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cute-little-crow · 2 months ago

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You’re in a particular mood whilst in the midst of intimate shenanigans and it’s about to get you in a whole heap of trouble. Or when you ask them…

“Is it in yet?”

feat: Rafayel, Sylus, Xavier & Zayne (separately)

tw: female reader, brat behaviour, regretting decisions, smut smut and more smut, edging, overstimulation, temp play, light bondage (held bodily), all the boys bringing out their Dom sides to varying degrees, spanking, oral fixation, creampies, hair pulling, phew sorry if I missed something

“Excuse me?”

“What? It was an innocent question,” you huffed, biting your lip and glancing towards the ceiling light over his shoulder.

You could feel the hard length of Rafayel’s cock twitch within your walls, his hand, splayed wide at your hip, tensed until his fingertips pressed harder into the soft yield of your skin.

The urge to squirm was growing more intense, but then he would know. He would know you were goading him. Hell, he probably already knew given the narrow of his violet hued eyes and the crease forming between his eyebrows.

When he didn’t speak, didn’t move, barely drew breath, you piped up once more—pushing your luck too far.

“All I asked was if it was in yet. What’s the problem, Raf?”

Rafayel hissed.

The unnatural noise made you jump, a pathetic moan tumbling from your lips when the jerking motion nudged the tip of his cock against your swollen pleasure spot.

“Brat…” he seethed, pulling out of you and leaning back to spread your thighs wide apart. “And to think I was being so nice to you. Clearly, you don’t want nice.”

His long fingers splayed out on your sensitive inner thighs, holding you down on the bed with your cunt gaping and flexing from where he had just been buried. Arousal dripped along your slit until it dribbled to the sheets below.

You reached from him, squalling from the sudden empty feeling but he pushed away your hand and gave a stern shake of his head.

“Rafay—”

“Hush. Don’t speak. Let’s see how long you can last, hm?”

Gripping the base of his cock, he spread his knees wider so he was closer to you once more. The fat tip leaked with precum which he smeared around your entrance before pushing into you, but stopping when the tip disappeared.

It felt delicious and your skin warmed all over from the sensation. You keened, attempting to roll your hips upward only to be stopped by a firm grip.

“Oh? You feel it now… shame.”

Frowning, you licked over your suddenly parched lips.

Rafayel was pissed.

It turned you on to see him darken; from the colours swirling in his eyes to the shadow falling over his face to his entire demeanour growing sterner, everything more angular and sharp.

Again he withdrew and let his cockhead slap against your puffy clit, far from gentle. Your nerve endings were on fire, sweat gathering on your hairline.

Over and over Rafayel repeated the process. He gave you only ever an inch and never for long enough. Your stomach was in knots from the treatment, the continued smacking of your swollen pearl which he would reach down and tweak every now and again, stopping when he knew you were getting close.

“Please…” you begged, broken and near tears. “I need to feel all of you. ‘want your cock.”

“What’s that, cutie? I didn’t think you could feel anything… and now you want it all? Brats don’t get treats, they get tricks so hush until I’m ready.”

Rafayel edged you for the next hour; giving you enough stimulation to keep you tense and desperate but never enough to satisfy your needs.

It would be quite some time until you decided to be sassy with the Lemurian again.

Sylus paused.

His mouth pulled back from your neck, steady breaths tickling your skin and emphasising the bruises blooming to life.

“I’m sorry, I think I must have misheard you. What did you say, sweetie?”

You were regretting your moment of madness already, heart pounding so harshly in your chest that it just might beat right out. Funnily enough, your voice disappeared into nothing but a strand of whimpered syllables.

He clicked his tongue in dismay, and cupped your chin firmly to bring your focus to his face. You couldn’t run from the piercing intensity of his vermillion eyes, nor from the hold on your jaw that tightened until you were close to squeaking out.

“Nothing, I’m sorry—”

“No, no. You should repeat what you asked me, kitten. Something about ‘is it in yet?’, no?” His voice was a deadly calm whisper and that was so much worse than an overly emotional reaction.

Sylus thrust harshly into you when your mouth flapped open and closed like a fish out of water, your stomach clenched and your legs wrapped more tightly around his waist.

“Seems like you can feel me just fine… so why deny it? Does the kitten want to brat me tonight? Tsk tsk. Bad kitty.”

He peeled away your legs from his sides carefully, thumbs digging into the backs of your knees whilst he adjusted your body beneath him. You went from being intimately close to having your knees digging into your chest and your ankles by your ears.

The adjustment allowed him to sink deeper into you, knocking the air from your lungs. Sylus loomed over your folded body with one stretched hand holding your ankles. It was enough to keep you in the position he desired, enough that every forward momentum felt like you might burst all over him.

“I can’t hear you, sweetie.”

You squealed and squirmed. Your eyes rolled over to the back of your head. You wet his cock so thoroughly that slick dripped from his balls, only emphasising the smacking sound when they impacted heavily against your backside.

Over and over he drove you through orgasm after orgasm. Sylus wrung you like an overly used towel and listened to you sing his name along with the best attempts at apologies you could muster. Every sound was desperation incarnate and he let out an amused huff that gave way to a guttural groan signalling his own release.

“Sylus… oh fuck, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Instead of releasing your trembling legs, the cunning man above you ran his fingers around the base of his cock, coating them in the mixed essence of you both which had managed to escape.

The digits came away creamy, shiny and debauched. With a wolfish grin, he pushed them into your mouth to silence your continued pleas for mercy. Your tongue flattened against roughened pads, the tang lighting up your taste buds and saliva rushed to meet them.

“I heard you, but bad kitties need to be reminded of their manners. Now then, suck my fingers cleans so I can fill you with another load. I need to make sure you really feel it after all…”

Sylus made you pay for your sass over and over that night…

“… did I? Did I hear you right?”

“Did I stutter? I said… is it in yet, Xav?” You asked churlishly. His cerulean eyes swam like oceans in front of your face, a fleeting look of hurt passing over his features and that was enough to deflate most of your bravado.

“Wait, baby, I’m sorry. You don’t deserve—”

Xavier cut you off with a move you could only describe as pro wrestling adjacent.

One moment he was cradled by the comfort of your body and the next, he was rolling you over onto your stomach and straddling your thighs. His hand traced the curve of your spine, pressing your chest deep into the plush mattress and ending by winding around your hair.

“No, baby. You don’t deserve to be given half-assed dick. Let me make up for my failings,” he rasped into your ear, leaning over you whilst his slick cock rocked between the cleft of your ass.

He tugged on the makeshift ponytail he’d made, drawing your head up at the same time the rest of you was crushed into the sheets, your hands trapped beneath your stomach—useless.

“Spread your legs—that’s it—I see you’re not completely off the rails tonight.”

Xavier worked himself through the gap of your thighs, the blunt head of him butting up against your clit and drawing little gasping hisses from you. His fingers tightened in your hair, and you squirmed, futile beneath his weight.

When he finally notched at your fluttering hole, you were holding your breath so hard you could hear the blood flowing in your ears. His hips descended, dropping himself flush along your body at the same moment he fucked into you.

“Shit!! Xav! Oh god…”

Xavier chuckled nasally, a hungry mouth clamping over the beating pulse in your neck. He set a harsh pace immediately, fucking you prone bone.

You could do absolutely nothing but take every hit. His cock moulding your pussy to fit him and him alone. The angle had him rutting right up near your cervix, so close to flashes of pain but measured enough to stop before he could inflict any actual damage.

He huffed into the crook of your neck, biting and licking over the hurt with shallow breathing that mimicked your own. Xavier was relentless and you had never seen him quite like this.

“So tight, princess. You feel me now? Tell me. Do you feel me in your belly? Gonna spill any minute,” he admitted with a heavy grunt punctuating the words.

In your belly? You could feel him in your damn throat with how deep he was hitting and all you could do was squeal. The sound heightened into a high pitch shriek only animals would hear when he shifted himself to deliver a hearty smack to your backside.

“C’mon… tell me. Is it in now? Is my cock deep enough? The cream you’re leaking tells me yes but I want to hear it from you.”

“Yes! Xavier, yes!”

Never again would you make that same mistake. Who knew your star boy had it in him?

At first, you weren’t sure if he had heard you. Zayne was frozen above, hands pressed to either side of your head and his eyes fixedly shut.

You were about to repeat your attempt at being a brat just to see how the good doctor would react when he blinked open his eyes and your jaw snapped shut.

The frown deepening his brow seemed genuinely startled and he raised a hand to feel your forehead like he was assessing you for a medical condition.

“You don’t feel feverish… perhaps some neurological condition has manifested,” he muttered almost to himself.

“Zayne—don’t be silly. All I asked was if it was in yet?”

He hummed—thoughtfully. “Yes. I heard you, but I can’t quite correlate the words with the sentiment because I know you can feel me.”

“Oh, you do, huh? Sound pretty full of yourself, Dr Zayne.”

As if for emphasis, he pumped himself into you with a snap of his hips. It resulted exactly as he wanted, with your breathless gasp and your head flying back against the pillows.

“You were saying?” He asked coolly. “Perhaps I should check your reactions to other stimuli, just to be sure…”

“What does that—oh!”

Ice veiled the tips of his fingers, careful blue veins creating intricate patterns. Zayne sat back on his haunches, cock still plugged into your clenching cunt, and traced those frozen digits down the column of your throat and towards your breasts.

“Cold! Cold! Stop that,” you yelped, swatting at his hand which diligently refused to be dissuaded.

Only the very corner of his mouth quirked into a smile, his smart, ever assessing eyes watching intently whilst he circled your puffy nipples and they stiffened further from the cold.

“You seem to react to low temperatures within normal ranges, how about warm temperatures,” he mused absently.

Without further warning, his head dipped and his tongue brushed your pert nipple. Zayne’s lips surrounded the bud and suckled with enthusiasm. The instant heat of his mouth bowed your spine and raised your ass so you were grinding yourself shamelessly against Zayne’s front.

“Zayne… fuck.”

The friction elicited from the coarse thatch of neatly trimmed hair at his pelvis caused you to mewl and whine. Your fingers carded through his dark hair and all rational thought flew from your mind.

Just as you were getting used to the hot sensation of your nipple being sucked and pinched by careful teeth, he switched. Ice enveloped the swollen skin, a burn gnawed at your gut but it was a pleasant one.

Zayne continued to tweak at your nipples in turn, cooling them down and warming them up with his tongue, all whilst he maintained a steady pace within you. His cock throbbed and your walls spasmed.

“My diagnosis,” he said quite suddenly, mouth breaking from your breasts with a shallow pant, “is that of brattitude. Quite a severe case too…”

You groaned aloud, eyes cast heavenward at the near orgasm that was close to cresting over you like a playful wave.

“Treatment begins now. I’ll make sure you continue to feel me all night long.”

The good doctor was true to his word, and come morning, the only thing you couldn’t feel were your legs.

#love and deepspace #lads sylus #lads zayne #lads rafayel #lads xavier #sylus smut #zayne smut #rafayel smut #xavier smut #sylus x you #zayne x you #rafayel x you #xavier x you #lnds smut #lads smut

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shotmrmiller · 1 month ago

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sex pollen trope where you're the one affected, having been exposed to some dense gas while on an op that felt like harsh sandpaper across your throat and lungs, and now you're a feverish mess on some ratty cot in a safe house and with only ghost as company, it's miserable, as the saying goes.

hair sticking to your sweaty skin, plastered onto your forehead and neck, every swallow feeling like you've got a mouthful of sand, your fluttering pulse wild and deafening in your ears, and the throbbing ache deep in your core, the blistering heat right below your navel— it'd only been uncomfortable in the beginning, the faint throbbing incredibly familiar, but the more you ignored it, the worse it got.

and now you're here, with arousal sticking your underwear to your pussy, unable to do anything about it because your lieutenant is seated in a corner that lets him have both you and the front door within his line of sight. a quick, discreet rub under your clothes is not an option.

someone put you out of your foggy misery.

"squirmin' like a worm on a 'ook isn't gonna help." his staring doesn't either, yet he does it anyway.

"got to make sure ya aren't dyin' on me." you want to snap that you don't think proof of life is on the darkened stain between your legs, the retort pressed behind clenched teeth but another thick wave of bestial need rolls over you and god, you're about to shove your hand into your underwear, propriety be damned—

"best you don't do tha'." why the fuck not? "you'll only get relief for a moment 'fore it comes back twofold." he says as if he's reading off the morning paper and not watching you fight tooth and nail to not fuck yourself against the pillow your head is on. (soap's offer to be friends with benefits is only looking better by the hour.)

you hastily decide that it'll be better than nothing. you'll just have to rub your pussy raw until this drug runs its course and you're telling him to piss off or don't, but you've had enough. you're stuck here with him anyway, no flight home until the morn and you're not about to spend it writhing around.

"if tha's wha' you want," ghost bites his gloves off, spitting them out onto the ground before curling his hands around your ankles and dragging you toward him. "i will help." your entire world narrows down to the feel of him touching your skin, his fingers searing as they hook into the waistband of your pants, and you almost kick him in the mouth trying to get them off faster.

"but 'm not fuckin' you." the bite of disappointment is quickly forgotten, his breath warm against your slick pussy, and after three quick glides of his tongue over your pearl, your orgasm crests, pulse after pulse of pleasure so potent it stung.

in less than a minute you're burning again, need thrumming through you and with the heady push and drag of his middle finger over your sensitive nerves, curling in you until he can fit two, three—

you're lost.

(ghost telling you that he's not doing anything else because if he's going to fuck you then you're going to remember it falls on ringing ears.)

#the next day you look ran through and feel hungover #price giving you a sympathetic pat on the back is humiliating #ghost looking at you straight in the eye even more so #whatever you said you didnt mean it :/#but *he* did and you not knowing that all he's waiting on is the green light from the doc to pounce will make it all the sweeter #until then he's not bringing anything up #did it happen or did you hallucinate #also cue him sniffing his fingers while youre finally asleep cuz eau de pussy is his favorite <3 #i firmly believe he likes the smell of come and he will absolutely not wash his hands the pig #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley smut #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #cod smut #simon riley x you

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cloudwisp · 3 months ago

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✮ sylus x wife!reader (2)

contents: tooth-rotting fluff. arranged marriage au. sylus as your sweet and doting husband who's simply in love with you and anything that you do. 1.5k wc.

꒰ note ᰔ thank you for everyone's patience who requested a part two!! I truly hope this meets your expectations <3

part one here. ꒱

⭒ You’re an early bird married to a night owl. After gradually moving your belongings into Sylus’ master bedroom, your different sleeping schedules were made acutely aware. His day is just beginning when you’re heading to bed and he’s more or less mentally retired after a long night of business dealings and meetings when your body decidedly rises with the first rays of light at dawn. Because of this, you both compromise to meet somewhere in the middle—Sylus sweetly tucks you in later than your usual bedtime and leaves only when you’d fallen asleep, and you snuggle with him in the mornings until the very last minute and you’re forced to get ready for the working day. However, his sleeping patterns are more on the irregular side and he’ll check in on you when he’s supposed to be resting.

⭒ When Luke and Kieran witness you and Sylus bid each other with a goodbye kiss—an affectionate and wholesome display between lovers as your husband sees you off to work at the front door, they are stunned and lose it from the sidelines at the budding romance. “Wait, what just happened?” “Was there a development while we were gone?” The crow twins would share glances and decipher the scene before them together. They both have been rooting for you and their boss since day one, and they marvel at the way you both are completely smitten with each other. As though you two are like newlyweds who can't get enough of your shared love, unwilling to separate just yet even as you slowly step away from Sylus.

⭒ His touch linger with purpose to hold onto every last part of you and his hands move from your waist and slide down your arms to hold your hands until his fingers curl slightly and mourn the loss of your warmth when he eventually has to let you go. When Sylus watches your figure disappear and return back inside his home he receives a thumbs up and pending double high fives respectively from his two henchmen. He walks past them and ignores their antics by giving them orders, but Luke doesn’t leave his brother hanging and celebrates that their boss is officially and undeniably in love.

