#╰ ‘ 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐒 ❫

[ironlvngs]

— open starter.

when: sometime in the afternoon where: the hamptons, entrance of the residence

this should be the right address. link starts observing the residence where the address had taken him, finishing off the last of his cigarette in the car he had been driving in all night — every night, for the last three weeks.

as he grabs his backpack from the passenger seat, his mind begins to drill him with the question again: was it really such a good idea to come back and face the consequences of his little disappearing act with the college? at least he had this little "winter break trip" before facing the music. before he could think about it any more, his train of thought was interrupted by a familiar face. "hey, you're here, so i guess i didn't fuck up with the navigation." he greets with a hint of a grin, walking up to them. "so where's the rest of the scooby doo gang?"

[scbrvght]

♡ open to: m/f/nb ♡ levi howard - mechanic

" yeah yeah -- sorry I was just wondering who the fuck died and put you in charge. "

[boundvirgo]

Snacktime.

If one considers kebabs and saffron steamed rice this late into the night 'a snack'.

The moonlight shines bright through the kitchen's high windows, diffused by the overheads as Arya deftly moves back and forth between countertop and stove. Even though he's on his third Pepperidge Farm Pirouette, the baton shaped cookies don't really do anything to quell the hunger in his stomach.

At a volume lower than the sizzle of searing meat on the griddle, Arya hums a random tune to himself, filling in the missing percussion with taps of his knife to the cutting board. He only pauses to take a bite out of the cookie tucked between his lips, bobbing his head to the song. Could he be more aware that anybody could hear his tone deaf humming if they were to walk in on him? Sure. Does he care though? Not so much.

@lunarxtique

[arcanepactguile]

𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐒

ᴍᴏᴠᴇᴅ. ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇᴅ ʀᴘ ꜰᴏʀ — @poisonedspider

ᴀꜱᴋᴇᴅ - ɴᴏ. 19 - ᴛᴇɴᴛᴀᴄʟᴇᴛᴏʙᴇʀ

𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐄

Comfortable, the rise and fall of the tentacles’ mimed breathing rate had settled the exhausted Radio Demon — stretched out leisurely, the middle of the plush bed made the perfect place for a sheltered nap. More correlated with a fit of fatigue, sleeping listlessly was a cinch. Alastor's insomnia rarely defeated him, but whenever it did, the Demon's vulnerabilities were exposed. The risks he undertook had to be methodically arranged in advance when possible, an appropriate time scheduled when his absence from the public eye would not raise any brows.

Sleeping on his stomach, Alastor had pulled a couple of muscular tentacles into an affectionate embrace. The boneless limbs looped through his crossed arms and rested their blunt tips respectively atop the line of his shoulder, the other tip draped over the back of his head to reassuringly stroke a tender spot between his twitching ears. 

Undressed for the night, the buck’s skin gave off an indistinctive shine, the wavering candlelight from the sidetable casting a soft glow that bounced off the crescents and graceful slopes of his slumbering body. The buck’s fluffy tail flipped back, tilted to one side, then it shook itself to bristle the fur as Alastor gave a low, contented growl — tightening his grip around the hugged tentacles, turning his unperturbed face deeper into the soothing darkness cribbed by the arcing tendrils shielding his head.

Further down these two appendages their bodies thickened considerably in girth — one tentacle had burrowed it's bulk between his slackened thighs, curved into a gentle incline to prop up the Radio Demon's bare ass, the tapered trunk curling back in on itself to face the gorgeous cheeks one-on-one. 

Alastor's stirring stilled, his upper back slowing it's measured intakes of breath. Stop and go, the demon’s hushed snoring imbued the room’s ambience with the deepest sense of protective sanctum.

The Radio Demon fallen into a greater depth of dreaming, the alert tentacle felt prompted to incite a definitive memorable dream.

Shifting forward, the tentacle devotedly pushed it's slender tip into the dark rift between Alastor's inner cheeks — nuzzling the snug orifice fondly, it played with the buck’s relaxed hole, kneading the sensitive wetness. Dipping in only a little at a time, by degrees the trunk squirmed it's way inside at a quicker pace once Alastor had involuntarily beared down on the intruding guest. The tendril was exultant to find it's Master's inner walls firm and crushing down, so it became all the more eager to reward him.

The tentacle commenced rocking Alastor forward, pumping it's compressed girth back to thrust forwards again in a steady cycle of filling his warm rump to the brim. It avoided touching the buck’s waiting bud, the tingling nerves crackling with mild arousal when one of the tentacle’s suckers had already accidentally latched onto the familiar bump to suckle it. The other spiralling lines of suckers trailing down the limb had bored slightly into the flesh of the buck’s slippery tunnel, locked in with gentle hooks to intensify the stimulating pumps incrementally gaining traction.

𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐃𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑

Angel Dust had been staring at the ceiling for far too long, headphones on as he attempted to blare music to override his even louder thoughts. Ever since getting sober (well, mostly sober) for the sake of Charlie and redemption, sleeping had been quite the struggle. Angel was used to either getting high on things like marijuana to actually get him to sleep, or getting high on things like cocaine to keep him awake all night. Insomnia had struck miserably with sobriety, along with the nightmares from trauma.

It had to be close to two in the morning at this point, the hotel incredibly still in its silence as the rest of the patrons slumbered. Fat Nuggets was curled up on Angel's stomach, tossing this way and that, frustrated that his mom just wouldn't fucking go to bed. The spider gently picked him up, setting him on his plush pet bed he had gotten for the hellpig, stretching arms over his head. There was no use trying to sleep if it was just going to make him more irritable that he couldn't.

He knew that Husk was already in bed for the night, taking the sleep he could when Alastor wasn't breathing down his neck to work at the bar. So he couldn't even go down to the lobby and distract himself with a drink. Well, he could, but the empty silence of being alone would drive him equally insane. His fingers tapped along the comforter of his bed, before he blinked with the idea - there was certainly one sinner in the hotel that he knew never seemed to sleep.

