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yoursinisforgiven · 6 days ago

Text

ENVY ──

pairing: asirel x reader (pet)

cw: smut, pwp, penetrational sex, afab reader, master–pet relationship, semi–public sex, car sex, blood play, spit play(?), drooling, biting, mentions of drugs, thoughts of murder, dissociative episode (?), isaac and pickel appearance, breeding without intentions of pregnancy, dry humping, voyeurism(?), reader is wearing a dress of some sorts, oral (male receiving), light hair pulling, cum eating.

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“You’re going.”

“I’m not.”

“You are, whether that be drugged or not. Your choice, of course.”

You hadn’t been facing him, instead perched on the cushions of the bayside window. From there, you watched as life continued beyond the walls of the manor, unaffected by the confines of your world. You didn’t need to look at Asriel to know the smug smile that curved his lips, the glint of amusement in his voice. It was always like this—Asriel’s insistence, his way of bending the world to his will, and your quiet defiance. It had been decades since anyone had dared to speak to you like this, but for Asriel… You allowed it. Most of the time.

Fingers flexed against the windowsill, the wood creaking slightly under the pressure, almost as if you were considering something dangerous. It was no secret that you, the ancient vampire—Asriel's pet—was an object of both fascination and fear.

And tonight, Asriel was forcing him into the lion's den.

Asriel's voice dropped lower, just a touch, but there was no mistaking the finality in his words. "Don’t make me drag you there, pet. It’ll be much less enjoyable for both of us.”

There was a beat of silence. The weight of Asriel’s expectation hung in the air, thick and suffocating, and you could feel it like an invisible chain pulling him forward. The words weren’t threats; they were just facts. Asriel wasn’t asking for cooperation. He was demanding it.

Amber eyes flickered in Asriel's direction. No matter how much you wanted to rebel, to slip into the shadows where he belonged, you knew that resistance was futile. You had no true freedom. Not here, not in this world of glittering masks and whispered lies. Asriel had the power to break you, to make you a prisoner again, and you had already tasted what that might feel like. You weren't ready to go back to the darkness—the cages where Asriel had found you.

Not yet.

You exhaled slowly through his nose, the smallest trace of irritation twisting your features. “You’re making a mistake, Master,�� your voice cool but laced with the warning of a predator forced to play a game you never wanted to join.

But Asriel didn’t flinch. He never did. The human stepped closer, his fingers brushing your arm with deliberate slowness, sending chills down your spine. You arched slightly at the sensation—a reminder of just who held the power in this relationship.

“I don’t make mistakes,” Asriel said softly, his voice a dangerous purr that sent an involuntary shiver down your neck. “And you are a very important part of my social circle tonight. You will make a good impression.”

Your existence—his servitude—was a curiosity. A symbol of Asriel’s wealth and power.

And no matter how much you resented it, you were part of that image.

──

You didn’t want to be here. You shouldn’t be here.

You stay close to Asriel’s side, just far enough to remain in his shadow, but not enough to draw attention. The weight of his presence presses down on you, and you force yourself to ignore the way it feels too familiar. You ignore the tug of memories, the fleeting flashes of Ivan that refuse to be buried.

No. Asriel wasn’t him. Far from it.

You are ripped from your thoughts by a feminine—obnoxious—voice. You catch the movement from the corner of your eye, and before you can stop yourself, your gaze snaps to her. A delicate hand brushes across Asriel’s shoulder, lingering too long, her laughter piercing the air like a sharp, brittle note in a too-perfect melody. Her voice is sweet, syrupy, the kind that makes your teeth ache.

She’s laughing at something he said, her lips curling with practiced flirtation. Surely it wasn’t that funny.

You feel your jaw tighten, the familiar gnaw of irritation rising in your chest. The way she touches him—light, teasing, as though claiming him for herself—makes your skin itch, and for a moment, you wonder what she sees when she looks at him. Does she see the same power that everyone else does? Does she know how easily he can crush anyone who stands in his way?

Or does she think of him as a prize to be won? Just another man with wealth and a title, who can be charmed and seduced like any other?

You can hear her laugh again, and the tension in your body spikes. You’re not jealous, you tell yourself. You shouldn’t be. You’re attractive—naturally seductive, in a way that has always drawn attention. You don't need to feel threatened by her.