⭒ Anniversaries were an unexpected thing to celebrate with Sylus—along with holidays and birthdays. You were caught by surprise when you received a gorgeous dress and pearls inside a pretty wrapped box adorned with ribbons after being married to Sylus for three months. You weren’t quite romantically involved with him at that point and went along with what he planned for the evening, and you had a feeling it wasn’t just a performance for the public at an upscale restaurant but he genuinely wanted to make this night special for you. Then something in the air shifted and became sweeter and you suppose you wanted to start making the smaller things in life count. Even if there wasn’t a particular milestone coming up, you decide to make one up yourself. After all, there’s a true saying that the secret to marriage is keeping it fresh and interesting.

⭒ With the help of the cute twins, they set up a cozy tent in the verdant space of the garden meanwhile you decorate fairy lights all around in swooping arcs and tight lines, arrange pillows and blankets inside, and place a deck of kitty cards in the center. After everything is where you need it to be, you show the boys your gratitude and send them away as you work on the finishing touches. You gather the plate of chocolate-covered strawberries and two glasses for the red wine when suddenly your husband sneaks up from behind you and wrap himself around you, inquiring about how the twins wanted him to come find you… Oh those cheeky little things. Well, never mind them. “Don’t tell me that you forgot what today is. Happy 300 days since our first kiss, baby.” You admit that it may come off as a little silly and no one’s truly keeping count, but you simply wanted to do something nice for him.

⭒ Sylus never passes up an opportunity to take care of his darling wife. Even if that means going along with your unusual ideas like you suggesting to borrow his dress shoes after the auction show was over. He throws you a puzzled look followed by a bemuse chuckle, and he supposes he could oblige if that’s what you really wanted. You explain to him that being well dressed from head to toe to match his outfit came at the price of your painfully, aching feet. And he can’t resist giving into your demands when you ask with such adorable little pouts. There are more practical methods to go about the situation, but he certainly loves humoring you even if things don't work out the way you thought they would.

⭒ Sylus leads you to a nearby bench and gestures for you to have a seat while he removes his shoes and bends down on one knee before you, unworried about dirtying his expensive trousers. He works diligently to undo the straps around your ankles and place your heels aside to focus on slipping his shoes onto your feet. “Well, you look quite fetching in my shoes. Now shall we continue our walk or do you have any more requests to make?” He helps you straighten yourself as he returns to his normal height. You huff and make a discontent noise when you almost trip over your own two feet trying to take a step forward in your (his) much too large and too spacious shoes. “Actually, these won’t do. I changed my mind, I want my heels back.”

⭒ Sylus chuckles at your hopeless attempt, his hand going on your hip to keep you from toppling over and accidentally hurting yourself. “Ah, it appears my shoes are too big for you, kitten. You say you want your heels back, hm?” He kneels before you once more as he retrieves your pair of heels, his fingers brushing along the underside of your leg and he carefully tugs them back on your feet. He gives your ankle a gentle squeeze as he finishes securing the straps, his gaze flickering up to meet yours. "There, I hope you're satisfied now, my sweet wife." His arm then goes around your waist and he effortlessly lifts you off the ground without so much as a warning. He smirks at your precious reaction, your body flushed against his meanwhile your arms encircle his neck for balance. “Why don’t I just carry you the rest of the way instead?”

⭒ You’re snuggled up against Sylus’ chest as you bring a concern to his attention one night. “What happens when our arrangement comes to an end?” The main reason you agreed to marry him in the first place is because it was a contract marriage with a specific time frame of five years that you’d have to spend with him. And you realize that with everything he does, he’s always been considerate of you as a whole even with how he drafted this contract knowing that it could end at his own expense. He provided you with a means of freeing yourself from him if you for whatever reason wished to no longer continue your marriage with him after the term ends. The choice is left entirely up to you because he never wanted you to feel trapped but he won’t make it easy for you. “If I decided to leave, you’d really let me go?”

⭒ Sylus hesitates for a moment, his gaze fixed on you and he seems to be thinking about something as his expression grows serious. “You always know how to ask the tough questions, don’t you sweetie?” After a moment, he lets out a small sigh and nods. “…Yes. Technically, you’ll be free to go. I won’t stop you if you truly want to leave.” Another sigh escapes him, yet his voice remains soft and sincere and he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear and his palm cradles your cheek. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you to stay. What do you want to happen when the contract ends, darling?”

⭒ You mull over your thoughts, teasing him with a pensive look as you purposely drag on the seconds. “Since you’re leaving it up to me, I think… I want to renew our vows at the five-year mark. How’s that sound?” A surprise and slight disbelief flit across his face at the same moment his countenance softens at your affirmation. “You want to renew our vows?” You offer him a demure nod with your sweet smile and he gently takes your hand in his, bringing it to his face and laying a kiss against your knuckles. “Then it’s settled. I would be honored to renew our vows when the time comes. There will be no more contracts or strings attached. We’ll be bound by our love and our love only.”

#ᨳ ₊˚ 𝐜𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐝𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐩.𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬 #sylus #sylus x reader #sylus x you #l&ds x reader #sylus love and deepspace #sylus lnd #sylus l&ds #sylus lads #lnds sylus #lads sylus #l&ds sylus #love and deepspace

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thetardigrape · 1 year ago

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I wanna take a minute to talk about the Looks of the entire cast of OFMD S2.

I think we're all pretty familiar with the male gaze. Lots of skin, tits and ass, that sort of thing.

The female gaze has been debated, but it looks something like a sexy college professor or himbo househusband.

What OFMD S2 absolutely nails is the queer gaze.

Look at this man.

An absolutely beautiful man. Who wears crop tops and leather pants. Long hair up in a messy bun. He's wearing eyeliner. And pearls.

And here.

Drawn on facial hair. Spaulders. Bracers. Fishnet sleeves. A MOTHERFUCKING MULLET.

These badasses.

The teeth and chains. SO MUCH MAKEUP. Big fancy coat with nothing underneath. Glam met goth and fucked out these looks.

And THE SWEDE!

Cropped jacket. Ponytail. Asymmetrical button fly. Decorative chains (again).

All of this screams queer. If I saw any of these people in a bar I'd be like "Yep, one of us." The gender fuckery of it all. The feminine and the masculine all thrown in together in perfect combinations. Decoration for its own sake. Jewelry and flashy adornment and gorgeous peacockery.

And we love it. The fandom is going absolutely feral over these looks, these actors, as we very well should. There is not a single member of this cast who has not had beautiful art lovingly made depicting them.

Fuck the male gaze, fuck the female gaze. Give me the queer gaze. Give me queer creators making queer media for queer audiences and absolutely nailing it. These people are not at all what Hollywood usually thinks sexy looks like, yet we want to devour every one of them. This is what queer beauty looks like. What queer sex appeal looks like. What queer desire looks like.

Fuck yes. It's about time.

#ofmd s2 spoilers #ofmd #our flag means death #ofmd meta

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rose-tinted-kalopsia · 12 days ago

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≡;-꒰ 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆 & 𝑫𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝑩𝒐𝒚𝒔 𝑷𝒓𝒂𝒊𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒀𝒐𝒖

── mdni sexual content ; headcanons on how the boys would act with you (afab!reader) when you have a praise kink. inclusive of: praise (obv), pet name usage, dirty talk, teasing, general foreplay, vaginal sex, overstimulation.

featuring : rafayel, sylus, xavier, zayne, caleb, jeremiah, luke, kieran.

an : this was a request i put off a liiittle bit bc i had to think of how i wanted to approach the prompt, but! it was super superrrr fun, and i maybe wrote a little bit more for each of the guys than i intended hehe <3

taglist : under the cut !! (SIGN UP HERE)

KO-FI JAR / COMMISSIONS

ʀᴀꜰᴀʏᴇʟ

praise from rafayel is raw.

undeniably, during the day, there's a little part of him that would be a little shit about it—tease you to wit's end, preying on your little praise kink like it's a shiny little pearl he's found for him to play with. good girl~ here, pretty girl~ there… there'll be a little sing-songy tone to his voice, a teasing lilt, and sometimes it's more than you can take—sometimes you'll snap out of embarrassment, sometimes you'll maybe shove him away, sometimes all you can do is puff your cheeks up and do a little hmph. but really, it doesn't work out very much—"you're such a cutie, miss bodyguard."

but then there's a little switch that flips when the both of you are alone.

because the love that he has for you is overwhelming.

you're more than just a pretty girl, more than just a good girl, more than just the teasing little praises he's been singing all day just to rouse a reaction from you.

you're the love of his life. you're perfect to him.

and he's pounding into you as you writhe and moan beneath him, his hair clinging to his forehead, lips parted in heavy pants… his eyes are heavy-lidded with desire, but there's nothing more obvious in those pretty pretty magenta eyes of his— than how much he truly treasures you. his voice is breathless when he speaks, he doesn't stop the movement of his hips, so lost in drinking in the sight of you splayed on his bed like this—and maybe, all he can say is, "beautiful."

because sometimes, sometimes, he's just not the best with words. maybe he can't bring himself to form a coherent thought anymore but that; how beautiful you are, how ethereal, how perfect. between strings of moans of your name, maybe it's all he can say. but it's pure, and raw, and genuine in every sense of the word, almost like a cry tearing from his chest, because what he really means when he snaps his hips down to yours and fills you up with every last drop of his cum, is—i love you.

ꜱʏʟᴜꜱ

praise from sylus is enough to steal your breath away.

it's unexpected, mostly a surprise—albeit a pleasant one. and it's really not that he wouldn't do it often. it's quite the opposite, in fact; he'd do it often. because he knows. he knows exactly how to get you going, how to rile you up… and it's something that he would capitalize on, since your reactions have always been thoroughly endearing to him as much as they were amusing.

by this, i mean, it doesn't just stay in the bedroom. not at all. it slips into simple, everyday things. and that's why it's so unexpected for you.

after successfully completing a mission, he'd walk over and pull you towards him by the waist: "good job, sweetie." a basic task done in front of him, maybe something as simple as making yourself—or both of you—a meal, and: "what a good girl you are." the back-and-forth bickering you would sometimes have might end with him tapping a finger to his cheek, a little up, a glance of appreciation—"you're adorable when you're excited, sweetie." or maybe sometimes he'd walk up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist, lean in to have his lips graze over the shell of your ear… "do you know that i'm quite fond of you? such a good, good girl for me."

he'd chuckle at the stutter in your motions, the flush on your cheeks… and he'd know you're defaulting to thoughts of the bedroom. especially when his voice would dip, all low and sultry, that satisfied, satisfied smirk on his face. 90% of the time, he'd get what he wants—which means you underneath him, fisting the sheets as he ravishes you whole; tongue, and teeth, and fingers… and more. of course, he'd aim for nothing more than to give you pleasure, and he knows how to make it better with just a few added words of praise.

"you're doing well, kitten. that's right, just like that… you make it so easy for me to worship you."

maybe he's conditioned you with it just a little bit.

xᴀᴠɪᴇʀ

xavier's praises are soft, but very direct.

he's not one to cut corners, not when it comes to the way that he sees you. like sylus, it slips into little, everyday things, half with the intention to rile you up, and half to genuinely just say what he's thinking. but as direct as his statements would be, he'd sometimes play a little coy. the irony is never lost with you. and yet, he'd do it anyway. all casual statements, blinks of innocence, smiles that would indicate he had zero idea of the effect he had on you.

you knew otherwise, though.

"you did really well," he'd say after a fight with a wanderer, "all that training really paid off." he'd nod, that familiar little nod that you know so well—to everyone else, it's so completely normal… and to you, it would have been, had the twinkle in his eye not been present, had his touch against your hand not lingered for a little bit longer than usual.

"i like your perfume today, it's nice," is how he greets you in the morning sometimes, with a smile that would have looked completely innocent—it not for the half-step he took closer to you, if not for the little twitch in the corner of his lips, if not for the way he'd reach over to move your hair from your face.

"your dress is pretty. i think it really fits you." a cute little compliment, no? you'd have taken it as such, but you wouldn't have missed the way his eyes would rake over your body, even with the slow, innocent blinks he'd give you afterwards. it doesn't matter that he offers you his hand for you to take, it doesn't matter if he brushes it off like he didn't just have every thought in his head on display for you. because at the end of the day, all of this turns into your fingers intertwined, you pressed up against your pillow, his head buried into the crook of your neck as he pumps his cock into you.

"mmmh… you're so good for me, angel, feel so good, so good…"

a little incoherent, not all that audible, but you can still hear it. he'd nuzzle into your skin, vibrations of his voice sending shivers through your body… there's something in him that doesn't quell him to stop, losing himself in how good you feel, how good you are. "you smell so good… you taste just as good, too, angel… you're so soft, so pretty, so pretty, so pretty, so pretty… nmh, don' want to stop…"

ᴢᴀʏɴᴇ

the way zayne praises you is quiet. gentle.

it's the kind that flows seamlessly into your ear like a soothing little melody… yet, his voice would carry with it a certain level of firmness, indicating that you have no other say in the matter. because he means it—and that's that. it's the kind of praise that's reassuring every time he'd say it, no matter how many times he'd say it. he's your safe haven. he knows how to make you feel better about yourself. insecurities? doubts? worries? gone, immediately. because that's the way it is with him.

it doesn't matter what about you he's praising, nor does it matter when. it's used less as a trigger for your pleasure, and more for him to be unfiltered with you. it doesn't matter if he's seeing you for a dinner date and you're all dressed up, it doesn't matter if he's coming home to you in your pajamas with messy hair and no makeup at all. it doesn't matter if you lose at a little board game the two of you had been playing, it doesn't matter if you'd won nearly half the stall at the carnival that day, doesn't matter if you're on the phone with him and there's a beat of silence as you listen to each others' breathing. it doesn't matter, either, if he's all the way inside of you, slow, rhythmic thrusts, lips attached to your ear—it doesn't matter if his hands had found their way to your chest, fondling and kneading at the soft flesh.

he'll whisper sweet words into your ear, always, whenever he gets the chance.

and at night, he holds you close, hushed words perfectly timed with each and every thrust. they aren't sweet nothings. they're sweet everythings. because he knows that these words are exactly what you need from him, exactly what you need to feel loved, and appreciated, and cared for. with zayne, praise is as genuine and as pure as it gets—sure, he'll cherish the way you whine in response, the whimpers that fall from your lips… he knows that it gives you an extra bit of pleasure, but that's a plus. more than that, he'd never fail to convey how much you mean to him. it's the perfect opportunity for him. just to hold you close, and make love to you like this, quiet, hushed little words of affirmations…

good girl. you take me so well, my love. you feel so good, darling. you're perfect for me.

ᴄᴀʟᴇʙ

praise from caleb is a little infuriating, but it works.

perhaps it's because you're much too used to bickering with him, all these playful little fights about anything under the sun that could usually end up in a fit of giggles—but praise from him comes off a little more like a tease sometimes, a little bit borderlining on mocking. not because he doesn't mean well, but, because… it takes a while for you to realize he's being genuine about it. he probably has to drill it into you himself—repeat it a few times, eyebrow raised, amusedly gauging your reactions. he'd watch you turn from a scoff, to a look of confusion, to the gradual realization that dawns—"caleb!" a gasp of surprise, and maybe you hit his shoulder a little, maybe he has to laugh.

but he means it.

he means it when he calls you beautiful, means it when he says you make him proud. he means it when he tells you how much you mean to him, means it when he tells you that there's no other person he'd rather be around like this, than you.

and he'd look you straight in the eyes when he says it again—repeats it, probably, for the nth time that day, trying to make you understand that it's real.

he repeats it even when he has you sinking into the mattress, pinned down by his weight, legs raised to his shoulder as he fucks himself into you. "yeah, you like that, right, pipsqueak? you're all beautiful like this, taking me so deep… fuck, i can't get enough of you. you're the only one for me, baby." he'd lift a hand to delicately trail down the side of your cheek, and you'd be astonished at the blatant swirl of lust and love settled deep in his eyes—filthy words punctuated with praise; he just can't help himself around you.

