#Chromatic Nature | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

starrierknight · 7 months

Text

𝟎𝟐𝟓. 𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐬

“Love is a sacrament that should be taken kneeling, and Domine non sum dignus should be on the lips and in the hearts of those who receive it.” ― Oscar Wilde, De Profundis

MASTERLIST | KINKTOBER 23' | AO3

wc— 5k

pairing— vampire slayer!dom!gn!reader x vampire!sub!gojo

cws/tags— enemies to enemies w/ benefits, S&M, predator/prey dynamic, knifeplay, bloodplay, blood as an aphrodisiac, heavy degradation (+use of “slut”), humiliation, biting & marking, oral + fingering (reader receiving), reader has AFAB anatomy but isn’t gendered, dry humping, hairpulling, inaccurate vampire lore, porn w/ plot, porn w/ (angsty) feelings, very description heavy

The passage of time had led you to this decisive moment. There he kneeled, ensnared by the circumstance of your bait, his once confident demeanour reduced to vulnerability. Wide-eyed and labouring breaths betrayed his desperation, his pale chest heaving under that billowing white shirt.

You stood tall, your gaze an icy lance that pierced through the layers of cunning that once cloaked this despicable being. A vampire, an embodiment of the dark myths that have haunted humanity for centuries. In the story of your seasoned exploits, the ones you’d slain had been unfathomable monsters, grotesque aberrations. The raw power that you expected to emanate from a monster so ancient, so sinister, seemed to have dulled into something strangely human. His aura of malevolence was overshadowed by a pitiable aura of need. The haunting question dawned on the precipice of your thoughts: Could it be that even the darkest of beings can yearn, can ache for something beyond their cursed existence?

The tableau is one of stark contrasts—the resolute hunter and the feeble prey, the chilling void of the night and the warmth of desperate need. The air remained unbroken: You, the embodiment of unyielding purpose, and he, an enigma knelt before you, leaving the promise of revelation in his desperate, longing gaze.

The monster before you took on a hauntingly primal quality. A languid, serpentine motion as his tongue darted out, collecting the remnants of blood, your blood, that clung to his lips. The taste, metallic and potent as you knew it to be, was like the sweetest nectar to him. A guttural groan escaped his parted lips, a sound laden with both pleasure and pain; The very act of an existence marked by unending darkness and insatiable hunger. With deliberate slowness, his eyes shuttered closed, a brief surrender of ecstasy. His lashes casted long shadows against his pale, parchment-like skin.

“Speak, monster,” you said in a cool, steady tone.

Time seemed to expand and contract, a canvas stretched taut, as he eventually broke the stillness.

“Oh, come on. Why the formalities?” he taunted in an airy whisper, a smug lilt to his tone. “Don’t you think we’re past that?”

His eyelids parted, revealing pupils dilated to a darkness. Those eyes, a chromatic anomaly amidst the desolation of his existence, were a cerulean that defied nature's palette. They were too blue, too vivid—a celestial fragment from the vast expanse of the heavens that had fallen into his wretched possession.

“Tell me your name before I slay you tonight,” you spat, your will unwavering.

His eyes drank you in with an uncanny hunger. “Gojo Satoru. Though, please, Satoru will do just fine.”

You tilted your head to one side, leaning down to inspect him with morbid fascination. He was disturbingly beautiful: Far too angelic in appearance, though you supposed it was a façade to lure in his prey. How ironic.

“Gojo Satoru,” you murmured, still inspecting him. Satoru shuddered at the way his name fell from your mouth, and he groaned again. “That’s a very human name, unfit for you… Though it’s your vampiric desperation that got you here, isn’t it?”

Satoru's response sliced through the charged atmosphere like a serrated blade. His lips parted in a breathy exhalation that transformed into a rueful laugh, a delicate sound that danced in the air. The corners of his mouth quirked into a crooked smile, a wry look that exposed his pointed fangs.

“Was it yours, by the way?”

“The blood?”

“The blood. The blood in the chalice—that bait you left for me. Was it yours? Did you… alter it?”

You frowned and raised a brow. Instinctively, your hand moved to your belt, where your weapon of choice rested. The scabbard relinquished its hold with a whisper of leather, allowing the ornate silver dagger to emerge into the moonlit room. Your fingers curled around the hilt, finding solace in the familiarity of its weight.

“Your final moments are rapidly approaching, and you question my methods for luring you here?” you asked bemusedly.

Satoru shrugged one shoulder, but his eyes snapped to focus on the blade. “I’m just making friendly conversation.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No,” he laughed again, hunger flashing in his eyes, “I’m not. Tell me, though.”

You hummed thoughtfully. “It’s mine. Unaltered.”

Satoru's throat bobbed visibly as he swallowed, the sound resonating. He took a deep breath. “So, you just taste… like that, do you?”

“Like ‘that’?”

“Just so… sweet. Humans aren’t usually so sweet,” he clarified.

With a fluid motion, you idly twirled the dagger through the air. The blade's polished surface caught the moon's glow, transforming its silvery sheen into an almost-blue hue, the ornate dagger an extension of your intent. The blade's tip, sharpened to a lethal point, found its mark with an almost imperceptible pressure against Satoru's skin.

The chill of the metal against his neck was a stark contrast to the warmth that radiated from his body. The sensation was immediate, a jolt of icy reality that underscored the gravity of your confrontation. His breath hitched, his pupils dilated more, the pulse of his veins thundering in tandem with the rhythm of his twisted excitement.

“You disgust me,” you hissed, pressing the blade to his neck so that it was perilously close to breaking his skin.

The whine that escaped his lips was involuntary, a mixture of pain and desire that reverberated through the charged air. It was a reminder that his existence, no matter how abhorrent, was still woven with threads of need and yearning. He pressed closer to the flat of the blade—the dichotomy of his action hauntingly human. The cold metal met the feverish heat of his pale skin, his lips parted as he breathed heavily.

“Please,” the longing etched into his contorted expression spoke of desire both primal and inexplicable. “One last request before it’s over. Please.”

“You think you deserve a last request?” you challenged, eyes narrowed with scrutiny.

