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The days before the progress to Kenilworth blur together in a frenzy of preparation.
Nesta finds herself thrust into the heart of the Queen’s household with little warning and even less time to adjust. Gone is the quiet, manageable routine of attending Lady Margery, replaced by the carefully orchestrated chaos of serving Queen Philippa herself. There are protocols to learn, hierarchies to navigate, and expectations to meet that Nesta hadn’t even known existed.
Lady Alis, the Queen’s most senior attendant, takes her in hand with the brisk efficiency of someone who has trained countless young women before.
“Her Majesty rises at dawn for private prayers,” she instructs on Nesta’s first morning, her voice crisp and brooking no argument. “You’ll attend her afterward to help her dress. She takes her breakfast in the solar, and you’ll read to her while she eats; devotional texts in the morning, histories in the afternoon. Her Latin is excellent, but she prefers the vernacular for casual reading. And for God’s sake, girl, make sure your coif is properly pinned.” Nesta’s hand flies to her head, checking the security of the fabric.
You arrives at Rhysand’s penthouse after a texted summons. What follows is a night of relentless, explicit sex across the apartment and balcony, with Rhysand taking you repeatedly in every hole, filling you, and promising more until morning.
Content warning
Includes: detailed descriptions of oral, vaginal, and anal sex; multiple penetrations and creampies; cum play; rough/dominant sex; hair-pulling; spanking; public/semi-public sex; degradation language; overstimulation; and continuous high-intensity smut with minimal plot.
3.6k words
I slide the keycard through the lock of the penthouse suite and the door clicks open under my hand. The city stretches out beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, neon bleeding into the night, but I barely notice. All I can think about is the text that brought me here.
*Come upstairs. Now. Leave the dress on.*
Rhysand is leaning against the marble island in the open kitchen, sleeves of his black dress shirt rolled to the elbows, dark hair slightly mussed like he’s run his hands through it. Those violet eyes lock on me the second I step inside. He doesn’t smile. He just watches, slow and assessing, the way a predator watches something it already owns.
“You’re late,” he says, voice low and rough.
“Traffic,” I answer, but it comes out thinner than I mean it to.
He pushes off the counter and crosses the space between us in three long strides. One hand finds my waist, the other my jaw, tilting my face up. His thumb brushes the corner of my mouth.
“I don’t give a fuck about traffic.” His mouth is right there, so close I can taste the whiskey on his breath. “I told you to come. You come when I tell you to.”
I nod, already wet just from the way he’s looking at me. He notices. Of course he does. His hand slides down my side, over the curve of my hip, then lower, gathering the hem of the short black dress I wore for him. His fingers brush the bare skin of my thigh and keep going until they find the edge of my panties.
“Already soaked,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Filthy little thing.”
He doesn’t kiss me yet. He just presses two fingers against the damp fabric and rubs, slow and deliberate, watching my face while I try not to rock into his hand. My breath stutters. He hums in approval and slips those fingers under the lace, dragging through my cunt like he has every right to it.
“Fuck,” I whisper.
“That’s the plan.” He pushes one finger inside me, then a second, curling them just right. “You’re going to take everything I give you tonight. Every inch. Every load. And you’re going to thank me for it.”
I nod again, because my mouth isn’t working properly. He fucks his fingers into me harder, the wet sound of it filthy in the quiet apartment. My hands fist in his shirt. He leans in and finally kisses me—deep, claiming, tongue sliding against mine while his fingers keep working. When he pulls back I’m panting.
“On your knees.”
I drop without hesitation. The marble is cold under me. Rhysand unbuckles his belt, unzips, and pulls his cock out. It’s thick, heavy, already hard, the head flushed dark. He strokes it once, then rests the tip against my lower lip.
“Open.”
I part my lips and he pushes in, slow at first, letting me feel the stretch. I hollow my cheeks and suck, tasting salt and skin. He groans, low and satisfied, and threads his fingers into my hair.
“That’s it. Take it deeper.”
I do. I work him into my throat until my nose brushes the neat dark hair at the base. He holds me there for a few seconds, cock throbbing against my tongue, then lets me pull back for air. Spit strings between my mouth and his dick. He wipes it with his thumb and feeds it back between my lips.
“Again.”
I suck him harder, messier, letting him fuck my face in short, deep strokes. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. He doesn’t slow down. He just watches me with those violet eyes half-lidded, jaw tight, like the sight of me choking on his cock is the only thing that matters.
When he pulls out I’m gasping, chin wet. He hauls me up by the arms, spins me around, and bends me over the island. The cold marble bites my cheek. He shoves my dress up over my hips, yanks my panties down to mid-thigh, and spreads me open with both hands.
“Look at this cunt,” he says, voice dark with hunger. “Dripping down your thighs already. You were thinking about this the whole way here, weren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me.”
“I was thinking about you fucking me,” I admit, cheeks burning. “Hard. Making me take it until I can’t walk.”
He spanks me once, sharp, right across my ass. The sting blooms hot. Then he lines up and sinks into me in one long, relentless thrust. The stretch is brutal and perfect. I cry out, fingers scrabbling on the marble. He doesn’t give me time to adjust. He just starts fucking me, deep and steady, the slap of skin on skin echoing through the kitchen.
“Fuck—Rhys—” I moan.
“Take it.” He grabs my hips harder, pulling me back onto every stroke. “This is what you came for. My cock stretching this tight little hole until you forget how to speak.”
He’s right. Every thrust knocks the air out of me. I can feel him so deep it borders on pain, and I love it. He reaches around and finds my clit, rubbing tight circles while he pounds into me. My orgasm builds fast, sharp, and when it breaks I sob into the marble, cunt clenching around him in helpless pulses.
He doesn’t stop. He fucks me through it, chasing his own pleasure now, pace turning brutal. When he cums he buries himself to the hilt and groans my name, cock pulsing as he fills me. Hot cum leaks out around his shaft when he finally pulls free. He watches it drip down my thighs for a second, then pushes two fingers back into me, scooping some of it up and pressing it to my lips.
“Clean it up.”
I suck his fingers clean without hesitation. He makes a low, approving sound and turns me around again, lifting me onto the edge of the island so I’m sitting there with my legs spread, dress still hiked up, panties tangled around one ankle. His cum is still leaking out of me. He steps between my thighs, cock already half-hard again, and rubs the head through the mess.
“We’re not done,” he says. “Not even close.”
He kisses me again, slower this time, while he pushes back inside. I moan into his mouth. He fucks me like that for a while—deep, rolling thrusts, one hand tangled in my hair, the other holding my thigh open so he can watch himself disappear into me. The wet sounds are obscenely loud. Every time he bottoms out I feel his cum being pushed deeper.
“You’re going to cum again,” he tells me, voice rough against my ear. “And then I’m going to put you on your back on that couch and fuck another load into you. And if you’re still conscious after that, I’ll take your ass.”
