#dmagedtexts

[dmagedgoods]

The Mouse and the Devil For all its life it had been small But fierce and strong, a daring dreamer; So, when the devil red and tall Tried scaring it with big demeanor And spoke of granting it his favor To change its size from small to massive The mouse refused the gracious offer: “My size is what I wish to live with! It gets me what I most require; But strive some more to find my vice And try to guess my soul's desire The same I'll give you as your price Should ever you see through me.” The devil stared in disbelief About a mouse so cheeky. He did not see the hint beneath, What could the tiny creature yearn for? The mouse so cozy, content Smiled brightly and without a care It fell asleep there in his hand. ~ Sphinx ------------ @hydropyro This went out of hand a little. I hope I got the thing with the size/format right.

[dmagedgoods]

I just really like the idea of Durge having previously dealt with Raphael, running into him with Amnesia and assuming they're in a relationship given all of Raphael's flirting and pet names. Durge deciding to kiss a shocked Raphael who goes along with it because he's been looking to find some kind of hold over them.

Anon, I need you to know how much this inspired me. I made a little story out of it with my own Durge Cian because it fits him so incredibly well. He's nothing if not obsessive. And especially obsessed with that devil. 😁

A Devil You Know? A Devil You Do?

Rating: General but a touch spicy

Relationships: Raphael/Durge (male, Cian)

Tags: obsessive thoughts, kissing, spoilers for act 2

Summary: Dark Urge Cian misunderstands his own obsessive thoughts about the local devil following him and assumes a relationship they don't actually have. - Much to the delight of the devil in question. AO3 ~ The picture was lively, like a vision haunting his every waking moment: Eyes of molten heat reaching out for his soul, the soul he yearned to possess, his elegant hair combed back, curling invitingly in his neck, calling for his fingers to bury themselves in its softness to bend his head to his liking, his expressive dark eyebrows, giving him too many hints, opening his emotions to him too easily, his aristocratic, suave features with a prominent nose and thin wide lips, indicating a dominating and controlling nature and other irresistible traits he wanted to lay open and dissect. He followed him with every step, even now Cian felt his presence while he was tossing and turning, restless, wide awake in the middle of this stinking, irksome camp surrounded by the darkness striking fear in the hearts of those around him. If only they knew. It was nothing but a weak shadow compared to the black abyss he felt in his very own chest. And yet. When he closed his eyes, he saw fire striking through its depth. – Burning hot on his skin and like a raging inferno in his guts. His fire. His torrid ambition. His glowing gaze. His fierce desire. He could feel it all, he could feel him with every breath. It was a game, wasn’t it? He is toying with me. ‘The mouse smiled brightly: It outfoxed the cat! Then down came the claw, And that, love, was that.’ He licked his paper-dry lips. There wasn’t much he could recall about himself, his memories kept withdrawing just in time whenever he tried to sink his fangs into their silhouettes, mocking him at the edge of his consciousness. And so did he. But his adoration for poetry, the way it resonated within him, brought him a profound, endearing joy. No, this was not a new development but an old, a familiar part of him the devil must have been aware of. ‘And that, love, was that.’

“You know me.” He spoke the words into the darkness. None of his companions roused from their sleep. But his invisible observer stayed silent. “And I know you, isn’t that true, devil? Despite the farce of an ‘introduction’, he had not only told him with his gazes, with his demeanor and luring sensuality, but with an open statement even, his little hint: ‘It's not every day one meets such a cavalier sinner such as yourself! A true, bloody pleasure.’ His pulse quickened, his blood rushed through his veins so loudly that he feared its noise would alarm the vampire. The strong bond he was sensing, the delight he felt, the growing desire: That devil and him, they were connected far beyond fleeting first impressions. You have been at my side, have you not?, he continued in his thoughts, so loud and focused that if Raphael indeed was near, he probably could hear them as clearly as his words, And now you patiently wait for me to remember. But even if I still lack the pictures and specifics as of now, I do remember you; a part of me recognizes what still lies buried. It would be impossible to forget a devil like you. He closed his eyes, listening for an answer that did not come. With a little smile, he turned to his side. The silence did not matter. Soon the truth would be revealed. - The child left the table with a self-satisfied grin. For someone her age, she was, well, bearable. Although, her victory was his, not hers, and – either way – mostly the devil’s, despite his defeat. Raphael’s reactions, their conversation, his comment when she disappeared into another part of the inn, and out of hearing, nothing of it left any doubt that he was after her soul and the game only had brought him closer to his goal. Naïve little girl. “The Theskan move suggestion was inspired,” Raphael said to him and now he himself was the one who felt a hint of self-satisfaction. Of course, he hid the fact that the devil’s compliment affected him.