Putting on a pair of fluffy knee high socks to hide the feet he never displayed publicly, tugging on an oversized hoodie to hide the small crop top he was wearing to sleep in an attempt to be decent. The hoodie basically made him look naked in how it hid the small pajama shorts he was wearing, but he had worn much less on the daily, so he tossed his headphones aside and headed out into the hotel to attempt to find the Radio Demon.

After being unable to find him, not even in his radio tower, Angel Dust found there was only one other place to look - his room. It wasn't a place he knew that Al went often, and it wasn't a place that Angel felt he was allowed to even be, but he also new the door was unlocked. Most of theirs always were, just in case. He had rapped his knuckles on the door, just as a fair warning, before opening up into the deer's room.

He had been expecting to find Alastor doing something boring like reading, or something ridiculously creepy like voodoo magic. What he hadn't expected was - "Holy fuckin' shit." He cupped a hand quickly over his mouth, because while it seemed like there was plenty of action happening in the other's bed, it appeared that Alastor was sound asleep. The spider instantly knew that this was something he should never have walked in on, stepping back to try and get out of there before Al realized he had been in there, shock causing him to spin and hit his head on the door frame with a - "Ouch! You mother fuckin' stupid piece of shit fuckin' door."

𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐄

The tentacle's rhythmic motions were entirely focused on a blend of mutual pleasure; slyly rewarding it's Master via the guarded sleep, explicit permission presumed based on the justification that the imposed masturbation would be appreciated should the Radio Demon wake up before it had finished playing with him. Secondly, It itself relished the thrill of manipulating the unconscious buck, revelling in the stealthy wanton arousal, acting on instincts polished by historic playtimes orchestrated by it's Master (yet awake).

In the minutes before Alastor's second uninvited guest had practically barrelled into his private sanctuary, the preoccupied tentacle had burrowed itself deeper, the suckers pinching the deer’s reddened flesh to establish a rougher cycle of rocking — the thick tentacle’s black outline distinctive pressed against Alastor's sickly ashen skin, It’s black skin shining with slick as it's excited pumps into the demon's ass reached a new crescendo. The sucker latched onto the demon's tingling bud reduced it's suckling kiss, resorting to simply clutching the dully throbbing prostate instead, letting the repetitive rocking apply the constant pressure of an ebb and flow suction.

The ensuing exaggerated change in Alastor's subconscious stirring his dopamine, the succeeding escalation rousing the stag demon’s groggy thoughts to the surface — the curious pool of heat warming in his lower belly, feeling himself on the cusp of hardness redirecting his delayed attention to the immense pressure indulating deeper inside — shocked awake, eyes stretching wide, any crinkles of sleep vanishing instantly, Alastor pushed his groggy face harder into the tangled web of caressing tentacles and his arms, squeezing his eyes tighter as a grudging moan was pulled from him, hunching his shoulders as if the combined actions would send the stern message to his monster that this was not okay, to stop immediately.

As it predictably happened, the tentacle didn't get the message, confused by the shoddy translation, overwhelmed between the Radio Demon's murmured moan, the increased trembling through the buck's inner walls squeezing it's slippery girth, and the way he hadn't exactly ceased it's gentle yet determined pumps in and out. The buck automatically rolling his hips down to give the rocking limb a better leverage, the friction slid further down, the suckers’ pulsating pinches drawing a wet gasp from the stag, failing to predict the sudden onset of the new stimulation.

Keen to figure out what had motivated the tentacles to pleasure him asleep, as the innocent tendrils wrapped around his shoulders and arms seemed oblivious to the diligent tentacle working at spreading his tight hole open. As he slept, Alastor hadn't been aware of the penetration, the probing beforehand registered very vaguely as a harmless, ordinary component of a wet dream. His ass stuffed full, the heavy tentacle unyielding to Alastor's conscious panic, the prospects of resolving this amicably were dashed to pieces when the following bang and the stream of incredulous curses drew Alastor's racing thoughts to his bedroom’s door instead of pursuing whatever the hell was going on in his bed while he had been out like a light.

Paralysed at first, Alastor had scarcely raised his head before it had instantly sunk in that he should have not responded to the intruder, the wise advice slamming into his frozen bravado like a rig intent on running the deer down. Accomplishing nothing but a startled, otherwise impassive expression as his line of sight fell on who else but ANGEL DUST — it appeared the porn star had decided to inadvertently brain himself upon his mortified hasty escape, which explained the loud bang. A scarlet blush creeping up Alastor's chest to flush his cheeks, however half-buried his face was amongst the tentacles, his ears pinned back in horror, Alastor’s voice sounded breathless, hoarse from his deep sleep.

“Please, come in, and SHUT THE DOOR,” the Radio Demon croaked, trying to stifle another aggrieved moan, using that energy to recycle the voiced arousal into a less embarrassing series of hushed huffs, doubling down his efforts to make this all look like a routine Friday night. The busy tentacle persevered on rocking him back and forth, the wet schlicks sounding much too loud to dismiss as a random noise from the bayou further away beyond. The docile tendrils stroking the patch between his ears idly, absent from the conversation. Pushing himself a little higher up on his elbows, grimacing as the base of the thick tentacle pushed up on his throbbing ballsac, his tail wagged once in ill-disguised pleasure, the scene wasn't to the Radio Demon's liking in any way.

"— How long have you been here...?"

𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐃𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑

He was honestly uncertain which was more shocking to him - the scene that was happening before him, or the fact that Alastor hadn't immediately tried to choke him to double death with those tendrils for walking in on this. It was more than likely the latter, all things considered. It wasn't like this sort of thing was anything new to the likes of Angel Dust, minus the shadowy tentacles that seemed to have a life of their own.

It was more so the fact that this was Alastor. Alastor, who seemed like he had a massive stick up his ass. Alastor, who he was pretty positive had never gotten laid because he was way too fucking tense. Apparently he had been wrong. Though as the initial shock started to wane, Angel realized that the other had made a request. For him to stay.