I shudder. He feels it and grins against my throat.
“You like that idea. Filthy girl.”
I do.
He reaches between us and works my clit again, relentless. I cum a second time with his name broken on my tongue, walls fluttering around him. He keeps thrusting through it until I’m oversensitive and whimpering, then pulls out, scoops me off the counter, and carries me to the massive black couch in the living room.
He lays me down and strips the dress the rest of the way off, then my bra. I’m naked under him now, flushed and marked with the imprint of his hands. He sheds his own clothes without hurry, all lean muscle and dark ink across his chest and arms. When he settles between my legs again his cock is fully hard, glistening with our combined mess.
He pushes in slow this time, watching my face as he fills me. Once he’s seated he stays there, grinding deep, letting me feel every thick inch.
“Tell me what you need.”
“You,” I breathe. “Harder. Please.”
He gives it to me. The couch creaks under the force of his thrusts. I wrap my legs around his waist and dig my nails into his back. He growls and fucks me harder, the head of his cock dragging over that perfect spot inside me on every stroke. Another orgasm coils tight and low in my belly. When it hits I arch under him, crying out, and he follows a few thrusts later, burying his face in my neck as he empties into me again.
We stay locked together for a long minute, breathing hard. Then he eases out, rolls onto his back, and pulls me on top of him. His cum is a thick, warm mess between my thighs. He doesn’t seem to care. He just runs his hands up and down my back, proprietary.
“Ride me,” he says after a while. “I want to watch you work for it.”
I straddle him, reach down, and guide his half-hard cock back into my slick, used cunt. It takes just a few strokes before he’s fully hard again inside me. Then I start to move—slow rolls of my hips at first, then faster, grinding down so my clit rubs against him. He watches me with dark eyes, hands on my waist, letting me set the pace until I’m chasing another climax.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Fuck yourself on my cock. Show me how much you need it.”
I do. I bounce harder, tits swaying, and he sits up enough to catch one nipple in his mouth, sucking hard. The dual sensation tips me over. I cum with a broken moan, cunt spasming around him. He holds me through it, then flips us again so I’m on my back once more.
He pulls out, flips me onto my stomach, and drags me up onto my knees. One hand spreads me open. The other gathers the mess leaking out of my cunt and smears it over my asshole.
“Breathe,” he says.
I do. He presses the head of his cock against the tight ring and pushes. The stretch is intense, burning in the best way. He goes slow, inch by inch, until he’s fully seated in my ass. I whimper eagerly into the cushions. He stays still, letting me adjust, one hand stroking my clit in gentle, precise circles.
“Good girl,” he praises, voice rough. “Taking my cock in your ass like you were made for it.”
When I nod, he starts to move—shallow thrusts at first, then deeper. The dual sensation of being so full and the constant pressure on my clit has me shaking. He fucks my ass with the same relentless control he always has, one hand still working between my legs. I cum again, harder than before, the orgasm ripping through me until my vision whites out for a second.
He doesn’t stop. He keeps thrusting into my ass until he cums with a low, guttural sound, flooding me. When he finally pulls out I feel empty and wrecked and dripping from both holes. He gathers me against his chest, both of us sticky and breathing hard.
For a while we just lie there. Then his hand drifts back between my legs, fingers sliding through the mess he left in me.
“Still so wet,” he says softly. “I think you can take one more.”
I make a weak, needy sound. He smiles against my hair, rolls me onto my side, and spoons up behind me. His cock—somehow hard again—slides back into my cunt from behind. This time the fucking is slower, deeper, almost lazy. One of his arms is under my head; the other reaches around to play with my clit in perfect, devastating rhythm.
“You’re mine,” he murmurs into my ear as he thrusts. “This cunt. This ass. That pretty mouth. All of it. I could keep you here for days and fill you until you can’t hold any more.”
I cum again under his fingers and the slow roll of his hips, softer this time but no less intense. He follows soon after, burying himself deep and letting another load join the others already inside me.
When he finally pulls out I’m a wreck—trembling, covered in sweat and cum, thighs sticky, throat sore from taking him earlier. He doesn’t let me go far. He carries me to the massive shower in the master bathroom, turns the water on hot, and washes me with careful hands. Even then his fingers linger between my legs, gentle now, cleaning the mess he made.
After, he wraps me in a towel and brings me back to the bed. We collapse into the sheets. His arm settles heavy across my waist. I can still feel him everywhere—inside me, on my skin, in the ache between my legs.
“Sleep,” he says against the back of my neck. “I’m not finished with you. When you wake up I’m going to fuck you again.”
I believe him. My body is already humming with the promise of it. I close my eyes, still feeling the ghost of his cock stretching me, and let exhaustion pull me under.
Sometime later I wake to the feeling of his mouth between my legs.
Rhysand is on his stomach between my thighs, holding them open, tongue dragging slow and filthy through the mess he left earlier. I gasp and try to close my legs on instinct. He doesn’t let me. He just looks up with those violet eyes and keeps licking, long, deliberate strokes that end with a flick over my clit.
“Morning,” he says against my cunt, voice rough with sleep and hunger.
I can only moan. He settles in and eats me like he’s starving—tongue fucking into me, then sealing his mouth over my clit and sucking until my hips are rolling helplessly against his face. Two fingers push inside, curling, and he works them in time with his mouth until I’m coming hard, thighs shaking around his head.
He doesn’t stop. He keeps going until I’m oversensitive and trying to squirm away, then climbs up my body and kisses me so I can taste myself on his tongue. His cock is hard against my hip. He reaches down, guides himself to my entrance, and sinks in with one smooth thrust.
“Fuck, you’re still so wet,” he groans. “And still full of me. I love feeling my cum inside you while I fuck you again.”
He sets a deep, steady pace, one hand braced by my head, the other holding my thigh high against his side so he can go deeper. The wet, filthy sounds of him moving through the mess from last night fill the room. I dig my nails into his shoulders and take every thrust.
“Harder,” I beg.
He gives it to me. The headboard starts knocking against the wall. He leans down and bites the side of my throat, not hard enough to break skin but hard enough to mark. I cum again with a broken cry, cunt clamping down around him. He fucks me through it, then pulls out, flips me onto my hands and knees, and pushes back into my ass without warning.
The stretch is easier this time, my body already trained to take him there. He fucks my ass with long, powerful strokes, one hand fisted in my hair, the other reaching under to rub my clit. I cum a third time like that, sobbing into the pillow, and he follows with a low curse, flooding my ass again.
He stays buried for a long moment after, breathing hard against my back. When he finally pulls out I feel empty and used in the best possible way. He collapses beside me and pulls me into his chest.
“You’re going to be sore,” he says, almost smug.
“Good,” I answer, voice hoarse.
He laughs, low and dark, and kisses the top of my head. His hand slides down my back, over the curve of my ass, fingers brushing the sensitive, used entrance there.
