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himbodruid · 2 months

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Forged Hearts

Part 1

Dammon x F!Tav

Named!Tav | Tiefling!Tav

A/N: i’ve wanted to do a DammonxTav fic for a while, but everything with the VA soured the motivation to do much of anything. But i decided to separate him from his character and love Dammon in the way he deserves regardless. Part one takes place at the tiefling party, spice is imminent

18+ MINORS DNI

Read on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57570592

Ch 1: Yet Like Lovers

Naerys inhaled the scents in the night air. The bonfire, alcohol, and general revelry was tainted by the undertone of the previous day’s bloodshed. The others seemed capable of ignoring it, but it set her on edge.

Which is why she found herself sitting on an outcropping of rocks at the edge of the creek and watching the stars instead of joining the celebration. The goblin camp was defeated, along with its leaders, but there was still so much more to deal with. Questions left unanswered. Making a face, Naerys lifted the bottle of ithbank to her lips and took a hefty swig.

Before all of this illithid nonsense, she had been a ranger. Making her home in the forest and staying away from the people that otherwise gave her a wide berth because of her indigo skin and devilish horns. Add to that the silvery hair she inherited from her drow father, she may as well have been a pariah. She found solace in nature and being in forced proximity to others that shared her brain worm ailment took some getting used to. But she grew fond of her companions…except for when they annoyed her with their own issues against each other.

Finding a druid’s grove housing tiefling refugees had been a surprise. She’d heard of Elturel’s fall to Avernus whispered in the winds, but she didn’t expect to find anyone surviving that fall. They also seemed to be free of the parasite that infected the mishmash of unlikely companions. Lucky them.

Her tail flicked in ironic amusement as she let loose a dry chuckle. Another swig of wine to add to her mirthless humour. Things could be worse, she supposed. She could be a mindflayer as Nettie suggested. She could also be dead, especially if that first arrow she ever took from a goblin had found its home in her heart instead of her shoulder.

That memory brought out a genuine chuckle from her. That poor blacksmith fellow, Dammon, being subjected to the litany of curses that flowed from her as her companions pried the broken shaft from her chest right on the steps to his forge. He was a fine man, dedicated to his craft. Kind hearted, as well, even after everything he’s been through. Naerys would never forget the way he jumped at the chance to help Karlach with her engine. How those beautiful eyes glowed with excitement at operating on infernal machinery again. How those deft fingers of his worked the metal into submission. The rippling muscles as he-

Naerys cleared her throat and took another long drag from the wine, embarrassed even though nobody was around. Maybe it was the sexual tension permeating the air from all of the party folk sneaking off to their trysts for the night, but her line of thinking was dangerous. She didn’t want to get involved, or at least that’s what she told herself.

Truth of the matter was…she hadn’t been held by a man in entirely too long. So many years that she had lost count, but she only had herself to blame really. The forest had been her chosen companion for most of that time. But, hells, she would be lying if she said she didn’t find that damned blacksmith enticing.

She imagined that under that apron and shirt, he had lithe muscle from a life of hard work with a hammer. His shoulders were broad and lead to a tapered waist. A strong jaw, bright eyes that practically glowed. Eyes that sent a shiver through her every time they alighted on her. Eyes that softened when he saw her and her companions approaching his forge. Eyes that seemed to bore into her very soul.

Ugh.

Naerys shivered. It’s definitely been too long, and she had to admit that maybe she was a bit touch-starved. Maybe she could…no. She wouldn’t know the first thing about propositioning for a fling, and rejection would be more than mortifying. She-

“Here I was, bringing you a drink, but I see you’ve already got plenty. Shame,” came a voice from the darkness. A voice she was fairly familiar with now after weeks of purchasing his wares. Forged from the heart- the phrase from him she would never be able to forget.

“Shouldn’t you be celebrating with the rest of your camp?” The words felt too abrasive so she tried softening them with a smile.

Dammon smirked back at her and sat beside her on the rocks. He produced a bottle of fireswill and two tin cups. He set the cups down to uncork the bottle, but before he could pour it out, Naerys took the bottle from him. It burned on the way down in a way she didn’t realize she was missing from the wine. Dammon chuckled and took the bottle from her when she offered it back to him. After a drink of his own, those damnably beautiful eyes settled on her.

“Shouldn’t you be celebrating with the rest of your camp?” His repeat of her question let loose a surprise burst of laughter from her.

“Touche,” she replied with a chuckle, leaning back on an arm and looking back at the sky. She could feel his gaze still on her, and she was grateful for the darkness that would help hide the staining of a blush on her cheeks. If he mentioned it, though, she could blame the alcohol.

“It’s a beautiful night, shame to spend it alone,” he murmured.

“Then I guess it’s a good thing you’ve come along, though I'm not sure I would be considered good company,” she said, casting him a sideways glance.

“You dont hear any complaints from me, do you?”

“Not yet,” she replied.

“Why are you up here alone?”

“I’m not much for celebrations personally. They make me feel…claustrophobic? I don’t know. I’ve spent so much time alone that i’m not used to crowds anymore.”

She was blabbering but she found she couldn’t stop. She was going to blame her loose tongue on the alcohol too.

“We have that in common, then. I suppose I will have to get used to crowds when we make it to the city, though.”

“Do they even allow our kind there?” She scrunched her nose as she asked the question. Even in her small village, tieflings like herself were considered curses upon the families that birthed them.

“They do, as far as I know. Rolan at least has work to look forward to when we get there, as that one wizard’s apprentice.” Dammon took up the fireswill again and threw back another gulp of it.

“And what about you? You’re already an accomplished blacksmith, I’m sure folks far and wide would line up at your door for your wares,” she said, taking the bottle from him. He chuckled, such a warm rich tone that made her shiver. This sent a small stream of the fireswill dribbling down her chin. She shifted the bottle from her face to catch it before it could stain her tunic.

But then he was there. Dammon had leaned towards her, his hand coming up to deftly catch the rivulet. And then, hells, and then his mouth followed after, his tongue snaking out to capture the spilled rum. Her breath hitched and her body froze. Surely that didnt mean…

“Oh. Oh gods, I-I am so sorry,” Dammon stammered when he pulled back and realized what he had done. An adorable blush spread across his cheeks and his eyes were wide with horrified embarrassment.

Naerys silenced him by pressing her lips against his. Her body shuddered when Dammon’s hands reached up to cup her face. It was a wonder that such rough, hardworking hands could provide such a soft and tender touch. But Naerys wasn’t sure she wanted soft and tender, not right now, not when death was at every possible corner.

She pressed hard into him, coaxing his mouth open so she could plunge her tongue into his mouth to tangle with his. Dammon growled in response, and hauled her to him so that she straddled his lap. The soft fuzzy feel of his undercut came as a surprise to Naerys when she trailed her hands up. Gods, then he scraped his teeth down the column of her throat, and she couldn’t help but throw her head back. With free access, he bit gently into the soft flesh of the slope of her neck. The moan that burst free from her was full of need and her hips ground against him almost of their own volition. He growled again, his grip on her tightening as his own hips tilted up to meet hers. The thick length of him growing hard under her drilled a primal need into her.