Clearing his throat, soft feet shuffled across the floor, bringing the taller into the room and shutting it behind him. For good measure, he decided to lock it - it seemed a bit too late for that now, but at least that would prevent anyone else from walking in on....this. His mismatched eyes immediately looked away, not out of shame or embarrassment, because this was just a typical Friday night for him. But at least out of some respect

"Um.....not....not long, really." He couldn't even tell Alastor if he knew. Time had seemed to stop when he had walked in on that, his brain trying to process everything that had been presented before him. So many fucking questions. He narrowed his eyes, face wrinkling up as he heard the continued wet slap of fucking, because again, too often did he hear it and know exactly what it was.

"Ah' didn't mean t' intrude or nothin'. Just couldn't sleep. Figured if anyone would be up, it would be you." And well, shit, he had been right. He cleared his throat again, shaking his head. "Ain't th' first place ah' looked, if that helps. But when ah' couldn't find yeh', ah'...." He's stopping, nodding towards the door again. "But ah' won't tell no one, and yeh' can trust that ah'll pretend ah' saw anythin' and we can just pretend this didn't happen."

𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐄

Frantic thoughts scattering all over the place, every which way, Alastor's practical frame of mind was assuredly out of sorts. His own innate rationality demanded defusing the very awkward, embarrassing circumstances. Set upon unexpectedly, from two directions — the monster, and the spider demon; it suddenly occured to the Radio Demon that Angel Dust’s reactions… belied the fact he had seen more than what Alastor hsd assumed was the case.

Inviting him in, Alastor had thought Angel couldn't actually see anything. Sure, he’d figured that the porn star had recognised this was a private affair, a nighttime fantasy where a vivid imagination had gone astray, spiralling out of control… The old vision burning brightly in his mind’s eye, the groggy buck's mental reflexes were impaired by the sensual friction relentlessly kneading his throbbing passage, the slick underscoring the obscene motions loudly as if the deer demon's reputation needed another coat of ribald paint, the hidden sexual part of his life kept close to the chest until tomorrow morning.

Clinging to Angel's promises because the alternative wasn't any better, the overwhelming problem had to be resolved, without further scarring anguish.

Distracted, Alastor hadn't figured out why his friend's body language and tone were the way they are, the sheepish attitude and embarrassed stuttering, the hesitations. Tightening his grip on the tentacle mass encircling his torso, inclining his head to regard Angel's advancing shadowed figure with rising alarm, the revelation he had not just been made aware of the hotelier’s lewd avocation but had SEEN for himself the Overlord indeed getting fucked by a tentacle — Alastor's misunderstanding had made things even worse than they were mere seconds ago.

Forgetting about the porn star's impressive height difference, the rumpled bedding revealing Alastor's fondness for sleeping naked, it meant the tentacle buried inside him was conspicuously in full view. A flagrant disregard for upholding dignity, the tentacles were apt to ignore other factors like clothing and scenery — other participants, as well. The blankets thrown back, in spite of the bayou on the other side of the room, the tentacle nestled between his asscheeks was obviously inside, not wriggled underneath his junk, evidently undeterred by Angel Dust's approach.

The reddened blush simultaneously paled into a blanched plethora of humiliation, confusion, and fear, Alastor simply wanted to disappear. Immediately. As gruesomely as possible.

Ears flattening, sinking lower behind the embraced tendrils, Alastor's distraught eyes were barely seen above the knot of limbs. He had supposed the spider’s vision was limited, and thusly the Radio Demon's erotic dreamlike play was merely mundane masturbation; a …tentaclejob, or humping… Not… gettiing fucked BY the monster, and certainly not when in deepest slumber. The Radio Demon hadn't given due consideration to the uncovered eyeful of the tentacle’s unearthed lust, manifested in it's ceaseless undulation, feeding off the stag Overlord's pulsing prostate: his arousal radiating to encompass his stiffened cock, and tight sac.

Sufficiently explicit, although an ordeal the Radio Demon would give his right arm for, to erase from history, and what’s more…

The blasted tentacle was undoubtedly, positively, getting more excited over this random plight the two demons found themselves confronting, equally mortified. The exposed bulk of the main tentacle had raised itself higher, bent double sharply, and was pumping in shallower strokes, the suckers inside producing a marvellous (in other times) friction all round the aroused buck's inner entrance.

Listening to his intruder’s ramblings, aghast, Alastor couldn't articulate an intelligent answer. Finding it harder, regulating his ragged panting, Alastor was restless, imploring the Overseer tentacle wordlessly to cease and desist, stop this madness. The implications of inviting the spider over, closer, was unfathomable, mistaking Angel's sheepish attitude for a subverted reaction to self-pleasure and not penetration.

What the FUCK… was he thinking, and why hadn't he had called for the only help available?

The Radio Demon already knew the answer; his mirror Shadow knew better than to meddle in It's master’s predicament, keen to stay out of the messy situation. Preoccupied elsewhere under the pretense of lending the Overlord privacy, the Shadow was probably better off avoiding further drama.

Groaning quietly, the stricken buck arching his back, motioned towards Angel with a stiffened hand, gesturing for him to either back up a step, OR turn around. Pressing his burning hot face into the tentacles in abashment, the Radio Demon's rasped riposte came out strained, higher pitched than intended.

“Y-yes, that’s… ah, t-the… best… Do NOT-!” he pleaded, admittedly a desperate act below his usual decorum, this was a total clusterfuck, theatrics better suited for another one of Angel Dust's sordid films or webisodes — “P-please, d-don’t… go — A̷H̷!̷ ♡"

The Radio Demon's last outburst came on out of nowhere, the startled cry in unison with the deer demon's body simultaneously locking up, shoulders rigid and his tail wagging frantically. Whereupon the Overlord was trying to dodge Angel's confession, the tentacles’ shared hivemind had drawn their own conclusions.

Given that the porn star had been sidling closer, at the same time sneaking glances at the exit wilfully discounted, the tentacles had deduced that their Master was asking Angel to not go AWAY, instead of not go any CLOSER.