“Rest for a bit,” he murmurs. “Then I’m going to make you ride my cock until you can’t cum anymore. And after that I’m going to bend you over the balcony railing and fuck you where anyone in the building across the street could see if they looked hard enough.”
My cunt clenches at the thought. He feels it and smiles against my hair.
“Greedy,” he says. “I like it.”
I do rest—for a little while. But my body is still humming, still open and wet and aching for more. When I shift against him I feel his cock twitch against my stomach. I slide down the bed without a word, take him in my mouth, and suck him back to full hardness. He groans and lets me, fingers carding through my hair as I work him with tongue and throat until he’s leaking precum onto my tongue.
“Enough,” he says eventually, voice tight. “Come here.”
I climb back up. He guides me to straddle him and I sink down onto his cock in one smooth motion. The stretch is familiar now, perfect. I start to ride him, slow at first, then faster when he grips my hips and helps. His eyes never leave my face. Every time I rise and fall he watches the way my cunt swallows him, the way his cum from earlier is pushed out around his shaft only to be fucked back in.
“Touch yourself,” he orders.
I do. I rub my clit in tight circles while I bounce on his cock. The dual sensation has me coming fast, walls fluttering around him. He groans as he holds me down through it, grinding up into me, then sits up so we’re chest to chest. One arm wraps around my waist; the other fists in my hair. He fucks up into me hard from below while I cling to him, another orgasm building almost immediately.
“That’s it,” he growls against my mouth, it's almost feral “Cum on my cock again. I want to feel it.”
I do. I shatter with a broken moan, and he follows right after, burying himself deep and pulsing inside me. We stay locked together, breathing hard, until the oversensitivity forces me to lift off. His cum spills out of me onto his stomach. He watches it with dark satisfaction, then gathers some on his fingers and pushes it back into my cunt.
“Keep it in,” he says. “I want you full when I take you outside.”
My heart kicks. He stands, pulls me up with him, and walks me naked to the glass doors that lead onto the wide balcony. The night air is cool on my overheated skin. The city lights glitter far below. He positions me facing the railing, bends me forward until my elbows rest on the cool metal, and kicks my feet apart.
Anyone looking up from the right angle could see us. The thought makes my cunt throb.
Rhysand steps up behind me, rubs the head of his cock through the mess between my legs, and pushes into my cunt in one long thrust. I moan, loud enough that it carries a little on the wind. He doesn’t care. He just starts fucking me, deep and steady, one hand on my hip, the other reaching around to play with my clit.
“Look at you,” he says against my ear. “Bent over my balcony with my cock in you and my cum dripping down your thighs. Anyone could see how well you take it.”
I cum hard at the words, clenching around him. He keeps thrusting through it, pace turning almost punishing. When he pulls out it’s only long enough to press the head of his cock against my asshole and push back in. The dual stretch of earlier has me open and ready. He fucks my ass under the open sky, one hand still working my clit, until I come again with a broken cry that echoes off the buildings.
He follows soon after, groaning low as he fills me one more time. When he finally pulls out I can feel his cum leaking from both holes, sliding down my inner thighs. He turns me around, lifts me so my back is against the railing, and kisses me deep and filthy while the city stretches out behind us.
“Inside,” he says eventually. “I’m not done.”
He carries me back in, lays me on the bed, and spends the next hour using his mouth and fingers to wring two more orgasms out of me while I tremble and beg. Only then does he settle between my legs again and push into my cunt one last time. This fucking is slower, deeper, almost tender in its intensity. He watches my face the whole time, thumb stroking my cheek, and when I cum he follows with a low, satisfied groan, filling me once more.
Afterward we lie tangled in the sheets, both of us wrecked. His hand rests possessively on my hip. I can still feel him everywhere—the ache, the stretch, the wet heat of his cum inside me.
“You’re staying the night, again.” he says, not a question.
I nod. He kisses the side of my throat, right over the mark he left earlier.
“Good. Because in a few hours I’m going to wake you up with my cock in your mouth, and then I’m going to fuck you until the sun comes up.”
I shiver, he is already half-hard again at the promise. His arm tightens around me.
“Sleep while you can,” he murmurs. “You’re going to need it.”
I close my eyes, body still humming, and let the weight of him and the filthy promise of more pull me under. The night is far from over. And Rhysand has never been known for mercy when it comes to taking what’s his.
Also it's so exciting to find a blog writing for acotar most of the blogs I follow are now inactive or deactivated and the ones that are still active only like two actually take requests for acotar
I will write anytime it is requested🥰, my upload times may vary.🖤
I have a little girl and have to be in mummy mode sometimes 🥰🖤
Hello I'm the anonymous person who requested the autistic platonic dom sub relationship fanfic it was so cute
I would like to request another platonic dom sub dynamic fanfic rhysand x cassian x azriel x reader
Where adhdand autistic reader is in menace mode and keeps tickling her three doms cause she wants attention so they all punish reader by wrapping her up in blankets like a burrito and smothering her in affection until she's giggling hysterically at them all acting like silly doms
Omg hi! I'm glad you enjoyed it!
Here is your next request🥰
I hope you enjoy! I loved writing this!🥰🖤
The Burrito Protocol
plot
modern AU,
I have ADHD/autism, and I am in full menace mode and keeps tickling my three platonic doms (Azriel, Rhysand, and Cassian) for attention. As “punishment,” they wrap me tightly in blankets like a human burrito and smother me in relentless soft affection and silly antics until I'm giggling hysterically.
Content warnings
Tickling, light sensory overwhelm, blanket restraint (consensual & non-sexual), intense affection/smothering, mentions of ADHD and autism-related sensory needs. Fully platonic, no sexual content.
Word count
1.5k words
I’m curled up on the oversized sectional in the living room of the apartment the four of us share, legs folded under me, phone abandoned somewhere in the cushions. The late-afternoon light is soft and gold through the half-drawn blinds. Cassian is on the floor stretching after his run, Rhys is at the dining table with his laptop open and a half-finished cup of coffee, and Azriel is in the armchair nearest the window, book in hand, one ankle crossed over the opposite knee.
My brain is buzzing. The usual low-level static of ADHD has cranked itself up into full menace mode, and the autistic part of me is simultaneously overstimulated by the quiet and desperate for contact. I need attention. I need movement. I need them to notice me right now. The silence feels too thick, the air too still, and every quiet page-turn or keyboard click is starting to itch under my skin.
I slide off the couch and pad over to Cassian first. He’s mid-hamstring stretch, forehead nearly touching his knee. I drop to my knees behind him, wiggle my fingers, and dig them straight into the sensitive spot just above his hip bones.
He yelps—loud, undignified, perfect. “Y/N—fuck!”
I cackle and scramble away before he can grab me, already zeroing in on Rhys. He’s still typing, brow furrowed in concentration. I sneak up behind his chair, reach around, and attack the soft underside of his ribs with both hands.
