bakerstreet

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LOVE AT FIRST THREAD

✧ Comment with your info + prefs.
✦ No blank top levels. Describe what your character is doing (fighting giant monsters, dancing, mowing the lawn, checking on someone, meeting a person for the first time, serving up a refreshing salad, killing a man with their thighs) or give a simple line of dialogue that opens up interaction!
✧ Oh no. Oh no, oh no no no. This other character? That one in the replies? They're in LOVE. They suddenly caught feelings, no matter how fitting or unfitting. Does it make sense? Not really!
✦ This is gonna be good.

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[ Scene: Small cafe. Lara's outside reading over old journals and comparing notes. She has a cup of good, strong coffee in front of her that she sips occasionally and is hyperfocused on the journals she's looking through. ]

[ Taking your order at the local Shizume Burger with a look on his face that says he's counting the seconds till his shift is over. ]

[Can be in her canon or in an AU, but she's likely killing a giant monster/a person, running errands, grabbing a smoke, or reading a book.]

( Angel is taking a break at work, between filming scenes at the studio. )

[ Alastor pauses in his walk, stopped right in his tracks by the striking flash of pink that catches his eye. It's a dangerous line for him to be walking along this route so close to the Vee's Tower, but the line is far too tempting for the Radio Demon to stay away from. Particularly when he sees Angel. Gorgeously disheveled Angel.

As though a hook has caught in his chest, Alastor finds himself venturing closer, a bit of his magic flaring up to obscure himself from the many cameras pointing in every direction. He isn't here to catch Vox's attention, after all. The only attention he seeks in that moment is the Sinner before him. ]

Good afternoon, my dear. Would you like a light? [ A hand extends with a pair of pinched claws supporting a tiny but vibrant ball of green flames. ]

Oh. Hey, Al. ( His fur is tousled, hues of soft ivory and cream and strawberry, stale and slightly damp from sweat, as Angel struggles with his cigarette, glancing up at a long, lavender shadow cast over him, tensing for a moment, stomach tightening—he had been expecting Valentino, or a stagehand to wrangle him back to the set, and he lifts one hand, stroking and brushing back the upturned fringe of his hair. ) What are ya doin' here?

( He leans in close, to curl his hand around the small emerald flames to coax and entire the fire to catch onto the end of his cigarette, giving a flash of teeth as it is successfully lit, bringing it to his mouth and inhaling deeply the odor of tobacco and cloves and spice, bitter and comforting, releasing a thin stream of pale smoke. ) Thanks for that.

But I can't chat for long. I gotta get back to set. You know Val has me fuckin' five guys at once today? I'm flattered, but even for me... ( His lip curls, puffing at his cigarette. ) Kinda much. Valentino don't know the meaning of the word "restraint". ( He grimaces. ) I'm already soakin' from sweat, I'm gonna be sore tomorrow.

But what about you, Al? Come to sabotage the competition?

( He hums at the thought, casting a glance upwards to the surveillance cameras, sparking electric blue and forever voyeuristic. )

Ya wanna talk somewhere more...private?

Just on an evening stroll is all. [ He answers easily, noting how even the way Angel tensed for the briefest of moments had a beauty to it. The delicate way his muscles moved, though Alastor knew there was just as much power within them. Just as much strength.

He allows Angel to take what he needs from the flame before letting it wink from existence once more. With a nod and a small bow, he moves over to lean himself against the wall of the tower, staff held against himself in folded arms and a knee bent so that his foot rocked on the tips of his toes. ]

Truly, I believe the only meaning that demon is capable of attributing to the word is in regards to ropes. [ Alastor isn't fazed in the slightest by the sex talk. They're in Hell, after all, and he knows what Angel's profession is. It might take the right circumstances for Alastor to want to participate in the act, but that doesn't mean he's a complete prude. ]

Merely strolling along and gauging lines of territories. Things have certainly changed more than I anticipated. [ The familiar cyan dotting the corners of his vision have his ears perked and the edges of his form flickering as he does his best to obscure his shape from the lenses watching them. ] That would be much appreciated, my dear. Where did you have in mind?