The absently stroking tendril between Alastor's antlers had suddenly tipped his head down firmly, breaking his already partial line of sight with his friend; two pairs of twin tentacles had whipped out from the bundled mass, coiling around Alastor's waist and hips to pin to the bed, angled at a downward slant — the Overseer tentacle had plunged straight away, picking up the pace and thrusting fiercer into the frozen buck’s throbbing ass, hence why Alastor's reply was so rudely interrupted.

Unaware, unable to see anything but the darkness gathered by his crossed arms and the woven tendrils keeping his head down, the other sinuous tendrils were in fact making this Angel Dust's problem, too.

In kind, not to leave any other participants amiss, a new set of unoccupied tendrils had slithered out from under the rocking bed, snaking around Angel's ankles and calves to ensnare the distracted demon. Their speed markedly slower than the Radio Demon's own delighted tentacles, insofar as one can identify the monster's faceless form permitted, the excited coils were still hurried in their rummaging under the demon's clothes.

Curling up, their blunt tips had glided in under the hemlines of the porn star's pants — their sleek forms outlined under the tightening material, filling the spider demon's clothing rapidly in their search for a damp orifice to satisfy. There was a persistent tug from their base at the floor, the limbs purposeful, intent on bringing the spider to the ground.

— Or let him go free, if the stag had the strength to call them off, engaged as he was: held fast and unable to even rut his hips into the bed, his collection of tendrils adamant to hold him in position as the Overseer limb focused on building up the buck's climax, impelled by the hivemind's botched message

[kretina]

! perto dos chalés com @ SASHA.

@littlfreck

brook estava vivo. não havia normalidade alguma em afirmar tal fato, não tinha como. katrina tinha a lembrança de carregar o corpo dele, de chorar por sua morte. como era possível? e ainda precisava lidar com a naturalidade de outrem em lhe surgir, como se nada tivesse acontecido. em que mundo estava vivendo? nenhum boato sobre a chegada dele a tocou, nada passou perto de seus ouvidos, como se o destino estivesse desejando a jogar naquele momento de desespero. o coração batia rápido no peito, sentia uma crise de pânico acumulando-se. as noites que não dormia, que outrora não tinha peso algum, pareciam acumular-se aos montes em seu ombro, a deixando com a respiração agitada. pulava de uma sombra a outra, escondendo-se. havia um alerta por todo o corpo, como se monstros estivessem a perseguindo, como se esperassem por um momento maior de fragilidade. o chão do acampamento parecia o do submundo, tinha sangue escorrendo...brook. vivo. tinha a adaga em uma das mãos quando não encontrou uma outra sombra e precisou correr na claridade, era noite, quase não havia luz que a tocasse mas katrina sentia-se exposta demais. as pernas falharam no que parecia ser uma corrida, fazendo com que o joelho fosse ao chão. a respiração falhou. brook. não tinha nada no mundo que a preparasse, que a deixasse menos impactada. deveria sim está feliz por ele, por ter o amigo de volta, mas havia o enterrado, soubera que haviam queimado a sua mortalha em uma linda cerimonia, como poderia ignorar tais fatos e apenas abraçá-lo em alegria? um novo alerta a percorreu, os olhos foram semicerrados encarando o que estava a sua frente, esperando um ataque, mas a visão estava borrada, o coração batia mais alto que seus outros sentidos. apertou a base da adaga na mão, pronta para se defender enquanto buscava respirar, enquanto tentava impedir que a mente nublasse, que caísse na armadilha. vivo.

[hvrtroads]

open starter: @anchoragestarters where: around town when: october 1st, evening

as dusk descended upon anchorage, so did a veil of dread. shadows thrashed and twisted in great anticipation, as if the very darkness had a pulse of its own; a hungry void, holding its breath and lying in wait, ready to engulf the next person that strayed too far from the light, dragging them into its abyss, where dark secrets lay buried, forever untold. and yet, in what was quite the curious contradiction to his timid disposition, jonghyeon found himself walking down the dimly lit streets, in hopes of bridging the distance between himself and bandmate, who was enroute to pick him up. with each footfall, he could almost hear the whispers of the unknown brushing against his consciousness; could almost feel those shadows wrapping him in their malevolent embrace that meant to suffocate... but before the panic could fully take root, his attention was pulled away, something shifting in his periphery. there, from an alleyway, two small kittens tentatively ventured forth. a faint 'oh?' fell from his lips, head tilted in wonder, silently observing as their delicate paws padded across the pavement. as they made their cautious approach, the pianist gingerly knelt down and extended a hand, palm open and inviting, a gesture filled with unspoken reassurance. a promise of safety, which was accepted, the kittens inching closer, nuzzling against his fingertips. in that delicate exchange, there was a profound understanding. “ are you lost, too? ” he asked softly as he pet their soft fur, a smile illuminating his face when one of them attempted to clamber up onto his lap. “ gwiyeopda, ” delight shimmering in his eyes, it was then that he noticed the presence of someone else. “ ah— ” a pause. “ they just... found me. ”

[saintivcry]

matteo  had  no  idea  what  lies  riley  had  spun  to  get  them  off  the  hook,  or  maybe  not  entirely,  but  at  least  they  were  alive.  there  was  a  moment  there  when  matteo  was  sure  they  wouldn’t  survive.  people  didnt  survive  this.  he’d  blacked  out  during  their  ‘trial’  and  had  only  come  to  when  they’d  been  separated  again,  forced  to  sit  around  the  fire  while  riley  was  whisked  off  to  a  house.  one  by  one  they  were  lead  away  from  the  fire,  and  matteo  hadn’t  really  noticed,  he  didn’t  know  who  he  was  following  or  where,  but  somebody  had  spoken  to  him  and  now  he  was  clambering  over  wet  soil.  he  glanced  around  them  when  they  made  their  way  inside  a  hut.  it  was  surprisingly  warm,  but  like  something  from  another  time,  and  matteo  had  to  wonder  if  they  were  all  just  riding  a  seriously  strange  high,  “  what?  ”  he  finally  broke  his  own  silence,  his  voice  a  croak  as  his  eyes  found  the  strangers,  realising  that  he  had  yet  to  hear  anything  they’d  already  said  to  him.  

