#My hunger has been satisfied for a while | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

puma-riki · 17 days ago

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Mine, mine, mine

You got control of me, baby? ─. Vampire bf! riki x fem! reader

~ synopsis. riki with grilled fangs. thats it. thats the plot

.⋆♱ warnings! description of sharp objects and blood

~ genre. fluff skinship est. relationship

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"Stop." Riki's monotone voice cuts through the comfortable silence in your bedroom and interrupts your prodding. He turns his head away and grabs your curious fingers that have been pushing up his lips.

"Ayeee, don't be a baby. I just wanna see." You say pulling your hand out of his gentle grasp so you can continue to attempt to pull at his upper lip.

He turns his head again.

You've been trying to get a look at his teeth, more importantly his fangs, for 30 minutes now. You'd caught him at his most vulnerable hour, when he's hungry. Riki is pretty good about regulating his hunger. He doesn't give into his most carnivorous desires, instead he's stocked up on blood bags. They're not the best thing in the world, but they do the job and they're pretty good at times. With the blood bags, he's tame– well, at least emotionally.

Parts of his superhuman body, don't typically take kindly to Riki's new vegan style of life. Yes, his hunger is satisfied, but it's not through the natural way vampires are designed for. Vampires are built to feed on humans and animals, which is why they have fangs. Instead, of hunting down prey and puncturing their skin with his knife-like teeth, he's sitting here in your bed sipping on a blood bag like a Capri sun.

Even though he is technically feeding, his body is still in drive, prepared to hunt, chase, puncture, and drink. The ache in his teeth has dulled, but he can't get them to retract. They probably won't until he's completely satisfied and who knows how long that'll take.

You had, unfortunately, been here to witness the beginnings of your boyfriend's insufferable supernatural body alert him that he was due for a drink.

You had watched him grow increasingly more and more restless as he tried to focus on a game he had been playing in the living room. You'd always known what he was, so of course you had at least some guesses as to why he kept holding his cheek like he'd had a tooth ache and was shifting positions 10 times in a minute.

Although you had known Riki was a creature of the night, whose nature was to drink the blood of unsuspecting victims. You'd never seen what he's like when his time to feed rolls around. So, when he let out a string of curses as his canines suddenly shot out and extended from his mouth, you were curious to say the least.

Which brings us to the present. The sun set an hour ago and the only noise in your room is from the bustling city below your apartment. You're situated on top of him, straddling his lap and fighting sleep, as he sits up against the headboard of your bed, half empty blood bag in one hand, and your wrist grasped in the other.

"Just let me see!" You huffed, wriggling your wrist free from his strong grip, yet again. You interlock your fingers with his and push his hand down to rest on his stomach, while you scoot closer to him.

"You're gonna hurt yourself. Leave my teeth alone, you freak." He screws his eyes shut and turns away from you. However, a laugh escapes his lips as he tries to evade your hands reaching up for his face. He wonders how low you must be running on sleep to be this delirious.

"Says you! C'mon please! I've never seen your fangs before. I'll only look, I won't touch, I promise!" You laugh along with him, releasing your hold on his hand as you take his face in your hands. He tightens his lips into a straight line, sealing away the treasures you seek inside.

"Pleaseeeeee." You draw out with a pout and looking right into his eyes with a gaze that should be illegal. You've got him trapped under your weight, staring at him with glossed over eyes that are wide with curiosity and admiration, and droopy with sleep.

Even though Riki possess all the strength and more to quickly and effortlessly escape from your hold and throw you off of him, he never seems to find the will to do so. He so often finds himself tripping face first into your every need. He folds under zero pressure for you. Like right now.

"Look don't touch." He mumbles through squished cheeks and rolls his eyes even though his skin is on fire and his dead heart lurches at the sight of your bright smile.

"Okay, Okay, now open!" Your voice is excited but hushed, as if Riki is about to reveal a heart kept secret. You scoot up closer in your excitement. Riki sets his blood bag aside on your nightstand and uses his now free hand to rest on your waist.

He reluctantly opens his mouth and bares his teeth. He almost shivers as your hands slowly trail from his cheek to his jaw, and to his chin. He silently watches you lower your head and lean in close to inspect his extended fangs.

You're in absolute awe.

As weird as it sounds, Riki's teeth are beautiful. Yes, you'd seen him smile before, but this is the first time you've seen his fangs. A part of him that's shunned by the outside world. And, my god, for all the wrong reasons.

His fangs were sculpted and gleaming white. Needle-sharp and deadly. They're longer than you expected them to be. Even more devastating–

They're grilled in silver.

"Are those silver grills on your fangs!?" You gasp. "Is that a thing? Is there, like, a vampire dentists-slash-jeweler I should know about?"

The silver catches in the light of your dimly lit room, etched with the tiniest designs– runes maybe? Or just something expensive looking and smug, like he knew exactly how ridiculously gorgeous he would look with weaponized jewelry in his mouth.

Riki scoffs beneath you, he'd probably have something smart to say if it weren't for you holding his mouth open like a dentist.

You weren't paying any attention to his response, you're completely enthralled by his fangs, tiny blades dipped in moonlight. The silver plates ran from the root of his teeth and all the way down to the tip, probably making them even sharper than they were originally. You wondered if they were as sharp as they look, would they be warm or cold to the touch like him.

You know you said you wouldn't, but you can't stop yourself. Your finger trails from his lip to the point of the grill. Like sleeping beauty to a spinning wheel, you prick your finger and flinch away.

You look up at Riki with wide panic filled eyes like a kid who just got caught with their hand in the cookie jar. You're still a breath away from each other. He gives you a dead pan look.

"Alright, you're done." He says flatly, both of your wrists now caged in one hand like its nothing. His other hand brushes his thumb over the small amount of blood beading at your fingertip, then stills.

"No! It was an accident, I swear!" You try to reason. "I didn't think you were that sharp!"

He gives you a look. "I told you not to touch for this exact reason and they're literally knives in my mouth. What did you expect?"

You ignore him and lean in again anyway, eyes already dropping to his lips. "Just one more look."

"No."

"Rikiiiiii-"

"No."

You groan and deflate into his chest, hands still encaged by one of his. Your face nuzzles into the crook of his neck; his blonde hair tickles your cheek. "You're so mean to me. Just say you hate me." You mutter into the skin of his neck.

Riki's body shakes with gentle laughter at your dramatics. "Mean to you? I just let you poke around in my mouth and touch up on my teeth."

You sit up suddenly, wide eyed, and pressing your hands to his chest like you've just come to a sudden realization. Riki raises his brows at you. "I have questions."

"Oh brother," Riki lets his head fall back against the headboard, eyes closed, like he's praying for strength. You know he's not actually fed up with you because of the way his thumb rubs aimless circles on your wrist.

"Do all vampires have grills on their fangs? Like, is this a fashion trend among you guys? Or is this, like, standard issue for vampires? Wait, do the other guys have them– Does Sunghoon have grills too!?"

That gets his eyes open fast. He lifts his head to give you a flat, withering look.

"Please don't talk about another man's mouth while you're on top of me."

You burst out laughing, falling forward until your head rests on his shoulder again. "Okay, sorry, sorry." You manage between giggles, your forehead pressed to his shoulder as you try to catch your breath. Your body shakes with the remnants of laughter, but it's tapering now. Fading into soft exhales.

The coolness of Riki's skin under your cheek, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the cool, familiar scent of his skin starts to lull you. Your limbs feel heavier now, molded to his like you belong there. You shift against him with a soft sigh, your eyelids fluttering heavy as you nuzzle into the crook of his neck, your body draped over his like a sleepy cat who has absolutely no intention of moving.

"... You good?" he asks, voice low, fingers absent mindedly tracing slow, calming circles into your back.

"Mhm," you hum, the sound muffled into his shirt. You nestle in closer, shifting your weight to settle more comfortably across his lap like maybe you live here now. "You're really comfy. I might die here."

"I mean," He says dryly, brushing his nose against your hair, "I am kind of a coffin."

You let out a sleepy laugh. Your lips curling against his neck. And that's when, soft and sleepy and tucked against his throat like it's the safest place on earth, you murmur between a yawn. "I wish I had fangs like yours."

You shift away from his neck, just to rest your head on his shoulder to see his face. Your hand moves lazily. Fingertips drifting up to his mouth again, tracing his bottom lip with the same kind of reverence you'd use touching something ancient and holy. You gently pull the soft curve of it downward and watch it spring back into place, a quiet little bounce that makes your lips tug into a smile.

Riki doesn't reply right away.

Instead, he just looks at you. You, in his lap, unbothered and practically purring. You, sleepily trailing your finger over the mouth that've hurt people. You, tracing the silver dipped weapons in his jaw like they're nothing more than pretty ornaments. Admiring him for the very things he's learned to hide.

You should be afraid. Or atleast wary. But instead you're smiling and caressing him like he's something sacred.

And somehow, that undoes him more than hunger ever could.

Your finger continues its slow descent. From his lips to the sharp line of his chin, then ghosting down the hollow of his throat. You pause slightly at his Adam's apple, watching it bob as he swallows at your touch. You trail down again and let your hand rest on the center of his chest, where the rise and fall of his breath is calm, steady, and all yours.

Riki swears he can feel his undead heart trying to start back up again.

Riki hums faintly below you, amused and fond. "Mmm... I don't think you want teeth like mine."

"Maybe if I did," You murmer sleepily, lips brushing against his throat, "you'd listen to me more."

Then without thinking, because thinking takes too much energy when you're this tired and this in love, you press your lips to his neck and give him the gentlest, laziest bite. Not hard enough to leave anything behind, just enough to make him flinch slightly and laugh under his breath.

"Did you just-?" he begins, disbelieving.

The only response he gets from you is a soft giggle, and a kiss to his neck.

"You’re really tempting fate right now,” he warns, voice softer than the threat suggests.

"Mmm... Am I though?" you say, eyes close, but eyebrows raised.

He shifts suddenly—just enough to roll you onto your back, his hand braced beside your head as he leans over you. His blonde hair falls forward in wisps, shadowing his eyes, and his mouth is inches from your neck. His breath ghosts over your skin.

He bares his teeth.

Not biting. Just hovering.

You can feel the cold, sharp points of his fangs—still covered in silver—pressing lightly against the fragile skin just beneath your jaw. Not enough to break skin. Just enough to make your breath hitch.

Your fingers instinctively clutch at his shirt.

“Riki…” you breathe, not afraid—never afraid—but caught somewhere between a laugh and a shiver.

You're trying to pull him closer.

He doesn’t move for a moment. Just stays there, barely touching you, savoring the feel of your pulse racing beneath his mouth. It’s not about hunger. It’s about something else. Something bolder. Something harder to name.

Then he pulls back with a satisfied hum, pressing a feather-light kiss to the exact spot his fangs had hovered.

“Brat,” he mutters fondly.

You mumble something back, but it’s incomprehensible. Sleep is winning now.

"Says you..." he thinks is what you say.

And Riki… doesn’t move. He shifts only to settle beside you, one arm tucked under your head, the other wrapped firmly around your waist as you curl into his chest. Your breathing evens out quickly, soft and slow and completely at peace in his hold.

He stays awake.

Of course he does. He doesn’t need sleep—not like you do.

Instead, he watches.

Watches the way your fingers twitch slightly against his side as you dream. Watches the way your face softens, lashes resting on flushed cheeks. Watches the way your lips part just slightly, like you were still on the verge of saying something smart before sleep finally stole you away from him.

He’s used to being alone at night, but tonight it feels different. Full. Quiet in a way that makes his chest ache.

The possessiveness coils low and warm in his gut—protective, reverent, not ugly. You’re here. In bed with him. In his arms. And you don’t flinch from his fangs or the coldness in his skin. You wear your affection for him out loud, loud enough to drown out the silence he’s lived with for years.

He presses a kiss to your hairline and whispers like a secret, "Mine."

And then he stays like that until morning, still and watchful, while the world outside keeps on spinning.

𝐏𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 (𝐎𝐩𝐞𝐧!)ᯓ★

@jiiyen @yangjungwonnie @amoressb @chrrific @stvrriki @hyukabean @firstclassjaylee ...loading

#𝐏𝐮𝐦𝐚-𝐫𝐢𝐤𝐢 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐤𝐬˙⋆✮#enhypen fluff #enha fluff #nishimura riki x reader #ni ki fluff #nishimura riki fluff #nishimura riki x you #ni ki x reader #riki nishimura x reader #riki nishimura fluff #enhypen fanfic #enhypen fanfiction #nishimura riki fic #nishimura riki fanfic

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wheneclipsefalls · 1 year ago

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Little Gift - Latch

Neteyam photo by @cinetrix

Pairing: Dark Aged Up Neteyam x Human Fem Reader

Warnings: aged up characters, DUBCON/NONCON, kidnapping, MDNI EXPLICIT, yandered qualities, possessive behavior, slight degradation, interspecies intimacy, swearing, power imbalance, sub reader, dom Neteyam, manipulation, hair pulling, creampie, a lot more stuff but at this point you hopefully know whether or not you should read haha

Summary: Victory is finally his and Neteyam knows exactly how he wants to celebrate it.

A/N: A little unsure about my word choice but it's been fun writing from Neteyam perspective for the first time in this series. Enjoy!

Main Masterlist I Little Gift Masterlist

You belong here, perched on his lap with your head notched against his shoulder. So small and pretty that his legs barely register your body weight. He wraps a hand around your outer thigh to angel you further against him. This is perfect.

Everything is perfect.

Pandora has rid of those Sky Demons and his prize, his little gift, is still here in his arms where you will always be. Those traitors are no longer here to tempt you with false promises of escape and a life outside of belonging to the Olo’eyktan. You may not realize it now but they would have broken you. It is only a miracle from Eywa that has allowed your beautiful spirit to stay in tack after all those years of inhabiting the same space as those treacherous creatures.

The RDA may think that you are a gift given by them but in reality it is Eywa that has placed you on his lap.

You were created for him. Designed perfectly inside and out.

His reward for all that he has had to endure.

Now with you safely tucked in his arms and his People celebrating their freedom once more, he can rest. He is free to savor all that the Great Mother has offered him, although you prove to be difficult to rangle at times. That’s okay, he enjoys a good challenge. It makes your earned submission all that more satisfying.

He’s not sure how long one human can cry for but it appears you are shooting for a record. Your tears have soaked the feathers of his Olo’eyktan attire but he doesn’t mind, not when you are snuggling into him for comfort.

His plan of distraction worked wonders during take off but it was only a matter of time before your mind came back online and began worrying once more about the absence of people that never truly loved you. It’s to be expected however Neteyam is pleased to find that your response is not one of anger but sadness and seeking refuge. He couldn’t have asked for anything more ideal.

He is your refuge, your one true home and the fact that you are learning that so quickly makes a sense of pride burst within him.

The glittering gems of your new top compliment your own sparkling tears exquisitely. It had taken weeks for him to make but it was worth it. He would want nothing less for his pet on a night of such grand celebration. However, it becomes abundantly clear that he is not the only one who appreciates the outfit.

It’s the fifth time Lo’ak has turned in the direction of the throne while dancing to check on you. Or at least, that is how his younger brother would be sure to phrase it but Neteyam is no fool. He can see the hunger in those eyes. Typical of his younger sibling to chase after what he can not have. What Neteyam himself possesses.

Their eyes meet and it only takes a moment for Lo’ak to recover from being caught and roll his own back at his brother and turn to continue dancing. He’s not sure how much longer this game will go on where Lo’ak pretends to hold no interest. One way or another it will come out. Neteyam’s arm tightens around your waist, fingers running through your silky hair.

It is then that he notices your little sobs have stopped and are now replaced with long deep breaths. It’s amazing that you are able to sleep through the banging drums and echoing calls but it seems that all of your crying has worn out your poor little body. Such a fragile thing you are.

All the more reason to keep you close. And yet another reason he finds his mind swirling back to the idea of keeping you on a leash. Ideally he would carry you to and fro but there are times where he needs to have his hands available. With your habit to wander off he can’t risk having you fall and break your little neck. A leash would be the perfect solution.

Not to mention how good you would look trailing behind him, sweet little bow around your throat as a permanent reminder of his claim on you.

His tewng [loincloth] is unbearably tight. It presses against your soft thighs but that’s not enough. For perhaps the hundredth time you shift in his lap, unable to sit comfortably on your red ass. You’ve given up on trying to convince him to let you stand but that doesn’t stop that supple little pout from gracing your lips every time you are reminded of the pain. Even in your sleep you try to wiggle and squirm from his lap.

Of course there is another source of your constant squirming. A source that Neteyam finds his fingers dipping down to trace over as the base just barely peeks out of your tight pussy.

This plug is much larger than the cute one you had stowed away in your old nightstand drawer. It had taken more than a fair amount of encouragement to slot that thick piece of plastic inside your cunt but the sight was magnificent. Complain all you want but the way your walls clench around it in desperation tells Neteyam more than he needs to know.

It’s the largest size of his collection which means that tonight is the night. Tonight you will officially become his. Your pussy will soon forever have the imprint of his thick length inside of you, ruining you for any other man. Not that you would ever have the chance to be with another male outside of him again. Jared was the end of that line and the Olo’eyktan feels no hint of remorse for taking care of that pest.

Another flash of Lo’ak’s gaze.

Neteyam feels you stir when he lets out a deep sigh. However reluctant he is, it’s important to set his brother straight. Lo’ak has an overactive imagination after all and the last thing he would want is his little brother’s curiosity and desire becoming an interruption for the wondrous night the two of you are about to have.

Those long lashes flutter open, throat caught on a sharp intake when he stands up and places you back onto the seat. Your dazed and confused look is one that Neteyam can’t help but coo at, the pad of his thumb running over your cheek.

“Mawey, tiyawn [be calm, love]. I will be right back.” You’re already scrambling to your knees, finally keeping the weight off of your sore bum. “Be a good girl for me and stay put, yes?”

It’s a rhetorical question and one that he doesn’t give you a chance to answer before a kiss is placed on your hairline and the Olo’eyktan is parting the crowd. It’s obvious that there is a moment where you consider stopping him. You may be hell bent on never admitting it verbally but the other Na’vi put you on edge and being around him has become your one constant, a safety you can rely on. If not for his urgency Neteyam would take his time in teasing you on the matter.

Your face always looks even more lovely with that deep shade of red, whether from anger or embarrassment or even both.

Later, he reminds himself.

The female rubbing up against Lo’ak looks more than put out by his lagged reciprocation. Her displeasure colors into slight shock when she spots her Olo’eyktan coming straight towards them. Lo’ak crosses his arms as his partner quickly signs the proper respect to their leader. Neteyam dismisses her easily.

“Excuse me, sister. I require a moment with my brother.” Neteyam ushers Lo’ak away from the scene before giving her a chance to respond or offer to give them privacy.

The fire’s light now just barely humming over their skin. The two brothers find a moment of solace on the outskirts of the celebration. Neteyam’s ears still buzz from the sensory overload it has taken for the past few hours.

“If you’re going to ask me for another favor can it at least wait until tomorrow? There is a party, you know.” Lo’ak tall frame lazily leans against the nearest tree and he attempts to hide the way his eyes fly over Neteyam’s shoulder towards you by making a show of tying his hair back.

“Funny considering how eager you were to grant me a favor earlier this morning.” Neteyam’s veiny arms cross over his chest, tail whipping back and forth in the cool wind. If Lo’ak is intimidated he doesn’t show it.

“Aren’t I a wonderful brother?” Those sharp teeth shimmer as he makes a show of giving an over the top sarcastic grin.

“Lo’ak.” Neteyam growls.

“Jesus, calm down.” Lo’ak groans, head thrown back against the bark. “She’s still your little toy.”

“I am not stupid, baby brother. I see the way you look at her.”

“Whatever.” Lo’ak bristles and makes his way to stomp off but he is caught by the upper bicep.

“I don’t want there to be any…confusion.” Silence spreads between them, the only sound being that of Lo’ak’s harsh exhale.

“I was only watching.” He finally says, voice dropping lower.

“And you are free to.” Small steps bring him further into his brother’s space. “But let’s be clear about whose permission you need in order to touch.”

“And I didn’t.” His arm is ripped from Neteyam’s grasp. “I’ve only ever babysat the little brat and done all that you’ve asked of me. If you are looking for problems to address I would start with her running off at every given opportunity. Take a look for yourself!” He flails an exasperated arm in your direction but Neteyam doesn’t even bother to turn.

“I am aware.” There is no need to look in order to know that you have once again tried your hand at another escape. He can see it in his mind’s eye now, your small body carefully hoisting itself down from the high throne. Panicked eyes racing over the crowd in search of any Na’vi that could potentially halt your actions. All that before short legs race off into the darkness. “I’m giving her a head start.”

It’s best not to let you go too far. Eywa knows you are very skilled at finding new ways to put yourself in danger, but a little chase is an exhilarating experience.

“Oh yeah, you going to make me chase after her for you too?” Lo’ak spits out, urging Neteyam to roll his eyes at his brother’s antics. He resists however, that wouldn’t be very becoming of the Olo’eyktan.

“I fear you would enjoy that far too much, brother.”

Instead of fiery words shot back the only line of defense Lo’ak puts up is a scoff and frowned expression, golden eyes simmering with words that he knows better than to voice. Neteyam can give his brother credit for that at least. He knows when he is stomping on dangerous territory. You, on the other hand, seem to be learning that lesson far too slow. It seems a cute tawtute like you are more of a hands on learner.

“Can I be excused then, oh might Olo’eyktan?” He flourishes with a sarcastic bow.

“Leave.” Neteyam bites out simply, forcing his eyes to remain trained on his younger brother as he joins the crowd again. It’s a safety precaution just in case Lo’ak gets a bad idea even after warnings. Much to the Na’vi girl’s dismay Lo’ak does not join her again on the dance floor and instead heads straight towards the fermented fruit. No doubt he will spoil himself into a drunken state. Unfortunately for him, Neteyam already has his hands full babysitting you tonight.

He takes his time, however, greeting a few of the clan members and partaking in a small dose of alcohol himself. With your small legs it will take you forever to get a distance that makes this chase even remotely fun. However, once the drink is empty and he has done his dues as Olo’eyktan in the social event Neteyam can no longer keep himself at bay. There are other creatures of the night that could be waiting to catch a pretty prey like you.

Tracking you down is almost laughably easy with your sweet scent wafting through the air. A scent that only grows tenfold when he comes across a peculiar piece of plastic stashed in a bush. It’s the dildo that is meant to still be snuggled up in your little cunt.

A sharp smirk cuts into his features.

For such a smart little thing you really can be so negligent at times. With the dildo out your scent now goes from a dulled perfume to a thick fragrance that coats the air. He recognizes that aroma, he knows the way it tastes. Your arousal has only made you an easier target and now you have done nothing but take out the one piece keeping it plugged. Neteyam can envision so clearly that trail of slick that is sure to be marking your thighs.

Such a messy little thing you are. Even after the way he cleaned you up so dutifully post launch, you have managed to turn into a wet temptation once more.

The small footprints along the dirt are almost pointless in his pursuit now that he has your scent. They only serve as a confirmation that he is going the right way. It doesn’t take long before the sound of your sharp panting reaches his upturned ears. It’s then that the Olo’eyktan takes to the trees. He glides along the thick branches without a sound, gaining a bird’s eye view of your desperate running.

The full on sprint you started off with has come down to a clumsy jog. Even with your small stride he’s sure you could make it a lot further if you would simply stop looking over your shoulder every other second. An action that has you stumbling and grabbing your foot to pick out a thorn from the underside. Little curses rise between your harsh breaths.

And then your breathing is cut all together.

The sounds of claws and wild yips echo through the greenery. By the sounds of it Neteyam knows it must be a small pack of aynantang [viperwolves]. They aren’t close, at least not yet. With your back turned and eyes blown out in silent terror he decides that now is as good a time as ever to interrupt.

Neteyam lowers himself down slowly, muscular arms controlling his descent into a movement so smooth and silent that it is nothing more than a shadow. A shaky hand covers your lips, the little puff of your beating heart pushing your chest out even more. One long step forward and now he can watch your trembling from above, his toes almost touching your muddy heels.

“Their bite is not as sharp as mine, pet.”

You scream before the sound can be stopped, spinning so fast your heel that you land directly on your red bum instead. Even without glowing tanhi dotting your skin, those dilated eyes have a way of making you glow in the night. Even more so when they dazzle up at him with unleashed fear and vulnerability.

You scramble backwards, clawing at the muddy ground until you are clumsily trying to crawl back onto your feet. Fine by him, it’s easier to close the height difference when you are back to standing. He grabs your right arms easily, pulling you back against him. The fight continues as you turn to bash your first against his abdomen, even clawing at his thighs but then another sound cuts you off again.

They are closer this time.

“They hunt in packs.” Neteyam informs you. “Circle their prey until there is nowhere left to go.”

A rustle of bushes to the left has your squirming changing from running away to ducking behind Neteyam. He allows the action, sharp teeth peeking from his grin when he feels the way your soft fingers dig into his thighs.

“My father was almost killed by a pack once. Even in his avatar form he depended on my mother’s mercy to fight the creatures off.” You shake like a leaf in the wind, your face pressed against his lower back when the sounds get louder. He almost feels bad for scaring you so much, tempted to bundle you in his arms and shush your worries away. However, that would ruin the lesson. You are the one that decided to run off carelessly into the woods without him and now you need to understand why you depend on Neteyam for everything. Why you owe him your submission and affection.

“I wonder how you would fair.” A few more wolves prowl from the bushes, inching closer. They creep forward with a hesitance at the sight of Neteyam, driven only by curiosity as your scent continues to fill the air.

“Teyam.” You whimper into his hip, now latching onto the strap of his loincloth to urge him backwards.

“What’s wrong, pet? I thought you wanted to be set free?”

A vicious snarl rip from the right and you stumble to cling to his left side now. That startled little scream is just barely muffled by the way your face is pressed into his hip.

He coos at your little pleas. “Has someone changed their mind, hm?” Any other time you would be barring your blunt teeth at him but he knows that in the height of your fear there is no resistance left for him. You’re too focused on the prowling beasts that flash their own teeth in eclipse’s glow.

“Teyam please, let’s go!” Voice caught on sobs that threaten to rise, you can barely make the words out.

Your fear is palpable, but not just to him.The aynantang [viperwolves] can sense it too. They circle and watch with more confidence as the seconds roll by. Periodically they flicker up to his looming form, as if checking to see whether or not he will be a threat against their newfound meal. It would be easy to scare them off, something Neteyam has done himself many times. He’s hunted these forests since he was a boy and his own scent is something that the creatures have learned to associate with danger.

Standing here now, however, he keeps a neutral position and one that the pack hesitantly takes as an opportunity to cinch closer. A flash of his knife and that confidence would disintegrate until the pack would scurry off into another corner of the forest.

Neteyam keeps it sheathed.

“You’re the one that ran off, little gift.” He reminds you, voice calm and cool.

“I know! I know! I’m sorry j-just please!”

“Please what, tiyawn? You have to be more specific.”

You struggle to respond properly, hands frantically switching from tugs at the straps to clawing up at his arms. Regardless, Neteyam remains unmoved, arms crossed over his chest as he observes the scene with indifference. “Please..please don’t let them-” You gasp rearing back when you spot another viperwolf emerging from the left. It’s been there for a while but it appears this is the first time your weak eyes have caught sight of it. “I’m sorry! I’ve changed my mind! Please, I’m sorry.” You cry out in a shrill voice, plastering yourself under his arm.