An evenin' stroll? ( A thin, ink-dark brow raises in disbelief, but not commenting further for the moment, taking another puff from his cigarette. ) Sure you ain't looking for a place to dump the body?

( He prickles at the other man. At the same time, two of his lower arms tug the dark-tufted edges of his robe together, his own genuine fur still gleaming from perspiration, slightly stale, a bitter scent. His clothing is back on set, trampled on the stage floor: Valentino's way of making sure he doesn't wander far. ) Uh... ( He can't go out like this. ) I got a dressing room. We can go there. As long as I'm back within the hour.

That work for you? Then follow me. ( He beckons with a crooking of his finger. ) And don't let Val see you. ( Angel begins to walk, towering in his glossy heels, past the crew and coffee-imps with a flourish of his robe, not glancing back at Alastor, presuming the other to be keeping up with his brisk pace.

He strides around the back of the set, where it is nothing but plywood and unpainted patches, beneath the artifice of erotica, and finds his door—his room is empty of any unpleasant visitor, leaving just the plush chaise, the mirrors framed in scalding-bright bare lightbulbs, the vanity littered with glossy cosmetic sets and burnt cigarette ends. )

Well, this is me.

( He announces, only when the door is shut, locked, turning to face Alastor, allowing the halves of his robe to part. ) Now I've got ya all alone. ( He teases, with a low purr in his tone. )

[ A laugh bubbles up, leaving Alastor as he gently steals the cigarette from Angel's fingers to take his own drag on the lipstick-stained end. ] Why dispose of something just as easily consumed, my dear? You know I much prefer not to let things go to waste.

[ The bitter smoke leaves his lips, head tilting as he returns the cigarette to slender fingers once more. He can smell the stale sweat clinging to soft fur, see how hands tug the edges of the thin robe closer together in an attempt to cover the slender body beneath. ] I make little promise on be capable of returning you in such a time frame. I am too selfish of a man for a mere hour to tide me over.

Easier done than said~. [ Having a measure of control over shadows allowed him to blend in with Angel's own shadow cast by the studio lights as easy as breathing. Though of course if anyone were to pay close attention to the darkness following the spider, they would notice the way something was... off about the shape of Angel's shadow. How it was too spindly, too three dimensional, too dark. Thankfully the trip into the other's dressing room was a quick one and the demons on the set were too engrossed in their own jobs setting up for the next scene to see these little details as Alastor passed by just behind.

The Radio Demon emerges from the darkness just as the door is shut behind them, the lock clicking in place with an easy flick of one of Alastor's tentacles as a crimson claw reaches up to stroke delicately under Angel Dust's chin, drawing the spider in closer as the robe opens to reveal the temptation beneath. ]

And just what do you have planned in that lovely head of yours, I wonder? [ He smirks as he both pushes the other demon back against the door and draws him in to tuck his mouth against the side of his neck. Hovering. Warning. Wanting. ]

Ah, yeah. I forgot, you like a little light snackin' with your murders... ( He mumbles, one hand nestling in the crook of an arm. To Angel, the other man's preferred tastes were repulsive and rotten, madness manifested, but Alastor was at least gentlemanly about it, a good deal less savage than the hungering residents of Cannibal Town, gleaming mouths smeared scarlet with gore and vile viscera. Alastor's grin was clean, not tinged pink, though—so he must not have eaten recently.

The refusal of a time limit caused a brow to rise, gathering to furrow together, but Angel brushed the words off. He couldn't just skip work, there would be consequences—Valentino would see to that. No matter how much Alastor wished to not release him from their time together—although that was unusual, too: to be sought out, and then, paid such rapturous attention to. Angel had thought that Alastor possessed a certain stuffy distaste for him, his career, his proclivities.

The door is shut, the tufted edges of his silk, taffeta-pink robe opens, exposing ivory fur and waiting flesh beneath, and Angel expects Alastor to refuse. He had refused every other time before, after all.

But he doesn't.