Satoru moistened his lips, eyes darting from you to around the room as he scrambled to provide you with an answer to your question. The room, with its moonlit corners and shadows, seemed to close in, the walls serving as both witnesses and silent participants in this exchange between hunter and hunted, captor and captive. The request that followed was both shocking and strangely intimate:

“I was human, once,” he began, “I wanted a good death for myself, once. Please, give me a shred of humanity to die with. Please, let me taste you before you kill me.”

It's a collision of desires—a yearning for connection, for a glimpse of the humanity he once possessed, and the chilling reminder of his vampiric nature.

You laughed coldly, sneering down at him. “And humanity is blood, is it?”

“Please.”

Jutting your chin out, your gaze seared downward. The intensity of your stare, unyielding and incisive, spoke of your unwavering resolve in the face of his plea. The retraction of the dagger was a calculated move—an action that rippled with implications.

As the blade sliced across the palm of your hand, your own blood welled forth, a crimson testament to your commitment to the path you'd chosen. The sting was a reminder of the sacrifices you were willing to make, and the offering of the blade, now smeared with your blood, was a bridge.

His reaction was immediate and visceral. The scent of your blood, intoxicatingly sweet to his heightened senses, seemed to fill the room; A siren's call. Satoru’s breathing grew heavy. His eyes locked onto the vivid liquid, reflecting a hunger that surpassed all others.

“Have your taste before I slaughter you, Satoru.”

As if drawn by an irresistible force, Satoru's compliance was immediate and unquestioning. As his tongue darted out to lick the smeared blood from the flat of the blade, the room seemed to hold its breath, a voyeur to this intimate ritual between predator and prey. The metallic glint of your blood met his tongue with an electric charge, a connection that transcended what he thought he had centuries of damned experience with. The blood's influence, as it coursed through the currents of his veins, was immediate and potent.

The sweet nature of your blood sparked an undeniable fire within Satoru; A desire, once lurking in the shadows, that now surged to the forefront of his consciousness. The echoes of his moans, the rise and fall of his uneven breaths, served as evidence of the pure need he experienced.

“You really are the most repulsive thing I’ve ever seen,” you muttered, regarding him with sickly interest. Satoru's gaze—those magnificently blue eyes, like pools of sapphire—rose from the blade, still in his kneeling position, to meet yours.

“That was hardly a taste,” he murmured, his voice thick with desire.

Your indignant silence was punctuated by the steady rhythm of dripping blood. Drip-drip-drip. You felt the warmth from the gash on your non-dominant hand curl around your fingers, falling with resonance onto the aged wooden floorboards. Drip-drip-drip. As your gaze swept across the space, the play of light and shadow painted the scene. Your attention fell upon a solitary chair nestled in the corner.

Without uttering a single word, your injured hand lifted and extended, your blood-stained fingers pointing with stark clarity towards the chair. Drip-drip. The gesture was a directive, an invitation, an unspoken promise. Satoru, his towering presence marked by the contrast of moonlight and shadows, heeded the call of your gesture. With a deliberate grace, he approached the chair, the sound of its legs scraping against the wooden floor, the very air itself holding its breath.

The surprise that unfurled within you was mirrored by the unexpected turn of events. As he dragged the chair closer, your pulse quickened, and you sat. Then, in a gesture that defied your expectations, he knelt before you once more, his handsome expression a mixture of reverence, his own expectation, his own unrivalled desire.

“You deserve less than I’m giving you,” you said lowly, “But enjoy yourself while you can.”

You extended your injured hand, the delicate appendage still weeping ruby-red tears. Satoru responded instinctively, cradling your wounded palm in his larger hands, their touch exuding a profound gentleness. As if guided by an innate sense of care, he brought your bloodied offering to his face, a visage that seemed both ravenous and reverent. The moment his tongue made contact with the open wound, a jolt of sensation shot through your body. The taste of your blood, infused with the sweet essence of your very being, flooded his senses. His eyes, once fixed on you, now fluttered closed, and a euphoric expression painted his features. As if overwhelmed by a wave of intense pleasure, his eyelids fluttered, and his irises seemed to lose focus, rolling upwards.

The world around Satoru seemed to dim, his focus narrowing to the essence that flowed from your wound. Each taste, each drop, acted like a potent aphrodisiac, igniting a fire that blazed within him. His body responded with a tremor, his pale hands involuntarily tightening their hold on your injured palm. His muffled groans, now a mixture of raw need and aching restraint, reverberated through your body.

Satoru’s soft, warm mouth enveloped the open wound, a fervent kiss that drew forth the crimson nectar. As he sucked on the source of this intoxicating sweetness, rivulets of blood painted intricate patterns on his lower face, a macabre, and yet strangely artistic, display. Despite his immense presence, he remained on his knees before your chair, his powerful form now a portrait of vulnerability. Satoru’s head, heavy with the weight of his longing, found its place on your lap, a gesture that radiated a delicate surrender. His silvery hair, like silk against your legs, contrasted starkly with the increasingly depraved display.

“You really are vile,” you breathed, the sting from the wound shooting up your arm.

Your grip on the dagger in your dominant hand tightened instinctively, and a mixture of apprehension and curiosity coursed through you as his tongue lapped at your skin. Your senses keenly caught the subtle shifts in his body language, the telltale signs of his arousal and need. The feeling of his fingers tightening around your wounded hand, his thighs pressing and rubbing with a rhythmic urgency—a plea for something unattainable yet relentlessly craved.

With a languid grace, he shifted his kneeling position, his body settling. As if guided by some unseen force, he positioned himself so that he was seated on one of your boots. His head found its resting place on your thigh, and his mouth maintained its fervent dance upon your hand—his lips and tongue slid over your skin, causing a paradoxical sensation of tension and pleasure that set your nerves alight.

His body responded to the all-encompassing craving that had engulfed him with a feverish urgency. The torrent of desire coursing through him could no longer be suppressed, and his body moved of its own accord. In a desperate bid for release, he pressed his hard-on against your boot, the friction providing a fleeting respite from the intensity that consumed him. Desperate moans, heavy with frustration, escaped him, the sound an unbridled testament to the intensity of the moment.

Finally, his fangs sank into the tender palm of your hand with a swift, hypnotic movement. The moment his fangs pierced your skin, a rush of sensations cascaded through you and a gasp, half surprise and half excitement, tumbled from your lips. The pressure of his bite, a fierce declaration of his need, sent shockwaves through your body.