“Dammon,” she whimpered, grinding against him again. He muttered a curse in infernal at the desperation in her tone. One hand came to rest on her hip, while the other tugged at the collar of her tunic to bare her shoulder and the upper swell of her breast to his exploring mouth. Meanwhile, her own hands worked at the laces that loosely tied the collar of his tunic closed. Once she was sure the opening was enough to clear the tapered spikes of his horns, she all but ripped the fabric from him.

She knew that he had to have a certain level of strength for his profession, but hells, she was unprepared for the sheer powerful cut of his figure. His body may as well be forged from the very steel he manipulates with those rough hands of his. The infernal ridges of his heritage added to his sculpted beauty and Naerys knew she would never see a more stunning man. She leaned into him, her tongue tracing those devil lines along his chest. A chest that rumbled in approval beneath her touch, the sound turning near feral when her hand reached down between them to cup his length through his linen trousers.

In a sudden rush of motion, Naerys found herself on her back, her tunic tossed aside and the cool stone below her pebbling her nipples. Her legs were still hooked around his hips. He knelt there, eyes hooded with desire as they trailed along her own infernal ridges.

She lifted her arms above her head and arched her back to push her breasts up. “Like what you see, blacksmith?”

His nostrils flared and he fell upon her. Mouths clashed, tails thrashed. Before either of them knew it, their bodies moved together without the restrictions of clothing. The ridged length of his cock slid against her clit, eliciting a breathy moan from her.

“Dammon,” she whined as the head of him just barely slid into her folds. She tilted her hips upwards in an effort to take him in further, but he denied her.

“Say it again,” he growled against her skin.

“Dammon,” she said again, and he slammed into her with a harsh growl. Hells, how well he filled her.

“Again.” His voice was rough and ragged in barely restrained ardor.

“Dammon.” Her voice came out as a gasp as his hips rolled back, only to slam forward again. Any control he may have disillusioned himself to have evaporated the moment her nails dug into his back, and her thighs clenched around his waist. Over and over he thrust into her, the ridges adorning his cock catching against her inner walls and heightening both their pleasure. Their voices rang out into the night, uncaring of who might hear.

Frenzied. Frantic. Perfect.

They lost themselves to each other, chasing the high of pleasure until Naerys arched into him with a shuddering cry. Her walls gripped at him and he rolled into his climax shortly after her. Deep, so impossibly deep, she milked him for everything he had to give. The intensity of his release sent spasms through him, and his body jerked while she continued to grind herself against him.

“Naerys,” he ground out her name with another guttural growl. Still, her hips worked him into thorough overstimulation until he spilled into her again with a strangled cry. His body jerked and shuddered with his panting cries, and the twitching of him inside her sent her into another trembling climax.

***

The following morning didn’t bring any of the awkwardness that Naerys expected. At least not between Dammon and herself.

The pair had snuck back into camp as the sky began to lighten in the earliest hours of the morn, where they had more forays in her tent- these much quieter but not any less frenzied. She awoke to her head resting on his chest and his hand trailing circles on her shoulder. Warmth bloomed in her chest, as she fully expected him to have slipped back to his own camp sometime in the night.

She lifted her head and met his lips with hers in a much gentler kiss than the ones shared the previous night. When she sat up, she could feel that her body was sore in all the right ways. He sat up beside her and rested his forehead against hers. Outside the tent came the sounds of the refugees making final preparations before departure. Excitement permeated the air, but the pair exchanged a solemn glance. It felt too soon to let go of whatever this was, but Naerys knew better than to form attachments, anyway. It always ended badly in her world.

They dressed, sharing touches and kisses as they went, and left her tent. Naerys pointedly ignored the waggling eyebrows and knowing grins of her companions when they saw the blacksmith sauntering away to gather the last of his belongings. No questions were asked over breakfast, to which Naerys was eternally grateful. The group packed up their own camp and then headed into the grove to lend aid wherever it was needed.

With the wagons lined up, it was time to send the refugees on their way. Naerys and her companions made their goodbyes to the new friends they made, with promises of reuniting in the city.

“Find me in Baldur’s Gate,” Dammon murmured to her, tilting her chin up to kiss her. So terribly sweet, and in broad view of anyone that cared to look. He knew the companion’s work in the valley wasn’t done, and he knew better than to beg her to go with him. If it was meant to be, their paths would cross again.

But they would always remember what they shared together the previous night.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate tav #bg3 tav #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #dammon x tav #bg3 dammon #dammon

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himbodruid · 2 months

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A Devil and A Bard

Now available on AO3!!

Reminder: 18+ content, MINORS DNI

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate tav #bg3 tav #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #bg3 raphael #raphael the cambion #raphael x tav #a devil and a bard

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himbodruid · 2 months

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“Why does Astarion look so old, I thought elves were supposed to be eternally young and beautiful”

Look, I don’t think you understand how stress and trauma ages someone and I doubt he’s an exception 😭

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #bg3 astarion

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himbodruid · 2 months

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Totally maybe kinda sorta working on a Dammon x Named!Tav fic next 👀

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate tav #bg3 tav #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #bg3 dammon #dammon x tav

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himbodruid · 2 months

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A Devil and A Bard

Part 3

Raphael x F!Tav

Named!Tav | Bard!Tav

Probably gonna have to post these to ao3 because it refuses to let me link parts 1 and 2 and idk why 😭

Anyway.

Here to put our devil through some ✨turmoil✨

But its okay because theres some bonus 🌶️🌶️ at the end to make up for it

18+ only, minors DNI

Chapter 3: In Which a Devil Has a Startling Realization

So much had happened in such a short span of time. Despite best efforts, the city lay in ruin before Lore as she stood atop a cliffside overlooking the destruction. The netherbrain still lay in rotting respite in the Chionthar, the city lacking resources to properly dispose of it. Not after half the buildings lay in rubble and citizens still searched for loved ones a week later.

It was a grand failure. One that Lore would regret for the rest of her miserable existence. An existence that currently reeked of the viscera of the fallen Bhaalists scattered along the meadow behind her.

Her biggest failure was with her friends. After her first foray with the devil, she found she couldn’t stay away. She visited him in the Devil’s Den almost nightly, each turn sowing further distrust in her companions. It ended chaotically, but she couldn’t form a regret for the pleasure she found in his bed.

Still.

She failed Karlach, her fate drawing her to the fiery end she preferred to going back to Avernus.

She failed Wyll, neglecting to save his father or free him from his pact.

Gale’s expression of betrayal as he left without so much as a goodbye, to return to Waterdeep and the friends that wouldn’t disappoint him so deeply.

Shadowheart, Halsin, Jahiera…all of them gone.

Her biggest regret, however, was the only person who didn’t judge her choice of bed partner. Dearest Astarion. She condemned him to a life back in the shadows for her own selfish reasons. Sure, she convinced him that seven thousand lives wasn’t worth it, but she also didn’t want to see her best friend turn into a monster.

None of it mattered now. Not when her own soul was forfeit as a result of losing the crown to the Chionthar.