"mmm, pretty cunt all wrapped up around me… shit, i love you so damn much, why're you so perfect?" his hips would snap up so roughly, in contrast to the gentle caresses he'd leave over your body, in line with the way he's brought you up to orgasm after orgasm. "you're doing so well, baby, c'mon. you can cum again, just one more f'me…"

ᴊᴇʀᴇᴍɪᴀʜ

jeremiah's praises are a little bit… inconsistent.

not that you never know when you're going to get them, because he does it quite freely—pretty often, mostly whenever he feels like saying nice things about you, which, well… happens to be quite a lot.

but you never know how you're going to get them.

he's big on compliments, always has been. so sometimes it's extremely easy for him to whip out a few words of praise. maybe he saw a flower that reminded him of you. he'd send it over with a sweet letter detailing what you mean to him. or maybe he'd send a simple text, just a little "thinking of you today, princess!" to make you smile. sometimes, he'd give you a little kiss on the cheek, on the nose, say an equally simple "hey, you look beautiful today." or on other days, he'd play a little bit coy, maybe sending a little wink your way after some cheesy compliment disguised as a pickup line—playful, a little bit of a little shit about it, and these are the ones that probably get you the most flustered.

but as much as he prides himself in his way with words—literature lover at heart, poetry lover first before anything… well, sometimes he doesn't have words. not when it comes to you.

because, how can he? sometimes he's too overcome with emotion—the fact that you're here, the fact that you're with him, the fact that he can actually cup your face and look into your eyes and say with conviction that he's finally with the girl he loves more than anything else in the world. even more than flowers. even more than words.

and it's such times that he's more flustered than you. nevermind your praise kink—sometimes he's the one tripping over his words, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly and flushing in embarrassment when the words won't come out right. there's a little less of the nonchalance, the playfulness. he tries to be more serious, but it backfires, because he is serious—about you, about both of you, about your relationship… and about how much he loves you.

so even in intimate moments, your body flush against his; even in the way that he kisses you, so tender and loving and sweet… even when he rolls his hips against yours in a slow, gentle motion, even when he'd make love to you under the dim lights of his bedroom… sometimes, his words just fail him. sometimes all he can do is look into your eyes and breathlessly moan out your name. sometimes he has to dip down and nuzzle into your chest, whining out something incoherent—something like a mushed up string of i love you's if you really listen closely enough.

there's a little less praise to go around.

maybe he'll call you pretty, maybe he'll call you perfect… maybe he'll say a little something about how good you feel, but they're lost and broken into moans, and maybe you're both too into it to really register anything he's saying. because for all that he prides himself with his words, he's really just a little too lost in the feeling of you to bother.

(in the end, it's easier for you to get his praise outside the bedroom…)

ᴋɪᴇʀᴀɴ

praise from kieran is… rare.

he's not used to it; not at all.

part of him maybe thinks he should do it more—well, no, he knows that he probably should, especially when he knows it makes you feel good. he'd admit it to himself that he likes getting you all flustered, enjoys knowing that he has a certain effect on you, that even a simple little praise is enough to give him such a reaction. but words of affirmation aren't particularly his thing, and it just… doesn't happen very often. if it did, it would happen randomly, with nothing too elaborate, maybe even just said in passing—mostly because he doesn't want to draw attention to it. there's a part of him that feels a little bit embarrassed about being so direct with his words like that.

still, it happens nonetheless, sometimes. and when it does happen, it's really truly almost as if there's nothing else you can think of but him. his words. the fact that he's actually really, truly, legitimately praised you.

pretty. just one word. he has you pinned against the wall, something of a knowing smirk visible on his lips as his fingers trace the curve of your jaw and dip lower.

good girl. two words, two fingers dip into your mouth for just a moment… and he's so pleased when you let him. so what else can he do but kiss you? what else can he do but press his body up against yours, feel the way you practically melt against him like this?

he's remembering truly just how much his praise gets to you, and it spurs him to act further—low grunts about how good you feel when he hoists a leg up to his waist so he can slide himself into you, all snug and comfortable in your wet heat... he could praise you for how well you take him, little words about how you're absolutely the best—"mmm you're driving me crazy, angel… just like that. good. fucking. girl."

it's rare, and he doesn't do it often. but maybe, sometimes, when he does start… it's a little bit difficult to stop.

ʟᴜᴋᴇ

one thing to be established is: luke's praises are constant.

they never stop. you hear them so goddamn much. in fact, maybe part of you even feels a little used to it.

it happens nearly all the time, as many times as he can think to—sometimes a little bit teasing, sometimes just to get under your skin a little, sometimes maybe a teeny bit (a lot) obnoxious about it… or, sometimes, in a softer tone, a little more genuine than usual. but the root of it really remains to be that he'll take every little opportunity to throw a compliment your way. especially when he realize it affects you a little more than he originally thought. because the way your heart rate accelerates? the way you'd freeze in place for even just a tiny tiny moment, every single time? even the way your cheeks heat up, maybe sometimes the way your eyes would dart away from him to look at anything else in the room… it gives him pure joy, and it only makes him want to do it more.

"heyy, pretty little miss hunter!" in simple, everyday settings? he'd be so casual about it when he sees you, maybe throwing a little wink your way. the grin on his face would be so telling about how much he just knows. "you look cute today!" or, "that thing you did just now was really cool!" or even just, "what's my pretty girl up to this time, huh?" and it gets your brain blanking in seconds.

but it doesn't compare to the bedroom—a quiet place where he's softer, gentler… where all you can hear are his praises, about anything and everything, hands moving over your body in tender, petting caresses. "your skin's super soft," he'd mumble. "did you use a new shampoo, or something? smells real nice." and he'd dip his head into your neck, lick at the sensitive patch of skin… his hands would slide between your legs, rubbing teasing circles over your clit. "mmm… tastes good… feels good…" he'd dip his finger in, gathering your slick, chuckling at how much there already is— "damn, sunshine, so wet for me? that's what i like to see."

it's a little infuriating, in a sense. he finds every little thing to praise, but… he means it. there's so much of you to praise. it's more than just how well you take his fingers, his tongue, his cock; it's more than just how good you feel or how good you're being for him… it's just, everything. he wants to say what's on his mind with you, and especially behind closed doors? he's got a whole lot of thoughts, and all of them happen to be good things about you.

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pucksandpower · 1 month ago

Text

Inserts Himself Where?

Day 22 → Bedding Ceremony 💋 Charles Leclerc

Warnings: 18+ content

Kinktober Masterlist

The room is warm, the air thick with lavender and a nervous sort of energy that seems to cling to the walls. Your maids bustle about, fingers trailing over the lace of your gown, smoothing the fabric, tugging it tighter in places.

You can feel the weight of their glances, the words they’re holding back. There’s something they want to say, something that’s been dancing in the air all morning but hasn’t quite landed.

“Hold still, milady,” Jeanne says, her tone gentle, though there's an edge of anticipation to it. She pulls a comb through your hair, carefully teasing the strands into place.

You feel the weight of the occasion pressing down on you. You’ve been preparing for this day for months, and yet, something about it feels … off. There’s a knot in your stomach that refuses to unravel.

A maid at your feet tightens the laces on your shoes, while another adjusts the pearls around your neck. Everyone is fussing over every small detail, yet they keep exchanging looks — nervous, knowing looks — that you can’t ignore much longer.

“What is it?” You finally ask, your voice breaking the silence. You glance at Jeanne, who’s avoiding your eyes, concentrating far too hard on an already perfect braid. “You’re all acting strange.”

Jeanne freezes for just a moment, the comb pausing mid-stroke. You see her exchange another glance with Marguerite, the older of your maids, who’s standing near the door, hands clasped in front of her apron. Marguerite clears her throat, steps forward, and it’s as if the entire room collectively holds its breath.

“There is … something we need to talk to you about,” Marguerite says, her voice careful, deliberate. You can sense her choosing each word like it’s something fragile, like she’s afraid it might break in her mouth. “About tonight.”

“Tonight?” You echo, confused. You already know about the feast, about the dancing and the endless stream of congratulations. It’s all been drilled into your head by your mother and your tutors. What else could there be?

Jeanne places the comb down, smoothing her hands over your shoulders, her touch soft but tense. “It’s about what happens after the wedding,” she says quietly. “After the ceremony … with Prince Charles.”

There’s a flicker of recognition somewhere deep inside you, a faint memory of hushed conversations you weren’t meant to overhear. You feel your heartbeat quicken, but you don’t understand why.

“What happens after?” You ask, genuinely lost.

The room falls into a silence that’s almost unbearable. Jeanne’s fingers tighten on your shoulder for a moment before she steps back, leaving Marguerite to speak.

Marguerite lets out a small sigh, one that seems to carry the weight of the world. “After the feast, after the guests have left … there’s the bedding ceremony,” she explains. Her words are slow, careful, as if she’s trying not to startle you. “It’s tradition. You and the prince will be led to your chambers to … consummate the marriage.”

You blink, consummate ringing in your ears. You’ve heard the term before, but only in passing, never with any real explanation attached to it. It’s something that’s been whispered about, something the older women in the court would smirk at when they thought you weren’t listening. You swallow, suddenly feeling like you’re on the edge of understanding something much larger than you’re ready for.

“And what does that mean exactly?” You ask, your voice quieter now. You know you’re supposed to understand, but you don’t.

Marguerite glances at Jeanne, who looks like she would rather be anywhere else right now. Finally, Marguerite steps closer to you, lowering her voice as if that will somehow soften the blow. “It means that the prince will … well, he will lay with you.”

“Lay with me?” You repeat, still not grasping it fully.

Jeanne steps in again, her face a mixture of embarrassment and determination. “He will … be with you. As a husband is with his wife,” she tries, but it’s clear the words are slipping away from her.

You blink at them, frustration growing. “What does that mean?” You ask, more sharply than you intended.

Jeanne sighs, glancing at Marguerite as if pleading for help. Marguerite nods once, the movement almost imperceptible, before taking another small step toward you.

“Y/N,” Marguerite starts, and the use of your name makes you sit up a little straighter. “When a man and a woman are married, they … share a bed. And during that time, the man … inserts himself.”

The words hang in the air like a bad joke.

“Inserts himself?” You repeat, confusion evident in your voice. “Inserts himself where?”

Jeanne coughs, and Marguerite turns a shade of red you didn’t think possible.

“In you, milady,” Jeanne finally says, her voice barely above a whisper.

It takes a moment for the meaning to settle in. And even then, it feels slippery, like something you’re not entirely ready to catch hold of. You stare at them both, waiting for them to laugh, to tell you it’s all some strange misunderstanding. But they don’t. They just stand there, looking at you with a mixture of pity and something else — concern, maybe?

Your heart is thumping loudly in your chest now, your hands clutching the arms of your chair. “That’s what’s going to happen?” You whisper, more to yourself than to them.

Marguerite nods slowly. “Yes, milady. It is … part of your duties as a wife.”

The word duties feels heavy, like it’s pressing down on you from all sides. You’ve heard it a hundred times — duty to your family, to your country, to your future husband. But this? This is something else entirely.

“Why didn’t anyone tell me this before?” You ask, your voice small, almost breaking.

Jeanne steps forward, crouching down so she’s eye level with you. “We didn’t want to frighten you, milady,” she says softly. “But now … now you must be prepared.”

Prepared. The word feels hollow, like it could never be enough for whatever is coming. You stare at Jeanne, at her wide, honest eyes, and for a moment, you think about how easy it would be to just say no. To refuse. To walk away from all of it. But then you remember who you are, what’s expected of you, and that thought quickly fades.

“What if … what if I can’t?” You ask, voice trembling despite your efforts to keep it steady.

Jeanne’s hand finds yours, squeezing it gently. “You can,” she says with more confidence than you feel. “Every woman goes through this. And you will, too.”

You glance at Marguerite, who nods solemnly. “It’s normal to feel this way,” she adds. “To be scared. But once it’s done … it becomes easier. You learn to live with it.”

The knot in your stomach tightens further at the thought of having to “learn to live” with something like this. You had always thought marriage would be a partnership, something beautiful. But now it seems like another duty, another burden placed upon you.

“What … what if I don’t want him to?” You ask quietly, barely audible.

Jeanne hesitates for a moment, her smile faltering. “It’s not about want, milady. It’s what must be done. For the marriage to be valid.”

You nod, though you feel like you’re in a daze, like you’re suddenly floating above the room, watching yourself from a distance.

Jeanne’s hand squeezes yours again, as if trying to tether you back. “It will be all right,” she whispers, as if that could make it true.

But you’re not sure anything will be all right again after tonight.

***

The doors swing open with a creak, and the air shifts — heavy, thick with the weight of expectation. You take a step forward, your legs barely cooperating beneath the layers of your gown, and your maids gently guide you into the room. The space is dimly lit, candles flickering along the stone walls, casting long shadows that dance with the faint tremble in your chest.

A crowd lines the edges of the room, a sea of faces, each expression unreadable, their eyes fixed on you and Charles. They’re waiting. Watching. Witnessing. Your breath catches in your throat as the enormity of what’s happening presses down on you like a heavy cloak. You steal a glance at the bed — a massive, looming thing that takes up nearly half the room, its dark wooden posts adorned with silken drapes.

You can’t feel your hands anymore. Your fingers are numb as they clutch the folds of your gown, and your heart is pounding so loud in your ears that you can hardly hear anything else. The maids hover around you, their hands steady but their faces as tense as yours. Jeanne’s voice is low in your ear as she begins to untie the laces of your bodice, but the words barely register.

Your eyes drift toward Charles, standing across from you, surrounded by his own attendants. He’s calm — too calm. His posture is steady, his movements fluid as one of his men begins to undo the buttons on his doublet. His eyes meet yours for a moment, and the weight of his gaze feels like a physical thing, grounding you and unsettling you all at once.

The room is suffocating, the walls closing in around you, and suddenly, your legs give a slight wobble. Jeanne catches you by the elbow, steadying you before anyone else can notice. She leans close, her voice barely above a whisper. “Breathe, milady.”

But breathing feels impossible.

The rustle of fabric fills the room as the maids continue to work, pulling at the ties of your gown, loosening it inch by inch. Your heart races faster as more of your skin is exposed, the cold air prickling against your back as they slide the heavy fabric off your shoulders. You feel the weight of every gaze in the room, the eyes of the witnesses burning into you, watching each movement, each breath.

Charles steps toward you, his attendants falling back, and in that moment, you realize that his chest is bare, his broad shoulders illuminated by the faint glow of the candlelight. He looks powerful, every inch of him radiating control, and the sight of him only makes the trembling worse.

You lower your gaze, staring at the floor, but his presence looms closer until he’s standing directly in front of you. He tilts his head slightly, his expression unreadable as he watches you. Then, his hand reaches out — strong, firm — and he cups your chin, lifting your face to meet his eyes.

“You’re trembling,” he says quietly, his voice low and steady.

You try to answer, but your throat feels tight, your mouth dry. Instead, you just nod, swallowing hard as his thumb brushes lightly against your cheek.

His touch is firm but not unkind, and for a brief moment, the world narrows down to just the two of you. The witnesses, the maids, the ceremony itself — all of it fades into the background as he looks at you with an intensity that makes your heart skip.

“They’re watching us,” you whisper, your voice barely audible.

“They don’t matter,” he says, his tone calm, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. He drops his hand from your face, letting it trail down your arm before resting it at your waist. “Forget them. This is about you and me.”

