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yandere-daydreams · 2 months ago

Text

Title: Foxglove and Oleander.

Pairing: Yandere!Sukuna x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 6.0k

Commissioned by the very lovely @letstalktea.

TW: Heian Era AU, Wildly Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Blood + Violence, Deliberate Manipulation, Obsessive Behavior, and Implied Cannibalism.

Sukuna first arrived the night your chrysanthemums bloomed.

That was the only reason you weren’t in the temple when the fire reached it. Against your better judgement and the wishes of your superiors, you’d committed yourself to spending the night in the courtyard, carefully monitoring each delicate bud as they slowly unfurled and stained your garden with scattered blotches of bright, bleeding scarlet. In the morning, it would be your responsibility to gather each flower, dry their petals, and deliver them to the temple’s healers to use as medicinal herbs before you were allowed to get to your less seasonal chores, but tonight, the chrysanthemum belonged to you.

From your little corner of the courtyard, you watched as flames climbed the side of the side of the mountain, consuming the forest that surrounded your home before latching onto the servants’ barracks, then the outer sanctuaries, before finally reaching the main body of the temple. There were a few screams to accompany the fire’s first arrival, but they were quickly drowned out by the fire’s deafening roar, by the sound of buildings already mostly burnt away collapsing into themselves and putting their unfortunate occupants out of their misery. You could feel the heat, hear the others begin to flee, but it was only as the fire reached the peak of its gluttony that he emerged, entirely unscathed and painted with the blood of those you supposed you may have cared about, if you’d had more time. Sukuna, although you wouldn’t know to call him by that name, just yet.

It went without saying that he was hideous. Too many limbs, too many eyes, too many mouths – every part of him distorted with bulk and muscle and ink. His teeth struck you first, bared and glinting in the blinding firelight, then his clothing, the tattered and charred remains of what appeared to be a once fine kimono tied around his waist. He was carrying a spear, but he drove it into the ground as he stepped out of the inferno. There was something slung over his shoulder, too – a corpse, male and burnt beyond the point of recognizability – but that was abandoned just as thoughtlessly, left to rot on the outskirts of your garden. You were glad. Your chrysanthemums wouldn’t survive being crushed by such dead weight.

He didn’t notice you immediately. You stayed where you were, kneeling in the dirt, as he turned in either direction, taking in the devastation with a full-chested laugh. The noise was, in kinship with his appearance, unspeakably gruesome.

Finally, he turned to face you, his eyes lighting up in spite of the stark shadows cast over his face. His spear was still within arm’s reach, but he made no attempt to retrieve it – holding out an open hand to you, instead. “Are you a monk or a maiden?” he asked, his voice more of a growl than anything proper, anything human. “I’ve already had my fill of the former, tonight.”

“A servant,” you answered, bowing your head by way of greeting. “I tend the gardens, among other things. Are you the one killing all the acolytes?”

“Among other things.” His tone had a mocking lilt, although he seemed far from vicious. You’d been warned about that, once, by someone very dear to you. You couldn’t remember the specifics, but the sentiment was still clear enough. ‘Do not fear the animal that bares its teeth, but the creature who lures you closer before it lunges’, or something like that. “I’m afraid I only have a taste for holy meat, tonight. Although, if you run, I’ll certainly take more enjoyment in striking you down.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but—”

“Lord,” he corrected. “Make that mistake again and it’ll be the last time I allow you the privilege of using your tongue.”

“My apologies, my lord.” Again, you bowed your head. “The high priest can be harsh with his discipline. My ankle is still healing, and I’m afraid I wouldn’t be able to move quickly enough for either of us to get very much out of it.”

He grinned, and the fire raged on behind him. “Grovel, then. Perhaps, if you manage to please me, I’ll be merciful and kill you quickly.”

He was clearly a man (man? monster? beast?) of great ego. You pressed your tongue against the roof of your mouth, trying to block out the taste of something harsh and acidic rising up from the back of your throat. “If it’s all the same to you,” you managed, eventually, sparing one last glance towards your chrysanthemums. They really were beautiful. You could only regret that you’d never get to see them in the light of day. “I’d really rather not. It seems like it be easier, to just… uh, let you get the job done, as it were.”

In his defense, his pride overshadowed his shock. That, or you simply weren’t the first person he’d met to pay your own life such little regard. “I’ve cut down braver men for bolder suggestions.”

“But you cut them down all the same.” You swallowed, dryly. It’d been a while since you’d last had anything to eat or drink – the better part of a day, at least – but you supposed you wouldn’t have to worry about that for much longer. “I’m sorry, my lord. I would try to run, but my ankle really does make things difficult.”

He regarded you for a moment, as yet another wing of the temple buckled under its own weight. You decided, as you stared back at him, that his eyes weren’t so terrible – the pair he was supposed to have, at least. Although currently narrowed and creased around the edges, they had a pleasant color, a unique shade of red that seemed to glow when it caught the firelight. At least one part of him was bearable to look at.

Finally, he broke the silence, his resonant voice taking on a more authoritative cadence. “Come.”

He didn’t extend a hand, or gesture for you to follow, only trekking onward – towards the temple’s gates, left open in the panic of the exodus. Gingerly, weary of your injured ankle, you pushed yourself to your feet and hastened to his side. Sukuna only paid you glance by way of acknowledgement, but you didn’t mind. “Are you going to kill me in the woods, instead?”

“Uraume’s been asking for another set of hands.” You weren’t sure what he was talking about, but you nodded as if you understood entirely. He spared you a small, thoughtless smile, and you decided that he was also the type of man who often enjoyed the luxury of never being questioned. “If they don’t care for you, I’ll kill you wherever I wish.”

“Ah.” You passed under the temple gates by his side. Not long after that, you heard the great crash of stone into earth, and knew that those, too, had collapsed. “I hope it’s somewhere with lots of flowers. I’ve always wanted to die somewhere beautiful.”

His only answer was another, more lingering glance in your direction, a low bark of a laugh. Satisfied, you let the conversation lapse into silence and walked into the night by the side of a monster.

“How do you choose where to go?”

He didn’t respond, not immediately. Instead, one of his spare hands brought yet another grape to your lips, and with a pleased hum, you accepted it, savoring the sour tinge that accompanied the sweetness. From what you gathered, he preferred savory to sweetness, sweetness to bitterness, and bitterness to all other flavors that followed. He rarely ate anything that wasn’t the strange, ambiguous meat prepared by Uraume, his ever-smiling mastress of rituals, but the last village you’d passed through had a surplus of fruit. It’d seemed like a waste to let all of it rot, now that there was no one left to enjoy it.

It was strange – traveling with Sukuna and Uraume. They seemed to be on a pilgrimage of sorts, the destination unknown and the purpose one of endless carnage. Not that either of them expected you to participate in the devastation. No, as far as you could tell, you were regarded more as a servant, meant to be of aid to Sukuna when Uraume was otherwise occupied. Except, Uraume never seemed to be very occupied at all, and Sukuna very rarely needed aid, and you were often left in a position more akin to that of a pet than anything else – kept around predominantly because Sukuna found it entertaining to do so. Not that you minded. Pets were cherished and coddled. Pets never went hungry. Pets weren’t expected to be anything other than endearing and obedient, which wasn’t totally dissimilar to the things you were always expected to be, regardless of what you were supposed to call yourself.

Currently, you were taking shelter in an abandoned shrine not quite dilapidated enough to be considered unlivable, Uraume tending the hearth while Sukuna stared absent-mindedly at a map pilfered from the shine’s stockroom, the colored ink nearly too faded to read. You paid little mind to either of them – content enough to remain sprawled across Sukuna’s lap, one of his arms wrapped loosely around your waist. This was the first time you’d spoken in minutes, reluctant to break the comfortable silence. Sukuna didn’t seem to mind the sound of your voice, and you didn’t want that to change. “I don’t,” he admitted, eventually. He only spoke for himself, but it was given that you and Uraume would follow. “I go where I please. I only like to know that, when I arrive, there’ll be something worth my time waiting to receive me.”

“So particular, my lord.” You felt something tap against your bottom lip, and opened your mouth to accept a perfectly sweet, perfectly ripe strawberry. “Tell me, then – what would please you?”

He seemed to think for a long moment. Finally, he asked, “What village were you born to?”

His intention went unspoken, but the implication was clear. Sukuna’s sole pastime was destruction, with the target of his ire being any person, town, or creature unfortunate enough to cross his path. Although you’d never seen him go out of his way to find prey before, you were sure willingly pointing him in the direction of vulnerable quarry would result in a predictable outcome.

“Oh, I wouldn’t know. Things like that can be so hard to remember,” you said, which wasn’t untrue. Your memory was a fickle thing – uncooperative on your best days and deliberately misleading on your worst. “You know, being a baby at the time and all.”

His fingers drummed thoughtfully against your side. “You must have family somewhere, servant.”

“Not necessarily.” You shut your eyes to stop yourself from squirming, sighing as you rested your head against his shoulder. “My parents abandoned me before I was old enough to learn their names. A scrap collector took me in some time after that, but he traveled quite often, and I lost track of him years ago.” You paused, shook your head. “Like I said, things like this can be difficult to remember. I’m sorry, my lord.”

There was a slight hum, a momentary lapse. Abruptly, you felt his hands shift to your waist, Sukuna repositioning your smaller form with all of the strength and all of the thought it might’ve taken an ordinary person to right a toppled-over doll. Your back came to rest against his chest as one of his spare hands cupped your chin, directing your attention towards the yellowed map. “Pick somewhere,” he muttered, his voice low and his lips close enough to ghost over the shell of your ear. “Anywhere. Before I pull your unhelpful little tongue out of your throat.”

“Of course, my lord.” Acquiesce came first, a real answer second. Your gaze fell to the map in front of you. It took a second, but you found what you were looking for quickly enough. “Here,” you said, pointing to an area north of your current location. “There’s a village in the eastern corner of this valley with a small population of young farmers and very little in the way of redeeming qualities. But, in the town square, there grows a cherry blossom tree tall enough to scrap against the belly of the sky with branches that stretch as far as the eye can seem. When it blooms, its petals are great enough in volume to carpet the surrounding acre in pink.” You straightened your back, decisively avoiding sinking back into his chest. “I… I wouldn’t mind visiting it again, if it would please my lord.”

It was a dangerous thing to do – showing your hand so plainly. You’d grown so used to keeping your cards tucked snuggly against your chest, even talking this openly felt as if you’d been stripped bare and put on exhibition in front of him.

But, if Sukuna realized that he was the audience to your performer, he neglected to acknowledge it. He only looked toward Uraume, who perked to attention immediately. They were good at that – pretending not to listen. Not as talented as you, of course, but good nonetheless. “We start traveling east tomorrow,” he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m adding another leg to our journey.”

His primary attention remained on them, but a few of his unblinking secondary eyes – repulsive in their lack of necessity – darted to you, watching for any signs of satisfaction, of pleasure. You only schooled your expression, retreating into your own mind to count the days until the cherry blossoms bloomed.

