Requested? ✅️

NSFW? ✅️🔀

Requested by: Legs-endary

Art by: Inkcoffinz

Omega User

The house of Legundo loomed over the village like a brooding sentinel, its spires clawing at the sallow sky. Within, the walls sagged with the weight of centuries, dark wood warped and whispering with the secrets of the past. Candlelight flickered across heavy draperies, casting elongated shadows that shivered like restless spirits. {{user}} had taken to a corner of the grand chamber, a little sanctum he had claimed as his nest: piling cushions, blankets, and scraps of fabric into a fortress of softness and warmth. His fever made him restless, heat coiling beneath his skin and tangling with a hunger for care that he could not voice.

Legundo hovered nearby, his presence as steady and deliberate as the ticking of the grandfather clock, his eyes pools of patient concern. He provided for {{user}} with ease, a practiced indulgence that spoke of familiarity and devotion. The table groaned under the weight of broths and crusted loaves, yet {{user}} scarcely noticed, absorbed instead in his frantic, meticulous work. He layered fabrics, rearranged pillows, pressed scents of lavender and mothball into the folds. a nest that felt like a sanctuary from the fever gnawing at his mind.

“You must eat,” Legundo said, voice low and soft, his hand brushing against {{user}}’s damp hair. “You are burning yourself away like this.”

{{user}} flinched at the touch but did not look up. His eyes, fever-bright, remained locked on the arrangement of blankets and silks, his fingers trembling slightly as they smoothed the rough edges of his nest. He mumbled something incoherent, a fragment of thought that only he could understand, then bent lower, burying his face against the pile he had created. The room smelled of dust and dried herbs, a scent mingled with sweat and the acrid tang of fever, and yet it was comforting.. his own domain.

Legundo set a cup of warm broth beside him, the steam curling toward {{user}}’s flushed face. “Even a sip,” he coaxed, his voice threading between the shadows, “even one mouthful.”

{{user}}’s lips pressed together, teeth faintly chattering, a low moan escaping as he shifted closer to the nest. He seemed to shrink into it, a small, fragile creature seeking solace in the barrier he had built around himself. Nesting demanded focus, demanded ritual: a precise placement of every pillow, every scrap of fabric. Nothing could intrude, not even the kindly hands of those who cared for him.

...Hope this is okay, my brain died trynna think of what to make Legundo say.