You blink up at him, unsure how you’re supposed to just forget the dozens of eyes burning into your skin. But there’s something in the way he speaks, the way he holds himself, that makes it sound almost possible.

His hand tightens slightly at your waist, grounding you in the moment. “Look at me,” he says, and you do. His eyes are dark green, piercing, and for a moment, the noise in your head quiets, the panic subsides just enough for you to breathe.

The maids step back now, leaving you in only your shift, the thin fabric barely covering your trembling body. Your skin feels exposed, vulnerable, and the cold bites at you as the gown is carried away, leaving you standing in front of Charles in nothing but the flimsy fabric.

He nods to his attendants, and they move quickly, removing the last of his clothing. You can feel the shift in the room — the way the witnesses straighten, their attention sharpening as the final barrier between you and Charles is stripped away.

Your breath catches as you look at him. He’s … overwhelming. His body is all sharp lines and muscle, his skin bronzed by the sun, and he stands there, completely unbothered by his own nakedness. He’s everything you’re not — strong, powerful, certain. And yet, despite the fear twisting in your chest, you can’t help but be drawn to him.

Charles steps closer, his bare chest only inches from yours now, and you feel the heat radiating from his skin. He lifts a hand again, this time running his fingers lightly over your shoulder, down your arm, the touch both calming and terrifying at once.

“Look at me,” he repeats, his voice firmer now, but not unkind. His other hand comes up, cupping the side of your neck, and the warmth of his skin makes you shiver. “Focus on me. Only me.”

You nod, though your eyes flick nervously to the crowd.

“Don’t,” he says softly, but there’s an edge of command in his voice. “Pretend they’re not here. Pretend it’s just us.”

His hand moves to the ties of your shift, and you feel the world spin around you. Your breath catches in your throat as his fingers work quickly, and the fabric falls away, leaving you utterly exposed. The cold air rushes over your skin, and for a moment, you think you might faint.

But then, his hands are on you — steady, firm, pulling you toward him. You gasp, but he holds you, one hand on the small of your back, the other tangling in your hair as he brings his face close to yours.

“Breathe,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against your ear. “Breathe.”

You force yourself to inhale, though the air feels thin and sharp in your lungs. His hand slides down your back, guiding you, and before you realize it, he’s leading you toward the bed, his steps slow but purposeful.

Your legs feel weak, but he keeps you upright, keeps you moving forward. The bed looms closer, and the witnesses fall away into shadows as you focus on the feel of his hands, his voice in your ear.

When you reach the edge of the bed, he turns you to face him again, his eyes searching yours. “Lie down,” he says, his voice still calm, still steady. It’s not a request — it’s an instruction, and there’s no room for hesitation.

You sink down onto the bed, the sheets cool against your skin, and Charles stands over you, watching you with an intensity that makes your heart race. He’s so close, his body towering over yours, and you can feel the heat radiating off him, a stark contrast to the cold air around you.

He kneels beside you, his hands moving over your body in a way that’s both possessive and reassuring. His fingers trace the curve of your hip, the dip of your waist, and he leans down, his breath hot against your neck.

“Relax,” he whispers, though you’re not sure how that’s possible.

Your mind is a whirl of thoughts, your body trembling beneath him, but somehow, his presence — his control — anchors you. He’s dominant, powerful, every movement calculated, and though you’re terrified, there’s a strange sense of safety in his certainty.

He shifts his weight, pressing his body against yours, and the feel of him — his skin, his heat — sends a jolt through you. His lips find your collarbone, trailing soft, deliberate kisses along your skin, and his hand moves lower, his touch firm but not harsh.

“Focus on me,” he murmurs again, his lips brushing against your ear. “Only me.”

You close your eyes, willing yourself to block out the rest of the room — the witnesses, the maids, the ceremony. It’s just him. Just Charles. His hands, his voice, his body guiding you through the fear.

“I’m going to take care of you,” he whispers, his voice low, and despite everything, you believe him.

You have to.

The room feels like a furnace, despite the cool draft from the open windows. Every breath you take is shallow, every movement calculated, dictated by the presence of so many eyes around you. Charles hovers above you, his body a solid, commanding force. His hands, warm and firm, travel over your skin as if he owns it. And maybe he does — at least tonight.

He leans closer, his lips brushing your ear again, his breath hot against your skin. “They’re still here,” he whispers, and there’s a sharpness in his voice that sends a shiver down your spine. “Waiting. Watching. Pathetic, isn’t it?”

Your breath hitches as his fingers trail down your side, tracing lines that ignite something deep within you. You barely manage to whisper, “Why aren’t they leaving?”

Charles lets out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling through his chest as he shifts his weight, his body pressing into yours. “They’ll leave when they see what they came for,” he murmurs, his lips brushing the curve of your neck. His fingers find the soft skin of your inner thigh, and your body tenses in response, your heart pounding in your chest.

Your mind is spinning, overwhelmed by the sensations, by the weight of what’s happening. But Charles — he’s steady, unshaken, like the eye of a storm. His hand moves with a deliberate slowness, sliding between your legs, and you gasp, your body arching involuntarily as his fingers brush against your most sensitive spot. He pauses for a moment, as if savoring the way your body reacts to his touch.

“They’re just waiting for a little blood,” he whispers against your skin, his tone mocking. “That’s all it takes to satisfy them. A few drops, and they’ll be convinced the marriage is … properly consummated.”

You try to focus, try to breathe, but the way his fingers move, the way his body presses against yours — it’s all too much. Your fingers dig into the sheets beneath you, your chest rising and falling with each shaky breath. Charles smirks, his lips trailing down your neck as he shifts his body, positioning himself between your legs.

“Are you ready?” He asks, his voice low, commanding.

You don’t know how to answer. Your heart is racing, your body trembling, but there’s something else beneath the fear now — something you don’t entirely understand. You nod, your throat tight, and Charles gives a satisfied hum in response.

He moves with purpose, and you feel the weight of him pressing against you. His eyes lock onto yours, and for a moment, everything else — the witnesses, the cold air, the fear — disappears. It’s just him, just you, and the heat that pulses between you.

“Stay with me,” he says, his voice firm but almost gentle. “Don’t think about them. Think about us.”

Then, with one powerful motion, he enters you, and the world narrows into a sharp, bright point of sensation. You gasp, your body tensing as the pain cuts through you, sudden and overwhelming. Tears sting your eyes, but before you can let them fall, Charles leans down, his lips grazing your ear.

“They’re still watching,” he murmurs, his voice dark, laced with a twisted sort of amusement. “Do you think they’re disappointed? Hoping for more drama? More blood?”

You let out a sharp, startled laugh — half from the absurdity of it, half from the overwhelming sensation of him inside you. The laugh turns into a gasp as Charles moves, slow but deliberate, his hips pressing firmly against yours. You feel everything — every inch, every movement, every breath he takes — and it’s all too much, too overwhelming. Yet, somehow, it’s not enough.

“Ignore them,” he whispers again, his lips brushing your neck, sending sparks down your spine. “Pretend we’re the only ones here.”

You try — God, you try — but it’s impossible to block out the weight of their stares, the silent judgment from the witnesses lining the walls. And yet, with each movement of Charles’ body, with every thrust that presses him deeper inside you, the world blurs at the edges. He’s taking over, filling every space, every thought, until nothing remains but him.

He groans softly, his breath hot against your skin, and you feel your body responding in ways you hadn’t expected. The pain begins to ebb, replaced by something else — a strange heat building inside you, coiling tight in your belly. You bite your lip, trying to keep the sounds inside, but Charles is relentless, his movements steady, controlled, each one drawing you closer to something you don’t quite understand.

His lips hover over your ear again, and his voice is a dark whisper. “Do you think they’re jealous? Do you think they wish they could be in my place?”

The thought is absurd, but another laugh escapes you — half gasp, half breathless amusement — and it startles you, the sound foreign and unfamiliar in the midst of everything happening. Charles grins against your skin, clearly pleased with himself.

“See? It’s not so bad,” he says, his voice low, coaxing. “You’re doing beautifully.”

Your body is trembling beneath him, each movement sending jolts of sensation through you, and you can barely think, barely breathe. His hands grip your waist, pulling you closer, and you feel the sharp contrast of his dominance, his control, with the tenderness in his touch.

“They’re waiting for the proof,” Charles whispers, his tone mocking again. “So eager to see it.”

You feel the heat in your face, the embarrassment rising, but before you can fully register it, Charles thrusts harder, his body pressing into yours with more force. You gasp, the sound escaping before you can stop it, and your fingers grip the sheets tighter, knuckles white.

“There it is,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “Let them hear you.”

You shake your head, biting your lip to suppress the sounds, but Charles isn’t having it. His hand slides up your thigh, gripping firmly as he moves faster, his body commanding yours, pulling you deeper into the sensations.

“Don’t fight it,” he whispers, his voice dark and intoxicating. “Let them know how good it feels.”

Your heart is racing, your breath coming in shallow gasps, and to your surprise, his words sink into you, fueling the heat growing inside. You can’t fight it anymore — not the sounds, not the way your body responds to his touch. You let out a soft whimper, and Charles grins, clearly satisfied with the effect he’s having on you.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his voice rougher now, and the words send a shiver down your spine. “That’s it. Just like that.”

His pace quickens, and with each thrust, the witnesses, the judgment, the fear — all of it fades into the background. It’s just him, just you, and the intoxicating rhythm of his body against yours. You feel the tension building inside you, coiling tighter with every movement, every breath, until you’re on the edge of something you’ve never felt before.

You gasp, your body trembling beneath him, and Charles leans down, his lips brushing your ear once more.

“You’re going to come for me,” he whispers, his voice dark and commanding. “Aren’t you?”

You can’t speak, can’t think, but your body answers for you, your hips bucking beneath him as the sensation builds to a fever pitch. You’re gasping now, your breath ragged, and Charles smirks against your skin.

“Let go,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl. “I want to feel you.”

And then, suddenly, everything snaps — the tension, the heat, the coiled tightness in your belly — and your body explodes with sensation, pleasure rolling through you in waves so intense you can’t breathe. You cry out, your fingers digging into the sheets, and Charles groans in response, his movements becoming harder, more erratic as he drives you through the climax.

Your body shudders beneath him, the pleasure overwhelming, and for a moment, everything else falls away. It’s just him, just you, and the raw, unfiltered sensation coursing through your veins.

When the waves finally subside, you’re left trembling, gasping for breath as Charles slows his movements, his body still pressed firmly against yours. He leans down, his lips brushing your temple, and you feel the faintest hint of tenderness in the gesture.

“There,” he murmurs softly, his voice still rough but with a new edge of satisfaction. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You can’t respond, your body too spent, too overwhelmed by everything that’s just happened. But in the silence, you realize something: the witnesses haven’t left. They’re still there, watching, waiting.

The room is suffocating in its silence. Your chest rises and falls, still trying to catch up with the intensity of what just happened. Your body hums with the aftershocks, your legs trembling, and all you want is to close your eyes and forget the weight of the gazes pressing in on you from the crowd of witnesses.

Charles is still above you, his body warm and heavy, grounding you in the moment. His breath slows, his hand coming to rest on your thigh, his fingers tracing slow circles that should have soothed you, but all you can think about are the people watching — still there, still waiting, still leering.

And then, without warning, Charles drags the duvet up, uncovering you completely.

You gasp, your body jolting in shock as the cool air hits your bare skin. The sense of vulnerability swells in your chest, your hands instinctively moving to cover yourself, but it’s too late. Charles exposes the sheets beneath you, stained with the tell-tale sign of blood — the proof the witnesses had been waiting for.

Your cheeks burn, mortification flooding your body as you feel their eyes burning into you. You bite your lip, willing yourself to shrink, to disappear beneath the sheets. But Charles, in contrast, doesn’t flinch. His expression is calm, his body still and powerful as he scans the room, his gaze cold and sharp.

“Get a good look,” he says, his voice ringing out clear and firm in the stillness of the room. He gestures to the blood-stained sheet with a casual wave of his hand, as if this was nothing more than a trivial detail. “There’s your proof. Now leave.”

You hear the murmurs ripple through the crowd, hushed whispers that slither across the room like a serpent. But no one moves. They stay rooted to the spot, their eyes glued to the two of you, hungry and intrusive, unwilling to give up their position as witnesses to this private moment.

Your heart races, your pulse thundering in your ears as you look up at Charles. He’s tense now, the muscles in his jaw tightening, his body coiled with barely restrained frustration. He sits up slightly, still keeping you shielded beneath his frame, his hands never leaving your body.

“I said leave,” he repeats, his voice dropping into a dangerous tone, like the low growl of a predator. His eyes flick from one face to another, daring any of them to defy him. But still, no one moves. The tension in the air thickens, suffocating, and you feel the weight of it bearing down on you, threatening to crush you.

Charles’ patience snaps.

“Get. Out.” His voice roars through the room, sudden and violent, like the crack of thunder in a storm. The force of it sends a jolt through your body, but more importantly, it makes the witnesses flinch. His eyes burn with fury, his body rigid as he glares at them, each word seething with barely-contained rage. “This is no longer your concern.”

The murmuring stops, and for a moment, no one dares to breathe. The power in Charles’ voice — his command, his authority — leaves no room for argument. Slowly, reluctantly, they begin to shuffle toward the exit, the room clearing bit by bit, though not quickly enough for your liking.

You can still feel the weight of their stares as they leave, lingering, prying. It makes your skin crawl, the discomfort settling deep in your bones. You can’t help but shudder, and Charles’ hand, large and warm, immediately rests on your back, steadying you.

“Don’t look at them,” he says, his voice softer now, but still firm. “They don’t matter anymore.”

But you can feel them. Even as the room starts to empty, their presence lingers like a foul stench in the air. The feeling of exposure gnaws at you, tearing at your insides, and you can’t stop the tears from welling up in your eyes.

You try to blink them away, but Charles notices immediately. His hand shifts, brushing your cheek, and when you meet his gaze, his expression softens slightly. “It’s over,” he murmurs, his voice low but sure. “They’re gone.”

Your lips part to respond, but no words come out. All you can do is nod, your throat tight, the humiliation still fresh in your mind. You feel Charles’ hand move again, this time slipping beneath your chin, tilting your face up toward his.

“Don’t let them see you like this,” he says, his tone gentle but firm. “You’re stronger than this.”

The words wash over you like a balm, and though the tightness in your chest doesn’t completely dissipate, there’s something in his voice — something steady and unshakable — that anchors you. You take a shaky breath, your gaze flicking down to the blood-stained sheet beneath you, and for the first time, you feel a strange sense of relief.

The worst is over. The witnesses are gone.

Charles pulls the duvet back over you, shielding your body from the cold air and the prying eyes that had only just left. His touch is still commanding, but there’s a tenderness to it now, a sense of care that surprises you. He leans down, his lips brushing your forehead, and the simple gesture feels more intimate than anything else that’s happened tonight.

You close your eyes, letting the warmth of his body against yours settle into your bones, and for a brief moment, you feel safe. Protected. Charles’ presence, his power, has a way of making everything else seem small, insignificant. Even the lingering humiliation feels distant now, a shadow at the edge of your mind.

“I should’ve thrown them out sooner,” he mutters, almost to himself, his voice dark with frustration.

You blink up at him, surprised by the hint of regret in his tone. “It’s not your fault,” you whisper, though the words feel strange on your tongue.

Charles’ eyes meet yours, and there’s a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze before it hardens again. “I won’t let them make you feel like that again,” he says, his voice firm, resolute. “Not ever.”

You swallow hard, your throat dry, and for a moment, you don’t know what to say. The vulnerability of the moment hangs between you, heavy and fragile, and you’re not sure if you should thank him or hide from the intensity of his gaze. Instead, you just nod, the weight of exhaustion finally settling over you.

Charles’ hand lingers on your cheek for a moment longer before he pulls away, shifting to sit beside you on the bed. He’s still close, his presence filling the space around you, and though the room is quiet now, the tension hasn’t entirely lifted.