“Changed your mind on what?” It’s tempting to look down and see the way you so desperately seek his comfort but Neteyam is wise enough to keep his golden gaze sharply pinned on the emerging creatures.

“On wanting to leave! You can take me home just please-”

“Oh can I?” Your chin is snatched between two fingers, forcing you to crane your neck up towards him. That mask of indifference is gone, replaced only by a fierce stirness you are terrified to be facing twice in one day. “And what makes you think that is up to you?”

It’s hard to look into your eyes directly when they are bouncing wildly in every which direction. Perhaps it is your pitiful way of tracking the oncoming predators, or maybe you simply can not handle facing his gaze filled with ire. Either way, it is adorable to watch your natural submissive nature emerge. And all from a few viperwolves.

Poor thing, what would you do without him?

“I-I’m sorry.” You say, voice so small and timid that only a Na’vi would have hopes of hearing it. Neteyam’s chest rumbles with a deep purr, other hand finally coming up to run through your hair.

“I know you are, tiyawn. You just get confused sometimes, don’t you?” No response is given, instead just a gasp as another creature inches closer and you dash into his arms. This time he wraps one arm around your small frame while the other goes for his sheathed knife. The advance pauses, aynantang [viperwolves] pacing from side to side instead. Your reaction is premature but Neteyam basks in it all the same.

From the heated breath and salty tears painting his lower stomach he begins to worry that your fragile body will soon give out and lose consciousness. Keeping you tucked under his arm is the best move, easily accessible for when he needs to scoop you up without retaliation. However at this point, it seems that you are willing to do whatever it takes to earn his protection.

What a short memory you truly have. Perhaps if you listened to him more diligently like a good pet should then you would already know that his protection has been yours since the first time he saw you. He would defend you to his very last breath. Whether or not you asked for it would be irrelevant. That being said, you’ve always had the sweetest way of begging so who is he to deny himself such a pretty chorus of promises.

They flow now freely from your lips. Pleading, crying, and begging for him to get you out of harm's way. He simply shushes you, making no rush as a rigid arm tightens to pull you even closer.

The creatures are scared off within the first few hisses that leave his lips. Knife dancing under the moonlight with a deadly promise, they yip away reluctantly. Still, there is an advantage to not letting you know how easy it truly is to scare them off so he tells you to look away, to keep snuggled against him where they can not so easily see your fear.

You remain that way when you are lifted into his arms. Your thighs strain to wrap around his ribcage but you eventually manage to lock your ankles together. With your shaky limbs locked in terror you are barely in need of his supporting arm, but he wraps one under your rear anyways. You remind him of a small syaksyuk [Prolemuris] as you cling with fervor, lighting his amusement to new heights.

The walk back is pleasant, even when your shaking doesn’t stop and your racing heart beat is louder than the stomp of his feet. There is still great peace to be found with you in his arms and the promise of a wonderful night in the air. After tonight you won’t dare to leave him, not now that you have developed a healthy sense of fear and even more so once your body has taken him fully the way it was meant to.

He holds back a groan at the thought. Your smell is still just as potent as when you first ran and now it holds an extra tang of emotion that makes it all that much sweeter. He manages to pick up the tossed aside dildo on the way back, but that acts as fuel to the flames.

He has sought after your true mating for months and now that he is on the cusp of finally making it a reality it is hard to keep a rational mind. The natural urge to pin you down and take what has always been his morphs into a feral urgency that infringes on his thoughts. Although, he is determined to take his time tonight because it is isn’t enough to simply fuck you into the ground or find pleasure in that first stretch. No, tonight is about claiming you in every way possible.

About teaching not only your body but your mind that there is no one else it belongs to. No one else that can provide for you in the way he can. Utter and complete submission is his goal. But to get you there, that will take skillful maneuvering and coercion. Otherwise it would not be a quest worthy of his time or attention.

However, there is still one more way he can lock you into his life. One permanent reminder that would forever keep you shackled to him. An action that would have your scent intertwined with his so much so that it wouldn’t matter if it took. Pregnant or not the message would be clear. The confines of his loincloth feel suffocating at the thought. Would your tiny pussy even be able to hold half of his seed? What a pretty treat it would be to see it spilling out from your perfectly pink and tight hole.

Pace now quickened, nothing can take away his laser focus. Not even Lo’ak’s obvious staring as you are carried swiftly along the outer edges of the celebration. Nor Spider who tries to run across the crowd and apologize again. Neither make it to him because all that he can feel is the warmth of your softy body. The pulse of your heart. The essence that is entirely yours, filling his lungs.

Once back in the safety of his kelku [home/house] you are smart enough to not flee from his lap. He manhandles one leg to be thrown to the other side so you are properly straddling him. A sense of shyness must fall over you because you are silent while nervously fiddling with the feathers of his traditional attire. Or maybe you are still too shaken up over the little viperwolf incident to do much else.

Neteyam is unbothered by it, instead using it as an opportunity to let his hands explore. Not in a sexual way at first, just simple brushes that are sure to have you melting for him.

“Now you understand why you must stay by my side. Don’t you pet?” Voice as gentle as the hands that run up the back of your neck, he can feel goosebumps rise in its wake. Eyes still fixated on the feathers, you nod shakily. If it wasn’t so cute he would be tempted to reprimand you for such a half hearted response but it appears luck is in your favor.

His knuckles paint a trail up the back of your neck before swiping over your left shoulder. His other hand softly gathers your hair to the other side so your skin is bared for him. He thumbs at the side of your throat, feeling your pulse flicker beneath his fingers.

“Such a pretty thing like you is not safe out there.” His hands bracket either side of your face, large enough to span the entirety of your head and tilt it upwards. It gives him the perfect view of your expression when both hands smooth up towards your hairline before parting and dragging along your scalp. Lips parted and eyes fluttered closed, he knows he has pressed the right button.

“Creatures eager to snatch you up.” Neteyam draws out, nails ever so gently scratching along your roots. The shiver that races through your body is powerful enough to be visual. Massaging at the area in long strokes proves to have you breaking into pieces. Body practically limp against him, the Olo’eyktan watches with glee.

No wonder Sky People are too soft for this world, all it takes to disarm you is some well placed pets.

“And they’d be successful too,” The tips of his fingers come together to circle your hair into a ponytail. A small sound exhales from your lips, leaning into his touch without resolve. “Have you between their teeth before you could even scream.” That dark tone washes over you in a way so contrary to the warning message, his lips mere centimeters away from your own.

One little kiss, more of a peck really. That is all you get. Just enough to have you chasing after him, a motion that is hard to do when he has you anchored by the root of your hair.

“And that,” Another soft peck to your cheek, “is why you are so lucky to have me.” Neteyam allows his lips to linger longer this time but it’s still just as soft, almost more of a whisper than anything else and with the way you are trapped, there is nothing for you to do but take it. The noise that catches in your throat proves it is far from the passionate affection you desire.

“Isn’t that right?”

“Yes Teyam.” You puff, the softest whisper as you try to learn forward for more. He tutts in disapproval, a slow but firm yank to your hair following. “Y-yes Olo’eyktan.” You correct yourself with a squeak and much to his delight, the fragrance from between your thighs intensifies. He’s tempted to look now and see if it has left a spot on his loincloth.

“There’s my good girl.” He grins and finally you are rewarded with his lips capturing yours. Although slow and tender in movement the heat of the kiss is all consuming, spreading a message that can only reflect his complete control over you. Several times you try to squirm or wiggle but the hand embedded in your hair shackles you into place.

Unlike most times you become a fidgeting little thing, it’s clear that your efforts are to get closer, not further away. Neteyam is a nice man after all and so he indulges that desire. At least to a degree. He kisses you until you’re gasping for breath. He kisses you until slick is seeping through your mini loincloth. And he kisses you until those soft little lips are ruby red and chapped from the harsh treatment.

It doesn’t matter to you, that much is clear by the way you whimper once he pulls away.

“Don’t be greedy.” He smirks against your cheek.

Your greed only intensifies when he slips one hand down to untie your loincloth. His other hand remains embedded in your hair as a leash, one that proves necessary as you are eager to rut up against him. Perhaps he would feel guilty for the way you blush in shame after another tug to your hair. That is, if your reactions weren’t so delightfully endearing.

For reasons mysterious to him, humans have a habit of going against their natural needs. You are not exempt from this issue as you are constantly trying to deny your desire for him, even deny yourself the pleasure you so clearly require. It’s fortunate that you have him to override those silly concerns. And override them he does, quite easily since your body reacts like a live wire every time he is near. The smallest of touches have you aching for more.

Eywa has blessed him with such a responsive little pet and he has every intention of exploiting that sensitivity until you are screeching for him to stop.

Small hands come to dig into his feathered mantle as he idly explores the curves of your stomach. He traces up until reaching the sparkling gems of your top. With two little flicks your hardened nipples are bared for him.

It’s a rare experience to have you so cooperative as he bites and sucks at those little peaks. The emotions of that day have softened your resolve, a pattern that Neteyam makes a mental note of.

He tunes into every sensation of satin skin beneath his fingertips. Atop his thighs. Prickling beneath his lips. Like a flower you blossom for him so exquisitely. Revealing petals that are just for him. Melodic whimpers that only he has the pleasure of inducing. The irritation of Lo’ak’s infatuation fades to the background with you so pliant in his arms.

You are quickly driven to madness, or at least is how you plead when he continues to trace, worship and tease your small body. Neteyam is anxious too. His hard member presses painfully against the fabric of his tewng. However, being the first born son has taught him something that you very rarely exhibit: patience. The fruits of your labors are tenfold more exhilarating once following a period of yearning.

And you yearn for him, little gift. So much so that your dramatic begging has him holding back a deep chuckle.

A river of nectar flowing down your thighs, you act as if you will pitter into dust if not satisfied.

It will be fun training you. Making you learn to sit patiently like a good pet when that inferno of fire burns deep within you. He can devise a plethora of creative punishments for when you inevitably step out of line. Neteyam looks forward to the long process. He wouldn’t want to succeed too quickly and cut the fun short.

Luckily your spit fire attitude is sure to draw it out, keeping him entertained and challenged for a long time.

The reasoning is only further confirmed when he catches you sneaking a tiny hand between your legs. The grip in your hair finally releases only for him to sharply smack away your attempt.

“Did I say you could do that?”

You’re exasperated, pleading eyes staring up at him as a drawn out groan comes from your lips.

“Well are you planning to tease me all night or actually do something?”

You’re pinned onto your back in a heartbeat, this time his right hand curled around your throat instead of your hair. It may not be firm enough to cut off your airway but the oxygen in your lungs freezes all the same.

“Oeyӓ tiyawn I have greater plans for my pussy than using your pathetic little fingers.” He growls into your ear, watching as you are too frozen in shock to bother struggling. “Because by the end of tonight it will be filled with my seed.”

Your throat bobs with a thick gulp, stuttered words struggling to come forth but a tad more pressure against your pulse earns your silence. And to his fascination, your eyes roll back into your head. Fight it all you want, but it’s clear you have always thrived off of his domination. This power imbalance is one that you need. Satisfying that deeply locked away drive you have to be loved, pampered, controlled, and absolutely ruined.

Just in the way only he can deliver.

Squeeze any tighter and his fingers might just lose circulation. Regardless, the dildos have done their job effectively and now you are more than ready to take him. It was always going to be a tight fit, but at least there is little risk of real injury due to his preparations.

You appear less convinced on that matter when his unoccupied hand roughly tugs off his tewng. Wide eyes stare down to where his full length lays along your stomach. He has to admit that in a position like this the size difference does become ever more staggering but he has every faith in you.

“Neteyam please,” You whimper, shiny eyes staring up at him for mercy.

“Please what?” He hums. His fingers curl to massage that special spot inside while his thumb playfully runs over your clit. It has the desired effect, watching as your begging turns towards a different goal.

“Please let me cum! Need it! Neteyam please!”

Neteyam shushes you tenderly, relieving some of the pressure from you little button when he feels your cunt clench around him on the verge of an orgasm. You’ve never looked more beautiful than now, naked and spread across the little nest of blankets and pillows he arranged just for you. Long hair splayed out in every which direction and eyes already coated in a haze, it appears as if you have already been fucked dumb beneath him.

“Patience, little gift. You will cum on my cock soon enough.”

Your alarm flares up once more.

“No Neteyam I can’t! It’s too big, it’s impossible-”

A large thumb presses over your lips to silence you. At this rate you are going to work yourself into hysterics and that would unravel all of the hard work he has done to get you here. A few more intentional circles on your clit has those protests flying out the door. It’s clear you require his help to stay calm and compliant the way you are meant to. The Olo’eyktan doesn’t mind aiding.

Your chest rises and falls dramatically as you melt under the pleasure. And when his three fingers are replaced with the head of his cock lining up, you hardly even notice. As long as that little bundle of nerves is being stimulated, you are hyper focused on seeing out that ecstasy to a finish.

A soft kiss dampens your screech when he slots in just the tip. Already his mind swirls from the sensation but Neteyam manages to reign in his focus. Little ‘no’ s and pleas fall from your lips to caress his.

“Mawey, oeyӓ tiyawn [be calm, my love]. You are being so good for me.” Another inch and it feels as if his own knees are about to crumble from how tightly you cinch around him. Small hands fists into the fabric below as your eyes squeeze shut. Neteyam shakily grasps one with his right hand, placing it along his shoulder that is now exposed with the feathered attire out of the way. “You can touch, little pet. Good girls deserve rewards.”

With your face just barely reaching chest level the Olo’eyktan is forced to bend into an awkward position every time he goes to kiss away your tears, but it’s worth it. Those blunt little nails dig into his lower back. It’s a shame they aren’t strong enough to leave marks that he can cherish.

The air from his lungs are pushed out in a rush as he plunges ever so slightly deeper inside your sweet little pussy. You tense and cry beneath him, scratching as his back in haste. Although mere seconds away from popping his load far too early he still manages to reach down and play with your poor little cunt until more of that sweet essence is trailing out.

“You need to relax for me, pet.” Neteyam grits, tail curling erratically. “Going to suffocate my cock like this, little one.” And it’s true because in all of his years of sexual maturity not once has he ever felt a pussy so tight, so responsive, wrapped around him. It drives him to the point of insanity. It takes every last bit of resolve he has left to not shove the rest of himself inside and plow you into the floor.

But Neteyam knows better than to break his toys.

The next few minutes test his mental and physical stamina over and over as you slowly take him inch by inch. Every slow push of his hips causes a domino effect of tears and incoherent cries from your sweet lips. He kisses and soothes and pleasures your trembling body until you’ve learned to relax again. Only to then restart the cycle when you take one inch more.

However, nothing prepares him for the end result. No amount of dreaming or training could ever have done the sight justice as he sees the way your soft belly bulges when he reaches the hilt. The shape of him is clearly visible, twitching so deep inside of you that it threatens to drive both of you into sensation overload.

The groan that rumbles from his throat is one that you have never heard before. So rough and unleashed that your glittering eyes dilate in response. It’s still painful, that much he can see from the look on your face. So despite every instinct in him screaming to ruin your little pussy until it can take no more, Neteyam remains in place.

Your swollen nub is red from his sensual play, nipples not far behind as he laps and kisses them like they are the last meal he will ever have. That beautiful blush now heats down your neck and torso, as if tempting him to continual his oral fixation. It accentuates most importantly that bulge of your stomach until he can’t help himself anymore, large hand spanning over your tummy to press on that area lightly.

“Can you feel me, tiyawn? Right here?” He presses again, your mouth opening in a silent scream. “Taking me so deep, pet. My good girl.”

And it’s then that it feels as if something has clicked. Your bodies becomes attuned to one another. Burning stretch morphs into something otherworldly, those soft features finally unscrewing into fluttering bliss. And he draws out ever so slightly to rut back in, your head falls back against the pillows.

He’s waited long enough. Pinned long enough. Crawled after you long enough. Now all that his body can do is take what you so freely give him. His hips snap forward without restrain, spurred on by the little sounds that pulse in the back of your throat. Little fingers scatter between gripping his muscular back and tangling into his braids.

The heat that travels from his ears to toes is so intense that it feels as if he may burst into an inferno. And he truly might, little gift. With the way you hug his cock so snuggly as if you never want to let it go, you may simply kill him. He would be happy to go that way. To leave this world drowning in the bliss of your destined union.

And for once in his life, Neteyam lets himself fully go. He chases that peak with fervent desperation. He drinks in every reaction you have to give him. And when the pleasure becomes all too much for you to take. When you grapple to crawl away from him and the mind shattering climax that is around the corner, he pulls you back down with a hiss.

“No more running, pet.” He commands, a growl emanating so deeply from his chest that he almost doesn’t recognize his own voice. He hoists your left leg around his waist, effectively changing the angle to thrust in deeper.

“Neteyam!” A screech like sweet honey from your lips as you finally tip over the edge. Body trembling so hard it takes that firm grip on your leg to keep it there, you crumble beneath him. His stamina is far from being drained as he rides you through it. Every wave of pleasure is stronger than a drug, leading him to cloud nine until he no longer wants to be anywhere else.

“T-too much.” You gasp for air but your body is already succumbing to the onslaught. He can feel the way you are ramping up again. This is far from being over.

“Give in.” Neteyam coos but the ring of that command is clear. There is no other option. That is the way it has always been because from the very beginning you have always been his. And sooner or later Eywa knew that the two of you would be here together, trapped in his love where you belong.

“Oh God!” You cry out, body sliding up the floor with every thrust.

Whether you find his queue by accident or on purpose is unclear but that first tug is enough to have his balls drawing up against his body, bracing to fly into bliss. There is a sticky mess between the two of you, slick enough to have those wet sounds filling the night air. Neteyam runs the flat of his nose over your sweaty temple and curve of your cheek.

“My little gift.” He purrs, body on the brink of rupturing. He says it more for himself than you but is more than pleased to watch the way your eyes flutter close as the sound. Trembling, squeezing, and shattering around him, those are the moments your reserve of denial dries up.

That’s how it has always been. From the first night that he brought you home, tucked under his arm, you’ve had this other side that can be taunted out. Even that night as you had pleaded to be released only to have the gag put back in, his tongue had driven you to stillness. Your screaming of kidnapping had sizzled into a series of moans and ecstatic exclamations.

There’s another side to him too.

The part of him that can finally bask in the one thing he has wanted for months. The part of him that yearns for reprieve day in and day out. The part that demands for rest- for freedom.

Now he can finally surrender himself to the magic that the two of you create. To the sparkle that runs down your cheeks. To the sensation of being embraced so tightly by your little pussy. To the way his name has never sounded better from anyone else’s lips. Eywa has finally given him this gift, his sanctuary from every other pressure bestowed upon him.

And now nothing is going to take it away from him.

Nothing will ever take you away.

Those are the thoughts that coerce his primal nature forward. The same that ramp the fire of his tongue demanding more from you. Pushing you further, harder, deeper.

“You won’t let any spill out, will you pet?” He spits between grunts.

“I-I’ll be good. I’ll be good. I’ll be good.” More of a chant on loop than anything else. One day you will beg properly. You will cry for his seed, for his babies. You won’t question whether or not pregnancy is possible as he fills your womb with his mark.

You will wear that little bow on your neck with pride.

Neteyam forces his eyes open at the precipice. Even as his body convulses and cock pulses rampantly while painting your insides white, he won’t allow himself to miss a single moment. That imprint of your expression as he finally claims you past the point of return will stay with him. The drawn in gasp that is sucked in from your red lips when you feel that warmth will be what keeps him going on day after day. Major to minor details of tonight will be his soundtrack to perfection as he pushes himself to be the best Olo’eyktan possible.

And when the day has worn him to the bone and those day dreams are not enough, there you will be. Waiting for him oh so sweetly.

“I want to sleep.”

Your muffled whine coaxes a chuckle from the Olo’eyktan.

“Then sleep.” He responds, only looking up from your spread legs for a second. So peaceful and sweet you are now, almost drowned in the hammock’s blankets and pillows. The picture of innocence and beauty only to then trail his eyes lower and find the evidence of his primal claim. His bioluminescent seed paints your weeping folds and inner thighs. A new spurt erupts from your still clenching hole only for him to push it back inside with his thumb again.

It won’t make much of a difference. There is no way your small body could ever truly hold all of it but that doesn’t stop him from teasing you all the same.

“Looks like this little pussy will need training to savor my seed properly after all.”

Eyes still closed you let out a groan, trying to rip your thighs from his fingers. You remain trapped as exhaustion finally overcomes you, only a small incoherent curse from your tongue before passing out.

Neteyam grins, reaching up to straighten the little pink bow around your throat.

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sugurouge · 5 months ago

Text

── switch up! sylus x f!reader

༚༅༚˳ . explicit content, smut, mdni: praise, pet names (sweetie, kitten, princess, dear, sweetheart, my feisty girl), manhandling, size difference, minor degradation, female/male oral receiving, creampie, rough sex, (pussy) spanking, snowballing, multiple orgasms, reader wears a dress & makeup

♱ word count: 4.7k

♱ synopsis: luke and kieran convinced you to give sylus a special gift for valentine's day! you only had to promise them not to peek inside before your special night. little did you know the harm a small booklet could cause (alternatively: sylus receives sex coupons from his beloved for valentine's day and his ego is bruised)

author's note: this pales in comparison to the actual valentine's event

It was your first Valentine’s Day with Sylus, and you could barely contain the excitement bubbling inside you. The bond you have built—filled with layers of trust, passion, and understanding—already makes every day unforgettable, though today was extra special.

As the evening arrived, the anticipation of finally being with him after a long, busy day was almost too much to bear. Sylus had sent you flowers earlier, each bouquet more perfect than the last, and presents that showed how well he knows what you love.

But now, this night was just for the two of you. No distractions. No complications. Just love and passion, the way you knew Sylus would want it.

When he arrived to pick you up, he couldn’t help but smile at you in that way that made your heart skip a beat. You were wearing the dress he had picked out for you—a deep, rich red that made you feel like a goddess; his goddess. It hugged your body perfectly, showcasing your curves in all the right places while ensuring comforting room for dinner.

Upon approaching, you could see the way Sylus’ irises widened as they roamed over you, a subtle yet intense hunger simmering beneath their surface.

─── ❤︎

Dinner had been a tranquil affair, with Sylus insisting on making the evening as perfect as possible for you. He always wanted to take care of you, especially on days like this. When the meal was finished, you surprised him by handing him a small, neatly wrapped gift—something he had not expected. But the beautifully crafted bracelets inside filled his heart with more warmth than he would ever admit.

To openly belong to you, to match with you—it stroked Sylus' ego in ways you may never fully understand. “I will treasure it for the rest of my life,” he promised with a smooth, satisfied voice as he put the jewellery on for both of you, finishing yours with a kiss to your wrist.

It was then that Sylus saw the surprise waiting underneath the box.

You managed to keep your promise to the twins not to peek inside this present, even though they’d clearly told you it was for Sylus; from you to Sylus.

"Give it to boss-man," they’d said, the mischief evident in their voices making it clear that whatever was inside was meant to tease him. "You won't regret it, just trust us!"

Has trusting the twins truly ever paid off for you?

Sylus, ever the confident figure, sat back, looking at you expectantly with one eyebrow raised. His sharp gaze lingers on you before he takes the suspisiciously thin package from the table.

"What’s this, sweetie?" he asks, his voice low, smooth—just his usual nonchalant tone. "Another present? Are you the one spoiling me tonight?"

His fingers expertly unwrap the paper, revealing a small booklet. His eyes narrow as he flips through it, recognizing the contents: sex coupons. Upon that realisation, his lips curl into an wickedly amused smile, but there is a slight edge to it—a flicker of something that almost seems offended, but not enough to break his calm composure.

Why on earth would he need something like this?

Are you trying to tell him something?

Did he not satisfy you with his love and devotion?

But he always made sure to give you everything and more …

Sylus breaks the silence after a minute of racing thoughts. "You think this is funny, kitten?" he murmurs, his eyes glinting with desire as they zero in on you.

Sylus leans back, giving you that all-too-familiar teasing smirk. “Are you trying to tell me I’m not performing to your liking?”

But you can see the challenge sparking in his eyes, the silent promise that he would take whatever ball you threw at his court and turn it into something far more unforgettable.

“I—” you start, though how are you to even explain this mess? It is also your first time seeing the coupons as well.

You are definitely going to make the twins pay for this.

"Well, if it’s a challenge you want..." Sylus trails off, his gaze locking onto yours with that intensity that makes you feel both flustered and thrilled all at once.

He opens the booklet wider, scanning the contents as if weighing each one. The sly smirk on his face grows wider with every flip.

Maybe now is the chance to make amends before it's too late. “Sylus, I had no—” but he is quick to interrupt you, his mind already too far in this little game without a care for who started it.

“You think I need these to prove myself to you?” He leans in over the table of the restaurant, reminding you awfully well of the fact you are sharing this conversation in public. But Sylus doesn’t seem to mind, doesn’t seem faced to admit: “I live to please you, sweetheart,” while his fingers brush over your wrist to trace over your matching bracelet.

─── ❤︎

By the time you return to Sylus’ mansion, the only thing weighing heavy on your mind are impact the coupons had on Sylus. Your intention was to leave an impression with the beautiful bracelets, to have a sweet moment together with your devoted partner.

No wonder you find yourself standing across from Sylus, rooted in the doorway and watching with curious eyes as he pours himself a drink.

The leader of Onychinus makes a return once Sylus sits down at the table in the same imposing room you shared an encounter in before he took you on your first bike ride. The same room you heard witnessed him disintegrate a man for his betrayal.

With those memories in mind, the atmosphere shifts and you’re suddenly fully aware of those predatory crimson eyes raking over your figure above the rim of his whiskey glass.

Sylus watches you, clearly amused by your flustered state. His hand pats his lap, the gesture commanding you to join him. “Don’t be shy now,” he warns with honey dripping from his lips.

The moment you settle on his lap, Sylus wraps his arms around you, pressing your body against himself before reaching your lips in a deep, demanding kiss. His touch is insatiable, pulling you closer and closer, leaving no space for doubts or hesitation.

The feeling of his muscles shifting beneath your touch, the growing erection pressing against you, and the heat of his body drive you to near that insatiable greed only he can bring out of you.

It all makes your head spin.

“You want to play, huh?” He chuckles against your lips, breathes a groan into your mouth as your nails graze his skin. “I’ll show you exactly what I can do, sweetie,” with that familiar predatory tone.

Sylus doesn’t hesitate. His lips crash with yours all over again, taking control as he pushes his tongue past your parted lips, kissing you deep and demanding undivided attention. Your hands fist into his shirt, desperate to pull him closer, or push him away, you’re not sure once air seems to slip from your lungs.

Sylus’ fingers are already working their way up your thigh, his lips come to trace the curve of your neck to revel in the unfiltered reaction in the form of your quiet gasp once his touch slips beneath the hem of your dress, drawing so close to where you want him most.

Truly, not a second is wasted with a man like him.

Sylus’ hold on your thighs tightens, guiding you even closer, against the hard outline of his growing desire. "Is it better now, sweetie?" Sylus murmurs, his eyes darkened with desire as he watches your every reaction.

His thumb brushes against your kiss-swollen lips, and he can’t hide the proud smirk upon the sight of your already messy state. He also can’t refuse to lick off the spit he gathered from your lips, just to see you falter further.

“No,” you protest with a whisper as you fight to catch your breath. But the way you say it, so sweetly, almost as if you’re daring him to do more, has him looking at you with a quiet intensity.