"Did I say you could bite?" you hissed through gritted teeth.

With a decisiveness born of instinct, your dominant hand moved with purpose. The edge of the dagger's blade found its place against the vulnerable curve of his neck, pressing into his pale skin as his own blood, darker and more tainted than yours, seeped onto the cool metal.

Satoru’s eyes fluttered open, looking at you with a desperate apology. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. Forgive me, please…”

His lips sought redemption in a sequence of fervent kisses. They trailed across the delicate skin of your wrist, your knuckles, and the tips of your fingers. The gesture, if not for the lingering urgency of his movements, would have held a sweet tenderness, an attempt to mend what had been broken. Amid this tangled web of feelings, the grinding of his arousal against you persisted, a relentless echo of his desire. The moans that escaped him seemed to punctuate each kiss, a wretched symphony of need.

“You’re fucking pathetic. You should see yourself right now,” you scolded, “On your knees for me, grinding against my leg like a fucking feral animal.”

His body moved with a desperate rhythm, a primal need guiding his every motion. With each rutted thrust, he sought an elusive release, a respite from the smouldering longing between his thighs. His movements were fueled by a frenetic energy, his hips surging upward in a rhythm that spoke of desperation and longing. The dagger's lethal caress against his neck seemed only to further stoke the fire within him.

Gasping for air, Satoru’s breaths came in ragged intervals, but amidst the tumult, a single word slipped past his lips—a plea heavy with need. "Please."

“Please what? What are you even begging for, slut?” You laughed at him. “You wanna taste some more? You wanna cum for me?”

“Fuck, please… I need you… I need you so badly, please,” he whined, looking up at you with half-lidded eyes, his head still resting on your thigh.

“You want more? More blood?”

“Y-yes, but… more you. I just, fuck… Need more of you,” he panted.

The sound of his own confession served as a catalyst, the final thread that unravelled his restraint. With a loud and unfiltered moan, Satoru fell apart on his knees before you. His hips jerked against you with a frantic urgency as he whimpered. The tension that had been building, coil by coil, snapped like a taut band, releasing a flood of euphoria that consumed him entirely. At that moment, there was no room for thought, only the unadulterated pleasure that surged through his veins. The pleasure, a heady mix of physical release and emotional surrender, overtook his senses, rendering his mind blank and his body malleable under its power. His mouth parted in a silent exhalation of bliss, boring witness to the depth of his pleasure.

Even in the aftermath of his release, his body continued to move in a slow, rhythmic grind against you as the aftershocks of cumming reverberated through him. The room seemed to shimmer with the echoes of his moans.

Your bloody fingers laced into his silky, white hair. With a firm tug, you lifted his head, his body draped across your leg in surrender to the aftermath of his climax. The tip of the dagger's blade traced a deliberate path along his jaw; The steel's cool touch acted as a focal point, drawing his attention to you in his post-orgasm daze. The sensation pierced through the fog of pleasure, reorienting him.

“Vampires are supposed to be scary, Satoru. Where’s the beast I came to slaughter tonight?” you taunted, a lopsided grin splitting your features. Caressing his face with the flat of the dagger’s blade in your dominant hand, your grip on his hair tightened—he winced and whined in pain, much to your satisfaction.

“I’m… I-I am still a monster,” he mumbled in weak protest. “I’m still a monster, even if I need you… Oh, God, how I need you…”

His white, billowing shirt, once pristine, now clung to his skin with a sheen of sweat. The fabric, once airy and light, had transformed into a second skin, moulded to the contours of his form by the heat of his actions. The shirt, rendered translucent by the moisture, hinted at the contours beneath—the rise and fall of his chest, the sculpted lines of his handsome body.

"You're a fucking mess, y'know that? A mess so pathetic, it's disgusting," you remarked, your voice a mixture of exasperation and a touch of distant amusement.

Just before he could retort, you acted swiftly, clapping your injured hand over his mouth. The surprise on his face was palpable, a mix of alarm and intrigue as he found his voice silenced. The sensation of your touch against his lips seemed to ignite a response within him, a mixture of surprise and a familiar yearning. Despite the unexpectedness of the action, his instincts seemed to guide him. His tongue, quick and warm, darted out to taste your blood once more. A groan escaped his lips. His body responded with a shudder, a ripple of pleasure that coursed through his frame.

“Dumb fucking slut,” you laughed quietly. “I’ve been so good to you, and you’re talking back. I’ll teach you manners before I slay you tonight.”

A muffled moan, laden with a mixture of need and surrender, escaped from behind your bloody palm that covered his mouth. The sound seemed to hang in the air. His gaze, fixed upon you with half-lidded eyes, held a certain vulnerability. You leaned in closer, your proximity a tantalizing promise. His half-lidded gaze met yours.

"You need to taste me? Let's see how badly."

The words held a challenge, a daring invitation. The proximity between your lips, the touch of your hand against his skin, the dangerous lilt to your voice—it made him crave so much that he ached for you. Satoru's back arched like a bowstring, his head tilting back slightly as he let out a small, soft moan. You removed your hand from his mouth and retracted the dagger’s blade that had been held against his neck.

In a frenzy born of unbridled desire, Satoru's actions took on a new urgency. His hands, no longer restrained by inhibition, sought purchase against the buttons on your trousers. Fingers that trembled with need fumbled against the fabric, the movements driven by a hunger that consumed him entirely. Each button undone marked a step closer to a line crossed, and the air crackled with the intensity of his actions.

With your trousers discarded, his hands found their place on your bare thighs, his touch both tentative and determined. He shifted between your legs, his form kneeling before you while you remained seated in the chair. His positioning spoke of a certain vulnerability, a submission he had adopted in your presence. His hands traced a path across the expanse of your bare skin, a map of desire that unfolded beneath his touch. Beginning at the inside of your knee, his movements were deliberate and unhurried, a slow exploration of the terrain he now navigated.

“Thank you… Oh, thank you, I need this so badly,” he murmured.

Your breathing had grown laboured, a lazy smile tugging at your lips as you watched. “You’re so desperate, aren’t you?”

“Yes. God, yes, please… I just need you,” Satoru whispered.

