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owlespresso · 2 years

Text

et tu?

sylvain, felix, dimitri x female reader warnings: dubcon, potential noncon, manipulation, the guys use their pre-existing with reader-insert friendship as a means of coercion

The master bedroom plays host to a number of opulent furnishings. The massive bed, nestled up against the wall is the centerpiece with its veritable hill of assorted cushions and pillows. There’s a nightstand, a dresser, and you’re certain a number of other items that you can’t quite focus on at the moment. The lamp is the only source of light, gentle beams of gold dispersing into the dark of the room. It casts Sylvain’s handsome face in soft hues of pink and orange, his gaze tender and appraising as he holds you, hands so big on your hips.

“Sylvain, what are you—” you stutter, hands hovering hesitantly above his own.

“Just lay back, babe. We just wanna show you something,” he coos, his expression softening with sympathy as he coaxes you backwards. There’s nowhere else to move but up against Felix, the breadth of your vision taken up by Sylvain in that tight turtleneck. “C’mon. You know we’d never steer you wrong.” You’re suddenly frozen, in the moment, uncomprehending of what exactly they’re attempting to wheedle you into. The vaguest idea of it lingers in the back of your mind, but that surely can’t be the case. They wouldn’t want that from you. Surely not. Right?

Warily, you glance at Felix. Even though the room is dark, you recognize the twist of his typical frown as it loosens into something more neutral, more pleasant.

“It’ll feel good,” Felix insists quietly, all the edge gone from his voice. One of his hands, warm and calloused, settles atop your own, lacing your fingers together. The gesture, as chaste as it is, sends a rush of heat to your cheeks. He holds your hand as much as he pins it to the blankets. “Sylvain talks too much and he slacks off most of the time, but he wouldn’t lie to you about this.”

“Ouch. You know I’m capable of having my feelings hurt, right?” Sylvain cuts him off, expression watery and self-pitying.

“Your skin is as thick as your skull. You’ll be fine,” Felix says coolly. His grasp settles atop of Sylvain’s, holding you by the waist.

The redhead doesn’t answer. Instead, he looks back to you with genuine fondness. His lips curl into a soft, convincing smile—the very same one he’d worn not even an hour prior, when he was opening doors and pulling out chairs and carrying your bags for you, snatching them from your arms with the practiced precision of a bandit. Indulgent. Patient. It’s almost enough to set your rickety nerves at ease. “We’re just gonna play a little bit of a game together. It’ll be fun for all three of us. I promise.”

“He wouldn’t lie to you,” Felix repeats. His thumbs dip underneath the hem of your shirt. The feeling of raw skin on skin makes you tense and take a sharp inhale. It crosses a boundary—makes everything so much realer, all of the sudden. You worry your bottom lip as you finally, completely understand what they are offering, nervous gaze darting from Sylvain’s face to the door behind him.

They’re right, aren’t they? Felix and Sylvain, who have been your friends and looked after you since your first year of university, wouldn’t turn on you after sticking with you for this long.

“Yeah,” you nod, swallowing. “I believe you.”

“That’s my girl,” Sylvain praises, brightening instantly. His fingers spread, palms smoothing up your sides. He pulls your rumplied blouse upwards, exposing your stomach and chest to the open air—to his gaze which grows more fervent as he beholds your bare skin. “Just follow my lead, okay?” He urges you backwards in the same motion, until your back is flat against the covers. Felix shifts to lounge beside you with the languid demeanor of an idly interested panther.

It’s easier, you think, to just listen to what they have to say. The alcohol has muddied up your ability to think, edges of your mind loose and gooey as you try to grasp a foothold. It’s a wasted effort. All you get for your troubles is an ache behind your eyes.

“Sothis, you’re blitzed,” Sylvain murmurs under his breath, his expression tender as he urges your arms up. And then he kisses you. It’s a harsh cry from the coaxing tenderness he’d blandished you with thus far, lips hot and fervent up against your own. He’s everywhere, hands grasping at your sides, squeezing your breasts, fingers dancing over your chilled skin as your lips fumble against his in a clumsy balter. He swallows every little indiscernible noise you make, pressing you tight to Felix’s lap.

Your bra comes next, divested of the garment by Felix’s dexterous fingers. He has your upper body nestled against his lap for easy access to the fiddly straps. You wriggle in his lap, rubbing up against the growing tent in his trousers. He makes a choked little sound.

“Calm down,” he hisses, hands snaking around your back to grab the cups of your bra, yanking the garment down. You jerk in their hold, knocking loose from Sylvain’s seeking lips.

“I’m sorry,” you croak. Felix huffs exasperatedly, pushing your arms close so he can slip the straps over them.

“No, it’s fine—I wasn’t talking to you,” he mutters, quiet and close to your ear as he carelessly lobs to the side, landing with a dull thump.

You barely hear him as one of Sylvain’s massive hands cradles your jaw, urging your head to the side. Goosebumps spread across your skin, jolts of pleasure accompanying each kiss he trails down your throat. He noses at your skin, mapping out each lovely centimeter of your body with a devotedness only witnessed in knight’s oaths. He clings like he is loathe to part from you for even a moment. Your aimless hands fly to his shoulders as he finally presses his teeth to you, sucking hard at a patch of skin. His hot tongue laves over the spot, as if in apology. Your pulse thrums rapidly under each osculation, any objections you could have had swept under the wave of heady, hazy pleasure.

Felix’s hands on your chest remind you of his looming presence, squeezing each breast, rolling the weight of them in his palms.

