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chestcongestion · 16 days

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Losing Your Grippe- Ch.1: Ha//zbin Ho/tel

Chapter one of the Ha/zbin Flu Longfic here we go! I'm having so much fun already with this one and I'm excited to see where we go from here. I hope you guys enjoy!

Word Count: 4,432

Content Warnings: Contagion, Really Really sad Cha/rlie (not triggering, but I know it broke my heart to write sometimes, it's hard seeing her sad)

“Eh’ptschew!”

Charlie pinched her nose using her non-dominant hand and rubbed at the sensitive skin with her fingers, shuddering under the harsh air conditioning of the elite boutique where she was being fitted for a dress by two succubi- a pair of twins named Isla and Irma.

“I’m sorry, Your Highness, was I holding the tape measure too tight?” Isla asked, sheepishly backing away and examining Charlie’s skin.

“No, no it’s okay!” Charlie replied with a chuckle, “My nose was just itchy… snff! Can I have a tissue?”

“Of course, Your Highness,” Irma- who had a measuring tape around Charlie’s thigh- replied, snapping her fingers and whistling for a tiny female imp who was standing against the wall, “Clover! Go get the box of tissues from my office!”

Clover nodded, scurrying into the back room and coming out with a freshly-opened box of lotion-soft facial tissues, hopping onto a step stool and presenting Charlie with the box, her head held down to avoid meeting the princess’s eyes.

“Thank you,” Charlie said, plucking a tissue out of the box and wiping the underside of her nostrils before attempting to blow her nose. The attempt was in vain, and after a short burst of moisture Charlie’s sinuses yielded nothing.

“E-Eih’KtSchhew! ‘KzZsHEW!” Charlie sneezed, her nose trickling slightly as she plucked three more tissues from the box in Clover’s hands, trying and failing once again to blow her nose.

“Please try and hold still, Your Highness, I’m almost done with your measurements,” Isla pleaded, measuring Charlie’s hips with the tape measure before measuring her inseam.

“sNFF! Sorry,” Charlie giggled, sheepishly, dabbing at her nostrils while trying to keep still, “Thank you for accepting my order on such short notice, I promise I’ll pay enough to make it more than worth your while.”

“Oh of course, Your Highness, it means the world to us that Hell’s heir apparent chose our little boutique to make her first ever overlord summit dress!” Isla said cheerfully.

“I wanted to be sure I got something that looked nice, this is my first time getting invited to the overlord summit, usually my dad just sends the sovereign and lesser overlords one of his advisors in his place,” Charlie explained, “This is going to be such a great advertising opportunity for the hotel!”

“Well, we’ll make sure that you look absolutely stunning on the big day,”

“Thank you so much!” Charlie said, her voice straining slightly, words grating against a suddenly-scratchy throat in a way that made her cough.

Stepping down from the measuring platform and getting dressed, Charlie scrolled through her phone while the boutique staff charged her bank card for the cost of the dress.

“Hey… I just remembered, the seamstress who I made the appointment with, the taller succubus with the star-shaped tail… is she on vacation? I wanted to speak with her about where I could buy a pair of shoes to match my dress… E-Eiih’kShhuu! E-Ehh…Eihh’ksSs-CHEW!” Charlie asked, still holding the tissues underneath her slightly-runny nose before moving a piece of her hair out of her face.

“Oh, Zurie? She’s been out for a couple of days, she has the flu,” Irma said, nervously fiddling with the buttons on her shirt.

Charlie wilted a bit, frowning, “Aww, that’s terrible, I hope she feels better.”

“We hope so too, the flu really seems to be going around,” Isla replied solemnly, “Hope you have a lovely day, Your Highness, your dress should be ready by tomorrow morning!”

“Thank you, I’ll be back to pick it up,” Charlie said, finger-combing her hair and leaving the boutique, muffling an irritated cough with her fist as she climbed into the backseat of her car.

“Where to now, Your Highness?” the driver asked.

“Uhm-” Charlie paused, still overcome by her cough, letting a few more loose before the scratchy sensation in her throat settled down, “- Sorry. I need to go to the shoe store across the street from the Richest Cup, please!”

“Understood, we should be there in fifteen minutes,” the driver replied, turning the key in the ignition and pulling away from the curb.

Later that afternoon, back at the hotel, Husk was taking inventory of the liquor behind the bar counter, writing down the bottles and fullness quantities on a clipboard as he went through the roster. While he was eyeballing the amount of liquor in a bottle of blue curacao, the front doors to the hotel swung open.

Razzle rushed through the lobby holding an array of shopping bags, scurrying to carry them upstairs so they could be put away in Charlie and Vaggie’s bedroom. Trailing slowly behind him, visibly overwhelmed, was Charlie, who quickly flopped into a stool at the bar, planting her face against the counter.

“Rough day?” Husk asked, writing down the amount in the bottle of blue curacao on his inventory sheet.

“Mmphhh,” Charlie muttered, her shoulders vibrating slightly as she shivered, turning her head so that her voice wasn’t muffled by the countertop, “I have so much to do to get ready for this event.”

“You’re workin’ yourself up over the overlord summit?” Husk asked, raising an eyebrow, “Pfft, it ain’t even worth the trouble. Then again, ‘suppose I’ve never had to go to a formal event as a lady, let alone one who gives a shit about lookin’ nice.”

“I’m so nervous, I’m getting my dress made and I looked everywhere for a pair of shoes to match my dress, and I found three pairs but I don’t know which one I’m going to go with because they’re all different heights and they have different decorations and they’re all going to be so uncomfortable on my feet and-” Charlie’s rambling was interrupted by an aggressive hacking cough that she had to quickly cover with her forearm.

Husk winced, scooping up some ice into a pint glass and pouring Charlie a glass of water, sliding it over to her on a coaster.

“Thanks,” Charlie choked out, guzzling down half of the glass before turning away to cough again, “My throat’s been so scratchy, it’s killing me.”

Husk frowned, going back to examining the bottles of liquor, “Maybe your body’s shuttin’ down because of how much you’re stressin’ over the summit,” he remarked casually, writing out the amount of cointreau behind the bar counter onto his sheet.

Charlie polished off the rest of her glass of water, shuddering a bit as she tried to compose herself, “It’s just so hard… I want this to be perfect, I have to examine all of my jewelry and figure out which pieces would go with my dress and whether or not they’d also match my shoes, and I still want them to complement what Vaggie’s gonna wear and I still have to figure out which hairstyle I’m gonna choose and whether that’s gonna go good with my outfit and my shoes and.. And…-” Charlie’s stressed rambling began to falter as tears welled in her eyes.

Husk stopped working on taking inventory and focused instead on Charlie as she tugged at her blonde locks, her face suddenly coated in a thin sheen of sweat and bags forming under her eyes.

“I still have to- khff!- have to decide whether or not I’m- Khff! Khff khff!- carrying a purse or not and-” Charlie paused, taking a wheezy inhale and turning away from Husk to release another hacking cough, and another, and another, barely having time to stop and take shallow inhales as her cheeks flushed a pinkish-red and sweat trickled down her face, dripping from her chin and nose to stain the neckline of her suit jacket.

Husk walked around to the other side of the bar, resting a hand on Charlie’s back and feeling her lungs spasming in her chest with each unproductive and throat-scraping cough, “That cough sounds rough… you alright?” Husk asked, gently patting Charlie on the back in the hopes that it would help.

Charlie’s coughing fit stopped for a moment and she gasped, finally able to fully catch her breath, wiping at her watery eyes and looking at Husk with a pitiful, exhausted expression on her face, “H-husk?” she whimpered, shivering and leaning into his touch, “I don’t feel well.”

“I figured,” Husk replied, feeling Charlie’s cheeks with the back of his hand before pressing his heart-shaped palm against her forehead, “Damn… you’re burnin’ up. Here, I’ll help you get to bed.”

Husk gently grabbed hold of Charlie’s wrists and pulled her onto her feet, not noticing Charlie’s wobbly legs and weak, staggering stance until she collapsed to her knees once he let go of her. “Charlie!” he exclaimed, panicked as he leaned down to the floor and gathered Charlie in his arms, “I’m sorry, I thought you could stand, did you hurt anything?”

Charlie shook her head weakly, coughing into her fist before wrapping her arms around Husk’s neck, “My hips hurt… and my thighs hurt, but they were hurting before I fell down,” she mumbled, “I don’t wanna go to bed, I just need to lie down… I just… just… E-Eihh’PtSsHEW!”

Husk cradled Charlie in his arms, rubbing her back as she coughed, before setting her down on the softest sofa in the parlor and watching as she struggled to settle into a reclined position, wincing with every movement as though she was in pain.

“I’m cold,” Charlie said, her voice wavering as she wiped away tears, biting her lip when her febrile shivering only aggravated the aches and pains in her body.

Husk hurried into the hallway, grabbing a plush blanket from the linen closet and returning to the living room to spread the blanket out over Charlie’s shivering form, “That any better?” he asked, his stomach twisting in knots at Charlie’s discomfort.

Charlie took in a sharp breath, letting out another aggressive cough, “A little, I’m still f-freezing,” she mumbled, her teeth chattering as she attempted to relax under the blanket, her eyelids drooping, “My head hurts.”

Husk panicked, fiddling with one of his ears as he wandered back over to the bar and soaked one of his clean dish towels in cool water, wringing it out and returning to the sofa to place it over Charlie’s eyes. For a moment, out of concern and a deep desire to feel somewhat helpful, Husk gently brushed the back of his hand against Charlie’s face, a bit of relief blooming inside of him when she sighed out of comfort.