Rhys nearly knocks his coffee over. “Y/N,” he says, voice low and warning, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Behave.”
“No,” I announce, already bouncing toward Azriel. The word comes out bright and defiant, the kind of answer that only comes when my brain has decided rules are optional and chaos is mandatory.
Azriel doesn’t even look up from his book. He knows. He always knows. I still launch myself at him, fingers finding the ticklish spots along his sides and under his arms. He startles—rare for him—and the book thumps to the floor.
“Y/N,” he says, soft and dangerous.
I’m already laughing, high and bright, the kind of laugh that means my brain has fully switched into chaos mode. I dart back toward the couch, but Cassian is up now, long arms reaching. I dodge, vault over the arm of the sofa, and make another run at Rhys, who has stood up and is watching me with that calm, assessing look that usually means trouble for me in the best way.
I manage two more solid tickle attacks—one on Cassian’s neck that makes him swear creatively, one on Azriel’s stomach when he tries to intercept me—before the three of them close ranks. My heart is racing in the best possible way. Every successful dodge and every startled reaction from them feeds the restless energy under my skin.
“Enough,” Rhys says, but he’s fighting a smile.
Cassian cracks his knuckles. “Somebody’s in menace mode.”
Azriel just tilts his head, dark eyes warm. “You want attention that badly, little one?”
“Yes,” I say, bouncing on the balls of my feet. “Obviously. You’re all being boring and quiet and I can’t stand it. My brain is vibrating. I need you to look at me. Touch me. Something.”
They exchange a look. The kind of silent conversation they’ve perfected over years of knowing each other and, more recently, knowing me. Then Cassian grins, wide and wicked.
“Blanket burrito time.”
I freeze. “Wait—”
Too late. Rhys is already moving toward the linen closet. Azriel steps in close, gentle hands on my shoulders, steering me toward the middle of the living-room rug. Cassian disappears down the hall and returns with an armful of the softest, thickest blankets we own—the big gray one, the blue waffle-knit, the fuzzy cream throw I stole from Azriel’s bed last week.
“No,” I say, laughing already, trying to twist away. “You can’t just—Cassian!”
He drops the pile at my feet. “Oh, we can. And we will.”
Rhys returns with two more blankets and a determined expression. “You’ve been terrorizing us for the last twenty minutes. Consequences.”
Azriel’s hands are steady on my upper arms. “Lie down, Y/N.”
I do, because the part of me that thrives on structure and clear direction lights up at the command, even while the menace part is still cackling. I stretch out on the rug, arms at my sides, and the three of them begin the process with the seriousness of people performing a sacred ritual.
Cassian starts at my feet, wrapping the first blanket tightly around my legs. He mutters under his breath the whole time, something about “containing the chaos gremlin” and “for her own good.” Rhys takes the second, overlapping it carefully so there’s no gap, his movements precise and almost meditative. Azriel handles the top half, tucking the edges under my shoulders and then rolling me—gently, firmly—until I’m a proper human burrito, only my head and the very tips of my toes free.
I wiggle experimentally. Nothing. I’m cocooned. The pressure is perfect—deep, even, the kind of sensory input my nervous system has been craving without me realizing it. The world feels quieter already, the edges of my thoughts softening under the weight.
“There,” Cassian says, sitting back on his heels and admiring their work. “One menace, successfully contained.”
Rhys settles on one side of me, Azriel on the other. Cassian claims the space near my head, leaning over so I can see his upside-down grin.
“Punishment phase two,” Rhys murmurs, and then they start.
Cassian kisses the top of my head, then both temples, then the tip of my nose. He does it with exaggerated care, like he’s performing a ceremony. Azriel’s long fingers stroke through my hair, slow and rhythmic, scratching lightly at my scalp in a way that makes my eyes want to flutter shut. Rhys presses his forehead to mine for a second, then begins a careful campaign of soft kisses along my cheekbones and the bridge of my nose.
I giggle. It starts small, a little bubble of sound that escapes before I can stop it.
They escalate immediately, as if the first giggle was a starting gun.
Cassian launches into a ridiculous running commentary in a terrible British accent about “the captured menace” and how “the council of doms has decreed maximum affection protocol.” He puts on a stuffy voice and starts listing imaginary rules: “Section four, paragraph two—excessive tickling shall be met with overwhelming softness. Section five—giggling is mandatory.” Azriel, usually so quiet, begins humming under his breath—some soft, silly tune I don’t recognize—while continuing to pet my hair. Every so often he leans down and presses a tiny kiss to my forehead, counting them out loud in that low, calm voice of his. “One. Two. Three. You’re doing so well, staying still for us.”
Rhys keeps up a steady stream of quiet praise mixed with absurdities. “Our little tickle monster,” he says against my temple. “All wrapped up and nowhere to run. So brave. So chaotic. So thoroughly doomed to be loved within an inch of her life. Look at you, trapped in your blanket fortress while we ruin you with affection.”
I laugh harder. The sound bubbles up from my chest and spills out, helpless. My whole body tries to curl in on itself inside the blankets, but there’s nowhere to go. The pressure holds me steady while the affection keeps coming. My cheeks are already starting to ache.
Cassian switches to blowing raspberries against the top of my head, loud and ridiculous, which only makes me shriek with laughter. Azriel leans down and presses a series of tiny, deliberate kisses to my forehead, still counting. Rhys starts making increasingly ridiculous faces every time I manage to open my eyes—crossed eyes, tongue out, the works—until I’m laughing so hard I can barely breathe.
I’m gone. Full hysterical giggles now, the kind that make my stomach hurt in the best way, the kind that leave me gasping for air between bursts of laughter. Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. My face is hot. Every time I try to form words—“I hate you all” or “this isn’t fair” or “more”—they dissolve into more laughter. The autistic part of me is floating in the perfect combination of deep pressure and predictable, repeated touch. The ADHD part is finally quiet, attention completely captured by the three of them being ridiculous on purpose.
“Look at her,” Cassian says, delighted. “She’s breaking.”
“Good,” Azriel answers softly. “She needed it.”
Rhys just keeps kissing my cheeks, my nose, the corner of my mouth, murmuring, “That’s it. Let it out. We’ve got you. No more menace mode until further notice. Just take it. All the soft. All the silly. All the love.”
They don’t stop. They take turns. Cassian tells the most outrageous stories about their college days, complete with exaggerated voices and dramatic hand gestures I can only half-see from my burrito prison. Azriel switches to tracing gentle patterns on my forehead and temples with his fingertips, the pressure perfect, grounding. Rhys settles more firmly against my side, one arm draped over the burrito of me, and begins listing every single thing he loves about the way my brain works—how it jumps, how it notices, how it loves so fiercely once it decides something is safe.