“You’re so little,” Sylvain laughs breathlessly. “But these are so big.” He presses a quick kiss to the top of your chest. His hands cup your hips as he makes his way down your body. Your back arches as Felix squeezes your nipples between his fingers, pressing them into firm peaks. He pinches and pulls and idly toys with them until you’re at the point of tears—steady breaths shuddered into quick pants, desperate to take in all the air you can. He doesn’t let up, groping the bountiful flesh, admiring the way the fat of your breasts dimples between his fingers.

“You’re soft,” he says, when you look up at him through teary eyes. He settles on appreciative squeezes which slide into cruel pulls on your nipples—like he’s milking a fucking cow. A hot rush of humiliation rolls down your spine and straight to your pussy at the realization, cunt throbbing.

Sylvain rests his knees on the carpet, knelt before your thighs. Your thighs, which tremble and twitch with anticipation, pressing together in an instinctive, futile effort to spare you from the mortifying embarrassment of being fully open before him.

You’re sopping wet, every inch of your body hypertuned and hypersensitive. Your nerves pulse with each eager pinch and grope, your feet scrambling against the comforter as you struggle to get some sort of grasp on the situation.

“Open your legs,” Felix orders, voice a low rumble. The shape of something hard and pointed presses against your upper back. Even as discombobulated as you are, you can guess what it is.

“Nah, don’t sweat it,” Sylvain says, lips quirking into a smile. His large hands span across both of your thighs, pulling them apart with practiced ease. Your insides clutch at the unabashed display of strength. “Getting ‘em to open up like this is half the fun.” His filipancy strikes somewhere tender within you, pries through the veil of intoxication and makes your heart twist. That’s right. Sylvain has done this plenty of times with other women. There’s no telling how many there have been before you. A fresh wave of tears sting at the corners of your eyes, soaking your lashes.

“Don’t talk about me like you’re shucking an oyster,” you snap, voice the loudest it’s been all night. Your jaw clenches tight as you bring your hands up to rub at your eyes, swallowing down a sniffle.

“Awh, babe,” Sylvain croons, eyelids dipping at the sight of your tears. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings. ” he murmurs, “Here, let me make it up to you.” but you don’t get a chance to answer before he’s slipping his fingers up against your wet folds, the pad of his thumb swirling over your untouched clit. Your hips jump with a yelp, eyes shutting tight, goosebumps spreading over your legs underneath his feather light ministrations. The tips of his fingers dance up and down your sodden slit before delving further inside, two of them pointedly circling your entrance as you gasp and sigh.

Your fingers uselessly grasp at the comforter, until one of them is seized by Felix. His calloused palm sits atop your own, fingers slotting between yours, keeping it pinned. All the while, his lips find home on the column of your neck. It’s more of a constant stream of touch than separate kisses, greedily mapping out the space with his mouth. Your head falls to the side as his sharp canines sink into another untouched stretch of skin. He does it again, and again, and again, a dozen pin pricks to make your cunt squeeze around nothing.

“That feel good, babe?” Sylvain asks, muffling a laugh on the plush of your thigh.

There’s nothing to do about it. Not when Sylvain crooks his fingers and pulls them back, not when he hits that special, spongey space inside of you that has you reeling. If the alcohol hadn’t already knocked the sense from you, Sylvain surely would have, with his fingers and his lips and his tongue curling over the hood of your clit.

“Sylvain!” you nearly sob, body tensing at the oncoming rush of heat. You can feel your climax on the back of your tongue, ecstasy rolling up and down your spine and rippling hot through your belly. He laps at you, sliding a third finger inside and scissoring, spreading you all the wider.

“Hold her down,” Sylvain gasps, pulling off of you for a mere moment. His pupils are blown wide and his lips are slick with you, but the embarrassment has hardly a moment to reach you before Felix is arching over your head, cursing as he plants his palms on either side of your hips. He holds you fast to the mattress, hard enough to ache. You come with a feeble yelp, pressing your back to Felix’s front as your hips jerk and jolt. Sylvain fucks you through the aftershocks of it, plays along your puffy folds until the pleasure begins to veer into pain, until your moans bleed into feeble whines. There is no mercy in the way his tongue presses against your clit and curls at your entrance, lapping up every last drop of your spend.

“Sylvain!” you cry. “Sylvain, please! I can’t—!” Your legs twitch, bottom half of your body spasming as you struggle in Felix’s hold. “No more!” Your moans become sobs and your eyes shut tight, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. A particularly hard smack of your heel into his spine jolts him. He settles backwards with a cruel laugh, wiping his mouth with the back of his wrist.

“Alright. No more of that,” he concedes. “I think you’re warmed up enough for the main event.”

“The main event?” you ask, only half-listening. Your voice doesn’t even sound like you, anymore. It’s like you’ve been deflated, legs weak and body overwrought as your mind struggles to come to terms with what your body has been put through. This wasn’t the plan, when you went out tonight. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“You’ll be fine. This is the one thing he knows how to do right,” Felix murmurs, pressing a kiss to the crook of your neck. Sylvain’s cock stands tall and proud against his sculpted abdomen—thicker than his fingers and already drooling. A pale drop of pre-cum trails down its side, trailing over a particularly prominent vein. He shifts away from you, body arching to reach the nightstand. You don’t pay attention to what he does there. The addled haze borne of that intense pleasure is clearing, making way for the inevitable dread and realization of what is about to happen.

“It’s too big,” you murmur, scrambling against the silken sheets in a weak, fruitless effort to get away. It’s nigh impossible with Felix already tight around you, bare hands holding you fast against his strong thighs. “It’s not gonna fit—”

“It will. I made sure to get you nice ‘n ready for it,” Sylvain says, settling back over you with a bottle of what you can only assume to be lubricant in hand. You watch him miserably as he corks it open and drizzles it over his calloused fingers, curling them around his cock.

“No, it won’t,” You can’t watch, swallowing as you hear him give himself a few, cursory pumps, the sounds slick and wet. Felix groans behind you, strong hips bucking against your back.

