugs while he puts on a spare jacket. “I think I’ll keep these clothes, they’re pretty nice.”

“By the way… What's your name?”

You didn’t think saving a wolf would end up with a werewolf saving you and now… we'll have to see what happens next.

#monster lover writing #monster boys #monsterbfchallenge #monster lover #monsterfucker #werewolf

84 notes · View notes