“They only stayed because they’re cowards,” he says, his voice low, as if continuing a conversation with himself. “Pathetic leeches, desperate for some form of power they’ll never have.”

You let out a soft, breathless laugh, the absurdity of the night catching up to you. “You didn’t have to yell so loudly,” you murmur, your voice shaky but laced with a trace of amusement. “I thought they’d leave eventually.”

Charles turns toward you, his eyes narrowing slightly, though there’s a glint of humor behind them. “They deserved worse,” he says, his tone sharp but not unkind. “Next time, I’ll throw them out myself.”

The image of Charles physically tossing a group of nobles out of the room makes you laugh again, this time more freely, though the sound is still tinged with disbelief. You never imagined you’d be laughing after a night like this. But somehow, here you are, with Charles beside you, his hand resting on your thigh, steadying you in ways you didn’t expect.

“Thank you,” you whisper, the words falling from your lips before you even fully realize what you’re saying.

Charles’ gaze softens, just for a moment, before he nods. “You don’t need to thank me,” he says quietly. “This is my duty.”

But it doesn’t feel like duty anymore. Not entirely. There’s something more to the way he looks at you now, something that makes your heart beat a little faster despite everything that’s happened.

You glance down at the sheets again, the faint stain still visible beneath the duvet, and a wave of exhaustion crashes over you, heavier than before. Your body aches, your mind spinning with everything that’s transpired, and all you want now is for the night to end.

Charles seems to sense your weariness. He moves closer, pulling you gently into his arms, his body warm and solid against yours. You sink into him, your head resting against his chest, and for the first time all night, you feel a sense of peace.

“We’ll deal with everything else tomorrow,” he says, his voice a low rumble in your ear. “For now, rest.”

You close your eyes, letting his words wash over you, and slowly, the weight of the night begins to lift. You’re still raw, still vulnerable, but with Charles beside you, the darkness doesn’t seem so overwhelming.

***

The morning sun filters through the heavy drapes, casting a soft glow over the room. The air is cool, the bed warm, and you stir slightly, the weight of Charles’ arm still draped over your waist. You blink awake slowly, your face pressed into his chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing a comforting rhythm against you. For a moment, you forget where you are, wrapped in the warmth of his body, the soft cocoon of blankets around you.

Then the sound of footsteps pulls you from your daze.

The door creaks open, followed by a collective gasp. Your body stiffens, and you can feel Charles tense beside you, though he doesn’t move just yet. His arm tightens slightly, as if to reassure you, before he finally shifts, lifting his head from the pillow.

Two of your maids stand at the foot of the bed, their eyes wide, shock etched across their faces as they take in the sight of you and Charles — still tangled together beneath the sheets, bodies pressed close, intimate. You can’t help but feel the heat rise to your cheeks, a flush of embarrassment creeping up your neck.

You had expected to wake up alone, with Charles already gone to attend to his duties. Instead, here you are, cocooned in the aftermath of last night, and the sight is clearly not what anyone had anticipated.

“Good morning, milady,” one of the maids stammers, her eyes darting between you and Charles, clearly uncertain of how to proceed.

Charles sits up, propping himself against the headboard, but he doesn’t make any move to untangle himself from you. Instead, he casts a slow, measured look at the maids, his expression calm but commanding. “Her Highness,” he corrects them, his voice still gravelly from sleep, but carrying a distinct authority. “She is no longer ‘milady.’”

The maids exchange nervous glances, their cheeks coloring as they quickly curtsy. “Y-Your Highness,” they echo, clearly flustered by the correction.

You bite your lip, feeling the flush deepen at the reminder. It’s still strange to hear yourself referred to as “Your Highness.” The title feels foreign, like a borrowed gown that doesn’t quite fit, and yet there’s something about the way Charles says it that makes it feel … real.

Charles turns his attention back to you, his hand brushing against your waist as he leans down slightly, his voice low and intimate. “You should get dressed,” he says softly, though there’s a note of amusement in his tone. “We’ve scandalized them enough for one morning.”

You can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips, though your cheeks still burn. The fact that he’s still here, still close, feels … surprising, but in a way that warms your chest. You nod, reluctantly pulling away from him, and the maids rush forward, eager to help you from the bed.

As you stand, the cold air nips at your skin, and you suddenly feel exposed, despite the nightgown that clings to your body. You shiver slightly, and one of the maids, always attentive, quickly drapes a robe over your shoulders.

Charles watches you for a moment longer, his gaze lingering, before he swings his legs over the edge of the bed, standing in one fluid, graceful motion. His servants enter the room then, bowing low as they approach, clearly hesitant to disturb the prince. But Charles merely waves them in with a flick of his hand, dismissing their cautiousness.

“Have her belongings brought to my chambers,” Charles says, his voice casual, as if he were giving the most mundane of instructions. He reaches for his own clothes, still laid out by the servants, pulling on his tunic with practiced ease.

Your heart skips a beat.

The maids freeze in place, their eyes wide, as if they’ve just heard something outrageous. You can feel their shock ripple through the room, though they try to mask it with a quick curtsy.

“Your Highness,” one of them stammers, clearly unsure of how to respond. “But — your quarters? Surely, you mean-”

“I mean what I said,” Charles interrupts, his tone leaving no room for argument. He doesn’t look at them as he speaks, busy fastening the leather straps of his tunic, but his voice carries the weight of authority that only someone like him can wield. “Her belongings will be moved to my chambers by midday. Is that understood?”

Your maids glance at each other again, their expressions caught somewhere between shock and dismay. The scandal of it is clear — they had expected you to maintain separate quarters, as was the custom for all noble marriages. The idea of sharing a bed — sharing quarters — on a permanent basis was practically unheard of.

“Y-Yes, Your Highness,” one of them finally manages to say, her voice small. They both curtsy again, though their faces are still flushed with surprise.

You can’t help but feel the weight of what this means — the implication of it — and your cheeks warm at the thought. Charles wants you in his chambers, in his space. It’s a decision that speaks volumes, one that suggests more than just a sense of duty or obligation. The intimacy of sharing quarters … it’s something deeper, something more personal.

Your gaze flickers toward him, but he’s already focused on his servants, giving them instructions as they help him with his attire. You feel a rush of emotions — nervousness, anticipation, and something you can’t quite name. It’s as if the ground beneath you has shifted, the reality of your marriage settling in ways you hadn’t expected.

The maids, clearly still rattled, help you into your gown, their hands quick and efficient but a little clumsy in their haste. You can sense their discomfort, though they don’t say anything directly. You remain silent as they lace up the back of your gown, your mind spinning with thoughts of what sharing chambers with Charles will mean.

Once you’re fully dressed, you turn to find Charles watching you, his eyes dark and unreadable as he takes in the sight of you. There’s something about his gaze that sends a shiver down your spine, something that reminds you of the intensity of last night, the way he had held you, commanded the room, and, ultimately, you.

He crosses the room in a few long strides, his hand brushing your waist as he leans in, his voice low. “Are you alright?”

The simple question makes your breath catch. It’s a small gesture, a quiet moment of concern, but it feels significant. You nod, offering him a small smile, though your heart still races.

“I am,” you say softly, though the truth is, you’re not entirely sure what you feel. There’s a whirlwind of emotions churning inside you, and you can barely make sense of them.

Charles studies you for a moment longer, his hand lingering at your waist before he finally pulls away. “Good,” he says simply, his voice firm. “You’ll get used to this. To all of it.”

There’s something comforting in his certainty, as if he’s made up his mind that you’ll both navigate this strange new reality together. You take a deep breath, the knot of tension in your chest loosening slightly.

The maids finish with your hair, pinning it up into an elegant style, and they step back, glancing nervously at Charles, as if still processing the scandal of his earlier command.

One of them finally speaks, her voice barely a whisper. “Milady, shall we prepare your things for-” She stops herself, catching Charles’ sharp gaze. “Your Highness,” she corrects hastily, “shall we prepare your things for the move?”

You nod, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks again. “Yes,” you say softly, though the idea still feels strange. You had grown accustomed to the idea of separate quarters, of having a space to retreat to, a sanctuary of your own. But now, you’d be sharing that space with him.

Charles gives a small nod of approval, his expression unreadable, though you can sense his satisfaction with the arrangement. He turns to his own servants, dismissing them with a wave of his hand. “See to it that everything is ready,” he says. “I want no delays.”

The servants bow deeply and file out of the room, leaving you alone with Charles once more. The silence that follows is thick with unspoken tension, the weight of everything that has happened — and everything that is yet to come — hanging in the air.

Charles steps closer, his eyes never leaving yours as he reaches for your hand. His grip is firm, steady, and you feel the familiar jolt of warmth spread through you at his touch.

“You belong with me,” he says quietly, his voice low and commanding, as if stating a simple fact. “That’s how it will be. From now on.”

You swallow hard, the weight of his words sinking in. There’s no uncertainty in his tone, no room for negotiation. He’s made his decision, and you can feel the power of that decision pulsing through the air between you.

You nod, your voice barely above a whisper. “Yes, Your Highness.”

He smiles then, a small, satisfied smile that sends a shiver down your spine. His hand tightens around yours for a moment before he releases you, stepping back.

“We have a long day ahead,” he says, his voice returning to its usual confident tone. “But we’ll face it together.”

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself as you nod in agreement. The future feels uncertain, but with Charles by your side, you feel a strange sense of reassurance.

***

The evening air in Charles’ chambers is cool, thick with the scent of freshly lit candles and the quiet hum of crackling fire. The servants had come and gone, preparing the room for the night, and now the two of you stand in a silence that’s more charged than it is peaceful. You’ve spent the day together, walking the halls of the palace, facing curious eyes and polite murmurs, yet now, here, in the privacy of the chambers you now share, everything feels more intimate.

You’re still getting used to the space, to the idea that this room is no longer just his — it’s yours too. The bed, the wardrobe, the desk by the window. It’s unsettling, in a way, this sudden intrusion into his world, and yet, it feels oddly right. Charles moves about the room with ease, as if he belongs here, as if he belongs with you, and there’s something comforting in that.

The evening had been quiet, the both of you falling into an easy rhythm of shared conversation and long, lingering looks that spoke more than words could. But now, standing at the foot of the large, canopied bed, you feel the weight of what comes next pressing in on you.

Charles steps closer, his eyes dark and steady, full of that quiet confidence that always seems to radiate off him. He doesn’t rush — there’s no hurry in the way he approaches you, but there’s a deliberateness in his movements that makes your heart race.

He stops just in front of you, close enough that the warmth of his body reaches you. “You look nervous,” he says softly, a hint of amusement curling at the edges of his mouth.

You swallow hard, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “I-I’m not,” you lie, but your voice betrays you, shaking just a little.

He arches a brow, clearly unconvinced. “Liar,” he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, as he reaches up to brush a strand of hair from your face. His touch is light, gentle, but it sends a shiver down your spine all the same. “You forget, I know your body better than that by now.”

You can’t help but smile at that, despite your nerves. His words are true, but it’s still strange to think that someone who was, just days ago, a stranger in many ways, could now know so much about you. And yet, here you are, bound together in ways you never imagined.

Charles’ hand lingers on your cheek for a moment longer before he pulls away, his expression shifting from teasing to something more serious. He steps back slightly, his gaze holding yours as he speaks again. “It’s my duty as your husband to teach you what happens in the marriage bed.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you blink at him, confused. “Teach me?” You can’t keep the surprise out of your voice. “But … I thought-” You hesitate, unsure how to phrase it. “I thought what happened yesterday was … all there is.”

For a moment, there’s only silence. Then Charles laughs, a deep, rich sound that fills the room and sends another shiver through you. His eyes gleam with amusement, and there’s something almost predatory in the way he looks at you, as if your innocence is both endearing and utterly baffling to him.

“Oh, ma chérie,” he murmurs, shaking his head slightly. “You really have no idea, do you?”

Your cheeks burn with embarrassment, and you look down, unable to meet his gaze. You had thought that after last night, you’d learned everything there was to know about what happens between a man and a woman. But now, faced with the way Charles is looking at you, you realize how naïve you must seem.

He steps closer again, his hand coming to rest lightly on your arm. “Look at me,” he says softly, his voice gentle but firm.

You do as he says, lifting your eyes to meet his, and the intensity in his gaze makes your breath catch in your throat.

“There’s more,” he says quietly, his voice low and full of promise. “Much more.” He pauses, letting the words hang in the air between you, before he continues. “And I’m going to teach you. I’m going to show you exactly what it means to be my wife.”

You feel your heart hammering in your chest, a mix of nerves and anticipation swirling inside you. There’s something in the way he speaks, in the way he looks at you, that makes your skin tingle, your body instinctively leaning into him despite your uncertainty.

Charles reaches for you then, his hands steady and sure as he guides you to the edge of the bed. You sit down, your legs trembling slightly as the reality of what’s happening begins to sink in.

He stands before you, his gaze never leaving yours, and slowly, deliberately, he lowers himself to his knees in front of you.

Your breath hitches in your throat, your heart pounding so loudly you’re certain he can hear it.

“What are you doing?” You whisper, your voice shaky.

He smirks, the corner of his mouth curling up in that confident, almost arrogant way that always makes your stomach flutter. “I’m going to demonstrate something for you,” he says, his voice calm and controlled, as if this is the most natural thing in the world. “It’s called the lord’s kiss.”

You blink at him, confused. “The … the lord’s kiss?” The words sound strange to your ears, and you have no idea what he means.

Charles’ smirk deepens, and there’s a glint of something dark and heated in his eyes as he watches your confusion. “Don’t worry,” he says softly, his voice low and dangerous. “You’ll understand soon enough.”

Before you can respond, he reaches for your legs, his hands firm but gentle as he pulls you closer to the edge of the bed. Your heart races, your breath coming in short, shallow bursts as you try to process what’s happening.

You’re not sure what you expected, but it certainly wasn’t this.

Charles leans in, his hands sliding up your thighs as he positions himself between your legs. The fabric of your gown bunches around your hips, and you feel the cool air against your skin as he pushes it aside.

Your pulse quickens, your body trembling with a mix of nerves and something else — something you don’t quite understand but can’t deny.

He pauses for a moment, his gaze flicking up to meet yours, as if giving you one last chance to stop him. But you don’t. You can’t. You’re too caught up in the moment, too overwhelmed by the intensity of his presence, the way he commands every inch of your attention.

Then, without another word, he lowers his head, his lips brushing softly against your skin.

You gasp, your body jolting at the unexpected sensation, but Charles doesn’t stop. His movements are slow, deliberate, his mouth tracing a path along the inside of your thigh, his breath warm against your skin.

“Charles,” you whisper, your voice barely audible, your hands clutching at the sheets beneath you.

He doesn’t respond, not with words. Instead, he continues his slow, torturous exploration of your body, his lips and tongue moving with a precision that makes your head spin.

Your body reacts instinctively, your back arching slightly, your breath coming in ragged gasps as he brings you to the edge of something you’ve never felt before.

You’ve never been touched like this, never even imagined that this was something a man could do. And yet, here you are, trembling beneath his touch, your mind a whirlwind of sensations that you can’t even begin to comprehend.

Charles pulls back slightly, his lips hovering just above your skin as he murmurs, “Do you see now?” His voice is low, rough, filled with a quiet intensity that makes your pulse race. “Do you understand?”

You can’t speak. You can barely think. All you can do is nod, your body trembling, your breath coming in shallow, uneven bursts.

He smiles then, a slow, satisfied smile, and before you can catch your breath, he lowers his head again, continuing his demonstration.

The sensations are overwhelming. You’re lost in the world Charles is creating for you, your body alive with a heat and need you never imagined could exist. His lips, his tongue, every movement is precise, deliberate, like he’s playing a well-rehearsed melody on your skin.