“Stop moving!” he gasps, grasping you hard enough to bruise.

“It’s okay, baby.” Sylvain starts, bracing a hand on the mattress beside your chest. His fingers fan out across the downy fabric, thick muscle of his arm tensed. His pupils are blown wide, stray strands of red hair stuck up and out at odd angles. He levels her with a stare of undisguised, fervent adoration, a manic depth to his expression that no one else has ever quite beheld her with. Because Sylvain, despite the craven way he’s acted towards other women, cares about her. Because he genuinely likes her. Because they’re friends, aren’t they? She reminds herself with a shaky inhale. “You wouldn’t leave me hanging after I made you feel so good, right? A sweet girl like you?”

Of course you wouldn’t. You shudder as you go pliant in his arms, doing best to assuage the fear that’s forced your body taut. The voracious look in his eyes stands at odds with his expression, lines of his face soft with admiration. He basks in the sight of you, unraveling, like a cat basking in the morning sun, “I’m gonna go nice and,” Sylvain cuts himself off with a ruined, low noise as his tip slips inside. “Slow. And it’s gonna be so good for you, baby. I promise. I swear.”

His hands press the back of your thighs, forcing your spine to curve until your knees are pressed to your chest. You whine at the ache that accompanies the stretch, legs groaning in protest. It’s the forceful press of his cock within you that distracts you from that pain. You’re sure that you writhe and wriggle in protest, but all physical resistance is futile whilst you’re pinned underneath the Shield of Faerghas, his voice gentle in your ear as he tries to coax you into relaxing. You just feel so full, up to your stomach, no spot within you left untouched. The massive heft of his cock presses deeper than his fingers ever had. He presses up against every spot previously left unexplored, every rubbed raw nerve within you sparking with new pleasure.

You arch your back and moan, heart lurching into your throat.

“You’re doing well,” Felix praises. The upper half of you is writhing and turning, another shudder rolling down your spine as he gives both breasts a rather mean squeeze.

In the end, you fall flat against him, pinned to his lap by Sylvain’s arms and Sylvain’s cock and Sylvain’s much bigger body, bearing down upon you like Seiros arriving unto the mortal earth. That’s the last, coherent thought you’re able before he pries it from you along with the rest of your coherency. He doesn’t jackhammer you like you thought he might, instead he fucks you slow and deep, rippling muscle of his body reinforcing every single thrust. He weighs you down and forces you to remain present in the moment. Your toes curl and your hips rise to meet him—your wants discarded and blown to the wind in the face of your body’s animal desire.

“I knew you’d come around. You just didn’t know how bad you wanted it,” Sylvain’s voice is breathless, trembling with laughter that wounds you somewhere in your heart. The pain is momentary, a blip in the weave of your existence, overwhelmed and forgotten when his long fingers press up against your clit, rolling over the bundle of muscle with loving, artistful precision.

You… want this? Did you want this? Maybe you had. You can’t tell anymore; it’s so hard to think. Your hands clutch Sylvain’s broad shoulders, nails raking harsh red lines over his pale skin. The warm lamp light casts his sweat-slick skin in glimmering waves of orange and yellow, every muscle in his broad body rippling with the effort it takes to fuck you.

Felix’s hand—still gloved, slides from your chest to your stomach. You open your mouth in questioning, but all that tumbles out is a sobbing, desperate moan as he presses down onto Sylvain’s cock. The redhead’s pace stutters with a moan, his honey eyes glazed and his lips curled into a dopey smile as he looks at Felix above your head, ensuring to make eye contact before he resumes mercilessly ravaging you.

“Felix!” you cry, fat tears rolling down your cheeks. A shaking hand curls feebly around his wrist, attempting to tug him away because oh god, it’s too much, it’s too fucking much—but he is strong and you are weak. All you get for your troubles is a slap to your inner thigh, the sudden violence making your head spin as the pain coalesces with the pleasure. In the face of all their combined dexterity and skill and strength, you can’t do anything but cum beneath him, orgasm hitting you in several succinct waves. Your walls spasm around his cock, the world shrinking down to only that bright series of mind melting sensations. He gasps, lips tucked right against your ear, shoving his hips home one last time to spray your warm walls with something hot, something wet and sticky.

The dark spots dancing at the edges of your vision blot out all there is to see, and your world zeroes in on the effort it takes to pull air in and out of your lungs, legs collapsing to the side as Sylvain slips away from you. In his absence, chills ripple across your damp skin, the space between your legs feeling wide and empty. A pitiful whimper pulls from your kiss-wet lips, hushed and worn as you try to fold yourself back into some semblance of a real human being.

“You did great. So good for me, babe,” The mattress dips at your side as Sylvain slips next to you, his eyelids lowering and his bangs sticking to his forehead. His hand feels like a chain as it settles atop your thigh, thumb rubbing at the twitching muscle. “Right, Felix?”

Up until this very moment, you’d forgotten Felix’s position behind you. So overwhelmed with scent and sensation, you even managed to ignore the obvious erection prodding at your shoulder through his thick trousers. Finally, he shifted from underneath your upper half, prompting you to gasp as you fell back onto the mattress. Mind still addled, the dark colors of the room blur and tumble around you, the lithe shape of him sliding off the bed for the lone purpose of shucking off his trousers. He steps out of them with feline grace, cock stood tall against the lean muscle of his abdomen. The tip of it already weeps, a droplet of pre-cum rolling down the side.

The light shifts over him as he makes his silent approach, beams of orange catching on his pale, limber thighs.

Ah, the thought strikes you with abrupt and startling clarity, he’s going to fuck you too. You whimper, the pitiful sound earning a tender coo from Sylvain. His hand pets your hair, fingers careful to avoid tugging on any knots.