“Better?”

“M-mhmm… E-eihh’kSShuu! Eih’KsSshew!”

“Alright, you try and get some rest, I’ll make sure you’re alright,” Husk said, gently patting Charlie’s back as she began to cough again, her eyes watering and her cheeks growing flushed again as she struggled to catch her breath.

“Vaggie…” Charlie whimpered, blinking away her tears and clutching her abdomen, “KHFFF- Khff!”

Husk’s heart swelled in his chest, and he crawled onto the sofa, gently moving Charlie until her rocket-hot and shivering body was resting against him as she sat in his lap, coughing violently over his shoulder.

“Vaggie’s still out shoppin’, she’ll be home soon, I promise,” Husk whispered, patting Charlie’s back, “It’s okay, it’s gonna be okay.”

“My… chest hurts,” Charlie said, her voice growing hoarse from her constant coughing as her nose began to trickle, the skin on her nose bridge flushing pink, “I can’t… can’t be sick, have to go to the- KHHHFF!- overlord summit… already bought my dress.”

Husk sighed, gently cradling Charlie’s back as she phased in and out of consciousness, occasionally shooting awake to cough violently for a few minutes before dozing off again, still clinging to Husk like a feverish koala.

Three hours later, Vaggie returned from her shopping trip with Alastor, and Angel returned from his shift at the porn studio at the same time. The three were flanked by Niffty, who had accompanied Vaggie and Alastor on their excursion but was hopped up on sugar from chugging slushies out of boredom while waiting for Alastor to pick out a new bowtie.

“Fuckin’ finally, you’re back,” Husk groaned, still sitting on the sofa and bouncing a barely-conscious Charlie on his knee as she coughed weakly over his shoulder.

“Yeah, took longer than I thought, I wanted to pick a dress that would match Charlie’s but I ended up just getting a couple in each color, I tried to text her to ask what dress she’d picked but she never… texted me back,” Vaggie said, her voice trailing off as she noticed her shivering girlfriend still clinging desperately to Husk, her suit jacket draped over the back of the sofa and her dress shirt soaked so heavily with sweat that her bra was visible through the sheer wet fabric, “What happened?”

“She came back from shoppin’ and faded fast, she hasn’t stopped coughing since I got her on the sofa,” Husk explained, patting Charlie’s back as another violent series of hacking coughs ripped through her chest and scraped her raw throat. Briefly, Husk pressed the back of his hand against Charlie’s neck, frowning at the searing heat of her skin.

“How long have you been sitting here with her?” Vaggie asked, raising an eyebrow as Alastor watched in anxious silence from several paces away.

“Few hours,” Husk replied, “She wouldn’t let go of me and she can’t stand up without fallin’ down.”

Vaggie chewed on her bottom lip, her stomach twisting a bit with worry as she reached out to feel Charlie’s forehead, her cool fingers sending such a wave of relief across Charlie’s hot and sensitive skin that tears of joy trickled from her eyes, “Holy shit…” she said in a hushed voice.

“Yeah,” Husk said before bracing himself to stand while still keeping a firm grip on Charlie, rising to his feet while Charlie still weakly clung to him in spite of their noticeable height difference, “This ain’t just a cold… somethin’s wrong, I think we should take her to the hospital.”

Charlie whimpered, pushing away from Husk, forcing him to hold tighter onto her to keep her from crashing and slamming her head against the hard floor, “Noo… no hospital… ‘m not sick- K H FFf- khff-khfff!- mkay, I’m a little sick… but I-I’m okay… KHHFFF-KHFF-KHFF! KOFF-Khhff-khff!- I’m fine,” she pleaded, sweat still running down her flushed cheeks as she struggled to catch her breath, her voice hoarse and her nose slightly runny.

“Sweetheart, you look awful, I just want to be able to take care of you and make you feel comfortable, and we might not be able to do that without a doctor’s help,” Vaggie said, brushing her manicured fingers against Charlie’s face and smiling when Charlie managed a small, weak smile in return, “Don’t you want to feel better?”

“Mmhm,” Charlie nodded.

“Okay, it won’t take too long, we’ll be back before you know it, mkay?” Vaggie explained, smiling when Charlie gave her another weak nod, “Alright, c’mon Husk, let’s go to the urgent care center.”

“Right behind you,” Husk said, following Vaggie back out to the car with Charlie still in his arms, leaving Angel, Alastor, and Niffty to their own devices.

“Awww, poor Charlie,” Angel crooned, combing out his fluffy pompadour with his fingers, “I oughtta make myself useful while they’re gone, c’mon Niff, let’s go make sure she’s got somethin’ to eat when she gets back.”

“Okay!” Niffty cheered, speeding past Angel to the hotel’s kitchen, still riding on a bit of a sugar high.

“You comin’ Alastor?” Angel asked, resting a hand on his hip as he scrolled through his phone with another hand for a notes app folder filled with recipes he saved.

Alastor shook his head, sticking out his tongue and shuddering as he pictured the parlor and lobby to be crawling with microbes, practically feeling them on his skin, on his clothes, in his hair, “No, I’m a bit preoccupied… I’m going to go have a bath and then have a few refreshing shots of disinfectant,” he grumbled, snapping his fingers and vanishing into his own shadow.

Angel shrugged, “What a wimp,” he said with a teasing smile until he heard pans clattering to the ground in the kitchen, “Niffty, don’t break anythin’, I’m comin’!”

An hour later, Angel and Niffty were looking at silly videos on Angel’s phone after making a large pot of tomato soup that was simmering quietly on the stove, when they heard the sound of Charlie’s coughing as she, Vaggie, and Husk entered the lobby.

“Welcome back, that was quick,” Angel said, leaning against a wall as Niffty ran in a tight circuit around his feet, still a bit hyperactive.

“Urgent care was packed, but we got seen pretty quickly once they realized who we brought with us,” Vaggie explained, holding Charlie upright even as her legs shook independent from her febrile shivering.

“Nice, so what’d they say was wrong wit’ Goldilocks?” Angel asked, reaching out to help Charlie stand as she struggled to stay on her feet.

“They did a swab test and found out she has the flu,” Vaggie said, “According to the doctor we spoke to it’s been going around like crazy.”

“e-EIih’KTtSsSHEW!” Charlie sneezed, rubbing her nose with the heel of her palm, “I’m tired…”

“I know, I know, let’s get you a cool shower so you can get nice and comfortable in bed, Hmm?” Vaggie offered.

“Okay,” Charlie sighed, leaning against Vaggie and grimacing in pain before turning to cough into her fist, “I’m sorry… it’s so hot… everything hurts.”

“I know, Babe, I’m so sorry you’re sick,” Vaggie said, gently patting Charlie’s back.

“I’ll carry ‘er upstairs for ya,” Angel said, scooping Charlie into his arms and glancing at her with concern when he felt the overwhelming amount of heat radiating off of her feverish body. Pushing that sensation aside, Angel held onto Charlie and slowly climbed up the steps toward Charlie and Vaggie’s shared bedroom, Charlie occasionally taking a shaky inhale and coughing into Angel’s shoulder while clinging to him with her arms and legs.

“You took good care of her while everybody was gone,” Niffty said almost teasingly, standing on Husk’s shoulder, “That was nice.”

“What? I can’t be nice?” Husk scoffed, tossing Niffty to the floor as though she were a clingy kitten, watching as she climbed him again effortlessly and accepted defeat, letting her use him as a perch.

“You can… it’s just rare that you’re this nice to anyone… even to Angel,” Niffty observed, “But that’s good, you’re a good kitty.”

Husk rolled his eyes, “I’ll wear it like a badge of honor, thank you Niffty,” he said, poking her before setting her back down on the floor, “I gotta finish inventory on the bar and I’m sure there’s cobwebs somewhere inside the roof or the storage attic that you can clean up until the sugar wears off.”

“O o oo! You’re right, that sounds like fun! Bye bye Husk!” Niffty giggled, sprinting up the stairs and vanishing on her way to crawl into the hotel’s makeshift-attic storage space, leaving Husk at the bar with his bottles.

Relishing in the quiet, Husk scanned his inventory sheet and decided to pick up where he left off, “Okay… I finished cointreau, onto the next one,” he muttered to himself.

Upstairs, in Charlie and Vaggie’s bedroom, Charlie had gotten out of her cool bath and was wearing a pair of lightweight cotton pajamas. Exhausted, Charlie climbed into bed and curled up under the covers, still deeply frustrated that she’d managed to fall ill so close to such an important event.

“You comfortable?” Vaggie asked, pulling a thermometer out of the drawer in her nightstand and turning it on.

“I guess,” Charlie sighed, opening her mouth and letting Vaggie slide the thermometer under her tongue, suppressing the urge to cough until the thermometer beeped, “What’s it say? K HFF- koff-koff!”

Vaggie squinted briefly at the viewing window on the thermometer, “104,” she said, cupping Charlie’s face with one of her hands.

Charlie sniffled, a pitiful frown on her face as tears ran from her eyes and trickled down her fever-rouged cheeks.

“What’s wrong?”

“I- I’m so mad at myself for getting sick- snFF!- I feel hot and everything hurts and I’m so tired and I’m going to miss the summit and it was so important that I got to go this time and the overlords are gonna be mad at me and they aren’t going to invite me again and I paid so much for that stupid dress and now I’m not gonna get to wear it and-” Charlie rambled fretfully as tears continued to fall, hiccuping sobs interrupting her as she struggled to keep it together, “This is the worst and there’s nothing I can do about it and nothing can make it better!”