Alastor strolls forward, tea-warm and cordial, and frames him with his limbs, pinning him against the door. Angel's heart rollicks, breath quivering, catching, caught by stunned surprise. After several silent tries, his words finally scrape out from his throat, tremulous and suffused with heat, syrupy with arousal. )

I was gonna have ya fuck me, but uh—ah— ( He gives a quivering groan, as that lantern-grin presses against his throat, all gnashing, grinning teeth. ) I didn't expect you to be so agreeable a-about it—

( Angel trembles, still weakened from the slew of men who had come before, who had spilt selfishly inside of him, just hours before, his thighs unpleasantly congealing with the seed of foreign and unknown lovers, cloying and pungent with the stinking odor of salt and meat, a combination like a raw wound, his entrance sore from having been impatiently pressed open and apart. )

But I ain't complaining. I like this new side to you, Alastor. ( He whispers, no flicker or flinch of pain in his expression, a smile unfurling. ) You wanna finally fuck me?

( He whispers, still expecting the other to waver, to refuse, but Angel's battered body still yearns to be held, the flushed slit, at the lowest point of his abdomen, growing sticky and slick with his own instinctive reaction, his cock still tucked within, but beginning to quiver and twinge, growing flushed and slowly full. )

Put your hand, here. ( He coaxes, two arms reaching up to seize fistfuls of Alastor's fine coat, while a third hand touches at that tender, sensitive place, a fourth hand splaying open the orifice, revealing a forbidden glimpse of dusty-pink. Nothing large could fit, not exactly—but he wants to see if Alastor will have the resolve to continue. ) Pet it a little.

( Angel whimpers, whining, hips half-thrusting upwards against nothing, yet, his genital slit still exposed and flushed between pale fur. ) Put your finger inside, just one or two, it won't fit that much—and pull out my dick. If ya really wanna do this.

Edited 2025-01-09 02:41 (UTC)

[ It was true that Alastor made it no secret he had little interest in things of the sexual nature. Unless it was a time for his own personal curse reared its ugly head to cloud his better judgement.

This wasn't that. This was... something else. Something far more genuine.

The quivering groan under his mouth was more than enough to light a fire under his flesh. Angel's advances had happened with other people in the room, putting him on the spot with that overly false bravado, hence why he took the initiative this time around now that they were nice and alone, taking matters in his own hands even just to see how the Sinner would react to Alastor being the one to advance.

Oh, how the spider didn't disappoint.

The edges of his grin twitched with giddiness, not unlike when he was on a hunt of a much different nature. ]

If I am to be honest, I mostly wanted to see how you would react to someone else taking control of the situation. I see my curiosity was not unfounded. [ He chuckled, low and soft as Angel Dust shifted against him, clinging to his jacket, opening his legs. The smell of other men wafting from the spider hit his senses, a familiar scent that almost has his teeth aching and body shivering to replace it with his own scent.

Instead, he flexes his fingers, sheathing his claws as the hand is guided down between slickened thighs. As disinterested as he is, he isn't completely oblivious as to what to do, but he'll let Angel have this moment. Let him show Alastor how he wishes to be touched. With gentle claws grasping Angel's chin to bring that mismatched gaze down to Alastor's own, he presses the soft pad of a finger against the silken folds. Stroking and exploring oh so slow and gentle. ]

I must say, this is quite the interesting side to you, Angel. I wonder what other sides I might draw from you. [ He muses as that finger presses deeper, sensing the hard cock still inside the other's body. The tip of his thumb mimics the ministrations of the finger inside Angel's slit, tracing and exploring his lovely mouth with fascination as he guided the other's dick free.

As he played with the other's body like a finely tuned piano, the shadows began to thicken around them, taking form behind Angel Dust to cradle his thin form like the softest blankets. Tendrils sought out twitching muscles, stroking him from shoulders to hips, urging him to relax for Alastor. The deer didn't have extra hands the same way Angel did, so he simply improvised to hold him in place. ] Good?

( His silk-thin, translucent, peony-pink robe slips from two limbs, then four, bunching down slender arms and the knobs of shoulders, all of his limbs reaching to cling to the other man, despite the prickling of his flesh, instincts softly warning him that a man such as Alastor would only be interested in his body, the soft yielding flesh and tender meat, to devour and swallow in the most bestial manner. Pearlescent, manicured fingernails rake down the heart-hued pinstripes of Alastor's suit in the embrace, eight sugar-pink eyes dropping to a hazy, half-lidded stare, breathless and bewildered. )

I ain't ever seen you like this.