“Shh, it’s alright baby,” Sylvain croons, a trail of wet kisses peppered up and down the side of your face. “Felix is gonna make you feel good, just like I did. You just have to lay back and relax, okay?” His hand sweeps down to your abdomen, searing warmth of his calloused palm settling over your lower stomach. “We had fun, didn’t we? This is just gonna be more of that. We’ll do all the work.” he asks against your temple.

“I—” you choke on your words as Felix mounts the bed, unceremonious and uncourteous in the way he grabs you and effortlessly manhandles you onto your back. Your cheek presses up against the silken sheets, your soaked pussy bared to his keen, amber gaze. Your face twists into a grimace as slick drips out of you and down your thighs, cool where it’s exposed to the night air.

“Sloppy,” Felix says quietly, and that’s all the warning you get before his hands spread your cheeks. “Did you have to make such a mess?”

“It’ll just let you slide in easier,” Sylvain retorts. “She grips you like a vice. I think I would’ve died if I pulled out.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he scoffs. Your fingers curl into the sheets as you feel the plush head of him press snuggly to your folds, kissing the outer rim of your entrance. You can’t help it. Your muscles lock up, the few minutes in between their attentions allowing everything wrong with the situation to come flooding back to you. At your side, Sylvain makes a sympathetic sound.

Felix’s hands move from your backside to your shoulders, dexterous fingers pressing to the knotted muscles of your back. You go still as death as his touch glides up alongside your spine, spreading his touch outwards, palms firmly massaging the back of each shoulder. You wince and whimper as the stubborn aches that’ve twisted there begin to loosen.

“Just breathe,” he murmurs, voice rumbling and husky in a way you’ve never quite associated with him before. The Felix you know is brash and blunt, unafraid to cut down those who overstep his boundaries or offend his at times terse sensibilities. He is notoriously unwilling to pull his punches or sugarcoat his verbal jabs, even with his closest friends or family.

He’s spoken softly to you once or twice. Once in the solace of the early dawn, when insomnia dragged you from your bed and the sleeplessness made you bold enough to text him. He’d picked you up from your little alcove of an apartment and spirited you to a diner a few blocks away. You can still recall the smooth leather upholstery of the seats and the unearthly, unperturbed blue of the sky before dawn. There’d been something so tranquil and liminal about existing underneath it, as blue as the buttons on one of Sylvain’s thrifted button downs.

He spoke to you so kindly, then, pried your problems and worries from your chapped lips with disarming tenderness and convinced you to return home with him. You’d felt out of place in his behemoth estate, intimidated and enveloped by the luxury. Ambling sleepily down those halls felt like floating, your fingers twisted up in the fabric of his coat. He’d let you cling, sent you to sleep in one of the many guest rooms with a stern huff.

He’s talking to you with that same voice, now. The hot press of his body over yours tears you from the memory. He presses a kiss to your shoulder blade, and tilts his hips forward, the tip of him rubbing against your sensitive walls. You’re exhausted, but your body pays no heed to your staunch lack of eagerness. It alights at the feel of him, laps up every inch and squeezes. So, so welcoming and so easy, still wet with Sylvain’s coveted spend.

Your eyes shut. You surrender yourself to the persistent press of him, whimper and sigh quietly until he’s perfectly sheathed. His lips grace over your pulse point, feathery kisses gifted unto your overheated skin. You feel full, again, cunt squeezing and twitching around him. He groans your name into your ear, nuzzles into the crook of your neck to leech onto the warmth there.

“I’m going to start moving,” he says. That’s all the warning you’re given before his cock slides out… and abruptly thrusts back in. All the weight of him piles behind that one, powerful stroke. The breath is knocked out of you, your body pushed flat onto the pillow and blankets. A sharp strike of pain alights the vulnerable space between your legs, voice coming out as a desperate howl. You’re too sensitive to do this again—but your body yields to him like you were made for it, plies you with hormones that leave you helpless and numbed.

He’s nothing like Sylvain, who coaxed and flattered you to orgasm with slow, powerful strokes. He all but plows you into the sheets, calloused fingers clutching your hips tight enough to bruise. You can’t help it. The sudden onset of adrenaline spurs you into struggling. Your fingers curl, hands shoving into the mattress as you try your very hardest to wriggle away from him, but his grip is tight and your limbs are jelly, left limp and helpless but to receive the things he makes you feel.

He snarls into your ear, teeth grazing your skin, hands greedily squeezing up and down your sides, chest pressing to your back—he’s everywhere at once, rutting into you like the monster he claims Dimitri to be.

And the thought of Dimitri, sudden and jarring, punches a small sob out of you. What would he think, if he saw you like this?

“Aww, don’t cry babe…” Sylvain coos in mock sympathy, barely loud enough to be heard over the rhythmic, rapid slapping of Felix’s hips to your ass.

“What’s… wrong?” Felix pants, voice breathy and rough. Where’s the Felix that took you out for pancakes and held your hand as he toured you around his estate, so worried that you’d stray from his side and get lost? Where’s the Felix who fumbles around his words because he cares about your feelings and doesn’t want to upset you?

You want to ask. You want to ask, so, so badly.

“She’s probably upset becauuuse,” Sylvain draws the word out, sanguine swoop of his voice amused and husky. You feel your face grow hot, the sound of his hand sliding across the blanket drowned out by your own noises and Felix’s frantic, stuttered panting. The tips of his fingers find your clit, teasing it with delicate strokes. “You’re not touching her where she likes it most.” His lips curl into a knowing smirk as your glassy eyes shut tight, lips parting around another moan. “There we go. That’s better, right? Forgive Felix, he’s kinda new at this whole thing.”