But you can’t help it. You can’t help the dark, bitter twist that curls in your stomach. Asriel is yours. He’s always been yours. And no one else has the right to touch him. Not like this.

You feel it—a pulse of something raw, something almost animal in its intensity. It starts low in your chest, the need to assert yourself, to remind them all of what you are to him. But then you catch yourself.

No. Asriel wasn’t Ivan.

The thought settles over you like cold water. You take a deep breath, forcing your fingers to relax at your side, your claws retracting.

You’re nothing like you were back then.

But that doesn’t stop the jealousy from bubbling beneath your skin.

Asriel doesn’t seem to notice your discomfort. His attention is still fixed on the woman beside him, his smile wide, though it holds no true warmth. It’s the same practiced smile he’s given a thousand times before, a mask of politeness, of obligation. His eyes, however, flicker briefly toward you, and for a split second, you see the familiar glint of amusement in them.

It’s as if he knows exactly what you’re feeling. He knows you’re watching, knows you’re seething just beneath the surface.

And he enjoys it.

You try to keep your expression neutral, to push the gnawing sensation in your chest back into the dark corners of your mind. But it’s harder than it should be.

The woman laughs again, her fingers drifting to rest lightly on his arm now, and you can’t stand it anymore.

You need to make her stop.

The smile on her face, the way she tilts her head, the way her eyes flicker toward Asriel with that pitiful, calculated desire—it sickens you. It eats away at the control you’ve worked so hard to maintain.

She thinks she has him. She thinks she can have him.

A strange heat rises in your chest, filling your body with the kind of rage you haven’t felt in decades—since him.. It’s not just anger. It’s possessiveness. It’s primal, it’s raw. And it’s like a fire inside you, burning, threatening to consume everything else in its path.

Your vision sharpens, the edges of the room blurring into a dull fog. Her laughter starts to sound like nails scraping against your skull, the sweetness of it curdling into something unbearable. You want it to stop.

You need it to stop.

What would it take?

Your breath quickens, shallow, too fast. Your fingers curl into fists at your sides, nails digging into the soft flesh of your palms, leaving half-moon indentations. Your pulse throbs in your ears, growing louder, the pounding rhythm matching the wild beat of your heart. The world around you feels distant, unreal. As if you’re watching from somewhere far away, a spectator in your own body.

What would it take to make her shut up?

You glance at her again, her fingers trailing slowly over Asriel’s arm. You can see it—the way her eyes darken with flirtation, the way she presses just a little closer to him, like she’s staking her claim.

No.

The feeling inside you builds, swelling. Something inside your chest twists like a blade, sharp and unforgiving. You watch her, study the soft curve of her neck, the delicate line of her jaw. The gentle rise and fall of her chest as she laughs, oblivious to the monster she’s awakened in you.

And then you imagine it.

It’s like a switch flipping in your mind. Suddenly, everything else fades away. All you can see is her. The way she’s touching him, the way she’s smiling at him, like she knows exactly what she’s doing.

You imagine reaching out, your fingers curling around her throat, tight, too tight. You could do it so easily. You could crush her in seconds. The blood would rush to her face, her eyes wide, gasping for air, panic setting in, but it would be too late. She’d choke on her own breath, the life draining from her as she tries to scream, tries to beg.

Would Asriel even care?

The thought flashes across your mind, sharp and brutal. And something in you cracks open.

You can feel the heat of her skin beneath your fingers, the delicate pulse in her neck. You could break her. You could take that fragile neck in your hand, snap it like a twig. The power would be intoxicating—so simple, so final. No more laughing. No more touching. No more her.

You feel it. The pressure in your chest, the pressure in your throat as you imagine it. The power of it. The raw, satisfying violence of it. It’s the kind of hunger that can’t be satisfied with anything else.

The woman laughs again, oblivious to the madness rising in you. Her fingers move down to the crook of Asriel’s arm, a small touch—insignificant. But to you, in this moment, it’s the end of everything.

You could feel her flesh crumple beneath your hand, her body going limp with a single, vicious motion. You could hear her scream. No. You could make her scream—beg—but no one would stop you. No one could.

The world feels lighter now, as if everything else has melted away. The floor beneath you is no longer solid. The walls bend and warp, the edges of the room fading in and out of focus, like a hallucination. Your hands tremble at your sides, but it doesn’t matter.