Vaggie leaned forward, embracing Charlie in a tight hug as Charlie sobbed violently, “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m sure the overlords will understand and you’ll be able to go to the next summit… and we can go on a date when you’re better so you can wear your dress!” she said, rubbing Charlie’s hand in an attempt to comfort her.

“KHFF-Koff! I don’t wanna wear my dress- SnFF!- I-I wanted to wear a pantsuit but the ladies at the boutique said a dress would look better,” Charlie sobbed.

“Okay… well, I’ll call the boutique and tell them to make a pantsuit instead!” Vaggie said cheerfully, her heart aching desperately at seeing Charlie in such turmoil, “Does that help?”

Charlie sniffled, wiping her eyes with a tissue, “I-snFF! Snff!- I guess… I’m sorry Vaggie, I really don’t feel good,” she said, her voice still hoarse and weepy as she tossed the tear-soaked tissue into the trash.

“I know, Honey, I know… you’re really sick, I completely understand,” Vaggie said with a comforting smile, “What’s one thing I can do to make you feel better before you take a nap?”

Charlie coughed violently into her forearm, struggling to catch her breath afterward as she rubbed her chest with a splayed hand, “Uhm… E-eihh-KtSshheww! Could I have a glass of apple juice? I haven’t had anything to eat since breakfast but the thought of food makes me queasy.”

“Of course, I’ll be right back,” Vaggie said, giving Charlie a thumbs up and hurrying out of their bedroom and down the stairs, pouring a glass of apple juice into a large plastic cup filled halfway with ice cubes before turning to head back upstairs. On her way toward the staircase, Vaggie was interrupted by Husk, who had gotten to the letter T on his inventory list.

“She gonna be alright?” Husk asked, his tone slightly curious as he tapped his lengthy claws against bottles of tequila, counting them in his head.

“I think so… I’m not too worried about anything happening to her, if an explosion can’t kill her I don’t think the flu’s got a chance… but it’s still heartbreaking to see her so miserable,” Vaggie said solemnly, “She’s really upset that she’s going to miss the summit and I’m trying to calm her down.”

“She’ll be fine, there’ll be others… she isn’t missin’ much,” Husk scoffed, turning to shoot Vaggie an amused smile, “Best of luck, lemme know if there’s anything I can do to help while you’re takin’ care of her.”

“Will do,” Vaggie replied, rolling her eyes playfully before saluting Husk and walking back up the stairs with the large glass of apple juice in hand.

Alone again with his bottles, Husk began writing down the amount of tequila bottles behind the bar on his inventory sheet when he felt a looming presence around him and scoffed, completely unfazed and unamused with the perpetrator’s antics.

“Alastor, if you’re gonna skulk in the shadows like a dick, I’m not gonna humor you, either get up or fuck off,” Husk grumbled, looking over to the left of the bar as Alastor appeared out of the shadows, dusting himself off.

“Euch, no amount of bathing managed to get me clean enough,” Alastor gagged, sticking out his tongue, “Charlie is a lovely young lady, very kind, but also the thought of her germs being on me makes my skin crawl.”

“Oh please, you weren’t even near her, if anyone should be worried about gettin’ sick it’s me, and you don’t see me freakin’ out now do you?” Husk asked, raising an eyebrow and folding his arms, smirking when Alastor gave him nothing but a flustered mess of indignant grumbling in response, “Mmhm, exactly.”

“I’m half inclined to avoid you for the foreseeable future if that’s the case,” Alastor said, taking a couple of steps away from Husk and wrinkling his nose in disgust, “Catching this is absolutely not in my plans for the upcoming week… or ever.”

“You don’t gotta worry about me, I’m fine,” Husk said, looking at Alastor with an unbothered look in his eyes and a playful smirk, “Nobody else is sick, not even close, you’re just a fuckin’ germaphobe.”

“Indeed I am, and I wear it with pride,” Alastor said, turning his nose up in the air, indignant that Husk was mocking him for his sense of caution.

“Well, can you wear it with pride someplace else? I’m busy,” Husk said, going back to counting bottles, his heart-shaped nose twitching slightly as he focused.

“Hmph! If you insist… I’ll be back,” Alastor sighed, retreating into his own shadow and vanishing to go back to whatever he was doing, leaving Husk alone behind the bar with nothing but his own breathing and the quiet ambience of the evening to keep him company.

For a moment, Husk pondered Alastor’s overblown concerns, realizing that for him the concerns were much more realistic, he spent the better part of three to four hours neck-deep in Charlie’s germs… and the flu was known for being particularly infectious…

“Nahhh, I’m fine, Alastor’s got the immune system of a wet sock in a wind tunnel, I’ll be fine,” Husk said in a futile attempt to reassure himself, “It was only a few hours, it takes longer than that to catch it from somebody… yeah.”

Husk paused, going back to examining his inventory sheet in silence when a violent tingling sensation from an unknown irritant radiated through his nose, causing his adorable heart-shaped button to twitch and wiggle. His nose grew itchier and itchier and itchier until-

“HRrr’SsCHOO! H-hRrr’SSCHUHH!”

Husk gave a damp sniffle, wiping at his nostrils with the back of his hand. Slightly nervous, Husk swallowed, choosing to ignore the fact that he felt a faint tickle in the back of his throat.

“I’m fine… I’m fine,” Husk insisted, chasing his willfully ignorant affirmations with a swig of whiskey.

#ha/zb/in ho/tel #snz #illness kink #gingey.rtf

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hanasnx · 4 months

Note

I'd like to hand some thoughts over to you, darling:

Temuera Morrison, who plays Boba Fett in BOBF is 5'7"

Fett is a clone, just like the rest of the troopers Anakin commanded in the Clone Wars. So...

Anakin who's getting that second, early-20s growth spurt and suddenly shooting up to 6'7"? He towers over the entirety of the men under his command.

His robes swirl around his mid thigh. They're too short, too tight to leave much to the imagination - he's been eating the high protein rations given to the rest of the troops and physically exerting himself for a full year at this point.

He's a hulking giant on the battlefield, a man barely in his twenties taking droids apart with his bare hands sometimes - it's just easier than taking the effort to use the Force.

The armour just makes him even broader.

Eventually it gets to the point where he comes back to base with torn up robes that are unsalvageable, and he has to visit the supplies depot

A pretty lil thing there has to measure his inseam to see if she can replicate jedi robes. She sits on her heels and reaches up only to realize she can't easily reach from instep to groin that way.

He's too tall. Too big. And he's staring down at her, who's sitting at his feet and feeling up his trunk-like thighs, pilot flame eyes burning into her.

...I should just write the damn thing, FUCK

anakin towering over his men makes me crazy bcos i just know he's got those men thirsting over him. they ask him to lift heavy stuff for them sometimes. "taking droids apart with his bare hands" this is so real and so special to me because that bit in tcw where he punches and knees a droid changed me as a person, he is so crazy. but yea i can imagine him twisting off its head and rex is like ???

you've seen him around. he lumbers across camp with that terrifying determined look in his eye. you've always been too scared to talk to him directly, and now he's barking orders at you like you're one of the privates under his command. hastily you measure so you can ready your sewing kit and repair his sacred garments, but when you look up at him you realize you're not tall enough even on your knees.. and then the compromising position goes straight to your head.

"well?" he questions, and you don't even know what to say.

#indy shoots the shit #thanks for the msg!!#prompted-wordsmith #ch: 6'7!anakin

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neopuppy · 1 year

Text

MFAL: Part 2

Preview: You have to escape your packs land after a human hunter invasion. The Lee pack becomes your new home. Only one problem, future head alpha Jeno Lee can’t stand you.

Pairing: Alpha JenoxFemale Omega Reader

Word Count: 3k

Genre: a/b/o AU, M/F, M/M mentioned, angst, enemies to lovers, numerous idols mentioned. Ten is your bff.

Warnings: tsundere Jeno, scenting, possessive behavior

a/n. I deleted the original post accidentally. my apologies!💚

MFAL masterlist

“What did you spend your days doing back at your pack?” Ten asks you as he shows how to clean off the fur pelts. The entire village preparing for the arrival of a new season to celebrate. You comb through the knots in what you can only assume was once a black bear, smoothing oil along the coat.

“Well, I mostly assisted my mother with embroidery for the pack. She was our main seamstress..” you finish, mouth quivering in the memory of what once was your beautiful life. Ten frowns shampooing down what looks like a coyote fur.

“You probably miss them a lot…” he mumbles sorrowfully. “I know we’ve only just met, and I’ll never be able to replace your family..” Ten holds on to your arm, gently petting over your skin. “But, I’ll always be here for you. Whatever you need, anything, don’t hesitate to ask me. You are my family now.” He smiles brightly, pearly white teeth all on display. You gently smile back in return, very appreciative to have a bed and food. Even if all new smells around you were exhausting to absorb, and even if the food wasn’t agreeing with your stomach.

“Let’s get these dried furs inside. Some of the alphas should be arriving in a bit for measurements.” Ten begins unclipping the dried furs the omegas had cleaned up the previous day. You follow him inside the sewing room, mainly as help still shadowing over him to learn the ways of the pack.