Your eyes open just in time to see him offer a vague shrug at the two of you, his gaze appreciatively roaming up and down your bodies, lingering where you’re joined. What does he mean by ‘this whole thing’, you have to wonder. At—at sex? It can’t be anything else, but it just feels inexplicably wrong to call it that. ‘Sex’ is between two people who love each other—you don’t even know what the three of you are, anymore. And Felix hammering relentlessly at your most sensitive places makes it impossible to search or ask for an answer.

“Some of us,” Felix’s gasps, voice lacking its usual animosity. “Do our jobs, Sylvain. We can’t all—” You can hardly believe it. Are they bickering? Now, of all times?

Sylvain’s fingers press hard on your clit. There’s no room to escape from the ecstasy that stutters through you, laps at your limbs like riptide. Incredulousness at their petty banter dissolves, words dying on your tongue as he touches you. Your overwrought body cums again, watery and pathetic, filtering the blinding oversensitivity into something sweet and palatable.

Above you, Felix plants his teeth into the crook of your neck and bites, muffling a groan as he spills inside of you. Thick ropes of his cum paint your trembling walls, the excess dripping out of you and dropping onto the sheets. The sting of the bite makes you flail and cry out anew, attempting to twist the top half of your body away from his clenched jaw. Amidst your floundering, your shoulder knocks him in the nose, jolting him from his daze.

His grip vanishes, leaving you to fall back unto the plush comforter. You make an undignified and surprised sound, forearms bracing against the mattress. Your legs shake, the ache that’d built between them slowly spreading to the rest of your body. The fatigue seizes you near immediately, words turning to ash on your tongue as you crumple. Your cheek presses against the cool plush of the comforter, finding shelter in the empty dark between consciousness and sleep.

The momentary peace is shattered when a warm arm coils around your waist, effortlessly rolling you over. You tumble with a surprised squeal, manipulated with infuriating ease into Sylvain’s embrace. His eyelids have dipped low, gaze gone caliginous with wicked desire and ardent adoration. There is nowhere to find shelter from him—and despairingly you wonder why you would want to, when he’s been nothing but so kind to you for all these years. Sylvain, who walks you home from class in the dark to ensure your safety. Sylvain, who responds to your texts no matter what time of night it is. Sylvain, who looks at you like he loves you.

Your heart clenches in your chest, surrendering to his grasp. His heat envelops you, his chest broad and warm beneath your sweaty cheek.

“Feels gross,” you mumble, shutting your eyes. Above you, he laughs, the sound genuine and joyous.

“Yeah, I get that. Think you can bear it for just a little longer?” His palm glides up and down your back, eyes shutting as he lays his head atop one of the countless pillows. They’ve been tossed about during the throes of your lovemaking, shoved to the side and pressed in on. A few have landed on the floor. You decide to not think about how much laundry the poor maids will have to do, come morning.

“I wanna take a bath,” you say, not even bothering to keep the complaint out of your voice. You can’t remember the last time you felt this filthy, stained with sweat and cum. Sylvain’s lips quirk into a slight frown at your upfront objection, but his thumb rubs at the side of your hip, perilously close to your ass.

“We’ll do all that and more, baby. Whatever you want. You just gotta wait with us. It won’t take long, promise.” he soothes. Your nose wrinkles with displeasure, the sight of your bemused expression making him laugh.

“Why—”

White light streams into the room as the door is wrenched open with a noise so loud and horrendous that you momentarily fear it’s been ripped from its hinges. Veiled in that unholy luster is the broad, familiar form of Dimitri. The edges of his hair are warm aglow, locks loose and tumbling down to his shoulders, bangs falling in his face.

“Dima,” you whimper, the sight of him washing over you in a cold wave, parting the haze to leave you open and exposed. With the return of your logic comes the stark realization of everything that’s gone wrong in the past hour or so. The details pop into excruciating clarity, as does the severity of what they’d done. You still can’t muster the energy to do more than lift your weary head, movements slow and syrupy in the dark warmth of the bedroom. The sheets twist against your back as she tries to adjust, grasping at the blankets in a thin and fruitless attempt to cover yourself, to retain whatever slim portion of dignity and respect remained.

Felix’s hand, rough but gentle, wraps around one of your wrists, giving a careful squeeze. The action is both a threat and a comfort, a dangerous duality that makes you stiffen and still. Your fate was sealed the moment they met you in front of your apartment building. You could voice any and every objection, right here and right now, and it would make no difference.

Distress and humiliation balled up with the rest of all you felt, your soft pants quickly becoming laborious gasps. Felix’s unyielding grip lightened, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against the underside of your wrist.

“After all the effort I put in to get your attention,” Sylvain sighs quietly into the crook of your neck, melodramatic. He pushed his hands to the mattress on either side of you, pushing upwards to greet Dimitri with a winsome smile. The move nudges you out of place, head coming to rest on his stomach. “His majesty always steals the show. Look at you, showing up fashionably late. Better now than never, I always. Right, Felix?”

“You’ve got some nerve, showing up after you canceled on us,” Felix grunts brusquely, giving Dimitri a mean stare. “You’re not even late. You’re just uninvited.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that,” Sylvain tacks on affably, giving Felix a firm pat on the thigh. “Come on in, Dimitri. Stay awhile,” he begs, sparing you a wayward glance. “I’m sure she’d like that, too.” One of his big hands flattens against your side, caressing your naked skin. A sharp inhale rattles your lungs, blinking several times as you attempt to find Dimitri in the doorway. One of his hands holds the polished wood of the frame, the other hung limply at his side. Your voice catches in her throat, fear and adrenaline wresting with exhaustion and the weight of the two men beside you. If more awake, perhaps you would have heard the slow creaking of the wood as it began to splinter under Dimitri’s iron grasp.