[robotae]

… 𝘓 𝘖 𝘈 𝘋 𝘐 𝘕 𝘎 : S T A R T E R !  

𝙻𝙾𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽 :  ███████   ,  ON FIELD 𝙵𝚁𝙾𝙼 :  BAEK  JUWON 𝚃𝙾 :  ZAKIR  MALLIK [ @justsurvival ]

it's hardly the type of hotel juwon prefers. however, much to his chagrin, it seems this is the only option they have near the area. strategic, for sure, though it's hardly luxurious or comfortable. dragging his luggage ( and one of zakir's- why is it so heavy ? ), up the stairs ( because guess what? the elevator's broken. how lovely ), he follows behind the tech agent. it doesn't take them too long to find their room number carved on the hotel key, and juwon heaves another, very pointed sigh once the room's in sight. "shouldn't it also be a bad sign that there are no decent hotels near their den?" truth be told, juwon has lived in much, much worse conditions; more than a few prison cells, and other locations that he does not think about. it's just that he is in the mood to complain, more tense than usual due to the fact that on this mission, he isn't alone. it's much easier to ensure his own safety, compared to adding another person's responsibility on his shoulders, especially when the person in question isn't even a field agent. ( surely, his concern has nothing to do with which tech agent is in question. — this, you couldn't get out of him either ). heaving their luggage inside, he pushes zakir's to the designated spot, hands on his hips as he looks around. the sight of two twin beds is so comical that a huff leaves his mouth, shaking his head. "great — we are back in college." not that juwon has had a proper college experience; he has been trained inside the facility instead — though, he assumes this is how dorm rooms look. he moves his own luggage on top of his bed, unzipping it open. "i'd say- the quicker we get this done, quicker we can go and find a four seasons or something — there has to be at least one of those in our near vicinity."

[umitvar]

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: PAÇO IMPERIAL, THE INFIRMARY 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌: PHAI SUPPASIT BOONRUANG 𝐓𝐎: OPEN STARTER ( 3 / 3 )

the infirmary is so chaotic that it reminds phai of lal qila. the terror from back then, how it choked, how helpless he felt. it has been long enough that he is more confident in his skills as a physician, though that truth does not make the panic ebb away. nurses, physicians, patients' loved ones, run from one place to another, the smell of blood metallic in the air, adrenaline swimming through his veins. although he is not a physician here, they let him help with patients nonetheless, and if there is someone he knows he needs help with, he does not shy away from asking it. when someone new enters the infirmary, phai is quick on his feet, eyes looking them over for any visible injuries. "hello, are you hurt?" his voice is gentle, panic pushed to the background, knowing calming your patient down is a vital step. "tell me what's wrong, and i will do my best to help."

[lunarslice]

Languid movements advance as Jingliu catches a familiar sight, the face of an old friend. Normally, such meetings should create a smile on any person's face. The comfort of a friend, the lovely conversations that can be had. No. This wasn't that kind of meeting. It couldn't be.

She takes her time. Her lips move as if she had eons to speak. The woman chose words carefully, never mincing anything. Direct as an arrow, her face looks into the pools of sea-foam green before her.

❛ I didn’t think I would catch you so , quickly . What fortune has brought up on me ... Tell me , how have you been , @reversescale ? ❜

[scbrvght]

closed starter ♡ for angelsdvsts. ♡ liked for a starter.

this job was honestly far below her pay grade. the girl had worked paris fashion week and yet there she was fighting like hell to be a base level wardrobe assistant. it paid fine, and it was a steady gig but it certainly didn't do her resume any favors. none of that really matter though -- to her it was kind of a dream role. tour with her favorite band for months ? style them to perfection ? she gave a gentle knock at the door frame of the already ajar door to the trailer. " hey -- I uh, have some stuff for you to try ! " the brunette beamed, garment bags on arm. the only thing she didn't consider was how entirely starstruck she would be attempting to talk to these guys.

[motheress]

LIKE FOR A STARTER FROM SOPHIA (MOXXIE'S MOM)            liked     by   ;     @hazbinned 〞y  -  you     called    ?〝   Sophia     nervously     approaches   ,     finidng     it     rather     unusal     for Crimson     to     request     of     her     at     such     a     quiet     day     such     as     this   .

[arcanepactguile]

𝐒𝐋𝐕𝐓 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐄𝐑𝟎𝐓𝐈𝐂𝐈𝐒𝐌

ᴍᴏᴠᴇᴅ. ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇᴅ ʀᴘ ꜰᴏʀ — @angie-long-legs

ᴏɴᴇ ᴍᴜꜱᴇ (ꜰᴏʀ ᴇʀᴏᴛɪᴄ ᴘᴜʀᴘᴏꜱᴇꜱ) ꜱʜᴀᴍᴇꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ

𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐄

“Stupid slvt,” hissed through a clenched jaw, spittle atomised into the air, as the Radio Demon pushed Angel Dust's shoulders into the bed’s headboard. Upper arms bound high above his own head, arms tied together inside a zippered sleeve. His lower pair of arms were left unbound, at least temporarily — how this desperate demon was keen to feel utterly cheapened, unmitigated depreciation, every flaw magnified spilling over into worship.

Straddling Angel's closed thighs, positioned higher to barely grace his partner's body kneeling below the bound spider's lap to grant access. Alastor was leaning into his face, ears pinned back in disgust.

Stripped to the waist, Angel was left wearing fastened shorts; the leather material made a creaking noise as Alastor squeezed Angel's package tight — dipping two fingers underneath the waistband to slip down flush against his lover's flesh. The dense fur resisted the push, the back of the questing fingers warm where it parted little fur. Cupping the actor's bulge into his palm through the shorts, Alastor pressed up.