I can’t stop laughing. It’s not the sharp, manic laugh from earlier. This is deeper, warmer, the kind that shakes my whole body inside the blankets and leaves me soft and floaty afterward. My sensory system is singing. The deep pressure of the wrap, the constant gentle touch, the sound of their voices layered over each other—it’s everything my overstimulated, attention-starved brain needed.
Eventually the giggles taper into soft, hiccupping breaths. I’m still smiling so hard my cheeks ache. Cassian is lying on his stomach now, chin propped on his hands, watching me with open fondness. Azriel has shifted so my head is almost in his lap, still carding his fingers through my hair. Rhys hasn’t moved from his place against my side.
“Feeling better?” Rhys asks quietly.
I nod as much as the blankets allow. “Yeah. That was… a lot. In a good way. My brain feels like it finally sat down.”
Cassian reaches out and boops my nose. “You were a menace. We had to respond accordingly.”
“By turning into the world’s softest torturers,” I mumble, still smiling.
Azriel’s mouth quirks. “Effective, though.”
They’re quiet for a while after that, just staying close. The late light has shifted into proper evening gold. Somewhere in the building a door closes; traffic hums faintly from the street below. Inside our living room it’s warm and still and safe.
I wiggle a little. “Can I come out now?”
Three pairs of eyes consider me.
“Hmm,” Cassian says. “What do you think, boys? Has the menace learned her lesson?”
Rhys pretends to think hard. “She does seem significantly less tickle-inclined.”
Azriel’s fingers pause in my hair. “We could keep her like this a little longer. Just to be sure.”
I make a protesting noise that dissolves into another soft laugh. “You’re all ridiculous.”
“And you love it,” Cassian says, already starting to unwind the outer layer of blankets.
They unwrap me carefully, the same deliberate way they put me in. As soon as my arms are free I reach for them, pulling Cassian down into a messy hug, then Rhys, then Azriel, until we’re a tangled heap on the rug in a nest of discarded blankets.
I end up with my head on Rhys’s chest, one of Cassian’s heavy arms across my waist, Azriel’s fingers still loosely tangled in my hair. My body feels loose and settled in a way it hasn’t all day. The static in my brain has quieted to a manageable hum.
“Thank you,” I say into Rhys’s shirt. “For the burrito. And the affection assault. And for putting up with me when I’m like that.”
Cassian’s voice is warm against the top of my head. “Always. That’s the deal.”
Azriel’s quiet agreement rumbles somewhere near my ear. Rhys just presses a kiss to my hair and holds on a little tighter.
We stay like that as the light fades completely, the four of us tangled together on the living-room floor, blankets everywhere, the earlier chaos replaced by something soft and steady and exactly right. My brain is quiet. My body is calm. And the three of them—my ridiculous, perfect, silly doms—are right here, still surrounding me with the kind of affection that feels like the safest place in the world.
Ive got to know. Absolutely desperate to know. Do you think you'll do more of Az/Cass/reader/Rhys story?? 👀👀❤️
YES!!! I have a few in the worls 😉🥰🖤
EDIT! Enjoy lovely 😉🥰🖤
Ruined in the House of Wind
plot
I’m with Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel in the House of Wind. The three of them, completely obsessed with me, strip me, restrain me with shadows, and use me thoroughly—mouth, cunt, and ass—while discovering and repeatedly forcing my previously unknown ability to squirt. They praise, claim, and ruin me for hours.
Content warnings
Explicit consensual group sex (MMMF), double penetration, oral, anal, shadow bondage/restraint, squirting, multiple orgasms, heavy dirty talk, mild degradation/praise, cum play, overstimulation, obsession/possessiveness.
1.8k words
The House of Wind is quiet except for the low crackle of the fire and the heavy, hungry breathing of the three males who own me. Cassian’s wings are half-spread, casting broad shadows across the rug. Azriel stands a little apart, scarred hands loose at his sides, but his hazel eyes are locked on me like he’s starving. Rhysand is right in front of me, violet stare molten, a lazy smirk curling his mouth, I’m already trembling by the time Rhysand’s shadows coil around my wrists and haul them above my head.
“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice like dark velvet. “Already soaked and we haven’t even touched you yet.”
Cassian’s laugh is rough. “She’s been dripping since dinner. I could smell her across the table.”
Azriel doesn’t speak. He just steps closer and lets a single shadow slide up the inside of my thigh, cool and deliberate. It brushes the lace between my legs and I jolt, a helpless sound slipping out of me. The shadow presses harder, teasing the seam of my cunt through the fabric until I’m rocking into it.
Rhysand’s fingers find the neckline of my dress. He doesn’t bother with the fastenings. The material rips down the front with one sharp tug, baring my breasts to the warm air. Cassian is on me instantly, mouth latching onto one nipple, sucking hard enough to make my back arch. Azriel’s shadows finish the job, peeling the ruined dress off my body and binding my ankles wide apart so I’m forced open for them.
I’m naked now. Completely. Bound by living darkness that tightens whenever I squirm. Rhysand cups my face, thumb stroking my lower lip.
“We’re going to use every hole tonight,” he says softly. “And you’re going to take it like the perfect little mate you are.”
Cassian’s teeth scrape my other nipple. “Gonna wreck that pretty cunt until she forgets how to walk.”
Azriel’s voice is quieter, rougher. “And then we’re going to fill her ass until she can’t take any more.”
A thick shadow slides between my folds, parting me. I’m already slick, shamefully wet, and the cool tendril circles my clit before dipping inside. Just the tip. Teasing. I try to push down onto it and the bindings hold me still. Rhysand’s eyes darken with pure filth.
“Greedy,” he praises. “Show us how much you need it.”
Cassian drops to his knees between my spread thighs. His big hands grip my hips and he buries his face in my cunt without warning, tongue broad and filthy, licking from entrance to clit in long, greedy strokes. I cry out. The shadows around my wrists tighten in response, holding me open while Cassian eats me like he’s been denied for weeks. Azriel steps in behind me, chest to my back, and two more shadows curl around my breasts, pinching and rolling my nipples while Cassian’s tongue fucks into me.
Rhysand watches, hand already stroking the thick bulge in his leathers. “That’s it. Get her cunt nice and messy for us.”
Cassian growls against me and sucks my clit hard. Pleasure spikes so sharp I almost come, but he pulls back at the last second, leaving me shaking and empty. A thin string of my wetness clings to his lower lip. He licks it off and grins up at me.
“Fuck, she’s ready.”
Azriel’s fingers replace Cassian’s mouth. Two scarred digits push into me slowly, curling, finding that soft spot that makes my thighs jerk. He works me open with ruthless patience while Rhysand steps closer and frees his cock. It’s heavy, flushed, already leaking. He rubs the head across my lips.
“Open.”