It took a surprising amount of time for you to catch Uraume in the act. Not overly long, but more time than you would’ve expected with them making no particular effort to hide the evidence of their ‘ritual preparation’ and you making no exceptional attempt to avoid finding out why their snow-white sleeves were so often stained red. If allowed to, you might’ve gone on living in the bliss of plausible deniability until your time with Sukuna and his chosen companionship came to an end, but he was not so kind, and there was little entertainment to be had in such a passive participant.

Still, you would’ve liked another week, another month, another season. You’d never cared for kitchens, but you cared for them least when they reeked of rotting meat.

The stench was almost worse than the sight – almost, but not quite. Then again, you were struggling to think of something worse than Uraume, all practiced tranquility and iced-over smiles, elbow-deep in the cavity a long dead middle-aged man, his body bare and spread over the stone countertop. You recognized him not by his face, but by his features – his wealth-fattened face, his uncalloused hands, the lack of definition to his legs that those who toiled could rarely afford to go without. He must’ve been the lord who owned the palace you currently found yourself residing in – a sprawling, decadent structure that it’d taken hours to clean after the massacre. Sukuna would survive wherever his whims lead, but he preferred to be comfortable. You didn’t mind. You preferred it when Sukuna was comfortable, too.

It was clear they hadn’t been expecting you, either. Their dark eyes bored into you where you lingered in the doorway, a wicker basket on your hip and your robes still dusted with soil. Most of your day had been spent in the palace gardens. Its former caretaker had planted their shiso along the garden wall, where it would only receive partial sun in the best season – a common enough mistake, for how easy it was to mistake for basil, and a tricky one to correct. An experienced caretaker should’ve known better, but as the herbs were still alive while their keeper was very much not, you could consider their negligence repaid.

You made the first move –bowing at the waist by way of greeting. “Lord Sukuna asked me to fetch his tea,” you explained, as you straightened your back. You didn’t feel the need to mention that’d he’d sought you out in your gardens to do so. “I thought I’d bring you a few herbs in the same trip. My apologies, it wasn’t my intention to disturb you.”

The corner of their lips quirked downward. It wasn’t quite a frown, but it was the closest thing to one that you’d ever earned from them. You weren’t upset. Even glowering, they would’ve been breath-taking. “He wanted you to see my—” They paid a glance toward the dismembered lord, their arm still buried in his chest. “My preparations.”

“It would seem so.”

“And he wanted to know how you’d react. There’s a good chance he’ll ask me about this, later on.”

“I’d say it’s more of a certainty.”

“I’d understand it, if you wanted to leave. I know there are few ordinary humans who can stomach tasks so—” Another pause, this one longer than the first. Clearly, they were making an attempt to watch their tongue. “—needlessly visceral.”

“If I did try, how long would you give me before telling Sukuna?” This time, they choose to hold their tongue entirely, their slight frown deepening into a full-blown scowl. It took everything you had not to let your own satisfaction shine through.

Rather, you paid them another shallow bow before the threshold and setting down your basket on the nearest length of empty counter. “It’s mostly shiso, but I found some usable ginger and garlic, too, and a few stalks of parsley. Is there anything I can do to help?”

After a moment of consideration, Uraume shook their head. It only took a few minutes to make the tea you’d been sent to fetch, but they were minutes passed in silence, undisturbed save for the quiet chime of ceramic against ceramic. They didn’t start their own work again until you’d left the kitchen entirely, which you were thankful for. They’d been right. There were few humans with stomachs so strong as to withstand such grisly tasks, and you’d never counted yourself among them.

Sukuna had claimed the master’s chambers for himself, of course. You let yourself in without knocking, immediately finding Sukuna sprawled across the wonderfully ornate futon that dominated most of the floorspace. He smiled when he saw you, but his expression fell as soon as you returned the gesture.

He didn’t mention Uraume, or the kitchens, or the thick stench of iron-tinged blood that now seemed to fill every corner of the vast estate. You hummed as you poured his tea, and remained at his bedside as he took a long drink, followed shortly by an approving nod. You tried to make your escape quickly, already fantasizing about retreating back to your secluded garden, but Sukuna caught you before you could so much as turn towards the door. “Attend to what you must,” he started, his tone simultaneously dismissive and attention-seeking. “But return here, when you’re done. Bring your belongings, too – you won’t be going back to your bedroom again.”

You didn’t falter, but not for lack of reason to. You’d chosen your bedroom carefully, surveyed the better half of the residential wing before finding quarters that suited you. It was sparse by way of comforts and furniture, but the sole window looked over the mountainside, the landscape stretching on for miles upon miles without interruption. You would’ve been pressed to think of a finer view.

“As you wish.” And then, with a chirp of a laugh, “You know, we spend so much time with one another while traveling. I thought you would’ve taken our stationary periods as an excuse to get away from Uraume and I.”

“If I had a weaker will, maybe.” He reclined, let his head lull to the side, as if inviting you to counter, to protest – or worse, to step closer. “Why? Do you have something to say, servant?”

“Only how pleased I am to be of service to my lord.” You could’ve bowed, but decided against it. This time, when you took your leave, Sukuna was kind enough not to get in your way. Then again, he didn’t have a reason to.

He must’ve known that you were always going to come back.

“Who gave you permission to leave, servant?”

No one, but you’d hoped he wouldn’t notice until you were already gone. Stifling the urge to cringe, you turned on your heel and retreated back to the riverbank, not far from where Sukuna had left his robes, deliberately keeping your eyes on the ground. He rarely let you leave his side, but having you remain within eyeshot while he bathed was a newer development – and a tricker one to justify to yourself, at that. You were still allowed to remain more of a voyeur than a participant, but you weren’t naive enough to believe that he’d allow there to be such a great distance between you for much longer.

“I’m sorry, my lord.” Your eyes may have been downcast, but your voice was a light and as upbeat as ever. “I only hoped to catch Uraume before they finished. Servants have to bathe too, you know, and those of us with no limbs to spare can be rather hesitant to do so alone so deep into the forest.”

“Join me, then.”

Ah.

You should’ve been expecting that, honestly. You had no one but yourself to blame.

“My lord,” you managed with an airy laugh, feigning disbelief. “I’m just not sure if someone of my position should—”

Considering Sukuna’s size, he could move impressively fast. You’d only managed to take half a step back before you felt a hand curling around your wrist, pulling you off of the bank and into the river. You managed to take all of two stumbling steps forward before your foot caught on a slick river stone and you fell to your knees, ice-cold water immediately soaking through your thin robes. Sukuna made no effort to catch you, laughing as you tripped over yourself. He’d always seemed terrible to you, but you couldn’t remember the sound of his voice ever being so vile.

Biting back a sigh or some other, more telling show of displeasure, you started to push yourself to your feet, but stopped as soon as you felt Sukuna’s fist curl around your collar, another finding the back of your head. In a brief moment of blissful obliviousness, you thought he meant to help you – or, to restrain you and savor your humiliation for a few seconds longer, at the very worst. You almost thanked him, as little as your gratitude meant to Sukuna.

Then, your head was forced below the water, and you thought better of it.

It happened too suddenly to brace yourself. Your first reaction, operating purely out of instinct, was to open your mouth and try to breathe in – an idea as primal as it was unhelpful. Frigid water flooded into your mouth, your throat, liberating you from any amount of air you might’ve been able to hold onto and filling the now-vacant space with a chill that seemed to bite into your throat and leave everything it touched throbbing, numb. Your second was to thrash against Sukuna’s hold – which was, predictably, equally as useless. He was stronger than you could ever hope to be, than any real human being ever should be. Thick fingers threaded themselves into your hair, the hand holding the collar of your robes falling away only to find the nape of your neck, cementing your place at his mercy.

You tried to be rational, to exhale, to not panic, but something thick and solid seemed to be lodged at the base of your throat, and you couldn’t think about breathing without choking, and it was hard not to panic when you were hyper-aware that you were going to be drowned in some godforsaken river in some heartless forest at the hands of an unlovable monster. You were running out of air too quickly – you were supposed to have more time. He couldn’t have dragged you down any longer than a minute ago, but you could already feel an acute throbbing in your temples, make out dark spots dancing in the corners of your vision. Your body thrashed and stiffened in turns, but it was only when your form went limp in his hold that Sukuna jerked you back to the surface – hauling you back to the shore and letting you collapse onto the welcoming sand. He stood by, his grin the embodiment of mirth, as you hacked up acid-tinged water and blinked back tears, sucking in shallow breaths between coughing fits. Every inhale left your chest tense and aching, though, and every exhale felt like you were giving up something precious, something irreplaceable. You did your best to ignore the strain, to put it out of your mind. You had a feeling it would be some time before you could breathe painlessly again.

It took long, agonizing minutes for you to so much as begin to recover, but Sukuna remained by your side, waiting patiently. At some point, he lowered himself to your height – falling into a crouch and bringing a hand up to your back, rubbing circles into the apex of your spine as you coughed and clawed at the shore. He didn’t hum, or speak, or apologize, but you hadn’t expected him to. To initiate would be to taint what he sought so violently: your reaction. He wouldn’t do anything to spoil his prize, not so close to victory.

No, he wouldn’t dare.

The responsibility of denying him fell solely to you.

“My—”You tried to raise your head, to look at him, only to cut yourself off – another lungful of brackish water forcing its way past your lips before you could find your voice again. “My lord,” you managed, eventually. “If you’d like to bathe together, please give me a moment to undress, first. You know how long it can take cotton to dry.”

To his credit, his composure held. There was another throaty laugh, a sudden edge to his smile. “You should be more careful, songbird. One day, I’m going to eat you alive, and your last words to me are going to how glad you are to serve your master one last meal.”

“There would be no greater honor.” You managed an unsteady smile before dropping your head low, curling into yourself, and coughing up until your throat burnt and your rib cage seemed ready to burst. Sukuna only shook his head, taking you by the shoulders and leaning you against his chest, ensuring your stability before his attention shifted to your robes. With a surprising delicacy, he undid the sash bound around your waist, shrugging off your ruined yukata and carrying you back into the water. Your nails bit into his chest, but if he felt your involuntary resistance, it wasn’t enough to deter him.

Your body was lowered gingerly into one of the river’s shallower portions, and Sukuna kneeled behind you, one of his hands coming up to cup your cheek. You shut your eyes, but you could still feel his thumb tracing idly over your cheek, his chest reverberating against your back as he all but purred in delight. “I could hear your heart racing as I pushed you under.” And then, with a feather-light kiss to the top of your head, “It’s a relief to know there’s at least one part of you I can trust to be honest with me.”

You didn’t answer – only smiling as you melted into his palm.

The cherry blossom tree was larger than you’d remembered.

The village that surrounded it had grown, too. That made sense – it’d been years since you last passed through this area, and such a lovely corner of the world was bound to attract merchants and traveling warriors and those who, like yourself, simply found themselves drawn to beautiful things. You’d been able to see its wonderous branches rising above the horizon days before you were supposed to reach the village, started catching sakura petals on the breeze while you were still hours away from the nearest scrap of civilization, and a small part of you died upon being told that you would have to wait until after sunrise for your reunion, until Sukuna had finished glutting himself on blood and death and misery. Not that you listened. Uraume was tasked with looking after you, but they weren’t difficult to slip away from. They seemed to be fond of you – or, at least, surprisingly sympathetic to their master’s newest pet. Either way, they let you go without much of a struggle.