Sylvain, as though reminding you of his presence, rests his cheek on your right breast, laving a wet kiss next to your nipple. It felt wrong to say anything, a numb terror seizing you as you behold Dimitri’s expression.

The light that flowed into the room casts his face in steep darkness, but even from this distance you can make out his eyes. His lone pupil is blown wide and his lips slightly parted.

Dimitri, Dima, as you know him, is so kind and courteous and careful with his affections. He holds open doors and pulls out chairs despite you insisting he doesn’t have to—he holds your bag when you walk together and hunches his broad shoulders so he doesn’t loom above you, painfully conscious of his own size. The serrated edges of him are sanded down and softened, but this Dimitri doesn’t look anything like that. The long line of his body is tense, one foot in the room, one foot remaining outside. His spine goes rigid as Sylvain beseeches him forth with a lackadaisical wave. His nose wrinkles, his lips pulled into a solid, flat line as the sweet and hazy scent of the room undoubtedly reaches him.

“Suit yourself,” Sylvain shrugged nonchalantly after a few moments of silence. “We’ll have fun without you. Won’t we, baby?” he turns his dark gaze back to you, eyelids dipping as he prompts you to answer. One of his hands sprawls over your right thigh, gently massaging the taut muscle.

“I…” you start, tongue-tied and unbidden, struggling to even finish a thought. It was all too much, the air replete with the scent of mixed spice and cologne. This… this wasn’t right, this—

“I think not,” Dimitri scoffs, shutting the door behind him as he steps into the room. The light dies with the click of the lock, noise loud as thunder in the momentary quiet of the room. He fumbles about in the caliginous empty of the room, shuffling out of his clothes. Your stomach drops as his coat collapses into a dark pile on the floo. Your voice pitches into a whine before she can temper it, labored gasps only becoming heavier. The sound must grow obstreperous enough for them to take note, because Sylvain is shushing you within moments, plush lips brushing over your chest.

“Aw, baby,” he says piteously, hand finding the round of your hip to squeeze. His thumb rubs little circles into you skin, smothering your frantic exhalations with kiss after kiss after kiss. He gentles you down upon the silken sheets, straying from your lips to the crook of your neck, burying his nose up against the tender spot. “It’s okay. Don’t be scared. We’re gonna make you feel so good.”

The mattress dips, groaning underneath the weight of yet another well-muscles paramour. Dimitri’s strong thigh leads up to a surprisingly narrow waist, his figure both attractive and imposing, with heavy pecs and thick abdominal muscles. His lone eye gleams in the dark, the other milky and unfocused. He’s nearly naked, briefs snuggly around his waist. The shape of his cock strains at the fabric, pressed up against his inner left thigh. Long and girthy, surely impossible for her to fully take.

“Hey, hey,” Sylvain says, as though sensing your distress. He croons to you like he’s trying to calm a frightened horse, and the realization would make you laugh if you weren’t so puzzled, so humiliated at being splayed open in the most intimate way for them. For people you believed were your friends. It feels like a betrayal, but Sylvain is tender as he presses a chaste kiss to your forehead, cups your cheek in one, big hand. “It’s alright. C’mon, you gotta trust us, here.”

“I, uhm—” you cut yourself off with a harsh swallow.

“I can hardly blame her. You don’t have the best track record with women, Sylvain,” Dimitri’s voice, clipped and strained, comes from behind the redhead. He sets a heavy hand on Sylvain’s shoulder, tugging him away from you. The redhead acquiesces with more of a pout than a genuine frown, as though a child forced to share his favorite treat.

“Come here,” Felix murmurs in your ear, and that’s all the warning you get before he’s hooked his hands underneath your arms. You squawk as he pulls you up the bed, and the sudden movement earns a displeased growl from Dimitri.

Your bare, sweaty back rests up against his thighs—thighs you’d admired hardly a few hours ago. The heels of your palms press up against the sheets in a frantic, instinctive attempt to get some leverage and pull yourself up, but Felix presses a hand to your shoulder.

“Stay there,” Felix mumbles into your hair, pitch of his voice gone low and quiet and husky as he holds you. Felix, you think to yourself, is a good man who will not hurt you. He’s your friend, after all. You cling to the gentility of that sentiment, leaning your head back against his shoulder and shutting your eyes.

They’re not going to hurt you (they already have). They’re your friends. You can trust them. Hadn’t Sylvain only made you feel good, thus far? Just like he promised? You swallow and you shift and your breaths shudder in and out of your body as you reckon with what’s about to happen to you. Felix’s other hand rests atop your stomach, caressing the bare skin even as your muscles jump and tense.

The thickness of Dimitri’s muscled thighs bracket either side of your hips, sinking into the plush mattress. You feel legless before him, limp and made of rubber as he towers over you. He stares you down with that single, frosten eye. You can’t bear to look up at him for more than a few moments, breath trembling at his starved expression. None of them speak as his fingers gently grasp your chin, forcing your gaze upwards. The cold, grim lines of his face have mellowed into something more sympathetic.

The head of his cock breaches you a moment later, stretching you out all over again. He spares you a single moment to adjust, to realize, before continuing to plunge deep inside of you, retracing the path Sylvain and Felix had taken with little remorse.

“Dima!” you squeal, fingernails scratching at his shoulders, red lines raked over his cool, pale skin. “Ah! Dima!” There’s so much of him, the stretch too great and the ache too pointed to bear. Tears burn at the corners of your eyes as you wiggle your hips in a fruitless attempt to shrink away. Dimitri gasps up against your ear as your walls squeeze and flex around him, voice rumbling into a low, feral growl. Felix’s hand holds your leg wide, palm bent underneath the crook of your knee. You couldn’t squirm away even if you wanted to, pinned between the toned bodies of Faerghas’s strongest.