Dressed himself in little more than Angel's costume — the stag was naked except for a single article: a black vinyl butcher's apron, rucked up adjusted to fit his taut thighs. Groin concealed by the thick material, the Overlord's arousal inconspicuous. The blood, fluids repelling attire bode ill for his newfound mate.

Breathing hard, his hot exhales dampening Angel's cheek in such close proximity, Alastor's tone surly. “You’re not hard yet. WHY? You convinced me you didn't feel alive unless you were struck down like the ungrateful, despicable PET. You're a THING, no better than a cvm rag. Show me how you got so famous — why Valentino prizes your cock so much," tightening his grip around the porn star's shoulder unforgiving how unrealistically swift he expected the prone man contested his vicious reprimands. 

“Or is it your hole? Do you practise every night, stretching it? Did you prep yourself for me? I’d love to see how far I can pump your tender rosebud FULL, see how far I can make it swollen and sensitive, gaping for ANOTHER round of me nailing you into the bed. Husker's away on vacation, he won't return for weeks. You're ALL mine to use how I like. Feel lucky I hadn't called him back to watch me rut my seed back inside your torn guts!”

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐒

Perhaps it wouldn't make sense to most. Perhaps it wouldn't make sense to anyone - that Angel would seek this form of solace following a brutal, agonising shift at work, where the exact form of treatment he was now willingly subjecting himself to was compulsory. It certainly wasn't a typical way to unwind.

Perhaps they wouldn't see the catharsis found in allowing himself to be degraded, to be broken down of his own volition. Watching his integrity, his dignity, his sense of self crumble in the hands he placed himself into. To be the instigator of his own destruction. To choose it. To say yes.

Whether Alastor understood this was neither here nor there. He was a willing participant. He agreed to play with Angel. He knew this was what Angel wanted.

The spider's face burned hot as his lover delivered his first insult. Amateur. Alastor was going to have to get more creative than that if he wanted to make the porn star squirm - "slut" was all but a second name to him at this point. The arms bound above his head pushed against their restraints, testing their resistance only to be met with very little give. Perfect. He still had his lower set, should he need them (and his hidden third pair), but he doubted he would be using them for anything other than what Alastor asked of him - or perhaps, if the mood struck him, the option to brat.

The hand against his still-soft groin was almost exploratory in the way it pushed against him, unappeased by what he found there. Even if the Overlord's demand for performance hadn't been so hasty in the context of their play, Angel was spent - after a double shift that consisted of being fucked every which way and forced through repeated orgasms that far exceeded what he felt physically capable of, his body wasn't exactly raring to go. It was going to take more than a few choice words and firm squeeze downstairs to get him back in action.

Of course, Alastor wasn't done picking apart his plaything just yet - the barage of humiliating remarks did indeed land where they had been targeted, and the twinge of shame curled around Angel like a stagnant wisp of smoke. The mention of his keeper was an extra twist of the knife, prompting his eyes to slit, lip snared between his teeth as his unbound hands fisted into the sheets.

Oh, and the cherry on the cake: Husk. The man that Angel had made his affections for abundantly clear, who reciprocated with no more than the odd glance in his direction. The stag was smug, gloating that Angel was his, bragging about exactly how he would ruin him, even threatening to make Husk watch.

The ghost of a smirk crossed the insolent actor's features. If this was all that Alastor had to put him in his place, it would serve him well to see exactly how much the Radio Demon would let him get away with.

His free hands by his side, forcing himself to remain still beneath his lover's touch, Angel tilted his head like a curious animal, wary but nonetheless brazen. "Takes more'n bein' tied up an' called a stupid slut ta get me hard, daddy," he quipped, the nickname more of a mockery than a title borne from his submission. "Been watchin' my movies, have ya? Well, in case no one's ever told ya, old-timer: don't believe everything ya see on TV."

The spider rolled his hips into his lover's hand, the slight stiffness now present directly contradicting Angel's insistence that Alastor try harder.

"C'mon, Al, ya wanna use me? Ya wanna hurt me?" he wheedled. "Ya wanna fuck me til I ain't got nothin' left ta give? Yer just the next in a long line a' starry-eyed stalkers, baby. What makes ya think you got what it takes ta get Angel Dust ta break?"

𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐄

There were two things wrong with this scenario. The fact that the ridiculous (almost, it had practical uses elsewhere for its original function) outfit he wore was making it intolerably hot. And not in the sexy, menacing threat sort of way. Sweat had not yet begun to gather under the stiff get-up; the fragrance of leather a completely different issue — no issue. He just knew this butcher's attire had to face elimination before it made him lose his temper.  Ruining the atmosphere, why hang onto it? The Radio Demon had scarcely started tormenting his sassy mate before getting recognising the foolish choice.

Pushing some stray fringe out of his eyes, combing his hair away, Alastor ceased the torrential taunting, uncertainty clouding his gaze.

The second aforementioned problem was Angel's defiance. The damned porn star had given him lip. The actor's experience surpassed the Radio Demon's. It wasn't the medium; the Overlord had zero history in the pornography industry. No honest experience playing a fictional role as a contemptuous brute, toying with his harem or some such sexual fantasy. The stag demon had only ever… fucked. Not overindulge in an alternative persona. The spider demon's scathing rebukes fanned the burning embers warming Alastor's passionate chagrin. Flicking an ear in annoyance, a blush slowgoing it up his neck.

His over-confident lover's cheek rankled not the immersion but the cruelty. Angel may be a braggart — after this consensual play, he might have second thoughts.

“Television? Why? I have no time for that load of tripe. You know I never watch that drivel," the stag refuted the spider's boasting, releasing his shoulder to deliver a backhanded swing — the slap jerking Angel's head crooked, before returning to squeeze the shoulder again.

"I don't need to watch recordings of you taking it up the tail-pipe like a two-dollar whore, spent over sloppy seconds. You've been doing this for so long, I bet you don't remember what it's like — a real fuck, not a pathetic doll that leaks at a stroke of your manhood,” the Radio Demon articulated harshly, actions matching the measured anger boiling deeper.