"What? You want me to take you here on the table? In the room reserved for my guests? Aw... how naughty," he coos at you, exposing the whites of his teeth with an all-too-satisfied smirk as he tilts your chin with one finger.

“Can’t we just—” You pause, unable to think straight as the ache between your legs seems to only grow the longer he resists making a move. You shift in his lap, signalling in all the right ways how badly you want to skip the foreplay for tonight.

But Sylus doesn’t budge.

Why won't he budge?

He always does exactly what you ask of him.

The thought makes you act. Makes you chase, hunt. Lips searing his skin as you begin to litter his neck with lipstick kisses and demanding nips while you grind against his surely uncomfortable erection.

Sylus groans low in his throat, even if he tries to, he can’t resist you for long. His hands find your hips, halting your provocative movements just a moment before is patience runs thin. “Sweetie, you can't be serious...”

But maybe that’s exactly what you need. A night without his gentle loving to remember how nice it is to be spoiled rotten by him and the comforts you're usually surrounded. Maybe he should allow some artistic freedom tonight.

Instead of finding words, you let your actions speak and tug at his dress shirt, pull off his neck tie, unbutton his expensive clothes swiftly all to finally get to his bare skin.

Greedy little thing.

Unable to talk but still so eager to get to the good part.

With a sudden shift in position, your back meets the table quicker than your mind could process, an overwhelmed gasp from the impact all you’re able to present once Sylus pushes the straps of your dress down and past your breasts.

He attaches his lips to your exposed tits, grumbling a rough “Entertaining at is, it’s still not enough,” in regard your antics. He devours you; kissing, nipping and sucking along your breasts before popping one nipple between his teeth.

Who is in control now?

You arch your back in reaction, your lips part to let moans float through the air which only seem to grow louderr when you feel Sylus shamelessly grinding against you.

Firm hands reach around your thighs to pull your pussy further against himself before sneaky fingers find their way between your pressed hips, replacing his hard-on quickly in order to push your panties aside.

“Let me thank you for your inspiring present, kitten,” Sylus murmurs before biting into your nipple hard.

You try to find purchase on his body, nails digging into whatever fabric or skin they can find as your pretty pleas for him leave you breathless.

Your panties are snatched off your body in an near painful manner, yet it barely compares to Sylus’s mouth clashing with your pussy. Strong fingers dig into your inner thighs to spread you open for his assault. His sweet-talking tongue finally meets with your pulsing lips, mixing your slick with his saliva.

“I-I’m sorry!” you exclaim in a higher-pitched tone when the tip of Sylus’s tongue circles your clit, applying varying amounts of pressure on the little bundle to have you squirm beneath his lips. Though his broad shoulders keep you on display no matter how much you struggle.

The satisfied smirk on his lips presses against your cunt, and the vibrations of his deep hum leave you no other option but to tug on his hair, your legs struggling to remain open with every kiss and lick from your pissed-off lover.

When you finally open your eyes, you notice his intense stare that seems to have never left your face, basking in the glory he spoils you with as his tongue enters your clenching hole to feel your hips roll against his face.

Sylus’ hot breath against your skin only heightens your senses while his nose applies further pressure on your clit. His mouth is practically glued to your most sensitive parts, lapping eagerly at your folds and suckling your clit relentlessly until he feels your legs tremble in his hold.

But he doesn’t stop. Opting instead to fully drag the flat of his tongue over your pussy until his mouth latches onto your clit. The final nail to your coffin is the sudden stretch when two fingers seem to effortlessly slide themselves inside your convulsing walls.

Your makeup is long ruined, tainted by your tears and clamping hands over your mouth to stifle your frantic moans when Sylus pushes you over the edge.

The sensation has your hips lift off the table, inviting Sylus to grope your ass and push you mercilessly against him, continuing to stimulate your clit beyond your orgasm.

“Stop, stop, stop, please, it’s too much, too good…” you whine, yet your hips still move against his tongue, betraying your protests.

The mirth in his eyes is all he offers you to understand that he won’t stop tonight, that he is not done with you.

Sylus only pauses once he notices you calming down, placing a precise smack against your swollen lips like a writer sets the final words to his proudest work.

You jerk beneath him, almost thrashing in distaste upon your awfully aroused state and the delicious pain he puts on you.

It’s unfair of him to do this to you, to treat you like his toy, to do with you whatever he wishes. It’s unfair of him to unbutton his shirt in what feels like slow motion, exposing his sculpted body like it’s the best present he could ever give to you.

Your eyes roll to the back of their sockets when you hear his belt unbuckle, goosebumps decorating your delicate skin in anticipation of what’s to come.

That is until Sylus handles your body as if you’re nothing more than a feather in his grasp. His hold surely leaves traces as he pulls you impossibly closer. The head of his cock stretches your entrance with ease before he rams himself inside your already pulsating walls, spreading you open on his shaft and drowning in the way you swallow him without much resistance.

His actions steal desperately aroused cries from your trembling lips thanks to the burn he inflicts inside you. You arch up and try to get away from him, but he keeps you exactly where he wants you.

“My f-fuck, Sylus~” you wail, legs clamping around his small waist to suck him even deeper despite the pain. He is always a little too much to take for you, but the pride brimming in his eyes whenever you cream on his cock keeps you coming back until you’re formed just right to take him.

The feeling of your hot, wet cunt embracing his cock so willingly has beautiful groans clashing with your skin as Sylus’s lips attach to your neck. “So tight, so perfect for me...” he pants before his teeth graze your skin, teasing your already sensitive body further before he nuzzles his nose into the curve of your neck.

His soft affections stand in contradiction to his cock abusing your cunt like his personal toy. The way his hips almost painfully snap against your own undermining your strength difference only further.

Your arms find purchase around his shoulders, gently carding through his messy locks as his name falls from your lips repetitively.

A harsh slap to your ass rips a deep moan from you, which immediately shoots back at Sylus, as his cock twitches inside your clenched walls upon your desperate yelps and whimpers.

As your legs begin to tremble in his hold with raised moans falling from your mouth, a realisation dawns upon Sylus.

A chuckle follows, one that proves rather strained since he clearly is affected by the perfect embrace of your walls. “Are you into pain, sweetie?” a mere murmur against your racing pulse while he continously snaps his hips into you.

“And now you're cumming again already?” Sylus victoriously grins against your neck at the obvious answer to his question, your desperate clamping around his cock evidence enough for your nearing high.

Yet you nod frantically, burying your face in his silver strands while your tits bounce against his chest. “Please let me,” you whine.

“Please let you?” he echoes, with his thrusts slowing down to control your climax, bringing distance between your bodies so your fucked-out form is on full display for his greedy eyes.

Sylus takes your hand in his, intertwining your fingers to he reveal your face to him. Your trembling lower lip and heaving chest are a gorgeous view, yet nothing compared to your teary eyes while your nails dig into the back of his hand.

“Let me cum, please, Sylus!” you beg in defeat.

Fuck, you've never begged before.

You wish you had the strength to smack him for his confident grin, but he leaves you whimpering instead as he pulls out from your drooling cunt, only letting the tip of his cock rest within you while he basks in your hatred.

“My feisty girl wants to cum so bad…” Sylus muses, mockingly brushing his fingers over your clit and pussy to smear your mixed arousal further. “Go on then, make yourself cum with whatever I offer you. Give it your best shot..” He whispers, the tip of his nose brushing against yours while he guides your hand down to your clit.

And you try, try so desperately to rub on your clit as you clamp around the head of his cock, cunt clearly trying to suck him back in as your hips rock in rhythm with the movement of your hands.

“Sylus,” is yet another attempt to get him to move again.

So he does.

He slaps your overly motivated fingers away from your clit to replace them with his own in the same second he pushes hmself back inside you. Hitting your sweetest spots while he painfully pinches the sensitive little nub to send sparks running through your system.

Your fingers find purchase around his wrist, digging into his skin in desperation, while you want nothing more than to finally come undone.

“You feel so good,” he sighs in exhaustion.

Sylus pushes you over the edge with precise thrusts for you to cream around his cock. You're tugging nearly painfully at his hair as your moans mix with sobs and praise to his name.

"Mh... and you sound so hot," Sylus mumbles, his scorching gaze unwavering as he witnesses your orgasm wash over your glorious body. It is only then that he allows himself to cum deep inside you, his hand squeezing your boob as his teeth bite down on your nipple to control the overwhelming pleasure of his high, his moans rumbling against your body.

And you’re so eager to milk him dry, cunt pulsing around his sensitive cock for every drop he could share. Each shallow thrust spreads his load until you hiss and whine, complaining about your fucked-out state with gentle objections.

"I'm far from done with you, sweetie," Sylus promises.

Though you shake your drowsy head, and Sylus only nods in return while ensuring your eyes lock onto his face; as if that could change your mind.

"You were the one who gave me the coupons," Sylus reminds you softly, the memory sending another rush of anger through his blood. "Now let me make good use of the inspiration."

"But those were not—” you try to interrupt, but it seems like he has little interest in your rebuke. Instead, he pulls out of you, eagerly flipping you around to press your chest against the dinner table, displaying your ass to his gaze.

His cum leaking out of your pussy is the only thing he can actually notice, tempting his fingers to automatically push it all back inside your leaking hole as you wail in despair.

"I-I can't, please!" you curse as your body tries to crawl out of his reach once he begins to scissor his thick fingers inside you. Hot kisses along your spine leave a trail up to your ear, his strong body locking your smaller frame in place on the table, open for his actions.

"Don’t tell me playtime is over already, princess," Sylus teases, "I’m sworn to please you, am I not?"

You know it's best to surrender once you make eye contact with him over your shoulder: The inquisitive glow of his right eye is a telltale sign for you to drop the act of defiance.

He knows how much you enjoy this.

So, the hard expression melts as soon as Sylus witnesses your nod, and a soft smile returns to his face. "That's right. Now take it like a big girl, will you?" The words can barely count as a question since he immediately sheathes his eager cock inside your pulsing cunt all over again—stuffing his cum back inside you with each thrust.

Sylus pulls out once more, teasing your aching hole with the tip of his cock until your hips wiggle and desperate whimpers escape your lips.

So much for not wanting to go on.

"Beg for it," he commands, taking the opportunity to slide his tip up and down your puffy lips, running circles around your clit—intentionally pulling the words from your mouth. Y

es, he definitely got a rise out of your trembling begging voice earlier.

"Please," you bite out, though the teasing stimulations make it hard to keep your dignity. "Make me feel good," you use the words as a loophole instead of begging Sylus for his cock.

But your feistiness only amuses Sylus. It earns you another harsh smack of his hand on your ass, making you topple further against the table. Strong hands squeeze the soft flesh of your thighs, kneading it while your legs are being spread wider, nearly lifting your feet off the ground entirely by doing so.

"I think you can be sweeter than that,” his raspy nearly threatens before greedy lips latch onto your back. His hot tongue licks along your spine, while crimson eyes devour the intense shivers spreading across your skin. Sylus’ body drapes over yours as his cock prods against your fluttering entrance once more.

"Sylus~,” you force his name out in a whiny tone, trying to lure him down the path of honey and sweetness.

Though your act ends the minute Sylus pushes himself further into you, the speed agonizingly slow yet so perfect to feel him spread your walls open for his thick cock once more.

You arch your back further, pressing your tits against the table and your ass against his hips, nails clawing on the hardwood.

"Aren’t you adorable when you’re being so obedient for me?” He praises in a whisper before chuckling near your ear.

Sylus’ cock twitches inside you, hitting the delicate deeper regions once you grind against his movements. Creating an addictive addition of your clenching cunt as if you never want to let him go again.

His thrusts are calculated, with the way he pulls his heavy cock out ever so slowly, pausing just a split second outside your oh-so-inviting hole before snapping his hips back.

The obscene smack of his thighs against your ass echoes through the room and mingles with your frantic moans as well as Sylus’ groans. "Creaming again, aren’t you?" he muses when your legs begin to quiver, barely managing to hold yourself up as your third orgasm threatens to roll over your body.

Your fucked-out expression meets his gaze over your shoulder, silently begging Sylus to support your body. "Oh, my dear," he mumbles like a devil on your shoulder, the grip on your body adjusting. For one hand to push against your stomach, and the other to wrap around your neck, successfully holding you in a bicep lock while aiding your exhausted form to stay up as he fucks you through your climax.

"Just let go for me," Sylus encourages, in between his aggressive lips sucking marks on your neck.

You teeth find purchase on his forearm, digging into his skin to hear Sylus hiss in sheer pleasure. Nothing is more satisfying for him than to be marked by you.

Then, your orgasm rushes through your body, overwhelming all your senses with the intense overstimulation at this point. Your moans turn whiny as Sylus continues to fuck you through it, before he finally pulls out.

"Come here," he pants, exhaustion hitting your usually calm lover as well. Nevertheless, he swirls your nearly passed-out body around and pushes you down on your knees, with such ease as if you were made of jelly. He hesitates at your sight—he’s never seen you more submissive.

Though your shaky hands clamp around his thick thighs, digging into the muscles for purchase as your cheek rests on his right leg, tired eyes meeting his gaze when he runs a hand along your neck.

"Are you going to let me cum in your mouth, hm? I think the twins are traumatized from your moaning," he teases in time with his fingers grabbing your neck to pull your face close to his cock.

You can merely follow his guiding hands while nodding to whatever Sylus says until you feel the wet tip of his shaft prodding against your lips. Near automatically, your tongue darts out to kitten-lick around the head before taking him in deeper and deeper.

Your eyes remain glued to the view above: His heaving chest and flexing muscles, the nibbling of his bottom lip, and the slightly squinted eyes with a sweet scowl on his forehead.

He is struggling.

Large hands come to cradle the back of your head, a comforting gesture that turns desperate once Sylus guides you further down his cock until your nose is pressed against his groin. "Clean me up, sweetie. Taste yourself, go on," Sylus rambles near mindlessly while drowning in these sensations.

It’s a rare sight, it’s a pretty sight, and you want more of it.

So you bob your head, swirl your tongue and hollow your cheeks until it is near impossible to deny the throbbing of his length while low groans turn to raspy moans.

Though Sylus manages to command a final warning for you. "Don’t you dare swallow without my permission."

Your hand pumps along his shaft while your mouth collects his load, desperately trying to keep it all on your tongue. It’s a futile attempt as the white fluids already dribble down your chin, though nothing Sylus’ thumb can’t fix with a swipe before replacing his softening cock with his thumb.

A moment later you’re already hoisted up to sit in his lap again, with his hand now gripping around your cheeks, pulling you down towards his face and forcing a pout on your lips. Sylus’ mouth captures yours in a searing, passionate kiss, moving with a hunger and desperation that steals the breath from your lungs, his tongue delving deep to taste you, him—everything at once.

The grip on your figure adjusts to keep you in place while the mixture of his semen and your spit flow from your mouth onto Sylus’ tongue. The moan that follows is a deep, satisfied rumble inside his chest before finally pulling back to lock eyes with you.

Shamelessly, he swishes the concoction in his mouth while his nails tease up along your back. Though the seemingly tender gesture turns demanding once his hands lock around the back of your neck as he sits up to close the remaining distance between your bodies.

Then, Sylus kisses you again, bending over your smaller frame when he returns the filthy mixture into your mouth, pushing his tongue against yours and creating the nastiest yet most exhilarating kiss you have ever shared.

The graze of his teeth over your sore lips brings the moment to an end. For him to whisper a "Swallow," with heavy eyes greedily watching you follow his request.

The guiding drag of his thumbs down your throat encourages you to swallow until nothing but your pink tongue remains. Then Sylus pulls you close against his chest, mumbling a sweet “You’re full of surprises, kitten,” with his usual tender tone while you hide your face in the crook his neck.

As if he has any right to talk about surprises after tonight’s actions.

banner by @/cafekitsune

#lads sylus x reader #sylus x reader smut #love and deepspace smut #lnds smut #lads smut #sylus x reader #sylus smut #love and deepspace x reader #love and deepspace x reader smut #lads x reader #lads sylus smut #l&ds sylus smut #love and deepspace sylus smut #about.sylus #✧ softly spoken

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filmbyjy · 1 month ago

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Can I a request a story with some heavy angst and groveling from bf niki x fem reader…? I need something that makes me heart ache over it 🥹 “do you not want this anymore? Has it meant anything to you?” Type of feel.. I just love your works <3

did you even love me?

SUMMARY: (as the request follows) dating someone who had a past known playboy tendency was hard. rumours always spread like wildfire about him. you didn't want to assume your boyfriend would lie to you but you can't help it. especially when there was a very particular rumour flying around that sounded and felt real.

WARNINGS: angst but with the usual happy ending! ni-ki is stated as a past playboy, he used to play around a lot before settling down with you. reader has trust issues due to being inexperienced in dating.

WORD COUNT: 1.3K words

a/n: you know, this kinda reminds me of my ni-ki imagine i did a long time ago called 'It Takes Two' same concept except it was exes to lovers. shameless plug if you haven't read it yet :P

rumours always followed you wherever you went. it wasn't hard to catch a snippet of the conversations that students frequently chatted about. rumours also could travel quick and most definitely hurt the person whenever it was something bad.

you were never one to indulge or associate yourself with it as you weren't involved with it. why should you care about some baseless rumours? that is until you were roped into it yourself.

recently, the most notorious playboy in your grade had asked you out. he of course made sure to properly court you and gain your trust. you were skeptical until he made it very clear that he had no intention of hurting you. to you, if someone made the very effort to show his true feelings and wholeheartedly want you then you were sure they did want you.

and so you had accepted him. ni-ki, the said once playboy, was now your boyfriend. had been your boyfriend for about 3 months or so. he loved bringing you out for shopping dates to treat you like a queen because to him, you are his queen. to his friends, they always saw how madly in love he was with you. the heart eyes that he wore whenever he stared at you.

he was truly in love with you. at least to him it seemed. as for you, something always irked you. ever since dating ni-ki it seems as though he was pretty active on his phone. sure, he was still madly in love with you but it's almost like he was distracted by something on his phone.

you didn't want to assume he was texting someone and cheating on you. however, why was he smiling at his phone? why did his face light up whenever he got a text from someone? you weren't crazy, right?

then the rumours start,

'i heard ni-ki was texting this girl from the cheer squad. i think it was the cheer squad captain.'

'isn't he dating that one girl from calculus? he looked mad comfy with her.'

'yeah but he's a playboy. one girl isn't enough to satisfy his hunger.'

this starts to worry you. were you being toyed? was he cheating on you? did he even want you? those were just few of the thoughts you had circling in your mind. you were terrified that they were all true. then one day, everything just kinda fell apart.

you were at ni-ki's place as per usual. he stayed with one of his good friend, jake. as ni-ki was an international student, his parents stayed abroad while he stayed here in seoul. sure, he could've followed his parents back to japan but he wanted to experience the independency of living in a foreign country alone.

ni-ki was quick to notice your behaviour. it was...off. you weren't like your usual self and it sends signals to his head. did he do something wrong? were you pissed off at him?

"baby?" the boy says. you had hummed and looked over at him. you still had your eyebrows furrowed and a frown plastered on your face. he sighs. "is there something going on?"

you held back your tongue. you didn't want to fully confront him. what if he's actually cheating on you? you loved him a lot and if he was actually cheating on you. you'd be a mess.

"everything is fine. just studies and homework. Mr.Sylus gave us a whole pile of work to do so i'm just thinking on how to tackle it." you told him. you weren't fully lying. the teacher did give a stack of work to complete by next week. he hums.

"you don't need to stress over that, pretty. we can do it together." he intertwines your hand with his and squeezes it lightly. he doesn't want to press further, to set of a ticking bomb.

and so the two of you continued to watch a movie in the living room. you heard two dings from his phone. a notification from his phone. he checks his phone and smiles. the hand that was interlaced with yours was now removed. he goes to type away at his phone. your stomach drops a little.

"ni-ki?"

"yes, baby?"

you went silent. ni-ki sends the message and turns to you. a worried look was drawn on his face. "are you okay? you look like you're about to cry."

and boy did you cry. you sobbed. ni-ki was taken aback, he tries to pull you closer but you had push him away. "are you cheating on me?" you had asked in between sobs. ni-ki was in shock.

"baby, why would i be cheating on you? you know i love you a lot." he says. he goes to comfort you but you pull away once again.

"then who are you texting? who has been making you smile whenever they text you? is it that cheerleading captain?"

"what? no? why would i be texting her? baby, i am literally dating you."

"do you not want this anymore? has this meant anything to you?" you don't stop with the questions. hearing ni-ki out was the last thing on your mind. you were letting everything out. the insecurities that gnawed at the back of your mind.

he holds your shoulder, "baby, where is this all coming from? did someone say something to you? you know i love you. why would you doubt my feelings for you? why would you doubt that i don't want to be with you anymore?"

you had stopped. the only thing you did was sob. ni-ki could feel his heart clenching. who would even plant something so horrible into your head about him. he pulls you into his arms. he rubs your back and lets you cry on his chest. he didn't care about the tears staining his shirt. all he knew right now was to comfort you.

he mutters soft mutters on how much he loves you. he pecks your head while your cries died down. he calms you down until you stopped crying. when you do, he carefully cups your cheek.

"i love you. i won't ever think of cheating on you. you were the only one to keep me grounded when i was doing all those horrible things to other girls. i only want you."

"then who was texting you?" he lightly snickers at your words.

"my mom. she been sending me pics of bisco back in japan. she's also thinking of flying over to seoul to spend time with me. which is why in these few months i have been on my phone. i've been planning my mom's itenairy and getting opinions on the places she wants to visit in seoul with me."

"w-why didn't you tell me?" he boops your nose.

"silly girl, my mom was going to surprise you since she wanted to see which girl has stolen my heart. i couldn't just spoil her surprise you know." he explains. you pout.

"also, why would you think i was cheating?" he carresses your cheek.

"there were rumours in school that you were texting the cheerleader's captain." he snorts.

"and why would i be texting her? she's not worth my time. even as a playboy back then, none of those girls were worth my time. which is why you are very special." he pecks your lips. you squeaked.

"yeah, but-"

"nope, no buts. you and i are locked in! no one can hurt our relationship and vice versa!"

"ni-ki."

"who is ni-ki, if you're speaking to me you have to call me baby." you went silent. "oh, you're going on mute. alright, i guess i have to get you to say something by kissing you."

he puckers his lips and starts planting kisses all over your face.

right then and there, you realised that ni-ki truly did love you. you had no reason to doubt him. and yes, he did in fact showed you the texts that he had with his mom along with his contact list and recently deleted, in case you had any doubts left.

like he said. you two were locked in forever.

taglist[perm]: @ja4hyvn @ahnneyong @milklix @kar0ki @sugarsunoo @http-gyu @simpforniki @vatterie @victoriazynui @myu3ki @jhopesucker @dimplewonie @chwlogy @ilovewonyo @xiaoderrrr @uwuheeseungie @miercerise @liikno @hxney-luga @tiktaktiki @ajayke-reads @yizhoutv @s00buwu @ilovehanni1 @starrpt2 @mystarryseas @moonliaworld @in-somnias-world @luvyev @engeneeee-168 @babyy-bambii @kimipxl @namau @gxwesn @kristynaaah @jiiyen @nshmrarki @addictedtohobi @starvyeol1512 @alexisdalmatian

(let me know if you wanna be taken off the taglist btw!!)

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lylian333 · 8 months ago

Text

~YANDERE LUKA X READER~

(this story may have changes soooo yeah but in the future I'll edit it to make it as perfect if I can )This is also before wiege

WARNING: yandere, toxic relationship, read at your own risk, sexual assault,I need to touch grass and prey to god after this, noncon, weird siblings love(Luka isn't obsessed with hyuna in this story), if there other that I didn't contain please let me know

The first thing you ever see and remember is luka , he's always been there whenever you sad or happy he's always been there. Thankfully you both are taken in by an alien that wants you both to start calling him father , but to you as long as luka is there you'll feel safe.

Since the start you have always seen him as your brother he even knows about that, but perhaps he saw in a different way . you can even say he took advantage of you for being dumb and naive

Both of you are artificially bred but the end result came out quite differently especially health problems are the complete you are considered healthy perhaps even have a stronger immune system than others, while your brother is the opposite since he has asthma, and chronic migraines already.

before you both were send to Anakt Garden you both gown up with robots trying to teach and take care of both of you but the ways of it are scary and it is too much of a business that they would even care on how you smile and how you laugh .

But there are quite a few similarities between you both hate paparazzi like you guys like eating, sucking, and biting on things to satisfy you both hunger you both gown up with huge appetites as well and cause your father to worry about it and he starts giving us less food which to this day you curious that how you habits have begun.

Sometimes you both wanted to pass the time faster you both would cuddle but just cuddling tho there would be biting and touching at least your body wasn't comfortable with it but luka told you to just brush it off and you'll get used to it. this would only happened in private not waiting father or even anybody to find out about this just between you too. slowly the cuddle went from biting to kissing to even touching at weird spots but like luka said" just blush it off you'll get used to it after all you don't to make me upset do you ,dear ?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After that, you both were then sent to Anakt Garden father said it's the first step of your career you both are scared at first but at least you both got each other right? well luka health is kinda slowly getting worse there , and the other children's there kinda treat luka poorly because of his health but you always protect him by chasing the others away.

Not only that father give both of you guys top professionals to keep us well educated and healthy.

Time goes by in a blur, and with every passing day, you can feel the pressure of the competition looming over you both.The training is intensive and harsh, involving physical and mental conditioning to create the perfect idols. But they did have a playtime even so the daily routine consists of rigorous practice and training .

one day,while watching the other kids playing on the other side you and luka were playing with cube and seeing who can do it faster.two person came up to you both when you both look up they smile back and introduced themself" hello my name is hyuna and my younger brother is hyun woo do you guys want to be our friends and play?"

you look at luka waiting for him to make a decision he nod and your really happy about it cause you rarely see siblings and plus their very friendly not only that turns out that hyun woo is the same age as you while hyuna is the second oldest and luka the oldest.

After that day you guys would often hang out together you even started quit seeing them as part as your siblings because of how caring, kindful, and protective they are.

And slowly you start gaining feelings for hyun woo not just any feelings but a really special one even more special than luka and you.Hyun woo would often make a bouquet of flowers or flower head crowns just for you , he would also care for you talk to you a lot, and entertain you which you really enjoy. he would even help you to practice your vocals so that you wouldn't mess up in case and just overall a happy ball full of fun. and perhaps you can even say that you enjoy hyun woo accompany more then luka ones but maybe luka have caught on to you and hyun woo relationships.

About a year later of this at one day, after playing around you guys have gotten tried and decide to rest well hyuna go get some water you and hyun woo decide to lay down together perhaps even call it as a cuddle? Slowly you dive into sleep.

The next thing you knew when you woke up was you hear fighting??? you git confuse and rub your eyes and got up seeing what's going on.turn out it was luka and hyun fighting they rarelt fight even if they did it's usually luka who wanted to find trouble or he just didn't know about it but this fight is not like others it not playful it's like luka actually trying to hit hyun woo before you can fully process what to do luka use all his might and push hyun woo on the group causing him to accidently hit a rock.

Seeing that you instantly push luka causing him to fall on the ground when you turn around to check if hyun woo is okay but you notice his head is b-bleeee-bleeding , him not moving at all not even an inch

Hyuna came into the scene as well screaming" What's going on here and-...Hyun woo-"she stood there speed looking dumbfounded then robots and alien staff came in while hyuna was trying to leave his brother alone you turned around to your brother about to scream at him for what he did but you notice that he's hand is c-changing color-? it's was supposed to be- no not never purple you kneel against him confused picking up his finger and touching it not understanding what's going on why is so many things happening at once

You finally spoken out "luka why...?"