I do. He slides over my tongue in one smooth thrust, filling my mouth until I gag softly around him. The taste of him floods me—salt and heat and power. Cassian stands, shoves his own leathers down, and fists his cock while he watches Rhysand fuck my face. Azriel’s fingers never stop. Three now. Stretching. Slicking. Every time he brushes that spot inside me, my cunt clenches and a fresh rush of wetness coats his hand.
Rhysand pulls out of my mouth with a wet pop. “On the bed. Now.”
The shadows move me. I’m lifted, carried, and dropped onto the massive bed in the center of the room. My arms stay bound above my head. My legs are forced wider. Rhysand climbs up first, kneeling between my thighs, cock in hand. He drags the head through my folds, coating himself, then pushes in with one long, deep thrust that punches the air from my lungs.
I moan around the sudden fullness. He’s thick, stretching me perfectly, and he doesn’t give me time to adjust. He starts fucking me in hard, measured strokes, each one driving deep enough that I feel him in my stomach. Cassian crawls up beside my head, guiding his cock to my mouth. I open eagerly and he slides in, hips rolling, using my throat while Rhysand uses my cunt.
Azriel watches for a long moment, eyes burning, then moves to the side of the bed. Shadows pin my hips down so I can’t rock up to meet Rhysand’s thrusts. He leans over me, brushes a kiss to the corner of my mouth around Cassian’s cock, and murmurs, “You’re doing so well for us tonight, good girl.”
I cant help but moan at the praise, then Rhysand changes the angle. He drags almost all the way out, then slams back in, grinding against that swollen place inside me with every thrust. Pressure builds fast—hot, overwhelming, different from any orgasm I’ve had with them before. My thighs start to shake. Cassian pulls out of my mouth so I can breathe and I sob, “Something—something’s—”
“Let it happen,” Rhysand orders, voice ragged. He fucks me harder, chasing it. “Give it to us.”
Azriel’s fingers find my clit and rub tight, fast circles. The dual stimulation snaps something loose. Pleasure crashes through me so violently I scream. My cunt clamps down and then gushes—hot, wet, uncontrollable. Fluid floods out around Rhysand’s cock, soaking his thighs, the sheets, everything. I keep coming, body jerking against the shadows, and they don’t stop.
“Fuck—look at that,” Cassian groans. “She’s fucking squirting.”
Rhysand doesn’t pull out. He keeps thrusting through it, dragging more out of me with every snap of his hips. “Again. Do it again.”
Azriel’s shadows slide under my ass, lifting me higher so Rhysand can pound deeper. Another thick tendril presses against my back entrance, slick and insistent. It works its way inside while I’m still trembling from the first orgasm, stretching me open in slow, relentless increments. The dual invasion—Rhysand’s cock in my cunt, shadows in my ass—makes the pressure return almost immediately.
Cassian fists a hand in my hair and feeds his cock back into my mouth. “Take it. All of it.”
I’m full. Completely used. Rhysand’s thrusts turn brutal. Azriel’s shadows fuck my ass in counterpoint. Cassian uses my throat. The next orgasm hits harder than the first. I squirt again, harder, longer, soaking Rhysand’s cock and balls while I gag around Cassian. They praise me through it—filthy, adoring words that sink into my skin.
“Perfect little slut.”
“Our perfect mate.”
“Look how well you take us.”
“Gonna keep you like this for hours.”
Rhysand pulls out suddenly, cock shiny with my release, and Cassian takes his place between my legs without missing a beat. He drives into my still-clenching cunt with a snarl, wings flaring wide. Azriel’s shadows keep working my ass, thicker now, stretching me until the burn blooms into pure heat. Rhysand moves up the bed and paints my lips with the head of his cock, making me taste myself.
Cassian fucks me like he wants to brand me from the inside. Every thrust forces more fluid out of me; I’m still squirting in little pulses around him, body oversensitive and greedy. Azriel finally frees his own cock and strokes it slowly while he watches, shadows doing the work of filling me. When Cassian pulls out to let me breathe, Azriel takes his turn.
He sinks into my cunt with a low, broken sound, scarred hands gripping my thighs hard enough to bruise. The shadows in my ass pulse and thicken, matching his rhythm. Rhysand and Cassian stroke themselves on either side of me, watching Azriel lose control. He lasts longer than either of them expected, fucking me through another forced orgasm that leaves me sobbing and gushing all over him.
Then they rearrange me.
Shadows flip me onto my hands and knees—or rather, force my chest to the mattress and my ass high. My arms stay bound. Rhysand kneels behind me and presses the head of his cock to my stretched, glistening hole. He pushes in slow, inch by inch, until his hips are flush against my ass and I’m stuffed full. Cassian slides underneath me, guiding his cock into my cunt at the same time. The dual stretch makes my vision white out. Azriel moves to my head, cock smearing across my lips until I open and take him deep.
They fuck me in perfect, filthy synchronicity.
Rhysand in my ass.
Cassian in my cunt.
Azriel in my mouth.
Every thrust shoves me forward onto Azriel’s cock. Every retreat lets me breathe just enough before they fill me again. The pressure inside me builds and builds until I’m coming almost continuously, squirting around Cassian’s cock in rhythmic pulses that leave the sheets beneath us a soaked mess. They don’t stop. They praise me through every wave—calling me theirs, telling me how pretty I look ruined, how they’re going to keep me like this until I can’t remember my own name.
Hours blur. They switch positions again and again. I’m on my back with my legs forced wide while Azriel and Cassian take turns in my cunt and Rhysand fucks my throat. I’m straddling Cassian’s cock while Rhysand works his way into my ass from behind and Azriel feeds me his release. I’m held upright by shadows, completely suspended, while all three of them use me—one after another, then together, then one after another again.
Every time I think I can’t take more, they force another orgasm out of me. My ability to squirt becomes a weapon they wield without mercy. Rhysand’s fingers or tongue or cock find that spot inside me and work it until I’m flooding the bed. Cassian holds me open and watches with dark, delighted eyes. Azriel’s shadows never stop stimulating my clit, my nipples, the sensitive skin of my inner thighs.
They cum on me, in me, over me. Rhysand fills my ass and then my cunt. Cassian paints my breasts and then forces his cock back into my mouth so I can taste both of them. Azriel cums down my throat with a quiet, broken groan and then softens only long enough to catch his breath before he’s hard again and sliding back into my oversensitive body.
By the time they finally slow, I’m a wreck. Covered in sweat, cum and my own release. Shadows still hold me open because my limbs no longer work. Rhysand lies beside me, fingers gently stroking through the mess between my legs, occasionally pressing inside just to feel how swollen and used I am. Cassian’s wing is draped over both of us, heavy and warm. Azriel cleans me with soft shadows and quieter touches, pressing kisses to my inner thighs, my hips, the marks they left on my skin.
“Ours,” Rhysand murmurs against my temple. “Completely.”
Cassian’s hand spans my stomach. “Never letting you go.”
Azriel’s voice is the softest. “Rest. We’re not done with you yet.”