Really, she was surprised Raphael hadn’t come to collect his due sooner. She imagined that he was too busy roiling in rage in the hells to bother.

The sound of flames and a waft of brimstone announced his arrival. He stood some paces behind her, observing the gore and destruction she had caused to befall the group of Bhaalists. They weren’t the first group she had fought since ending Orin over a week ago. But it would be her last.

“I was beginning to wonder when you would come to collect your due,” she drawled slowly, not turning towards Raphael. He crossed his arms, donning that impassive expression he much loved.

“Such a somber mood for a celebrated mouse,” he replied. She felt her lips twitch in a mirthless chuckle. Celebrated? No. She didn’t miss the accusing glares when she wandered the streets. She may have helped save the city from mindflayers, but her decisions still led to its destruction. Some people also apparently loved the pretty lies that Gortash painted with his words, and she had ended that hope too.

“There isn’t much to be celebrated in this amount of failure.”

“On the contrary, the Illithid threat has been subdued. A fate far worse than a city reduced to rubble. Cities can be rebuilt, but there is no returning from ceremorphosis.”

Lore lifted her eyes from the grass at her feet, watching as the sun began its descent below the horizon.

“My only request is to watch the sun set this one last time,” she choked out. The pain was becoming unbearable, and it wouldn’t be long until he would have his prize.

“Little mouse, I have use for you on this plane, yet,” came Raphael’s dismissal. Little did he know…

Lore’s legs finally gave out and she slumped to the ground. The hard impact of her knees sent searing pain through her and she hissed. Whatever Raphael was about to say next died on his lips as his eyes narrowed on the bloodied hand that fell to her side. His nostrils flared as he observed their surroundings more closely, realizing that the large puddle of blood below her was growing rather than being absorbed into the dirt. And her scent permeated the shifting wind. Long strides brought him to her side quickly, and the source of so much blood became apparent.

Poking at a diagonal angle from her abdomen was the broken head of a spear. The hand that now rested at her side had been trying in vain to hold everything in place. The pained breaths became shallow, her blinks lasting longer and longer and soon she wouldn’t open her eyes at all.

Spitting a curse, he burst into his cambion form and scooped her against his chest. She rested limply in his arms as he transported them to the House of Hope, appearing in his boudoir in a flurry and plunging the both of them into the healing pool. He sat on the ledge with her laid limply in his arms and he ripped the pike head out of her gut so the healing waters could stitch the wound closed. Her ragged breathing soon evened out.

But it was too late.

She looked up at him with those piercing ice eyes of hers and lifted a shaking hand to his cheek while he peered down at her.

“Beautiful,” she murmured. He watched as the last of the light left her eyes and her hand fell back into the water with the softest of splashes.

She drew her final breath there, in his arms, while rage boiled beneath the surface. He couldn’t kill the ones that did this to her, but he would rip their souls from Bhaal and flay them open, torture them for the rest of their existence for taking her from him. And then he would seek his revenge further by eliminating every single member of the remaining cult.

She was his gods-damnit! He had plans for her! She was to sit at his right hand as he ruled the hells, to be his archduchess!

His body trembled as the rage grew and he leaned down, placing a soft kiss against her forehead after easing her eyes closed. He worked his jaw, trying to clamp down on the anger that threatened to boil the water around them.

He didn't react to the sound of someone entering the room behind him, the lilting voice of Haarlep filtering into the room.

“My, my, getting cozy withou-“ his words were cut short as he spotted the discarded bloodied pike head. His gaze flicked to Raphael’s hunched back, almost scared to utter the words.

“Little mouse?” He asked, almost reverently. The only answer he received was a single shake of Raphael’s head. Selfish creature he may be, but he came to rather enjoy the little bard and her quick wit paired with her sharp tongue.

Haarlep strode forward, easing into the water in front of Raphael. The devil’s eyes were hooded in shadow, but Haarlep could see the slightest tremble roll through him as he fought to contain his temper.

And Lore. Beautiful Lore. She lay limply in his arms, still covered in an obscene amount of blood. Haarlep tsked and made to reach for her.

Raphael’s eyes flashed feral and he growled with a show of fangs, all while clutching her tighter to him. Haarlep’s expression hardened and his hand retreated.

“You weren’t the only one that cared for her,” he snapped. “She deserves more dignity than being covered head to toe in gore.”

At his words, Raphael’s eyes seemed to focus. He looked back down at her, tenderly swiping a matted strand of hair from her face. Haarlep moved forward again. This time, Raphael let him near. Together they set about reverently cleansing her of viscera, removing her clothing as to wash every bit of it from her travel bronzed skin. Skin that no longer bore the damage from her battle with the cultists.

When they were done, Raphael lifted her from the pool. A snap of fingers and she was wrapped in the most luxurious robe that he could summon. He lay her delicately on the velvet settee that was positioned in the corner opposite the bed, and Haarlep began braiding her raven hair.

So perfect she was, that she only appeared to be sleeping.

Raphael reached out, softly caressing her cheek with the back of his hand while that hardened fury bubbled back to the surface.

His beautiful mouse, reduced to this. He should have sought her out sooner, gotten over himself and his damned hard headed anger at temporarily losing the crown.

I should have made her mine well before those damned cultists could get their hands on her.

He could have given her protection, an extended life as his archduchess. He would have made sure she would want for nothing. He would have paraded his clever mouse, his prize, for all the hells to see. He was surprised to find that he didn’t care if others thought his attachment to her a weak human emotion. So long as he had her by his side as he conquered the hells.

But all those carefully laid plans burned in the fires of Avernus. He still owned her soul, but to have her come back as a debtor would make her a shell of her former self. And, hells, he didn’t know if he could handle that. He needed her in all her mortal glory. He needed to see those ice blue eyes of hers twinkling with mischief, to hear her lilting voice singing ballads in their honour.

Gods, how could he even admit to himself that he’s lowered himself to falling for a mortal. But fall he did, and her existence haunted his every waking moment. Ever since the day he first brought her to the House of Hope and she ignored his thinly veiled threats to stuff bread into her bag from his feasting table.

He stood abruptly, removing himself from the room. Haarlep remained by Lore’s side, listening to the sounds of Raphael’s destruction through the doorway. He was surprised at the level of attachment the master had to this little mortal, but he would be lying if he said he also wasn’t drawn to her. She’d had a particular air about her that sparked life into every room she entered. He had been tasked to spy on the master, but she was a secret the both of them shared that he would never divulge.

And now she was gone. Oh how he would mourn the loss of her friendship. When she looked at him, he felt like she saw through the façade and really saw him beneath the glamour. He wore Raphael’s pretty face, but she spoke to his individual identity those few times she visited the house.

Raphael’s rage-fuelled destruction finally ended and he reentered the boudoir. He was still seething, but he settled on the edge of the lounge beside Lore almost reverently.

“Little mouse,” he said, stroking her cheek once more. “What am I to do without you? All of my carefully laid plans, gone with your final breath.”

He leaned forward, pressing a solemn kiss to her lips and then the pair of fiends fell into silence. Raphael had to rearrange his plans now that the main player was out. But he found he couldn’t focus. Grief was too human for his liking, but he had to admit to himself that is what he felt.