Hyuna kicked and screamed at all her might to put down her brother but the robots just pushed her away and the alien staff held her back she was madly crying. you wanted to go comfort her but when you were about to move luka held you tight "Don't leave me yet I'm not feeling well, sister" he said as he hold you tightly.

Ever since that day, hyuna has grown to have a negative sentiment to luka but even you can't blame her for what she has to be.

One peaceful night well sleeping, you got woken up by hyuna shacking your body trying to silently wake you up"(y/n) Follow me now" she whispered into your ear

'"Where are we going?"

"We're going to escape from this place from our owners and from this living hell, now come on we don't have much time left"

She then pulls your hand out of bed and starts running. You have so many questions in your head but before you can ask any question hyuna pulls you down onto the ground hiding from cameras and security "(y/n) , you may be confused right now but I'll explain to you when we both get out of here please escape with me you're the only person I trusted even after the incident. But please wake up there are many dark secret about this place and the future career all you have to do is just follow me and run across the field climb up a gate and get out"

Part of you wanted to listen to hyuna and escape this living hell and owners of a place but half of you wanted to stay with your older brother and is afraid that luka would be weak and may be left out .....

In the end you choose to escape for your own good for your own freedom and rights. You nod to hyuna who's smile at you and nod back understanding

You both slowly craw out of your hiding spot till one of you got caught by the camera and robots . you both run you tried keeping up to her speed . the alarms were to on alarming the others that the children's are escaping .

Some robots even try shooting you guys down but it can't . Hyuna begin to climb the gate to escape while screaming"(y/n) you can do this just trust me!"

Half way there you feel a strong pull at your leg and caused you to slip down and hit your head on the gate and the ground before you pass out from the pain you ever last encountered with her just looking down at you from the top with her sad and hopeless expression before she keeps going

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you woke up you woke up your realized that you were not in the Anakt Garden bed you were in your home bed with luka on the side hugging you. You were curious and confused and eve scared that father would punish you. When trying to move you feel a sharp pain causing you to moan uncomfortable causing luka to wake up"Finally you woke up dear after a few days without you feel horrible but it's fine our owner has taken us back to home"

Hearing that makes you remember what happened you feel like you are disappointed in yourself you feel horrible for letting yourself down why are you so stupid there is nothing you can do but shed tears hugging your brother.

~Timeskip many years later~

You were sitting on the bed waiting for Luka to return from round 5 you both may be singers but never in the same stage or competition for both of your sake. Your competition was over with you winning and nothing surprising from what has happened multiple times in the past. But how do they manage to hold different competitions and different members at once.

Then you hear the door open, luka enters with his face injury and black eyes it's not your first time seeing this but every time you do it reminds you of the past...

Luka sat on the couch waiting for you to grab equipment to help with his injury. when you did he pulled you to sit on his lap "You're the only thing I want your life is mine and need I miss spending time with you like in the old days....why don't we cuddle again like how we used to maybe more intense now since you gown up right now a baby anymore..." he chuckles cupping your cheek

there hasn't been an ending yet sooon I came up with my own for now and maybe in the future I'll edit it better bc I only have one week left before my fucking important ass exam(please pray for me) .But I just fell into the fandom bc of the edit it's so good man and I'll also try understanding the concept alright I know this is really mess up but still...anyways thanks for reading

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alternate-real-ities · 4 months ago

Text

Research Report: Subject J - Asian Flu

Prepared by: Dr. Amara Patel & Dr. Liam Chen

These diary entries, obtained through confidential sources, detail the personal experiences and transformations of a young man identified only as "Jake" who has been unknowingly infected with the recently emerged Asian Flu (AF). His accounts provide invaluable firsthand insights into the virus's effects on its host, spanning from early symptoms to advanced stages. Thus, with these entries, we aim to better understand the virus's effects and timeline.

Diary Entries:

Dear diary,

I woke up feeling a bit off today, but nothing major. Probably just another case of the common cold going around. I didn't let it stop me from starting my day as usual - working on my laptop at home while sipping coffee. My muscles were kinda sore too, but I thought it was just from my workout yesterday.

I did notice something strange though - when I caught my reflection in the mirror, my pecs looked a bit bigger than usual. Probably just my imagination, right? They're not exactly massive to begin with on my scrawny frame. But hey, maybe I'm finally making some progress at the gym!

Anyway, enough about me and my silly feelings. I'm going to bed early tonight. hopefully I'll feel more like myself tomorrow.

Dear diary,

Woke up today feeling even better than yesterday! I breezed through my work and couldn't wait to get back to the gym. When I stepped into the locker room, a few guys checked me out appreciatively. Normally that would make me blush, but now it just gave me this weird rush of confidence.

At first, I thought the gym machines felt a bit too easy today. Like my body was used to working at higher intensities than I realized. And why were my pecs tingling so much? Probably just a funny nerve thing, no biggie.

When I got home, I caught another glimpse of myself in the mirror and… holy shit… are my muscles bigger? Like, way bigger than they should be after one intense workout. Also, I didn't look as pale as I usually do?

This can't be real - something's going on, I just don't know what it is… Hopefully, I'll have more time to think about it tomorrow.

Dear diary,

Okay, so something is seriously wrong with me but I can't put my finger on it.

I can't stop sweating, even when I'm just sitting around doing nothing! My clothes are always soaked and I stink like a damn animal in heat... And don't even get me started on my fucking pecs - they're so sensitive right now. Like every brush of fabric against them sends a jolt straight to my dick.

I called in sick to work today, couldn't handle trying to make sense of all those spreadsheets and emails. It's like everyone's talking in a foreign language now, I just don't get it no more. I keep telling myself this is all stress-related but deep down, I know something ain't right.

At the gym today, I kept having to increase the weights because anything less felt like a joke now. There were these two Asian guys there who kept glancing over at me admiringly between sets. Normally I'd be flattered but nervous about such obvious stares. Instead, I found myself flexing subtly in their direction, feeling this bizarre urge to show off my body.

And to top it all off, I've been having these crazy horny urges nonstop. Like, I'm constantly rock hard and leaking pre-cum like a fucking faucet. It's embarrassing as hell. I ended up jerking off about three times today already but it did nothing to satisfy this insatiable hunger in my balls.

I'm scared… I don't know what's happening to me. Maybe this is all just a bad dream and I'll wake up soon. Please.

Dear diary,

Fuck… what's happening to me? I'm struggling to type this entry because my fingers feel too thick and clumsy on the keyboard.

I went back to the gym again today because I couldn't stay away, even though part of me knew something was seriously off. The Asian guys from yesterday were there again and this time… fuck… I walked up to them and started chatting like it was the most natural thing in the world. Talking about protein shakes, the best ways to sculpt chest muscles, shit I wouldn't have given a second thought to before.

They kept touching my arms admiringly as we talked, marveling at how fast I must be growing. And I fucking liked it. Craved more of their attention and praise. We ended up in the locker room together…

I'm not proud of what happened next but I couldn't control myself. I was too drunk on this new sense of power and desire coursing through my body. The next thing I knew, we were all naked, touching each other, moaning like animals…

I can't think straight anymore either. It's like all the smart stuff is leaking outta my head and being replaced with nothing bro.

And the smells… everything smells so much stronger now. My own stink, sweat and musk, it's so intense!

I'm losing control here diary… I feel like I'm turning into one of those dumb gym bro stereotypes and it scares the everloving shit outta me. I almost can't recognize myself in the mirror anymore.

Tomorrow, I'll go see my doctor to finally understand what's going on.

Yo diary, it's your boy Jake and lemme tell ya, today was fuckin' EPIC dude! Like, the most awesomest day ever since this crazy shit started happening to me.

Woke up feelin' like a million bucks, muscles all twitchy and ready to dominate. I hit the gym real quick, just a lil warm-up ya know? And oh man, did I catch some looks! All those bros were starin' at my gains, probably wishin' they had a physique like mine hehe.

After that, I decided to take my rock hard bod for a walk in the park. Felt good to let the sunshine warm up my bronzed skin and show off these sick pecs. I was strutting real confident-like, just basking in all the attention from thirsty bitches and dudes.

Then, get this diary… I bumped into this super cute lil twink at the park! He was practically drooling when he saw my massive package tentin' in my shorts. I couldn't resist, had to show him what a real man feels like down there haha.

We found a lil spot behind some bushes and I bent that boy over and gave it to him HARD, diary. Pounded his tight boyclit so good he was screaming for more. Fucked him so deep he'll be tasting my cock for days! Blew the biggest load right up in his guts too, hah!

I'm gonna hit the gym again later for some more gains, maybe see if I can find another thirsty boycunt to bust in after. Life is fuckin' great diary!

Analysis:

Based on Jake's diary entries, we can confirm the progression of AF symptoms aligns with our current understanding: rapid muscle growth, cognitive decline, personality changes, and increased sexual aggression. His accounts also highlight the virus's insidious nature, as he remains largely unaware and unconcerned about his transformations.

To better understand the virus's transmission dynamics and long-term effects on secondary hosts, it is imperative that we identify and locate the twink (hereafter referred to as "Subject TW") with whom Jake engaged in sexual activities at the park. There is a high probability that Subject TW has been infected with the Asian Flu through this encounter.

Locating and monitoring this new potential subject could provide crucial insights into the virus's sexual transmission rates, incubation periods for secondary infections, and further manifestation of symptoms in diverse hosts.

This final surveillance footage from a concealed camera in a nearby gym captures Subject J (center frame) engaging with his newly acquired "bros". This clip represents the most current documentation of Jake's behaviours and physical state, obtained while maintaining strict contamination avoidance protocols. The timestamp indicates this recording is approximately three weeks after his initial diary entries.

Caution: Viewers are strongly advised not to approach or engage with Subject J or his associates without proper protective measures in place, as their sweat and other bodily fluids pose significant infection risks.

Please direct any inquiries or resources needed to pursue this lead to Dr. Patel or Dr. Chen.

[End Report]

#asian flu #male transformation #muscle tf #muscle transformation #musclegrowth #race change #alpha man #alpha muscle #asianization

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hy6erion · 4 months ago

Note

I am a sucker for pervert Viktor!!! (>u<) so cute

𝐬𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐯! 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

⇢ 𝐟𝐞𝐦! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭(𝐦𝐝𝐧𝐢), 𝐯𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐦, 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐥��𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐬, 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐟𝐭, 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐛𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐦𝐬, 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐝𝐮𝐛𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐩𝐡𝐲𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐥 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐭, 𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐨𝐧.

𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐭!

𝐚/𝐧: i also apologise for not posting lately!! I just have been a bit busy but it should be better now!

Perv! Viktor who steals your freshly worn panties straight from the laundry, then returns them like nothing ever happened.

He waits until you’re out of the room before he snatches them—still warm, still damp with the remnants of your arousal. He buries his face in the fabric, groaning as he fists his cock, imagining how your pussy must have felt, soaked and clinging to the fabric all day. When he’s done, he makes sure to put them right back where he found them, so you never even notice they were gone. The thought of you slipping them on, unknowingly wearing his dried release against your folds, makes him unbearably hard all over again.

Perv! Viktor who coats your personal belongings with his cum just to mark you.

Your hairbrush, your hand cream, the pen you chew absentmindedly while working—he’s tainted them all. He strokes himself over them, biting down on his lip to keep quiet, his seed spilling over your innocent possessions. When you use them later, completely unaware, it takes everything in him not to lose his mind. The idea that his essence is on you, that you’ve touched it, carried it, maybe even licked it by accident—it makes him delirious with possessive need.

Perv! Viktor who rigs Hextech surveillance just to watch you undress in the privacy of your room.

He tells himself he just wants to keep you safe, but that’s a lie so weak even he doesn’t believe it. The hidden lenses capture everything—the way you peel off your dress, the way your hands glide over your skin, completely unaware of your silent audience. He watches every night, stroking himself as you stretch, arch, slip your fingers between your thighs to satisfy your own desires. He strokes in time with you, whispering praises you’ll never hear, moaning your name as if you belong to him already.

Perv! Viktor who deliberately spills something on you just for the excuse to touch you.

“Ah, my apologies” he murmurs, eyes dark with barely concealed hunger as he dabs at your clothes, his fingers pressing just a little too firmly against your chest, your thighs. His fingers linger, brushing over sensitive spots under the guise of being helpful. If you shift, feeling weirdly embarrassed, he merely smiles, playing the part of the gentleman, all while his cock aches from how close he is to touching you exactly where he wants.

Perv! Viktor who masturbates in the very spot where you sat, while your scent is still fresh.

The moment you leave, Viktor is there, inhaling the lingering warmth where your body once rested. He spreads his legs, fists his cock, grinding into the same seat cushion that cradled your ass minutes ago. He imagines you riding him there, your heat pressed against his lap, moaning his name like you need him. He cums hard, making a mess of himself, panting as he envisions what it’ll be like when he finally has you for real.

Perv! Viktor who presses against you just a little too much in crowded spaces.

It’s innocent enough—after all, the hallways are narrow, the space limited—but Viktor takes full advantage of every accidental brush. His hip against your ass, his thigh against your own, the firm press of his body behind you. If you so much as gasp or stiffen, he chuckles under his breath, pretending not to notice the way he’s pressing against you just a little too firmly. You think it’s a coincidence, but Viktor knows exactly what he’s doing.

Perv! Viktor who licks the rim of your glass when you’re not looking.

You leave your drink unattended for a moment, and Viktor can’t resist. His tongue flicks over the place where your lips once were, tasting the ghost of your presence. It’s perverse, it’s filthy, and it only makes his obsession worse. The idea of your mouth so close to his, even if you don’t know it, makes his cock throb with frustration. He wonders how much further he could go before you’d finally notice.

Perv! Viktor who fantasizes about taking you in your sleep.

He watches you doze off after a long day, your body relaxed, unaware, defenseless. His mind wanders—what if he were to slip under the covers? What if he ran his fingers over your bare skin, teasing between your thighs, feeling the way your body responds even in slumber? He knows it’s wrong, but the temptation eats away at him, his cock hard and leaking as he strokes himself to the image of your soft, unknowing body beneath him.

#✰⍣ 𝐡𝐲𝟔𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐧 #x reader #arcane x reader #arcane #arcane viktor x reader #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #arcane x reader smut #arcane viktor x female reader #arcane viktor x reader smut #arcane viktor x you #viktor x you #viktor x reader smut

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devnmon · 4 months ago

Text

undoing heat

Summary: Astarion feeds from you the first time and finds himself aroused. What he doesn't know is if you feel the same.

warnings: porn with plot and A LOT of feelings, blood drinking during sex, vampire feeding, grinding, needy, touch starved astarion, piv sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, bj, oral (r!receiving), fingering

a/n: listen. i could’ve made this nice and short but you all know me. can never be normal about This Guy ever. so have fun chowing down on the absolute meal of a fic i’ve cooked up for you all. enjoy mwah (also big big kiss on the forehead to my lovely moots @clericblood n @tillysketch n @bodythieves for all their pre reading n helpful editing they did. i love u <3 )

word count: 12.6k

A vampire feeding from one’s neck is intimate.

It becomes a degree hotter when it’s Astarion doing so.

—

Cold.

For many years, all Astarion had felt was an absence. One that could never be filled.

But warmth… that was something he’d longed for.

Beams of light from the sun, an embrace, a fire crackling before him. All these aspects of life he imagined would never be within his grasp again. Replication of any such gratification was far fetched. A myth, something he would never truly see again.

Then, the tadpoles, the mind flayer ship, and you.

Since the abduction, he’d been in a state less desirable and more disoriented than ever. Weakened from lack of blood— or the deprivation of it. For the first time in two centuries, he had a chance to find something different.

Astarion has since lost track of the last time he’s had the sun on his skin and been able to freely roam under its blessing light. Vampiric ways of undead life never granted him such a thing.

Once he met you, everything changed.

The many fights that stood ahead of him along with a merry band of companions compiled by fate itself meant that kobolds and boars would no longer suffice. Thus came the shame of wanting to taste that crimson liquid running hot right under your skin.

Catching him staring at your neck was the first hint of his vampirism, the red eyes and fangs moreso a quite literal dead giveaway. He thought himself clever trying to keep that part of himself hidden. But you knew better.

The first time he fed on you was very special, not only for him, but you as well. To even have the trust in him after you caught the elf trying to steal a nip from your neck while you slept opened his eyes to what kind person you truly were.

Willing to share a part of your life force so he could become stronger, that did a number on him drastically. It warmed his heart the same way it was physically; a spark in the dark, a flickering that soon burned to a roar.

Astarion is lucky in more ways than one to have someone willing to give him blood for no reason other than you wanted to. To find him- a vampire- worthy of something so personal, built an undeserving ache in his chest.

You could’ve mistaken him for a cougar that hadn’t eaten in days by the way he was zoning out. His eyes dropped to the rapid pulsing of your jugular, so lidded he was almost drooling at the sight.

Thanks to you, Astarion’s sanguine hunger had been satisfied for the first time in two centuries. Not only that, but the warmth it granted him, down his throat and in the tips of his fingers was so gratifying it had almost made him cry.

At first surge over his tongue, it traveled through his system faster than light. Eventually coating his teeth, dripping down the sides of his mouth, transiting through every vein to warm his frigid body.

Tasting it – mortal blood for the first time brought a tear to his eye the second it spread selfishly across his tongue. Each time it soared over his taste buds filled him more than the last, all his strength devoted to reining in the hunger most of all.

He had no words for how consuming it became, only satiating to the selfish desire of getting lost in it. For a split second he was there, floating in an ever so perfect ecstasy, falling deeper and deeper into its embrace.

Your blood fulfills what he’s tried to do for years with animals. To be his first… he can’t believe you’ve offered yourself to him in such a way.

He’s buzzing as your blood – as you course through him.

Succulent, warm and thick, he forces himself to back off before getting lost in your taste.

“Ah! That- that was amazing.” His words are breathless from the taste of you, almost slurring against the warm slide down his throat.

You watch as he stands, the sound he makes swallowing a depraved one. He almost looks about ready to lean in for another drink, eyes widening for a moment before focusing on you again.

“My mind is finally clear. I feel strong. I feel… happy.”

Happy he was, the blood going straight to his head… and other parts of him.

One drop hadn’t made it past his lips, swiping it away on his finger. You stare up at him while he stands, weakened from the loss of blood and open wounds on your neck. Afraid the image of him savoring your blood would make your knees falter, you remain sat.

Even with his pale complexion, he was beaming— glowing in the moonlight. An exceptionally good look on him.

“I look forward to seeing you fight, Astarion.”

“With you by my side, it shouldn't take long at all.” he says with a wink, curtsying as he continues, “Now if you’ll excuse me, you’re invigorating, but I need something more filling.”

As he turns toward the outskirts of camp, he pauses and turns back, sincerity filling his wine colored eyes when he speaks again.

“This is a gift you know, I won’t forget it.”

–

Immediately after draining a small animal, he’d noticed the lack of what mortal blood gave him; a rush so intoxicating. How long he’d survived in this world while missing out on such a thing, he would never know.

Astarion gets overwhelmingly drunk off it all, a sensation he’s never gotten the privilege of exploring. To put it lightly, the man was overly sensitive and even the slightest touch across his chest sent his cock throbbing.

He’s not sure the last time he’s felt this type of arousal, not even sure of the last time he’s welcomed it. But he is aware of how much he wants to run his hands all over your body with his fangs in your neck. It makes him feel dirty, thinking of you in that way when all you’d done was give him a drink from your vein.

He dotes on the image of you squirming under his touch a bit too long. Perhaps it was the blood talking, but accepting the image of you with your hands on his waist or anywhere else on his body makes a shiver run through him. For the first time it’s not out of frigidness, but one so invigorating he finds his eyes closed in sheer enjoyment.

Astarion is warm all over, moreso from your blood he’s drank rather than the animals that helped satiate his hunger for the night. Thinking about the red liquid dripping from your neck when he pulled away– gods, the image was enough to make his vision hazy. He wasn’t aware of the raging hard on he’d gained from drinking something as luscious as your essence. It had never happened before when feeding on animals, but clearly this type was different.

Was all mortal blood this potent? Would Astarion find the same hypnotisable taste in any of his other companions? Or was it you that was already affecting him in more ways than one that drinking your blood magnified?

Either way, there was no containing it for the moment. What was he to do otherwise, walk into camp with a raging hard on? No, the embarrassment if someone– if you saw– might literally kill him. Better to sort it out in privacy while he still had some.

Astarion freed his erection, dumbfounded at its warmth in his hand. Granted, he had not indulged in this sort of pleasure since… forever, it seems. The first full stroke down his length, he almost moaned too loudly, fingers gripping at the ruffles of his shirt, bottom lip caught between his pearlescent teeth.

He was a sight, if you could’ve seen him then. Beads of sweat on his forehead, fangs glowing in the moonlight, cheeks pinked up just the slightest with how much he’s yearned for this sensation again. The elf’s high peaks quite fast, breath quickening as he attempted to stay quiet.

Though he tries to picture anything else, the only image floating around behind his eyes is one of you. Your natural scent of sweetness, that pulsing jugular of yours, the kind hand you outreach towards all who need it. An inch further, just imagining your lips on his, is what brings him over the edge.

He’s not sure whether to feel relief or guilt when he spills over in his hand with a shudder. Once he steadies himself and cleans up, he’s quick to walk off as if nothing had occurred. How his mind and body ached upon his walk back into camp, observing you all tucked away in your separate corners of camp for the night.

Astarion would just have to push down his guilt and hope to the gods it wouldn’t bother him in the days to come.

–

Most nights afterwards were spent getting a control on the high your blood put him on. His first time though– had his body tingling in every possible way. Mortals truly underestimate the power that crimson liquid has over his kind. Astarion did not choose to spend two centuries draining animals. When the opportunity presented itself to him, truth be told he was a little nervous as to how he’d react.

Your blood ran through his veins like lightning. Warming. Shockingly filling for once in his life. It’s up in his gums, behind his eyes, in the very essence of his being.

That night he realized how lucky he is for fate to have brought you to him. For you to trust him not to kill you upon his first taste of it. He’s elated, relieved, and knows for the first time, that he truly has someone who trusts him for the person he is. Not the vampire he happens to be.

He’s quite doting when he checks on you the next morning— a gesture that warms not only your heart, but your cheeks as well. You’ve never heard of his kind to be so concerned towards where their source of blood came from. A regular vampire would have taken what they wanted without care.

But then again, he wasn’t so regular, was he?

“Good morning. How do you feel?”

Astarion’s eyes seemed to dart across your entire figure, looking for any sign of your current state.

“I’m fine, I just feel a little woozy.”

“It’ll pass. I’m so glad last night didn’t end badly. I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it, though. Your blood was… so filling.”

“End badly? Wait… have you never fed on a human before?"

“Well, yes… We needn’t get into the gritty details as to why right now. I’ve had this condition for two centuries, but truth be told? You were my first.”

The vampire almost presented bashful when admitting this to you, as if it were a secret he’d never spoken aloud.

“Wow, I’m not sure whether to be surprised or impressed to still be standing.”

"I fed on animals for the better part of two centuries. Rats, cats, boars, kobolds... anything and everything except mortals. Since drinking from you, I feel at my best for the first time in my life. Apologies again, I should have told you about what I am.”

“If you needed blood, all you had to do was ask.”

“I- Really?”

You nodded.

“I’ll let you have my blood. But only if I come to you first. Alright?”

“Of course, you needn’t say any more. Thank you.”

“Like you said, blood makes you strong. We’re going to need that on the road ahead, wherever it takes us. Have you got my back?”

“Always, my dear. Lead on.”

–

It took an enormous amount of strength for him to resist his bloodlust turning to a feeding frenzy, even when he was consuming animals. But the ecstasy that came with mortal blood, especially for the first time, was more overtaking than he thought.

Apparently it had awoken another feral part of him. He’d savor your taste, reminisce about it whilst alone at night. Not only did it go to his head, but it focused him like nothing else. So much so that he can’t think of anything except you. Any attempt to keep his eyes off your jugular resulted in something much too overwhelming entering his system. Thus, when he wasn’t out on the road with you, his nose was stuffed in a book to keep his mind focused on the task at hand.

Many more nights passed with you suffering a woozy morning as if you’d drank one too many glasses of wine. Luckily, a certain druid had joined your party with just the spell to cure you of the disadvantages your bloodlessness came with.

Astarion noted the way you immediately trailed over to Halsin’s tent in camp the mornings after he fed, almost letting jealousy creep over his shoulder. Once he found you were only doing so to keep a level head on the road, that pinch of guilt became harder to push away. Not just its surge as if he was taking advantage of you, but the notion of something more stirring inside him when he tasted your blood.

Was it only that you deserved more than what he was asking of you? Or perhaps the appreciation that at least one person in his life cared about how he was doing after so long of being disregarded in that manner?

When a particularly rough battle left you all drenched in blood and limping back to camp, Astarion was hesitant to reply enthusiastically about feeding on you that night. He’d done so for the better part of all the past nights since his first time.

You only stared at him, reluctantly confused that he said no.

“I don’t want you to think I’m using you just for your blood. You’ve been kind to give me anything thus far. I’m grateful for it but… you don’t deserve me taking something so personal as that without anything in return.”

“So, you don’t want to feed from me anymore?”

If it weren’t for him being so godsdamned caring and sweet towards you right now, he would’ve picked up the hint of disappointment in your voice.

“No– gods, no. I wouldn’t be here today without your generosity,” Astarion places his hand on your shoulder, “I’ve just… grown fond of you, and it would be wrong for me to continue taking advantage of how kind you are for my personal benefit. I want you to know I mean that and, well, you deserve something more for what you do for me.”

His hand leaves your shoulder, the warmth of your body already infecting his ability to think straight while his gaze averts to your neck.

“Astarion… I wouldn’t be giving you my blood if you didn’t need it. It makes me glad to have you by my side through all of this. If I have to bug Halsin every morning to cure me with a spell, then that’s a sacrifice I’ll make for you. Besides…” You trail off, noticing his eyes have left your face and are now locked on your neck. “Astarion!”

“Wh-What? I’m sorry… It's been such a long day. What were you saying?” His hand scratches the back of his head nervously.

“I was saying that what I do for you isn’t because I pity you or some other reason you may have thought up. You’re not forcing me to do anything I don’t want. But, if you’re sure about this, I won’t stop you from hunting for animals tonight. If that’s what you really want.”

“Well, I don’t want to drink from animals. Their fur gets stuck in my teeth and it tastes awful. Your blood is much more filling,” he states, ignoring the way his chest heats up, “But today has beaten all of us down a peg and I think your neck could use the break. Wouldn’t want a bruise to tarnish your skin. Gods forbid. I’d never forgive myself. What I’m saying is I don’t have to feed from you every night, even though you generously offer it to me.”

“If you insist… you know where to find me if you change your mind.” You replied, sighing lightly.

“Indeed I do, darling. See you in the morning.” He bids you farewell with a wave and stalks off into the forest, the usual swagger in his walk making it even harder for your eyes to turn away. The way his tongue curls around the words he speaks throws your mind into a frenzy, wondering what it would be like with his tongue curled around something of yours.

Astarion had been lucky enough to drink from you the past couple weeks on the road, dissatisfied at how much more hungry he felt after two small creatures.

Gods, how much more is it going to take to be full again?”