Just a little morbid curiosity, is that it? ( His tone darkens, molasses-heavy, tinged with dourness. ) If you wanna know, I like it when I get someone to tell me what t'do. ( He turns his cheek away, only to tremble when the other man takes his chin between two cinder-dark claws. ) Not some demanding asshole, but a man who takes away the pressure of performin' perfectly and prettily every time. ( He confides, a summer-warm whisper, heart bucking in his chest. )

—Ah! ( He shudders, hips juddering and half-thrusting, the breath flayed from his lungs in a moment when Alastor's fingers stroke that rosy, sticky slit, slightly raw and chafed from over-usage throughout a tiring, terrible day. ) A-Alastor— ( He quivers, summer-scalding and fever-hot when those dark fingers explore within the orifice, gingerly slipping one inside to coax out his trembling cock, half-erect and deepening in hue. His thoughts clash and collide together in a catastrophe, unable to comprehend that Alastor would be touching him, fingers wrapping around his slender, leaking cock, a bittersweet sting of sensation as his tight orifice is peeled open.

His mouth opens, jagged ivory fangs broken by one gleaming gold tooth, tongue obediently lolling out as Alastor's thumb insistently presses apart his lips. Alastor's finger tastes like dust, and dark marrow fragments from shattered bones, Angel almost suckling at that finger. )

Wait— ( He mumbles, still shaken, in disbelief: ) Are—are you really wantin' this? Al? Can we—there's a couch— ( Yet his half-hearted attempt for reassurance crumbles into pleading, wanton and whining. Angel gazes over Alasor's shoulder towards the velvet chaise, where he could get the barest moments of rest between filming scenes. )

Y-yeah, it's good, Alastor—ah—I feel your finger, wriggling inside of my slit, a-and your claws in my mouth— ( He arches at the sensation of dark shadow-work entwining around his spindly frame, the tendrils yet another extension of Alastor, a strange star-hued darkness as incomprehensible as the emptied cosmos, but they don't try to bind Angel in place, rather—they pet and stroke at his limbs, bared flesh and fur, as if being pampered. )

Good. ( Angel clings to the word, nodding, aching and desperate, despite his fatigue, and the hot seep of other men's seed and semen burbling down his thighs, staining his dark stockings, the fur of his buttocks and inner thighs wet. ) Yes.

( His gaze settles at the front of Alastor's trousers, not yet seeing any erection or physical manifestation of arousal—the other man remains unruffled, tea parlor-cool and polite, not at all flustered or hungry. Could it really be just mere curiosity? Not lust whatsoever? That stings, a bit—Angel whines, arms wrapping tighter around the other man's maroon suit, clutching at his broad shoulders, the great arch of his ribs, the slender waist, with all six arms. )

Please, please fuck me—

Edited 2025-01-09 04:34 (UTC)

[ Alastor would be lying if he said he wasn't curious as to how Angel's flesh tasted in that way. But he'd made the promise long, long ago not to indulge in those intrusive thoughts. Not with this one. Not unless asked.

A low, staticky chuckle rolled from between sharp fangs as he watches the spider already beginning to unravel from such a simple touch between his legs. That beautiful face, one Alastor had to quietly admit was understandably captivating, showed genuine pleasure. A prickle of pride rose in his chest as he saw how those magenta eyes stared almost dazed and hazy. ]

Given your advances, and the relentless advertising to your skills on the picture box, can you blame me? [ He teased, voice almost as gentle as his fingers circling around the cock between them. ] Good to know and all the more perfect. I despise picture perfect performances, you know. I much prefer genuine reactions, my dear.

[ The deer allows that curiously skilled mouth to play with his thumb, the claw stroking along the pink muscle of Angel's tongue just as his fingers stroked from Angel's base to tip down below. With a low him, his fingers slip back inside the man's well used hole, urging the abundance of seed to drip free around the slow thrust of his digits. ] Once I have a clean canvas to work with... we shall retire to the couch, my dear. I'd much rather not have any unnecessary competition, as it were.