Sliding his stilled hand over Angel Dust's hip below, curling fingers into the cleft of the spider's cheeks kept taut underneath the tight shorts —squeezing a single cheek roughly, the stag rejected the break offered to pay his partner a fierce kiss. What wasn't a contrived inspiration? The incentive at this juncture in the game?

"A pitiful assessment. 'manhood' implies you're a man, not a bitch," came the sardonic sentiment, the deer's words rolling over his tongue in a harmonious purr.

The butcher apron creaked as Alastor slid back, giving himself the extra room needed, keeping his other hand holding Angel's shoulder steady while he repositioned under concealed duress of the silly costume.

Get the porn star to say something other than surplus criticism. Force him to use his mouth for other purposes.

It was a miraculous feat — finding one of the spider's nipples through all that wonderful fur; Alastor closing his mouth over the peak, teasing it inside past his lips to suck. Applying stress on the damp flesh, swirling his tongue around the bud, flicking the tip once in a while,  cheeks hollowed at intervals of drawing it in deeper. Fangs pushing gently into the fur, finding skin and pressed firmly as a stark warning, adjusted whenever Alastor sucked harder.

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐄𝐆𝐒

The slap to Angel's cheek was unexpected, sending him slumped to the side as far as the restraints would allow, the sting of the impact burning hot with delicious shame. The spider's hair drooped over his hung head, concealing his face from his partner in play, but the makings of a smile had begun to form beneath glassy, lust-lit eyes. So Alastor wasn't all bark, after all. Angel's insolence had earned him the bite of the beast, exactly as intended.

Hazy from the smack, the spider's response came in slower than his usual smart mouth delivered. "And ya think ya can give me a real fuck, huh?" he smirked, head cocked to the side with obvious attitude. "C'mon then, baby, what're ya waitin' for? I've had a whole day a' bein' thrown around like a goddamn ragdoll, waitin' for a real man ta show me a good time. So what's the hold up, sweetcheeks?"

Acting was just that, and Angel was good at it. So good, in fact, that he oftentimes fooled himself into believing in his role, convinced of his own identity as the bratty submissive, the on-screen whore, the slut that needed to be punished. Alastor was right about that: it wasn't real when it was in the studio, there was nothing genuine or intrinsically pleasurable about being fucked for the camera. Perhaps Alastor's disdain for the newfangled contraption was grounded in that reality, or lack thereof: video footage showed only a two-dimensional truth, as illuminating and sincere as the very smile on the Radio Demon's face.

But the real truth? Angel wanted to be punished. He wanted to want what he had been subjected to over the course of the day, to desire such treatment. To choose to be hurt. He wanted to blur those lines between playing pretend and speaking the truth. He was taking on a role here with Alastor the same way he did in all walks of life, and for the same reasons: because he needed to, and it benefited him. He acted the part of the impudent, unbroken plaything because he needed to be broken on his own terms. This all had to be his, only his. If he chose this, it was no one else's. He needed this to be his.

However, the breathy gasp that the porn star exuded as Alastor's lips clamped around a nipple was anything but pretend. Momentarily woken in a core part of himself that he long thought dormant, Angel was helpless against the drawn-out moan that Alastor extracted as he toyed with the submissive's chest, tongue lapping at the sensitive area with insatiable greed. "Ahh! Ah-Alastor-" Angel yelped, squirming in place, but his partner's hold on him combined with the restraints offered very little leeway. The tightness of his pants made the developing growth within them incredibly uncomfortable, giving the arachnid even more cause to shift around.

Whether Alastor had known that this particular erogenous zone was a favoured spot of the spider's was unimportant - it had activated something primal within him that worked to the stag's favour. Few partners of Angel's bothered toying with his chest, content to grope fistfuls of fluff and indulge their own mundane fantasy that it was cleavage. The rare few that succeeded in pressing this nifty little button were always treated to quite a show.

"Al- mm, more," he whined, one free hand flying to grasp Alastor's shoulder, while the other nested in the deer's hair, clenching tight and shaking. The notion of disobedience far from the foreground of his mind, Angel cared little for the way he was clawing at his lover, blissed-out far too suddenly and unexpectedly to cater to any rules of their power play.

𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐄

The Overlord's chuckle stifled amidst the dense floof tickling his face, the surprising response he had so calmly ripped out of the world-wearied actor hadn't taken as much risk as he had surmised. Half momentarily preoccupied with the imaginings of the enraptured spider writhing above him, the fistful of hair he had boldly wrenched for support, encouragement, triggers, warning, or a pureed mix of all three — for a time, Alastor humored his mate, tending to the sensitive bud with due care.

Digging the tips of his claws deeper still into Angel's shoulder, spreading the thumb to curl possessively over the bob of the spider's bared throat, Alastor perservered teasing him. Suckling the nipple to an engorged state, lips sealed against the exposed flesh, leaving the flat of his warm tongue to separately remoisten the clump of fur threatening to fill his mouth too much and ruin the experience.

Fondling the bruised nipple with alternating firm and affectionate nursing exclusively through lips alone was easier said than done, Angel's thick fur soaked through with saliva and flushed to the skin as a glossy matt. It made Alastor's job easier in the end, greedily pushing his face deeper in to crush the fat of his lover's pec into the unyielding bone underneath, drawing the hardened tip deeper between his cheeks in a final pull of quick suction, flicking his tongue upwards to test how resilient the nub reacted after each suck.

A knot of arousal continued to grow in the Radio Demon's lap, the creased folds of the butcher’s apron tweaked as the demon's erection stirred; bent close to Angel to play with his exquisite chest fur, the deer had taken note of his lover's own hardness. The heightened difference between the original bulge inside Angel's cropped shorts didn't have a chance of rivalling the roused member Alastor had awakened so quickly though the foreplay.

Never envious of the younger man’s less scant attire, at least the paid actor had the foresight to pick something comfortable - even if he had longed for his Dom to rip it to shreds with fangs or claws. Alastor's vinyl apron accumulated more sweat than he had estimated, suspicions that Angel knew this was bound to happen blossoming, and yet hadn't spoken one word of warning to him.