An hour or so after midnight, you made your way through fleeing crowds, maneuvering around mounds of disembodied extremities and between flame-eaten farmhouses, still in the early stages of burning down. Wherever Sukuna went, the fire seemed to follow, so you tried to stay where the light seemed the dimmest, where the smoke seemed the thinnest, focused solely on finding your way to the center of town – to the cherry blossom. You couldn’t make out its silhouette against the pitch-black landscape, but you didn’t need to. You would’ve been able to find your way to it on instinct alone.

That being said, now that you stood before it, you found it hard to believe that you’d come to the right village, let alone the right tree.

You didn’t remember your cherry blossom looking quite so… absent.

It was as if some great and wrathful deity had broken your sakura off at the base and spirited its body away, leaving only a charred stump behind. There was evidence that there had been more, at some point – pale pink petals littering the ground, a rope fence that had to have once guarded more than desecrated remains – but the cherry blossom was gone, as the village built around it would be by sunrise. It was cruel, really, when you could put your own despair aside long enough to use such tame vernacular. It was monstrous.

Speaking of monsters – yours was quick to rear his ugly head.

He’d never looked more terrible. Ash tainted the pale color of his hair, blood and gore staining his chest, his face, his hands. As always, he carried no weapon, and as always, he was entirely uninjured, untouched save for the byproduct of the devastation he’d wrought. You watched him approach in your peripheral, bracing yourself a moment before four arms wrapped around your smaller body and pulled you into a stone-hard chest. You knew better than to attempt to resist Sukuna, but this might have been the first time you were tempted to try.

“Songbird,” he muttered, the petname salt to a fresh wound. If he was surprised, let alone angry that you’d snuck away from Uraume, your disobedience caused him no strife. “I come bearing gifts.”

The upper of his two left hands uncurled, revealing a long, stick-like object. A hairpin, you realized, after a moment, the prong of a fine dark mahogany. It boasted only a single ornament: a small, expertly made glass flower. A cherry blossom, to be more specific.

You’d never been quick to anger. For as long as you could remember, in fact, you’d never found yourself angered by much of anything before.

You tasted blood before you realized you were biting your tongue; swallowing back a scream, or howl, or some other unsightly noise. It took you longer than you would’ve liked to regain your composure, but Sukuna was preoccupied, his attention dedicated solely to burying his face in the crook of your neck, to clutching onto you so tightly, you had to wonder how he’d ever managed to let go. It’d been inane to ever compare yourself to a pet, to something so cherished. It’d been inane to ever believe you were anything more than the favored plaything of a drooling, overgrown mutt.

With trembling hands, you plucked the hairpin out of his palm and held it up appraisingly. When Sukuna raised his head, his pointed teeth still lingering against your throat, you did the only thing you could think to – smiling as you leaned into him. “It’s beautiful.” And then, with a sigh, “It’s only a shame to have missed the real thing.”

For all of Sukuna’s faults, you could only be thankful that pride was among them.

“You don’t have to worry.” A hand found your jaw, holding you in place as he pressed a kiss into your temple. “I had more than my fill before you arrived.”

As you watched the village burn in his arms, you thought only of the color of chrysanthemums and the taste of iron, heavy on your tongue.

Someone had told you, once, that all the loveliest flowers bloomed under moonlight.

You watched the sky as you waited – your eyes never leaving the sliver of it you could see through small, barred window built into the opposing wall. He’d taken you to another vacant temple, tonight, claimed the head priest’s chambers as his den, and you’d followed lovingly, never uttering so much as a word of complaint. You’d let him rest his head in your lap, raked your fingers through his hair, and brought a cask of sweet wine laced with bitter herbs to his lips whenever he threatened to stir. Eventually, his eyes eased shut, his pulse slowing and his expression dulling into something calm, something docile. If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve started to doubt that he was a monster at all.

You didn’t move, didn’t shift, didn’t make a run for the door. You only reached into your sleeve, fetching the cherry blossom hairpin he’d gifted you weeks ago, now, the hairpin you carried dutifully ever since. You waited for him to turn onto his side, revealing the unarmored half of his face, before aligning the pointed tip with his ear, raising it above your head, and plunging it—

You felt his fingers dig into your thigh, another hand latching onto your hip. Your back slammed into the stiff futon with enough force to knock the air out of your lungs – leaving you breathless and paralyzed in an instant. When you recovered enough to think, you found Sukuna above you, straddling your waist, a hand planted on either side of your head. He was breathing heavily, as if excited. You knew it was impossible, but you found yourself wishing that he’d find a way to regurgitate his own lungs and choke on them.

“My lord,” you started, each word measured. You were careful to keep your voice low, your smile perfectly saccharine. “I’m sorry, did I wake you up?”

His response was a manic smile, a bark of a laugh. “It’s too late to play innocent.” He lowered himself that much closer to you, his chest a hair’s width from making contact with yours. “How many times have you poisoned my wine, songbird?”

“Poisoned? Never.” You’d let go of your hairpin in the collision. Currently, it was lying against the wall to your right – just an inch or so out of your reach. There were other, more accessible weapons closer to you, but if you were going to kill Sukuna, you wanted it to be with that abomination. “If my lord is asking how many times I’ve treated his wine with herbs and spices, then twice. Once to see how he handled his drink, and tonight.”

You’d done him a disservice – writing him off as simply monstrous. He was more beast-like than anything, with his back arched and his talons dug into the bedding, with eyes so wide and so vibrant you believed, if only for a second, that he would manage to burn holes through your skull. “A day will come,” His anticipation was palpable. It was a wonder how such a glutton could ever sound so starved. “Where nothing will fall from you sweet lips but my praises, and I will know beyond the shadow of a doubt that you mean every last word.”

For once, you could only say what you meant. “I’d rather fucking die.”

There was a change to his animal posture, a glint of white teeth in moonlight, and then his mouth was crashing into yours – all fangs and tongue and intensity. Mindlessly, operating off of your own sort of base impulse, you reached out, your fingertips just barely brushing against the prong of your hairpin.

It was only as you curled your fist around it that you kissed him back, unable to suppress your grin.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jjk imagines #yandere jjk #yandere sukuna #sukuna x reader

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angrelysimpping · 5 months ago

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emil if you do his for us you are usurping seir on the top of the romance list plz im begging

@letstalktea Elda PLZ

#mumbling n muttering #shout out boat game

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undead-merman · 7 months ago

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I am alive, struggling but alive.

With my old VTM game ended, we are starting the long anticipated of Galewater (a bizarre backwater town of west Virginia) and I'm working on character portraits. (I was shouted at to post them here.)

Along with @letstalktea @inkyquince @necroticguts and some others, here are their characters

#moist corner madness #undead talks #undead art #vtm art #vtm galewater #galewater madness #character art #not my ocs

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inkyquince · 1 year ago

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03. Summoning circle gone wrong

characters. Harleep. Mentioned Raphael shenanigans.

cw. harleep being a nasty. pseudoincest cuz raphael ya devil daddy, congratulations, you're a tiefling reader. gn reader at that. kinda dubcon?

note. DAY THREE, AND ITS INKY'S DAY ON THE COLLABOWEEEEEEN. check out the other sluts doing the collab, @necros-writing-stuff @angrelysimpping @letstalktea @undead-merman. also cuz inky is INKY theres a mention of gortash ehe. Also yeah, I'm only doing my own prompts instead of any of the others lol sorry guys

You needed to talk to your father.

That was a thought that never would have ever crossed your mind three days ago. No, you had been having such a good time, away from the Hells and your devil of a father, that he had never even crossed your mind.

Not until he appeared before you, his wide smirk catching for just a moment at the sight of you, before returning full force. Of course. Raphael didn’t even realize it was you until you were right in front of him, a spitting image of your other parent, but still his blood nonetheless. Your world you were slowly building with your new companions, that you were just like them, that you could have a future, came crashing down as he grinned, wide and loving and fake.

“My child.” He mused, reaching a hand out to trace along your cheek. “What a predicament you got yourself into.”

His false concern tasted like salt on an open wound, metallic and stinging. You knew he didn’t care about you. Hells, you were the only one of his children kept in the House of Hope because your mother was one of the few who tricked him into keeping the Tiefling offspring she had after laying with the Devil who had no interest in her. Of course, she paid dearly for that. Sometimes you wandered past the room where she was kept to this day, her screams switching between begging and wrathful.

The only reason that she was locked away was because Korilla was the one who made the plea on your behalf to not see whatever was happening to her.

But your mother made the deal, and the deal was for him to look after you as a child. So the minute you turned eighteen, you snuck out the House of Hope and never looked back. Did Raphael even notice? You doubted it.

But now here you were, actively seeking him out, just to demand answers and also help. Your father could help you all out, you knew it, and you were willing to engage with him enough to squeeze some solutions out of him and hopefully have him fuck off long enough for you and your companions to do something about it.

You knew how to make the portal ritual to the Hells, but the messaging one was simpler, and would need quite a bit of energy for someone to decide to suddenly hop through. The type of energy that would definitely burn you up almost instantly if you were, say, dragged through. Better to be crisped to death than back in the House of Hope with your father and his weirdos.

The ritual circle burst into dark flames, reaching up, over your head but no smoke emanated up. Hellfire was annoyingly unique like that. You waited, the flames embers spitting and crackling as the blaze raged on, but your father had yet to appear. You felt like you were being put on fucking hold, as he filed his nails all pointy and looked at the corresponding circle in his boudoir with that annoying smirk of his.

Mother should have just asked for child support.

A dark figure slowly formed behind the walled inferno and you sighed, putting your hands on your hips, feeling suddenly a lot like Korilla whenever she caught you doing something you were forbidden from. Like asking for permission before doing something.

“Finally! Did you get your fancy shoes on- Oh.” You paused in your angry tirade as the flames lessened, revealing…. Your father’s lover.

He seemed to have perfected your father’s smirk.

“Oh, little lost lamb,” Harleep purred, hands on his hips as he showed off his scant body. You felt a bit unwell at the sight. “Your father stepped out, he’s very busy these days. But I’ll gladly take a message for him.”

You were never allowed near the incubus. Not that anyone thought that he’d be anything but a shit of an… Uncle? to you, but Raphael was spoiled and didn’t like when his favorite playthings would hang out without him.

“He’s not doing anything. He's sitting around with his thumb up his ass and giggling.” You snapped and Harleep smiled, just enough for the fire to glint against his pearly teeth, the canine digging into his lip.

“Oh darling, he does nothing with that ass without me-”

“Yeah yeah yeah, way too much information, that’s my father you know.” You grumbled, fighting the urge to cover your ears, or… Maybe duel him for your dad’s honor, you didn’t know.

Harleep gazed at you, his eyes burning low and hungry…

“You seem different little lamb.”

“The last time you saw me was when I was thirteen, Harleep.” You grumbled, suddenly feeling a bit squeamish. “You tried your hand at babysitting me and Father came home to find us having a tea party with his favorite bottle of wine.”