“We have to be sure our alpha’s can stay warm on the hunt. Our meteorologist believes this will be one of our harshest winters yet. I’m sure you noticed most of us just walk around in these flimsy one piece cotton garments. Luckily alpha body heat protects them, and us.” he finishes with a suggestive smirk, setting up a belt around his thin waist with sewing needles and thread. The door opens, a broad figure leading into a defined waist stepping in. He bows with a charming smile, long neck exposed as he straightens up.

“Jaemin!” Ten exclaims, he moves beside you grabbing onto your hand. “This is one of our strongest alphas, Na Jaemin. My little trouble making puppy Nana.”

You bow in return to the alpha introducing yourself. He continues to sport a large smile welcoming you to the pack. The door opens up again, Jeno stepping in with another well built alpha. Jeno looks your way releasing an annoyed sigh, moving in the opposite direction, standing furthest away. The new alpha introducing himself as ‘Jaehyun’, Jeno’s second lead in command. Ten begins measuring around Jaemin’s frame, the two flirting as Jaemin jokes asking if Ten has shrunk recently.

You look toward the alphas chatting with each other, neither giving you much of a thought. You fiddle with the measuring tape nervously that Ten had set you up with.

“You know how to measure an inseam right?” Ten asks from behind Jaemin, reaching across the span of his shoulders. You nod, bending at your knees to measure up Jaehyun’s leg. His bare thigh muscle twitches near your face. Jeno’s jaw clenches, eyes focused on your small hands hovering around Jaehyun’s body trying your best to not touch him. Jaehyun lifts his arms up above his head stretching dramatically with a deep groan. His pelvis moving forward, cloth lifting up grazing over your cheek. You flinch falling down onto your knees dropping your hands. His peachy scent catapulting into your senses, blood rushing up your neck. You look up to apologize, the alpha beaming deep set dimple adorned cheeks.

“Looking good down there” Jaehyun lifts a brow, relaxing his arms chest flexed out.

Jeno steps forward shoving him back enough for Jaehyun to stumble. Jaehyun grunts setting his balance looking at Jeno with confusion.

“Enough fucking around. I need to speak with the council soon. You can play with this..” Jeno swallows down, neck bobbing. “This, omega” he emphasizes with distaste. “After she finishes up with me.”

“Aye aye captain” Jaehyun says sarcastically with a nod backing away to step outside. Jeno crosses large arms over over his chest staring straight ahead, legs slightly parted. You gaze over his substantially larger size hovering above you. Pine scent much more intense at this level.

“Is there a reason you’re just sitting on your ass gawking at me?” Jeno says, jaw tight as always not sparing you a glance. You shake your head quickly moving to crawl closer, fumbling straightening out the tape. Jeno’s legs are built up from years of physical work, scars decorated over his shins.

“Alpha, I could sew you some pelts together to protect your legs.” You look up with a smile proud of your idea. Jeno slowly tilts his chin down to look at you, teeth gritted behind tensed lips. His darkened eyes scan over your face, chest moving up and down with deep shallow breaths.

“I noticed…the scarring..” eyes falling back down as your mind clouds over, fingers lightly skimming the skin. Jeno’s body heat is fiery, fingertips burning to the touch. His leg jolts away as if repulsed, the rest of Jeno’s body shifting forward, momentarily losing balance. You gasp holding your hands up gripping onto thick firm thighs. The scent hits you intensely at first, and then something large and hard lands against your cheek. Jeno grips at your shoulders, teeth clamped down into his lower lip. Your jaw drops open gasping, silent scream falling out of your throat.

“God you two, we’re still here you know” Jaemin laughs looking over the predicament you and Jeno have landed in. Ten cringes and starts slapping at Jeno’s shoulder.

“Oh my god get off of her!” He squeaks out. Jeno sucks in air harshly, grabbing your shoulders and shoving you away roughly. You let out a yelp landing on your back, hitting the chair behind you hard on the way down. Your face curls up in anguish groaning out, the coil forming in your stomach long forgotten.

“Jeno! What the fuck!” Jaemin yells out falling down to check on you. Jeno’s panting picks up, sweat trickling down his bare chest. He pushes his way past Ten storming out of the room. Jaemin lifts you up into his sturdy arms easily checking over you for any bruising. You groan rubbing at the back of your head, blinking at the light burning your vision.

“What the hell was that about?” Ten asks confused settling next to Jaemin, stroking over your forehead. Jaehyun makes way back inside, eyebrows furrowing at the display before him.

“Is it my turn? Jeno just stormed out running toward the river so..”

Jaemin and Ten share a look between each other in a ‘you thinking what I’m thinking?’ way. They both look down at you after concerned, Ten suggesting they carry you to the infirmary just in case.

——————————————————————-

“Are you sure you’re feeling ok? I feel so awful that my brothers been such an ass since the day we brought you in. He’s not really like this! Ever!” Ten walks with you arm and arm out of the canteen after eating lunch together.

“I’m fine” you smile, elixir of eucalyptus and peppermint having calmed down the small throbbing headache. Ten pulls you toward the direction of the nursery.

“The smell of pups always puts me in a good mood. Our damn omega nature.” He opens up the cabin door where the pack pups attend daycare while their parents complete daily tasks. The smell of baby powder and fresh warm milk completely engulfing you like a hug. You let out a big smile instantly relaxing.

“Oh! I didn’t expect any guests today..” a tall lanky boy in thick framed glasses looks between the two of you at the entrance.

“Oh I’m sorry Sungchan, it’s an emergency! Need to sniff a baby!” Ten laughs running toward the area where some of the pups are painting. They all giggle and scream excitedly, clinging off Ten as he sits with them. Sungchan folds his arms over his chest with a smile.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced, I’m Sungchan. I teach the kids language learning, basic home economic skills.” His figure towers above you, not intimidating enough to be an alpha. Loud screaming and laughter interrupt you both drawing your attention to the garden.

Another tall lanky framed boy runs inside, one pup under each arm pretending to fly with their arms spread out. He easily swoops them through the air voicing out flight controls as their laughter resounds out.

“andddd that would be my older brother, Jungwoo” Sungchan lets you know. Your smile grows watching as this beta sets down the pups tickling over them. Jungwoo’s laugh is loud, smile wide and child like himself. Your heart beats a little faster watching him pretend to pass out as another pup stabs at him with a plastic sword.

“My brother, physically a man, mentally a pup still” Sungchan laughs shaking his head. “Excuse me, I’m going to check on the kids before Ten let’s them paint on the walls again.”

You nod still smiling, the most at ease you have felt since arriving to the Lee pack. The loud beta sits back up acting like a zombie now, crawling on his knees after the screaming pups shouting out “Brains! Want brains!”. His eyes open up landing on yours, plump lips parting open.

“Oh my Goddess…..it’s you!” He stumbles to stand up dusting himself off quickly, smoothing the wrinkles off the cloth body garment betas all seem to wear. He runs a hand through his hair walking over to you nervously, head ducked.

“Hi…uh, I looked for you today at breakfast” he says contemplating. The beta moves around you to the small fridge behind a desk. He returns with a tote in hand. “I…may have overheard you mention your previous pack lived off mostly fruit and vegetable. Picked these from our garden here, maybe this can help?” Jungwoo opens up the bag filled with apple, banana, corn, potato and carrots. Your jaw falls open, gasping astonished.

“They’re fresh, the pups help with planting them” he lets you know with a smile, shyly handing you the thin filled up fabric.

“I can’t accept these! I don’t deserve..” you start before Jungwoo cuts you off.

“It’s ok! There is always more where that came from right? It’s no worries honestly. Please, enjoy them well.” His smile radiating warmth as he rubs over the back of his neck. “I’m Jungwoo by the way, one of the packs betas. You’ll typically find me here training the pups or out on the farm maintaining the crops. I would have introduced myself sooner but, felt wrong after the way future head alpha sort of had all eyes on you..” you cringe at the memory as he finishes.

“How can I repay you for this?” You ask clutching the bag to your chest. Jungwoo continues smiling, eyes sparkling scrunched up. Your stomach runs around in circles, heart thumping as if it may burst out of your chest.

“No please, it’s enough for me to know you’ll be able to adjust easier now with food you’re more familiar with” you start to nod, the door opening up. Jungwoo’s smile falters, eyes opening up completely in surprise. “Oh, alpha Jeno..we didn’t expect your presence today..”

Jeno glares between you and Jungwoo, eyes squinted as he looks back and forth. His nostrils twitch, mouth pursed of course. Jungwoo takes a step away from you rubbing over his arms now. Jeno nods to a bag on his shoulder, shifting the weight of it.

“Supplies your brother ordered last week just came in.” He mutters out, shoving the large bag into Jungwoo’s chest. Jungwoo grunts with a cough nodding, bending at the knee to hoist up the weight.

“Thank You alpha” he nods. Jungwoo looks toward you, throwing you a nod turning to walk away. You chew over your lip, eyes locked on his retreating figure. Jeno clears his throat, large size looming near you. You sigh, smiling to yourself with a glance at the bag of produce. The small gesture warming your insides up. Jeno watches you in confusion smiling like an idiot, clearing his throat again more obviously.

“We need to talk” Jeno mumbles, making his way back out the door. You smile wider to yourself, butterflies fluttering about your insides. Jeno rolls his eyes, grabbing your bicep to pull you out of the room. You lurch back landing against his sturdy build, bare chest warm against your back. Bag slipping from your hold in surprise, an apple rolling out onto the cabins porch. Jeno grips onto your waist, large hands nearly able to envelope you completely, watching the fruit land. Your chest beats rapidly through your ears, Jeno swallows in air audibly shoving you away.