The dagger in your dominant hand clattered to the floor, and both of your hands took root in his white hair instead. The sensation of your hands in Satoru’s hair seemed to awaken a primal response, his body shivering and trembling beneath your touch. His closeness, his lips against your skin, painted a vivid picture of his passion. His kisses, once deliberate and slow, had transformed into something more. They were now passionate, desperate—an unfiltered expression lust.

His mouth moved with an animalistic need, tracing a fiery path up your thigh. The pressure of his fingers, his grip bordering on painful, mirrored the urgency that had taken hold of him. The threat of his fangs grazed against your sensitive skin, and your hands gripped his hair harder. Satoru was lost in the sensations that pulsed through him, his body a vessel for the consuming ecstasy that had taken hold. His lips, once soft and reverent, were now a reflection of his unfiltered need—a need that was unashamedly on display, stripped of all pretence.

As his jaw moved against your skin, the strength of his bite left indelible marks, and the lines between pleasure and pain blurred to become one. The room echoed with his cries, each whine and moan a declaration of his longing. Your name, a desperate refrain, punctuated his every sound, the syllables a litany of desire. Saliva glistened on your thigh as his teeth left behind a trail of marks and bruises. His grip on your thighs, unyielding and possessive, held you captive. The drool that trailed down his chin, mingling with his moans, was a visual testament to the intensity of his lust. The sound of his needy moans, louder than ever before, echoed in the air. His teeth digging deeper into your skin were causing bleeding that added to the pleasure.

You let out a sharp exhale, the sound escaping through clenched teeth, your body reacting to the dual sensations. A low groan followed, a mixture of discomfort and an unexpected yearning, escaping from deep within you. Your hips, an unconscious reaction to the intimate contact, shifted towards him—a movement that made him whine needily. The warmth of his tongue against your skin, the wetness that traced the path of the blood and saliva, painted a vivid picture of your shared bloodlust.

"God, I want you so bad... So bad. Oh, please... Please... Don't hold back... Let yourself have me... Let yourself have me..." the words were a broken mantra that emerged from his lips, the syllables heavy with longing.

“H-Have you?” you groaned.

His bites became harsher, leaving even deeper marks in your flesh. But your moans were having the opposite effect, driving him closer to that sweet insanity.

"Oh, God... Please, please... Please..." he begged in a fractured voice.

As his tongue swept over the wounds he had created, an intense heat spread across your skin, merging with the dampness of the blood that trickled forth. Iron lingered in the air, mingling with the primal scent of exertion and urgency. With an unyielding grip, his fingers clenched around your thighs, the strength of his hold leaving imprints. Your senses wavered between the stinging sensation where his nails dug into your flesh and the surreal touch of his mouth at work.

With firm urgency, you guided his face to your cunt, an unspoken directive that he obeyed without hesitation. As your fingers threaded through his hair, a mixture of tugs and pulls that mirrored the ebb and flow of your need, his name escaped your lips like a prayer. In response, a resonant moan spilt from his lips, a reflection of your name, as if he were returning your prayer in kind. Completely at your mercy, his obedience was an unspoken offering, his face moving to kiss the softest skin of your inner thighs.

Satoru’s breath was hot enough that you could feel him breathe against you, as if the fabric of your underwear was a mere afterthought. Inhaling through his nose, the combined sent of your blood, and your arousal pooling between your thighs, made his eyes shutter closed, moaning. His fingers quivered with anticipation, his nails scratching your thighs as he licked a flat, broad stripe across your clothed pussy. He tilted his head and rhythmically moved his lips against you so the fabric was soaked with your wetness and his spit. Oh, how he yearned to taste everything you would offer him, making it run down your thighs just so he could lap it up.

His mouth became a haven of sensations, each deliberate nudge of his nose against your clit igniting a cascade of sparks that danced along your nerve endings. The friction created by his touch caused a cascade of moans to spill from your lips. His devotion was palpable in the way he knelt before you, an embodiment of desire and submission that bordered on divine: His open mouth, his cheeks rosy, his eyes sealed shut in a state of blissful surrender.

“Fuck, maybe there’s a use f-for you, after all,” you murmured.

One of his hands slid your underwear out of the way. The moment hung in suspended animation, a pause that held as he halted his other movements to marvel at you. The vision before him was a masterpiece; You were a masterpiece.

Satoru’s long, pretty fingers dipped between your folds, sliding through the velvety slickness, before bringing his fingers to his mouth and cleaning them. He whined praise at the taste, looking up at you with half-lidded eyes that shined with reverence. His eyes, those pools of cool blue, met yours in a gaze that transcended words, brimming reverence that could only be equated to worship.

He carefully pushed a finger inside you, looking up at you hungrily as he felt your walls hugging the digit. Your breath trembled and hitched, a shaky exhale escaping your lips as you indulged in the feeling—a primal yearning that coiled hotly like a serpent in your abdomen. With steadfast devotion, he turned his attention to your sensitivity, his mouth finding purchase on your clit. The skilled wetness of his tongue traced deliberate circles around the tender bundle of nerves, each flicker of contact a jolt of sensation that reverberated through your core. A plaintive whine emerged from him, the vibration a tantalising echo that melded with your own moans.

Another finger joined the first, the slow glide in and out of your depths accompanied by a lust that seemed to resonate through your entire being. Your body responded, a silent plea that spurred his rhythm, the pumping of his fingers sending shockwaves of heat rippling through you.

Satoru's presence in the moment was visceral, his desire manifesting audibly as he pressed his face against your dripping centre. The noises that escaped his lips, a cascade of moans and whimpers, melded with the wet sounds of your shared pleasure. His fingers were adept, plunging into your pussy with a rhythmic thrust that strummed a chord deep within your core. With each push, his fingers curved and curled, a deliberate manipulation that seemed to coax the most exquisite sensations from your body. The taste of you, an intoxicating blend of your essence and arousal, consumed him wholly. His gaze, though hazy, still found you, his pretty eyes locking onto yours with lustful adoration.

You came undone on his fingers with a moan of his name, his mouth was flooded with the taste of you, as his fingers, slick with the evidence of your ecstasy, bore witness to your release. Your nails dragged against his scalp deliciously, twisting his soft hair, inciting a drawn-out groan from deep within him. He kept you riding that high, guiding you through the bliss he had manipulated. Your body was tingling all over, waves of pleasure radiating through you as you gasped. Every drop of cum, every trace of your arousal, became an offering that he ardently consumed, letting no taste of you go unadored.