About three animals for him to have the same fullness when drinking from you, but nothing compared to the warmth of your body. That was something he knew could never be replicated, you radiating a forge’s level of heat below him. Though perhaps it was only because he’d been deprived of such for so long.

Resting against the log of a tree, he took a moment to catch his breath before the blood he'd ingested traveled south. Even when he wasn’t drinking from your neck, his mind went to you nonstop. Innocent thoughts like ones by your side during battle turned to reminiscing about how your body reacted to him when his mouth was against your neck.

He wasn’t aware of it at first, too caught up in the less than satisfying taste spreading across his tongue. As the nights continued with him feeding from you, Astarion became more aware of your heartbeat pounding significantly faster whenever he neared you in proximity, how your breath shuddered upon his fangs in your neck. Of course you were nervous, what else was he to expect? To welcome some red eyed, pale skinned creature jamming its fangs into your jugular nearly every night without dismay?

Astarion tried his best not to ponder how your blood tasted, rich and succulent when flowing across his tongue, on his lips, down his throat. Unfortunately for him, the more he tried to push those thoughts away, the more you’d wriggle your way into his brain. He had missed his nightly taste of it, how much more full he became after a few sips rather than having to kill a few helpless small animals to even get close to how you made him feel.

Your scent, your blood, you.

Once again growing hard under his trousers to the point of frustration, pulling himself out in the cool air. It’s so unsatisfying to feel warmth under his skin that wasn’t from you. Not in the one simple way that got him high faster than light. Especially not when your blood shot through him, lingering at best and he couldn’t take how less buzzed he felt without it.

Was he an addict for your blood, or just obsessed with you?

It all combined in his frenzy of getting himself off, hoping and praying he wouldn’t moan too loudly when he came.

Vision hazy and body growing warmer, he stroked himself at a slow pace, relishing in every moment of the electrifying thrill. Every pass down his length makes him grow harder and much more inclined to indulge in thoughts he’d been pushing away. Swallowing the thought of you on your knees for him, his cock in your mouth. He wonders just how warm you are, whether it’s your tongue along the veins of his shaft or your heat sucking him in.

Gods– he shudders at the vision apparating in his mind.

Astarion’s hips stutter relentlessly as he comes in his hand, cleaning the warm liquid off with a rag before heading back into camp for the night. His gaze caught your figure before he shut his eyes, relishing in the luck of your presence.

He woke the next morning drenched in guilt at remembering what he’d done the night before. Taking your blood, selfish as it was, for his own benefit. Then to run off to the woods of all places and deal with the complicated feelings arising because of it?

How fucked was that, he thought.

How dare he get aroused at the thought of you squirming under his touch with his lips pressed against your neck. Fangs under your skin, sucking out the very liquid that kept you alive.

That thick, rich, liquid. Running along your veins and pumping through your heart, keeping you standing before him. Quite literally your life’s essence, and he was the only individual out of all the others in your life to have a taste for it.

It was foreign to him, this pull towards you traveling over his entire body. A thing he wouldn’t have given a second thought to before this whole mess. Now with the control over his own actions, things were much different. He felt if he was ever going to do something right for once, it would be with you.

Time passed whilst keeping up your little routine; he would only feed from you when you told him so, attempting to rein in his obsession with how you tasted. He was sure the fangs in your neck was a less than desirable experience, which had him shuffling off awkwardly afterwards most times. Truth be told, he didn’t want you to see how floaty and giggly your blood made him, better to keep up his stoic vampire appearance than let you see how drunk he got off your blood, to keep that mask of his up than let himself catch feelings.

That same mask was becoming heavier with each moment he lingered too long on you inside his head. The only question was, would its slipping result in something catastrophic? Or life changing?

–

On the road ahead with that certain vampire at your side proved plentiful, finding yourself walking near him more often than not. Astarion became the first person you turned to when in need of a second opinion, reassurance, or for when you just wanted to be in his presence until your eyes couldn’t stay open any longer. You find comfort in his voice softening when you’re troubled, talking his pointed ears off about your past and if you’re truly capable of leading this group.

“Your self doubts… They’re nothing to what you’ve gotten us through so far. You can do it, even if you think you can’t. And I’ll be here to make sure you get through.”

He’d pushed your hair out of your eyes and made sure you were thoroughly hydrated after crying so much into his shoulder about it all. You thanked him with the promise to wash your tears out of his shirt the next morning, overly fatigued from all your sobbing. He shushed you while stroking your hair, only telling you to let yourself rest for the night.

Upon waking the following morning, your head ached from the lack of hydration, finding yourself curled up into his chest, softly breathing as he slept. To avoid any awkward conversations, you managed to slip away before he woke.

From the darker moments to the happier ones, Astarion was there for all of them. Finding the nicest wine for the celebrations you rarely had at camp, saving the best bottle for him as a gift. For his endless support of your endeavors, having your back in all the fights, and stealing you things without anyone noticing.

All the softer times in passing, glancing towards him when he wasn’t looking, were when your eyes lingered. Beyond just his physical attributes, which were distracting enough, you felt a warmth in your chest getting up every day, knowing he’d be by your side. How you ached to see him smile or laugh as often as he was using those daggers he’s quite skilled with. His true beauty, the moments of happiness he found with you. Something about him looking as if he’d taken the place of the sun with the way he beamed.

–

Choosing you to feed from rather than any of your other companions was special. It meant a great deal to you that it was your blood he was drinking- not Wyll’s or Gale’s- yours.

His protective nature became much too obvious, as he’d place himself in front of you whenever someone stepped too close or became hostile towards you. Growling a threat towards said person always had your mind going someplace different, along with being thankful he stepped in to de-escalate the situation.

Meanwhile everything Astarion does for you is out of his own growing affections. Ones he’s kept pushing further into himself. He wants to worship the ground you walk on for everything you’ve done for him. Not only do you make all the hard decisions and bond with others around you as easy as breathing, but to do so with your head held high, taking all the hits whether physical or mental. He adores you with all his being.

From feeding him to supporting his endeavors with a smile, it’s the mental gymnastics he’s doing to keep himself sane that have been a pain in his ass. Getting off in the woods every night without fail has made the resentment of guilt a lump in the back of his throat. The filth that washes over him as he’s realized the desire to have you doesn’t just extend to your blood. Astarion wants to take in every inch of your body, its warmth with his fangs in your neck, how intimately his lips press to your skin while he sucks.

To extend your blood’s warmth to him, understanding how your body responds when he puts his hands in the right place. On your waist, between your legs, down your torso, around the lengths of your hair. Holding you softly while he drinks, the little death being shared between you two. His dreams are filled with his imagining of how you’d sound squirming and whimpering below him, waking up from how vivid they become at times.

Soon as he’s come with you on his mind again, it’s back to keeping his feelings undercover.

That is until one night, observing Gale let you taste the camp stew he was in the process of whipping up one night. An aching ball forming in his stomach at the sight of you indulging the wizard. Your batting eyelashes when you looked up at him as your lips dragged over the spoon. Sickness filled him, unlike anything he’d felt before. It made the bile in his stomach begin to churn, slowly shoving its way up his throat with distaste.

Your actions were innocent on the surface, but he knew Gale had been in relations with a goddess.

Seriously, the wizard? Who couldn’t shut up for more than five minutes even if his life depended on it? He probably doesn’t know how to be with a mortal after so long. Too caught up on that astral plane nonsense. At least I don’t need to project and want to be a god to get off.

He couldn’t be the object of your affections, surely…

Whatever his intentions were with you, innocent or not, they would have to stop before he got too confident. Before you slipped right through his dexterous fingers to that fool. Of all the things he’s failed to stop from happening, he had to make sure this didn’t happen the most. All Astarion knew was that he was desperate to be close to you more than ever.

His voice grinds the vampire’s gears from across camp, like nails on a chalkboard. Why was his laugh so boisterous? Ever heard of subtlety, Gale?

He doesn’t deserve your kindness, doesn't deserve your opinion on his fucking stew.

But himself? The gentle vampire who has only ever been by your side, stepped in front of you when people got a bit too threatening? Much better than a human who couldn’t even go five minutes without talking about properties of the weave or something along those lines. Astarion always tuned those tangents out for his own sanity. He’d much rather laser focus on something like your sweet voice.

Perhaps it was irrational to think he was the only one deserving of your time, but there was nothing else consuming his mind. To even think about someone as talkative as that wizard was trying to insert himself into your close circle when he’s been there from the beginning? He had to stifle the laugh in the back of his throat.

Just give me a reason, wizard.

Astarion huffed to himself and walked away from the sight before he did something unsavory he wouldn’t forgive himself for.

Camp had settled down for the evening, everyone quietly going about their nightly activities. Peeking his head out of the red clothed tent, Astarion glanced over to see that Gale had retreated into his and wasn’t coming out until the next morning.

Perfect timing for him to visit you for his nightly feed, but the nudging concern of the plethora of words he wanted to get out to you tonight wasn’t fit for the confines of your tent.

The heat that flushed through his chest upon nearing your tent made him take a deep breath, to which he regretted the moment it was too loud for his liking.

“Astarion? Is that you?”

Your sweet, muffled voice sounded out from inside, and before he could even reach out to open the flap, you’d stepped out into the night to greet him.

“Well, good evening to you too.” he answered, “Eager for my arrival? Or were you expecting someone else?”

He grinned cheekily, making you smile in return. Who else would you be expecting this routinely?

“We’ve been traveling together for how long now? I always know to expect you over anyone else. If it wasn’t you, I’d be worried.” You move to the side to grant him entry to your tent, but he stands still.

“Actually, would you mind taking a walk with me? I’ve got to get out of this camp for a while.”

You agree, letting Astarion lead you down a path to quite a lovely view, one he’s frequented as a moment of peace before heading back to camp from his hunts.

He stops short and from how closely you were walking behind him you bumped into his back, breathing in his scent of bergamot and brandy for a moment before backing away. When he turns towards you, a soft chuckle left his chest.

“I… have something to tell you, and I wanted to not be in camp when I said it.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Wrong? No, I–” he sighs, “There’s just something I need to get off my chest.”

You looked up at him with those kind eyes, already feeling the heat in his stomach, churning his insides into goop. He took your silence as his cue.

“Your blood, which you’ve been kind enough to grant me, helps me focus, yes. But you have an entirely more powerful effect on me. You’re selfless, kind and generous to those around you. Even to me, when I might not have deserved it.”

“Oh, Astarion…”

He puts his hand up to stop you, so much more he has to say.

“You’re, well, everything to me.”

The vampire’s voice breathily skirts over the word, as if it’s the first time he’s admitted it to himself.

“You… you’re a vision. Everyone’s favorite, clearly. The one they all run to when there’s problems they can’t solve on their own. I… adore you for it. For being resilient even when the world may not have been so kind to you in return. You deserve every good thing that’s happened so far.”

“No, I… I’m just doing what anyone else would have.”

“Do you really think that? That me or— gods forbid, Lae’zel would’ve made the same choices?”

“I… don’t know.”

“For a fact, we wouldn’t. I don’t say things like this if they aren’t true, darling. I’m not a man of many words… unlike someone we both know. But that’s not the point. What is, is this. I’m fond of you in more ways than one, and I’m tired of keeping it bottled up. It’s become suffocating ever since this routine became regular for us. I’ve not been sure how to go about telling you all of it, but if I didn’t sooner or later, someone else would take the places I desire to be in. All I know is that whenever you’re not around, I worry, and I think about you constantly.”

He looks relieved upon letting his words settle in the air, wringing his hands together nervously. You’re silent before you take a step closer to him, brushing a curl behind his ear and cupping his cheek.

The stoic, unbothered vampire persona he’d been putting on had slowly worn away upon spending more time with you. It warmed his heart to see you not turn a blind eye to those in need of help, after he’d done so many a time. From reluctantly going along with whatever you said, to taking pride in being part of the ones who brought joy to less fortunate people, he found himself for the first time in two centuries, glad he had found such a soul.

“You’re so…” you sigh, “I’ve been thinking about you too. So much.. I wish you had said something sooner. Then I wouldn’t have spent so many nights wondering if you felt the same. Worrying that I served no other purpose to you. But now…” you trail off, his rubies catching the light, as if they were filled with stars. The rest of your words escaped you, except, “Oh, just kiss me, you damn fool.”

Astarion’s eyelashes fluttered, softening at your words, immediately feeling welcome to step closer. His cold palm cups your cheek as you’ve done to his, bringing you in close to touch your lips with his. One kiss sets him on fire, then another, and he’s pressing further against your mouth. It was almost as if he’d been waiting twice as long to do this with you, as you’ve been eager to do it with him. Your arms wrap around his waist, pulling him into your chest; his natural coolness fills the air between you.

His hands, anxious as they are, softly place themselves onto your waist for the first time. Your lips are warm against his, your everything is warm against him. Intimately and gentle over all.

You pull back from him breathlessly, gods are his lips ever so addicting. Some of his saliva is left on your bottom lip as you do, but it’s not unwelcome. Nothing about him is.

Your foreheads rest against each other, both of you grinning in the moonlight. There’s a light pink tinge to the tips of his ears, Astarion feels weightless in the grasp of your arms.

“Somehow you’ve managed your way into my heart. I wouldn’t want anyone else intertwined so deep. I’m so lucky to have you in my life, Astarion. You mean the world to me.” Your words coat his skin like honey, sticking to him as they echo in his mind.

“You’re such a gift. One of the things in this world I treasure more than anything. Above any gold or trinket I could ever steal.” His thumb caresses the apple of your cheek, your skin tingling under his touch. Astarion could feel the heat in your cheeks from his simple but sweet contact.

“Gods, you’ve always been good with words. Not like anyone I’ve ever met before.”

“None of your past lovers have had such great hair either, I know…” He turns to the side, showing off his profile and the silvery curls adorning his head.

You giggle. Of course he would take a sincere moment to talk about how pretty he was. “Well yes, that, and none have been at my side as diligently as you without second thought.”

“You don’t have to. You make it so easy to show up for you and be by your side… that I don’t even have to try.”

“My sweet star,” you cupped his face now with your palm, “No one as loyal has ever been in my life before. I’m so grateful to have you.”

Astarion’s pearlescent fangs glistened in the moonlight as he grinned, pulling you in for another kiss. You could feel the vibration of his groan on your mouth as he leaned in further, a firm grip on your waist now. He was almost in disbelief of the luck he’d come about, yet here he is, combining his lips with yours and getting to relish in the warmth of your mouth for the first time without that lump in the back of his throat.

You pull back, breathlessly, a string of saliva connecting the two of you before you speak again.

“Wait, do you…” you swallow his taste down, “still want to feed from me tonight?”

“How could I say no…” he replies, “Your blood is so very tasteful. Decadent.. Almost as good as my favorite wine.”

“You don’t need to flatter me, you already own my heart.” You roll your eyes dramatically, but your cheeks reddening just proves how much it actually meant to you.

“Even better in that case, now I can watch you blush without worrying if you feel the same.”

Leading him with your hand in his, the two of you made your way back to camp, taking your sweet time giggling and kissing him while you walked. As you laid down in your tent, Astarion’s hands trailed up your torso, sensitive ears tuned in to your heart rate picking up its pace. The canvas of your neck was too pretty not to kiss, which he took liberty in doing now shamelessly. Each press of his lips against the flow of your blood under your skin only made his hunger grow, but he hadn’t wanted to bite you yet. No, he’d take his time, painting his way across softly.

Upon his third kiss, you began to giggle again, such perfect music to his ears. Not knowing what came over him, his lips attached to your neck again, desperately. Kissing and sucking and nipping ever so lightly with his teeth, that you whined.

“Astarion… you whispered, “You need to feed.”

“I know, my love. But, everyone needs to know you’re mine.” He purred, the tone in his voice making it clear he was not above marking you up.

You giggled again, “Okay, well when you’re done, it’s my turn.”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time…” he flirted, eyes lidded as he looked down upon you.

So you let him continue, marking your neck up with several bruises, before pulling back and gazing at his masterpiece.

“Gods, I tried to be gentle… but I might have gotten carried away a bit. You know how I get around you.”

“Oh, shut it and come here.” As if the two of you couldn’t get closer in proximity, Astarion leaned down to give you access to his neck. You decided on leaving the area with his scars alone, but wrapped your hands around his nape for even more contact. When his body reacted to your soft kisses, his thumbs pressed circles into your waist, breathing became heavier. His forehead dropped onto your shoulder as you continued, sucking and laving on his skin with your tongue, almost rasping with how his hunger surged. He could smell your hot blood just beneath the surface, singing in your veins. His mouth opened, scraping the tops of his fangs against your skin with a light scratch.

“Do it…” you whispered, hearing the growl in his breathing. Without another word, Astarion sunk his fangs into the spot they frequented. What surged over his tongue was decadent, sweet, so thick and familiar that it danced across his tongue with every swallow.

“That’s a good vampire…” One of your hands reached up to stroke the back of his hair, its soft curls sliding through your fingers with ease. A very prominent whine vibrated through the skin of your neck.

Meanwhile the hands on your waist never stopped their soft rubbing up and down as he fed. Within his palms stirred a warmth, something he had been itching to do upon his first feed, it became so overwhelming. That sea of ecstasy he wanted to set adrift in seemed so much nearer now. With you, it would never cease.

He released your neck with a gasp, blood dripping down his lips. Before he could clean himself up, your other hand reached up to swipe it away and let him lick it off your thumb. As he did so, you could’ve sworn his eyes glowed for a second.

“Thank you, my love. For always feeding me so diligently.” Astarion drops a kiss on your cheek, moving himself to lay next to you.

“How else are you supposed to be big and strong for our battles, hm?”

“Certainly not without your beloved blood, that’s what I know. Now, let’s get some rest. Today’s been long enough, no use in making it longer. Although I could stare at you forever…”

“Oh, shush. Goodnight, Astarion.”

“Goodnight, love.”

He pulled you in close to his chest, so you’d fall asleep in his arms, listening to every heartbeat.

Morning came with warm coffee and fresh bread that Gale had picked up before anyone woke. He offered you some along with a nice jam spread he’d made. Before he started along another spiel of talking his head off just to be near you, you moved your hair to the side, exposing your neck littered with red splotches from the night before. The wizard, rendered speechless, was even more surprised when Astarion made his way over and slinked his arm around your waist with a kiss to your temple. He then rushed off, almost dropping his own cup and getting to whatever business he’d be up to in camp.

Across the many days that passed, from the goblin camp, eventually to Baldur’s Gate, your relationship with Astarion became so much more. He was devoted and kind, everything you expected him to be, not just spitting flirtations at you without care. The man knew which names you preferred to be called, ones he knew would have you bending to his every whim.

You didn’t have enough gold to purchase a new knife for him? There he was, whispering into your ear, Darling, the store manager is slowly going over all the different potions with another customer. She won’t even notice its disappearance.

So when you slipped the knife into your pack, he knew he’d gotten what he wanted. Perhaps not the best use of your time, but he took a little joy in corrupting your usual honest self. As a treat to lighten your conscience though, he’d had a necklace engraved from the same shop with his initials. It looked so delicate around your neck, the shine of its metal mirroring the glimmer in your eye.

The soft mattresses of Elfsong Tavern were a blessing; not only did Astarion persuade the barkeep to give you the rooms for free, but the top floor was also all private. Everyone finally got their own space, save for the ones who decided to pair up together.

He would feed from you almost nightly again, save for a few days here and there. Taking his time to kiss your neck, helping clean you up afterwards after he was done. Always using his lithe fingers to rub a healing salve into where he’d bitten. Though it became a guilty pleasure for him to see your eyes closed when he did so, ending up indulging in each other’s lips more often than not. Along the way, your desire for him simmered under your skin, desperate hands traveling across the expanses of his back, across the ridges of his scars ever so gently.

One night you quite literally began grinding up against him, his thigh pressed under yours for a little tease. It was even before he started to feed, that you couldn’t resist him any longer. Your kissing quickly became more feverish, dotting your lips across his face and his neck with wild abandon. It was when you flipped Astarion over to straddle his lap that he caught the ravenous look in your eye.

“What’s gotten into you?” He inquired, hands finding their place on your waist.

“Astarion, has it occurred to you that we haven’t had sex?” You asked in reply, hastily moving your hair out of your face.

“Well, of course it has. I just never wanted you to feel obligated to, if that wasn’t something you were ready for.”

“I wasn’t… not at first. But I trust you much more now than I ever did, and… I don’t think I can hold back anymore. I want to do this with you.”

“You do?”

“I dream every night about how it would be to feel you in that way. To cry your name in pleasure as I…” You trailed off, already recognizing the growing arousal for him stirring.

“Oh… I see my love. This is something you’ve thought about for a while, isn’t it?”

Astarion’s voice borders on genuine concern and his purr-like tone, almost as if he’d been thinking about it as well.

“I’ve thought about it and thought about it to the point where I can’t take the fantasies anymore. I have to have you…” Your voice dripped with desperation, as he noted your scent pricked with desire.

His eyes go lidded, wrecking the image of that sweet vampire persona you’ve come to know and love in a second’s time.

“I’d love nothing more. But if you get uncomfortable, we can stop whenever you’d like. Promise.”

“I promise. I love you, Astarion.”

“And I love you, too. My precious darling.”

Your lips attached to his again, ever fervent than before. You so proudly moaned into his mouth, tasting his tongue swirling around yours. His breathing became heavier, growling into your mouth as his hands slid down to the soft padding of your ass and gripped firmly. The wet sounds of your lips moving together so perfectly sparked the filthiest of desires in his brain.

Pulling apart from him with a gasp, you swallowed before thinking again.

“Wait, there’s one more thing I have to tell you.”

“What is it, pet?”

“That night when you fed on me, it… did something to me. Something I didn’t understand at first, but now I do. It turned me on… and I liked it.” Astarion noted the scent of your lust as you spoke, and the way your heartbeat jumped.

“Oh, you filthy devil. And I thought you were nervous about me feeding from you… When really it was turning you on… making you crave me, hm?”

“I... yes.”

Astarion bit his lip, dragging his eyes down your torso slowly before meeting your eye again.

“And…?”

“And… I would love nothing more than to honor you with my blood once more while we make love.”

Astarion’s fangs make an appearance when he smiles oh so wide, eyes glowing with how much he is relishing in this moment.

“You’re serious?”

“Astarion, take whatever you want from me. take my love, my blood, my body. I trust you. Wholly.”

"You have no idea how much those words mean to me, thank you.”

He pressed his lips to yours passionately, before pulling away to speak again.

“May I confess something, this time, love?”

“Of course.”

“I felt the same when I fed from you.”

“You…”

“Well darling, I can’t lie, I watch your blood slide along your veins whenever I’m close to you. It’s just part of my vampiric nature, but I can’t help it. Not when you’re this addicting,”

“Tell me more…” your hands cupped his cheeks, playing with the stray curls that threatened to fall in front of his face.

“From the first bite… it was such an aphrodisiac, and I couldn’t resist what power it had over me. It felt so wrong at the time, when we weren’t together. To think of you like that, I mean. The blood… took on a life of its own inside me. But now that we’re together… it seems right to tell you.”

“That’s… gods. I don’t blame you at all. I would’ve done the same if I were in your place.” Immediately after your admittance, your cheeks pinked up right quick.

“Oh, really?”

“You’ve got me there, it seems.”

His hips grinded up onto you from below, noting each time his breath hitched between kisses. A hand scraped through his hair, sensation heightening what arousal was already beginning to simmer throughout his body.

“You know… not once did I think you were too rough with your bites. You never even left a bruise… When you were close enough to breathe in my scent, you always made sure it never hurt. And I guess that… along with so many other things… is what made me fall for you. I enjoyed being close to you, I always will.”

“I had to. I couldn’t take something so precious from you without care. I would’ve hated myself if that happened.”

“I admire the strength you had… even for your first time drinking from a human. What an honor.”

“The fact that you continue to bless me with your blood is just another testament to our bond. Thank you for trusting me.” One of his hands slinked its way down and interlocked with yours, thumb rubbing the top of your hand delicately.

“I always will,” you replied, bringing his hand up to your lips and pressing a soft kiss to it.

“May I ask for just a little taste before we… dive head first into each other? A petite one, at that.”

You smiled. As if he’d ever have to go hungry again with you.

“Anything you want, my star.”

“Perfect…”

His eyes closed in bliss at the sneaky idea he’d just thought up. “Turn around for me, I want to try something.”

You sat with your legs sprawled out, with Astarion out of your view.

“Close your eyes, darling.”

You did as you were told, awaiting his first move. Astarion’s contact began with one of his hands running up your back triggering a flurry of goosebumps to rise across your skin. You exhaled shakily, intrigued by what he had in mind, but also the aching need for him continued to grow.

That same hand moved to the right side of your neck, resting his fingers over your pulse point to take in how fast it was pumping that rich blood through your system.

But he wouldn’t bite you just yet.

His second hand wrapped around your waist, doing the same motion of small circles after slipping his hand under your shirt. You felt his breath turn to a low snarl against your neck, running his left hand across your stomach to your midriff and down the cloth of your pants.

That hand rubbed over your crotch as he finally sunk his fangs in, leaning into his chest. Sharp coldness of said bite turned to pleasurable and warm quicker than you could expect.

Your whole body warmed under his touch, the same heat filling you as it did on the night of his first bite. Except there was no shame or reason to hide it this time. So you welcomed it, along with the filthy desires that followed.

Your bottom lip caught between your teeth, moaning low in his ear as he drank, with your head tilted to the side. His cold hand on the cloth of your mound only made matters worse, lifting your hips up for more friction. Gripped firmly under his hands, you could tell Astarion was smiling by the way his lips moved over where he had bitten.

He lets up quickly after a few gulps, satisfied with his little drink.

When your head falls back onto his shoulder, glancing upwards to the red lipped vampire, he catches the glimmer of your hazed eyes.

“Oh, there’s the spark.”

“Astarion…” you whined, unwilling to keep your desire for him under wraps. There was no point in doing so, he had you right where he wanted you.

“Ah, you don’t have to say another word. I already know, darling.”

His lips, stained with the crimson of your blood, press against yours again, moving his left hand to the waistband of your pants.

The other that’s cradling your neck travels downwards, fingertips sliding over your shirt to grasp at your breast, nipple hardening under his light touch. All he has to do is rub over it once, before it made an appearance through the cloth.

You aren’t wearing anything else under your shirt. Cheeky, he thought.

“Your whole body’s been waiting for me to take you since that first day, hm?” A soft, massaging grip from his hand continued on the plush of your breast.

“Mmnh… yes,” you whisper, “Please…”

“Shh, sh sh sh. It’s alright. I’ve got you right where I want you.”

You look to him, buzzing with eagerness in your eyes and plead again silently for him to touch you. The eager hand at your navel slips into your underwear, inching towards where you truly need him. To find you completely soaked wasn’t much of a surprise.

Two of his fingers part your drenched folds apart, licking his lips at the knowledge of how much slick is gushing from you. With his fingertips, he ghosts over your aching clit once before traveling downwards again and pressing into your wet entrance ever so slowly. Not only do they slip inside almost immediately, but the sound that leaves you is incomprehensible compared to the ones you were making before.

His digits are welcomed with no resistance, as if he couldn’t tell how alight your body became under his touch. Even through your clothes, the squish as they drag against your walls is enough to make him groan appreciatively. You gasp, the intrusion of such a different temperature compared to your own, noting the undeniable pleasure when he finally manages to find that sweet spot inside you.

Letting them rest against it for a moment before curling to his leisure stretches you out so nicely for him. Any upper body strength holding you up faded faster than light, falling against his broad chest with ease.