“There is plenty about me you have no idea about.” “Don’t I, indeed …” Raphael did not attempt to sound convincing. “Or maybe,” Cian stepped closer. “That’s only what you want me to believe.” One of those vivid eyebrows wandered higher. “How long do you think you can fool me?” “Fool you,” Raphael repeated slowly and with a shimmer of amusement in his eyes, “And how exactly do you believe I'm doing th…” With calm determination, Cian closed the last distance between them and cut off his words by pressing his lips to his. Raphael’s eyes widened in utter surprise. He refused to return the kiss, keeping his mouth taut and inaccessible. Have I been wrong? Fear and a hollow cold spread through his insides, despite the warmth of the skin he was still touching, hands buried in the expensive fabric of Raphael’s clothes. Cian readied himself to step back and apologize – with calm nonchalance, protecting his pride or as much of it as he could save. But suddenly Raphael’s grip tightened around his hip. He didn’t allow him to escape. Instead, he moved his lips against his mouth and used his consequent little sound as an opportunity to tease his tongue with the tip of his. It sent tingling pleasure through his body and fierce heat to the very bottom of his soul. Relief flooded every fiber of his being, and he grabbed the devil harder. Raphael was taller than him, stronger too, still, he wanted to claim him as his, to remind him that he was. Prying his lips open further, he slid his tongue behind those pearly teeth, invading his mouth and deepening the kiss with unrestrained passion that now was returned with the same demanding harshness. Their tongues pushed against the other insistently, hungry for sensation, hungry for dominance. For the duration of their kiss, nothing else existed but the devil in his arms and his eager touch. But when they finally parted, he could feel the shocked gazes of his companions. Astarion overcame his surprise first and let out a delighted little laugh. “No no no, please don’t stop now, I was enjoying the show!” “You can’t be serious.” Wyll spat those words out with undisguised disgust. “I’m sure you two could get a room if you asked,” Shadowheart commented drily. Cian cleared his throat, and Raphael allowed him to retreat. “Forgive the spontaneous assault,” he said without paying much attention to the others. “But I needed the confirmation.” “The confirmation of what, if I may ask?” Raphael asked, the curiosity in his voice seemed genuine. Now it was for him to raise a brow. “That we know each other intimately. When did you plan to tell me the truth about our past? – About our connection?” Raphael hesitated. – His gaze piercing as if he was searching for something in his eyes. Did he try to find out how much of it he already remembered? Cian knew he would need to be careful with what he believed him until his memories truly returned. His partner or not, he was a devil after all. And they loved their little games and secrets. Eventually, Raphael smiled a charming smile. “Well, as you proved just now, it won’t be necessary to tell you anything about your forlorn past. It’s much more intriguing to watch it return to your eager mind.”

[dmagedgoods]

Raphael punishing Tav for using his incubus a while later ... Just some thoughts of mine (but explicit and smutty). Raphael watches closely while Haarlep fucks them again, eyes on them and nothing hidden from his view, observing if they do it "right" while also giving them orders to thrust more firmly or to stroke Tav's most sensitive body parts, his deep voice almost a purr: "You enjoy it when they touch you there, don't you, little mouse. So eager for them, so open. Or should I say for me?" Haarlep uses Raphael's form, therefore he feels Tav's body around his cock, but every time either Haarlep or Tav gets close, he commands them to slow down or pull out - so Tav desperately clenches around nothing until they calmed down enough for Haarlep to push in again. Meanwhile, Raphael lazily strokes himself through his pants and comments on how good Tav feels and that maybe they'll get a treat if they learn to hold back like a good little pet and not to take things that aren't theirs. Raphael and Haarlep both will come later, fucking each other while Tav is the one watching. - Firmly tied up and dripping. They'll have to wait until Raphael feels generous enough to touch them and don't even have permission to pleasure themselves. Their orgasms belong to Raphael now and they are not allowed to cum by anyone's touch but his.

[dmagedgoods]

Owlcatober day 3: Shelter

(story by me, art by @chaosteddybear)

~

He grit his teeth and stopped himself from shaking, determined not to show any weakness. The snow fell more densely now. It had become a swirling veil of white in the dim red shine of the night, swallowing the world outside of their cave. Their found shelter stopped the storm from reaching them, the cold, however, started to sneak in, to surround them mercilessly in the dying glow of the small fire they had lighted and the absence of almost any suited equipment after the accident.