Hours passed, and Raphael had left the room only once more to retrieve paperwork and a stool, in which he sat facing away from her. He needed to call on her contract and collect her soul. It was vastly regretful but-

“Raphael?” Came a soft sound. He froze, sure that Haarlep’s cruelty wouldn’t fall that low. A small hand rested against his back and his heart leapt painfully. Surely not..

He peeked over his shoulder, gaze landing on Haarlep who had dozed off sitting against the wall. His heart clenched and his eyes traveled behind him. The sight of her half-lidded blues stole his breath.

He leapt from the stool, the clattering sound jolting Haarlep awake. Seeing his master knelt beside Lore, clenching her hand with wide unbelieving eyes sent him rushing by her side too.

“How is this possible?” Haarlep breathed. Lore blinked hard, as if she had just awoken from a hard slumber.

“Everything was dark, but I heard you. I heard the sadness in your voice and I couldn’t bear it,” she said weakly. “So I followed it.”

She followed his voice from the in-between instead of going to the after. The resonation of it drew her like a moth to a flame, and after stumbling around in the dark for a time, she had finally found the out. Opening her eyes to see Raphael in his cambion form beside her had made her heart swell. She had to foolishly admit to herself that she had fallen for the handsome devil, and seeing his blazing eyes desperately search her face, she entertained the notion that maybe he felt something in return.

She shuddered, a bone deep chill settling over her as if death lashed out at her for escaping his grasp. “I’m cold.”

Her simple statement sent Raphael and Haarlep both into a flurry of action. Raphael scooped her up into his arms and Haarlep retreated to the bed, pulling the duvet back. She was placed in the direct center, while each fiend climbed up on either side of her. She was nestled against Raphael, his lips brushing the crown of her hair. She intertwined herself with him, all but purring as his hellish heat poured into her. His wing rested over her as Haarlep curled against her back.

She never felt more safe as she did in that moment. She couldn’t help the smile that crept onto her face and she lifted her head. Her eyes flitted over him, so sure she was that she would never see him again as she lay dying in his arms. Her hand came up to caress his jaw.

“Beautiful,” she whispered, repeating her dying words. But this time she leaned into him, pressing her lips against his.

It was an unhurried kind of kiss, at least it started out like that. But as her hands roamed the broad expanse of his chest, she could feel his pulse quicken. Gods but how he ignited need within her, even as exhausted as she was.

She coaxed his mouth open, her hand sneaking its way into his robe and-

His own hand came up to stop her advance and he broke the kiss. She whined but he didn’t relent.

“You need rest, Little Mouse,” he murmured against her lips.

“I need you,” she replied. He chuckled.

“Little mouse, you have me until the end of days.”

Bonus Content:

Lore was tired.

Tired of being doted on so thoroughly. You die once and your fiends never leave your side!

Blech.

What really frustrated her was Raphael’s continued refusal of her advances. Gods, but he had a way of getting under her skin without even trying. It took all of her effort not to climb him like a tree when he would come visit her.

Well, now she was done resting. So strung was she, that she was very near seeking out Haarlep, though the incubus had been warned to keep his hands off. No matter, she was certain the original fiery-eyed devil was the only one that could satisfy the itch anyway.

So, she set about laying her trap. His oversized robe hung loosely on her, baring a shoulder as she lounged in his bed. She had waved Haarlep off earlier in the day, intent on having Raphael to herself. So pent up was she that her hand trailed down her body, lower, lower, until it came into contact with her mound. Gods she ached for him, to be filled and fucked so thoroughly by her devil.

She closed her eyes and touched herself, giving in to the fantasy of Raphael watching her pleasure herself in his bed. When her eyes opened, she realized that fantasy had quickly become a reality.

He sat in a chair, watching her. The game was to entice him, so she sat up and spread his robes around her. Now bared to him, she resumed touching herself while her eyes remained locked on his. The sounds she made were all part of the game, though genuine moans slipped from her when she saw his eyes flicker over her body.

“Enjoying yourself, mouse?” His voice was thick and growly with his barely restrained desire. She tilted her head and affected a pout.

“Not at all, it’s missing something.”

He stood, sauntering to the edge of the bed and raising a brow. She didn’t miss the growing bulge in his trousers, or the way his eyes hungrily devoured her.

“And what would that be, little mouse?”

She shifted to the edge, laying back with the robe spread wide and her hair fanned out on the silken sheets beneath her. She used her legs to hook around his hips and draw him in further, that clothed bulge dragging along where she needed him most. She couldn’t help the whimper that escaped her.

“I need you, Raphael, that delicious cock of yours fucking me until i can no longer think.” Her hips lifted from the bed to add emphasis to her words.

His composure snapped, then. A quick flash of flames and he was naked in his cambion form, bent low over her to meld his lips to hers. Hands tangled in his hair and ankles locked behind him, there was no escaping her now.

His hips jerked forward, almost violently sheathing himself in her heat fully.

“Fuck, Raphael,” she cried out. She would never grow tired of how those ridges dragged and pulled at her walls, of how the girth of him stretched her so, so deliciously. It took only a few more thrusts of his talented hips before she was thrown over the edge. She clung to him, digging her nails into his back in the way she knew he enjoyed. He growled his approval, the pace of his hips quickening until he was virtually pushing her across the bed with how aggressively he slammed into her. It appeared she wasn’t the only one strung tightly in barely restrained lust the entire time he denied her.

The frenzied, feral coupling sent her spiraling at least twice more. She could feel his control slipping with every shuddering thrust until he was pounding into her with unrestrained force. It would probably hurt if it didn’t feel so fucking good, and gods the grunts, growls, and moans he emitted sent her over the edge again and again and again.

This. This is exactly what she needed, what she wanted. Feral and unrestrained fucking that sent her writhing in pleasure underneath his mass. She half wondered if he would knot her, though in all their other trysts it never happened again.

Her answer came soon. Well, he came, anyway. His hips snapped forward, pressed into her so impossibly deep as his moans and growls mingled with her pleasured cries. She felt the heat of him spilling in her, even as he pulled back only to pump forward again and again as he rode the high of his climax.

And still he wasn’t through. Even without the knot he felt so impossibly thick as he began to drive himself in and out of her eager cunt again. He pulled them through the overstimulation, crashing into the waves of climax again and again, dragging out their pleasure until neither could take anymore.

He had so thoroughly ruined her, and she couldn’t complain as he finally collapsed on top of her. Satiated like she never had been before, she stroked the length of his body in gentle caresses.

He refused to admit it out loud, but she knew Raphael loved her in his way. Just as she stubbornly refused to admit she reciprocated the feeling.

They were both idiots, but they were idiots that would rule the hells together.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate tav #bg3 raphael #bg3 tav #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #raphael the cambion #raphael x tav

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himbodruid · 3 months

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A Devil and A Bard

Part 2

Raphael x F!Tav

Raphael x Haarlep x Tav

Named!Tav | Bard!Tav

You can read part 1 >here<

A/N: this chapter contains 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ and has p in v, along with double vp. Just some Raphael brain rot that may stray from canon. Im a devil knot truther

18+ ONLY, Minors absolutely DNI

Chapter 2: In which the bard gets…distracted

When Lore returned to their shared space in the Elfsong, Astarion was on her almost immediately. Thankfully, it appeared the rest of the companions hadnt returned yet.