The sound that escapes your lips is beyond your control — a high-pitched moan, raw and unrestrained, tearing through the quiet chambers. Your hands twist in the sheets, and you arch into him, trembling beneath his touch.

Charles doesn’t falter. His grip tightens on your thighs, keeping you grounded even as you feel like you might fly apart. He’s relentless, each kiss deeper, more commanding, pulling you into a space where only the two of you exist.

Your moans grow louder, filling the room with a sound that feels almost foreign to your ears. You can’t help it — he’s drawing something out of you, something primal, something you didn’t even know was there.

“Charles,” you gasp, your voice thick with desire and desperation, barely a whisper in the storm of sensation. But he doesn’t stop. His focus remains unbroken, his mouth working you over with a precision that drives you wild.

The tension builds, like a coil tightening inside you, every nerve alight, ready to snap. And then, just as you feel yourself tipping over the edge, the door to the chambers slams open with a sudden, jarring force.

The sound startles you, and your eyes fly open in panic. For a moment, the world blurs around you, your mind struggling to grasp what’s happening, but then you see them — two palace guards, standing in the doorway, their eyes wide with shock and confusion.

“Oh my God!” You yelp, mortified beyond belief, scrambling to pull the covers over yourself, your heart racing for a different reason now.

Charles, on the other hand, doesn’t even flinch. His grip on your thighs doesn’t loosen, and he doesn’t lift his face from between your legs. If anything, the intrusion seems to embolden him. His lips move with a newfound intensity, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure through you that makes your body jerk despite the embarrassment flooding your veins.

“W-we heard shouting, Your Highness!” One of the guards stammers, his face flushed as he averts his eyes. “We thought-”

The other guard clears his throat, equally uncomfortable. “We thought someone was hurt or … or being … shamed.”

You feel your face go up in flames, utterly humiliated. Your hands clutch the sheets to your chest, trying to cover as much of yourself as possible, but Charles … Charles remains exactly where he is, completely unfazed by the situation.

“Charles!” You hiss, your voice barely above a whisper, your eyes darting between the guards and him. “Please stop-” But even as you plead, your body betrays you. A fresh wave of pleasure washes over you, and another moan slips from your lips, softer this time, but no less damning.

The guards exchange a look, clearly unsure what to do, their faces red with embarrassment. “Should we — should we call for help?” One of them asks, his voice almost panicked, still refusing to look in your direction.

“No,” Charles growls, finally lifting his head just enough to speak, his voice dark and commanding, but his face remains close to your skin, his breath hot against your thigh. “Leave.”

“But … Your Highness-”

“I said leave,” Charles snaps, his voice low but laced with enough authority to make both guards jump.

They hesitate for a moment, as if debating whether they should follow his command or call for reinforcements. But the look on Charles’ face — sharp, predatory, completely in control — leaves no room for doubt. They turn on their heels and practically stumble over each other as they rush out of the room, slamming the door shut behind them.

Your heart is still racing, your face burning with humiliation. “Charles …” you begin, but your words dissolve into a gasp as his mouth moves against you once again.

“Don’t,” he says, his voice muffled against your skin, his lips brushing your most sensitive spot with a devastating precision. “Don’t think about them. Don’t think about anything but me.” His fingers tighten on your thighs, holding you firmly in place as he continues his slow, torturous assault on your senses.

You can’t help it — the moment takes you over again, your body responding to his touch in ways you don’t fully understand. Despite the lingering embarrassment, despite the guards and the intrusion, your body betrays you. You sink back into the pleasure he’s offering, every nerve in your body alive, on fire, as he drives you higher and higher.

“You feel incredible,” Charles murmurs, his voice low and full of that commanding confidence. He’s barely paused, barely stopped his ministrations, but he’s still somehow able to speak to you in that dark, soothing tone that makes your pulse race. “Do you know that? How good you taste … how perfect you are for me?”

His words send another wave of heat rushing through you, your breath catching in your throat. You can feel yourself unraveling, your body trembling beneath his hands as he works you over with a mastery that leaves you gasping for air.

You try to form words, to say something, anything, but all that escapes your lips is a soft, breathless moan. Your hands fist in the sheets, your back arching as you teeter on the edge of something vast and overwhelming.

Charles notices, of course. He always notices. His lips curl into a faint smile against your skin, and he hums low in his throat, the sound vibrating through you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

“I can feel it,” he says, his voice a growl now, low and full of promise. “You’re close, aren’t you? I can feel you trembling for me.”

You nod, unable to speak, unable to think of anything but the pleasure coursing through your veins, the way your body feels like it’s about to shatter into a thousand pieces.

“Let go,” he murmurs, his breath hot against you. “Let go for me.”

And you do. You fall, hard and fast, your body shaking as the tension finally snaps, sending you spiraling into a release so intense it leaves you breathless, gasping for air.

Charles doesn’t stop, his mouth moving against you with slow, deliberate strokes, drawing out every last bit of pleasure until you’re trembling and spent, your body weak and boneless beneath him.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, he pulls back, his lips curling into a satisfied smirk as he watches you, his hands still resting lightly on your thighs.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he says softly, his voice full of that same commanding power that always makes your heart race. “Completely undone … because of me.”

You can’t find the words to respond. All you can do is lie there, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths, your mind still reeling from the intensity of what just happened.

Charles rises to his feet with a grace that seems unfair, considering how your own limbs feel like jelly. He looks down at you, his dark eyes gleaming with a satisfaction that makes your stomach flip.

“You see?” He says softly, his voice smug but also warm, affectionate even. “There’s much more to being a wife than what you knew.”

You can only nod, still too breathless to speak, as you collapse back against the pillows, completely spent.

Charles leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his voice a low murmur as he says, “And there’s still so much more to learn.”

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hoshigray · 3 months ago

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꯳⃘꤫⃛✿ contents: Gojo x afab/fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - modern au! gym friends - oral (f! + m! receving) - clitoral play (licking + sucking) - boobjob - prone bone position - unprotected sex - creampies - pet names (angel, baby, princess, sweetie) - gojo is a perv, ngl - pussywhipped + whiny! gojo - mention of sweat and drool/spit.

Been going to the gym lately and can’t stop thinking about gym friend! Gojo, who indisputably has a massive crush on you.

Why else would he drag you in to do something that he loves to do? To share the same interests as his POI? To see you all the time? His reasons could be endless; however, those exact reasons seem to be doing more harm than good as his eyes can’t stop watching your body move on the elliptical, the sweat on your body shimmering on your gorgeous skin, or the positions you do as you stretch. All it does is add more fuel to the erotic thoughts that gnaw his heart out the more his azure orbs gawk at you.

“Ahaahhn!! S-Satoru, don’t lick so fa—Mmm!—Fffuuuhuuck!!”

Or stir up more guilty fantasies for his perverted brain to think about.

On his life, Gojo wishes he’d snatch you off your feet and take you to the locker rooms to devour you utterly. If he has to look at your ass shielded under those leggings one more time, he will rip them off the seams and stuff his face into your panties. And he knows you’d make the cutest sounds as he does so, shrilling up above with hands grabbing tuffs of his silver snow hair while his teeth tug your panties to the side and latch your folds to his mouth.

You looked way too good not to do so! He would have you hunched on the locker room bench, your knees to your chest, while his tongue ravishes your labia and eats you out. Jesus, your taste is intoxicating enough for his head to pound, spiraling the muscle to every cranny of the orifice to drink your fluids. “Holy fuck, so good…”

“‘Toruuu, waait!!” You plead with teary eyes, unsuccessful attempts to escape the tall man’s hold. “You’re going too fassst. Please…! Slow do—Oohoo!”

“No can do, baby~,” he’d lift his face and reveal his chin, just drenched with your essence mixed with his spit, before placing his tongue back to lap around your clitoris. “You said you’d cum for me three times, remember? Can’t just stop with one!”

“Bu-But…! I cannn’t, I’m too sweaty—“ you hasped aloud at the suck of your clit, Gojo letting his tongue run wild by licking and pressing on the pearl feverishly before sucking it in again. “—Tahaaa…!! Stop, stop! Let me shower firsst!!”

“C’mon, angel,” he kisses your vulva idly, enjoying the shudder of your thighs. “We can shower plenty together right after this, ‘kay? So, just keep cumming on my tongue for me, yeah?”

It doesn’t stop there. Because what’s hidden under your pants isn’t the only thing that drives him crazy — your cleavage peaking from your sports bras will always have him in a chokehold, the sweat shimmering across your attractive skin…All it needs is for his cock to be stuffed inside.

Oh fuck, it’s insane to even think about! Those lovely tits of yours giving his aching cock the time of its life has shivers crawling up his spine. That’s a sight that he’d store in his memory forever, watching his dick be swallowed up by the understrap of your bra and into the warmth of your chest. Fuck—he can’t think of anything better!

“Gosh, Satoru,” you’d look at him with a hooded gaze and smile while your hands press on your breasts to push together and trap his erection. The plush sensation makes Gojo’s hips buck, and you giggle. “What am I going to do with you? I can’t even work out in peace without you eyeing up my tits. Hmm, what do you have to say about that?”

“Hahhh…ahaaa, shit, I can’t—“ Gojo bites his lip at the display of your chest motioning up and down, his cock gliding in between your soft mounds making his eye twitch.

“Oh? Do you like watching my tits?” You inquire with a playful glint in your eyes, blowing on the pink tip to make the man moan. Precum trickles down your chest and joins the excess fluid that pools down to your bra and his sticky pelvis. “Does my pervert friend like my tits so much he wants to stuff his dick inside and make them dirty like him?”

“Fucking shit, yesss,” he throws his head back, his thighs trembling. “Yes, I love those cute tits like crazy.”

“Really?” You bat your eyes — holy hell, you were too much for him. “Would you like to cum on them again? Tell me, tell your gym partner how much you wanna stain these precious boobs you love so much.” You tease the cockhead with a flick of your tongue, nearly having Gojo bite on his.

“Oh, my God, sweetie, please!” His blue eyes sparkle with a misty wanton, drunk on this sensation between his legs. “I can’t think right now…Lemme fuck your tits like crazy!”

You smirk with no words, sticking your tongue out to drizzle your warm saliva on his tip, the poor partner choking on the air before you suck his entire tip into your mouth. Greeting his sensitive glans with your tongue, your chest continues to squeeze and stroke his shaft to have him a whining mess. Shaky hands find your shoulders, but it doesn’t stop your rhythm that can easily have him melt to the floor. And if that doesn’t do it, then your tongue flicking and teasing his urethra sure will—shocks travel across his body as you suck harshly for his precum, and his head is too mushy to stop his peak from crumbling down.

He surprises you with a burst of his semen, screaming with a gleeful smile as his white substance protrudes out and paints your chin and your messy chest. You lift a bit to have him come into your bra, seeing his come create a damp and sticky spot as your nipple rubs on him. “You’re so bad, Satoru~,” you titter. “So naughty and dirty.”

That’s precisely what he feels: bad and dirty for thinking of you like this…and worse, he keeps going.

“Ohhh!! ’T-Toruuu, yer going so faast! Nooohh!!

If Gojo is likely to lose his mind at your chest, it’s entirely plausible that he’d go wild at the snug feeling of your vaginal walls clamping around his dick. Oh, he can just picture it: your legs locked between his as he pummels his cock into your bare cunt, your hands tied to your back with a headband, and your firm hands placed on your shoulders as he drills himself to churn your insides.

Nothing can keep him at bay; his hips going buck-wild, slamming his pelvis down to your ass to make the flesh jiggle, moaning aloud at the sensation of you squeezing him whenever the tip grazes your sweet spots accurately, and thinking about nothing more than stuffing you full of his load. Fuck, you’d look so pretty, all fucked out and coated in his cum, filling it to the brim nonstop until his limb goes limp. Now that’s a workout he’ll get behind til the end of his days!

“Satoruuu!” You cry out his name, drooling escaping your pretty lips as you writhe. “It’s shoo muuuch, ‘oo muuuch!!”

His eyes roll to his skull from how much you are clenching around him, grinding his hips down to your ass to rub on your G-spot to the point of unintelligible babbles. Tighter, tighter! “Ahhhh, shiiit, baby, you feel so good,” he hiccups with abrupt ruts to your chasm. “So fucking…good!”

“Nnnmm, mmph!” Your eyes are sewn shut as the pleasure becomes overwhelming to bear, Gojo’s curved dick making it easier to scratch your vaginal walls to a euphoric itch. A poke to your cervix causes a sharp gasp and eyes to widen again. “—Gahaaa, wa-wait, Satoru, stop! If you keep—Mmmph!”

“Ahaah, there it is,” he draws his length outward before shoving it back inside to hit your womb once more. You yelp and tighten around him again. “Your little weak spot is right here, huh?” More gnashes to your ass cause frequent jabs to your womb, your lower half jerking to every single one.

“Ohhh fuuck, I’m gonna cummm…!!”

“Yeah, I can feel it,” Gojo licks his lips before kissing your nape. “But not yet, right? You said you’d help me with my endurance training, so hold on a little longer, okay, my princess?”

Before you could retort, his hips began to jackhammer into your cunt at an irregular pace, your screams only fueling him to pound you even more. “OhhhhGod, Satoru, go slooow…’Toru, please!!”

SNAP, SNAP!!

“Hey, Satoru, you okay? You’re daydreaming again.”

With the snap of your fingers, Gojo is brought back to reality, realizing he’s been adrift with his thoughts yet again as he sits aimlessly on the adjustable bench. “Ah, sorry, what were you saying?”

“I said, let’s get outta here; I’ll treat you to some burgers.” You beam before turning on your heel. “Now, hurry up; the place is closing soon!”

The white-haired man watches you go, eyes lingering on your finger and thanking the stars you hadn’t noticed the pink of his cheeks and ears flourishing. Nor the white towel that he held by his groin and quickly covering the tent protruding from his shorts.

…Fuck!

#𝑯𝒐𝒔𝒉𝒊 ˚₊‧꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚ 𝑾𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔: 𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒔 #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk smut #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #gojo x reader #gojo smut #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru smut #satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru gojo smut #satoru gojo x you #gojou satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #jjk drabbles #jjk imagines

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theostrophywife · 28 days ago

Text

— sugar, i've got a taste for you.

NAVIGATION // inbox. | tags. | writing. | library. | moodboard.

pairing: theodore nott x reader x mattheo riddle.

song inspiration: sugar by sleep token.

author's note: happy halloween ya'll! this isn't a trick, @writingsbychlo and I are once again back with a treat. enjoy my spookie pookies.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

You settled in between Theo and Mattheo, handing each boy their own respective popcorn bowls. Mattheo’s was simple — homestyle with enough butter to send a healthy grown adult into cardiac arrest, while Theo’s was sprinkled with candy and chocolate to satisfy his sweet tooth. You alternated grabbing handfuls from each of their bowls, hence your strategic position of being sandwiched between your best friends.

“I don’t have one,” you responded after popping a sour gummy worm into your mouth.

Mattheo looked incredulous. “That’s impossible. Everyone has a favorite.”

“Mattheo is right,” Theo added in agreement. “There’s the cult classics: Halloween, Friday the 13th, Child’s Play, A Nightmare on Elm Street…”

“I’ll even allow the newer additions, which aren’t as good as the originals.” Mattheo grinned sheepishly at your pointed look. Between the three of you, he was by far the biggest movie snob. “Hereditary? Pearl? The Strangers?” He pretended to shudder in disgust. “Even…the Purge?”

You shrugged. “I’m more of a romcom type of girl.”

Theo sighed. “Horror is wasted on you, bella.”

“It’s not my fault you two always outvote me,” you responded with an eye roll. “Speaking of which, what are we watching tonight?”

Mattheo and Theo wore matching grins as they answered in unison. “Scream.”

When the movie started playing on the projector in the living room, you snuggled up under the blanket and prepared yourself for another terrifying movie night. You honestly had no idea why you put yourself through this every week. Scary movies terrified you, but the boys always managed to sweet talk you into watching them.