You could do it. You could kill her. You could make this all stop.

You’re not sure when you stopped breathing, but you feel the suffocating weight of the air around you. Your vision is narrowing now, the voices in the room, the laughter, all drowned out by the pounding in your head. All you hear is the sound of her throat snapping, the wet, final sound that would end it all.

You need this. You need her to stop existing. You need Asriel to stop looking at her the way he does. You need it.

But then, suddenly, you hear Asriel’s voice.

“Pet,” he says, and it’s enough to bring you back. “Are you okay?”

The world crashes back into focus. You blink, and the woman is still there, laughing, still touching Asriel’s arm like she hasn’t a care in the world.

You step back. Your breath is shaky, your hands unsteady. The rage, the hunger, still coils inside you, but now there’s a coldness. A sudden, sharp distance from the scene in front of you.

You force your hands to unclench. You force yourself to breathe.

Asriel wasn’t Ivan.

You simply walk away. You hadn’t expected Asriel to chase after you—not that he would. He was a man of too high a status, too important to give chase to someone like you.

You slip out of the dining hall, the murmurs and laughter fading behind you, swallowed by the heavy oak doors that close with a soft, final thud. The air feels cool as you step into the hall beyond, the stone walls of the manor thick and oppressive. The corridors stretch long and narrow, the architecture grand, but suffocating. Marble floors reflect the distant flicker of candlelight from chandeliers above, casting shadows that play like whispers on the walls. Heavy tapestries hang in every corner, depicting scenes of war, conquest, and power.

You feel the weight of those tapestries on your shoulders, the gaze of the countless ancestors staring down at you, judging. You pause at the top of the staircase, your hand on the iron railing. The staircase curves downward in elegant spirals, and from the balcony above, you can see the vast entryway below—polished floors gleaming in the dim light. There’s no sound here, nothing but the distant echo of voices from the ballroom behind you, murmurs of the rich and powerful who are far too busy with their own lives to notice a creature like you.

You take a step down.

Another.

Your feet make no sound on the marble, but your pulse is thudding in your ears, matching the rhythm of your steps. There’s something almost suffocating about the silence of the manor, as though the house itself is holding its breath, waiting for you to make a mistake.

You feel the hairs on your neck rise as you continue your descent. A couple walks past at the bottom of the stairs, laughing softly, their voices carrying to you like a distant melody. The man seems familiar. You stop and squint into the shadows of the hall, studying him with renewed focus.

He’s tall, impossibly so. His frame is lean but broad-shouldered, a stark contrast to the delicate elegance of his companion. His pale skin almost seems to shimmer in the candlelight, as though he’s carved from marble.

And then you hear it.

The thrum of their hearts.

You don’t need to see it, don’t need to touch them to know. Their blood is singing to you, a rapid pulse that echoes through the hall, sharp and frantic. The person beside him clings to him, laughing softly at something he says, their head tilting back as they gaze up at him. But it’s the sound of their heart that draws you in—the quick, erratic beat as their emotions flare. They feels something deep for him, something frantic, a kind of desperate need, and the air around them practically hums with it.

You stand frozen for a moment, watching them, feeling their pulse rise with each passing second. Their hands are on his chest now, gripping his jacket with a possessiveness that mirrors something you know too well. It’s familiar—the fluttering, nervous energy that comes with attraction, with desire.

It’s strange. There’s something about him that feels different, an energy that’s colder, sharper. You can feel it even from this distance. The kind of power that ripples off him, like a storm waiting to break. It’s unnerving, that calmness in the face of such a flurry of emotion, as though he sees something she doesn’t. Or perhaps he’s seen it all before.

You don’t know why you’re still watching. You should turn away, walk past them, let them live in their moment. But something pulls at you. A curiosity. A kind of sick fascination with this stranger and the strange magnetism that surrounds him.

“Isaac?” The name slips out of your mouth before you can stop it, unsure if it’s the right one, but it feels familiar. Like a whisper of something you should know.

The man stops. His companion, still nestled in his embrace, also halts, her eyes flicking between you and the man, a flash of confusion crossing her features. The man turns toward you, and the moment he does, you feel an unsettling chill. His gaze is sharp—too sharp. It’s like he’s seen you.

There’s a moment of silence. You feel the blood rush to your face, the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck as you realize how out of place you must look, standing there, disrupting something so... intimate.