“You smell like the hells, what did you get yourself caught up in?”

“None of your business,” Lore sighed. The comment was half hearted, as she could never find herself to stay irritated at the spawn. After a single shared night of awkward intimacy, the two had become fast friends. It helped that they had somewhat similar traumas, though Lore knew that what he suffered had been far far worse.

“Oh, come now, darling. Of all our companions, you know I will keep every sordid detail a secret.”

And he had kept the secret. While calling her a pretty little idiot.

Which is what she felt like now, sneaking into the House of Hope. Of all her fool-brained ideas, this one was probably her worst. It had taken only a small fortune to convince Helsik to allow her access to the portal, but she didn’t miss the skeptical eye Helsik gave when it came to light that Lore was to travel to the hells alone.

Upon entry, she had met with a rather…scattered patron who gave her clothing so that she might fit in with other debtors. Lore thought she heard her name to be Hope, but with the half-mad rambling she couldnt remember.

It didn’t take long for her to get thoroughly lost. Keeping track of where she was going was never her strong suit, and it was even worse within the gilded halls of Raphael’s house. Thankfully, it appeared the master of the house was still out on business. Lore had no doubt he could probably sense her presence here, in fact she was sure he kept meticulous track of every single debtor in these halls. He was kind of a control freak that way. But it didn’t seem like her presence would be an issue. Yet.

Lore stood in the center of the only room she recognized and huffed. Hands on her hips, she twisted this way and that, trying to come up with a plan. Where did devils even keep their contracts? The bedroom?

She recalled seeing a couple of rooms that had been shrouded in a mist-like magic that prevented entrance from everyone. Why he couldn’t just use a regular locked door, she didn’t know. But that was as good a place as any to start.

If she could remember where the blasted thing was.

A hot breeze traveled down a corridor, bringing the scent of the hells with it. She followed the direction it came from and found herself at a balcony overlooking Avernus. The sight would be breathtaking if she wasn’t on high alert, waiting for Raphael to appear at any moment and destroy her for breaking in.

Leaning out over the edge of the balcony, Lore thought she could see an adjacent balcony peeking over an outcropping of rock. Steeling herself, she hopped the railing and crept along the rock to the other side. There, a grin formed on her face. She found it! The bedroom lay in front of her. It almost felt too easy. She vaulted over the railing and walked into the room, puffed up and rather proud of herself. Only, she had forgotten to be cautious in her pride.

“A lost little mouse is running through the house.” Shit. “A thief in the night, greedy, and here to take. Why are you here, little thief?”

Lore froze at the first rumblings of his voice, but once his speech was done, she turned to Raphael. Her eyes widened when she beheld him, and she felt heat rush to her face. “Ra-“ her voice caught, and she cleared her throat. “Raphael?”

The half-nude cambion chuckled darkly from where he was sprawled lasciviously on silken sheets. “I am Haarlep, Raphael’s personal incubus. Glamoured to be an exact copy. You, however, have not answered me.”

Lore squinted skeptically, observing the fiend in front of her. His voice didn’t hold the same kind of gravel to it that Raphael’s did, and he did indeed appear to be a slightly younger version of Raphael. Still, the cambion was known for his tricks.

“Why do you care why I’m here if you say you are who you claim to be?”

Haarlep let out a delighted laugh. “I can see why he likes you! Tell me, little mouse, would you like to play a game? If you win, everything you desire shall be yours. But if you lose…let’s just say you will enjoy yourself much more.”

The fiend stood from the bed, sauntering over to where Lore stood with cat-like grace. A predator stalking his prey. He loomed over her, and she was dismayed to find that he had the same kind of magnetism that Raphael had. She neglected to answer his inquiry though, instead choosing to observe the incubus.

“If you are glamoured to be a copy of Raphael,” she started slowly. “Then why are you both younger and slightly taller?”

Haarlep’s brows shot upwards and then he broke into raucous laughter.

“Oh my dearest pet, you are absolutely a delight. I could tell you the reasons, but what fun would that be? Perhaps you should play my game and add the answer to your prize, should you win. After all, the way your gaze flickers across my face, I can tell you would love nothing more than to experience being kissed by the master.”

His teasing sent blood rushing to Lore’s face and she indignantly replied “For your information, I have already experienced kissing Raphael.”

“Well, well, well, colour me shocked!” came his chuckled reply. Lore furrowed her brow and crossed her arms.

“Are you trying to say I'm not enticing enough to have engaged in such activity with Raphael?”

Haarlep’s hand went to his chin and he looked her up and down with a deep hum of thought. “You are a beauty to behold, but the master tends to have very particular tastes. Take myself, for example, as his personal incubus.”

“I'm going to choose not to take offense to that,” Lore huffed.

Haarlep chuckled at her affected affront. “How about this, little mouse! A change to my game, as it were. If you can manage to seduce the master, then you will win whatever it is you seek. Even if you lose,” he growled those last words, moving closer to her and hovering his mouth just above hers. She tilted her head back in an automatic reaction, earning a predatory grin from him as he repeated the last words. “Even if you lose, you will win. After all, how could you possibly settle with kissing the master just. One. Time.”

With a frustrated sigh, Lore gave in to his flirtation and pressed her mouth against Haarlep’s. He immediately coaxed her mouth open and thrust his tongue against hers. Lore vaguely remembered something she read about incubus and succubus saliva having an aphrodisiac effect, but that brief flash was drowned out by the heightened sensations of his body pressing against hers.

He lifted her so that her legs wrapped around his hips, her arms going to wrap around his neck so that her hands could filter into his hair. While she clung to him, Haarlep carried her to the bed, dropping down atop her as soon as her back hit the silken sheets. A snap of fingers, a flash of heat, and she suddenly lay naked under him. Her body was so riddled with lust that she didn’t even have the common decency to be embarrassed at her state of lewd undress. He sat up on his knees, his eyes taking in every curve of her body sprawled before him.

“Such a delicious little treat. The master better get here before I devour you.”

“How will he even know I’m here if he’s away on business?” Lore hated how breathy her voice had become, but gods the visual of this false Raphael resting at the apex of her thighs just did things to her mind, though the bastard remained clothed in his harness. He trailed a clawed finger from her knee to inner thigh with a self assured grin.

“Everything I do to you while in this form, Raphael will be able to feel and hear. If you are lucky, he will be curious enough to see what little mouse has been caught in the trap. If not, you will have to surrender your body to me.”

“I will surrender my body, but not my mind,” she stated firmly.

“Excellent.”

With that, his harness flashed away in a simple snap of his fingers and he lowered himself onto her. The ridged length of his turgid cock rested heavily against her pelvis. Gods but he felt massive, Lore wondered if he would even be able to fit. The thought melted away as his tongue plunged into her mouth once more, and she moaned against him. Haarlep’s hands roamed her body, his claws scraping lightly against her flesh and sending shivers through her. One hand ventured lower, lower, until it reached between them and dipped into her folds.