I drift in the afterglow, body still twitching with aftershocks, cunt still fluttering around nothing, ass still aching sweetly. They stay close—touching, claiming, praising—while the House of Wind holds us in its quiet dark. And I know, with absolute certainty, that when I wake they’ll start all over again.
I’m home with Azriel and Cassian. They can’t stop talking about how small I am. They strip me, stretch me open between them, and fuck me until I’m full of both of them while they tell me exactly how tiny I feel taking their cocks.
Content warning
Explicit threesome (M/M/F), size kink, dirty talk focused on height difference, double penetration, rough sex, and graphic descriptions of penetration and orgasm.
1.7k words
I’m sliding between them on the couch, the three of us tangled in the soft gray sectional that takes up most of the living room. Cassian’s big body is stretched out behind me, one thick thigh shoved between mine, his chest a solid wall of heat against my back. Azriel sits in front of me, legs spread, my smaller frame tucked between his knees like I was made to fit there. I’m 5 foot 1. They’re both over six-four. The difference is ridiculous, constant, and they never shut up about it.
Cassian’s hand is already under my shirt, palm spanning almost the entire width of my stomach. His fingers dig in just enough to make me squirm.
“Look at this,” he rumbles against the back of my neck, voice low and rough. “Tiny little thing. My hand covers half of you.”
Azriel’s dark eyes track the movement. He reaches out and catches my chin, tilting my face up so I have to look at him. “She’s always been like this. Pocket-sized. Easy to pick up. Easy to fill.”
I shiver. They talk about my height the way other men talk about tits or ass. Like it’s the hottest thing they’ve ever seen.
Cassian’s other hand drops to my hip, thumb brushing the waistband of my shorts. “Stand up for a second, baby. Let us look at you.”
I push myself up. The second I’m on my feet I’m reminded all over again how small I am next to them. Cassian stays seated and still has to look down. Azriel rises slowly, and suddenly I’m staring at the middle of his chest. He cups the back of my head, fingers sliding into my hair, and the size of his hand makes my skull feel fragile.
“Fuck,” he murmurs. “You’re so fucking short.”
Cassian stands too. Now I’m boxed in between two massive bodies. Cassian’s chest presses against my back. Azriel’s against my front. I can’t see past either of them. I feel like a toy they’ve decided to share.
Cassian’s mouth finds the side of my neck. “We’re going to wreck you tonight. Stretch this little body until you can’t walk straight.”
Azriel’s hands slide under my shirt and push it up. He doesn’t even have to lift it far. The hem clears my breasts in one easy motion. He tosses the shirt aside and stares down at me like he’s starving.
“Look at these,” he says, cupping both of my tits in his big hands. They fit perfectly, completely covered. “Tiny little handfuls. And you’re still so fucking sensitive.”
He pinches both nipples at the same time. I gasp and arch, but there’s nowhere to go. Cassian’s already got an arm locked around my waist, holding me still.
“She’s getting wet just from that,” Cassian says, voice thick with amusement and heat. “Aren’t you, short stuff? Already dripping because two big men are talking about how small you are.”
I nod. My face is hot. They know exactly what this does to me.
Azriel drops to his knees in front of me without warning. Even kneeling he’s still almost eye-level with my collarbone. He yanks my shorts and panties down in one rough tug. They pool at my ankles. I step out of them, completely naked between two fully clothed men who look like they could snap me in half without trying.
Cassian’s hands settle on my hips from behind, thumbs stroking the soft skin just above my ass. “Spread your legs for him.”
I do. Azriel’s gaze drops between my thighs. He runs two fingers through my folds and lifts them, shiny with how wet I already am.
“Soaked,” he says quietly. “And look how small this pretty cunt is. We’re going to ruin it.”
He leans in and drags his tongue over my clit in one long, slow lick. My knees buckle. Cassian holds me up easily, like I weigh nothing.
“That’s it,” Cassian murmurs against my ear. “Let him taste you. You’re so fucking tiny he can almost cover your whole pussy with his mouth.”
Azriel proves the point by sealing his lips over me completely, tongue working my clit in tight circles while two thick fingers push inside. The stretch is immediate. I whimper. His fingers are long and rough and they feel enormous in me.
Cassian’s cock is hard against my lower back. He grinds against me slowly while Azriel fingers me open.
“You’re going to take both of us tonight,” Cassian says, voice dropping into that filthy register that always makes my stomach flip. “One in this tight little cunt. One in your even tighter ass. And you’re going to feel so fucking full you won’t be able to think about anything except how small you are and how deep we can get.”
Azriel curls his fingers and finds that spot that makes my vision spark. I cry out. He doesn’t stop. He keeps licking and fucking me with his fingers until my thighs are shaking and I’m dripping down his wrist.
Cassian reaches around and pinches one of my nipples hard. “Cum on his tongue. Make a mess of him, baby. Show him how much you love being our tiny little fucktoy.”
The orgasm hits hard and fast. I cum with a broken sound, hips jerking against Azriel’s mouth. He doesn’t pull away. He keeps licking me through it until I’m oversensitive and trying to twist away. Only then does he stand, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes dark and hungry.
“Bedroom,” he says.
Cassian doesn’t make me walk. He just picks me up like I weigh nothing, one arm under my ass, the other around my back. My legs wrap around his waist automatically. The position puts my face level with his. He kisses me hard, tasting like mint and heat, while he carries me down the hall.
Azriel follows. I can feel his eyes on us the whole way.
Cassian sets me down on the edge of the bed. Both of them start stripping. I watch, heart pounding, as they peel off shirts and jeans. Cassian’s cock is thick and heavy, already leaking. Azriel’s is longer, slightly curved, just as hard. Side by side they’re almost intimidating. I’m going to take both of them. The thought makes my cunt clench around nothing.
Azriel steps closer first. He cups my face in both hands, thumbs brushing my cheeks.
“Open,” he says.
I part my lips. He feeds me the head of his cock slowly, watching my mouth stretch around him. He’s so big I can barely take more than a few inches before my jaw starts to ache. He doesn’t force it. He just rocks shallowly, letting me adjust, while Cassian climbs onto the bed behind me and spreads my legs wider.
Cassian’s fingers stroke through my wetness again. “Still dripping. Good girl. You’re going to need it.”
He pushes two fingers into me, then a third. The stretch burns in the best way. I moan around Azriel’s cock. Azriel’s hand tightens in my hair.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Suck. Show us how much you want it.”
Cassian works a fourth finger in. I whimper. It feels like too much already and we haven’t even started.
“Look at her,” Cassian says, almost in awe. “Four fingers and she’s still so tight. This little body was made to be stuffed full.”
Azriel pulls out of my mouth with a wet sound. “On your back. Legs up.”
I scramble back onto the bed. Cassian grabs my ankles and pushes them toward my chest, folding me nearly in half. The position leaves me completely open and exposed. Azriel kneels between my legs, cock in hand, and rubs the head through my folds.