You’ve interrupted them. You shouldn’t have called out. You shouldn’t be here.

“Sorry,” you mutter, the words leaving your mouth like ash, bitter and unformed. You turn quickly, your heart racing, almost as if you can feel his gaze still on you, heavy, like a weight pressing into your back.

You hurry down the steps, not daring to glance back, the sound of your shoes echoing against the marble floor, the silence between you and them stretching longer with every step. The doors at the entrance loom ahead, the dark night waiting outside, offering the only escape you can reach. Without looking back, you push through the heavy doors and step into the cool, fresh air of the night.

──

You begin to see people exiting the building, their voices rising in a murmur of light chatter. The event must be over. You’re not sure how much time has passed since you stepped away from the crowd, but it doesn’t matter. The weight of their gazes still presses against your skin, their judgment an unspoken burden. You ignore the dirty looks thrown your way—some dismissive, others openly curious—as they file past you toward the valet.

Your gaze sweeps over the crowd, and then you see him.

Asriel.

He’s walking toward you, effortlessly parting the sea of people as if they’re little more than obstacles. You catch his eyes almost immediately. There’s a brief flicker of something—something unreadable—before he looks away, his attention shifting toward the parked limo. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t acknowledge you beyond that brief, knowing glance. He never does.

For a moment, you stand frozen, just a little too aware of how invisible you are to him, how easily he walks past without a second thought. It shouldn’t sting, but it does. You don’t need to turn around to know the driver is still not behind you, that he’s probably already in the car, waiting, prepared for Asriel’s exit. Of course he would be. You would sense him if he were close. That feeling of presence, that pulse of life, the faintest energy ripple in the air. And there’s nothing.

But then, just as your thoughts begin to wander, you hear the familiar sound of a door opening. Asriel’s deep voice cuts through the tension, pulling you back to reality.

“Get in.”

You look up, and for the first time, you see the door to the limo held open—for you. His posture is straight, commanding, but there’s something almost disinterested in his expression, something too practiced in his gestures, as if this is all routine, just another moment for him to play his role. You hesitate only for a second, the residual weight of the evening still hanging around you like a cloud.

With no more hesitation, you step forward and slide into the car, feeling the cool leather beneath you as you settle into the plush seat. The door shuts behind you with a soft click, and the silence inside the limo feels heavier than it should. Asriel follows, his presence filling the small space like a shadow. He sits across from you, his gaze flicking briefly in your direction, though his face remains unreadable.

It was isolating, the privacy window closed in. Leaving just you and Asriel.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The hum of the engine starts, the car pulling smoothly away from the curb, but you can’t shake the feeling that something is hanging in the air. Something unsaid. The distance between you and him feels almost palpable, thick with things left unspoken.

“You caused a scene.”

The words hit you like a slap in the face, and you can feel your jaw tighten in response.

“I did not,” you reply, your voice firm, betraying none of the seething frustration that churns beneath the surface. “I could have truly made a scene by killing her.”

The words leave your mouth before you can stop them. You don't even flinch, though you know how dangerous that statement sounds, how easily it could be taken as a threat. But at this point, you’re too far gone to care.

Asriel’s gaze flicks over to you, his eyes sharpening for the briefest of moments, before they return to the window. There’s no anger in his posture, no reaction at all, really. He merely gives a soft sigh, a sound so casual it almost feels dismissive.

“You wouldn’t do that.”

It’s not a question, just a statement. And in his voice, you hear something like amusement, a soft mocking edge that only adds to the bitterness building inside you.

“You remember what happened to Rehne, don't you?” you mutter under your breath.The car continues its journey through the night, the hum of the engine the only sound between you now. But it’s the silence that stretches between you both that fills the space, that makes the air feel too thick, too heavy.

Asriel shifts slightly, his suit jacket rustling as he adjusts his posture, but he doesn’t speak again. The only indication of his awareness is the slight tightening of his jaw, the faintest flicker of something—almost like concern, though you’re not sure if it’s for you, or just because you’ve finally dared to speak out of line.

You’re not sure why you said that. Why allow yourself to feel the need to claim something, to show that you were capable of something more than simply being in his shadow. But the words had spilled from your lips, raw and unfiltered.

The weight of it lingers.