Usually, Theo distracted you by reciting horror trivia facts. Your best friend did so now, informing you that the movie’s title was inspired by a Michael Jackson song, but the fun little tidbit barely registered. As it turns out, you had no need for distractions tonight. For once, you didn’t flinch or hide or tuck your head into Mattheo or Theo’s neck. Instead, your eyes were glued to the screen. Every time Ghostface appeared, you bit your lip and clenched your thighs.

You blamed your latest smutty read and your overactive imagination for the reaction. The last novel you devoured featured erotic scenes enacted by not one, but two masked men. The sheer filth of it left you flushed and flustered, a fact that piqued Theo’s curiosity earlier this week.

Perhaps you should’ve focused on your studies rather than uncovering your newfound mask kink, but you couldn’t help it. The book captured your attention in a way that your Potions homework could only dream of. Nosy little git that he was, Theo attempted to peek at the page over your shoulder. Luckily, you escaped what would’ve been a rather embarrassing conversation by smacking him upside the head and walking away in a huff.

You managed to evade the situation with your dignity still intact.

Or so you thought.

Unbeknownst to you, Theo had snuck into your dorm later that day and borrowed — okay, so maybe stole was more accurate — your book to see what had his best friend all hot and bothered. He couldn’t believe the absolute filth you were casually reading in his presence. Naturally, Theo shared this interesting little discovery with Mattheo. From there, a plan was formed.

The first thing that should’ve tipped you off was Mattheo excusing himself for a cigarette. Matty never took a smoke break during movie night. He said it ruined the cinematic experience. Unfortunately, you were too engrossed in the movie to notice him slip away.

“I’m gonna get a refill,” Theo announced. “You want anything from the kitchen, bella?”

You shook your head absentmindedly. Theo smirked to himself as he watched you in the doorway. Any other time, you would’ve insisted on coming with Theo, anxiously fisting the edge of his cardigan and clinging on like a koala as you hugged him from behind.

Theo could’ve watched you all day, but the way you gaped when Billy Loomis licked red dye off of his fingers reminded him to stay focused. There were other things at play tonight.

Unaware of Theo’s nefarious plans, you continued to shovel popcorn into your mouth while watching the big reveal at the edge of your seat. You were in your own little world. It wasn’t until the credits started rolling when you finally realized you were alone. As the movie faded to black, you startled when the sound of your ringtone sliced through the silence.

You blinked at your phone, thumb hovering over the Unknown Number flashing across the bright screen. That was odd. Everyone knew you weren’t big on talking on the phone. Besides, who even called nowadays? That’s what texting was for.

Part of you wanted to let it ring and run its course, but a bigger part of you — the morbidly curious part of you — won in the end.

“Hello?”

The voice on the other end was distorted and difficult to identify. You had no idea who was on the other end, but they knew you. “Hello, Y/N.”

“Who is this?”

“I’ll give you one guess.”

Your fingers shook as you glanced at the phone in confusion. “Who are you?”

“That’s not the way the game works, little mouse.”

“I don’t play games.”

“What if your life depended on it?”

Anger boiled to the surface in response to the stranger’s threat. “What the fuck do you want?”

“You’re pretty when you’re angry, little mouse.”

His words stopped you cold. A shiver went down your spine as you gravitated towards the window, glancing at the street below. At this hour, people milled about the main square in flocks. Any of them could be the person on the other line.

You started to panic, but remembered you weren’t alone in the house. Theo was in the kitchen supposedly refilling on snacks. It was the perfect cover to play one of his little practical jokes on you.

“That’s not funny, Teddy.” You huffed in annoyance. “You scared the shit out of me.”

The other line was silent as you made your way towards the kitchen.

“Seriously, you’re freaking me out. Can you please just come back and cuddle?”

From the hallway, you heard the sounds of shuffling. “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming, bella. Teddy’s here to save you from the big bad wolf—”

Color drained from your face as you rounded the corner. Theo was coming towards you with a fresh bowl of popcorn, but he wasn’t alone. Lurking in the shadows, Ghostface pressed the phone against his ear and waved.

“Boo.”

You screamed, scrambling towards Theo as you nearly dropped your phone on the floor.

“What’s wrong, bella?”

You responded by tugging your best friend by the wrist, the bowl of popcorn tumbling out of his hands and scattering all over the wooden floorboards. “Run, Teddy, run!”

The two of you sprinted up the stairs hand in hand. The house was dark, slivers of moonlight creeping through the windows while you and Theo ran blindly. Thinking quickly, you tugged him into the nearest closet. Theo’s hand shook as he pressed a finger up to your lips.

With a nod, you held your breath as Ghostface stomped up the stairs. Fear surged through your veins, small whimpers escaping your lips involuntarily. The floorboards creaked as he crept his way through the second floor. When the masked man’s shadow drew closer, Theo pulled you into his chest and pressed his hand against your mouth.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are…” Ghostface sang in a mocking tone. His voice echoed through the walls, giving an even eerier feel to an already fucked up night. “I’m waiting for you, little mouse.”

Your ragged breaths were silenced as you squeezed your eyes shut, forcing yourself to focus on the steady beating of Theo’s heart. Your best friend gripped your hips in place, his silver rings cold against your bare skin. You wondered how they would feel pressed against other parts of your body. You bit your lip at the sensation, mentally scolding yourself for all the inappropriate thoughts running wild in your lust addled brain.

Luckily, Theo was none the wiser. Seconds felt like hours as Ghostface lurked around the corner, trashing rooms in his wake. The sound of furniture crashing and glass breaking filled the otherwise silent house as you struggled to hold it together.

When the squeak of boots stopped right outside the door, you pressed into Theo for comfort, praying to whatever deity that the two of you could remain hidden. You clutched the end of your best friend’s cardigan as Ghostface stopped right outside the door.

Whatever hope you might’ve had of hiding was ripped to shreds when Ghostface yanked the door open. It was terrifying enough to see his cloaked figure boxing you in, but the knife in his gloved hand caused your fear to skyrocket. Theo threw himself between you and the masked man, urging you to run.

“Go, Y/N!” Your best friend commanded. “Don’t let the bastard catch you.”

“No, I’m not leaving you!”

“I’ll be fine,” Theo said unconvincingly as he dodged Ghostface’s blade. “Hide and I’ll find you, okay?”

“But, Theo —“

“Please, bella.”

The argument died in your throat as Ghostface lunged towards you. He grabbed you by the hair, yanking you towards him. As you fought back, the masked man pinned you against the wall.

“Where do you think you’re going, sweetheart?”

Your breath hitched as he ran his blade over your cheek. “Such a pretty face,” he murmured. “Are you going to be a good girl for me, little mouse?”

“Fuck you,” you spat vehemently.

Ghostface chuckled darkly as he lowered his face to yours. He teased his knife along your thighs, the steel climbing higher and higher until it rested against your clothed core. You keened at the cold sensation against your clit. It was so wrong, but it felt so fucking right.

“I will if you beg me nicely,” Ghostface drawled. “Maybe if you got on your knees and sucked my cock, I’ll give you what you really want. I’m dying to split you apart, little mouse.”

“Go to hell!”

You drove your knee into Ghostface’s crotch and made a run for it just as Theo tackled him into the other room. Your best friend frantically instructed you to escape once again. As much as you didn’t want to leave him, you knew you had to escape and get help.

Stumbling down the stairs, you fumbled for your phone. With shaky hands, you dialed emergency services. The dial tone flatlined in your ears, indicating that the lines were down. Likely thanks to Ghostface.

You screamed in frustration, tears blurring your vision as you tried and failed to concoct a back up plan. Running past the bathroom, you jerked when a hand shot out in the dark to grab your wrist. You started to fight back, hitting and kicking at whatever you could.

“It’s me, princess,” Mattheo said.

“Matty?”

Mattheo nodded as he dragged you into the bathroom. “What happened?”

“There’s— there’s a psycho in the house. It’s Ghostface. He has a knife. He’s— Theo— oh god, I left Theo alone with him. I didn’t want to, but he told me to go.”

You were hyperventilating, your chest tightening to the point of pain. “Shh, it’s okay,” Mattheo cooed. “It’s going to be fine. We’ll get Theo back, but first we have to hide, okay? Can you do that for me?”

At your nod, Mattheo directed you towards the bathtub. He instructed you to lay on your back as he drew the curtains. You held your breath as Mattheo lowered himself, his body hovering over yours while the two of you came face to face.

“We have to be quiet,” Mattheo whispered. The low, smoky tone of his voice sent shivers down your spine.

Though a psychotic masked man prowled the house, you couldn’t control your body’s reaction. The delicious heat radiating off of Mattheo was impossible to ignore. Especially since he was so close your lips were nearly touching.

“You’re doing great, Y/N,” he praised.

You should’ve been scared. You were both in danger, but there was something about being in close proximity that awakened arousal within you. First Theo, now Mattheo. It wasn’t surprising. You’ve never been able to choose between your two favorite boys.

Just as Mattheo’s eyes dipped down to your lips, Theo’s scream pierced through the tension. Guilt washed over you instantly. Theo was out there fighting for his life while you were thinking sinful thoughts about his best mate.

“Stay right here, princess,” Mattheo commanded.

“No, no, please Matty, don’t leave—”

“I have to help Theo,” he explained. “But we’ll come back for you. Just stay put, okay?”

Unshed tears rimmed your eyes as you nodded. Mattheo squeezed your hip before stepping out of the tub. He looked back when you caught his wrist.

“Be careful, Matty,” you whispered. “And please, get Teddy back. I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to either one of you.”

Mattheo kissed your forehead in agreement. As he slipped out of the bathroom, your anxiety spiked once more. For a few seconds, there was nothing but silence. Then the sound of raised voices drew your attention. It sounded like an argument of some sort before you heard a sickening crunch, like a body crashing against the wall.

You heard Mattheo screaming out Theo’s name, launching you into action. Fuck staying in the sidelines. Your boys needed your help.

The scene in the living room was chaotic. Mattheo was nowhere to be found. Theo was on the floor, surrounded by broken glass. Something flashed in the corner of your vision, a hint of silver that caught your attention. It distracted you momentarily, allowing Ghostface the opportunity to shove you aside.

The moment of realization hit you too late. Ghostface was already charging towards Theo while brandishing his signature knife. Time slowed as you screamed, crawling towards your best friend while glass crunched underneath you.

You watched in horror as Ghostface stabbed your best friend in the stomach, blood gushing down the front of Theo’s shirt while you screamed. With shaking hands, you tried to stanch the bleeding by putting pressure on the wound. Tears spilled onto your cheeks as his cardigan turned crimson.

Brushing his hair off his forehead, you leaned down and cupped his cheek. “Teddy? Stay with me, please.”

His skin felt cold and clammy under your fingertips. You looked around frantically, trying to track the psychotic killer that just stabbed your best friend. A scream tore through your throat when a hand gripped your wrist.

Underneath you, Theo’s eyes fluttered open. “Surprise, bella.”

You drew back in surprise, scooting right into the masked man behind you. “What’s the matter, princess?” A familiar voice whispered as he discarded his disguise. Mattheo flashed you a sinister smirk. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Mattheo pulled Theo up off the floor, the two of them laughing while you stared in disbelief at the shocking reveal. When it clicked that Theo was perfectly fine, your concern morphed into rage.

“What the fuck?” You put a palm over your heart, trying to slow down its erratic beating. “You guys are assholes!”

“Aw, don’t be mad, Y/N. It’s just a harmless prank.”

“Prank?” You screeched. “I thought you were hurt, you fucking prick. I thought you were gone—”

Theo’s expression softened when he saw your teary eyed gaze. “I’m not, cara mia. I’m not hurt. It’s fake, I promise.”

Mattheo kneeled beside you, licking the edge of the fake blade. “S’just corn syrup, sugar.”

Theo nodded in agreement, bringing his fingers up to his lips. He sucked his middle and pointer finger clean, his gaze never leaving yours.

“It’s sweet,” Theo murmured, brushing his thumb over your lips. “Do you want a taste, bella?”

You shook your head vehemently. “No, I’m mad at you,” you replied with a huff. Looking up at Mattheo, you crossed your arms and frowned. “You too, Mattheo.”

“Come on, sweetheart,” Mattheo drawled, laying on the sweet talk. “Don’t be like that. You know you love us, even if we’re a pain in your ass sometimes.”

“99% of the time,” you corrected with an eye roll.

“You cracked a smile,” Mattheo teased. “We’ll take it.”

“I’m still really fucking upset at the both of you.”

Theo hummed, slipping on the twin to Mattheo’s mask. You held your breath as Ghostface took his place.

“Oh, but I don’t think you’re that upset, bella.” The mask distorted his voice, but you could still tell it was him. “I think you enjoyed yourself.”

“Admit it, princess,” Mattheo purred into your ear, his mask firmly back on. “This turns you on, doesn’t it?”

You flushed, crimson flooding your cheeks. Theo trapped you against Mattheo, his hands settling on your hips as you gasped.

“Don’t try to deny it,” Theo whispered. “I read your book, dolcezza. The filth and smut in there… well, let’s just say it made us both blush. Who would’ve known that a sweet little thing like you would have a mask kink?”

“You stole my book!”

“So what if we did?” Mattheo said with a lazy shrug. “What if we memorized all the depraved things that you love reading about just so we could turn your fantasy into a reality?”

“What are you saying?”

“The more we read, the more we realized it was pretty similar to Scream. Anonymous phone calls? Check. Masked men? Check.” Theo hummed as he brushed his thumb over your bottom lip. “Pretty helpless victim? Check.”

“We wanted to act out your book,” he continued with a smirk. “With one exception.” He held up a video camera and focused it on your face. “Mattheo and I thought that since you don’t have a favorite scary movie, maybe we could help you make one.”

“I think we’ve just about reached the climax,” Mattheo whispered in your ear, his curls tickling the side of your neck. “What happens next is up to you. What do you say, little mouse? Do you wanna play?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

You didn’t even need time to think about it. You trusted Theo and Mattheo with your life. Putting yourself at their mercy was something you shamelessly fantasized about countless times.

“We hoped you’d say that,” Theo said with a smirk as he looked at you through the lens.

Without warning, Mattheo gripped your chin roughly and lifted his mask up just enough to crush your lips together. He tasted like cinnamon and cigarettes and the smoky taste left you dizzy. You wondered if it was the nicotine that had you buzzing, but you were pretty sure you were just high on Mattheo. His kisses were deep and sensual, exploring every inch of you with a level of hunger that couldn’t be satiated. The low groan that rumbled through his chest made your core throb.

Mattheo dragged your hand down his chest, smiling into the kiss as your nails raked over his abs. The hard muscles flexed underneath your fingertips, distracting you momentarily and allowing him the opportunity to slip his tongue deeper into your mouth. You gasped as he guided your hand to his hard length.

“You feel that, princess?” Mattheo grunted. “That’s what you do to me. I’m so fucking hard it hurts.”

You batted your eyelashes up at him. “What can I do to help, Matty?”

“On your knees,” he commanded. “Let’s give Theo a show.”

Theo positioned himself in front of you as you sank down to your knees. The camera whirred while he zoomed in on your face.

“How do I look, Teddy?”

“You look perfect, bella. You were made for the camera,” Theo praised. “Our little superstar.”

Mattheo hummed as you unbuckled his belt. His warm brown eyes were nearly black with lust through the mask when you pulled his pants and boxers down, revealing his hard length. You massaged him in your hand, your mouth watering at how thick and long his cock was. Mattheo released a shaky breath when you licked the precum off of his tip, looking up at him with big doe eyes before you licked the underside of his shaft.

You watched as his head lolled in the mask, satisfaction coursing through your veins at the sight of him grappling with his self-control. Mattheo moaned when you took him all the way back, his cock stuffing your throat deliciously. You bobbed your head up and down at a steady rhythm, holding your breath while you continued pumping him in your hand.