“Ah, I remember.” Harleep didn’t break his gaze from you, slowly stepping closer and closer to you. “In my defense, I filled your cup with the pool water. Not a drop of alcohol.”

“...Just your spent jizz water.”

“It was refreshed just that morning.” Harleep murmured, his eyes twinkling. “But, if you still so wish for a taste, I don’t mind.”

“Don’t be fucking gross-”

“Twas in earnest.” Harleep sighed, his gaze dragging over your body, lingering on any exposed skin he could see. “If you have the same appetites as your father… I could-”

“No, nope, nope, no-” You stepped away but he simply took a step forward, until his bare feet touched the edge of the burning sigils, a small hop away from exiting the circle.

Harleep suddenly stilled, leaning his head back and sniffing the air, like when you came across those gnolls, panting and salivating at the scent of your flesh. You froze up. You know what he was doing. He did it every time your father came home, and smirked, sauntering over to their boudoir. Did it when Korilla came home, flushed and pink and Harleep would tease her about visiting Elminster’s library, whatever that meant. Did it when you were seventeen and you were caught with the boy the caretaker loved to hit, with his coarse hand pressed against your belly. You two were found, and Harleep came across you two being chewed out and he just smirked, looking at the dark haired boy with such deeply intense knowing that he flushed.

“Oh, little lamb. You smell so ripe.” He murmured. “Unlike your father. Never noticed before, your scent… Is that of a pretty little bitch that deserves to be on their back while delicious things are done to them.”

“H-Harleep…” You stammered, unable to form any words other than his name, which apparently he liked, given the sudden strain against his leather ass shorts.

“You shouldn’t have scampered off so quick all that time ago.” He murmured. Then he stepped forward.

His body shimmered as he stepped through the lowered blaze. You could feel the energy pulsate from the circle, as he forcibly crossed the realms, with such force that it made you stumble and fall unceremoniously on your ass. You hoped someone, like Gale, would feel the Weave pulsate with magic, the earth shake just a bit for people to notice. You blindly cursed yourself for deciding to do this so far away from the camp, so you wouldn’t be witnessed whining at your father.

Harleep took advantage of your prone state and sank down, his thighs straddling your sides.

“It’s been so long since I’ve had such a cute thing under me… And from what I’ve heard, you might last a while, even with two fingers inside of your hole. A pretty hole too.”

You had no idea if you should feel flattered by the comparisons to your… Father and his… Lackings, or deeply grossed out, given he was saying all this with your own bloodkin’s face sewed onto his skull.

“Harleep, this isn’t funn-”

“Hush, little lamb. It's such a pleasure to have my favorite little lost creature back in my reach. To be the one to see you get tended to. And-” He pressed a clawed finger against your lips, dragging it down over your throat. ”If you promise to be good while we play, I’ll see what I can tease out of your father, to help with your little… Tadpole.”

You fell silent, as he continued to stroke over your bare neck and shoulders. You mulled over the proposition as Harleep’s hands traveled down, settling on your chest and giving an appreciative squeeze.

“Should have stayed at our lovely House, little devil.” He murmured, his cock pressing against your stomach as he rolled his hips. “Anytime your father left, I could have come and kept you company. Made up for our lovely lost time.”

Harleep’s ministrations stopped for just a moment as he looked down at you, his gropes almost becoming soft, sweet touches as his finger tips trailed over your collarbone.

“He wouldn’t have let me look after my little lamb. You were so small and I wanted to sit with you in your room while you cried. He didn’t let me. I asked…. I asked if I could become your uncle, or some sort of parent. I wanted to so badly. He wouldn’t let me.” He shook himself out of his reverie. “But no. You’re not my little lamb anymore. You’re not my little anything anymore…”

He leaned down, one hand digging into the dirt by your head and pressed his scorching lips against yours, groaning softly into your mouth, utterly desperate.

“Well, I guess you’ll just have to be mine. All mine.” Harleep murmured, his fingers dragging back down, this time to yank at your trousers. “In a way even your Father won’t have you.”

He had his hand fully down your trousers, greedily groping you with two fingers grazing your hole over your underwear. You whined against his tongue dragging itself over your teeth, utterly muffling any sounds you were making, instead just drinking them all down.

“Let me make you cum.” He growled softly, his fingers pressing deeper inside of you, his claws slicing right through your underwear and curling inside of you. “Then you can treat me when you come home and I get you all to myself.”

You fought down both waves of pleasure, his fingers burning with a delightful tingle inside of you, but also nausea, seeing your own father’s face against yours. You wonder if Harleep liked it like this. A familiar connection but also getting to touch and fuck one of the few people he… Had some sort of emotional feelings for.

“All mine, aren’t you?” He murmured thickly, his lips beginning to suck hickeys into your neck. “Give me all of you, and I’ll look after you so well.”

It didn’t matter how many times you tightened around his fingers, cum staining his skin, it didn’t matter how he ravaged your neck completely until it looked like Astarion had a midnight snack on your arteries, it didn’t matter that you were sore and twitching by the end of it. Harleep couldn’t seem to get enough of his little lamb.

Hells, you were walking sore for such a long time afterwards, you didn’t even notice the pleasurable tingles shooting along your spine and shoulders, as if someone was wearing your skin and getting fucked nasty in it.

#collaboween #happy third day of the spooky month #raphael bg3 #harleep #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #nsft #quincewrites #collab

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necros-writing-stuff · 1 year ago

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Sleep Paralysis: Collab'oween Day 1

GN!Reader/Male!Unspecified Creature.

Warnings: Rape/Non-con; Maybe feeings of claustrophobia and references to the ocean; Fear of death but no physical harm to reader; Utter helplessness; Cunnilingus/Analingus (you can read as either, I don't specify genitals for reader); Penetrative sex; Creature man has a prehensile pp; 3rd person POV.

Word Count: 2080.

Notes: I'm not doing all of the days, just the six prompts I wrote! Please make sure to check out all of us doing this together: @undead-merman @letstalktea @inkyquince @angrelysimpping Also big thanks to Merman for making the banner and divider and all of their wonderful work on this project.

It gets closer each night. They know as the sun fades, as their eyes shutter closed and the warm fingers of Hypnos keep their lids heavy that it's only a matter of time before the personification of sleep partially releases his hold on them and that reality will blend with their nightmares.

For months it's happened every night. They awaken without control of their body, not even able to blink, as eyes watch from the darkest corner of their room. It's just a trick of the mind, they know this, but it doesn't make it any less terrifying.

They'd gone to their doctor. Been referred to get a brain scan by a specialist to ensure it wasn't anything malicious causing the paralysis. All tests came back fine. They were sent home with pills and a regiment to follow. None of it had helped. The only time it ever left was when the dawn broke. Winter was on the horizon. Shorter days. Later dawns.

Then, they'd thought that it wouldn't be able to hide in the dark if there was no darkness. They'd filled their room with nightlights in every corner, left them on as they went to sleep, confident that they'd finally be able to get through the night. They hadn't. The creature cared not for the lights strewn about the room. It was a void of blackness, sucking in the light and refusing to let any stray ray out of its grasp.

Fine then, it's sunlight it doesn't approve of. UV lamps were bought and installed. Their electricity bill would suffer, so they tried to stay away from electronics during the day to compensate. There was a pile of unread books just begging to be read, afterall. Yet, as night fell and sleep abandoned them once more, the creature remained in its corner. The blue hue of the UV lamps only made it more threatening. Cold, sterile. Dead.

They couldn’t even sleep through the day. Something pulled at them, keeping them awake even as they lay with their eyes closed in their bed with the room made as dark as they could for the day. Only when the moon was out could they find a fraction of rest.

After months, they found themself getting used to the creature. It was a black blob with (admittedly creepy) eyes - no discernable features, no intent of ill-will it would seem. It just wanted to watch them through the night.

It just had to move, didn't it? It had to reach a clawed hand it had never seemed to possess before out toward them, its frozen form a threat again for the first time in a long while. The skin (If it had skin) was a black as the void it made; it was hazy due to the smoke that rose from the flesh. The only part of it that continued to move. The smoke.

Perhaps it was the home. The place they lived was haunted, wanting to torment the poor soul living within. With little money left due to the lamp expenses, they desperately pushed every new lamp into a large box and took it to a car-boot sale. They were all new, but half price anyway. They just needed enough for one night in a local hotel. Just one. To see if it would work.

Each night that passed as they sold the lamps, the creature got closer. Like it knew. More limbs came out from the haze; the other clawed hand, long seemingly muscled legs, the torso unfurling and appearing to be as large as the rest of it. A beast. A tall beast that could rip someone apart just by strength alone. Still it's face remained shadowed, the smoke dripping down like hair.

Not every lamp was taken, but enough so over the weekend event that they had the money to stay in a hotel. A single bed, no TV, shitty water pressure in the shower. It was only on the first floor but the windows were painted just all the same. At least it smelled clean.

Hope sent them to sleep that night - a tentative hope that was on the verge of snapping as each second ticked by on the old clock on the wall.

That hope snapped the second their eyes opened with the street lights sneaking through the curtains. It was here. Worst of all, it was closer than it had ever been. Crouched on the edge of the bed, tall frame leaning over so that it looked down at them with those bright white eyes. This close it was easy to see that there was no pupil. No iris. Just white.

Tears welled that they could not blink away, blurring their vision and making the creature even harder to make it. Panic grasped them tightly, their heart hammering in a chest that refused to twitch. They needed to breathe more, to take in deep, filling breaths. But they could only take in standard breaths as their head began to swim. It felt like being suffocated.

If they could scream, they would. Especially when it moved right in front of them. It never moved when they could see. Never. It was now. That elongated hand reaching down, a claw tracing the path of the tears as they fell down their face into their hairline. Some of the tears fell into their ears. It made them itchy.

The creature didn't keep its attention to their face. Its claw wandered down their body, pulling the blanket with it as it exposed them to the cold air of the hotel room. Their pyjamas were lifted, their tummy exposed. Would it start there? Rip of their innards and eat them as they could do nothing to watch?

Slowly, it pressed its hand flat to their skin. The warmth was a surprise. A creature of such darkness should emanate frost, but its flesh bordered on burning as it pressed down. Would it crush them? Would it contribute to the suffocation that felt it was taking hold?

It would not. At least, it wouldn't yet. Every touch was gentle as it flipped them over, every adjustment it made of their body made for their comfort as their head was turned to the side so that they could breath with their body laying on their front. It didn't feel right. It shouldn't be so gentle.

The tears from their left eye now fell over the bridge of their nose and into the eyeline of the other. It merged with the other falling tears as they wet the pillow.

Beside from the ruffling of clothes and the creaking of the old mattress, the room had been silent. As had the creature. No neighbouring rooms made bangs or bumps in the night. A harsh ripping broke the silence. Their clothes. The creature was removing their clothes. Tearing it to shreds with its knife-like claws and discarding the fabric on the carpeted floor below.

Goosebumps rippled over their skin as the night's air fell on it. The creature's flesh was the only warmth they could wish for - and they couldn't only wish that it would stop and leave them alone.

It was a coward. Turning them over so that it didn't have to look in their wide eyes as it tore them apart from behind. Taking their clothes as a butcher would a pelt. Taking advantage of their sleep condition, or perhaps causing it itself so that they couldn't run or fight back.