You moan his name without a single thought, the apples of his cheeks pinking up from your glorious sounds that no one else was lucky enough to experience. It was music to his ears. How desperately he let the electricity form, tingling its way around on his skin. Slowly letting his own enjoyment build out of dragging his fingers in and out of you, he attuned to the hammering of your heart against his chest.

Astarion took pride in every whine you let out upon the motion of his fingers, letting his thumb rub circles into your clit while he did so.

“Gods, I want to undress you with my teeth… take my time with you… forever if I could.” he purred in your ear, earning him another breathy moan from you.

“I can hardly resist you. Don’t make me–”

“Beg? Oh, but that would be such a nice look on you…”

“Astarion…”

“Relax, darling.”

You melt under his touch at the command, eliciting a proud smile from him from the knowledge that you’re wrapped around his finger. It’s not surprising how you already feel your arousal peaking from his simple touches, his heavy breath in your ear only urging you on further. Already eager to feel you clench around his fingers as you come undone.

“You’re so close already, pet. Want to come on my fingers so bad, hm?”

“Yes,” you whisper, “Please…”

“Then come for me.”

The next circle over your clit sends you soaring over the edge, breathing heavily and whining with a blinding release. Astarion’s lips peck and lick softly over your neck as you do so, relishing in the scent of pure ecstasy you emit. He’s already itching to be inside your walls, but desires to savor your taste on his tongue beforehand, as if he could be sustained from only that.

He knows the way you write underneath his hands is only because of him, which only makes him grow harder tenfold. As his fingers pull out of your underwear, the sheen of your slick is such a sight to his eyes. Astarion is quick to bring your fingers to his mouth, letting your aroma fill his nose before indulging himself with you on his tongue. His eyes close upon your taste, almost as good as your blood, but nonetheless, one that takes hold of his mind so strongly, he can’t think of much else.

“Your taste is like nothing else…”

He crawls around you to your front, pushing you back onto the pillow behind him.

“I must have more of you…”

“Take whatever you want from me.”

Astarion’s nifty hands pull both your pants and underwear down in one motion, not before noting how soaked your garments were and discarding them behind him. Between your legs was such a mess, one he undoubtedly caused; seeing you like this though, in the shallow wake of your high coursing through you, was where he found himself entranced.

As if that wasn’t enough of an image to sear into his brain, you discarded your shirt off to the side, tired of the confining layers that kept him from seeing all of you.

“I knew you were a vision, but this… not even the gods could find enough time to worship at your altar. You’re perfect.” His last compliment is admitted almost breathlessly, as if he’d walked in on a painter sculpting their muse.

“Stop with the flattery and get up here.”

Astarion compiled, meeting your lips with his while his hand grazed down your chest, fingertips like drops of cool water in between the sensitive skin of your cleavage. The stark difference in his body temperature made a chill run up your spine, turning on the most sensitive parts of you so easily.

Your lips intertwined moan after moan with his, while the touch of his hand traveled to your nipple. Another trails feather light across the expanse of your thigh. One flick of his thumb against it, and you were rutting up towards his body again.

“Do you like that?” he murmured, too entranced with how you look below him.

“Mhm… do it again.”

He needs no further encouragement, diligently placing each way you like to be touched into a perfect little spot in his mind. Your mind is empty of anything else other than his hands on your body, exploring every inch. The echo of your voice in his ears does more than enough to spur him on. His subtle flick over your hardened bud is like a switch, setting your whole body off.

You grip at the hair atop his head, pushing him down towards the apex of your legs. What you don’t expect is his lips to travel with the movement, pressing a path from your jawline down your neck, not before stopping to kiss and lick once or twice over each hardened peak and soft skin surrounding them. It then follows down your stomach to your navel before his tongue comes into play, laving over them the slightest bit through each kiss.

When he comes face to face with your core, Astarion can’t control the way he begins to salivate at the sight. He’s breathing so heavily still, your scent of lust and sweat wafting around his head. He leans down, expecting to feel his tongue on you, but instead he kisses your pubic mound with appreciation, hooking his arm over your thigh.

“Astarion…”

He knows what you want, what you need from him, and he’s quick to indulge. He leans further down to your sensitive parts, and can’t help but run two fingers through you again to see how you shine. That ecstasy he took from licking you off his fingers would be nothing compared to diving in head first to your joyous arousal. When his eyelashes flutter and go hooded, it’s no surprise that he finally leans in, tongue first starting from your dripping entrance and all the way up to right over your sensitive button. His tongue laps at your opening, swirling and darting around to collect and devour every drop of your sweetness.

The tip of his nose prods at your clit just enough to make you clench, each of the rogue’s movements calculated and determined to relish in how you spread across his tongue. When he swallows, a moan of content vibrates through you and your head falls back in gratification. It made his nose against your clit much more hypersensitive and your hips almost began stuttering upwards for more.

Astarion’s multi talented tongue threatened to send you over the edge once more, but you nudged him a certain way and he let up.

“You taste so good, I can’t get enough of you. My love…” His hand stroked your inner thigh softly, an action of comfort that only sent another jolt through you.

“You’ve already made me come once and I haven’t even gotten the chance to touch you yet…” you whined, knowing all this pleasure taken should be given in return. Especially for a man such as himself. Your mouth watered thinking about it.

“Oh, darling,” he laid a kiss on your heat, “You don’t have to do a thing for me.”

“You’re very sweet, but if I don’t get to have you as you’ve had me, I will lose my mind. Now…”

The assertiveness you commanded over him did nothing but command him to obey, unwrapping himself from your thighs before sitting up. Your eyes immediately traveled down to his crotch, where his pants did very little to obscure his tenting beneath the fabric. Without another thought, you push him back onto the bed to straddle him, grinding your bare cunt against his cock. The friction is incomprehensible, but you must stay focused; this was about him now.

Your hands lock around the nape of his neck, only letting one of your wrists trail over his lips. His first instinct is to kiss it, but then he remembers why you both are here. Your blood continues to pump loudly in his ears, its aroma still prominent in his mind.

“Go ahead, I know you want to…” you spoke in a low voice, goading him on to sink his fangs in. His head lowers, red eyes lidded and locked on yours. He abides, the quiet squelch into your wrist paired with the sting of his teeth’s sharpness a minor pain at this point for you.

The slow pulls he takes immediately pink his cheeks and tips of his ears up so much so, you thought he might’ve been feverish if he wasn’t of vampiric nature. Out of curiosity, you ran your fingertip over the pinkness in his ear to find it warm– hot, even. Astarion released your wrist with a whine, gasping at your sudden contact.

“Sorry, did that hurt?”

“N-No… do it again, please…” He whispers his last word, the alluring persona washing away with every small rub, whining even louder this time. Within your teasing, Astarion takes liberty to heal your wrist and kiss it once the puncture marks faded away.

His head falls back in bliss, feeling the warmth of his blood travel down his throat with your hand. It lightly trails down his jaw, your thumb lightly ghosting over his adams apple as he swallows down the rest. Astarion whimpers something pathetic, the weight of you over his cock making it throb unnecessarily harder than it already was.

“Did my blood just… do that?” You glanced downwards at the erection you straddled.

“I think so,” he replied breathlessly, passionately connecting your lips with his.

“Let’s get these off you. That does not look comfortable and… I want to make you feel so good…”

“That sounds delectable, pet.” Astarion replies, letting your greedy little hands find their way to the bottom of his shirt to discard it.

You paused a moment before going any further, taking in the picture of him below you. What a vast expanse of his chest that has your eyes glowing, as his rubies look upward to you. You kiss him once more, peppering kisses down his sharp jawline to the sensitive skin between his pecs and flitting your tongue across his nipples in the same nature that he’d done to you.

“Hah-” you hear him gasp, knowing you’re doing something right. He intently listens to your heart rate and how fast your blood is pumping through your body while you travel down his own. Kissing your way to his navel and licking softly, pulling the cutest little moans from him. The strong ridges of his torso are next for your lips, letting your tongue drag across it from time to time. Your hands tug his pants down over the length of his prominent bulge.

You discard them ever so quickly, his cock springing up eagerly, as pretty as the rest of him. His pink tip throbs in the cooler air, finally freed from his tight clothing.

“Gods damn…” You muttered in disbelief. Of course such a pretty man would have a pretty cock to go along with the rest of him.

“Look at what you do to me…” Astarion whines, biting his lip and tossing his head back. He doesn’t have to say anything else before you’re lowering your mouth and kissing his tip, lightly dragging your tongue over his slit, desperate to please. His cock twitches, standing even more upright against his toned stomach.

“You’re perfect… in every way.” You comment, looking up at him before wrapping a warm hand around his base. It’s as if you could feel all of the blood he’s consumed pumping through him while in your hand. You inch up his shaft, letting your palm cover his tip completely to hear him whimper again.

“Ah–”

What makes him grow even harder is the gaze in your eyes as you continue to fist him, the way your lips are parted and your tongue threatening to escape again. Astarion doesn’t expect your other hand to massage his balls, only earning you an even higher pitched moan from him.

Before he knows, you’re bending down again, flitting your tongue over his slit to taste the salty precome. Your soft lips roam down his length, leaving the sweetest of kisses as you continue. His chest heaves, whole body firing up in response. When your hands are replaced by the warmth of your mouth and your tongue down the side of his cock, he almost cums right then and there.

But he indulges you, letting your movements continue and swallows down what noisy sounds he would’ve made. The moment he does, you lift off him with a knowing look.

“Let me hear you, please,” you ask, your vampire nodding before raking one of his hands through your hair. Your warm mouth continues, before his hips begin stuttering and his curses switch to unintelligible whining again. After all the teasing and pushing all the right buttons on his body, you’re seemingly about to send him barreling towards his release with the consistency of your mouth on him. Licking the side of his cock as you move up and down, lips red and swollen from the friction. You look a perfect mess with your saliva covering him and doing so willingly on him like this.

“Gods, I’m going to–”

“Come…” you plead, “for me…”

That’s all Astarion needs to hear, hips stuttering as he bucks into your mouth, spilling down your throat with a groan that tapers off into a content whimper of your name. You swallow every drop of his spend and ease him down from the peak of his high. Chest heaving, you release him with a pop, cock twitching in the open air, dripping and still half hard. A sheen of sweat covers his forehead, glistening in the light of the room.

“Thank you, my darling.” Astarion leans down, cupping your cheek with his hand and kissing you, tasting himself on your lips.

“You look so pretty when you come…” you reply, wiping the extra saliva off your mouth.

“Not as pretty as I’m going to look when I fuck you.” His voice lowers to a purr, immediately bringing you closer to him with his strength. “You'll take every inch, won’t you?”

“Mhm,” You whimper in reply as Astarion crawls over you, dragging his fingers ever so lightly over your torso.

“Now tell me, did you touch yourself while thinking about me?” Your face is too quick to give you away to deny it, feeling your cheeks heat up. That’s enough of an answer for him.

“You did, didn’t you? Don’t be shy. I want to hear that dirty little mouth admit it.”

“Yes, I did. I… fucked myself with my fingers wishing it was you. I got off on the high your bite gave me. Gods…” You cover your face in embarrassment, but there was no admitting that to him with a straight face.

“It’s alright, little love. No need to be embarrassed. I did too. My mind said no, but my body, filled with your blood, might I add, said yes. I dreamed of you laid out like this for me, so many damn times before I ever thought about it being real.” His hand pulls yours away from covering how much your cheeks are pinked up at the admittance of such a thing.

“My tongue still remembers the way your blood tastes, you know. I can’t wait to fuck into you and taste you again.”

“Please… please, please…” you whimper, finally at the crux of your fantasy where it becomes reality. All the nights you spent forcing yourself to be quiet, coming with a whisper of his name, were your real life now.

“Please, what?”

With the way he hovers over you now, his cock rests just over your navel, almost perfectly lining up with how it’ll fit inside you.

“Bite me– drink my blood as you put your cock inside… I want to feel it grow.” You mewl, and when he growls with that all knowing smile, you know he’ll give you what you want.

Your lips smash together this time, ever so hungrily, almost bordering on needy. Astarion pulls back for a moment, before letting his eyes drop to the pulsing point on your neck to lean down and meet it with a kiss.

There’s nothing like the cold sharp sting of his fangs that soon melts into the purest form of euphoria as he slowly drinks, tongue greedily sweeping over the marks he’s made. The way he murmurs little strings of praise upon his approval against your throat, with blood covered lips.

His tip prods at your entrance, pushing in slowly but with no resistance to the hilt before he’s consumed too much. Between the pulls he takes from your neck, he’s groaning with each swallow. Your blood sings inside him, truly feeling the aphrodisiac that is your essence of life. It consumes him, taking over the vast inches of his pale skin. Astarion’s grip on your body becomes the thing he clings to, letting his hands find your waist and back of your neck again. He pulls you closer to him, attempting to override the high he’s been put on, but he falls short just the slightest bit.

From this point you were overjoyed to finally feel the drag of his cock against your walls, going from filled to the hilt to somehow even deeper, your blood filling him as he has filled you. It was poetic in a sense, erotic, and if you weren’t so lost in the high his bite was giving you, you could have cried at this ever so perfect moment.

Finally he releases your neck with a gasp, apples of his cheeks pinked up, and eyes shimmering. Astarion is grinning ear to ear as he looks down on you, triggering a blissed out smile from your own lips.

“How do I look?” you ask, slurring your words a little.

“Beautiful. Like you always do.” When he asks, “Did you feel it?” in a low voice, you know he’s growing so impatient.

“Mhm… fuck me… fuck me so good, the way you know how, Astarion.”

Your moan again as his lips collide with yours, the first few thrusts of his cock slow and methodical. He angles his hips in such a way to hit that spongy sweet spot inside of you without trying, relishing in the friction of your walls.

“So ready for me, and still so tight. Fuck, you were made for me, weren’t you? Hah–”

His voice drips with lavishness, a devoted tone and desperate to please.

“Astarion… faster, please…”

He says no more, only growling in agreement as his hips pick up the pace. He smiles blissfully while his thrusts find a steady pace inside you. It’s even harder to not lose himself like he has in your neck several times before, soaked in happiness as his pace evens out. What a mistake he makes as he looks down at your neck, becoming so much more difficult not to lose all control and rut into you like a cat in heat.

You moan out his name, every thrust a commitment to giving you his all each and every day he’s with you.

“Again,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Astarion.” his mouth is on you again, eager for another taste, snagging your lip with his fang.

“Again.”

He commands in a tone that leaves no room for second thought. The friction of his cock against your walls, swallowing him in repeatedly, as if it were what your body was made for, brings you barreling towards your release. It’s when he reaches down where the two of you meet in the most intimate way, that you lose all train of thought. Your mind goes fuzzy as his fingers swirl at your clit, your combined fluids doing enough to lubricate the way he circles over your clit.

“I’m going to…”

“Come for me… Please darling, gods, please…”

The ruthless pace he keeps up in order to come with you will definitely leave you sore in the morning, along with bloodlessness and at much too many disadvantages. But in this moment, you just don’t care– sharing this pure hot bliss and pleasure with Astarion has tied your souls together for eternity.

So when his hips stutter again, holding himself inside you as he paints your walls with his warm cum, is when you know he’s yours forever. You shatter around him, clenching uncontrollably that he almost comes a second time. Both your movements slow to a halt, catching your breath as your heartbeats continue to pound in your ears.

“I love you, thank you…” Your voice is hoarse, but appreciative, as you speak

“I love you, infinitely more…” He returns your sweet words.

When Astarion lays down next to you, he can’t quite help the throb of his heart in an endless river of warmth. You’ve put him there, not just physically, but spiritually and mentally. Within his heart he knows he can love and trust you like this till the end of his days.

#devnmon writes #ryes ff #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion smut #astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin #dividers by enchanthings #spawn astarion smut #spawn astarion fanfic #spawn astarion #astarion acunin #bg3 astarion #astarion baldurs gate #dividers by sister lucifer #blood divider by belliewie #dividers by saradika

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mephisto-reporting · 5 months ago

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Silk, Satin and Sensual - Caleb Edition

Premise: Headcanons on his preferences for lingerie and his reaction when he sees you in them. Based on this request. Pairing: Reader x Caleb. You can find all the other men's version here (along with Caleb's because I added that to it) Note: Reader and the men are in a relationship. This is suggestive. Please do not interact if you are a minor. . If you wanted to be added to my taglist, please DM, ask or comment :D Content warning: Suggestive. MNDI.

Caleb prefers lingerie that’s just for him—sexy yet teasing, revealing enough to drive him mad but covering just enough to make him desperate.

Caleb gravitates toward sleek, understated sensuality. He favors deep, alluring colors like navy, black, and dark burgundy, shades that hint at elegance but still feel undeniably intimate. However, he has a soft spot for delicate lilacs and soft purples, especially when they complement your skin.

Minimal but devastatingly effective designs have him on edge. Thin straps barely holding everything together, high-cut panties that accentuate your legs, delicate bralettes that are more about aesthetics than practicality. He loves when the details like lace appliques or ribbon ties demand his attention. Anything he can tug, unravel, or ruin.

Let’s be real. Caleb is not a man who delicately undresses you. He’s been patient his entire life, watching, waiting, restraining himself. The moment you’re finally his? He’s not taking his time. “You knew what would happen when you put this on, didn’t you?” His voice is low, rough—before the sound of tearing lace fills the room.

If you ever wonder why pieces of your lingerie mysteriously disappear, don’t. Caleb takes them when you’re not looking, slipping them into his uniform pockets or luggage when he’s preparing for deployment. He’s possessive, obsessive, and when he’s away on fleet missions, he wants something of yours to keep with him. A delicate lace garter? A silk chemise you once wore to bed? He’ll tuck them away like trophies, running his fingers over them late at night, mind filled with thoughts of you.

He’s a man who gives gifts with purpose. He knows exactly what you want, and he knows what he wants. If he’s getting you that plushie you mentioned offhandedly, or the book you’ve been dying to read, you will find a carefully wrapped lingerie set alongside it. Every gift is a two-for-one deal—his way of spoiling you while satisfying his own desires. Tucked inside, there’s always a note with cheeky messages: "Making dinner tonight. But if you wear this, you'll be the dessert."

Caleb is the picture of patience in public. He knows what you’re wearing underneath your dress—he saw you put it on, watched every slow movement in the mirror. But he doesn’t let it show. Not a single twitch of his lips, not a single shift in his stance. He leans down, lips brushing your ear, his voice impossibly calm: “You’re going to regret this later.”

There is one thing that drives him past the point of no return— his clothes on you. Seeing you in his oversized shirt is one thing, but if he catches you lounging in his boxers? He’s done. His fingers dig into the waistband, his voice a rough whisper against your ear. “You must really like testing me, huh?” His breath is hot against your neck, his hands already tugging the waistband lower. Any plans you had for the day? Gone.

His Reaction:

When you step into the room, wearing something meant just for him, his expression darkens immediately. There’s a brief flicker of something feral in his purple eyes—desire, possessiveness, raw hunger. He doesn’t say a word at first, just stands there, his breath held. “You expect me to behave after this?” His patience is frayed, and it's clear he’s barely holding onto his composure.

Try to tease him, make him work for it and he’ll let you, for a moment. He enjoys the chase, the way you think you’re in control. But the moment he decides he’s had enough? You’re done for. One second, he’s watching you with quiet intensity, and the next, you’re beneath him, your wrists pinned, your breath stolen by the sheer force of his presence.

When he touches you, it’s as if he can’t get enough—his fingers move with purpose, reverence, but there’s an undeniable urgency. “You’re mine. Always.” And with that, his lips crash against yours, taking what’s his. There’s no gentle teasing here—this is pure, unfiltered desire. It’s clear there’s no going back now. You’ve pushed him past the point of no return. The soft, teasing lace may have been your choice—but now everything that happens from there is his.

AN: reblogs, feedback and opinions are appreciated!

Taglist: @cordidy, @natimiles @leighsartworks216 @notisekais @raining4food @fallthelong @pomegranatepip @juliuscaesarsstabbedback @krystallevine @lemurianmaster @nenggie @loverindeepspace @sinsodom

#love and deepspace #caleb x reader #love and deepspace caleb #lads #lnds #lads caleb #caleb #caleb smut #caleb fanfic #caleb drabble #caleb love and deepspace #caleb lnds #love and deepspace smut #lnds smut #love and deepspace x reader #lnds x reader

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lullabyes22-blog · 9 months ago

Note

Real talk because you are THE resident Silco expert and all your headcanons are 100% correct: why does fandom think Silco would be good in bed? (Or good at sex at all?)

I've seen headcanons about him being a giver, and about his dick game being fire, and while he's a sexy, charismatic man, I feel like he's too... selfish, insecure, and just not a romantic guy. He's also a very bitter, lonely, and angry dude. Idk, it makes sense he would have some kinks but I feel like he'd be too much of a bitch to care for anyone else in bed. I guess he'd want it rough, and I've read some fics where he's a sadist, but I feel like it'd just be a quick fuck to satisfy himself, not a slow, passionate, sensual thing.

idk, do with this what you will.

I agree - with nuance 💗

Silco - at least as I write him in FNF - is principally a headfuck. If he's demonstrating an interest in you, then he wants something from you. If he's nice to you, there's a bottom line. No act of generosity comes without strings attached, and every small kindness comes at a terrible price. That aspect of cold-blooded calculus is never far away from his base nature, which splits the world into assets and liabilities, and his own actions into a transaction of cost versus reward.

With that in mind, he excels, not at sex, but at getting his partners to do what he wants them to do. For him, it's one of the many fluid ways of expressing power, and demonstrating his mastery over the subtleties of the human body and mind.

A few readers have noticed that he comes across as very detached and controlled during FnF's sex scenes - and that they read as weirdly voyeuristic. That always delights me, because it's an intentional choice. He doesn't really see his partner as anything beyond a medium to his goals, so his focus is entirely on their physical responses and his own actions. His narration is distant, observational and impersonal, because he doesn't experience sex as something that involves an emotional or empathetic connection. Rather, he's gauging how his target's responses play out on a physical plane, and he's calibrating his own actions to maximise their impact.

To give credit where credit is due, he's very intelligent, patient and observant. There is also some realistic backing to the running gag that Good D is invariably attached to Bad Men. More specifically, Bad Broke Men. Silco has not grown up in a position of privilege or wealth. He has been forced to make use of every available resource. He has survived by the skin of his teeth on a constant knife edge of deprivation, hunger and fear.

He's a scrapper. He's a survivor. He's an opportunist.

And to be any of those things, you need to know your way around people: their wants and weaknesses. That's the foundation for the idea that he's good in bed - that he can anticipate his partner's desires, and respond accordingly. The difference is, his actions have no romantic underpinning. It's a matter of pure pragmatism and self-interest.

In terms of technical skill, he's likely very good at finding his partner's pressure points, both literal and figurative, and exploiting them. But if it were up to him, he'd find a way to turn the thumbscrews with nothing more than a well-chosen word and a cold look. The sex is just a generality, and his enjoyment a function of their compliance.

When it comes to actual intimacy?

My friends, he'd be spectacularly bad.

Not just bad, but skittish, hostile and hopelessly inept. He'd feel like an accomplished stage actor who has to step out onto the boards for an improv class. He hasn't got the right lines, he isn't dressed for the part, and he isn't even sure what role he's supposed to be playing. He'd be so awkward, he'd actually have trouble looking his partner in the eyes. The sum total of his sexual ouvre would devolve into the following comedy of errors:

"What the fuck is this?"

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Don't touch me there."

"This is going well, right?"

"Why can't I get it up?"

"I can't do this."

"Leave me alone."

"Where are you going?"

"Don't leave me."

"They always leave me."

"Why does everyone leave me?"

And he'd only spiral deeper into self-loathing and isolation. To submit to intimacy is to open oneself up to the mortifying ordeal of being known, and the constant risk of rejection. To Silco, it is anathema. Actual emotional vulnerability during sex would be not unlike attending his own public execution.

But.

Silco is not a one-note villain, much less a one-trick pony. He has a human history riven in deprivation, bloodshed and betrayal. He's remade himself from a 'weak' man into the premier kingpin of Zaun, but that predatory bracing still hides remnants of the soft-natured idealist he once was. In fact, he's the product of a deeply embedded internal conflict between two distinct versions of himself. The one who seeks to burn his enemies, and the one who seeks to save his city. He's also, as demonstrated by his love for Jinx, capable of profound devotion, loyalty, and a deep-seated longing for companionship.

That means the potential for romance exists. It's just buried deep, deep, deep down beneath years of abuse, neglect, trauma, and self-imposed barriers. If he meets someone who can dismantle those barriers, or bypass them altogether and earn his trust, there is a ray of hope.

Sex would still be frightening and uncomfortable, and it'd involve a lot of trial and error. But it'd also have the potential to be deeply healing. Not because Silco would become a better man, but because his partner would make him want to try. He'd also bring the same intense focus, intelligence, and determination to the task that he applies to his criminal empire - which means that, once he does have his sea legs, Silco would have the potential to become a truly giving lover.

It's all about context.

And the context is always: will he take the gamble when he has nothing to lose, and everything to gain?

#arcane #arcane league of legends #arcane silco #silco #forward but never forget/xoxo #asks #forward (never forget)/xoxo #arcane jinx #jinx #arcane headcanon #arcane headcanons #arcane meta #silco headcanons #silco headcanon #silco x reader

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dreamersparacosm · 2 months ago

Text

jeon jungkook - off the record (part three)

part three ; iced oat milk latte, no sweetener

warnings ; jungkook being a bitch, oc planning his murder once again </3

prompt ; in which you’re paired with your insufferably charming ex-academic rival turned coworker to cover a congressional scandal, and suddenly, professional boundaries becomes the only thing holding you two apart.

note ; hi, hello, bonjour, hola, ciao!!!! before we get into this whole mess, i want to start by apologizing for the hunger games reference… i fear i am rereading the series and all i can offer up is metaphors and similes having to do with katniss everdeen

anyway! we get a tiny tiny peek into a nicer jk (before he snatches that back up in his paw real fast), we meet monroe in all her political glory, and we also meet Rosalie!!!!! she is kinda maybe important (i mean, did you even look at the index… homegirl has an extra dedicated to her) so pay ATTENTION to those good ol context clues

ok that’s all i have to offer besides hugs n kisses. MWAHHH

playlist here

series masterlist here

Mondays in Washington D.C are a bloodsport.

You’re essentially Katniss Everdeen with a college degree, wielding a Macbook Air and a slightly chewed Pilot G2 instead of a bow and arrow, and tragically, there’s no Peeta tossing you bread.

You’ve accepted your role in the arena — not because you’re necessarily winning this specific Monday (though rewriting a headline three times while simultaneously ghosting two former sources does deserve some kind of medal), but because in this moment, you recognize just how good you are at your job.

This Monday, with Jenna sitting across from you in the cafeteria, a small, satisfied smile curved upon her lips and an iced green tea creating its own little puddle on the table, you feel like you’ve just shot an arrow through the Gamemakers’ roast pig.

“You,” she says, pointing at you with a manicured finger, “are single-handedly keeping CNN afloat.”

You arch a brow, leaning back into the faux leather chair, “Just me? Not the seasoned journalists or the guy in graphics who hasn’t taken a day off since the Obama years?”

“Okay, yes, but they didn’t just lock down the most exclusive interview of all time while also managing two live hits in one afternoon.” Her eyes are sparkling as she takes a sip of her watered-down concoction. “Honestly, if I were five years younger and less emotionally stable, I'd be deeply threatened by you.”