“So wet for me already,” he chuckled against her mouth. “And we’ve only just begun.”

Fanged teeth nipped down her neck, across her collarbone, and finally found its way to one of her pert breasts. Haarlep took the pebbled peak of her nipple between his teeth and tugged. Lore hissed out a breath, arching her back so that more of the mounded flesh pressed into his mouth. In an embarrassing lapse of control, Lore found herself moaning Haarlep’s name while her hand clenched into his hair.

“Such a touch-starved little dove,” he growled, rolling his tongue around the one nipple and switching to the other. He was right, Lore was touch-starved. Besides the kiss with Raphael, the last time she’d had any kind of intimate contact was with Astarion at the tiefling party. The other companions found solace in each other’s bodies, but Lore couldn’t bring herself to let go like they had. Now she briefly wondered if it was because Raphael had gotten under her skin when the group had run into him at Last Light. She hadn’t missed the way Raphael’s eyes had traveled up and down her form then, and had wondered what had been going through his mind. The thoughts had haunted her, giving in to fantasy and lewd dreaming.

“Let him hear you through me, pet.” Lore had clenched her jaw to keep from making the mewling sounds that built up at the back of her throat from Haarlep’s administrations. “After all, the game is to lure him here, is it not?”

Haarlep’s hot tongue trailed down her stomach while his blazing eyes remained locked with Lore’s. Lower, still, he went. Until his teeth sunk into her inner thigh, just above her mound. She hissed out a moan, throwing her head back into the silken sheets and arching her back. Gods how her body thrummed for him. And then his tongue lathed at her core and her head snapped back up. She hated the sensation when it had come to other partners, but Haarlep’s practiced tongue spread heat through her. The fact that he looked like Raphael also probably helped. He lapped her up, working her until she wasn’t sure how much more she could take. And then he stopped, much to her dismay.

But then his teeth found her other thigh, and she cried out. Whether pain or pleasure, she didn’t know. The line seemed to blur when it came to a devil such as him playing with her.

“That’s it, mouse. I can feel that the master is curious, now. Cry out for him, and I am sure he will come.” The double entendre of Haarlep’s words sent another shudder through her and she let out a whimpering moan. Her hands clenched into the sheets beneath her, and Haarlep continued giving bites along the length of her body until he lay over her once more. The head of his cock rested against her folds, and as much as she tried to pull him into her, he remained just out of reach.

“Raphael, please,” she whimpered, her mind so gone to the sensations of him that she didn’t even realize she had called out the wrong name. His hips pushed forward, but his cock didn’t enter her. Instead the ridges dragged tauntingly upwards against her clit and mound.

“Yes, pet. Call for the master. Make him wish to see you hot and writhing, begging for more,” Haarlep growled into her ear, but then he pulled away.

Her protest died on her tongue as he flipped her over and positioned her so that she was on her elbows and knees with a view of the mist shrouded doorway. Haarlep mounted her from behind, his teeth grazing her shoulder blades and the back of her neck, her raven hair spilled to the other side. Lore’s legs were spread wider and then-

“F-fuck,” she cried out as he entered her fully in one single thrust. He was big, but somehow he was able to bury himself to the hilt. The burning stretch of him nearly sent her over the edge, but he remained infuriatingly still until the threat of her climax abated.

“Oh yes, little mouse. The master is definitely tuned in now,” he said, pulling back and thrusting hard into her with a grunt. She was no longer conscious of the sounds she made, so lost was she in the sensation of the ridges on the underside of his thick length. His hips worked her into a frenzy, always pausing when he felt her on the edge of spilling over. She was rapidly traveling towards overstimulation and the cries of pleasure poured from her unbidden.

She didn’t even realize they had an audience until Haarlep hauled her up, her back against his chest and his arms wrapped firmly around her to hold her in place while he shallowly pumped in and out of her.

Raphael stood near the door, watching them with an expression Lore couldn’t read. His arms were crossed and he leaned casually against the frame, but said nothing. Her heart thundered in her chest as she observed him observing them.

“Isn’t she just glorious, master? Beautiful, impaled on your cock,” Haarlep growled aginst her ear. Lore whimpered, feeling a climax building rapidly once more while Raphael just continued to watch on. Her hands frantically reached for Haarlep, trying with all her might to ride his cock into an orgasm, but he stilled. Again. The bastard.

“Nuh-uh-uh, little mouse. It’s only fair that we save that honour for the master is it not?”

Lore whimpered her complaint, her body strung tighter than a bow at the continuously denied pleasure. When she tried again, Haarlep punished her further by removing himself entirely.

“Poor little pet. If you want it so bad, perhaps you should beg the master for your release.”

Her eyes, half-lidded by desire and pleasure, found Raphael’s. His face remained impassive, but he pushed away from the doorframe and approached the bed at a languid pace. His eyes remained locked to hers, though she couldn't read his expression with how sex-addled her brain was.

“Raphael, please,” she whimpered, squirming against Haarlep’s hold.

“Tell the master what you want, little mouse.”

“Haarlep wont let me cum, Raphael,” she whined. “Please.”

Lore could see hunger ignite in Raphael’s eyes. In an effort to entice him further, Lore turned her head so that her mouth found Haarlep’s. The action had its desired effect, and suddenly Raphael burst into his cambion form in a flash of hellfire. He climbed onto the bed to wrench Lore’s face from Haarlep’s and devoured her mouth with his own in a fit of possession. He pressed forward until Lore was thoroughly sandwiched between the two fiends- Haarlep’s chest to her back as she laid on him, and Raphael’s chest to her own as he pressed atop her.

“You play a dangerous game, but oh, you sing so sweetly little bard,” rumbled Raphael as he tilted his head to nip at her neck. Haarlep’s teeth found her neck on the opposite side and she was lost to the pair. Her moan rang out into the room and she snaked her arms around Raphael’s shoulders. When she attempted to wrap her legs around his hips, she found that they were restrained by each fiend’s tail.

And then she felt…oh..oh gods. Lore threw her head back and cried out as both cocks nudged against her slit. First she had fully expected each to fill both holes, but instead they stretched her to the point that pain and pleasure became one and the same. She didn’t know how much further her cunt could stretch, but Raphael and Haarlep thrust into her in tandem- when Haarlep pulled out, Raphael pumped his hips forward.

“Fuck, Raphael,” she cried out, her breath being stolen from her as the pain quickly converted into pleasure. In just a few more thrusts from each fiend, she was thrown over the edge of the most violent climax she’d ever experienced. Her entire body shuddered and twitched of its own volition and black spots danced in her vision. Grunts and growls erupted from Raphael and Haarlep as her cunt milked both of them, though neither fiend released in response to hers.

In fact, Haarlep removed himself from her body, his mouth finding Raphael’s while she came down from the high. Raphael continued thrusting into her, though each stroke was short and shallow and drove her to overstimulation.