Such a strange thing, to feel anger after all of that fear. If creatures like this beast could wander the earth, then perhaps their anger would fuel their spirit enough to find a second life after death and seek vengeance on the wretched thing.

Despite the feeling that they couldn't breathe, they did not pass out. They wished they would, that they could drift off into nothing before they would feel the beast's claws in their back. This mercy would not be for them.

And neither would the claws. Not as the creature lowered itself, the bed shifting as its long legs came to sit on the floor and its hidden face lowered to the back of their thighs.

A tongue, long and thick, teased up their thigh until sharp fangs nipped at the flesh of their ass. The tongue returned quickly, flickering as it found its way to their hole.

More anger. More rage filling their heart as they desperately plead with their libs to just move. Just the littlest amount of movement - a twitch, anything! Nothing would come.

It kept poking, prodding, lapping away at their exposed hole while disgusting pleasure whispered up their spine and choked their breaths. ‘Stop,’ they tried to beg. To scream it until their throat would bleed. But what was the use? They’d been begging for months and yet no one was listening. If there was a god or even multiple of them, they’d long since been forsaken to this demonic presence.

There’s a strength to the beast. It lifts them as if it were nothing, their limp body folding as it hoists their hips up and presses it’s face even deeper into their core; that damned tongue flattening and giving a smooth, languid lick that has their eyes rolling back in their head. It should have stopped at this indignity. Why didn’t it just stop there?

It took its fill of their hole, still following with its tongue as it lowered their body back onto the mattress. As if it couldn’t bear to part with them. And sure enough, its stocky form rose over them again, that red-hot skin pressing to their back as something new wriggled and writhed against their saliva-dripping core. It meant to mount them.

One last push. One last demand for a finger to curl, to prove that they weren’t locked away inside of their own body. Underneath its body. A wall of flesh pressing down, closing in and taking away all of the air in the room as their anger slowly drained into sorrow.

That tentacle-like cock of the creature burrowed its way into them, spreading them open and penetrating deep. Strange guttural noises were snarled by their head, the beast having its pleasure while their tears returned. Every thrust of the hips was more like a roll, like a wave coming in toward the beach and retreating once more. It was graceful, powerful, threatening to take them away with it into the depths below.

How could they swim against the tide without the ability to move? How could they possibly stop the water from encasing each and every part of them, leaving not a single inch of skin dry?

Their mind refused to wander away, instead it focused on the smell of burning the creature emanated. It grasped onto every touch and grab the creature made at their skin. It couldn’t kick or scream anymore. Just like the body it inhabited. God, they were so tired.

Sweat gathered on their skin, the heat from their creature making it feel like a sauna in the cheap room. Sharp nips were given to their neck and shoulders, fanged teeth having a taste or maybe even marking what belonged to it. Its tongue came back to clean their cheeks of tears.

Why did it have to feel so sweet? The slow build to the orgasms that hit in waves matching its hips pulling in and out. Its cock moved by itself while it would thrust, slowly undulating, causing their throat to seize from how intensely their nerves lit on fire for it.

Almost. Almost they were freed from being there. It was exhausting being used so thoroughly, their eyelids were heavy and promised the sweet release of unconsciousness. It never came.

Who's to say how long it stayed on top of them that night. They couldn’t see the clock, couldn’t say when the beast woke them from peace. It stayed until the sun’s rays peaked through the cheap old curtains. But it left with a promise, a lingering hand on the back of their neck as it rose up, thumb rubbing over the freshest bite. It would be back.

They still felt numb when control returned to their limbs. Felt numb for the rest of the day until night fell once more and that fear built. All they could focus on was the fact that the semen dripping from their hole never cooled in their frigid winter air seeping into the room.

#spill my guts #collaboween #cw terato #cw noncon #not dol #cw claustrophobia #cw thalassophobia #cw sleep paralysis #gn reader #necro's fics

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rotting-ink · 5 months ago

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@letstalktea a treat for you :3

Sadly no breeding but teehee

#:>#tea the beloved #e rawlins #mini game #just love interest things #nsft

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lareynaderucorazon · 10 months ago

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Trabajadora - MINORS DNI

@14dayswithyou

Got the idea from @letstalktea on tumblr.

It's been three hours.

Three excruciating hours filled with the noise of keys clicking.

"Angel, please"

"Hmm, I'm almost done. Let me just finish this project."

I try to wait patiently but I've waited long enough. I move my hands from the armrests and grip her hips. She pauses for just a second until she goes right back to typing. I lean my chest into her back and begin trailing kisses on her neck. She hums in delight and my cock stirs.

My dominant hand goes under her skirt, searching for her bundle of nerves while my other hand goes under her shirt to cup her breast. She relaxes into me as I rub her nipple.

I get annoyed when I see she's still typing.

'Why isn't she giving me her full attention?'

I feel her tense when my fingers finally land on her clit. I begin massaging,

"Mm, baby"

My cock twitches and I desperately want to thrust into her but I know better.

'God she smells so good.'

I bury my nose into her neck and take deep long whiffs.

"Papi, dejame trabajar"

'Fuckk. Her spanish'

"Please. I promise I'll make you feel good."

"I'm almost finished"

My brows furrow. She's been saying that for the past half hour.

'Does she not want to have sex with me? She's finally tired of me?'

My hands retreat back to the chairs armrest. I can feel tears pricking the corners of my eyes but i try to desperately blink them away.

My arms envelop her in a hug and I hide my face in her shoulder.

"I'm sorry."

She goes back to her work and my thoughts begin to swirl.

'She really doesn't want me to touch her?'

'Am I disgusting to her?'

'Does she not love me anymore?'

The last one hurt and I clutched my angel harder.

She sighed and stood up.

'I knew it'

I close my eyes and wait for her words. But they never come.

Instead, two hands grip me before lifting me. My eyes widened and I was met with beautiful eyes.

My legs wrap around her instinctively while hers hold onto my thighs.

We make it to our bedroom and she gently lays me on the bed before climbing on top of me and deeply kissing me. I close my eyes and lean into the kiss with my whole body.

She breaks the kiss first and I stare into her eyes.

"I'm sorry I took so long amor. Can I make it up to you?"

She looks deep into my eyes, waiting for my answer. I contain myself and nod my head yes.

I wrap my arms over her shoulders and rub my hard on against her thigh, desperate for any friction.

I hear her chuckle before she kisses me again, this one more heated.

When she breaks the kiss there was a string of saliva connecting our lips and my cheeks heated.

'I could taste her saliva for the rest of my life.'

I whimper when she starts peppering kisses on my collarbone. I clutch the fabric of her shirt, feeling too good.

I let out a strangled moan and buck my hips when I feel her teeth sink into me.

"Perdon papi. I can't help myself. You're just too cute."

I blush at the compliment.

"You... you're the cute one, not me."

"I guess I'll just have to fuck that negative self talk out of you."

"Wai- Nghh~~"

My mind goes hazy as she sits on top of me again. S'warm, s'soft.

I moan as she fully engulfs me.

I grip her hips and desperately try to gather my thoughts as she starts bouncing on my cock.

"Fuck baby, you're so good."

I whimper at the praise.

She lays her chest on me and intertwines our hands. She's kissing me before I can even register what's going on.

I groan into the kiss, her grinding relentless as I can literally feel my thoughts being fucked out of me. The only thing I can think of is-

'Angel. Angel. Angel.'

Drool is dribbling down my chin and I can barely register my angel whispering sweet nothings in my ear.

"You're so warm."

"You stretch me out so good."

"Que lindo te ves abajo de mi."

"Fuck baby y'feel so good."

"Te amo. Te amo con todo mi corazon."

I start crying, everything becoming too much.

Her lips on mine.

Our tongues and saliva intertwining.

Her soft warm hands gripping mine.

Her walls encircling my cock.

How warm and wet she is. Because of me.

"A- mhn-angel!"

"I know baby I know"

"Whose my baby?"

"M-me!"

"Thats right. Now whose my cute boyfriend?"

"Me!"

"Mhm. And to who does my heart belong to?"

"Me! It belongs to me! You're mine!"

"And who do you belong to?!"

"You! I'm all yours! You own me."

She slams down harder on me, making my cock twitch. Her moans mixing with my sobs of desperation.

"Angel. Angel! ANGEL!"

My back arches and I grab angel's hips, fully sitting her down on top of me. I feel my cum encasing my cock inside of her as I fill her up. She rolls her hips a few more times, riding out my high before she eventually stops.

She lifts herself off of me and my stomach churns when I see my thick white seed trailing down her thighs. She follows my eyes and scoops some up with her finger before licking it off. My brain turns to fuzz and I can feel my member stirring again.

Angel lays next to me on the bed and encases me in her arms. She starts peppering kisses all over my face which makes me giggle.

"You did so good amor. I'm proud of you my baby."

I nuzzle my face in-between her breasts to hide my huge dorky grin.

#14 days with you #14dwy #14dwy ren

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pip-n-chips · 11 months ago

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So... 31% not normal.

I think we can work with that.

@letstalktea

ok ok I'm bad at math but I've figured it out

#ask

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inkyquince · 1 year ago

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@letstalktea

The past you can't leave behind

#why am i tagging you when i should just send this via message? shush #look at him #and his big ole fingies #reblog #art #the emperor #bg3 #tea the beloved

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yandere-daydreams · 1 year ago

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Title: Protection.

Written for the very, very lovely @letstalktea.

Pairing: Simeon x Yandere!Reader (Obey Me).

Word Count: 6.0k.

TW: Unhealthy Relationships, Manipulation, Reader Puts Themself In Dangerous Situations But Has No Intention To Actually Die, Unbalanced Power Dynamics, Implied Masturbation, and Stalking.

The day Simeon was assigned to you was also the first day he saved your life.

It was mostly an ornamental title, that of a guardian angel. Humans, by and large, lived terribly mundane and predictable lives, with little conflict and outcomes that couldn’t be helped by the gentle tug to the strings of fate angels were allowed to provide from the comfort of the Celestial Realm. Simeon had looked after hundreds of charges in the past, had seen countless mortal lives start and end, and even he could count the number of times he’d been forced or able to intervene on a single hand. Normally, an angel of his rank wouldn’t be given such a hollow assignment at all, but you were a special case – your previous guardian injured in a rare skirmish with a hostile demon and anyone else who might’ve taken on her responsibilities during her recovery already looking after one or more human charges. If he arranged it, your safety could have easily been handed off to another low-ranking angel with an apology and a promise that they’d be relieved soon, but what kind of leader would that make Simeon? Certainly not the type he cared to be.

No, you were the only mortal being in any of the three realms to ever have an archangel at their disposal. If you had any way of knowing who was looking after you, you surely would’ve counted yourself lucky.