You grin, warmth flooding your chest. You’ve always admired Jenna; beyond her credentials, which includes three promotions before the age of 30, she also knows how to wield power with elegance.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“It was,” she settles her drink back down on the table. “You have been on fire lately. Monroe, the security reform story, that exclusive with Whitford’s aide… I’ve gotta say, you’re giving me a run for my money.”

The cafeteria isn’t busy at this time of day. There’s a few lingering presences, some interns loitering by the salad bar while they talk about happy hour plans neither of you will be invited to.

Your 1-on-1’s with Jenna have always been incredibly informal; the two of you opt to sit in the lunchroom, discuss any updates to stories you’re chasing down, and she pretends that she needs to edit anything you write even though she trusts you more than her own husband.

“Well, Monroe kinda fell in my lap,” you shrug. “Sheer stroke of luck.”

Jenna laughs, a full-bellied one that makes you feel like maybe you can breathe a little today. Hell, maybe you’ll take that “mental health walk” you keep scheduling on your calendar but happen to neglect every time it rolls around.

“I don’t even care,” she shakes her head. “I needed something real meaty this month. If I have to greenlight another story about the president’s favorite dog breed, I will walk into the Potomac.”

“Tell me again why you keep me around?” you tease.

“You might be the only person left who doesn’t make me regret going into journalism.”

“Flattery gets you everywhere, Jenna.”

She takes the hair tie off her wrist and pretends to launch it at you, and you both fall into a fit of giggles before she sits up suddenly like she just remembered she left her curling iron on. “Oh! Before I forget, the gala’s Friday.”

You pause in your tracks. Full record scratch, pause, tape spooling, rewinding. “The what now?”

“You know, the White House Correspondents gala. Annual festival of denial. Open bar, basically prom for people who peaked at Model UN? Ringing any bells?”

It’s actually ringing so many bells you feel like you’re in church. It’s Washington’s annual act of self-congratulation. Officially, it’s the White House Correspondents’ Dinner Afterparty, but everyone calls it what it is: White House Prom. A glitzy, overfunded fever dream where senators and editors and press reps drink bourbon under chandeliers, interns get stuck holding coats, and everyone pretends they haven’t been arguing over bylines all year.

A night where policy meets pageantry and somehow always ends with someone crying in the bathroom over budget cuts.

You groan obnoxiously. “God. Is that already here? I thought we canceled it after last year’s incident.”

“You mean when a Reuters editor sang ‘WAP’ on a table? Yeah, no. Tradition lives on.”

“I swear if I have to talk to one more sweaty political aide about how much they ‘respect the hell out of my work,’ I’m going to fake an international assignment.” True story, unfortunately.

You watch behind Jenna as the interns file out of the lunchroom after playing with lettuce and gossiping for five minutes straight.

“Still at the Hay Adams?” you follow up.

“Ballroom this year,” Jenna confirms. “Bigger space.”

You nod, mostly to yourself. It’s not mandatory, but it’s expected. Like flossing. Or staying neutral on Twitter.

“Yippee,” you grit out in faux excitement. “Lucky us.”

Jenna hums, then leans in with the type of expression normally reserved for the latest staffer-on-staffer affair. Your spine automatically mirrors her posture, because this is Washington and you can never predict what’ll come out of her mouth, even if it’s just about someone's bad Botox.

“Also, I probably shouldn’t be saying this yet..” she trails off, inspecting her nail polish, then glancing around as if the interns never fled the room. “...But you’re being considered for the next internal bump.”

You blink. “Bump?” Cocaine at this hour seems like overkill.

“Promotion,” she clarifies. “Senior Correspondent.”

Your whole body locks up, brain short-circuiting for a second before kicking into high gear.

You can’t tell if this is because of the Monroe thing or the Whitford aide or the years you’ve spent out-scooping your colleagues while surviving on six hours of sleep. Probably all of the above.

Either way, your heart is breakdancing. You’re really trying to look like it isn’t.

“That’s…” you nod slowly. “Cool.”

Cool. Cool? That’s what you go with? Jesus Christ. You sound like a hungover intern.

“Would you want to interview for it?” she asks amusedly.

Would you—

Okay. No. No squealing. No weird excited noises. No blacking out. Breathe and say something coherent that conveys hunger, capability, and an IQ higher than 119.

“I’d be open to it,” you say, like a person who hasn’t already mentally rewritten her resume and picked out what she’s wearing for the panel interview.

Jenna smirks knowingly. “Nice. I’ll let higher-ups know.”

“Does… anyone else know?”

The question slips out before you can stop it. You don’t necessarily know who you’re alluding to. Maybe Emma, maybe that guy Paul who sits two rows away from you and is always blasting NPR in his AirPods.

“If you’re asking if we’re evaluating anyone else for this, the answer is I don’t know,” she crosses her arms over her chest. “But… they do need my approval to go through, and I haven’t put anyone up for review yet.”

The ‘except for you’ is silent.

She pushes back her chair, grabs her mostly waterlogged green tea, now just a cup of sadness and regret. You follow her lead, still feeling slightly shell-shocked in the best possible way.

Walking out of the worn-down cafeteria with her, shoes tapping against the tile, mind already spinning with possibilities, you feel oddly at peace.

And maybe that’s why you love Mondays in D.C so much.

Not because they’re easy or slow or remotely tolerable.

But because sometimes, they remind you of exactly who the hell you are.

And that, makes the bloodsport kind of worth it.

The chair squeaks every time you shift, which wouldn’t be a problem if it wasn’t the only sound in the room.

The White House has many rooms. Historic ones, important ones, also some where actual history is made. This is not one of those rooms. This is one of the weird, vaguely depressing interview rooms they trot out for second-tier people. You know, deputy communications directors, committee aides. That one Assistant Secretary who went viral for being hot, then immediately got canceled for a tweet he wrote in 2011 about dogs wearing pants.

An overpriced chandelier slightly swings above you, lighting the space aggressively. Your chair is wooden, tilted approximately 97 degrees like it wants you to develop scoliosis.

Still, you made it. You’re here. Not even fashionably early. Stupidly early.

You blame the adrenaline. Your meeting with Jenna earlier left you jittery, and no, it had nothing to do with the four Celsius’ you ingested. The notebook in your lap, which currently looks like it’s been through six war rooms, is overflowing with questions — some carefully workshopped with Jenna, others you came up with alone while brushing your teeth this morning.

Your leg bounces. You flip a page, then flip it back. Your eyes fight to look at the clock without looking at the clock.

This is fine. You like prep time. You thrive on prep time.

The door creaks open behind you, and your heartbeat does a weird little thump thump behind your ribs. Your body refuses to swivel in the chair in case it’s her.

Here we go. Monroe. Congresswoman. Possibly the key to that promotion Jenna has promised you on a silver platter. Maybe, if you’re really lucky, Jungkook got hit by a car and you’ll be running this interview slot on your own. Time to sit up straight, flash your professional smile, channel your inner Barbara Walters and—

“Wow. Early. Didn’t know that was your thing.”

You slump completely into your chair.

Did the car you just imagined hitting him take a wrong turn?

You don’t dare turn to look at him, instead pretending to be incredibly invested in the chicken scratch on your notepad. “Wow. Late. Makes sense that’s your thing.’

The door closes behind him, and you hear him set his bag down by the entrance. “You know she’s not supposed to be here for another five minutes, right?”

You roll your eyes so hard you give yourself a minor headache. “That’s five minutes of prep time.”

There are approximately seven billion people on this planet. This is the one you’re stuck sharing a congresswoman with.

God is testing you.

Jungkook rounds your chair, and for a moment you prepare for impact — some offhand comment, a smug smile, a challenge disguised as a compliment. Standard procedure.

But instead, something cold and plastic materializes right in front of your face.

You blink away the blurriness of the object in front of you.

It’s a coffee cup. In his hand. Inches from your nose.

“What the fuck is that?” you ask, recoiling slightly like he just tried to hand you a live animal.

He sets it down on the table in front of you with dramatic flair. “Your coffee.”

You stare at it. Then at him. Then back at it. “You don’t even know what I drink.”

He doesn’t flinch at that. “Isn’t it still that iced oat milk latte thing? No sweetener?”

Your soul briefly detaches from your body.

“How—”

“You used to order it every day before Public Policy, and then show up with it half-empty already,” He shrugs casually like that isn’t deranged information to remember. “It stuck.”

What the actual fuck is going on?

He takes a sip of his own drink — hot, probably black, the beverage of overconfident men who think bitterness builds character. “Still think you’re weird for drinking something that tastes like oat-flavored water with no sugar, but hey. To each their own.”

You’re still staring at the cup.

“Why did you bring me this?” you ask, voice flat, because this feels off-brand. He’s not… nice. He’s Jungkook. He’s that dude you just imagined getting run over by a car, and then the car backed up and ran over him again while you smiled gleefully. “Is it poisoned?”

“Yeah,” he deadpans. “I stopped at the cafe and asked for the rat poison special. It’s just a little something to take the edge off.”

You level him with a look. He grins wider, those two bunny teeth poking out beneath his top lip. Bastard. He’s so… so.. (and when you find the right words, you’ll scream them from the rooftop.)

Then he finally sinks into the chair next to you and stretches out like this is a coffee date and not a battle for professional supremacy.

“I want a fair game,” he states matter-of-factly, eyes flicking toward the empty seat Monroe will soon occupy. “Need you caffeinated for that.”

You don’t respond. You’re too busy internally malfunctioning.

Because here’s the thing: he shouldn’t know that. About the oat milk (or the existence of it in general.) The lack of sweetener. The whole personality trait of a drink you depend on like a life jacket.

He shouldn’t remember.

Yet there it is. Sitting on the table, condensation gathering.

You cross your leg over the other and force yourself to look unimpressed. “You really came in here with a performance-enhancing latte to try and make me nervous?”

He smirks. “Is it working?”

Absolutely.

“Only because I’m wondering when the side effects kick in.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, and you hate the way your stomach sort of flutters. Like it forgot whose side it was on.

You pick up the cup anyway. Take a sip. Might as well see if he remembered the extra shot of espresso—

Damn it.

It’s perfect.

It’s exactly what Jenna brings you each morning.

There’s so much more you want to say but it all shrivels up on your tongue and dies.

He nods toward the cup. “Well?” he asks. “Up to your standards?

You pause mid-sip, raise a brow. “It’s drinkable. Could use a little poison though.”

“That’s the nicest thing you ever said to me,” he smiles widely, although you and him both know that was the farthest thing from a compliment.

“Don’t get used to it.” You let the straw clack gently against the lid. “I’m sure you’ll say something idiotic in the next thirty seconds to cancel it out.”

You think he’ll fight you on it like he’s been fighting you on everything since the first time you met. But he just smirks, one side of his mouth lifting, “Probably. But you’ll still drink the coffee.”

“Mm. Haven’t decided just how disturbed I am that you remembered my order from college.”

“I’m disturbed you’re still drinking it,” he shoots back. “Sounds like it tastes like shit.”

You’re about to launch into some detailed rebuttal involving Jungkook’s questionable taste in everything from shirt choice to headline structure to coffee orders when you hear the rusty doorknob turning.

This time, however, it’s not Jungkook barreling through the entrance.

Congresswoman Monroe hovers under the threshold of the room, stepping into it cautiously. At the noise, you and Jungkook both shoot up from your chairs like students caught gossiping mid-lecture.

She’s maybe mid-40s, though her face suggests she made a very lucrative deal with time around 31. Her dark hair is pulled back into a low, sleek ponytail, wearing a navy pantsuit that probably costs more than your entire student loan debt.

She pulls off her Celine sunglasses in one fluid motion — what is it with people on the Hill wearing sunglasses indoors? — and tucks them into her bag, giving you both a long once-over. You feel quite small under her gaze, despite her being shorter than you.

“Wow,” she raises a brow, “Look at that. The youth still believes in chivalry.”

You want to extend a hand to her for her to shake, but decide against it when you calculate the distance still between you two. “It felt appropriate. It’s nice to meet you, Congresswoman. We appreciate you taking the time to talk to us.”

She snorts at that, clearly entertained, “Well, I believe it was my overachieving press rep who lured you here, not I. He seems to have a way with words to convince two of the biggest outlets to speak to me off the record.”

Ah, yes. Who could forget the ever-so-eloquent Mark? You hope he’s doing better than when you last saw him.

“It’s no problem, really,” Jungkook reassures. “I know this story is fresh, so we’ll take anything.”

Monroe seems to accept that answer, striding forward and taking her seat across from you two with ease. You and Jungkook share a quick look before sitting back down, both your notebooks flipping open almost immediately. You want to say you know exactly where to start, but considering the circumstances, nothing feels sufficient.

She crosses her legs, leans back in her chair and looks between the two of you as if pondering which one of you will be brave enough to speak first.

Clearly, it won’t be you.

“Let’s start from the beginning,” Jungkook’s fingers twirl around his pen thoughtfully, like he’s John Hancock about to sign the Declaration of Independence, “Walk us through how you and Delgado got involved in the first place.”

You resist the urge to groan out loud. Classic Jungkook; start at square one, build some cute little narrative arc, win hearts and minds while you’re over here looking like you’re the world’s most submissive little sidekick. He’s laying groundwork like this is some Netflix docuseries and he’s the charming narrator.

You have approximately twelve smoking-gun questions and a left eye that’s starting to twitch.

Before Monroe can answer, she raises a hand. “Confirming this is off the record, right?”

Both you and Jungkook shoot your hands up in defense, as to prove there’s not some top secret recorder clutched in your palms. You answer quickly, “Completely.”

She gives you a look like she doesn’t fully believe you, but she’s too tired to care. Then she shakes her head in approval, crossing her hands and placing them atop her knees like she’s preparing to read from some memoir. “Well, it started like they always do. Good intentions but terrible, terrible execution.”

You immediately start scribbling, handwriting resembling of someone who’s having a medical emergency.

She goes on, “He said he needed to review the vote count with me. Said it couldn’t wait. Silly me for thinking he meant actual numbers.”

Your brain is already fifteen steps ahead, questions lining up in your head like little soldiers. You’ve done enough research on the story to know this much is true: it was more than just one night.

“So.. you weren’t aware there were eyes in the hallway when you left his office later that night?” you cut in before Jungkook can deliver a follow-up, because no way is he getting the juicy stuff first.

Monroe snorts, “I was aware of a lot of things. Surveillance interns weren’t one of them.”

Jungkook glances up from his Moleskine. “Intern had good timing.”

“Depends on who you ask” she responds drily.

“So when did it actually start?” Jungkook shifts forward in his chair, picking up his coffee and taking a sip. “A one time incident doesn’t usually come with three months of scheduling overlaps.”

Jungkook: 2. You: 1

“It doesn’t..” Monroe pauses, half for dramatic effect and half for introspection. “But clearly you’ve had some time to look at my calendar, so why don’t you tell me when you think it started?”

“Honestly,” you begin, flipping pages in the back of your mind, trying to remember that article you read three hours ago that dictated the timeline with color-coded graphs and blurry pictures. “I think it was back in June? July?”

She doesn’t answer that, just hums thoughtfully.

“Care to clarify how far back?” Your hand betrays you, reaching for the iced coffee on the table in front of you that has boiled down to some sad mixture of water, oat milk, and espresso.

Her lips twitch. “Far enough that I should’ve known better.”

You set the coffee back down after a prolonged sip. Beside you, you feel Jungkook’s beady little eyes trained on you. “Who else knew?”

“And who else was covering it up?” Jungkook jumps in.

It becomes a full-on ping pong match. You’re not even waiting for answers before volleying the next question. There’s something about an agreement, about Mark having an inkling, talk of going public before actually getting the chance to. You’re incredibly disappointed this isn’t on the record — this is the spiciest conversation you’ve had in years on the Hill. Jungkook seems just as intrigued as you, his own notepad filling up faster than quicksand.

It’s a dual — a bloodless one, for sure, but still mildly entertaining. Your cramping hand and the part of you that wants to scream every time he throws in a follow-up that actually adds value makes things slightly more complicated, though.

Worse: he’s enjoying this. Visibly.

And, okay, you’ll admit this much — you’re enjoying it too. Just a little. In the way you enjoy debating and working with someone who’s actually worth your time. In the way your competitive little brain lights up like oh, this again? Yeah, let’s fucking go.

You ask something else — who’s to say what it’s actually about? You just had to get it out before he did — and Monroe chuckles. “You two always like this?”

She seems quite amused by the two of you.

You open your mouth to say no, because professionalism or whatever. But then Jungkook shrugs and replies, “Sometimes. We’ve gotten better.”

No, you haven’t, but right now that’s neither here nor there.

“Well, at least I know I’m in capable hands,” Monroe beams at you two, the first real sign of human emotion you’ve captured from her since she sat down.

Capable is one way to put it, that’s for sure.

He looks over at you again (you might have to get a restraining order. This is now the tenth time and you’re starting to get scared.) It’s more in a this is fun, isn’t it? way. Which, ugh. Maybe it is. You’d never admit it but the absolute thrill of chasing a story with someone who also appreciates the highs that come with this job, while still trying to one-up each other? Yeah. It scratches a very specific, very messed-up part of your brain.

Still, he doesn’t get to win.

You lean forward, diverting back to the story at hand. “Just to clarify, did he ever explicitly threaten you with exposure if you ended things?”

Monroe’s gaze sharpens. “He didn’t need to. You don’t get involved with someone like Delgado without knowing he’s always got a spare knife somewhere.”

You write that line down so fast your pen nearly flies out of your hand. Jungkook mutters under his breath, “Jesus.”

The buzz of a timer goes off, jolting you and Jungkook upright like someone just yelled “Ten-hut!” to both of you. Monroe seems satisfied with that noise, opening her bag and retrieving her sunglasses from the depths, perching them on the bridge of her nose. “Well, that’s all we’ve got time for today, I presume? I’m sure Mark will be in touch soon for follow-ups.”

In some way, you think you’ll miss her. She might be the only congresswoman on the Hill that doesn’t have some 30-inch ruler up her ass.

“Of course,” Jungkook stands up on command, outstretching his own hand for her to shake. You follow suit like a lost puppy. She shakes both of your sweaty palms before acknowledging you both silently and heading towards the door, slamming it shut behind her.

In unison, you and Jungkook slink back down in your respective chairs, still in some weird post-interview daze. You’re not even looking at him. Not even a glance. Because glancing means acknowledging, and acknowledging means reacting, and you don’t do that.

Except, okay. Maybe you glance. Briefly. It’s for intel.

Weirdly, you don’t hate the way it feels to share something with him this closely. You both got exactly what you needed — the honest truth, a story that’s so compelling Shakespeare couldn’t even spin up this kind of narrative.

You don’t dare acknowledge that thought either. You bury it deeply. Somewhere right next to the memory of him bringing you your coffee.

When it’s nighttime in Washington D.C, it’s like a different dimension opens up and swallows the Earth.

Bars are filled to the brim with overexcited interns and senators on the prowl for their next cheating scandal. Coats are tossed across barstools like forgotten souvenirs. Chalices of beer are raised in the air as if people returned from a long day at the frontlines.

There’s some kind of magic that comes with it, like anything can happen because you’re finally not at your desk.

You’ve just turned off the lamp on your desk when your phone starts buzzing with urgency. See: magical. Anyone who knows you knows better than to call on a weekday night.

The only person who doesn’t know better, would be Rosalie, your best friend from college. Even the buzzing feels distinctly like her. As in, it’s probably not life or death but it’s definitely dramatic and may or may not have some form of light alcoholism attached to it.

You glance down at your phone screen, contact photo still the same blurry selfie she took freshman year wearing a tiara and threatening to drop out because your dorm had “zero aesthetic.”

You hesitate for exactly one second. It’s late. You’re tired. Your brain still smells like that cursed interview room from earlier and your notes from Monroe are a chaotic mess of arrows, question marks, and multiple phrases in all caps.

But, then again, it’s Rosalie. And when Rosalie calls, something ridiculous always follows. Like night after day. Like impulse after Amazon Prime.

Plus, you kind of want to give into the magic.

You swipe to answer, pressing the phone to your ear and scooping your bag onto your shoulder. “You’re either drunk, shopping, or about to fake your own death again. Which is it?”

Her voice bursts through the speaker, words rushing out. “Okay, rude. First of all, I never fake anything except for, like, orgasms and excitement about family obligated dinners. Second of all, surprise bitch!”

You furrow your brows in confusion, moving towards the exit of the CNN press room. “What?”

“I'm in D.C!” She shrieks like this is some normal update and not a major plot twist.

“You—what?”

“Like right now. I’m here. I just landed. I’m with Daddy.”

The first time you met her, she also referred to her father as ‘Daddy.’ It deeply troubles you, but you’ve come to learn there is literally no other way to name the man who’s a diplomat with a literal castle in Scotland.

“You were in London this morning,” you deadpan, struggling to do the mental math on time zones and emissions and mileage. You step out into the hallway, leaning against a cold wall.

“Yes, and now I'm here, on the hunt for a martini. It’s called globalization, babe.”

You cover your face with one hand and let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a snort. Rosalie has been your best friend-slash-financial cautionary tale-slash-roommate since freshman year at Columbia. Your first true peek into what money could look like when it wasn’t tied to survival. She grew up with private jets and trust funds and the kind of skincare routine that requires a prescription and personal esthetician.

You grew up with coffee from a deli and a FAFSA login engraved in your mind.

Somehow, your friendship works.

Maybe it was the way she made everything feel like a movie. Or the fact that she’d once threatened to sue your econ professor on your behalf because the “curve is misogynistic.”

But mostly, it was how she always made space for you.

Even if that space is currently filled with credit card debt, half-finished Master’s degrees, and a shocking amount of vintage Balenciaga.

You sigh, already smiling. “Rosalie, what the fuck are you doing here?”

“I just told you! I’m with Daddy, he had some kinda thing. International diplomacy or rich people drama, I don’t know, I tuned out. But I’m here, I miss your face, and you sound like you’re one day away from a nervous breakdown.”

She really does know you like the back of her hand.

“I literally am.”

“See? All the more reason to get drinks. I’m thinking an extra dirty martini for me, a vodka soda for you..” You can practically hear the puppy dog eyes she has on display right now.

“I could be convinced.” You readjust your bag on your shoulder, staring solemnly at the end of the hallway.

“Okay, this is me convincing you,” she pauses for dramatic effect. “I’ll pay.”

Perk #2000 of having a rich best friend.

“You got me there.” You’re now fully laughing, the sound echoing off the hallway, phone still pressed to your ear like you’re back in college, sneaking calls in between lectures to give unsolicited advice to her on her most recent love interest.

“Come onnnn, let’s be messy.” She pleads. You glance again down the ominous hallway. Your shoes are killing you today. Your brain is fried, eyes burning after hours of staring at words and headlines and formatting.

Still, none of it sounds that bad when you think of Rosalie and a really crisp vodka soda with two limes.

“Text me the place,” you’re already bracing for impact. “But if you order anything that comes with edible glitter again, I’m leaving.”

“You’re the best,” she exhales a breath as if she’s been holding it the whole time you’ve been on the phone, “Love you!”

There’s a disconnecting sound on the other end of the line, and you bring your phone down from your ear to stare at it in front of you. Nighttime in D.C always feels like this: the first lick of ice cream on a summers day, a comforting hug from a parent after months of separation, toes digging in the warm sand. Magical, and full of possibility.

The moose head is definitely judging you.

Mounted above the bar like a taxidermist’s wet dream, it stares down at you with cold, glassy eyes and antlers the size of a small aircraft. It’s wearing a sequined top hat for reasons unknown, and honestly, it’s the most stable thing in the room right now.

The bar name Rosalie texted you an hour earlier serves cocktails with unpronounceable bitters and has dim lighting that makes your outfit look ten times better than it actually is (and also doing a hell of a job at concealing your under eye bags.) The high-top table you two are perched at smells faintly of citrus zest, her YSL perfume and spilled liquor.

Even the leather booths and black matte menus screams place that is trying way too hard to stay afloat in D.C’s nightlife climate. There is a very specific brand of person who goes to these bars, and you and the moose are both trying to figure out if you fit the bill.

To your dismay, your vodka soda is alarmingly strong, which is unfortunate because you ordered it specifically as a keep-it-together drink. Sober-adjacent. Instead, it tastes like the blonde bartender at the front is going through the world’s most devastating breakup.

You’re a quarter through it and already considering whether food would be helpful or if you'll just end up eating three-dollar-sign fries you didn’t mean to order.

Across from you, Rosalie’s swirling her (extra) dirty martini, rambling on and on about her recent trip to London. Something about the fog or the rain. You watch her as she animatedly speaks, fur-trimmed coat moving with every flick of her wrist.

“Okay…” she says, one olive skewered dramatically on a stick between her fingers. “This city is like, aggressively serious. Everyone looks like they’re walking to a meeting even at 8 PM at night. What’s that about?”

“I don’t know,” you shrug, swirling your own black straw around the rim of your drink, trying to dilute the vodka, “Probably some senate fundraiser going on a block away.”

Rosalie gasps, “That is so unsexy. Vibes here are rough.”

Only Rosalie would refer to the nation’s capital as ‘unsexy.’ You respect the brutal honesty; she’s not entirely wrong. The city is overrun by middle-aged fathers and misogynistic women. If that doesn’t scream unsexy, you’re not sure what does.

“You picked the place,” you mock, rolling your eyes.

“Well, yeah, but I was going for hot, mysterious energy, not—” she gestures wildly around the room. “—whatever this is.”

You look around. There’s a man in a vest swirling around an old-fashioned and a woman arguing with headphones on while sipping from a wine glass. “Rosalie, this is the most you bar I’ve ever been to.”

She almost turns as pale as a ghost. “This can’t be my brand.”

You can’t help but laugh, sinking deeper into your chair. It could be argued this is her entire brand; picking out places that will hand you a check worth more than your electricity bill for three months.

“So,” she begins, dramatically perching her chin in her hand, “how’s your glamorous life at the White House? Any closer to marrying a diplomat’s son?”

“Unfortunately not,” you take a sip of your vodka soda and grimace. “However the other day I did make prolonged eye contact with an intern. Although he might’ve been 20, so unsure if that counts.”

She nods like that checks out. “Oof. That’s not a good sign. Are you on any dating apps?”

Her expression twists in excitement, clearly holding out for some cute politically correct love story. You don’t have the heart to tell her that the only thing you’ve shown affection to in the past few months is a bottle of sauvignon blanc.

“Nah, you know me,” You stare down at your drink as you speak quickly to avoid her piercing gaze. “Enough about that, though. I heard you were maybe, kind of, accidentally starting a wellness brand?”

Rosalie perks up a little at that, although you can tell she doesn’t necessarily appreciate the segway from your dating life to her varying business ventures. “Well, Daddy’s investors wanted me to pick a niche, which is so toxic, because I believe in trying anything once.”

“I’m sorry—what?”

Rosalie’s business ventures have ranged from ‘mildly unhinged’ to ‘legally gray.’ In the last three years alone, she’s tried to launch a gemstone-infused bottled water line (now banned in three countries), an app that was supposed to match influencers with “friends” for Coachella, and a cashmere dog sweater subscription box that somehow lost her family $12,000 despite only having five customers — three of which were her own dogs.

It’s safe to say her being enrolled in graduate school was the unrivaled alternative.

She once asked you to invest in one of her projects. You bestowed upon her $5 and a random penny that had two heads on it.

“I’m a woman of many multitudes,” she explains with alarming speed. “You can’t put me in a box. One week I’m into adaptogens, the next I want to sell lingerie to housewives. You know how I get.”