“Is that what you think of me?” you ask quietly, before you can stop yourself. Your voice isn’t challenging, but there’s a trace of vulnerability in it that surprises even you. "A thing that just... exists by your side? Something to look past, to ignore?"

You didn't expect him to answer right away. In fact, you almost wish he wouldn't—because you’re not sure what you want to hear. But Asriel's silence stretches longer this time, and with it, something shifts inside you.

The urge to say something more, something sharp, something biting, is almost overwhelming. You want to make him feel something. But the quiet calm that fills the limo only tightens around you, like a vice.

Then, without warning, he speaks again, his voice quieter this time, as if he's carefully choosing his words.

"I never ignore you."

The words are so simple. So strange. They shouldn’t mean as much as they do, but they cut through the thick silence between you like a knife. His eyes meet yours, the first time in what feels like an eternity, and there’s something in his gaze—something difficult to interpret. A flicker of something human, something that almost feels... apologetic.

You try to read his expression, but the instant your gaze lingers, his face shifts back into that unreadable mask, his eyes going cold again, distant.

"But that doesn’t mean I’m going to entertain your tantrums," he adds, the edge of his voice sharpening once more.

You clench your fists at your sides, willing yourself not to snap, not to show how much those words hurt, even if they’re true. How he can so easily dismiss you, push you aside, and yet never fully let you go.

A bitter, almost desperate ache curls in your gut. The irony is sickening. The contradictions between what he says and what he does never fail to unravel you.

He pats his lap, an almost casual gesture, but it sends a jolt of icy awareness straight through your core. His eyes glint with something dark, a mix of command and something else—something you can’t quite place.

“Come here, pet.”

The word settles in the space between you both like a weight. It’s not a question. It’s an order, and you know what happens when you don’t obey. The thought of disobedience—it’s never really been an option, has it?

You hesitate for only a heartbeat before the instinct to comply surges within you. The friction of your frustration against the smoothness of his control. You move, almost too swiftly, as if driven by something far beyond reason. Your body finds its place on his lap, the cool fabric of his suit brushing against your skin, the familiar, intoxicating scent of him enveloping you.

Your face buries itself in the crook of his neck, your breath shallow, the tension in your chest rising. It’s so close. Too close. And then it happens. You feel the tug of something primal, that raw need, the hunger building inside you like a drumbeat, steady and insistent. Your teeth ache at the thought

His fingers graze the back of your neck lightly, almost absentmindedly, as if his touch is meant to ground you. It doesn’t work. If anything, it only makes the need grow sharper, more unbearable.

“Is it attention you want?” His voice is quieter now, threaded with an almost teasing note.

You feel his words like a whisper across your skin, like the edges of a blade. It would be so easy to give in, to let that hunger consume you—to claim what’s yours. Him.

You stay still, just for a moment longer, holding your breath, trying to wrestle control back. Your hands are trembling slightly, but you refuse to show it. You don't want to show any weakness, not now, not in front of him.

“I don’t need attention,” you murmur, your voice muffled against the soft fabric of his collar, but it lacks the conviction it should have.

You hate the way it’s so undeniable, how your body betrays you every time. How you need him, in a way that makes your heart feel twisted and raw. How he makes you ache without even trying.

But you don’t dare voice it. Not aloud. Instead, you stay silent, pressing your face deeper into the crook of his neck, the soft thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear. The urge to bite him, to mark him, to feel that rush of power, it surges again. You bite your lip, clenching your fists tighter.

“I think you do,” he says, his fingers threading through your hair, his touch gentle but commanding. “Tell me what you want, pet,” he murmurs, his voice low, almost a rasp now.

For a moment, you just stare at him, your breath coming in shallow bursts. The tension is thick enough to cut with a knife. His lips curl upward just slightly, a smirk—one that is both knowing and cruel.

You want to scream, to fight against the waves of need crashing over you. You want to push him away, tell him to stop, but the truth is—you can’t.

“I…” You stop, words catching in your throat. You try to force them out, to demand what you crave, but they don’t come. It’s too much.

“Go on,” Asriel presses, his voice darker now, more coaxing, like he’s savoring the moment. “Tell me. What do you want?”

Everything. The thought hits you before you can stop it. You want everything he has to give. You want him. You want the control, the attention, the bite, the warmth, the sting of his presence.

But instead, you close your eyes, exhaling slowly, and force the words out, though they sound hollow in your own ears.