“Is it my responsibility to follow you around and make sure you don’t crack your skull open now?” He spits out, tone evidently annoyed. You ignore him catching yourself, kneeling to grab your things. “and what is this omega? Stealing food from children now too?” You snap to look at him, clutching at the apple that escaped.

“I would never do such a thing!” You stand up pushing into Jeno’s space, body hovering above you much higher standing about 6ft. “How dare you accuse me of something so cruel!” You cry out, losing control over your emotions. A common issue that seems to arise whenever Jeno is near you. He stares down at you, eyes blinking faster, lip trembling.

“Then what is this?” Jeno yanks the bag from your grip, opening up the evidence to deem you guilty in his eyes.

“That was given to me!” You screech grabbing out, Jeno lifts the bag up higher out of your reach.

“Jeno Lee!” A pleasant familiar voice calls out, Jungwoo stepping outside the nursery to check on all the noise. “I..it was me! I gave her those!” He calls out softly, moving to stand between you and Jeno. You glare at him from behind Jungwoo’s, albeit slim, broad and long figure that conceals you. Jeno steps back, shocked expression passing over his features.

“What?..What did you just say to me beta?”

“I over heard what happened the other day. I was just trying to help.” Jungwoo’s neck slouches, eyes falling to the ground. You move to stand by his side, ripping the bag out of Jeno’s hand while he’s distracted.

“It costs no one anything to be nice, did you know that alpha?” You say with watery eyes, telling yourself to not waste tears. You take Jungwoo’s hand, motioning to head back inside. Jeno stands stiffly watching the door shut behind you in confusion. How does this keep happening? He was going to apologize about what had happened earlier, why couldn’t he control himself around you? You were just so hard headed and difficult.

Jeno sighs rubbing his hands over his face roughly, pulling at his hair. He tells himself to shake it off, what does it matter if some dense omega dislikes him. He grinds his teeth together pulling the satchel around his waist forward. He pulls out a banana that he’d been carrying since breakfast.

Jeno walks away mumbling to himself “stupid omega….or pitiful alpha”

————————————————————————-/

“Look at all of this! Oh you cannot wear any of those pelts. It will give everyone the wrong idea if you walk around smelling like an alpha.” Taeyong exclaims sorting through the gifts piling up at the entrance of the Lee omegas cabin.

“But why do they keep dropping them off then?” You asked confused looking through the wooden made trinkets, thick winter garments, and bed throws.

“Baby, they’re trying to court you!” He says with a laugh. “You’re so innocent, it’s adorable. Shit, if I only had a knot, or well….if only you did” he winks laughing, always so bubbly.

“Court me? They don’t even know me? I don’t know them?” You grimace at the burnt licorice scent wafting off a pelt throwing it aside.

“That’s the point, they want to know you. They want you to know them. You know my dad courted my mom just by sending her a bouquet of roses heavily dosed in his scent. She says it was enough to trigger her heat, she was always such a bad liar though.” Taeyong holds a crocheted top against his body, nose twitching. “Hey!” He sniffs at it, eyebrows furrowing. “Peaches?!?..damn it Jeong Jaehyun!” His slim figure storms off crinkling up the yarny garment. You laugh a little puzzled sorting the pelts into a pile since you won’t be keeping any.

“What is all of this here now?” Ten asks from behind you as he catches his breath. You shrug smiling more as you finish up the stack.

“Taeyong says I’m high in demand” you say turning around, taking a step back surprised yet again. Jeno’s much larger frame looming next to him. They both carry logs of wood beneath their arms, Jeno holding more.

“Oh my god are these all for you? and here I thought I was the packs most desired omega.” He grunts adjusting the logs. “Ugh Jeno, put those down and help me! My arms are going to fall off!” Jeno scans over everything on the porch anxiously, nodding rapidly moving to set down the logs. Ten groans dramatically dropping all the ones in his hold, wiping dust off himself.

“Where is my dreamy alpha to do this crap for me when I need him?” He scoffs reaching for your hands. “Sooo, anything entice you yet?” Ten asks wiggling his brows. You roll your eyes with a laugh head shaking.

“Not quite” Ten pouts swinging your linked hands back and forth.

“Well there’s still the Winter festivities to look forward to. We have to find you something to wear, put those things on display.” He says pulling open your arms with a nod to your chest. Jeno grunts irritated, hoisting up the wood Ten had discarded.

“I’ll be taking these inside.” He grits out walking away, shoulders tensed, jaw locked tightly.

“Come on, I’ll make us all some tea.” You follow Ten inside, Jeno set up at the hearth that hadn’t been much in use since last Winter.

Ten drags you along to the kitchen starting up the kettle.

“Soo, what was that all about back at the nursery earlier? Didn’t take you as one to go for betas, but never judge a book by it’s cover!” He asks drizzling golden honey into three mugs. Your eyes widen, lifting the mug up to blow over the hot tea.

“Not sure what you mean..” you take a sip, honey warming over your throat. Jeno approaches, grabbing his own mug, molded over pine scent floating around you. Your nose twitches, nostrils sucking in at the bitterness. Ten looks back and forth between you too, picking up on the sourness in the air, forehead creasing in thought.

“I should be heading out now” he finishes off the beverage, leaning in to kiss over Ten’s cheek goodbye without sparing you a glance before exiting.

“….he’s still being a brat huh?” Ten tsks, moving into the lounge room area where the hearth now lights up the walls. He sniffs about glancing around in confusion.

“That’s…strange..Jeno must have forgotten his coat. He never just leaves this thing laying around.” Ten picks up a pristine white pelt from the make shift bed you’d been using in the cabin. He shakes it out moving to hang it up, Jeno’s powerful scent filling up the entire room. You lay down weakly on your bed, mind fogging up. The crisp scent pine after rain engulfing you in warmth as your eyes fall shut.

#jeno smut #lee jeno smut #nct dream smut

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wri0thesley · 2 years

Text

thinking about being apprentice to a tailor in mondstadt; perhaps with one with a sterling reputation, who deals with the elite, the powerful, and anyone who can afford to have their clothes tailored instead of simply making do and mend.

measuring up diluc’s inseam, when your master tells you to do that because he’s getting old and his hands are cramping, and how diluc’s cheeks flood red at it. carefully wrapping your tape measure about jean’s bust whilst she remains as stately and as self-assured as ever, though you can see her eyes look heavy and your gentle touches seem to make her want to fall asleep. feeling kaeya’s muscles flex beneath his loose shirt as you measure the span of his back and he chuckles and says ‘don’t be scared, sweetheart. you can get up close and personal with me, i don’t mind a bit’. fingers brushing lisa’s bare thigh over her stockings as you check a hem-line and you begin to get all flustered whilst she just smiles knowingly down at you.

ah. how often you find yourself wordless and embarassed. how much gossip you must pick up on. and how intimately you have grown to know certain details about people (kaeya asks for his trousers to cling tightly to his rear. diluc’s shirts need more give across the shoulders to allow for ease of movement wielding a claymore. lisa has a mole on her right breast that she prefers her neckline cover up. albedo’s shorts need to be let out in the crotch area, or they’re too tight for him there and he risks letting people see more of him than they should)--

#nat.txt #concept postin #not sfw text #genshin impact posting #JHBVFDJHBFVDHBJVDF

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separatist-apologist · 1 year

Text

The Great War

I vowed I would always be yours

Summary: Feyre Archeron's kingdom has been warring with King Rhysand for longer than she can recall. When, on an unlucky stroke, he stumbles upon her and her sisters locked in a tower, Feyre will do whatever it takes to keep him from finding them.

Even marrying him.

Happy @unofficialfeysandmonth2022 (but really LB appreciation month!) My only multi-chaptered offering.

Read more on AO3

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Azriel was gone the next morning. Feyre had stomped out of her room to look for him only to be turned around by an irritated servant. Straight back to the ultra-smug Rhysand needling her all through breakfast. She wished for another knife to drive through his gut, or at least a willingness to get close enough to his face, if only to slap the smile right off him.

Feyre only wanted to know one thing, and she asked it constantly. “Have you heard from my sisters?”

Feyre asked multiple times a day, bursting into his office and interrupting whatever business he was trying to conduct. It was the only time she saw that flash of temper in his violet eyes before smoothing it over and assuring her he had not.

He had his revenge with his seamstresses. After dinner, Feyre was stripped naked while fabric was draped, pinned, and sewn around her body. Shoes were made for her feet and one evening, after stepping from the bath, several women all but pinned her to the ground to measure her inseam and bust in order to create delicate underthings her new husband might enjoy.

She didn't want Rhysand to enjoy one single moment of their impending marriage. She had no plans of letting him enjoy her body, at any rate, and caught herself wondering on more than one occasion what would happen if she slipped a knife in her underwear. He’d pull them off, thinking he was about to get what he wanted—her utter submission—and instead find himself missing his favorite appendage.

The ticking clock of that cursed night was approaching with each passing night. Feyre was practically vibrating by the time she reached the forty-eight-hour mark. Two days left of belonging only to herself. There was no way out—she was too carefully watched. Guards were stationed at every door every hour of every day, while others patrolled the forest.

At least, that was what Rhys had told her. She didn’t think she wanted to test him, if only to avoid knowing what his body felt like on top of hers. Feyre could still feel the phantom squeeze of his thighs around her waist, of the warm, hard slab of his chest when they’d been body to body. Hell, sometimes she woke and swore his calloused fingertips were bruised against her wrists.