Haarlep’s hand found her chin and turned her head so that he could thrust his tongue into her mouth, and soon after turned her head so that Raphael could have his turn. Raphael’s hips pressed forward and the ridges of him dragged so deliciously against her inner walls. As he tilted his hips forward, plunging again to the hilt, something felt…off? Not in a bad way, but there appeared to be some kind of bulge at the base of his cock that hadn’t been there before. Or was she remembering Haarlep?

“You’re in for a real treat, pet,” Haarlep murmured into her ear by way of an answer to her unvoiced question. “The master doesn’t knot just anyone.”

Knot? Lore wasn’t familiar with cambion anatomy, but she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted to know what a knot was. But gods, Raphael felt so good, pumping into her with slow and methodical thrusts. Her legs were released from the tail restraint, only for Haarlep to hook her knees over his arms and spread her wide for Raphael.

And then he thrust forward so violently deep that she arched her back and cried out. What she thought must be the mentioned knot locked him into her and Raphael’s thrusts became constrained, short and quick as allowed by the knot.

“You take my cock so well, little mouse,” Raphael growled to her. His hips pressed so hard, so close into hers that she didn't know where he ended and she began. His cock twitched, and then she felt hot ropes of cum released into her with a guttural growl from Raphael. He relaxed his hips for a brief moment, only for him to snap forward again with a grunt, releasing a second time in such a short span of time. The throbbing movement of his cock deep in her sent Lore over the edge again, and she clung to him while her body trembled and milked him for everything he had to give. Her climax sent another zipping through him and yet another round of heat was pumped into her.

“So fucking good, my little songbird,” Raphael all but whimpered as he nuzzled into her neck.

“You take the master’s cock so beautifully. Sing for him little mouse,” Haarlep praised. Lore whimpered in response, not sure how much pleasure one mortal could even take.

Raphael’s mouth found hers again and he thrust his tongue into her mouth in the same tempo that his hips pumped his cock into her. And then yet again, she could feel him throbbing inside her as more heat scorched into her.

“Gods, Raphael,” she whined. “I’m going to leak your cum for months.”

“Good,” he growled. “Mine. Haarlep, leave.”

Raphael’s growled command was met with no complaint, and soon it was just Lore crushed beneath Raphael with his cock buried so impossibly deep in her.

Raphael’s hips snapped forward again and his teeth sunk into her neck. He marked her, inside and out, so thoroughly claiming her. Another orgasm rocked through her and her limbs trembled with the effort of keeping them up and wrapped around Raphael. Her nails dug into his back with the effort, leaving scratches in the wake of her fingers being knocked from their grip with his thrusts. Her voice rang out into the empty air of the room, no longer restrained by timidness. Many times it was Raphael’s name being chanted in time to each pulsing thrust.

Twice more his cum painted her inner walls, and twice more her cunt milked him for every last drop.

After what seemed like ages, Raphael’s body was finally convinced that Lore was thoroughly bred and the knot subsided. Exhausted, he collapsed atop her, and Lore couldn’t muster a complaint while so completely sated. His weight on her and his warmth was nice, and this lulled her into sleep faster than she could think of the repercussions of their frenzied coupling.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldurs gate tav #astarion #bg3 astarion #bg3 raphael #bg3 tav #raphael x tav #raphael the cambion #raphael fanfiction #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fic #bg3 spice #haarlep #bg3 haarlep

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himbodruid · 3 months

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sorry im late i was doing stuff

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himbodruid · 4 months

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A Devil and A Bard

Raphael x named!tav

Female!tav / Bard!tav

A/N: just some casual Raphael brainrot. Takes place during Act 3 and may contain spoilers. No set storyline, i just plan on having three chapters of headcanon drabbles that jump around, might also deviate from canon at points. Chapter 2 will be 🌶️🌶️🌶️

18+ MINORS DNI

Chapter 1: In which a bard finds herself in trouble- in more ways than one

Lore paced along the veranda, indecisiveness keeping her from not only knocking on the door to the Devil’s Den, but also keeping her from giving up and returning to the Elfsong.

Some days ago, Lore and her companions happened across Raphael and Voss arguing within the room, and Raphael had offered a deal. Her companions had vehemently rejected Raphael’s bargain…but Lore wasn’t so sure.

Returning meant she had gone behind the backs of people she considered friends. But if they were up against an Elder Brain...any advantage they could get might mean the difference between life and the entire demise of the city.

The Emperor was in a tizzy at the direction of her thinking, and he was a constant angry voice in her head telling her to abandon the deal and return to their newly set up home base. She knew what the mindflayer stood to lose, but she couldn't bring herself to feel any sort of sympathy towards the being that manipulated her and her companions for months. Guardian, my ass.

Bawdy laughter from below caught her attention, voices that were all too familiar to the bard. Her breath stole away from her and she gripped the railing.

There on the half cobbled road below was a face she had hoped to never see again. Memories flashed through her mind, the abuses she suffered at the hands of the man below causing her to freeze in place. Lord Edmund happened to look up at that moment, and he spotted the wayward bard that had been sold to him.

“You!” He shouted, drawing the attention of everyone around him. Then after an angry pause, he and his men rushed to the entrance of Sharress’s Caress.

That decided for her, and she spun away from the railing and burst into the Devil's Den. She slammed the door behind her, leaning against it as if she alone could bar the man twice her size from entering. Her eyes darted about the room, completely ignoring the thoroughly annoyed Raphael sitting at his desk. She scoped out several potential hiding places, but vaulted over the bed and wedged herself between it and the night table when she heard thundering footsteps on the wood of the balcony. Raphael’s glare followed her, though she didn’t really pay attention.

At least until he poked his face around the edge of the bed. When banging started on the door, her flinch had him impatiently raising his brow at her.

“You have, rather recently, taken on an undead man and the avatar of Myrkul, among other horrors, and it's a mortal man that smells like sheep piss that causes you to cower?”

Lore glared up from her huddled position on the floor. “You don't know what you’re talking about.”

Raphael crossed his arms and tapped his foot impatiently. “Enlighten me.”

The door miraculously held against multiple fists banging against it, even the occasional shoulder slamming into it. Muffled shouts could also be heard, growing louder the longer the door remained closed to them.

She took in a shaky breath. “Long story short, my useless drunkard father sold me to Lord Edmund as an entertainer- bard and otherwise- so he could have coin for more drink. Edmund was…is..heavy handed and quick to anger. I have more scars than I care to admit, and not all of them are visible.”

Raphael did not respond, but rather stood in silent contemplation. His eyes shifted to the door and back to Lore, his hand at his chin while his mind turned over the information.

“Perhaps I can be of assistance,” he drawled.

“And owe you a debt? No thank you,” she sneered in return.

“Consider this a gift, then. The entertainment of this encounter will be enough of a payment for my aid. You just have to follow my lead and do as I say, without any fuss.”

Lore looked at him skeptically, and stared at the hand he extended to her while she weighed her options. Edmund wasn’t really a man to give up, especially now that he knew she was in town. He would hound her at every corner, and potentially compromise their mission should he get his hands on her.

With a resigned sigh, she grasped Raphael’s hand and he pulled her to her feet. Somehow during that transition from sitting to standing, her day clothes were whisked away in a flurry of sparks and replaced by one of his robes.