“I want… you,” you whisper, barely audible. The words feel wrong on your tongue, like a confession of weakness.

You lift your head from his neck, eyes locking with his, searching for any hint of softness. Anything that could tell you that, just once, he might see you as something more than his possession.

He smiles, his thumb gently brushing across your lips. "Good." The single word hangs in the air between you both, heavy, loaded.

He tilts his head to the side, an almost imperceptible motion, silently offering himself up—for you to feed. And you do. Your fangs find their place against his skin, sinking in with a soft, practiced ease. His hands move to your waist, steadying you, as if the gesture is both a comfort and a reminder of his control.

You feel the burn of your fangs against his flesh, the subtle tug of his skin, and it sends a shiver down your spine. You know he’s giving this to you, but there’s something more in his touch—something that tells you he’s not just the one being consumed here.

His grip on your waist tightens slightly, a subtle shift that makes your heart skip a beat. He’s holding you in place—not just physically—but emotionally, too. His power is all-consuming, pulling at the edges of your sanity, demanding your submission without a single word spoken.

Slowly he rocks you against the growing bulge in his pants, "That's... enough," he says, his voice still commanding, even though it's laced with a faint breathlessness. You pull away immediately, obeying the command without hesitation.

Asriel's fingers start their exploration, his touch gentle yet firm as he traces the curves of your body. His hands roam lower, skimming over your hips, your thighs, until they reach the hem of your skirt.

He pauses, his fingers hovering just above your skin, waiting for permission. But you don't give it. You can't.

Instead, you freeze, your breath catching in your throat as you wait for his next move. His fingers twitch, the anticipation almost palpable.

And then, slowly, deliberately, he pushes your skirt up, exposing your thighs to the cool air of the room. You shiver, goosebumps rising on your skin, but not from the temperature.

Asriel leans in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, "You're so beautiful, pet. So perfect."

His hands continue their journey, sliding higher and higher until they reach the apex of your thighs. He pauses again, his fingers resting lightly against your clothed sex.

You can feel the heat of his touch, even through the fabric, and it sends a jolt of electricity straight to your core. Your hips buck involuntarily, seeking more of his touch.

He brings a hand to his neck, his fingers brushing over the spot where you had fed, dipping into the blood you’d drawn. Asriel's fingers push your panties aside, exposing your slick folds to his hungry gaze. He trails a finger along your slit, gathering the wetness there before bringing it to his lips. His tongue darts out, tasting your essence with a satisfied hum.

He brings his blood-smeared fingers to your entrance, circling your clit with the pad of his thumb. The blood acts as a lubricant, allowing his touch to glide smoothly over your sensitive flesh.

Asriel slowly pushes one finger inside you, coating your walls with the metallic tang of his blood. You gasp at the sensation, your body clenching around the intrusion. He begins to pump his finger in and out, gradually adding a second and then a third, stretching you deliciously.

He angles his fingers, searching for your clit. When he finds it, he rubs it relentlessly, his thumb circling your clit in tandem.

The dual stimulation is overwhelming, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. Asriel can feel your walls fluttering around his fingers, knowing you're on the verge of climax.

"Come for me, pet. Give yourself to me completely."

With a few more skillful strokes, he sends you flying over the precipice, your body convulsing with the force of your orgasm. You cry out his name, a litany of pleasure and submission, as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over you.

Asriel works you through it, his fingers gentling as you come down from your high. He withdraws from your body, bringing his blood and pleasure-coated fingers to his lips once more.

Asriel's eyes darken with lust as he gazes at your flushed, satisfied expression. He can't wait to claim you fully, to feel your tight heat wrapped around his aching cock.

With a growl of impatience, he fumbles with his belt, undoing it with clumsy fingers. He shoves his dress pants and underwear down his thighs, freeing his impressive erection. It springs up, thick and hard, the tip glistening with pearls of precum.

"On your knees, pet," he commands, his voice rough with desire. "Show me how much you want it."

You comply immediately, sinking to your knees on the plush carpet of the car. Your hands reach out to grasp his shaft, stroking him from root to tip. Asriel hisses in pleasure, his hips canting forward into your touch.

He tangles his fingers in your hair, guiding you closer to his straining cock. You take him into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the head before taking him deeper.