As he finally withdrew his fingers, the absence was palpable, but his attention didn't waver; Instead, it shifted to a new focus. Your thighs trembled, but his hands became gentle instruments of comfort and affection to soothe you. He massaged and caressed the tender skin, his lips following a path his fingers traced, each kiss a sweet tribute to you. The chorus of murmured gratitude that escaped his lips lingered in the heavy air as you caught your bearings.

“Thank you, thank you… You taste so perfect, so perfect…” Satoru said, with his voice still broken and raspy from his intense moaning. "Thank you," he repeated, the phrase becoming a mantra.

The timbre of his voice was a blend of vulnerability and sincerity, each utterance a token of his appreciation for you. The emotions that had coursed through him, the moans and gasps that had marked his need, seemed to linger in the remnants of his voice.

"Perfect," he continued, his words resonating with a kind of awe that transcended mere description. "Beyond sweet," he concluded.

You looked down upon him kneeling between your thighs, your hands still in his hair, with a mixture of awe and reluctance. Satoru, this enigmatic creature, had been laid bare before you. The dichotomy of his nature, of his humanity and his vampiric instincts, hung in the air like a question unanswered. What had you done to him?

“You can kill me now, and I’ll die human,” he murmured.

Though after sharing a little death with him, could you kill him?

a/n: I guess you could say he's your #1 fang... Buh-dump tch! LOL, I hope you enjoyed. Be grateful I didn't include Twilight refs, bc I was tempted to. Happy Kinktober, lovelies :3

this work belongs to STARRIERKNIGHT . please refrain from plagiarising any of my works and do not repost/translate/modify/copy onto any platforms.

319 notes · View notes

maddragon15 · 2 days

Text

Finalized design for my version of Etho for hermitcraft s10!

Warning long infodump ahead about the decisions made and general lore

So I've had this idea that redstone is like uranium. Powerful, can be used for energy + various machinery and scientific discoveries, used to increase the value of the everyday lives (uranium girls ref) but with the major cause of life deletion/life altering affects. I believe that it would cause more mutations within redstoners over the course of time they are exposed to it and the varying degree that they're covered in it. But redstone is a fairly new resource that has been discovered in the world of minecraft/hermitcraft. So the research behind it isn't as strong nor as known as it should be. Therefore every effect that happens to the pioneers of redstone is completely new and unheard of. Which might be the reason why some builders like Grian, Scar, Ren, Gem, etc are hesitant to fully learn redstone mechanics due to the unknown nature of it but still aren't fully opposed because of the benefits it has. In my world of hermitcraft for season 10 it's built off of the fact that there's quite a few people leaning into that cybery, technological, sci-fi theme. Like the Punks, then Ren's Gigaverse and of course the nature of Doc in general. So the main story is that this world of hc2410 is that it's a world that was much similar to earth. It went through the usual set of technological feats bit by bit, culture by culture. For a long time their main power source which fueled everything was glowstone, a semi renewable material exported from the Nether and harvested from blazes and the blaze rods. Blaze rods were grinded down then compressed into glass like bilets which were then heated, strained, and forged into various forms that were needed. For a while it was small 2x2 inch cubes mainly used in lamps and later 6x6 foot cubes for lighthouses. But as the age of the iron wore on technology looked much like the era of the vacuum tubes.

Thus began the swap of simplified forms of glowstone into the complexities of tubes and the requirement of more materials and longer time to create these specialized parts. Though that didn't stop what pioneers were part of that era, these guys being Etho, Tango, Doc, and Mumbo. It took long and multiple days worth of work to even produce what would be a 4 part machine now with the era of the glowstone tubes but they were young and confident that things could and would be optimized. Now these guys were very basic hybrids, Etho an arctic fox, Tango a nether born blaze, Doc whom was a rare specices of creeper, and Mumbo who was actually just a human. Glowstone in itself was a relatively safe material to work with unless of course consumed, if consumed it would wear down the lining of the stomach, cause holes in the intestines, and heat the user to an unbearable degree akin to the infamous iron bull method of torture except it was your insides and only your insides being subjected to it. To the person that found this out would never be credited and largely forgotten in most history records. So when Etho was working on the mines with his crew and discovered redstone there was a guess and perhaps a hope that it would be as safe as glowstone. Therefore safety percautions that were handled with materials like obsidian and diamond were thrown out the window. Instead it was instantly collected into glass cylinders and brought back to the workshop to be played around with.

With Etho being the main guy who really played around with it and pretty much like at it like ate it like it was sugar was thee very first to experience the mutational effect of redstone. At first his left eye would begin to flicker with rapid involuntary movement, then followed a set of what would be dubbed "chromatic abberation" (etho would be the only one to experience this and no one can confirm what he saw was accurate due to the mental state he was in), and the onset of vision loss. But this wasn't the first and last effect, he would begin to develop a second tail and unusual pelt coloring akin to the color of the newfound material. Much like the later steps of his changes the second tail development was not a pain free one. As the months continued his mental state worsened, this was due to the psychoactive effects of redstone and already altered vision. He would begin to see things that weren't there in a translucent red glow often accompanied by intense localized migraines behind the left eye. It would get so intense and unbearable that in the middle of developing the infamous etho hopper clock he began to claw at his left eye but the fingernails weren't enough and instead used a screwdriver to try to get it out. However Doc and Tango would find Etho moments before a prosthetic eye would take the permanent place of a redstone scarred eye. Although Etho did wear a mask during the initial stages of redstone development and technology it wouldn't be enough against the sheer intake the 4 went through. Therefore under the careful guise of Xisumavoid, who'd later become the main caretaker/medic and manager, and Doc they would make several changes to how redstone was regulated. Making a mandate that all personnel, consumer, mechanic, and who ever else would have to wear a respirator and gloves during the usage of redstone. You'd think this would be easy to get the crew to swap into using respirators at the very least but it was met with much hesitation and backlash due to the blukiness that came with them. It was already tough to pack around the canisters of redstone, glowstone tubes, and iron baseplates and now they also had to squeeze into tight spaces with a clunky mess? But again Doc and Xisuma found ways to make sure that each member found a way to have their own variation of resperation based upon needs. It wasn't too hard to make one for Etho because he already had a mask but his stubbornness rivaled Doc, and took a near fatal pass out due to lack of blood production, aka just more extreme anemia, and bloody nose to convince Etho to finally add that respirator onto his mask. Despite however the apparent dangers of redstone it sent the world of hc2410 into a new world of technology seemingly overnight, from clunky 60s-70s style tan and heavy clunk switches into an age more similar to thin touch panels and streamlined designs of now but with the flair of the iconic synthwave/cyberpunk style deemed by the 80s-90s. Yet it was met with strife due to how time consuming redstone was even with several engineers helping out on one project and most innovations were only available to the richest before being thrown out for the latest and greatest.