“There’s no use in trying to escape now,” Dimitri says, voice brushing right up against your ear, low and cold and solemn, like some sort of oath. He cemented it by grabbing your thighs, dragging your legs to wrap around him. He breaks you to pieces while you’re too shocked and puzzled and upset to put up a true fight, pinned like a butterfly to a board. “Your body… is sucking me in. You cannot lie to me.”

“We really need to work on how you talk to girls,” Sylvain says wryly, somehow sounding unamused despite himself. There’s a strain to his voice, but it’s all background noise to you, voices and sounds other than the frantic beating of your own heart bleeding into nothingness. You choke, a fresh wave of tears rolling down your hot cheeks, because why would Dima talk to you like this? What had you done to deserve this? The fresh flood of humiliation dampened the lust-induced madness, cooled the fever they’d subjected you to.

“It hurts, Dima,” your voice cracks, flopping an arm over your eyes, “Why are you being so mean to me?” Your open despair is what gives him pause. There’s a beat of silence, before a raspy purr rumbles from his chest. The noise is low and soothing as he smooths his lips over your forehead, trails kisses down the side of your face. Still, his hips plow forward, spearing you to the sheets like a butterfly pinned to a board.

“I—” he gasps again, buries himself to the hilt, “I’m… sorry.” His voice is unsteady, his body still, as though to let you grow accustomed to the massive breadth of him. Your nervous inner walls spasme and struggle to accommodate him, an arduous task made more difficult by a sudden stroke of anxiety. “It’s okay. You’re doing, ah… Very well—” He cuts himself off with a deep groan as the tip of him kisses your cervix. The sentiment is all but lost on you, up to your ears in things you don’t know how to register or understand.

“Don’t hide your face,” Felix says from somewhere above you, a hand curling around your wrist to pull your arm back down to your side. After a moment of halfhearted resistance, you let him, too occupied with the way your cunt so desperately grips him. The dark of the room combined with your tears blissfully obscure his expression. The less you see, the better. Especially when so much of you is so entangled with the heat of them. The weight of their attentions rends you flush with warmth, hyper aware of Sylvain’s ogling and Felix’s hands on your body.

The electric stroke of need building between your legs is a blissful distraction from the chaotic buzzing in your brain. It both breaks and relieves you to know that your cunt is still sloppy and wet and wanting, stretched so wonderfully and so painfully around Dimitri’s massive girth. It’s an arduous task to simply focus on your breathing, the steady rush of air in and out of your lungs. The room is warm and humid, tender against the back of your worn throat.

“Yes,” Dimitri says, burying his face into the crook of your neck. His lips brush across your pulse, the chaste kiss he presses there running a shiver down your spine. “I am. It was wrong of me,” he cut himself off with a low, sultry noise as the walls of your cunt fluttered around him, beginning to grow accustomed to the intrusion. “...you’re being so good for me.” One of his hands finds your hips and squeezes.

Your eyes flutter shut as he draws his hips back, thick of his cock dragging against your walls until only the tip remains inside.

“You’re.. sucking me in,” he hisses, and fucks himself back into you in one solid, brutal rut. Your hands scramble against the silken sheets, entire body shaking at the pace he sets. The sharp points of his teeth scrape against your cheek, your neck, your shoulder, both of his broad hands spanning across your hips. He positions you how he likes, drags you up the bed to meet each unfair thrust.

You want to moan, to cry, to scream, but the air is knocked from you over and over. The tidal waves pulling you under in quick succession. Felix clutches one of your hands, his lips pressing to your temple as though in reassurance. The chaste touches are nothing compared to the maelstrom of heat and pleasure that slices through you, white hot sensation making spots at the corners of your vision fuzzy. Out from behind him, Sylvain emerges, coming to rest at your side. One of his hands is curled around his hard cock, a lone bead of moisture rolling down the thick shaft. His eyelids hang low, expression unabashedly lascivious as he watched Dimitri breed you with full and rapt attention. His wet lips part around low growls and heady praises.

Above you, Dimitri gives a noise closer to a growl than a moan. His massive palm cradles your cheek, your view of Sylvain blocked by his thick fingers, by the size of him.

“Look at me,” Dimitri says, gaze bearing down upon you with fervent intensity, searing into the fabric of your very being as he pulls you apart. His other hand palms your breast—no, that’s Felix’s, you realized belatedly, voice pitching into a squeal as he pinches your nipple between forefinger and thumb. Dimitri’s hand other hand is on your hip, molding over the marks Sylvain and Felix have undoubtedly already left. You can’t find it in yourself to care. All you can do is react, writhing and crying out and screaming as you feel yourself climbing to that peak yet again.

You’ve been whittled down to your instincts, thoughts melted by the molten pleasure that frays your edges and sparks your nerves, crammed between two of your best friends. Something about this is unmistakably wrong, but you’re too loose with ecstasy to recall what exactly that is. Dimitri’s rough fingers move from your hip to your clit, roughened pads grating over it. Your thighs twitch, that bent tight coil snapping as yet another orgasm rattles you, rubbing your nerves raw.

The back of your throat is hoarse as you unleash another yelping cry. Dimitri’s pace begins to give way, from swift, smooth glides to ungainly, stuttering jolts of his hips. You fall out of rhythm with each other, your body worn ragged as he takes his fill, drinks deep of you.

A wretched snarl wrenches from his curled lips as he yanks his hips backwards, spreading thick cum over the blankets between your legs. His hands slide from your hips to your ankles, encircling both with one hand and abruptly hoisting them upwards, forcing your legs together. The mattress squeals in protest as he gets to his knees, pressing his cock between your inner thighs.