Irritated that any part of her had a reaction to him kept Feyre from being pleasant. When she couldn’t find a way to occupy her time after lunch, Feyre turned to her all-time, favorite activity–annoying the king, simply to remind him this was to be the rest of his life.

Feyre found him in the throne room. Unlike his usual, straight-back demeanor, today Rhysand was sprawled over the throne casually. He had his powerful legs spread open while he rested his head on his first. A feline smirk graced his handsome face as he stared down some blonde courtier just before him.

“Where are—”

Rhys held up two fingers, not bothering to look at her at all. Feyre halted, her slippered feet sliding over the marble in her haste. He’d never ordered her silence before. The silver gown she wore whispered through the silent room, the only sound as all heads turned to look. Only Rhysand kept his lethal, violet gaze on the man before him.

“So it’s true,” the blonde whispered, his hushed tone filled with venom. Feyre’s heart spiked—she’d forgotten how hated she was here. Rhysand had made her forget with his teasing, while his servant’s gazes had softened. Now, though, every eye in his expansive, black marble throne room stared at her with nothing but abject disgust.

She felt small and foolish all of the sudden. Rhysand’s eyes snapped to her face, as if he’d heard her thoughts.

“Come, Feyre darling,” he murmured, those two fingers that had once silenced her now beckoning for her to join him. She hesitated before practically tripping towards him, heart thudding painfully in her throat. He was going to embarrass her in front of these powerful men. She knew this game all too well–how often had her own father let his court make sport out of her and her sisters to appease their small, fragile egos?

If she turned and fled, they’d mock her cowardice. They’d be twice as cruel the next time she saw them. The crowd parted for her, letting her walk in an unbroken line over the swirled onyx marble. A chandelier overhead threw light across carved pillars, while a wall of unbroken windows offered no relief from the snow-filled gloom outside.

When Feyre reached the first of the four steps that would have led to the dais, of which Rhysand was still perched atop, he stood gracefully. He came to meet her, offering her his hand like the picture of courtly manners.

She had no choice but to take it. The half-smile on his face and the softening around the edges of his eyes certainly seemed real. Rhysand led her up the steps, slid his hand over her waist, and smoother than water, brought them both to the throne before she could catch her breath. Rhysand settled her in his lap so her back was flush against his chest, his thigh wedged between her legs.

The intimacy of her posture made Feyre’s cheeks burn.

“Magnificent, isn’t she?” he murmured. His thumb rubbed indolent circles against her waist while the other gently pushed her hair all to one shoulder. She felt his lips brush the side of her neck as he stared down his court, daring these powerful men to challenge him.

No one spoke. Not even Feyre, who had no problem telling him exactly what she thought, often as she thought it. The whole thing was theater, though it took her a moment to realize it. Rhysand had made a choice outside of his court's opinion, and now he meant to enforce it.

“Your majesty–”

“Bow,” Rhysand interrupted, using one of his long fingers, clad in a silver ring, to draw a lazy picture on the lace covering her shoulder. “Bow before my new wife. Show her your respect before you speak to me”

Feyre’s heart hammered in her chest for an entirely different reason. At no point in her life had anyone ever bowed before her. The daughter of a king, for all it mattered—and it didn’t. Not until that moment, perched in her enemy's lap while he touched her with lazy, teasing strokes, did Feyre feel a small sliver of power.

Begrudgingly, every body in that room fell to one knee. Heads bowed, eyes lowered, while Feyre watched with surprised, parted lips.

“Tell me what it was you wanted when you first came in, my darling,” Rhysand murmured, his breath warm against her ear. The smell of him was just as intoxicating as his show of strength. Feyre knew that he was well aware of why she’d burst in.

He shifted his thigh, rubbing between her legs without meaning to. She gasped ever so slightly at the bolt of pleasure that speared through her, causing her to grip his other thigh in order to keep from rubbing against him.

She cleared her throat softly. “My sisters,” she whispered.

His teeth grazed her throat as he replied, “Safe. As I promised they would be.”

She had no response for him. It was as if he’d stolen every last inch of her ability to fight when he’d put her on his throne.

Feyre swallowed, “Rhysand—”

“Rhys,” he interrupted, ignoring how his court was still bowed. “Call me Rhys.”

“If you’re busy, I can leave–”

“Stay,” he murmured, that finger crooking under her chin to make her look directly at him. His eyes slid to her mouth, nostrils flaring. “I find these things so terribly dull by myself. Your presence has improved my mood, which I’m sure my court can appreciate.”

Against her will, Feyre’s own gaze found his full, sensual mouth.

What was happening to her? She nodded, putty in his very large hands. She thought he might kiss her at that moment, and what was worse, didn’t think she’d stop him if he tried.

“Rise,” Rhys ordered, his voice laced with boredom. He settled back against his throne, one arm wrapped around her waist to bring her with him. With a fluid, almost practiced movement, everyone was back on their feet. Resentment burned in the eyes of several of the lords and all of it was pinned directly on her.

She was the enemy here. Did they imagine she’d somehow enthralled their king? Or did they just loathe the idea of hosting their enemy's daughter when they imagined their own sitting in his lap. Feyre tried to create a mask of boredom so similar to the man behind her, but her anxiety was written all over her face.

“Kier is my steward,” Rhys explained, his voice loud enough for everyone could hear him. Keir offered Feyre a nod of his blonde head, unable to keep his hatred out of his brown eyes. “He’s been detailing my court expenses.”

“I was unaware we would be accounting for a wedding,” Keir snapped. Rhys straightened, fingers tightening against Ferye’s waist.

“Did you think I would joke about taking a wife?” Rhys asked, his voice lethal—deadly. Keir immediately backed down, stuttering a step backward.

“My apologies, my lord. It’s just…I assumed this was a ploy for her father's attention.”

“Look at her,” Rhys murmured, some of his anger ebbing. Feyre shifted, nervous with all the eyes pinned to her form. She very much did not want them to look at her. “The north has never once produced anything half as beautiful as Feyre darling. Why shouldn't she be mine?”

His court could do nothing but agree. In Feyre’s whole life, no one had ever called her beautiful. Elain, yes—often comparing the two of them with a pitying stare. Nesta, too, in her regal, unyielding sort of way had been called beautiful, though Nesta always bared her teeth at such a compliment.

And then there was her. Strange, awkward Feyre, always in the shadow of her older, prettier sisters. No one had ever thought anything of her. Not until just now, when Rhysand had called her magnificent.

Beautiful.

She couldn’t tell if he was mocking her or not. She wanted to turn and see if there was any honesty on his face. Feyre couldn’t bear to see this was all some terrible joke, which kept her pinned against him with a dry throat and sweating palms.

“I trust we’re not suffering?” Rhys drawled, his fingers creeping lower over her dress. Everyone pretended they didn’t notice the way he was touching her. Feyre wished she could, but each long swipe over the fabric left a wake of heat pooling in her core.

“No, lord.” “Good. You may continue if there is more? Otherwise, stop wasting my time.”

Feyre scooted back against him, trying to escape the onslaught of sensation writhing through her. This time, when she accidentally ground her bottom against him, it was Rhys who hissed a surprised breath of air. His whole body went taut beneath her, his secret accidentally revealed. His cock was now nestled neatly against her ass, utterly rigid in his excitement. He wasn’t unaffected, then. For a moment, a thrill of arousal slithered down her spine and she half twisted. Hazy with lust, she’d forgotten that she hated this man—she merely wanted to touch. Their eyes met and he saw her intention plain as day, his violet eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and what she thought might be a relief.

Do it, his gaze seemed to dare. Feyre bunched her fingers into fists, holding them in her lap as she turned away. She tried to hold herself still, an impossible task when he continued his onslaught of touch. Feyre couldn’t keep her body from reacting. While another courtier droned on and on about the coast, Rhys pressed his lips experimentally against her neck for a feather-soft kiss. She arched without meaning to, which in turn caused his cock to jump against her back.

Feyre tried—and failed—not to think about his sheer size. She hadn’t lied when she’d told him she’d been with another man. Only one, a handful of times. The stablehand back home, Isaac, had been convenient for a girl unwilling to be traded like cattle on the back of her virginity. She’d merely wanted to get it over and done with as quickly as possible, both to de-mystify sex, and to be able to tell any future husband he hadn’t had her first. That she’d made that choice for herself, irrespective of his wishes for a virginal bride. Isaac had been so unexpectedly kind that Feyre had come back a handful of times, exploring her own sexuality with someone obviously doing the same.

It had been sweet—two kids on the cusp of adulthood trying to figure themselves out. Rhysand, behind her, was hardly a boy. The sheer size of his cock, coupled with the way he lightly touched her, the way he let his breath curl over the back of her neck, and how his lips were always grazing the lobe of her ear, made Feyre think that Rhys was well practiced.

Skilled.

Someone used to getting exactly the reaction he wanted. That made him dangerous, and her stupid for getting so close to him. Feyre had never been more relieved than when Rhys dismissed his court. The sun had begun to set, bathing the already dark room in inky shadows.

When she tried to rise, his grip on her body tightened. She, too, was desperate to escape him. Trapped, Feyre kept herself still until the last courtier vanished. She didn’t want to be the subject of their gossip any more than she was certain she already was.

Only when the door slammed shut did she squirm against him.

Rhys lifted his hips, exhaling a loud, long breath. “Stars above, Feyre. Turn around and look at me.”