[ His shadows, fully solid and darker than dark slid around the other's shivery thighs to hold them open, preventing Angel from clamping them around his hand as he cleaned the spider out. When Angel begs to be fucked, complete with clinging hands and whining lips, Alastor soothes with soft clicks of his tongue. ] In due time, darling. Patience.

[ Alastor tugged Angel's face down enough to brush their mouths together, the whisper of a kiss brushing over the other's lips to distract from his thrusting, scissoring fingers eager to open the spider for Alastor's cock. He wasn't hard just yet, that was true, but he could feel the stirring heat beginning to sink its teeth into his groin the more he fucked open the other man. ] Do you want to cum for me? Ask nicely, Angel. I might give you a taste of what I plan on doing to you.

( —It's a kaleidoscopic series of rosy hues, valentine colors, the blunt fringe of burgundy-bobbed hair and the greyish pallor of his flesh and the moon-grin of his teeth that he talks through, as Alastor frames him—and Angel has always been attracted viscerally to red, of addiction and madness and lust and sex, it's how he got caught in Valentino's moth-trap of his own undoing and restraints—but this feels entirely surreal, as if a trip or a hallucination or an erotic fantasy conjured through whimpering lips, because—because hadn't Alastor rejected him? Could Angel have won him over with sheer persistence? Truly?

His heart twists, but his body surrenders before his thoughts, his hips trembling, thrusting into the loose circle of that hand, the tender combination of bone-slender fingers pressing into his mouth and the barest amount of friction around his twinging cock, grunting. But tauntingly, those fingers drift lower, wriggling between his buttocks to slip a pair inwards, sharp soot-dark nails patiently opening and parting, closing and digging within the loosened ring of muscle, and Angel wails, whines, his head tipping back to thud against the door. )

A-Al— ( Alastor seems not to mind in the slightest the copious amount of still-warm semen oozing from Angel's entrance, prying him apart, wrenching open puffied, sensitive muscle that is still excruciatingly sore and used, swollen and raw tissues exposed, a delicate, chafed pink lining, bruised in blossoms of darker red from burst blood vessels. ) It stings, Al... ( Angel mutters, but his abused hole still tries to entreatingly clench, suckling at the slow prod and push of fingers. His legs try to snap shut at the burning ache, but heavy, corporeal shadows part his limbs, Angel's six limbs scratching at Alastor's broad shoulders, his thin waist, crumpling the cloth of his suit. )

Mm-mmph— G-gonna— Gonna fuckin' die— ( His teeth burrow into his own bottom lip, guttural groans through clenched fangs. ) I-if you don't fuck me now— You're stabbin' so deep—you're gonna poke right through me.

( Wet. Angel is sodden and soaking, thick seed spilling and pouring until it seems Alastor has scraped and clawed out the most of it, leaving his entrance dark and hollow and scalding, the slender curve of his erection scrubbing and bobbing against the fur of his stomach. )

A-ah—mm. ( Angel sloppily returns the kiss, the strange stamp of a grin over his spittle-wet mouth. When Alastor speaks, it's a dim white noise, as if a radio between frequencies in the neighboring room—Angel has to take a moment to come back to comprehension, realizing he's being asked something, and his mouth opens yearningly, nodding vacantly. )

Y-yeah—I want more— Please, Alastor, you— ( His voice breaks, to whine beneath his breath, before brokenly resuming his cry. ) —terrifyin' fuckin'— Mister Radio Demon, please let me cum real nicely for ya, just from your fingers.

[With it being so sunny and warm, Chigiri's taking his training outdoors to a park where it's nice and breezy. Before he can get to running, however, he's got to prepare himself properly -- starting with an intense round of stretches against a presumably empty park bench.

After he ties his long hair up, of course.]

[Pauline is just about to leave her favorite bakery, a paper bag stuffed full of sweets and baked goods in hand. She digs around in the bag a bit, not watching where she's going as she walks out the door.]