Thus the reason why for most parts of hc2410 many will be seen with previous and malfunctioning innovations or straight up tech from the glowstone era. One of these people is Mumbo who still uses comms from the glowstone era as a way to keep his small hometown economy running because any way to help Big Ron was a win in his book. Pearl is also another example user of older innovations or at least less redstone heavy variations. Rather going into the world of solar, and botany side of technology dubbed leafstone. Other variations of older innovations would also have to be old port towns who used wind and small hydroplants to keep their town running and connected with the rest of the world such as Gem's & Grian's hometown.

Also you may recall, if you've made it to this point, that I mentioned that the 4 were basic hybrids. Well much like Etho the effects on the rest weren't simple nor painless, and varied quite differently from each other. But those will be covered once their designs are finished.

Edit: I also want to include that one of the main design inspos is actually Snakeyes from Gi Joe because that man is absolute gender to me. So why not combine my two favorite guys into one character.

I thank you if you've made it this far and I'll see you on the next hermitaday posts! :3

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft fanart #ethoslab #etho fanart #par art #par hc

107 notes · View notes

conceiteddemon · 18 days

Text

I feel like Ashlyn and her parents WERENT dragged into a rift on the night of her birth, actually. Based on the way rifts work with the sbg kids and their injuries not transferring over from one dimension to the other, I guess I could see how Ash got her hearing altered as a tiny baby if she was fully born in the phantom dimension, because there wasn’t any body of hers to shift back to when the rift closed so the hearing damage copied over from the ‘original’. But there’s a discrepancy with the idea that I haven’t seen anyone point out yet: Mike.

He did not have his iconic facial scar before the encounter!

If this attack happened in the phantom dimension, then logically, the wound would have disappeared when they shifted back into the human reality.

So either there was something different about the nature of this rift than the one in the weed sorrel house, or, in my opinion: the Banners didn’t shift at all that night.

This is the first panel where a phantom shows up, and based on the red lighting, you could infer that they went into the phantom realm. BUT, the lighting at the abandoned building doesn’t have a solid blue to solid red chromatic abberation, like shifts are indicated earlier. Instead, there’s a much more gentle gradient.

Combined with the lack of the 3-D effect on the family, and Mike’s permanent facial scar as well as Ashlyn’s hyperacutitus being present always, not just when reality thins out, I don’t think they went into the phantom dimension at all! Instead:

This thing came out

#sbg #sbg (webtoon)#school bus graveyard #sbg theories #fun fact younger children can hear sounds at higher frequencies than adults can!

53 notes · View notes

bijouxcarys · 3 months

Text

The High Life (Robert Plant x fem!OC)

Masterlist

Summary: Set in 1979, our unnamed fem!OC, a star in her own right, spends one night out of many with an 8-year-long fling she hasn't seen in a long time, the Golden God himself. NSFW/18+, minors DNI

Smut prompts: #1 "Feel this? It's just for you." and #2 "Let's ruin ourselves for anyone else."

Word count: 2.9k

Note: This went in a fluffy direction I wasn't expecting it to, but I kinda love this one. Might be one of my favourites thus far.

Tags: @celestial-dragoness @whothefuckisanja @strsmn @chromations @ourshadowstallerthanoursoul @firethatgrewsolow @angrychicksposts @m-faithfull @callmethehunter (if you want to be added to the tag list, just let me know!)

They met on a rainy day in Scotland. Kindred spirits of the most beautiful kind. Living to create, creating to live. If fate had been kinder, She would have crossed their paths sooner. But the fleeting moments in which they did stumble upon one another were enough in the midst of the chaos some would call the high life.

Both knew of the incessant fawning from a crowd of dedicated supporters, following their every move, no matter where they went. Both had long forgotten how many they had spent a night with on the lonely road. And both knew they could have any one of those flustered, breathless beauties formed in a compacted huddle outside that hotel in Glasgow.

Robert enjoyed her carefree nature, something she’d only nurtured into a heady personality since he met her at 19. Though 8 years had passed, and their meetings were few and far between, it felt like a lifetime of back and forth pining for a childhood friend. And here they were, darting into the hotel lobby together after having encountered more than passionate fans and hoards of paparazzi.

They were giggling like teenagers, hand in hand, as they found the nearest available lift, practically sliding into it.

“Press it, press it, press it!” she squealed, pushing Robert to select his floor as quickly as possible.

“I am!” He rapidly pressed the button to the 5th floor. She had a grip on his shirt, impatiently waiting for the elevator door to slide shut so she could pull him into her, instantly connecting her lips with his.

His hands flew up to her face, taking it between his palms to hold her in place as he kissed her back. It was the exact same position they had been caught in that triggered their cat and mouse chase from a few streets away.

“That was your fault,” she mumbled against his lips.

“Was it?” He smirked, playfully nipping at her ear and encircling his arms around her. Pulling her flush against him allowed her to catch the hardness forming under his jeans, though it was an easy few layers of clothing deep.

“Yeah, it was,” she breathed in his sandalwood scent. “It was your idea to stop at that off-licence for a pack of fags.”

“You didn’t seem to protest too much, darlin’…” Her knees weakened when Robert began his expert teasing along the side of her neck, lips gentle yet determined. Tip of his tongue tickling her skin. “Much like right now.” He chuckled, a little smugly, as she involuntarily lifted her leg to graze his bulge with her thigh.