“You’re so fucking small,” he says, voice rough. “I’m going to feel every inch of this tiny cunt when I push in.”
He does. Slow and steady, watching my face the whole time. The stretch is intense. I can feel every ridge, every vein. My body tries to resist for a second and then gives, letting him sink deeper and deeper until his hips are flush against mine.
“Fuck,” he breathes. “Look at that. All the way in and you’re still so tight it’s almost painful.”
Cassian leans over me, still holding my legs open, and kisses me while Azriel starts to move. Deep, rolling thrusts that make me feel every single inch. The size difference is impossible to ignore. His hands on my hips look massive. His body covers mine completely. I feel tiny and claimed and so full I can barely breathe.
“She’s taking it so well,” Cassian says against my mouth. “Our little short stack. Made to be filled by us.”
Azriel picks up the pace. The wet sound of him fucking me fills the room. I dig my nails into his forearms, trying to ground myself as the pleasure builds again.
Cassian shifts, letting go of one of my legs so he can stroke his cock. He paints the head across my lips. I open for him immediately. He slides in, not as deep as Azriel but thick enough that my jaw strains again.
“That’s it,” he praises. “Suck while he fucks you. Show us how much you love being used.”
They move in a rhythm that leaves me no room to think. Azriel’s cock dragging over that spot inside me on every thrust. Cassian’s cock filling my mouth. The dual stimulation is overwhelming. I cum again with a muffled cry, cunt clamping down hard around Azriel.
He groans and slows, riding me through it, but he doesn’t pull out.
“Not done with you yet,” he says. “We’re just getting started.”
Cassian pulls free of my mouth and moves to the side of the bed. He opens the nightstand drawer and pulls out the bottle of lube we keep there. The click of the cap is loud in the quiet room.
Azriel eases out of me slowly. I feel empty and aching. He lies back against the pillows and pulls me on top of him, straddling his hips. His cock is still hard and shiny with my cum. He lines himself up and pushes back into my cunt in one smooth thrust.
I sink down until I’m seated fully. The new angle makes him feel even deeper. My hands brace on his chest. He’s so broad I can barely span it.
Cassian climbs onto the bed behind me. His hands settle on my hips, thumbs stroking the dimples at the base of my spine.
“Lean forward for me, baby,” he says. “Let me see that pretty little hole.”
I do. Azriel’s hands come up to cup my breasts, holding me steady. Cassian pours lube over my ass and works it in with two thick fingers. The stretch is sharp. I breathe through it, focusing on the way Azriel’s cock throbs inside my cunt.
“You’re so tight back here,” Cassian murmurs. “Gonna have to go slow. Don’t want to break our tiny girl.”
He adds a third finger. I whimper. Azriel kisses me, slow and deep, distracting me while Cassian works me open.
“You’re doing so good,” Azriel says against my lips. “Taking both of us. Letting us stretch this little body the way it was meant to be stretched.”
Cassian eventually pulls his fingers free. I feel the blunt head of his cock press against my hole. He pushes in slowly, carefully, while Azriel stays completely still inside my cunt.
The dual stretch is almost too much. I feel impossibly full. My body is forced open around both of them, every nerve ending lit up. Cassian keeps going until his hips are flush against my ass.
“Holy fuck,” he groans. “She’s so small. I can feel you through her, Az. She’s packed full of us.”
Azriel’s hands tighten on my waist. “Move. Slow.”
They start to rock. Opposite rhythms at first, then finding a pace that has me sobbing between them. Every thrust forces me down onto Azriel and back onto Cassian. I can feel them rubbing against each other through the thin wall inside me. The sensation is overwhelming. I can’t stop the broken sounds spilling out of my mouth.
Cassian’s mouth finds the back of my neck. “Listen to her. Our little short thing is getting fucked stupid. Can’t even form words because she’s so full of cock.”
Azriel’s eyes are locked on my face. “You’re taking us so well. Look at you. 5’1” and stuffed with two big dicks. Perfect little cock sleeve.”
The dirty talk makes everything hotter. I cum again, hard enough that my vision whites out for a second. My body clamps down around both of them. Cassian curses and starts thrusting harder. Azriel matches him.
They’re not gentle anymore. They’re using me the way they both love—like I’m their favorite toy, small enough to manhandle, tight enough to make them lose control.
Cassian’s hand fists in my hair, pulling my head back. “You feel that? Both of us buried in this tiny body. You’re never going to forget how full you are right now.”
Azriel’s thumb finds my clit and rubs in tight circles. “Cum one more time. Squeeze us. Milk every drop.”
I shatter. The orgasm is so intense it borders on pain. I cry out their names, body shaking, cunt and ass pulsing around them.
Cassian follows first with a low groan, burying himself deep and coming in hot pulses. The sensation of him filling my ass pushes Azriel over the edge a second later. He thrusts up hard and spills inside my cunt, hips jerking.
They stay buried in me while the aftershocks roll through. I collapse forward onto Azriel’s chest, completely spent. Cassian eases out carefully, then Azriel. I feel the mess of them leaking out of me and I don’t even care.
Cassian collapses beside us. One big hand strokes down my spine.
“Still so small,” he murmurs, almost soft. “Even when you’re wrecked and dripping our cum.”
Azriel’s arms wrap around me, holding me against his chest. “Our tiny girl.”
I drift for a while, floating in the afterglow. Eventually Cassian gets up and comes back with a warm washcloth. He cleans me gently while Azriel keeps me tucked against him. The care after the roughness always hits just as hard as the sex itself.
When I’m clean they rearrange us so I’m in the middle, sandwiched between two massive bodies. Cassian’s chest against my back. Azriel’s against my front. Their legs tangled with mine. I feel completely surrounded. Safe. Claimed.
Cassian’s hand settles on my hip, thumb stroking idly. “We’re going to do that again later. Maybe put you on your knees so we can watch how small you look taking both of us from behind.”
Azriel hums in agreement. “Or hold you up between us. Feet off the ground. Use you like the little fuckdoll you are.”
I shiver. My body is sore and used and already interested again.
They notice. Of course they do.
Cassian’s laugh is low and warm against the back of my neck. “Greedy little thing. Already wanting more.”
Azriel’s hand slides between my thighs, cupping my still-sensitive cunt. “We’ve got all night. And you’re so fucking small we can keep filling you until you can’t take any more.”
I press closer to both of them, heart racing all over again.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Please.”
Cassian’s mouth finds my ear. “Then rest for a few minutes, short stuff. Because the second you’re ready, we’re going to stretch this perfect little body all over again.”
Azriel kisses the top of my head, voice dark with promise.
“And we’re going to talk about every single inch of how small you are while we do it.”
I close my eyes, already aching for it, surrounded by the two men who love nothing more than reminding me exactly how tiny I am—and how completely I belong to them.