That was all about to change. Insolence required discipline.

Pausing for breath, a resentful smirk tugging the corner of his smile, head canted to pass free flow of air over the damp fur sucked to a point over the released nipple, Alastor reached behind him to retrieve the first toy for the scene. The restraints and costumes deducted as basic components of the role play.

Sitting upright half-bent, Alastor brought the unsheathed object attached to his apron’s tie-strings to flash the silver-blue glint in front of Angel's nose, heedless if his partner's eyes were open or shut tight in pleasure. The rumbling purr of the Radio Demon's leaden admonishment carried through the air heavily, his lucid tone dripping with derision, as the insatiable buck lowered his filleting knife to press into the heaving mound that filled the other demon's shorts.

“Tsk-tsk… That's strike ONE.

I’m calling the shots. How dare you presume to order me about, telling me what to do… I want to hear you enjoy whatever I decide to reward you, however I do it.

What I don't want is to hear any more mutinous demands from a little wise ass like yourself.”

Sliding the razorsharp-blade underneath the fly button, Alastor smoothly severed the button’s thread with an easy flick, the button itself popping free as the deer's knife continued lower: angling the blade to slip in between the start of the partially loosened zipper, resting the cold steel against Angel's flesh behind the fastening's teeth. Alastor's naked hand so near to the heat radiating off the strained material, the solid blackness of the deer's hand sharp outline pressed into the spider's snowy white fur a boastful display of token good-and-evil.

Squeezing Angel's neck stiffly, arcing the thumb’s claw tip to indent his sub’s soft skin, Alastor levelled his gaze; pupils shrinking to slits, the vast expande of surrounding red darkening a little. Evaluating his partner's plight, Alastor's own face crossed between disdain and mirth, the Radio Demon's next order was presented as a genuine question, even if the buck had slyly begun rubbing the pad of his occupied hand over the hot hill of the spider's croch, apparently seeking the first wet sign of excitement.

Straddling his playmate’s wriggly thighs was becoming much more difficult to steady his position, eager to disrobe and re-position Angel with license to please effectively, unobstructed access to his erection a delicious idea soon to be realised.

“I wonder — do disrespectful sluts such as yourself prefer to scream out my name if I split them open face-to-face, or mounted on their knees like a fleabag in heat?”

[kretina]

! longe do luau com @ SASHA.

@littlfrcak

havia encontrado conforto nas sombras, em como dentro delas era silencioso, calmo e mais, um ambiente que ela controlava. não tinha música alta, pessoas em alegria desnecessária, tampouco, monstros; os mesmos que continuava enxergando após ter saído do submundo, que seguiam aparecendo durante o sono, o pouco que conseguia descansar. katrina sabia que a experiência era regrada de traumas, de uma vivência que nunca havia tido (mesmo que fosse forte e tivesse passado por coisas semelhantes em níveis físicos), tampouco, poderia imaginar que perderia o juízo por isso, que vozes continuariam a perseguindo, que os olhos seguiriam atentos ao perigo, que todo o corpo não pudesse relaxar. estava sentada, abraçando os joelhos quando os olhos captaram um movimento, longe da festa que acontecia, que em seu ver, não tinha pedido por isso. conforme a presença se aproximava de onde estava, a reconhecia: sasha. tinha um assunto para tratar com ele, mesmo que não fosse o momento, precisava se livrar daquele peso; diferente do que agora ajudava a compor sua persona e não conseguia jogar fora, o que havia visto no filho de hades, poderia ser esclarecido. avançou um passo dentro das sombras, o suficiente para que seus olhos brilhassem como um gato no escuro, um outro passo e somente o rosto estava visível, todo o corpo ainda protegido nas sombras, escondendo-se. ، podemos conversar? o questionou.

[saintivcry]

he  didn’t  love  being  separated  from  riley,  he  had  gone  days  without  laying  eyes  on  his  sister  and  it  was  agony.  he  didn’t  know  if  she  was  safe  or  not,  but  eventually  they  were  reunited.  threatened.  somehow  they  were  now  here,  being  forced  to  live  side  by  side  with  these  people  who  appeared  to  be  from  another  time.  joshua  noticed  riley  being  whisked  away  to  join  the,  presumably,  leader  of  these  people,  and  his  stomach  dropped  again.  he  sat  in  front  of  a  fire,  trying  to  remember  all  the  things  that  riley  had  promised  them  that  they  each  could  do.  josh  took  a  sip  from  the  water  he’d  been  offered  and  watched  as  the  flames  danced  in  front  of  him,  one  by  one  they  were  collected  and  taken  into  houses,  places  to  stay.  their  new  homes.  josh  wiped  a  hand  down  his  face,  nobody  was  going  to  come  looking  for  them,  not  the  twins  at  least.  somebody  seemed  to  speak  to  him,  he  was  the  only  one  left  still  sat  at  the  fire,  when  he  didn’t  look  up,  they  spoke  again.  josh’s  jaw  clenched,  “  my  name  is  joshua.  where  is  riley?  ”

[umitvar]

𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍: PAÇO IMPERIAL PALACE, RUSSIAN CHAMBERS 𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌: TSAR YURA STASOV 𝐓𝐎: TSARINA KATARINA STASOV ( @thenxghtwemxt )

a book underneath their arm, it's late enough in the night that yura is very careful with their steps, not wanting to wake anyone up if they are asleep. knows that most of their siblings wouldn't mind, however, they cannot say the same for the tsarina, and exert more caution as they walk past her door, moving toward katarina's chambers. yura cannot be sure if she is awake, though wants to take their chances. the flickering of candlelight reflecting through the bottom of the door is a good indication, and yura gently turns the doorknob and steps inside, closing it behind them to make no noise. turning on their heel- the sight is enough to make them freeze. "kat? are you... dancing?" and not only dancing in silence, but with an imaginary partner? yura wonders if they are dreaming.