“I didn’t think there’d be that many people, Robert—“

“Of course there would be, everyone was in town to see you perform tonight,” he pointed out, pulling his head back enough to look at her lovesick face. Pretty eyes beaming up at him, cheeks flushed from their exertion…

She’s gonna look even better laid over my bed,

hair splayed around her head,

whole body glowing a gentle red.

Damn it, she even had him thinking in rhyme.

“And to think, out of all those people, you still want little old me…” he let out in a somewhat dramatic sigh. He already knew she was his. No matter how many admirers packed themselves into an arena to see her, it was a done deal if Robert was there.

The same could be said for him. Whilst the past couple of years had slammed the brakes on his ventures, and subsequently the amount of gigs Zeppelin did, whenever she was around… he was done for.

“I’d be an idiot not to,” she whispered, feeling the lift come to a stop with a jarring shake.

They were off. Like a couple of hyperactive greyhounds, they darted down the hall to Robert’s room, and soon enough, they were closed off to the rest of the world.

“Anyway, whose idea was it to abandon the car and leg it over here?” Robert continued the conversation, shrugging his jacket off and kicking off his shoes. She followed his actions, smirking at him.

“I believe that one was my idea—you try getting through that crowd just to get in a fucking car that doesn’t belong to you!”

He shot her a toothy grin at her energy, despite having run around a stage for two hours. Seating himself on the bed, he beckoned for her to join him, pulling her by her waist onto his lap.

“At least we’re here now,” he hummed up at her, nuzzling his nose into the low neckline of her blouse. He could feel it as her heartbeat picked up and her legs squeezed around his hips. “Just the two of us…” He pressed a heated kiss on her chest, before tugging at a button with his teeth. “You’ve got too many clothes on, luv.”

Biting gently at her bottom lip, she brought a hand up to slowly pop open the first button that was fastened, having neglected the top two after her show. Robert caught a glimpse of the lacey bra, the delicate material peeking over. His hands tightened their grip on her thighs, wishing he could claw his way through her jeans with his nails.

“You’re a tease, my love,” he sighed, eyes glued to any expanse of exposed skin in his sights. She was a goddess. An otherworldly beauty of nature. Nobody could blame him for forgetting the existence of every other woman out there, when she was in front of him. She was everything he wanted, and as time passed, he became all the more sure that she was everything he needed.

“Do you want me to speed this up?” she asked him softly, breaking him from his moment of disconnect. Always so willing to please… she’s perfect.

Shaking his head, he pulled her as close to him as he could. “No… just…” he paused, a certain vulnerability in his eyes that she hadn’t seen before. He drank in the depths of her gentle expression. “…just stay there for a bit longer… please,” he whispered.

There was nothing off-putting about his demeanour. In fact, it was all the more alluring to her. Each time she saw Robert marked another layer of the Golden God persona shedding. This time seemed to unveil a man straddling the line between clinging to the past, and cannonballing into the future.

She liked it.

Giving him a warm smile, she nodded down at him, leaning forward to nestle her lips into the fair locks that curled and twisted over his forehead.

Robert held her there for a while, completely glueing himself to her body. Even through all the layers of clothing, he’d never felt closer to her, or anyone for that matter. His hands continued to caress her sweet curves, occasionally pulling her hips down to feel him beneath her. He revelled in the shaky sighs that fell from her lips, the knowledge of it being for him empowering each movement he made.

Eventually, the steady embrace became too heated to prolong. She had naturally begun a rocking motion, back and forth, with her hips, providing both of them with minimal, much-needed, friction. He finally peered up at her, eyes blown out with lust, admiration… hitting all the correct emotional buttons to trigger her yearning.

Then, he drew her in closer, simultaneously grinding his hips upwards and keeping them pressed together. She gasped through parted lips, eyelids hooding.

“You feel that, baby?” he asked in a hushed tone. “It’s just for you…” he proclaimed very earnestly, watching as her eyes widened ever so slightly. With a desperate sigh, he grabbed the back of her head to close the gap of heavy air between them, crashing his lips to hers in a searing, sensual kiss.

Smiling against his lips, her hands buried themselves into his windswept hair, curls intertwining with her fingers. She fell, hard, into his embrace, surrendering herself entirely—body and soul—to his being.

Robert took his time, delicately undressing her as if she were an invaluable gift sent from Heaven itself. He pressed kisses along every inch of her skin, worshipping the body Mother Nature had bestowed upon her. She’d never seen him like this, and it was a much welcomed switch up from the hormonal fucking they were so accustomed to by now.

He worked the pink nubs on her chest to a stiffened peak through hearty caresses with his tongue, lips, fingers, teeth… Her skin was almost completely covered in goosebumps at the care he took. It was like he treated every ministration with his tongue as a predecessor, a preview, for what it could do in other places. His bright blue eyes staring up at her as his tongue circled around her nipples, he silently demonstrated the movements replicated on her swollen pearl moments later.

Just like in his premonition, he had her stretched out over the bed, body in a state of desire—writhing as he feasted on her weeping nectar below. Every mewl, whimper, and gasp fuelled the fire of his longing.

No fingers were needed; he reserved them for groping at her chest, holding onto her hand, and running them up and down the plush thighs bracketing his head. He worked her up to an ardent release, her hips grinding up into his face as she pulsated against his talented tongue.

Now, he was over her, his broad, naked frame shielding her from everything around them as he gave her an intimate taste of her own honey.

“I hope you realise you’ve ruined me for everyone else…” she exhaled. He looked over her flustered face, the small amount of mascara she had on transferred under her eyes. She’d never looked more beautiful to him. And to hear this woman, out of anyone, proclaim something so profound to him sent him over the edge. It was that moment in which he realised…

Once in a blue moon is nowhere near enough time to love you the way I want to.

“Well…” he started with a jesting tut, “let’s ruin ourselves for anyone else, then, my temptress.” He let out a breathy chuckle, moving to lay back against the fluffed pillows. Once again, he beckoned her over, offering up his lap, where his rigid, desperate cock layed prominent against his stomach.

Once she was over him, straddling him in her warmth, he dragged his tip along her waiting folds, collecting her juices, the result of his hunger for her. She found herself glad he hadn’t used his fingers on her earlier; she always loved feeling the effects of his size, the slight sting of the stretch he provided. She loved his lasting impact on her, being able to feel it for up to a week after. It was her way of remembering their encounter, at least for a little while.