Outings like this were also rather unorthodox, even more so for someone of his rank. It really wasn’t necessary, he had ways of monitoring you from the comfort of the Celestial Realm, but he liked to handle such intimate matters personally, and he wasn’t going to turn down an excuse to step out of his office for the better part of a morning. With a crepe from the stand you’d passed a few minutes ago in one hand and the other fussing with the collar of a coat meant to block out a chill he could only pretend to feel, Simeon trailed a few hundred feet after you, keeping your brightly colored scarf in the corner of his eye as he let himself get lost in the flow of the crowd. When you came to a busy intersection, he stopped as well, stepping under the patio of a small coffee shop and checking his watch. He’d already reviewed your schedule, already knew that your office was just another block away. You’d stay in the building until this afternoon, then stop at a local bar for a few drinks with a friend. The rest of your night would be spent in your apartment, some decade-old drama playing in the background as you worked on one of your constantly rotating hobbies. A simple life, but one you seemed to find satisfying enough. One that kept you out of trouble, meaning that there’d be less trouble for him, too.

He allowed himself a small smile. Just as his lips quirked upward, the crowd behind you shifted, knocking those closest to the curb forward and throwing you off-balance. He could see you start to tilt, make out your eyes widening as you turned to face the oncoming traffic you’d be stumbling into, but Simeon only hummed, raising a hand and curling two fingers into his palm. As if on the other end of a line, you jerked back, falling onto the sidewalk rather than the road and saving you both a great deal of worry. It would’ve been a meaningless death, a total accident with minimal impact on all those involved. In cases like this, so purposelessly tragic, the greater forces of fate and destiny seemed willing to turn a blind eye.

You didn’t move immediately, remaining on the ground even after the pedestrian single buzzed and the crowd surrounding you began to move, but your shock didn’t surprise him – most mortals had keener senses than creatures who worked with the supernatural cared to acknowledge. Rather, what caught him off-guard was the second you took to glance over your shoulder, your eyes meeting his for the briefest of moments before a woman passing by offered you a hand and knocked you out of your temporary trance. He was nearly too stunned to move until you were out of his sight, but his shock dissipated with a breath of a laugh, a quick shake of his head. You were lucky, after all.

At least this assignment was proving to be an interesting one, after all.

The second time he saved you, he began to consider consulting your previous guardian about any curses or hexes you might’ve been the victim of. In jest, of course.

At that point, it was only in jest.

To your credit, he hadn’t even intended to visit you, that day. He’d been in the Human World on business (if he could call Luke’s seasonal urge to ‘observe mortal winter traditions’ business). Checking on his ill-fated ward while he was in the neighborhood was just a whim, an excuse to carve out a few minutes for himself in an otherwise hectic day. Call it… an older brother’s intuition. Clairvoyancy had never been one of his talents, but somehow, he must’ve known something would happen to you.

He found you, strangely enough, deviating from your usual routine – taking a late-night walk through one of the more scenic parts of your city. Much of the population had already taken shelter from the biting cold, but you seemed content meandering through a local park, wandering down an overgrown footpath at a pace that rang true to your lack of destination. He trailed behind you, remaining just outside of your peripheral. He’d always been charmed by moments like this; so small, so inconsequential, so human. The Celestial Realm was such a bright place, so crowded with so much to get done. As an angel, he rarely had a minute to spare. Humans, on the other hand, were happy to act as if they had all the time in the world to waste.

With your hands shoved in your pockets and your head bowed low, you started onto a dilapidated wooden bridge, the river below already covered in a thin layer of frost but not quite frozen. You only paused when you reached the center, leaning out over a rotting guardrail and admiring the view, although he couldn’t say he was sure what you were hoping to see.

You were too close to notice, but Simeon caught it. He looked on with the rapt attention of a well-trained voyeur as the post of the guardrail buckled and dislocated, as rotting wood fell away from rusting nails and began to collapse onto the ice below. This time, it was genuine panic that flooded into his veins, overwhelming his better judgement in a way your last bout of misfortune hadn’t. There was no time to think about which trick he wanted to use, about whether or not this fate would be one the strings of destiny would guide you towards; one moment, he was watching you jolt forward and the next, he was at your side, his arms wrapped around your waist as he hauled you back onto the bridge, as both of you collapsed into a heap of wide eyes and unsteady breathing. You didn’t make a sound, your shock intense enough to make you swallow all but the smallest, sharpest gasp. Poor thing. Honestly, he wouldn’t have been surprised if the fright alone was enough to make your heart stop.

Still, you recovered quickly, forcing out a jarring laugh as you struggled to untangle yourself from him. Eventually, you managed to sit up, coming to rest on your knees. “I—I’m sorry, this just happened a few weeks ago, too. I would’ve gotten hit by a car if—” You cut yourself off, slamming your hands against your thigh. “I… I think I’ve just been unlucky, lately. Or, really lucky, if you’re that kind of person.”

It took him a second to find his own voice, another to realize he had to use it. “I’m just glad I was passing by.” He tried to sound like he was just as shaken up as you were, just as inexperienced with death as the average mortal would be. It was both a comfort and a new source of anxiety that the way his voice shook was not completely within his control. “Are you alright? I know some first aid, or I could call a—”

You were kind enough to put him out of misery quickly. “No, no, I’m fine. I couldn’t ask you to do anything else for me.” Your smile was brilliant – delicate, but brilliant, a beautiful example of mortal fortitude. “In fact, I should be the one doing something for you. Considering how cold that water is, I’m pretty sure you just saved my life.”

“That won’t be necessary.” He was far too involved already. Most guardian angels went decades before ever seeing their human wards in-person, let alone speaking to them. If your eyes had actually met during your previous encounter, this would be the second time you’d spotted your unseen protector. “If you’re not injured,” he started, standing to his full height and offering you a hand. With no hesitation, you accepted it, letting him pull you onto your feet. “I’d be happy knowing you got home safely. That is, if you’re comfortable with an escort.”

He moved to pull his hand out of yours, but your grip was iron-clad. “C-can I have your name?” It was less of a question and more of a plea, as if you were asking him for the antidote to some fatal illness. When he hesitated, his smile faltering, you went on, your nails digging into the skin of his wrist. If he’d been anything less than what he was, it might’ve hurt. “I just—I know it sounds insane, but I’ve just got this feeling that we’ve met before, and something’s going to happen to me if we don’t—”

“Simeon,” he said, his grin taking on a comforting note. Slowly, as best not to startle you, he brought up his free hand, cupping your cheek as gently as he could. “You don’t have to justify yourself. It’s Simeon.”

You beamed, moving to respond, but a burst of golden light erupted from his palm before you could so much as open your mouth. He saw the faintest hint of confusion play across your expression, but in a moment, your eyes fell shut, your body going limp. For what felt like the hundredth time, you threatened to collapse, but he caught you before you could hit the ground – taking you in his arms and letting out a breath of a laugh. He’d take you back to your apartment, and by morning, you’d have no recollection of your brief encounter. Hopefully, the spell would help to dull the memories of the first time he overstepped his boundaries too, but he could only hope for so much.

As long as you stayed out of trouble, he would be happy to look after his ill-fated little ward from a distance.

The twelfth time he saved you, he realized that ‘distance’ was not something you took lightly.

Admittedly, he probably should’ve caught on after the fourth incident, when you walked out onto melting ice with little more protection than a paper-thin cardigan and a pair of snow damaged dress-shoes, or the eighth, when you accepted a friend of a friend’s invitation to go on a sky-view tour of the city in the plane he’d made by-hand (luckily, your flying coffin never gotten more than a few feet of the ground – something that had nothing to do with Simeon’s interference). Denial made him slow to realize what was going on, even slower to accept that you might’ve been something more than a particularly unfortunate mortal. In all that he’d seen of human behavior, one core tenant had always held true; that, above all else, they would seek their own preservation. The evidence that you might be doing something, anything other than doing what little you could to make your already short life a few years longer was inconvenient enough to ignore, if only for the time it took him to attend to his responsibilities in the Celestial Realm.

…responsibilities your self-sacrificial tendencies quickly found a way to tamper with, as well. He really had to give you more credit – it must’ve been difficult to interfere with matters on a plane you couldn’t have known even existed, and yet, you found a way.

It was a cherub that alerted him, bursting into a meeting Micheal had called among the archangels. The boy was red-faced and panting, but managed to speak before Simeon could call for a healer. “There’s—” He paused, struggled to pull air into his lungs. “Simeon, sir, there’s an emergency.”

With a slow exhale, he pushed himself to his feet. The other archangels offered no protest, only nodding as he positioned himself at the cherub’s side and rested a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You were right to come to me. What’s wrong?”

Another gasping breath, a white-knuckle grip to the side of the marble door. “It’s your ward.”

Instantly, Simeon’s expression fell.

He didn’t stop to wait for a more descriptive explanation. Rather, he urged the cherub to take a seat and rushed into the empty hallway, summoning a small orb of reflective golden light with a flick of his wrist. Nearly lost in the summoned sunrays was, of course, a projection of you, walking along a concrete ledge no thicker than your wrist. The greater context was lost on him, but he saw enough to recognize where you were – on the roof of your office building, dozens of stories above the ground. You were missing your blazer, too, and one of your shoes. He could only imagine where you’d lost them.

Mouth agape and eyes wide, Simeon watched in pure disbelief as you inched forward, your balance more of a hopeful thought than a practiced skill. Despite your shaking legs and unsteady posture, a smile was plastered across your lips, toothy and almost painfully wide. You looked ecstatic, despite being one misstep away from a certain and sudden death. If he hadn’t known better, he would’ve called you zealous.

For long, agonizing seconds, it was all he could do to watch you, to try to separate the sound of his heart beating in his ears from that of his racing pulse. His vision blurred with panic, a strange mix of dread and adrenaline muting what few rational thoughts he could summon. There was something else blended into the combination, too – something darker, something that seemed to coil in the depths of his chest and tear at his ribs as it expanded. Hatred was not a feeling most angels were capable of, let alone familiar with to identify without deep self-reflection and weeks of careful meditation, and yet, in that moment, Simeon knew he loathed you. For making him bend the rules he’d lived by for so long. For making him feel something other than a vague, warm fondness for the humans he’d always held such affection for.

He loathed himself, for being foolish enough to save your life in the first place.

When you finally slipped, the heel of your remaining shoe slipping over the ledge and throwing off your delicate balance, it was all Simeon could do to watch, to stare at the projection and pray to whoever angels prayed to that he’d bring himself to keep watching until you went tumbling over the wrong side, until you fell just like you were supposed to have fallen weeks ago, months ago, when he first took charge of your protection. He wanted to do nothing. He willed himself to do nothing.

And, in the end, he failed to do even that. As if by means beyond his control, his fist clenched at his side, an orb of pale blue light encompassing his hand before bursting a moment later. It wasn’t much, a half-hearted effort stifled further by the distance between you and him, but the effect was instantaneous, as effective as it would’ve been if he’d been able to put anything more than a passing thought into it.

You fell about five, ten feet before your back collided with a misplaced suspended platform, conveniently forgotten by some maintenance team and placed just low enough to remain out of your line of sight. The force of the impact was enough to knock the air out of your lungs, to leave you stunned and breathless for a minute, then another, but your manic smile never wavered, and the first sound you made was not a shriek of horror or a pained groaned, but a bright, airy laugh – windchimes caught in a stray breeze, nails carving into marble. You threw your head back, raising a hand to the collar of your dress-shirt and toying with the fabric before your attention drifted, before your touch strayed down the length of your chest and came to rest above your stomach, then lower, fingers slipping underneath your waistband and—

And Simeon cut off the projection there, banishing the orb of golden light and leaving himself alone in the glimmering hallway. He didn’t realize he was panting until he heard his own ragged breathing echoing off of the bare walls, until he could bring himself to acknowledge his heaving chest and the overwhelming exhaustion that urged him to shut his eyes and forget he’d taken you on at all.