She did turn, only to slap him roughly in the face. “You had no right,” she breathed, hating how badly she wanted to slam her mouth against his own. To do so was to teach him he could make a spectacle of her and still get what he seemingly wanted.

One hand caged around her wrist as his cheek bloomed red from her assault. “You know I like it when you hit me, darling,” he growled, pushing his erection against her.

“You’re an ass,” she accused, her other hand slipping from his chest. A dagger, hidden from his belt, grazed her overheated fingers. Rhys was too busy staring at her mouth to realize what she’d just found.

“I’m about to be your husband,” he replied, loosening his hold on her other hand. “Wouldn’t you like to know what it’s like to be with me? To try me out?”

Gods, but some depraved part of her did. She was still twisted against him, his thigh rubbing between her legs with obvious intention. Feyre was going to break, was already so wound up and unable to pretend the attraction between them wasn’t two-sided.

“I’m sure you’ll make it suitably horrible,” she breathed, eyes drifting to his mouth again. Fuck her, she needed to get away from him. “I have no interest in an early preview of what promises to be a boring, uneventful night.

He chuckled, refusing to release her even when the hand not hovering by his dagger shoved at his chest.

“Boring? Even you don’t believe that,” he said, licking his lips with obvious anticipation. He thought he was going to get his way, that he’d cajole and she’d spread her legs for his pleasure.

Fuck. Him.

Feyre pulled the dagger from its sheath and pressed the jagged teeth against his tender flesh. Rhys arched his neck, as if to give her better access.

“What a predicament,” he murmured, his eyes glittering with a mixture of heat and amusement. “I wondered if you’d find that.”

“You can’t be serious,” she retorted, pressing the blade tighter until a drop of blood slid from his neck into the open buttons of his tunic.

“Do it, darling. Cut my throat and walk out of here. No one would blame you.”

Feyre didn’t move, holding his stare. “Tell me the truth about something.”

“Anything,” he swore. Her hand trembled as he sat up just a little straighter, both hands still drawing teasing circles around her waist. As Feyre worked up the nerve to just ask her pathetic, insecure question, his fingers drifted upwards until he found her breast.

“You called me beautiful.” It was the best she could do.

A lazy smile graced his handsome features. “That’s not a question, darling. Ask.”

She couldn’t breathe. He’d found her nipple through the fabric of her gown, teasing and pulling until she ground against him. She hadn’t dropped the knife, didn’t think she was physically capable of it.

He leaned forward, causing another rivulet of blood to slip against the bronzed muscle of his chest. She watched it vanish into the black and silver fabric of his tunic and strangely, could only think of how they accidentally matched.

“Ask me.”

“Do you think I’m beautiful, or were you—”

His mouth was against her own before she could finish her question. His free hand clamped around her wrist, prying the dagger from her fingers and flinging it away from them. She heard the steel clatter against marble, the only sound in an otherwise silent room.

He’d closed his eyes for the kiss, twisting his fingers into her hair to hold her against him—as if she might try and escape him. Feyre swore she wanted to.

Just not yet.

She liked the slight of this man seemingly falling to pieces beneath her. His chest rose and fell as he panted for breath, his mouth moving furiously over her own. When his tongue slid against the seam of her lips, part of her opened just to see what would happen.

A moan ripped from her throat as his tongue tasted her own. The sensation spooled between her legs, unraveling the last ounce of her resistance. She decided this was some new battle, some winnable war. After all, he could have killed her, and instead, he’d dressed her in his clothes, put her in his lap, and—

“Please, Feyre,” he interrupted her thoughts with a guttural plea. His eyes had snapped open too even as he kissed her again and again, robbing her of all her good sense. He was so good at it, his lips soft and still firm.

“Please what, Rhys?” she replied, her own voice dripping with arousal. His eyes rolled upwards in his head, hips lifting off the chair.

“Touch me,” he begged, taking both wrists in his hands to press them to his chest. She didn’t know what came over her—didn’t care. There was no one to witness them as her fingers flew over the buttons of his tunic, deftly undoing one after the other while they kissed the other madly.

She pushed aside the fabric of his tunic, revealing the most gloriously sculpted chest she’d ever seen in her entire life. He could have been carved from marble—every inch of him was hardened, bronze muscle. The two trails of blood from his throat, of which a red imprint still lingered just beneath his jaw, had pooled against the masculine slope of his collarbone. She gazed at the trail of dark hair just beneath his naval, vanishing into the laces of his pants.

Rhys panted as she stared, suitably breathless for a man in his predicament. Feyre didn’t bother to try and explain her actions to either of them as she tilted his jaw, teeth tugging at his ear before she began the slow descent of kisses. She avoided the blood in favor of the salty taste of his skin.

Down, down, down, until she’d decided to slip between his legs and see the appendage he’d been grinding against her all night.

“No,” he groaned, catching her by the arms before she could fall to her knees. “No.”

“No?” Rejection pricked just behind her eyes. He’d asked her to touch him, and then when she tried he told her no. Feyre pushed away from him, intending to leave before he could humiliate her further.

Rhys had no intention of letting her leave him. Quicker than she could track, he hefted her up into his arms just long enough for him to stand. He dropped her into the chair, still warm from his body. Her eyes immediately landed on the bulge in his pants, pushed away by his impatient hand.

“You want to know if I think you’re beautiful?” he asked her, his eyes as wild as his hair. “If I meant every fucking word I said to those miserable bastards, staring at you like you were the most hateful thing in the world? Looking at my wife with any of the appreciation she deserves?” Feyre remained utterly still as Rhys, King of Velaris, her enemy, got on his knees before her.

With torturously slow hands, Rhys slid the skirt of her silver gown up over her legs. “You are the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my entire life. It is I who ought to fall to his knees and worship you, and not the other way around.”

Her whole body felt too tight at his words which had become nearly inaudible over the blood roaring in her ears. She didn’t move, gripping the arms of the throne as he parted her knees. Rhys, too, seemed as if he were unraveling at whatever he was seeing. He was all but rabid, hooking his fingers in the band of her undergarment and oh so carefully pulling them off her body. Feyre lifted her hips to assist him, unable to take her eyes from his face.

He balled them in one large hand, pocketing them quickly like they were a souvenir for later. Rhys pulled her legs upwards, dragging her to the edge of his throne until she was draped over his bare shoulders. “I have wanted to do this since that day in the dining room.” “When I stabbed you?” she asked incredulously. He was such a liar. Rhys pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, trailing upwards before skipping her cunt entirely to move down the other.

“Yes,” he replied, the word revenant. “I wanted to haul you up on that table and have you for breakfast.”

“Liar.”

Their eyes met. “Let me show you,” he whispered. Feyre didn’t move, well aware she’d already given him all but explicit permission. He had her skirts up against her hips, her body practically flush against his face. If he touched her, he’d find her dripping wet and aching for any contact. She thought, as he brought his thumb to the nub of flesh apexed at her flesh, that she ought to close her eyes and pretend he was someone else.

She couldn’t look away. Not when he groaned loud enough the sound bounced off the high ceilings, creating an echoing melody around them. He rubbed slow circles around her, dragging her own silken arousal against her aching clit to soften his touch. Feyre would have been satisfied with just that, was positive she could have come even if he’d changed nothing about his technique.

Rhys lowered his mouth, replacing his fingers with his tongue. She flew off the chair, pressing him closer which elicited another breathless moan from his lips. He reached for her, keeping her there. Unlike his careful, slow fingers, his mouth was ravenous. Feyre had to hold herself upwards on her elbows, hair spilling over the throne as she fought to catch her breath.

Had she promised him a wife who knew what she was doing in the bedroom? Feyre felt like a liar—every new glide of his tongue felt brand new to her. There was nothing hesitant or tentative like Isaac had been. She’d been far too timid back then to ask him for what she wanted, and more often than not Feyre hoped he angled himself just right so she found release, too.

Feyre gripped his thick, dark hair, holding him where he was. Already wound up from hours on his lap, it took practically nothing to drag her upwards. Rhys was relentless, licking and sucking like his entire life depended on it. Perhaps to him, it did—some small, scared part of her wanted to believe this was his way of proving he would be a good husband.

A kind husband.

Rhys pushed two of his fingers into her body without warning, pumping them in and out of her cunt in a mimicry of what his cock might do. Incandescent pressure had begun to pool against the base of her spine, drawing her upwards whether she wanted to be or not.

And Feyre very much did. She couldn’t even pretend, given how she watched him watching her. “Rhys,” she pleaded, hanging on the very precipice of her sanity. “Rhys please.”

His fingers curled, lips sucking around her clit all while his tongue continued its fevered adoration. Feyre screamed without meaning to, bowing off the throne in an effort to chase the shattering orgasm ripping through her. She was lost in a sea of brilliant stars while wave after wave after wave of pleasure washed over her. She was lost, tethered only by the hand still gripping Rhys’s inky black hair.

He rode her through before pulling away, letting her catch her breath and sit up. His eyes were blown out, the darkest shade of midnight violet. While Feyre tried to steady her trembling legs, Rhys brought his fingers to his lips and licked them clean.

She fully expected to repay the favor. She wanted to offer him even a whisper of what he’d just given her. Feyre smoothed out her skirts, oddly hurt when he jogged down the steps of the marble-cut dais to shrug his jacket back on. He was glancing at the window, fingers quick against his buttons.

“I won’t be at dinner this evening. Feel free to use the dining room,” he told her, all business again. Feyre blinked.

“What?”