He hungrily eyed her body, focusing on the way her cunt soaked the head of his cock as he held onto her leg. With a steel gaze, locked with hers, he finally pushed himself upwards, sliding into her deliciously. They both let out heavy gasps, their union more intense than they had anticipated. “C’mere…”

She obliged, needily resting above him, his arms moving to wrap around her as he brought her in for another kiss. Using his heels for leverage, he made a steady thrust upwards, burying himself as deep as he could. He groaned against her lips, swirling his tongue around hers before breaking it to inhale deeply.

“I don’t know how I manage without feeling you wrapped around me.” Another thrust. “You’re the most perfect…fuck…woman on the planet,” he groaned.

An airy whimper tickled his lips, and she furrowed her brows as she took the pace he set, his cock sliding along her convulsing walls. The hand that splayed across his chest was the only thing stopping her from completely collapsing over him. “Oh, fuck… Robert…”

He’d never get over the way she moaned his name, from within the depths of her soul, with so much fiery devotion. The way she arched and rippled over him, taking every inch of his cock, whining and whimpering just for him… it unleashed an unbridled energy. Every. Time.

“Lean back a little, baby…”

Doing as instructed, she sat up and angled backwards, one of her hands resting on his leg behind her to steady herself. With her upper half leaned back, Robert took a hold of her hips and pulled them forward as he picked up the pace.

“Fuck!” she gasped, followed by an elongated moan when his cock reached so deep within that it kissed the spongy surface of her cervix.

“Doesn’t that feel so good, darlin’?” he rhetorically asked with a knowing smirk. “Can you feel how deep I am?”

One thing she could never have enough of was Robert’s pillow talk. His silky voice, the accent that had ingrained itself into her mind. It sent something fierce through her veins and snapped her into overdrive more often than not.

“Here,” Robert took her free hand, fingers wrapping around her wrist easily, and placed it on her lower abdomen, close to her mound. “Press down…” he softly instructed before resuming his harsh thrusts, grinding all the way up. He watched her face, waiting for the moment. A proud smile spread across his lips when her eyes widened. She snapped her head up at him with a look of disbelief.

“Bloody hell…” she sighed, daring to press down a little harder. And sure enough, very lightly, she could feel the movements of his cock deep within her. There was something so beautiful about feeling his thrusts from an external source, and it strangely made her feel even closer to him. Connected.

They spent a good while in this position, having quickly resorted to allowing her to ride him to her heart’s content. Hands on his chest, back arched, as she ground and bounced on his red-hot length. He loved seeing her like this. Wild. Free. In the rawest human form.

“So fuckin’ beautiful…” Robert panted and grunted each time she collided with him, the lewd slapping sound resonating throughout the room. Fingers gripping into her hips as hard as they were, she was convinced there’d be lasting marks—the thought made her groan under her breath.

Eventually, watching her on top of him drove him over the edge. He had to have her. With unprecedented force, he flipped them over and took her his way, hands on either side of her head.

“Bit impatient, love,” she chided up at him with a bright smile, running her hands up his fluffy chest. He felt his stomach flip at her pearly grin, the endearing charm in her every expression bringing him to the highest levels of ecstasy possible. Smiling back at her, he breathed heavily through his nose, willing his hips to take them both to the finish line.

“Do you have any idea how pretty you are?” he huffed through his committed thrusts, bordering on slamming.

“I-I—mmm—I might have heard you say it a few times…”

“Well I’ll say it again… You,” thrust, “are,” thrust, “so,” thrust, “fucking,” thrust, “beautiful.”

Her moans reverberated in her chest each time his hips met hers, and she felt herself edging towards her release. Her chest rose up and down, her panting becoming more and more audible. The familiar flutters around his cock told him all he needed to know. Bringing one leg up to rest on his shoulder, he held onto her, putting every last ounce of his energy into making his lover come undone.

“Oh God… please… don’t stop, Robert,” she cried out, her nails digging into his shoulder.

“Oh, I won’t, baby,” he shook his head, blowing some of his own hair out of his eyes. “Come on, angel,” he urged, pressing a gentle kiss to her ankle to counteract the pressure between her hips. “I need to feel it… need to feel you cum for me…”

She was so close. Just a little more…

“Don’t close your eyes,” he held onto the side of her face with his free hand. “Need those pretty eyes on me…”

She gazed up at him longingly, biting harshly at her bottom lip as he drove her home, sweat-sheened skin glowing from above. “R-Robert… fuck, I’m…” She couldn’t even force the words out before she was thrown off the edge of her coital cliff, back arching painfully as she clenched around his cock.

“Good girl… good fucking girl, shit,” he whined, mouth dropping open at how tightly she clung to him, inside and out. “Almost there, darlin’… your cunt always makes me feel so fuckin’ good…”

Breathlessly, attempting to recover from her high with Robert still relentlessly grinding into her, she stared up at him with teary eyes. She shakily held onto the side of his face, leaving him no other option than to meet her gaze with intense eyes.

“Please, Robert.”

“Mmm…”

“Cum inside me,” she begged.

“Yeah? Want me to fill you up, baby?” he growled with clenched teeth.

“Yeah…” she answered with a nod.

“Ah, fuck!” he groaned loudly, thrusts staggering as he let out a string of expletives, deep grunts that spoke of ambitious roars, and a faint wail from the back of his throat. He pumped himself dry, unloading every bit of his release deep inside her, in his mind solidifying her as his.

With untamed whimpers, he laid his head beside hers, still inside her, hips gyrating as a final attempt to make sure he gave her everything he had—as much as he was allowed to give.

Their skin seemed to meld together in its tackiness, but neither of them cared. If it was up to them, they’d be having this moment every single night.

Alas, fate wasn’t as kind, and feelings were meant to be locked up—he’d go home to his wife, sharing special moments with her in the high life.

#robert plant #robert plant fanfic #robert plant fanfiction #led zeppelin #led zeppelin fanfic #led zeppelin fanfiction #classic rock #fanfic #fic #fanfiction #rock music #70s #bijouxcaryslibrary #robert plant x reader #fic writer #the high life

64 notes · View notes