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This beverage is going sTRAIGHT to my cunt

Jinjer sketch

#inkt #hhrk #traditional art #sketch #traditional drawing #ink

ANYWAY I STILL HAVENT TAKEN THE GRE’S

Just as you feel the onset of a deep chill start to creep into your toes and fingertips, the fangs slowly withdraw from your neck, the points scraping against you as your feet drop back onto the dewy grass. Cold hands fall to your waist, each taking half of your torn shirt and pulling to widen the rend in the front up to the collar. The deliciously pulsing pain in your neck subsides for a moment, just for a moment, and at once you are being pushed forward and turned, the dizziness and dark of the garden making it difficult to keep track of exactly which way you're looking. Rounded cold stone presses against your back, little metal loops poking here and there from where they are set into the pillar.

You are forced onto the balls of your feet as your arms are grabbed and raised above your head, a cord seeming to suddenly be wrapped around them and rubbing against the wound below your wrist with little jolts that echo the bite, sparks that dance down your arm. Shrouded in the dark of the night and your vision obscured by blood loss, you feel before you see the thigh that parts between your own, brushing against you and lifting you so your toes barely brush against the top of the grass. The hands return to your hips, sharp points from each finger digging into your bare skin and piercing through the fabric of your pants. They slide you forward with agonizing slowness, your lower back being dragged away from the pillar as the back of your head and your shoulders are leaned further against it.

The voice seems to come from everywhere, now, a whisper in both ears and echoing into your skull from the base of your spine as you begin to be shifted forward and back. "My wonderful pet. My delectably pretty mortal."

Aaaaaaa okokokokokokok

#hhrk #ok ok #( ･᷄ὢ･᷅ )

What if I climbed into your lap on your throne? Rude it may be, but what would you do in response? Open your mouth to call for guards? I am already there, and I’d as soon press my tongue to yours to still it. I think I could keep you still on that chair, pinning your arms with my arms and your thighs with my thighs. You couldn’t move me if you wanted to, Excellency, and I’m not so convinced you truly would. Allow me to drip my insolent sarcasm into your mouth, by way of mine.

Aaa >:(

Surely that’s not allowed....

#hhrk

You awaken to the sensation of cool water flowing over your face, neck, and shoulders, the sting cutting through the haze before the voice from before murmurs in your right ear, "Relax, pet." Two hands, colder than the water, grip your shoulders as your senses return to you. On either side of your neck remain the mismatched wounds, but at some point you had been changed into a loose shirt and puffy pants, both made of a finely-woven translucent material, and where the water spills down your shoulders, back, and chest it clings to you with a shine. Your feet are bare and are on cold rock, the flat paving stones ringed around a fountain depicting a scene of frenzied bacchanalia. You realize that you are outdoors, the fountain set into the centre a grassy courtyard with walls formed of trellised flower bushes that scented the air, covering up the scent of the upright torches burning in the corner. Set in each of the four directions of the walls lay manicured floral archways, the light of the evening sufficient to see that past each arch awaited yet more 'rooms' in these outdoor gardens.

"In here, you will be only mine." One of the hands leaves your shoulder to trail a nail from your chin down the front of your throat, moving in a slight serpentine that left a little divot in the damp fabric before catching as the nail reversed course, a faint tear accompanying a prick of pain just below your collarbone that joined the throb on either side of your neck. The hand grabs your chin, lightly directing it to look past the fountain to a 'room' beyond, the archway a neat tangle of foliage and blue flowers. Beyond, the shadows seem to move. The other hand takes your arm and raises it, and a brief, sharp pain erupts as you feel two fangs pierce just below the curve of your wrist, before being replaced with a numbing warmth that spreads through your body, a pleasant haze that erases all thought and settles into your bones. It is by this hand that you are led, feet moving of their own accord from cold stone to warm grass, deeper into the garden.

Oh my dear goodness ( ･᷄ὢ･᷅ )

#hhrk #I really am spoiled