Asriel groans, his grip on your hair tightening as you bob up and down his length. Careful not to cause him pain with your fangs. He sets a brutal pace, fucking your face with abandon, chasing his own pleasure.

"Enough," he grunts after a few minutes, pulling you off his cock. "I need to be inside you. Now."

You hesitate for only a moment before climbing onto his lap, your legs straddling his thighs. His cock brushes against your entrance, and you shiver at the contact.

Slowly, carefully, you sink down onto him, inch by delicious inch. He stretches you, fills you in a way you've never been filled before. When you're fully seated on his lap, your bodies pressed together intimately, he lets out a low groan of pleasure.

You begin to move, lifting yourself up before sinking back down. The motion sends sparks of pleasure shooting through your body, and you moan, unable to hold back the sound.

"Fuck, you're tight," Asriel groans, his head falling back against the seat. "So hot and wet and perfect."

You begin to move, rising up and down on his cock, finding a rhythm that has you both gasping and moaning. The car rocks with the force of your coupling, the leather seats creaking beneath you, and the windows fogging up with the heat of your passion.

Asriel's hands roam your body, cupping your breasts, pinching your nipples, driving you wild with lust. He captures your mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing your cries of pleasure.

"That's it, pet," he pants against your lips. "Ride me harder. Take what you need."

Asriel meets your movements, thrusting up into you, driving himself deeper with each stroke.

His hands roam your body, cupping your breasts, pinching your nipples through the thin fabric of your shirt. He leans forward, capturing one pert nub between his teeth, biting down just hard enough to send a jolt of pain-tinged pleasure straight to your core.

You ride him harder, faster, chasing your impending orgasm. Asriel's hips piston upwards, his cock hitting that perfect spot inside you with every thrust. You can feel your walls starting to flutter, knowing you're close.

Asriel's thrusts grow more urgent, more demanding. He's close, you can tell by the way his body tenses beneath you, by the guttural moans that escape his throat. "So—good" he encourages, his voice strained with the effort of holding back his own release.

With a final, brutal thrust, Asriel buries himself to the hilt, his cock pulsing as he finds his climax. "Fuck” he breathes, his head thrown back in ecstasy.

You feel the hot rush of his seed flooding your insides, claiming you, owning you. It triggers your own orgasm, your walls clamping down around him as wave after wave of pleasure crashes over you.

You collapse against his chest, both of you panting and spent. Asriel wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you bask in the afterglow. “I own you.” he murmurs, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead.

You shiver at his words, a thrill running down your spine. You've never felt so possessed, so claimed. Asriel's cum still pulses inside you, a physical reminder of his ownership.

He reaches down, scooping some of the excess seed from where it leaks out of you, and brings his fingers to your lips. "Clean up your mess, pet," he commands softly.

Obediently, you part your lips, sucking his fingers into your mouth. The taste of him, salty and musky, sends another shiver through you.

──

You’re not sure when you fell asleep—vampires didn’t need sleep. It was more of a state of rest, a brief lull where time didn’t matter and everything was suspended. The gentle hum of the car’s engine is a soothing backdrop to the quiet space you occupy with Asriel.

The steady rise and fall of his chest against your back tells you he’s asleep too, though the way he holds you—still and unyielding—keeps the tension between you palpable. His warmth presses into your side, the faintest shift of his breath against your neck. Even in the calm, the presence of him feels suffocating, but not in a way that you mind.

Your eyes flutter closed once again. The motion is almost automatic, as if the weight of the night, of everything that’s happened, is too much to fight. You can feel his hand still resting lightly on your waist, fingers barely brushing the fabric of your clothes, yet the touch is enough to send a rush of heat through you. The proximity, the intimacy of it, makes your pulse quicken in the quiet darkness of the car.

The car continues its slow journey, the outside world distant, muffled by the tinted windows and the silence inside. The lights from the city pass by, casting brief flashes of pale illumination across the interior, but the moment you share with Asriel remains shadowed, hidden. The rhythmic sound of his breathing, steady and deep, lulls you deeper into the softness of sleep.

For the first time in a long while, you allow yourself to surrender to the sensation of his presence, of his warmth.

──

author's note: just in case there's any confusion, pet does not posses any romantic feelings towards isaac, vise vera.

elias requested fic is next!

#zsakuva #sakuverse #asriel #pet #zsakuva asirel #isaac rhoades #pickel #i need to repent after writing this

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