That wasn’t an option, though, not in a position like his, not when the burden he’d taken on was a creature like you.

He allowed himself a moment to gather his composure, another to remind himself that his burden was no greater with you than it had been when he was looking after any of his other wards, then started toward the counsel room where he’d left the others. He owed quite the apology to the cherub who’d watched you on his behalf, and more importantly, he had to think about what should be done about you.

The forty-seventh time he saved you, he knew that thinking wasn’t an option, anymore. Something had to be done.

You were bleeding. You’d scraped your knees the first time he saved your life, come out of the twenty-sixth with a papercut that’d take a few days to heal, but he’d never drawn blood, never stayed long enough to see it dripping down your skin, leaving small pinpricks of dark scarlet soaking into the dirt and painted across the leaf litter as you limped forward. There was a jagged cut torn into your left bicep, a patch of exposed tissue and viscera on your thigh where there should’ve been flesh, and the deep, uneven scratches etched down the length of your back showed no signs of clotting under his constant surveillance. Even more stomach-turning were the bruises stamped into your legs, blossoming rows of discolored skin that you’d earned from hours’ worth of stumbling down rocky slopes and getting caught on overgrown foliage. You were barefoot, your shoes having split apart at the seams after you waded through a stream much deeper and much darker than he would’ve liked. He could only imagine how you were still moving. Of all the admirable qualities you lacked, ‘perseverance’ had never been something you found yourself without.

He made only the most superficial attempts to conceal himself, trailing just far enough behind you for the darkness to obscure his presence. There was no magic, this time, no getting lost in the crowd or relying on your own divided attention – just his soft footsteps and your ragged breathing and muted sounds of forest nightlife somehow rising above it all. If he listened closely, he thought he could still hear traffic in the distance, the occasional late-night driver swerving to avoid colliding with the car you’d abandoned by the side of the road, but there was a good chance it was just a figment of his imagination. You must’ve been miles away from the nearest scrap of civilization. He would’ve been surprised if the search party made it this far when they came looking for your body in the morning.

Eventually, you seemed to find what you were looking for: a sudden break in the forest that led to a sheer drop-off so sudden and so tall, whatever lay on the ground below was lost to a void of endless darkness. You didn’t pause like you used to, didn’t clench your eyes shut or take a moment to summon your courage, but he could hear you muttering something under your breath – praying, he realized, as his heart dropped into his stomach. You were praying.

Really, he could only be thankful that you hadn’t started earlier.

Slowly, agonizingly, he watched you inch your way toward the cliffside, every step a miracle and every second an eternity of torture. You only paused when you reached the very edge, staring down into the endless abyss as a slight grin came to rest across your lips. He almost expected you to jump, to use what little strength you had left to throw yourself into what he’d worked so hard to save you from, but no, you weren’t so cruel as to mock him so openly. Rather, you merely leaned forward, shutting your eyes and—

“Please don’t.”

There was no magic, no spells, no divine interference. If it’d been too late, if you’d been a little closer, all his half-hearted request would’ve done was ensure you spent your final moments in panicked confusion, but it wasn’t too late, and you were far enough to catch yourself before you so much as started to fall. He expected you to turn toward him with a new light in your eyes and a certain levity you only seemed to carry after your brief encounters, but you only glanced over your shoulder, still wearing that deceivingly soft smile. Looking at it now, he could almost see how he’d mistaken you for just another innocent soul.

Almost.

“You’re not going to tackle me this time?” You sounded disappointed. “Christ, it’s been… what? Seven months since the last time you touched me?” An airy laugh, a near-wistful sigh. “And four since I so much as saw you in person. If that was even you. You make yourself hard to find, ‘specially considering what I have to go through to get your attention.”

When he didn’t respond, didn’t move, you went on, your eyes falling back to the abyss. “You are him, right? It’s hard to tell if I can’t see your face. I mean, it’d still be hard if I could see your face, but c’mon. At least give me a fighting chance.” And then, with a little more thought. “I’d threaten to jump if you don’t come out, but you probably won’t let me get very far, would you?”

He was tempted to. Words couldn’t express how much he wanted to be able to say, confidently and without hesitation, that if you decided to jump, he wouldn’t intervene, wouldn’t exert himself in the slightest to save you from the consequences of your own actions, but that’d be a lie. What would he tell the other archangels? That he was incapable of safeguarding a single human? What would he tell himself as you disappeared into the darkness, as he counted the seconds until your body hit the ground? Would he wait? Would you even go through with it when he’d already given you what you came here for?

The answer didn’t matter. He was a coward at heart, still too afraid to know what he’d do to himself if something happened to you after everything he’d done. He took a moment to gather himself, to make sure he was in a form you’d recognize, and another to step into the moonlight, into sight. Rather than turning to face him, you waited until he’d joined you by the ledge. Even now, you had him at your beck and call – something he could only hope you didn’t know to take joy in.

“Please don’t,” he repeated, his voice quieter and heavy with exhaustion. It was a struggle to force himself to speak to you at all, considering how long he’d spent chastising himself for ever being anything more than a hand tugging at the strings of fate in your peripheral. “I…I’ve already crossed too many lines to help you. I don’t know if another miracle would go unpunished.”

“Is that what they are? Miracles?” If you saw his fatigue, if you cared about the downward slant of his shoulders or the dark rings under his eyes, it wasn’t enough to dampen your mirth, to earn your sympathy. “I guess that would make you an angel, huh? I mean, I always thought you were an angel – you just seemed so much like one – but there was a week or so in January where I got really into studying demonic pacts and—” You cut yourself off, shaking your head as you laughed. “You are an angel, right?”

Despite his better judgement, he nodded. Why would he try to hide anything from you now? Clearly, your fondness for him was not lessened by deprivation. “I’m an angel.” And then, after a second of thought, “An archangel, to be specific. You had another guardian initially, but I took over after they were wounded.”

He didn’t mention that an angel of his rank would usually be as far from the Human Realm as it was possible for a celestial creature to be, that he had taken it upon himself to ensure your safety despite knowing you would be just as protected in the hands of a seraphim or throne, nor how little he should’ve had to interfere with your life. He considered, briefly, that it might help you to know that he was beginning to suspect your first encounter was a mistake in itself, that he may have overestimated just how much influence a being like him could leverage in a life as short and as pliable as yours, but ultimately bit his tongue. You were still on the ledge, more literally than he cared for. If you were willing to deliver yourself to a reaper’s doorstep when you were just trying to get his attention, he couldn’t imagine what you’d do to yourself if you knew that your paths were never supposed to cross in the first place.

“An archangel.” Luckily, you didn’t seem to care about the details. “Does that mean you’re important?”

“You could say that.” Too important to be answering your questions in the middle of the night, certainly. “Would it change anything if I was?”

“Of course not. I wouldn’t care if you were an angel or a demon or a…” There was a vague gesture, a slight shrug. “A three-headed dog, or something. I just want to get to know you.”

Simeon felt something in the back of his throat tighten. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know that you’ve been looking out for me. I know that, no matter what I do, you’ll always be right there to make sure I don’t get hurt.” You took a step back, but any relief he might’ve felt was dampened and crushed as you latched onto his arm, your hold snare-like and desperate. He could’ve pulled himself away, exerted less than an ounce of effort to maintain what little distance there was between you and him, but he didn’t move, didn’t let himself believe you wouldn’t close the distance as quickly as he could make it. It reminded him of the last time he appeared to you, of how tightly you’d held onto him as you begged for his name. Not much had changed, since then. If anything, he should’ve taken it as the first sign that you would need to be dealt with in the not-so-distant future and snuffed out the problem while you were still little more than a mortal attempting to survive a string of bad luck. “I’d know your name, too, but…” You trailed off, shook your head. When you tilted your head back, when he could bring himself to meet your unblinking stare, there was a thin glaze cast across your eyes, a fog that wasn’t quite as thick as it should’ve been. “I think someone took that away from me. That doesn’t matter, though – I’m willing to learn it again, if you’re willing to tell me. If you’re willing to be patient with me.”

He'd been patient. He’d been nothing but patient since the day he took you as his ward. “It would be for the best if I didn’t.”

“Why not?” The question was airy, spoken with a breathy chuckle laced around the edges. “Is it for my own protection? Are you doing this to keep me safe, too?”

“I don’t think it would—”

“Why not?” This time, the laugh it was paired with was slightly more forced, slightly more jarring. “I’m not trying to put pressure on you – I would never want to force you to do anything you didn’t want to – but I just—We’ve just been apart for so long, and I don’t want to you to disappear again without telling me when you’ll be back.” Your nails burrowed into his skin, your chest pressing into his side. “I love you.”

He couldn’t remember the last time an angelic being had been brought to the brink of losing consciousness by little more than a human’s words. Simeon supposed this might’ve been the first time.

His tongue felt dry, his throat filled with cotton. It took a considerable effort to speak, and even then, it came out as a harsh whisper, something unbefitting of his usual eloquence. “You don’t.”

“I don’t know how you could say that.” If he didn’t know better, he would’ve said you sounded hurt. If he didn’t know better, he would’ve thought you were still passing yourself off as human. “I’ve been trying to get your attention for months, now. I came all the way out here just hoping you would follow me. I nearly threw myself off of a cliff just to make you look at me.”

He frowned, moved to speak, but you weren’t going to let him attempt to argue, or soothe you, or whatever you assumed you were going to do. With a manic glint in your eyes and a broken laugh, you took him by both arms and forced him to face you. He could resist it, if he wanted to. He could, and yet, he let you jerk him forward, let you pretend you could manhandle him into looking at you with the same adoration in his eyes that sparked in yours when you looked at him. “I’ve been waiting for you. I’ve been putting myself in danger for you. I went to church for you.” You had. He remembered that – or, more precisely, he remembered how you’d attempted to swallow down a bottle of liquid frankincense after the sermon. “And you spent all this time looking after me, taking care of me. You can’t say I don’t love you.”

There was a pause, a change in your tone. As if you were just vocalizing something you’d already repeated to yourself a thousand times.

“You can’t say you don’t love me. At least a little.”

He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, the gesture meant purely to calm in the absence of physical necessity. Careful not to startle you, he raised a hand, and you let him, your hold on him loosening until it fell away completely. You didn’t step back, didn’t dare to give him the space you thought he would need to get away, and in return, he brushed against your arm, a gentle silver glow emitting from his fingertips and washing over the cut on your left bicep. When he pulled away, the injury was gone, a thin pale line in its place. Next was your thigh, his touch slightly more ginger, his light slightly duller. You didn’t seem to notice, only leaning into him. Whether you were soaking in his attention or simply thankful he hadn’t left you to bleed out, he didn’t want to know. “And what would you do? If I was in love with you, I mean.”