“What? Where are my clothes, Raphael?” She asked, clutching the too-big robe to her. The material was soft against her skin, a luxury she had yet to experience. And one she wished she had time to revel in.

“Follow my lead, remember?” With that, he brought her to the edge of the bed and pushed her down onto it.

“What the hells are you doing?” She hissed. His infuriating smirk spread across his face as she scrambled to cover herself.

“Think of where you are, Little Mouse,” he said simply, as if that made everything perfectly clear.

“A brothel, so what?” She said, before the notion clicked. “Oh.”

“Yes, oh. Now, shall we put on a show for our eager audience?”

With that, his knee found its way between hers on the bed and he loomed provocatively above her. Her heart thundered in her chest and she was certain his fiendish hearing could pick up on it. He brought his face near hers, his mouth hovering dangerously close to hers. Her hand sprung to his chest to push him away, but she resisted the reflex at the last moment. The scent of him wrapped around her- fire and smoke, a hint of cherries, and undertones of brimstone. All scents that denoted his true self…well, maybe except the cherries. She didn’t know where that came from.

“Relax, Little Mouse,” he murmured to her, a hand under her chin to tilt her face towards his, and his other resting against the silk sheets beside her. His lips were so close to hers that all she had to do was lift her chin just so, and they would connect. She found herself holding her breath in anticipation.

With a snap of his fingers, the spell holding the door closed dissolved and it sprang open. The man who had been about to ram the ornate wood with his shoulder stumbled to the ground instead, and the others tripped on his prone figure. To their outside eyes, the room held nothing more than a man and a woman in an intimate embrace.

“Get yer filthy paws off my property!” Edmund gruffed. Raphael slowly turned his head towards the man that was struggling to disentangle himself from his crew.

“Gentlemen,” was all Raphael said in greeting, neglecting to remove himself from his position atop Lore. She hated that she was beginning to enjoy not only the heat he put off, but the weight of him where his body pressed against hers. The hand originally meant to push him away now gripped his lapel, appearing to all who had eyes on them that she had dragged him to her.

“I said,” Edmund growled as he stood and brushed himself off. He pulled a wicked looking dagger and pointed it at the pair. “Paws off my property.”

Raphael went from amused to furious in a matter of seconds, and the heat of him turned up a notch. Lore knew the cambion was just below the surface. He removed himself from the bed and stood at his full height. Even in his human form, he was still a head taller than Edmund, and cut a much more striking figure against the overweight man.

“My, my, what manner of greeting is this? You barge into the Devil’s Den and dare to make demands? I could turn you into a simpering fool, fit for the circus, for this offense.”

“Get your whore ass over here, bard,” Edmund said, ignoring Raphael and waving his knife at Lore. Raphael growled at the slight, his hands curling into fists. Lore decided to take matters somewhat into her own hands.

“Dearest Edmund,” Lore said, rising from the bed- in what she hoped looked like composed elegance- and positioned herself beside Raphael. Her hand slid up to rest on his shoulder from behind and his own hand found its way to her hip. “Do you know why this particular room is called the Devil’s Den?”

Lore turned her attention to Raphael, then, her brows drawn down in thought. “There was something you told me, once, Raphael. When we first met. Ah! Yes. What’s better than a devil you don't know?”

Raphael grinned at the direction of her comments, the flurry of sparks and flame surrounding the both of them as his cambion form burst free. The cambion towered over everyone in the room, his wings flexing behind him and his tail whipping about in irritation. He turned his head this way and that, as if to work out stiff muscles.

“A devil you do, my dear. Now, you pathetic little man, I do believe you owe my favourite client an apology.”

“Fuck this, I didn’t sign up to fight no devil,” a man in the back said, making his escape while he could. Edmund just sneered, ripping a wrinkled page from his dirty tunic.

“That whore is my property by law,” he seethed, holding the page up by one hand and still clutching the knife in the other.

Raphael took the stained vellum and studied the pathetic excuse for a contract. Except it wasn’t a contract at all, but a simple sales receipt that didn't even have the courtesy to be itemized. Raphael’s annoyed gaze flicked from the page to Edmund before the page burst into flame. In seconds it was burnt to nothingness, and Edmund shouted in outrage. He made to lunge at the devil, but a snap of the fiend’s fingers rendered the man unable to move.

“This is how this is going to work,” Raphael growled. “You are going to leave this room, and you're going to forget Lore exists. In exchange, you will keep your life. If you decide a single bard is worth it, though, you will forfeit your existence here and now.”

In the following silence, Lore decided the self-proclaimed Lord needed another knock to his ego. A hit where she knew it would hurt him most. “Give it up, Edmund. A man like this doesn’t need threats to take a woman to bed. Raphael has more charisma in a single hair than you have in your entirety.”

To add emphasis to her words, Lore reached up and caressed Raphael’s cheek, turning his face towards hers. They shared a brief look, before he obliged her silent request and bent over her to press his lips against hers. She was unprepared, however, for the visceral reaction her body had to the sensation. Her hands tightened on him, and it took every effort not to climb the cambion like a tree. When she gasped against him, he took the opportunity to plunge his tongue into her mouth with a growl.

The concentration needed to keep the opposing men immobile was broken, and they began to wisely shuffle out one by one. Edmund seethed, face nearly as red as the cambion that was lip locked with the object of his own possessive desires. With a huff, the man decided fighting a devil wasn’t worth it and turned to leave. Raphael broke the kiss to address the retreating man one last time.

“Oh, and Edmund?” Edmund froze in the doorway, but did not turn to face the fiend that addressed him. “Should you or any of your associates harm so much as a single hair on my Little Mouse’s head, consider your soul forfeit.”

Edmund’s hands curled into a fist, but he gave a curt nod and continued storming through the door. With that silent agreement, the man had unwittingly locked himself into a contract with the devil. Any plan he had to enact revenge on Lore would end with him wandering the House of Hope as a debtor.

The pair remained locked in an embrace until they no longer heard the lumbering steps of Edmund’s boots. Just in case he came rushing back. Maybe. It definitely wasn’t because Lore enjoyed how Raphael felt under her hands. Nope. Not at all.

Lore refused to admit that she liked being held by Raphael, that his mouth on hers sent her blood thrumming, that the heat of him pooled in her core. She was sure he could probably tell that he was having an effect on her, but he let her go when she pulled away from him. She spun away to hide her flaming face and cleared her throat once, twice…maybe three times before she felt confident her voice wouldn’t crack when she spoke.

“Thank you, Raphael.” Thank the Gods, her voice was steady and even.

“It was my pleasure, Little Mouse,” he chuckled. Her face somehow flamed hotter. “Now, my dear, you were pacing along the veranda for quite a while. What brings you to my den? Alone, I might add.”

Heaving steadying breaths, Lore turned to face him once her heart settled. Raphael remained in his cambion form, but he lounged in a chair, where his hands were tented and he leaned his elbows on his knees. She had his full attention, and Lore had a feeling he knew exactly why she sought him out without her companions. She took a deep breath and hitched her chin up in a sense of false confidence.

“I want to negotiate for the Orphic Hammer.”

“Excellent.”

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