Behind him, Sylvain whistles, the sound more reluctantly impressed than genuinely encouraging.

You lay limp against the mattress, gasping as he begins to fuck your thighs in earnest. The grip he holds around your ankles is bruising, muscle and bone aching with each rough snap of his hips to the backs of your thighs. How could one man have so much stamina? The orgasm he’d just gone through has no hold on him, evident in the way he blatantly chases another. The slick mixture of your releases coats your skin and makes it easy for his cock to glide between the warm plush of your inner thighs, ghosting right above your abused cunt. You whimper and writhe and gasp, unsure of what else to do but lay there, shuddering as he finds a second release, spilling over your waist and lower tummy.

That’s it, right? That has to be it? You crane your head, eyes wide as you silently appeal to Felix. You don’t even look down when Dimitri releases your legs. You’re perpendicular to the mattress, held aloft by his hands alone, shoulders and neck left to support what little weight he doesn’t shoulder on his own.

You expect him to ease them back down to the mattress, gentle now that he’s gotten what he’s wanted. But he doesn’t. He stays stood on his knees and hooks her knees over his shoulders, dragging her violently from Felix’s lap. His spine curves and cranes, hands grasping at her outer thighs to hold her still.

“Dima!” she cries, voice breaking into a rough scream. Her fingers curl tight to her palms, eyes wide as he leans his head down, craning his neck to rasp his tongue over her wet pussy. It’s too much for the sensation to register as anything other than strange, the ripples of pleasure twinging into pain with how overwrought she is. He devours her wholly and totally, slurping and swallowing their mixed release with not a modicum of shame. The noises are sinfully slick and loud, her cunt throbbing as she teeters on yet another release.

He draws her to the edge a third time, back arching and toes curling and mind completely gone. She’s making noises too hoarse to be sobs, muscles twitching as he finally, finally sets her back down. His lips are wet and his pupils are wide, bright blue eyes reduced to thin rings.

“Are you done?” Felix asks, sharp and scolding. Dimitri jolts, as though he’d forgotten the presence of anyone else in the room. He hastily nods, tongue darting out to swipe the last lingering succulence from his lips.

“Yes… yes, I’m sorry. I seem to have… gotten carried away.” he says, resting on his knees. His hands hover above your parted knees for but a moment, gaze roaming to rest between your inner thighs. He eyes your cunt with a fascination that sends a fresh bolt of fear up your spine.

“Ah, ah, ah,” Sylvain, fortunately, sees it too. He grasps Dimitri’s forearm. “C’mon, your highness. Leave some for the rest of us.”

“Of course,” Dimitri says, and it’s like he’s snapped out of a trance, slipped out of the wolf’s pelt and into his human skin. When he looks at you, it’s like he truly sees you, again, features gone soft with genuine concern. “I apologize. I went much too far—it was cruel of me. Are you… alright?”

“No more,” is all you can muster, voice a broken whisper. You don’t even register the sickened guilt that crosses his face, eyes fluttering shut as you struggle around labored breaths.

“No? You don’t wanna play with Felix again?” Sylvain asks, voice a velvety purr. His warm hand brushes over your too-hot skin, caress only serving to remind you of the sweat you’re covered with. Your face contorts into a wince.

“She doesn’t have to. The Boar already wore her out,” Felix says sharply. When his hoarfrost gaze dips to you, the ice melts from his expression, hard lines of his scowl go soft. Numbly, you wonder if that’s how he looked while he held your hand, while he watched your other friends wring orgasm after orgasm from your weary body. A pinprick of agony sparks behind your eyes, compounds as a blunt aching there, but all else is numb. It’s too exhausting to think. To feel. Maybe Sylvain was right. Maybe your faculties are too limited.

Their bantering fades into the background, voices low and muffled as you struggle to regain your bearings. To come up for air.

It’s impossible to tell how much time passes you by, bare in that bed, still beneath them. It feels as though you fade in and out of awareness, consciousness like minnow’s barely below the surface of the stream. Eventually, hands curl below your shoulders and neck, urging your head upwards. Your eyes snap open, but the cool lip of a glass pressed to your mouth settles you. Up until that very moment, you’d not realized how parched you were. throat gone dry with thousands of desperate inhalations. The water is a soothing balm, and you gulp down every last drop.

“Hey, don’t drink it too fast—”

“Let her drink it however she wants,” Felix cuts him off, and the rest of their conversation fizzles into the background until the glass has been pulled away Sylvain ducks into your line of sight, eyes, gaze concerned, imploring.

“Oh, whatever. Hey, sweetheart, do you think you can stand up?” he inquires, setting a gentle hand atop your knee.

“After the boar near swallowed her whole? I doubt it.” Felix eyes Dimitri with considerable indignation. “The boar” pointedly avoids making eye contact.

“My apologies,” he says, long fingers prying under the mattress to free it of the sheets. “I’ll wash the bedding while you take care of that.”

“Well, that’s okay, then. We’re gonna get you cleaned up, ‘cause I don’t think anyone here wants to sleep in all that mess. Right?” Sylvain says. Lacking the wherewithal to use your voice, you nod. “That’s my girl. Okay, hold on tight—”

Of course, Sylvain would insist on tidying up, even after all of that. Your cheek rests up against his chest. Your pulse has stopped thundering in your ears. Tomorrow, you think, there's going to be a lot to think about.

But right now… you let yourself melt into the sweetness of his embrace. You feel the taste on our tongue. Your vision goes fuzzy behind your eyelids. You fall asleep to the scent of lavender in the bathwater.

#imagine fe3h #oz write #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #sylvain jose gautier #felix hugo fraldarius #poliocetics tag #sylvain/reader #felix/reader #dimitri/reader

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