“Fuck, just like that,” Mattheo groaned as he thrusted into your mouth. He fisted your hair in his hand and drove in deeper, causing you to gag. “You look so pretty gagging on my cock, little mouse.”

Drool dribbled down your chin and tears filled your eyes while Mattheo continued fucking your throat. Theo hummed in appreciation, making sure to capture all of your best angles. You made sure to show off for the camera and licked and sucked until Mattheo’s breathing grew short and ragged. You could tell by the way his abs clenched that he was close.

Mattheo yanked your hair back, his thrusts growing sloppy and rushed. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Swallow it all, sugar,” he purred as hot spurts of his cum shot down your throat. You did as you were told and slurped up every drop. You were sure that you looked like a hot mess; your hair disheveled, your eyes smeared with mascara, your lips dripping with cum, but Mattheo had never looked prouder. “That’s a good girl.”

“My turn,” Theo said as he handed the camera off to Mattheo.

You crawled towards him and tugged on his belt, but Theo shook his head. “There’s plenty of time for that later, cara mia. Right now, I want to eat your pussy until you cry.”

You couldn’t help but flush at the vulgar words, which made Mattheo chuckle. “I think our little mouse likes the sound of that.”

You didn’t have time to respond before Theo hauled you over his shoulder and placed you on the sofa. You bounced against the cushions, watching curiously as he spread your legs wide open. Theo raised the mask slightly and rested it over his brown waves before kissing you slowly.

“You taste so sweet,” he purred. “I bet your pussy is sweet like sugar too.”

From this vantage point, all you could see was the Ghostface mask. Theo tugged your panties off and discarded it over his shoulder. His cool breath fanned over your thighs as he trailed kisses between your legs. Theo took his time while he sucked and kissed and marked you up. You could feel his smirk against your skin when he finally reached your dripping core, his mouth hot and eager as he licked a stripe along your slit. You arched against his mouth, bucking your hips upwards shamelessly.

Mattheo filmed you at your most vulnerable state — eyes heavy-lidded, lips parted in a silent moan, and fingers threaded through Theo’s hair. Your moans encouraged Theo to drive his tongue deeper past your folds, licking and sucking and devouring you in a way that almost seemed reverent. When Theo added his fingers into the mix, you were out of your mind with pleasure.

Your pussy clenched as Theo curled his middle and pointer finger inside your walls. The soft pants and squelching sounds that filled the room was erotic, even more so as Mattheo filmed a close up of Theo feasting on your cunt. Your arousal dripped off his chin, but it didn’t deter him from driving you to the brink, his thumb firmly circling your clit to coax you towards release.

“Are you gonna cum for me, pretty girl?” Theo murmured. You gasped for air as he filled you with his fingers, pumping and scissoring until a familiar sensation began to build in your core. “You’re so fucking wet, bella. I can’t wait for you to cream my cock.”

The obscene declaration pushed you over the edge. The climax swelled within you until you were awash with blinding heat. Your surroundings turned fuzzy as your senses were overloaded with pleasure. Despite the intensity of your orgasm, Theo showed no signs of slowing down. He kept circling your sensitive nub and licking your cunt in slow, purposeful strokes through your peak.

You squirmed away, but Theo only held your hips down. “I’m not finished, little mouse.” He lifted his head, those clear blue eyes blown out and dilated. “Tell me, have you ever squirted before?”

“No,” you admitted truthfully.

Theo smirked. “We’ll have to change that.”

With that, he pried your legs apart and dove back in. Theo was relentless in his pursuit. He ate pussy like he had something to prove. You felt overstimulated with all the new sensations and reactions he was bringing out of you, but you didn’t dare tell him to stop. Every time you tried to crawl away, Theo yanked you by the ankles and spanked your pussy for misbehaving.

You were on your third orgasm when a pressure in your lower abdomen made you keen. “Theo, I can’t— I feel like I have to pee—”

“You won’t,” Theo reassured you. “Just let go, cara mia. I want you to squirt on my face.”

“Fuck,” Mattheo cursed behind the camera. “I want that too.”

Theo chuckled before speeding up his movements, fingering you rapidly until you were at the height of your peak once again. When he matched the rhythm with his tongue, you came with a cry. With tears streaming down your face, you stopped holding back the strange sensation and let go. You squirted all over Theo’s face, soaking him in your juices as he ate you through it.

“So good,” Theo growled as he kissed you, the taste of your arousal lingering on his tongue. “You’re so fucking good.”

You felt limp and boneless as he lifted you up and placed you in Mattheo’s arms. He cradled you against his chest and placed kisses all over your face, praising you for doing so well. You had no idea how much time had passed when Theo finally returned with a warm towel. He kneeled before you and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

“How are you doing, superstar?”

“Good,” you murmured as he cleaned you up. “Really good.”

“I think you wore her out, Theo.”

You shook your head. “I’m fine, I promise. I don’t mind. I can— I can go again.”

Theo chuckled, tilting your chin towards him. “Can’t get enough, can you?”

Mattheo hugged you from behind and kissed your shoulder. “She can take it,” he said proudly. “The only question is, which one of us do you want first?”

You glanced between Mattheo and Theo, biting your lip. A deep flush tinted your cheeks as they looked at you expectantly.

“You never could choose between us,” Theo teased. “Let’s make a game out of it then. You have thirty seconds to find a hiding place. Whoever finds you first, gets to fuck you first.”

Mattheo’s smirk was downright wicked. “Masks on.”

Theo nodded in agreement before they both slipped on the Ghostface masks. You swallowed thickly, utterly turned on by their twisted little game.

“How will I know which is which?”

“That’s the beauty of it,” Theo said. “You won’t.”

Mattheo leaned down, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. “I’d start running if I were you, little mouse.”

“Run, bella, run.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. As the countdown started, you sprinted through the house and tried to find a place to hide. The living room was out of the question since the boys were currently occupying it. The kitchen was too exposed. The bedrooms too obvious. There was only one place in the house that they would never suspect.

As you crept down the basement, you held your breath. It was dark and damp down here, the rows of wine racks crowding you in as you ventured further into the labyrinth. You hated coming down here. It always gave you the creeps, which is what made it the perfect hiding place. As you slotted yourself between vintages, you hunkered down and prepared to wait it out.

When five minutes passed, you started to grow a little too confident in your choice. It would likely be the last place they checked.

How wrong you were.

As you peered through the racks, you heard the sound of metal clinking against the wine bottles. Two rows ahead, you saw Ghostface tapping his blade against the bottles as he searched for you in the dark.

You backed up as Ghostface prowled closer, hoping to lose him as you weaved through the rows. One second you were watching the dark figure check your previous hiding place and the next second he was gone. You swiveled around in confusion and tried to track his last whereabouts. You didn’t have to look very far.

“I guess I win,” said one of the boys. The voice changer was on again, so you couldn’t be sure who was underneath the mask, but that was part of the thrill. Ghostface backed you into the wall and cornered you until you had nowhere else to go. “I’ll take my prize now, little mouse.”

You gasped as Ghostface picked you up and wrapped your legs around his midsection. He unzipped his pants in a haste before lifting up your skirt. His cock teased your entrance and he murmured profanities under his breath as you watched him slowly push in. It was a stretch to even get the tip in and you took gasping breaths as his thick, long cock breached your walls.

“Oh fuck, s’too big,” you keened. Despite the lubrication charm he cast, it was still a struggle as he thrust in. “I don’t think it’s gonna fit.”

“We’ll make it fit,” Ghostface grunted. “You’re gonna take every inch of me like the good little slut that you are. Do you understand?”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you nodded in agreement. You were too cockdrunk to argue. Ghostface eased the last few inches in, causing your eyes to roll to the back of your head. You’ve never felt so full, so stuffed to the brim.

“That’s fucking right,” chuckled Ghostface. “Take it, little mouse. Take this fucking cock.”

You were nearly out of your mind when he pulled out and slammed back in. A choked sob escaped your throat. You weren’t used to being stretched so wide and deep. It felt so fucking good.

“Yeah, you like that?” mocked Ghostface. “Such an innocent face, but you love getting fucked like a whore, don’t you?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Yes, yes, yes…”

A hand wrapped around your throat, cutting off your oxygen. You grasped Ghostface’s wrist and smiled as you did so. He might’ve taken off his rings, but you knew it was Theo.

“You’re so big, Teddy,” you groaned. “I knew it. I knew you’d feel this good. I knew you’d split me apart just like this.”

“Che cazzo,” Theo moaned as your pussy clenched around his cock. “How’d you know, bella?”

“You always burn your fingers when you get too high,” you explained. Theo watched as you kissed his fingertips and held his gaze as you sucked on his thumb. “I know you, Teddy. I know both my boys.”

At that, Theo fucked you even harder. His balls slapped against your ass with every thrust. There was something animalistic about the way he moved. It was like seeing a whole new side of him. You decided that you liked this version of Theo. The version that took what he wanted, when he wanted, and made no apologies for it.

“That’s sweet,” drawled Mattheo. You looked up to find him filming the whole thing. You had no idea how long he’d been there, but you were glad that he’d finally joined.

Theo smirked, his thrusts turning shallow. “You should let Matty have a turn,” he murmured. “He’s been waiting so patiently after all.”

Mattheo set the camera by the windowsill and prowled towards you. “That doesn’t mean I should get all the fun.” Theo set you down on shaky legs as you looked between your boys. “Who says you have to choose? You can have the best of both worlds, princess.”

Mattheo directed you to bend over one of the stools by the window while Theo positioned himself in front of you. “Be a good girl and suck Theo off while I fuck you.”

“Oh,” you murmured, your pussy wet and your head fuzzy at the idea of taking them both at the same time. “O-okay.”

“You’re our superstar, remember?” Mattheo teased as he smacked your ass. “So show the camera what you can do.”

The encouragement urged you on as you pumped Theo’s cock. He cursed in Italian when your wet mouth wrapped around him, your juices still covering his hard length. You began working him with your mouth as Mattheo mounted you from behind. The stretch made you moan. Theo gripped your hair in response and bucked into your mouth.

You couldn’t keep track of the pain and pleasure as Mattheo fucked you from behind and Theo abused your throat. All that mattered was that you felt full on both ends, floating on cloud nine while you were stuffed to the brim. Both boys worshiped your body. Mattheo trailed kisses down your spine while Theo massaged your tits.

Every now and then, Mattheo smacked your ass to demand your attention. He even bit down on your ass cheek when you got impatient and tried to grind down on him. Mattheo set a punishing pace as his fingers dug into your hips, marking your skin for days to come. You’d wear the bruises like a trophy.

“Wait.” Mattheo slowed his movements and Theo cocked his head as you looked up at him. “I want— I want to try something—”

”What is it, princess?” asked Mattheo.

“I want you both,” you whispered shyly.

Theo tilted your chin up. “Don’t get all shy on us now, bella,” he drawled with a smirk. “You can’t say you want to take us both and then get all embarrassed about it.”

Mattheo chuckled and patted your ass. “Theo’s right, baby. You need to own it.”

You cleared your throat, shaking off the nerves. “I want you both inside me,” you said confidently. “At the same time.”

The boys smiled as they slipped their masks back on. “Your wish is our command, little mouse.”

With a flash, the three of you apparated to the bedroom. Mattheo pulled you into his lap, stroking your back as he slithered in. Theo filmed you with the camera.

“Deep breaths, sweetheart,” Mattheo murmured. He sounded dazed and distant, barely hanging on to reality. You controlled your breathing and relaxed your walls, which allowed him to slip in easier. “Oh fuck, yeah, just like that…”

Behind you, Theo cast another lubrication charm and warmed your puckering hole up with his fingers. He took his time to make sure you were nice and pliant, soft moans muffled as Mattheo lifted up his mask and tongue kissed you. His curls felt like silk between your fingers as you continued to make out sloppily.

Not one to be left out, Theo turned your chin for a kiss that left you lightheaded before leaning over and sharing a dirty, filthy kiss with Mattheo. You watched as they made out, heat spreading through your veins at the sight. Just when you thought you couldn’t possibly get wetter.

Mattheo squeezed your hip. “I can feel your pussy clenching around me,” he said with an amused smirk. “You’re fucking filthy, baby. I think you’re ready for Theo, aren’t you?”

You nodded excitedly, flashing your doe eyed stare at Theo. “Please, Teddy.”

Theo smiled. “How could I say no to that?”

It was a tight fit. Tighter than you’ve ever taken before. You felt like you were being stretched to your limit as Theo eased his way in to join Mattheo. It was hard to get air in as you buried your face in Mattheo’s neck, gripping the sheets for dear life.

Theo pumped slowly, letting you get used to the sensation. Mattheo trailed kisses down your neck and shoulder, his tongue swirling against your nipple before he took it into his mouth. He massaged and licked and sucked while Theo picked up the pace.

“How does that feel, bella?” Theo asked.

“Really fucking good,” you hummed, your whole body vibrating with pleasure. “Don’t stop, Teddy.”

”Wouldn’t dream of it.”

When Mattheo began to thrust upwards, you started to feel lightheaded. Your head was in the clouds while your body experienced euphoria. “Fuck, fuck, oh my god…” you moaned. “So good.”

“Yeah?” Mattheo growled against your ear as he thrust in sharply. “You like being full of us, huh? You like letting your best friends split you apart like this, baby?”

“Yes, god…” you blubbered, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I fucking love when you’re both inside me.”

Theo groaned. “Merda, you’re going to make me cum.”

“Do it,” you breathed. “Please, please, I want you both to fill me up.”

“Merlin, you’re a fucking dream,” murmured Mattheo as he circled your clit.

Theo and Mattheo synced up their rhythm, filling you up simultaneously. There wasn’t a single thought in your mind besides chasing after your release. When you felt yourself getting close, Theo yanked you by the hair and turned the camera on all three of you.

“Give us the money shot,” Theo said through his mask. “Cum for us, little mouse.”

As Mattheo stimulated your already sensitive nub, you lost yourself to the climax. It hit you all at once. Your vision went fuzzy as you came with a cry. Mattheo cursed when you creamed him, triggering his own orgasm. You could feel him filling you to the brim. The only tether to reality you had left was Theo’s hands gripping your hips as the camera tumbled on the mattress.

Mattheo picked it up and filmed you getting railed by Theo, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as his thrusts grew rushed and sloppy. The camera captured Ghostface cumming inside of you before Mattheo panned down to where the two of them dripped down your thighs.

“Look at her,” Mattheo murmured in awe. “She’s our perfect little superstar.”

Your legs wobbled beneath you as Theo pulled off his mask. As gentle as possible, he scooped you up and cradled you into his chest. Theo kissed you softly, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Yes she is,” he declared proudly. “You did so well, bella. Let your boys take care of you now, okay?”

You nodded, dazed as Mattheo set the camera down and brushed your hair back. “Okay.”

As Mattheo got the bath started and Theo carried you over to the tub, you sighed in satisfaction. “Teddy? Matty?”

Both boys turned towards you, concern written all over their faces. It was sweet how much they cared, how they took it upon themselves to look after you. Even before tonight, the two of them had always been attuned to your needs. Just like now.

“I think I have a favorite movie now.”

The two of them broke out into matching grins. Theo carefully lowered you into the warm water before climbing in. Mattheo eagerly joined, sandwiching you between your two favorite boys and ending that night the same way it started. As Theo shampooed your hair, Mattheo wrapped an arm around your shoulder and kissed your cheek.

“If you’re good,” he drawled, a mischievous twinkle glittering in those big, brown eyes. “Maybe we’ll make a sequel.”

#this just kept getting more and more unhinged soz #theo nott #mattheo riddle #theo nott smut #mattheo riddle smut #theo nott x reader #mattheo riddle x reader #theo nott x you #mattheo riddle x you

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