He pressed at the bulge in his pants, the only proof he was affected at all. Turning towards her, apparently unaware his hair was sticking up at unnatural angles, he flashed her a smile. “I have a meeting I’m probably very late for. Use the dining room without me, darling. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“What about—” she felt stupid even saying it. His smile became quickly apologetic.

“My gift to you, pretty Feyre. Go on, then. I know you’re desperate to be rid of me.”

And that was the problem. She very much wanted more of him.

She adopted her haughtiest flounce to hide her confusion, striding away from him without another word. If he was playing a game with her, she didn’t appreciate it.

And she didn’t like being in his debt, either. She ate alone that night, her thoughts only on him. His half-naked body, his mouth, his hands.

His words.

How casually he complimented her.

How quickly he’d discarded her.

She was angry by the time she’d bathed and dressed in a flimsy pink nightdress, clearly one of the pieces made for her new husband to enjoy. She tugged at the hem which covered the swell of her ass and nothing more, drawing the top over her breasts. There was no winning, then.

She stared at herself in the mirror for a moment. He thought she was pretty, he wanted her…so why didn’t he just take her?

He’d said so himself that he was already late. What would a few more minutes have meant, in the scheme of things? Feyre was well aware that men never lasted long when they were taken inside a willing mouth. Three minutes, tops? And he could have gone on his merry way without making her feel so out of sorts.

She stomped out of her bedroom. If he wanted to play games with her–if this was his way of keeping her confused—Feyre meant to put a stop to it.

She knew where his bedroom was. She’d scoped it out days ago thinking she might try and cut his throat in his sleep. Now that she knew she wasn’t capable of that, it was good to know where she’d be living in a few days.

Feyre didn’t bother knocking. Perhaps she should have. Perhaps if she’d offered him the courtesy of knocking, Rhys could have pretended he was a gentleman for the first time in their complicated history. Might have paid her another compliment before sending her back to bed, none the wiser.

But she hadn’t, and as consequence, Feyre barged through his sitting room and flung open the double doors to his bedroom to find her soon-to-be husband utterly naked in his large bed, hand wrapped around a very swollen, very large cock.

Her mouth opened, blinking as she struggled to regain her anger as it slipped away.

“There you are,” he whispered, his voice heady with arousal. “I was just thinking about you.”

“Oh,” she replied, rendered speechless.

He leaned up on his elbows, his body half bathed in the flickering light from the fireplace across the room. “Feyre, darling…have you come to join me? Or have you come with another weapon?”

A quick sweep of her body told him she’d come with nothing but herself. His grin was entirely too smug for a man caught touching himself. He ought to have been embarrassed and for the life of her, she couldn’t see why. He was the most beautiful man she’d ever seen in her life. While Rhys waited for her to say something—anything, her desperate brain screamed—Feyre drank in the sight of his muscled thighs, toned calves…and how his large hand was just the perfect size for the thick, bruising length of him. What, she wondered, would his cock look like in her hand?

“Close the doors behind you,” he murmured, shifting on the silken black sheets beneath him. Feyre turned, reaching for the silver handles to lock them in together. She swore she heard him sigh with relief when the latches clicked.

“Are you going to get into bed with me? Or would you like to watch me beg again?”

“Why…” she gulped down air. “Why didn’t you let me…?”

He pumped his hand over his cock, dragging a bead of moisture over the tip. “I would have lost myself,” he murmured, letting her watch him slowly pleasure himself. “Some things are required of me, I’m afraid.”

“Is it about my family?” she asked. Rhys exhaled softly.

“Your father. Not your sisters.”

“Your court is angry you’re planning to marry me.” Again, it wasn’t a question.

“They don’t dare oppose it.”

“But you should.”

He held her gaze. “If this is your attempt to escape, let me assure you that hell itself could not keep me from you. Do you understand that, Feyre? I don’t give a fuck about my court's approval, about your father, or the politics. This marriage is only about us.”

She yielded a step. “He’ll kill you for this.”

Rhys offered her a hoarse laugh. “He’d kill me anyway. Might as well have a little fun before I go.”

“Is that what this is, then? Just fun?”

Shadows danced in his gaze, and for the first time since she’d met this man, Rhys seemed uncertain. He cleared his throat, his hand stilling on his still throbbing cock.

“Is…is that what you want?”

She reached for her fingers, holding them in front of her body. Truthfully, Feyre wanted much, much more than just fun. And she also didn’t know him. Didn’t trust him enough to offer him an inch of vulnerability. What if she told him she wanted a real marriage, the opposite of what her parents had, of what she would have eventually been sold into, only for Rhys to laugh himself hoarse?

“Yes.”

Liar.

Some emotion flashed over his features, too quick for her to read. A lazy smile replaced it as he looked up at her with his fuck me eyes. “It’s awfully hard to have fun when you’re all the way over there, darling.”

Feyre went to him, then, still tight from the lie she’d told. Maybe in ten years, when the dust had settled. When they knew each other better, she’d ask him what it was that he wanted. If he wanted a real marriage or he just wanted to piss off her father and knew that filling her with his sons was the easiest, most expedient way to do that.

As Feyre climbed into his large, soft bed, she thought that maybe it was better for her sisters to stay where they were. If Elain and Nesta were happy, there was no reason to drag them into this. It could remain her burden, one she was taking up gladly.

Feyre scooted beside Rhys, reaching for his face for a kiss. He leaned towards her, the stubble of his jaw scraping against her cheek. Was it really so bad? If he offered her respect and some measure of kindness?

Rhys was quick to cup her face in return.

“What is it that you want from me?” she whispered, wondering if he’d let her get on her knees now that they were alone and had established some shaky boundaries.

Wariness flooded his expression again. “I…” he gulped. “Feyre, I want…”

“Me on my knees?” she supplied, using her finger much as he had done earlier to trail down the flat plane of his chest. “Or would you prefer my hand?”

Relief replaced his fear. “I suppose wanting you on your back is out of the question, then?”

Oh. “Be grateful for anything at all,” she said in the sultriest voice she could muster. “Be glad I don’t offer your cock the same blade I offered your throat.”

“Don’t tease me,” he breathed, parting his legs as she climbed over his body. “You know I love how violent you are.”

“I have teeth, you know,” she informed him, pressing a kiss to his stomach. Rhys huffed out a breathless laugh, his cock dripping against the thin material of her night dress. It might have been pathetic had his arousal not settled her own insecurities. She wanted him—and he wanted her. Enough so that he kept his lips pressed together when she was finally at eye level with the base of cock. While Rhys gathered up her hair, holding it off her face, Feyre took a moment to wrap her hand around him.

Just to see if he’d fit.

“How do I compare?” he asked, his voice husky with desire. “Smaller than what you’re used to, right?”

Her fingers didn’t close around the base of him. Feyre’s eyes flicked to his face, well aware that Rhys knew the lie about to tumble from his lips. “Is this all, then?”

He smiled. “Tragic, isn’t it?”

Feyre traced the throbbing vein under his cock with the tip of her tongue. She had more experience with this than anything—Isaac had preferred to finish in her mouth and Feyre, concerned about pregnancy, had been perfectly content to let him.

She supposed it didn’t matter anymore.

Rhys shuddered when she lapped up the bead of precum, delighted to find the taste of him was perfectly pleasant. Just like the rest of him—well groomed, bathed, and otherwise well taken care of. She’d heard from the other women at court it wasn’t a guarantee. Of men who were so disgusting, their wives plugged their noses before they let them get into bed.

Rhys smelled like citrus and the sea. She had no problem sucking the tip of his cock into her mouth or sliding him into her throat as she braced her hands over his muscled, lightly-haired thighs.

“Fuck me, Feyre,” he groaned when he hit the back of her throat. She could take another inch before she lost her ability to breathe and had to make up the rest with her hand. Encouraged, she began to work over him the way his teasing hand had been when she’d first come in.

It was clear he’d already been close. The vein under his cock head throbbed from his pulsating heart against her tongue and Rhys didn’t seem able to stop himself from using the hands holding her hair to help her bob up and down.

“Feyre, your mouth,” he panted, voice trailing into an incoherent moan. She’d been right to think he’d finish quickly.

Rhys’s back arched off the bed, his thighs spread wide. “Feyre,” he practically whined, grip tightening in her hair. “Feyre, I’m going to come, Fey—” and he did, pouring himself into her throat before he could finish his warning. She was happy to let him if the alternative was letting him come on her skin, which risked her hair.

Rhys pulled her off him when he was totally spent, dragging her back up his body for a rough, messy kiss. If the taste of his own come bothered him, he gave no indication of it. His tongue was everywhere in her mouth, just as frantic as the rest of him.

“Stay,” he told her when she tried to pull away. “This will be your room in two nights anyway.”

“Maybe I prefer to sleep alone.”

Another lie. She was starting to lose count. She’d spent nearly two years sleeping beside her sisters and hated waking alone in that massive, cold bed.

“Well I don’t,” he told her, dragging blankets over their bodies. He pulled her into his chest, face buried in her hair.

“Is this how you intend to sleep beside me for the rest of your life?”

He draped one of his legs over her waist, the weight settling her anxiety.

“Yes,” he murmured, pressing a kiss against her ear. “I can’t risk you biting my cock off while I sleep.”

She elbowed him in the ribs while he laughed at his own stupid joke. Still, there was no escaping the hold he had around her.

And for the first time, Feyre was perfectly content with that.

#feysand #feysand month #feyre archeron x rhysand #smut!

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