[ Character information/prefs]

[ It's a busy day at Café Ultra. Becca is running the place alone, as usual, and hasn't had much time to take a break all morning.

Though she's doing her best to be friendly with every customer, under the surface, she's pretty frazzled. It'd be a super weird time for one of these customers to fall in love with her... ]

[ It's a protest, a gathering in support of evolved humans and other metahumans. Claire is supposed to one of the featured guests, expected to make a speech, but she's nowhere near the stage that's been set up. Instead, she's handing out bottles of water and snacks to anyone in the crowd who might need refreshment. ]

[He's at a hobby shop, going through resins and paints with the kind of intensity saved for important things...

Like open heart surgery.

Or literally anything else.

His tongue is poking out of his mouth, his eyes are focused as he looks between two very similar shades of red like the difference between them carried the fate of the world.

Model building is serious business, okay. Especially when you have several grotesque looking zombie models sitting in your cart.]

[ Yang Yang is out and about, helping various people during her patrol. At the moment, for example, she's trucking along with a large bag of groceries, having offered to pick a "few" things up. Her steps are a bit wobbly since the bag is rather heavy, but she's managing! ...for now. ]

( Bio- A freshly baked OC needing voicetesting. A man from a world where once a month, somewhere in the world is struck by a reality-altering event. He has recently joined the organisation that combats paranormal events and supernatural criminals, using his transmogrification powers.

Favourite options- 1) Yamada is undertaking some kind of mission, such as battling a monster or super-powered criminal. 2) Yamada pre-joining the Defence Force, as a delivery driver. 3) Eatin' doughnuts messily. )

[ m/m. assumed cr and crosscanon welcome. scenarios listed below are aus for the sake of simplicity.

take your pick! kaveh is:

a. sitting at a corner table in a cafe on his third cup of coffee. he's erasing something in a sketchbook for maybe the fourth time and looking thoughtful, if not a little frustrated.

b. sliding out from beneath a raised sports car and sitting up to tug his gloves off. he looks pleased with himself and like he might not realize he's got grease smeared across one cheek.

c. looking around as he enters a room he's not meant to be in. but the palace is pretty big and he's gotten a little caught up in admiring some of the finer details while on his way to meet the palace's gardener.

d. ducking between a couple of bookshelves as he tries not to be seen by a couple of men who just entered the store. ]

[I bring you options:

a) Default coffeeshop meet-cute, with MJ minding her business (literally) as she peddles her caffeinated wares and stale donuts. It's the only time you'll catch her in pastels.

b) Look, it's not her fault the city's decision to close down three libraries in communities already struggling with poor education and high crime rates was a stupid decision and deserved to be vehemently protested. It's also not her fault that the cops stupidly decided that "vehement" was the same as "violent" (it's definitely not) and chose to use force when trying to get people to disperse, causing some protestors to defend themselves. But it is kind of her fault that she'd been "hysterical" enough to bump into an officer on her way to escape the chaos, so guess who gets to spend a night in the slammer since no one can get ahold of her dad?

c) You know what's bigger than high school? Colleges. Know how you get from one side of campus to the other quickly? You run like Vulture's after you (maybe he is, who knows??). You know who sucks at running? This woman. Her speed is pretty good, but her stamina? Ehh, not so much. If she's not crashing into somebody, she's likely halfway to where she needs to go, hands on her knees as she tries to catch her breath.

d) Leave her alone; she's trying to read. At school? At work? At the park, beach, or on the subway? There's a book for that. If you really must say something, make it worth her while.

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Lara Croft | Tomb Raider Reboot Games (M/F for shipping)

Bandou Saburouta | K | OTA

Tessa | Tales of Legendia OC | OTA

Angel Dust | Hazbin Hotel

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Chigiri Hyoma | Blue Lock | m/m

Pauline Bonheur | Original Character

becca nova ~ original ~ ota

Claire Bennet ∞ Heroes ∞ OTA

Ryou Bakura // Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters // M/M

Yang Yang || Wuthering Waves || M/F

Yamada 💭 OC - OTA

kaveh | genshin impact

MJ | MCU | OTA