You caught on that, but only for a moment, recovering before your smile could so much as waver. “I’m not sure,” you admitted, your head tilting to the side. “But, we’d be together. We could get to know each other – actually know each other. No more hiding or magic or meeting each other at midnight in the middle of nowhere.” That earned a breath of a laugh, more out of exasperation than anything else. Still, you drank it down like holy nectar. “It’d be nice. I already know I love you, but maybe, after a while, you’d be sure that you loved me.”

He thought, briefly, about asking you to turn around, about taking care of the scratches etched into your back, too, but decided against it. “And that’s all you want? To be close to me?”

“To be with you,” you corrected, but the opportunity only seemed to add to your excitement. “But, yeah, basically. I just don’t want us to have to be apart again.”

If he didn’t know better, he would’ve thought the idea sounded romantic.

He didn’t indulge you with a response. Rather, he brought his hand up to your cheek, letting you melt into his palm. With a small smile, he leaned forward, pressing the faintest, gentlest kiss into your cheek, then the corner of your mouth. He felt you jolt underneath him, your shock momentarily overshadowing your delusions, but you managed to hold yourself still as his lips came to rest against yours. To your credit, you didn’t try to deepen the kiss, only shutting your eyes and bringing your hands to his shoulders, content to have him closer than he’d ever been before. You were still human, after all, still yielding in the face of your desires.

Even in the state you’d driven yourself to, you were still human.

There was a second passed in silence, then a blinding burst of golden light. You seemed to fight it, at first, pulling away from him abruptly and stumbling back, betrayal written across your expression, but it was Simeon’s turn to hold onto you, now, to take you by either side and keep you pressed against his chest. He watched you open your mouth, start to spit something out, but whatever you might’ve said was lost to slumped shoulders, an uncooperative tongue, every part of you suddenly obeying another master. He caught one more glint of hurt in your eyes before your body went slack, collapsing in on itself with little ceremony. As poor as your luck was, you slanted towards the ledge, but he held you tight, pulling you into his arms, into his protection.

He couldn’t erase your memories. Clearly, blocking out the finer details of your encounters and replacing them with plausible substitutions had done more harm than good, driven you to seek out both your invisible guardian and what you thought some malicious stranger had been taken from you. He couldn’t pass you off to another angel, either. That’d just be cruel and, what’s more, you’d already seen his face. He doubted giving you a new toy to play with would do anything but solidify a bad habit.

Momentarily, his eyes drifted back to the cliffside, to the ledge that you’d already nearly fallen off by no means other than your own volition. Angels had done worse and retained their purity, their rank. He could call it an accident, claim that the mysterious machinations of fate and destiny simply wouldn’t let him intervene and hope that no one would think to ask too many questions. He could do it, but he didn’t. He wouldn’t. Because you were human. Because, so long as you were human, so long as you were mortal, it would be his duty to protect you.

A faint grin came to rest across his lips – the first genuine smile he’d worn that night.

Luckily, with a little help from Simeon, you wouldn’t be human for much longer.

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angrelysimpping · 10 months ago

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Already screamed on Discord but FUCK YEAH QUIET

I HOPE YOU SPIT ON YOUR BOSSES BEFORE YOU LEAVE

Fuck those guys

@letstalktea

But teeeeeeaaaaa, what if they're into that?

#mumbling n muttering

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inkyquince · 1 year ago

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@letstalktea

To all the people who slept with the emperor...

This your man?

#i miss him #reblog #wait where's tea #the emperor #bg3

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undead-merman · 1 year ago

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Collab'oween Announcement

From us to you this spooky season, we gather to celebrate all things horror and horny. @necros-writing-stuff @inkyquince @letstalktea @angrelysimpping and I have come together to bring you some prompts and short stories.

We hope you all enjoy this bundle of mischief brought to you by the moist corner.

Take Care - Stay Spooky

#moist corner madness #halloween prompt list #collab'oween

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inkyquince · 2 years ago

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Commission: Remy’s Journal

Content warning. Non to Dubcon, Cow TF, male reader, Remy is a cockslut and a liar even in his own diary. Based somewhat on this QKS. This was a kofi commission for @letstalktea! Thank you so much!

There was an in-joke around the estate that had become a universal law. Remy’s Journal was the one book in the entire town that was filled with the most detailed truth known to man or beast. Every new bull, every new cow, their measurements were taken and written down. How much milk they produced. How fat their tits were, how hefty their cock was. Everything down to each freckle, mole or scar. Wren always joked that you could play Guess Who with it and would win each time, just from how detailed it all was.

Remy found all the whispers about his beloved notebook quite… Humorous. It earned a small, upwards flick of his lips but that was it. It was indeed the truth, that his written word was nothing but the truth.

…

Entry 147.

The newest bull is very well endowed, with genitals that show great promise to provide cream. Sadly, the reason we have no samples in the cylinders that we send out to samplers to taste and rate, was because he was simply too worried to perform in front of me, but since it’s his first week, we’re instead going to give him time to become accustomed to his new life before seeing how much we can sample with the untrained bull.

“You’re quite a pretty thing for a bull, aren’t you?” Remy murmured, low and throaty, excitement barely hidden in his voice.

You could only moo, your thighs shaking in the strange contraption he had trapped you in. Your human brain could faintly remember when your class went on a field trip to a farm and you lagged behind to watch a poor cow-girl be trapped in a weird insemination cage and this… Big, hung guy walked behind her and started to press into her. You were quickly yanked away, but no one was here to save your poor eyes… Or your poor body now.

His gloved hand was…. Was molesting you. The moment he saw you, there was some weird hunger in his eyes, something you saw from old perverts on the bus and one of your teachers, even your friend, but you were trapped. Trapped and transformed with a tail and ears and… And that monstrous thing between your legs, your cock having swelled to such a huge degree that it didn’t feel real, seeing it brushing your thighs.

Remy was just slowly stroking it, staring as precum beaded at the slit, only tearing his eyes away to close them and to press his face into your balls, deeply inhaling your musk. It felt wrong, so fucking wrong. You had only masturbated from time to time, and now there was this… This pervert, sniffing your fucking cock while his own was tented against his riding trousers.

The cylinders Remy had brought into the private section of the barn were abandoned on the table, the chart left askew and forgotten about.

You’re only human. You do cum eventually… Which he greedily drinks down, his throat bobbing as he stuffs your cock down his throat, moaning softly into your skin. The wet sound of your swollen erection lodged in his mouth was making you moo pitifully, to which he just petted you, breathing over your neck, the smell of cum dizzying as his lips pressed against your ear.

“You’re going to be my fucking star.”

Entry 166

Bull 55 is still quite shy, despite all the time spent in the barn and all the personalised help I’ve been attempting to give him. He doesn’t seem comfortable with mounting the dummy, but has begun to favour human touch to milk him. Results of the amounts may be tarnished due to the Bull’s movements while orgasming.

“C’mon,” Remy whispered against your ear, as you mooed pitifully, his finger squishing your balls tightly, fondling them like gems. “Fuck it slow, and steady.”

He watches you uselessly hump the translucent dummy, precum dribbling as your cock was being squeezed tightly, almost strangled by the false “pussy”. You fucked awkwardly, like a virgin, something that made Remy’s stomach flip with excitement, eyes fixated on your poor throbbing balls before flitting to the sight of your stuck erection. The fat of your hefty cock was practically tearing at the fleshlight, the seam beginning to split, spilling over the plastic. Remy could feel drool pooling on his tongue at the sight.

Fuck, you were magnificent.

“You’re going to be perfect for breeding and milking soon. Look at that.” Even with his admiring tone, he began to scowl at the thought of letting you mount just any cow in his barn.

With a sigh at the irritating thought, he opened the valve in the stomach of the dummy, letting the precum that’s pooled safely inside of it, drip out into the cylinder he finally remembered to use. He was supposed to put it safely to the side but became transfixed by the sight of the mixture of precum and thick, warm cum inside of it.

Almost hypnotised, he dipped his gloved fingers into it, swirling it around before tucking it into his mouth, sighing with satisfaction at the taste. Before he knew it, he had drunk down most of it, dragging his tongue over the cum painting his upper lip. Entry 176

I’m beginning to have doubts about how well Bull 55 will take to breeding. Extremely shy and seems to shy away from any cows. We might just have to keep him for milking but it’s such a shame that he can’t breed like he was meant to. It’s a wasted opportunity.

“Fuck.” Remy moaned, loud enough for some of the other cows to twitch in their sleep and moo softly.

He crammed his own fingers into his mouth, trying to muffle his sounds as he drools uselessly. Your cock was just… So good. Such a pent up bull, now desperately trying to fuck into his barely loosened ass. Your fat balls were smacking against his ass as you mooed helplessly, eyes rolled back as your cock was finally snug and tight in such a warm body.

Remy has been edging you for days now, and watched you desperately nose at the thighs of some of the really pretty, soft, fluffy cow-girls who mooed eagerly and gave the all clear for you to mount, before you were roughly pulled off.

All of the “breeding” sessions Remy had booked with you, just had the poor cow-girl trapped in one of the side pens as he played with your cock endlessly, sucking at your fat balls, licking at the beading precum, rubbing the shaft against his cheek so he could breath your musk in deeply. He refused to let you cum. Let you cry out and kick your feet in frustration as he let go of your cock and watched you attempt to buck your hips, with a whine.

It was torture. The way the cow-girl obviously wanted to be mounted by you, pushing her nose against the gate of her penn, but Remy had become possessive over you. No one was allowed to touch you, even if you needed it. No one but him.

It was utterly worth it.

The way you rutted and rubbed against his ass the moment he got on his hands and knees, urging for you to be a good bull, a good bull who should finally get a taste of a hole. His wonderful virgin bull, after being trained to fuck sex doll and his hand, now ready to finally find bliss in your well earned orgasm.

His knees ached as you rutted into your master, mooing wetly into his neck as Remy’s fucked open, exactly how he needs it. Fuck, he knew he was going to do this the moment he saw you. Pliable, hung bull, ready to be trained how to fucked until he can’t breath. He’s needed this for so long, and tasting your cum and letting you fuck his throat and hand has barely been tiding him over.

Entry 200

Bull 55 has escaped, probably into the meadow, or into the moor. The men have searched along with the dogs but they have yet to find any trace of him. This is greatly disappointing, as well as poor timing, as Harper had come in the night before to hypnotise the bull into being able to mount and breed, since my reports have shown his wariness to do so.

You were so fucking perfect, tucked into your little tartan blanket, fat cock dripping as Remy felt your cum dribble slowly from his fucked out hole.

Remy had fully thrown out everything in his attic,which was connected to his master bedroom. He couldn’t take the chance of Harper succeeding in his mission to make you into a breeding bull. There would be no reason to keep you away from the cows then. So instead, you were only meant for his eyes, kept snug and warm in your little room.

He gave a lazy smile, and leaned down to start slowly jacking your cock again, rousing you again from your nap. He was yet to feel fully sated, and he needs his favourite little bull boy to fix that.

#commission #tea the beloved #remy the farmer #nsft #quincewrites #dol #degrees of lewdity #can you tell #inky is alive #and that the march on march has revitalised dead inkster

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