“Rosalie,” you let out a noise resembling a snort. “This is all deeply unserious.”

“Exactly.” She plucks an olive off the wooden toothpick, popping it in her mouth. “But it’s fine. Daddy said if I stop spending money, he’ll really consider funding my wellness brand. So right now I need to chill the fuck out and realign my values.”

You don’t think she really understands what it means to realign her values.

“So… you’re basically unemployed.”

She gasps, slapping a hand over her heart. “How dare you use that word.”

You grin into your drink. It’s so easy to fall back into a rhythm with her. Even if she lives in a totally different universe. Even if she has never once felt the need to check her bank account before ordering a $22 cocktail.

Her lips press against the rim of her glass before she places it back down hesitantly. “You know, you really should get back out there.”

You should've known better than to assume this topic of conversation was done.

Out of the corner of your eye, you make eye contact with the moose. His (and you’ve decided it’s a male, bedazzled hat and all) eyes swallow you whole.

You tilt your head back towards the high ceilings to avoid catching Rosalie’s or the moose's eyes. “I’m perfectly fine in here.”

She doesn’t acknowledge your pun. “When’s the last time you’ve even had sex, you little virgin?”

Ha ha.

You actually laugh out loud. Which is probably not the response she was hoping for but — be serious.

When was the last time you had sex? Does emotional disassociation count?

Because if you’re going by strict technicalities, it was that one-night stand a few months ago when Emma dragged you out, told you to just “pick a guy,” and you went with the first one who made a semi-decent joke and could name one recent foreign policy.

It was… fine. Forgettable in the way dry toast is.

You’re pretty sure he called you babe halfway through and you pretended not to hear it because you were already nauseous from the amount of vodka sodas you consumed that night.

“Sex is a social construct used to avoid real human connection.”

You smile indignantly at your best friend, crossing your arms over your chest. There’s satisfaction rippling through your body. Try arguing with that one, Rosa—

“How long are you going to avoid real human connection before you end up all alone, surrounded by ten cats and all my wellness supplements?”

Okay, rude. A wake-up call at this hour isn’t really necessary. She sounds much too invested in this for your liking.

Statistically speaking, you are on track to die with your phone in one hand and a highlighter in the other. But also? You kind of don’t care.

You're good at exactly two things in this life: 1) your job and 2) being right, neither of which you plan on giving up any time soon. You’re not about to emotionally babysit a man who wears loafers without socks or tells you he’s “big on communication” but flinches when you ask what his ex’s name is.

Relationships are cute for people like Rosalie, who have time to dabble in them. You are booked out for the foreseeable future.

“You know I don’t care about that stuff.” You decide that’s an appropriate response to her worrying. “I just.. value my alone time. And you’ve seen how hard I work. I don’t have time to date.”

“What about your coworkers?” she muses casually. “Surely one of them, with the same work ethic as you, is a good option.”

You nearly choke on your drink so violently that the moose head looks concerned.

“What?” Rosalie blinks at you with full sincerity. “I’m just saying—it seems efficient. You could like, hold hands while rage-writing about the president.”

You stare at her blankly. “I’d rather go on a silent meditation retreat with Mitch McConnell.”

“You’re being dramatic. Walk me through the options,” She sits up straighter, voice rising at the end of her sentence.

“Okay…” you exhale, already regretting everything. “There’s Andrew, but he clips his nails at his desk and I can’t unhear it. It’s like ASMR for serial killers.”

She grimaces, tapping her polished nail against her glass. “Ew.”

“There’s Gavin, who’s technically married but also keeps asking if I’ve ever been to Greece in spring, so that feels like a no.”

Now that you’re running through the roster out loud, it’s pretty devastating.

“Paul.”

You say the name with hope attached to it, and Rosalie leans forward in anticipation, like she’s already envisioning her maid of honor dress and your pastel wedding invitations. “But.. he calls Slack ‘the Slack’ and that gave me the ick. Plus, he also listens to NPR, so that’s another minus.”

Rosalie groans and sets her forehead down on the table like this is your fault. “God, your workplace is bleak. What’s the point of being employed if you can’t seduce someone with a respectable title?”

“Believe it or not, I do actually work so I can get paid.” You take a sip of your drink, which has simmered down to a pool of vodka and watered-down soda.

She lifts her head from the table, “Not one hot little office romance? A private kiss in an elevator? Anything to feel alive?”

She’s really overestimating the Hill’s penchant for romance.

You give her a long look. “I write about current events. That is my version of a hot little office romance.”

She snorts, then tilts her head at you knowingly. Uh-oh. You know that look. It’s the look she gave you in college before she asked if she could set you up with her cousin, the 7th Earl of Douglas. “Wait.. do you still work with that guy?”

Your stomach drops. Like an elevator going down one floor too fast. “What guy?”

You’re playing dumb, which is not usually your move. But you are. Aggressively and visibly.

Rosalie shrugs like it’s no big deal. “You know, that guy from college. What was his name.. Jungkook?”

Damn her. You really need to stop telling her your work stories. Not that it matters anyway. She’s known him the same unfortunate amount of time you have.

You shift slightly in your seat. It’s a tiny readjustment but you’re fidgeting, leg crossing the other way, hand playing with your straw like it’s suddenly fascinating.

You absolutely do not glance at the moose for help.

“Yeah,” you say. “I do.”

Rosalie arches a brow. “He’s still as hot as he was back then. I saw his post on Instagram last week. Those cheekbones still working overtime, eh?”

You force a laugh, struggling to banish any and all flashes of his cheekbones that are currently flitting through your mind like pages of a scrapbook. They are oddly nice. But knowing him, he probably gets cheek filler or something. “I guess. If you’re into that whole overly symmetrical thing.”

“Who isn’t into it?” She picks up her martini glass, taking a massive gulp.

You can’t respond. You’re too busy hyper-focusing on your vodka soda and trying not to remember a very specific Friday night freshman year. One where you walked into some random room at the Pi Kappa Alpha fraternity house with jungle juice in one hand, only to—

Nope. Not going down that road.

Following in her footsteps, you take a big sip of your drink. Rosalie doesn’t notice the way your leg is slightly bouncing under the table. Or if she does, she’s sparing you the embarrassment. “I always thought he’d go into modeling or something,” she tosses her jet-black hair over her shoulder. “Didn’t peg him as someone who would go into politics.”

“Yeah, well,” you mutter, “even the devil wants press credentials.”

“Bet he still looks good in a suit though.”

Now it’s your turn to drop your head onto the tabletop.

Sure, maybe there are people out there with actual problems. Real ones. People who’ve lost their homes, who don’t know where their next meal will come from, who aren’t currently sipping overpriced vodka sodas while side-eyeing a moose in a hat. Compared to them, this whole moment is an insult.

And yet, in this precise, horrifying pocket of time, you genuinely can’t imagine a worse fate than Rosalie fawning over Jungkook like he’s a misunderstood bad boy.

If you’re being all Psychology 101 about your feelings (which you got an A in, so you are), you’re still annoyed about the coffee he brought you earlier. How dare he remember things about you like he’s some poor excuse of a friend. You don’t want to be seen, or be known, especially by him.

You lift your head up, sip the last of your drink, ignore the knot forming somewhere behind your ribs.

“Anyway,” you clear your throat and force the tightest smile your face can manage without cramping. “tell me more about those edible face masks you texted me about last week. Those sounded questionable.”

But Rosalie is a martini deep, so she leans forward across the table before you can finish the pivot. Her fur coat bunches against the edge, nails curling. “So, is there any chance he’s going to be at work tomorrow?”

“What?”

“Jungkook.” She looks at you like you're the crazy one. “Will he be there?”

You squint at her, like maybe if you narrow your eyes hard enough, the words will rearrange into something more coherent. “It’s a weekday. I assume so, unless he’s decided to pursue his dream of becoming a shirtless travel vlogger.”

“Perfect,” she leans back against the chair now. “I’ll be here a few more days.”

“I—what? Wait. Hold on. No.”

She pouts dramatically. “Why not?”

You sputter, and you feel your right eye beginning to twitch. “Wha—Why not?? Rosalie, what do you mean why not?”

“I mean,” she looks genuinely baffled. That makes two of you. “I’m single, he’s single, you work with him… you can’t not set us up just because you’re being weird.”

You’re about to flip this table over. “I’m not— what? I’m not being weird.”

She plays with the toothpick that used to hold her olives. “You do this thing sometimes where you act all chill but then your eye starts to twitch.”

You stare at her, openly horrified. “Rosalie, I do not. No—okay, look. First of all, I do not matchmake. That’s not in my skillset. I can barely order dinner for two without freaking out.”

You abruptly realize your hands are clenched in your lap, and the inside of your cheek is sore from how hard you’re biting it.

Okay — maybe you should let her fuck him. She’s an adult. You’re not her keeper, and thank God you’re not his either. You have no legal or emotional stake in this whatsoever.

But then you think about it for more than six seconds and suddenly the idea feels… bad. Like ethically bad. Cosmically cursed. Like watching someone about to pet a tiger because it looks “soft.”

Besides, why would you want to subject her to that kind of torture? Why would you offer her up to the emotional rollercoaster that is Jungkook when you’re barely surviving it yourself? Honestly, it would be cruel. A hate crime.

She gazes at you. You are going to start screaming spontaneously any minute now.

“Okay.. but like, why can’t you just help me out here?”

You sit there poker-faced. Your brain — already operating at half-capacity thanks to the vodka soda and the emotional trauma of this conversation — halts all function. You open your mouth, praying something logical will come out. A thoughtful excuse. A real reason. Maybe even a full monologue about professionalism or the fact that he drives you insane on a daily basis.

Instead, what tumbles out is, “Heard he gave someone on the Hill a STD.”

Silence.

It’s like every patron in the bar took a vow to participate in a well-timed moment of silence.

“Wait, what?”

You swallow thickly, saliva going down like molasses. “Yeah. I mean, don’t quote me or anything. But, you know how it is. Rumors.”

The words feel like wet socks in your mouth.

You eye her carefully, waiting for the inevitable laugh. But it never comes. “Oh,” she says, drawn out like she’s having a That’s So Raven-level flashback. “I mean, it’s not like we haven’t— “

She stops herself. Bats her eyelashes. Smiles quickly. “So, you were talking about my edible face masks?”

You go along with it. You’re not about to ask what she almost said.

You both brush past it like the moose above you isn’t watching in real-time.

Stirring your straw around the edge of your glass, you become aware of how warm the bar feels, how loud it’s gotten, how your face is doing that thing where it tries to stay neutral but ends up folding in on itself.

You don’t know when you became a liar. As a White House correspondent, your entire career was built on integrity and ethics. This is new territory for you.

Whatever. It doesn’t matter. She can obviously have him. She can have his cheekbones and his annoying woodsy cologne that makes you irrationally upset and his coffee-bringing habits.

Take it all. Godspeed, Rosalie.

Something about being in the office with a minor hangover feels like a crime against humanity. A petty offense punishable by being trapped under fluorescent lights while liquor seeps out of your skin.

Every time Paul from two rows over makes eye contact with you, you feel a fresh wave of nausea roll through your body like a bad remix of last night’s (multiple) vodka sodas.

You don’t even know what he wants. Maybe he heard how you eliminated him last night from your list of potential suitors at the office. He probably can also smell the vodka dripping from your pores but that’s a separate story.

Your night, as it would only happen, ended with four more vodka sodas after the first one had been downed and topics of conversation that should never be repeated in a public setting. Apparently you also tried to steal the moose’s hat. So, yeah. Not really doing your finest this Tuesday morning.

You try to focus on your inbox, which is currently ten emails deep and pulsing with the words URGENT and MONROE EDITS. Tentatively, you open one. Close it. Open another. Realize it’s the same email. Close it again.

All higher brain power has been disabled until further notice. It’s just rotating between memories of Rosalie’s fur coat, the moose head, and the vague threat of vomit in the back of your throat.

Unfortunately, Jungkook sneaks his way in there too.

Which, no. You are not going to sit and think about whether Rosalie ended up DMing him. You’re not donating energy to the possibility of her sliding into his messages with a “hey stranger.” You’re not even remembering the comment she made on the curb outside while waiting for her Uber about “needing to reconnect with old friends.”

Everything is totally fine. (And you’re on the right track — your Advil is starting to kick in.)

“You look like you died at a party and were revived by the ghost of hangovers past,” Emma says as she plops into her chair next to you, placing her chocolate chip muffin on the desk. She had already been here when you arrived ten minutes past 9 AM, but retreated to the cafeteria for a breakfast pick-me-up.

You can’t even crane your neck to look over at her. “I think I’m being judged by Paul.”

Emma leans to peek over her desk. “He’s wearing those weird loafers again. He doesn’t get to judge anyone.”

“I think I’m sweating vodka.” You keep going down your list of woes.

Emma snorts at that. “Rough night?”

Another email gets opened but promptly exited out of. “Very. Met up with my college best friend.”

“The rich girl?” She pushes her glasses higher up on the bridge of her nose, re-opening her laptop.

“Yup,” you sigh. “Still rich.”

“Goals.”

You nod in agreement, fingertips hovering over your keyboard. “I wanted to be her when I was 19. Still kind of do.”

“If I had her money, I’d have fake boobs and a villa in Greece. I’d never answer an email again. I’d float off the grid on a yacht,” Emma muses dreamily, placing her chin in the crook of her palm.

“Instead, I’m here,” your mouth opens with the beginning stages of a yawn. “Rotting, in need of electrolytes. If I know her as well as I think I do, she’s probably getting a massage right now.”

Emma lets out a noise that resembles the familiar sound of laughter, opening up a new window on her laptop to resume her previous tasks. You stare blankly at your own screen. It mocks you with a NBC article you plan to tear to shreds and a to-do list you’re checking off just to say you did something, like the sheer motion will jog your brain into gear.

The cycle goes as such: open a new tab, skim an article, close it, reopen it ten seconds later because you already forgot what was said.

There’s this new policy rollout you’re chasing that’s somehow both deeply boring and disastrous. Two weeks ago, you had dinner with Kara Devlin, a junior legislative aide and some overachiever from Brown, and you pried as much intel as you could from her like a raccoon rummaging through garbage. She had given you a whole lot of nothing, but there was one quote you’ve been holding hostage.

Your eyes brush past a few local blogs. The Times. Politico. That one freelancer who insists on formatting his substack like a ransom note.

And then, you land on Fox. It’s not like you’re looking for suffering, but you might as well round out the masochism.

Your finger slowly moves down the touchpad of your laptop, scrolling down. Half of your mind is still hungover, the other half is trying to remember if you actually did Doordash those electrolyte packets to the building or if you just thought about it aggressively.

The article’s whatever. The usual. Misleading title, blurry infographics, some ominous use of the word “patriotic.” You’re on complete and utter auto-pilot, eyes glazed over in mild disgust, until—

Jungkook Jeon, Contributor.

Your finger freezes on the scroll pad. Aggressively go back up to the top. You sit up so fast you nearly dislocate your vertebrae. Your attention is piqued — not because he has any insight you particularly care about, not for policy clarity, but so that later, you can roast the living hell out of whatever lazy, metaphor-mixing nonsense he’s about to pass off as journalism.

You reread the opening lines again. Something about bipartisan stalling, vague reference to committee strategy, a few recycled phrases.. blah, blah, blah.

There’s a giggle that’s threatening to bubble up from your chest. It’s like the universe knew you needed this. You leisurely continue to scroll, unable to control the smile on your face.

Wait.

What did that line just say?

Your brain turns on like someone flipped the light switch in a haunted house.

There’s a quote nestled in the middle of the article. In big, bold letters, signed off with the name Kara Devlin.

Your smile gets wiped off your face in three seconds flat. Leaning into your screen, you murmur the quote under your breath: “The strategy for the senate is not to all agree to the same policy, but see how many back out due to its democratic ties. That’ll reveal where everyone’s intentions lie.”

No, no, no. That’s your quote. That’s Kara Devlin’s direct words, told to you under the flickering lights of a diner in Maryland after acceptable work hours. It’s now sitting in Jungkook’s article, chopped up and thrown in like seasoning.

Your hangover drops so far down the totem pole it’s practically underground.

You sit back in your chair, hands firmly gripping the armrest, mouth slightly open like you just witnessed a murder but aren’t sure who to call.

Three things immediately occur to you:

The writing is fine. But you would have tightened it, maybe removed some passive verbs, flipped the framing..

His quote placement is clunky. It’s shoved in there as if it’s not the backbone of the piece.

WHAT THE FUCK.

You reread the quote so many times it burns into your retina. Fuck Kara Devlin. Even after you paid for her three appetizers and her milkshake, she turned around and gave it up to Jungkook. She’s a slut (politically).

Emma glances over. “You okay over there?”

You’re too busy calculating how fast you can walk over to the Fox press room without murdering someone on the way to respond.

“Helloooo? Earth to [Y/N]?” She waves her hand in front of your face.

Your voice takes a second to boot back up, like an old car on a cold morning. “He used my quote.”

“Who?” she asks, dropping into the tone she uses for gossip.

You reluctantly swivel the laptop screen towards her like you’re presenting the murder weapon. “Jungkook. He wrote this piece and used my quote from Kara Devlin.”

Emma narrows her eyes at the article, lips moving as she whispers the words on the screen under her breath. Once she’s done, she gasps in horror, “Kara? Like the girl you took out to dinner?”

“The very one.”

“Oh, god.” She pushes your laptop away from her in disgust. “Even after you emotionally groomed her into trusting you?”

“Okay, maybe don’t say ‘emotionally groomed.’ But yes. Her.”

“Are we sure it’s the same one?” Emma offers.

“Of course I’m sure!” You throw your hands up in exasperation. “I was sitting right there across from her as she droned on and on about some other policy issue until this just fell in my lap.”

“Damn,” Emma shakes her head, lets out a tsk.

“How the hell did he even get his hands on it?” You slump in your chair, hands now covering your face.

Emma shrugs unknowingly. “Did Kara get hacked? Maybe Jungkook planted a wire in your bag?”

Both are plausible.

You groan loudly, “It’s not even just the quote that kills me. The placement is ludacris. He just shoved it in there like it’s… like it’s a garnish. It’s chives, Emma. He used my quote like chives.”

Emma winces, “That’s deep.”

“Now his stupid little name is tied to that quote.” Not to mention, you’ll also have to go on a wild goose chase for a new one.

Emma begins to unwrap her muffin that was lying untouched, “Do you want me to go slash his tires? I’ll wear a mask.”

“I’m not saying yes,” you mumble, “but I’m also not saying no.”

She drones on about her master attack plan, while you sit glued to your seat. Fine, you’ll admit it — this little cat-and-mouse game you and Jungkook play has always been fun. It’s fun in the way verbal sparring is, or how lighting a match just to watch it burn could technically be considered a hobby.

It’s not like you haven’t gotten your licks in before — stolen a quote here, intercepted a question there, once maybe ‘accidentally’ deleted his name off a media RSVP list.

But Kara Devlin was yours. She was earned.

Emma is still mid-rant about slashproof ski masks and the technical logistics of a ‘light’ tire slash, when you glance at the clock in the corner of your screen.

And then time slows.

It’s 10:02 AM.

Ten. Zero. Two.

Your pulse spikes, hair on the back of your neck standing up. You freeze completely like maybe time will reverse itself out of pity.

“Emma,” you cut her off mid-sentence. “I gotta go. Meeting. 10:30 AM.”

She blinks at you. “Oh! What kind of meeting?”

You’re already shoving your notebook into your bag with the panic of someone being chased, breathlessly speaking. “Legislative aide. Some Senate bill, I don’t know. It’s across the lawn, you know how long it fucking takes to get there.”

Emma pulls a face. “Oof. That’s rough. If you speed walk, you’ll make it by 10:25.”

You stuff your laptop into your bag too, nearly drop your phone, do a full spin because you can’t find your badge and then find it pinned to your pants pocket like a dumbass.

“Okay,” you mutter. “Okayokayokay. No time to dwell. I’ll process the theft later, either in therapy or in the bathtub with wine.”

Emma’s holding back a laugh, “Well. Let me know if you need company while you do that.”

God, she’s great. What an upstanding woman.

With that, you’re gone, storming out of the press room. Your bag keeps smacking your hip, hangover faintly lingering. You speed past a group of interns who part like the Red Sea, interrupting their morning gossip session.

You are an organized and professional woman who has simply spiraled about a journalist stealing your source and forgotten about a government meeting. It happens.

Today is going great. Perfect. Fantastic.

You burst through the glass doors, sun suddenly too bright on your skin. The air smells like fresh landscaping.

Usually, you love this part. This little stroll across the lawn, the strut in front of a stunning backdrop of democracy and white buildings that gleam. Normally, you take it all in.

Not today though. Today, you are head down, hair sticking to the nape of your neck, puffs of air inhaled into your lungs at an alarming rate. You break into a half-jog across the lawn, cursing your choice of shoes and the existence of time itself. Somewhere in the distance, a tourist points at you, probably thinking you’re someone important. You are not. You’re just late.

You're almost there, you can see the building rearing its ugly head. You’ll have about five minutes to fetch some water but it’ll do. Honestly, you’ve made great time, so that’s something to celebrate.

And then — you hear it. Your voice, off in the distance, echoing across the expanse of the lawn,

Weird. Not totally impossible, but unsettling.

You blink a few times, slow your pace, and instinctively whip your head in a few different directions like you’re the supporting character in a horror movie who’s about to get the axe.

Did you die? Did the hangover finally win? Is this what the afterlife is, a loop of your own voice haunting you across the lawn?

It really does sound exactly like you.

You peer up at the sky, as if God or maybe Jenna is pulling some weird power move. Like surprise! Time for a self-awareness ambush. Let’s listen to you talk for a change!

You slow to a crawling speed, confused and slightly nauseous. This could be a hallucination.

But then… you see it.

On the steps of the west wing entrance, past the security gate, near one of the stone benches, you spot a man with broad shoulders, back facing you. Watching something on a laptop that contains your voice.

You walk even slower than humanly possible, tiptoeing as you get closer. You realize he’s watching the press pool from a few weeks ago. You don’t remember which one exactly, they all blend together.

The inconspicuous man chuckles to himself.

Who the hell is that?

You take a few half-steps forward like getting closer will make any of this make sense. Just a casual stroll, nothing to see here. A curious taxpayer.

Squinting a little harder as the sun hits at an odd angle, you see a notepad perched in his lap, pen in hand.

That’s kind of sweet. Someone clearly looks up to you. Maybe it’s that intern you made prolonged eye contact with.

Oh. Oh.

He picks up his pen again, and you see them. The tattoos that litter his knuckles, clear as daylight.

You know those tattoos. You’ve known those tattoos since freshman year of college.

They look a lot like Jungkook—

Jungkook is sitting on the steps of the West Wing in broad sunlight, watching your press pool questions on his laptop like he’s studying you.

A gasp escapes you, and you slap a hand over your mouth but it's too late.

His head jerks around so fast he almost flings the notepad off his thighs. Those eyes widen when he locks them with yours, like a deer in headlights.

There’s probably a good two seconds that go by where you just stare at each other. Frozen in this very weird, dramatic standoff. Stuck in that horrible moment of recognition, like when your ex appears in your Hinge likes or you walk in on your sibling watching a thirst trap.

“What in the fuck are you doing?” you ask slowly, voice sharp and cold.

He flinches at your tone. “Jesus Christ, could you not sneak up on me like that?”

You creep forward, inching toward him like you’re hiding a knife behind your back. “Sneak up on you? You’re the one sitting on the steps in broad daylight studying my voice like a weirdo.”

Jungkook shuts his notebook quickly, “I’m not studying it—”

“Oh, really?” you snap, marching closer. You’re hovering over him now, your shadow looming on his body. “So you just casually watch old press briefings, skip to my questions and take notes for fun?”

Jungkook stands now, placing his notebook next to his laptop on the step. “Okay, relax. I was prepping.”

It’s annoying how much taller he is now that he’s face-to-face with you.

“Prepping?” you echo. “Prepping for what, exactly?”

“I was seeing how you phrase your questions,” he replies flatly. “It’s not illegal. You’re not copyrighted.”

You laugh sarcastically. You don’t know what compels you to stand there and say more. By all means, you should flip him off and walk away. Let him watch. Never think about it again. But you do the opposite. “Are you kidding me right now? You stole a quote from my source —which by the way, fuck you for that— and now you’re out here trying to take notes on my question phrasing?”

He shrugs casually. “What do you want me to say? You’re good.”

Yeah, you know. It’s how you got into Columbia. This shouldn’t come as a surprise, and yet somehow it does because he’s the one saying it, enough to stun you.

“Oh, fuck off. You don’t get to plagiarize my source and then compliment me.”

He walks down a step, still towering over you. “I didn’t plagiarize. I just published what I found.”

Your ears are ringing. “That’s your justification?”

“Wasn’t theft, just initiative.”

And it’s the way he says things like this, like the world exists to conform to all his desires, that sends you spiraling into a cocktail of blind rage and envy. When you’ve been losing things to Jungkook for as long as you have, you live in a constant state of acceptance that never really ends. It’s in how you brace yourself whenever his name is on lists outside of bulletin boards, how you sometimes catch yourself expecting to lose before you’ve begun trying.

All you can muster up is a heaving sigh before you reach down and slam the laptop shut, pausing your own voice mid-question.

He looks mildly offended. “Was that necessary?”

You gape at him, words barely forming, because the audacity is just so constant with this man. “What are you even doing here?” you gesture to the area. “Sitting here like some creepy ghost?”

“It’s a free country.”

“Don’t you dare use the constitution on me right now.”

“I like sitting here,” he says innocently. “I think here.”

You deadpan. “You… think here.”

“Yes.”

“In public.”

“God forbid I like to remember what this place is supposed to be about,” He raises his hands in defense.

“Oh good lord.”

“It helps,” he continues, completely ignoring you. “When I’m burnt out or pissed off or just need a minute to think, I come here. It reminds me why I got into politics in the first place.”

You scoff. “Which was..?”

He looks back toward the Capitol dome, eyes squinting like he’s about to say something that belongs on one of those mugs from the White House gift shop that you got your mom four years ago. “To do something that actually mattered,” he says. “To write about the government in a way that reminds people they’re still human. That we’re all humans.”

Now this monologue reminds you why you hate the guy. Who cares if he’s handsome or insightful or tall? He has deduced your career to a Pinterest-esque quote about journalism.

“Wow.” You start to slow clap, the sound of your palms slapping echoing across the lawn. “So poetic. Inspiring, really.”

He cocks his head, waiting for you to finish being theatrical.

“And also,” you put your claps away. Better to save them for your chat with the legislative aide, which you really should be getting to. “to apparently steal my tone, quote my sources, and stalk my voice.”

He rolls his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest. “Like I said, you’re good. Sorry I noticed.”

You clench your jaw, body buzzing. “Whatever. Enjoy your little identity theft picnic.”

You spin on your heel and march off toward the building you were actually supposed to be at. Your steps are fast, eyes trained ahead.

Even as your fists are clenched, you can’t stop the thing rising up behind your ribs. The stupid, aching realization that Jungkook has been watching you.

Like you’re the only one worth keeping up with.

You hate it all. You should demand CNN to scrub all footage. But none of it really matters because what you hate most viscerally, is that your brain whispers something treasonous like: at least he gets it.

Your face burns, heart pounding as you push past the wooden doors of the old building in the West Wing.

You hope the wind swallows him whole. And maybe his stupid notebook too.

masterlist + ask

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