“Here.”

He turned his head towards the offered bundle of fabrics, the only dry blanket left. It was woven with a hint of magic to defend from conditions as unpleasant as these and promised some true protection and warmth.

Salvadore felt an inexplicable anger at the considerate gesture, only serving to remind him of his helplessness and failure and how it was his fault that they had to abort the mission to find their way back in the morning.

“Keep it,” he decided, voice firm. He felt a strange mixture of discontentment and relief that Mesclavete seemed to handle the cold slightly better than he did. Or was he merely pretending too?

Mesclavete ignored his answer and put the blanket around his shoulders. “You’re freezing”

Was it that obvious? Immediately, his body wanted to sink deeper into the shielding warmth, but instead, he managed to glare at the other man with a threatening gaze.

Again, he was utterly ignored. His eyes followed his co-commander when he turned back and tried to get comfortable on the ground pad they had saved – not too much to fall asleep in the cold, but to rest his sour muscles for a while before the complicated climb ahead of them.

Salvadore knew him well enough to be under no illusion that he would stay stubborn and reject to take the blanket back and therefore … Well.

He took it off, left his place at the wall of the crave and joined Mesclavete on the pad. Without waiting for his consent – or his complaints – he moved close, put one arm around his body, and spread the blanket across both of them.

Salvadore felt him tense up against him.

“I don’t believe …”

“It’s the most effective solution,” he interrupted him – and with this his own thoughts trying to tell him that his idea was inappropriate in every single way, even if or especially since his body reacted with a heavy shiver of pleasure to the sudden warmth and more so to the feeling of Mesclavete being pressed tightly against his own.

“We will need all our strength tomorrow.” The way out of this valley would not be easy.

Mesclavete hummed in agreement; he didn’t protest, neither against his words nor against the enforced closeness.

[dmagedgoods]

cw: mature

Tav/Durge being stronger than Raphael expected (physically or their magic) and he's finding himself overpowered after a battle he couldn't win. They don't intend to kill him, they never did, but he didn't give them a choice. Now he's badly injured and their grip painful around his throat, tightening further, barely allowing him to breathe. To his utter shame, there are tears in his eyes, even running down his cheeks, out of agony, but mostly out of humiliation. Tav/Durge is taking in the view. When they open their hand, he falls to his knees. Tav/Durge is calm in their demeanor. But they yank his head backwards with a firm grip around one of his horns, forcing him to look up to them from the ground with something helpless in those burning eyes. Their hand moves lower, across his damp cheek, stroking it with treacherous gentleness and he trembles. They trace his lips with their thump, a sensual but degrading gesture while he's kneeling there utterly defeated.

"Open up for me." His eyes widen, his jaw clenches, but they force his mouth open anyway and two of their fingers into it. With their free hand they take a small bottle out of the bag around their waist, open it and bring it to his unwillingly parted lips. They need to hold his head in position by firmly burying their fingers in his hair but he has no choice but to swallow the health potion.

Then they let go of him and step backwards.

"Go and lick your wounds. You're pathetic like that." And just the slightest bit softer: "I won't lose a valuable ally over a disagreement."

[dmagedgoods]

Devil May Care

Rating: General

Relationships: Raphael/Male Durge (my character Cian) Summary: The glorious hero failing? Dying because of a foolish mistake? Destroying his plan by losing his life so recklessly? Raphael won't allow it. (I’m always open for Raphael prompts btw, it just may take me a little time to answer them. ❤) Tags of importance: obsession, local devil struggles with feelings AO3 ~ You have been less predictable than most of your kind. The rich spectrum of mortal emotion is a palette of many hues. Adept and well-versed in its heady heights and delicious depths, I employ both to my advantage. They are, after all, of inestimable value in my daily business; however, in a primarily – one could say – academic sense; by no means from first-hand experience, naturally. But now I am astonished, little mouse, at finding myself invested in your fate, beyond those distant contemplations, fury bright and fierce in my chest. You stand amidst the gore, skin sickly pale against the ruthless red drenching your robes and the very earth around you. – A single pure white rose in a field of thorny brambles. Your innocence is deceptive, and illusion your design. But your subterfuge won’t save you now against the vigor of your enemies. You have miscalculated, and you pay the price, your companions vanquished, alive but spent, and fear written plainly on your pain-twisted features. You suck in a slow and shaky breath while I watch, at the edge of the chaos. I savor you, how your lips part around the barely muttered words of your last hopeless spells, the multitude of emotions passing across your desperate face. Is this how you plan to escape the claws, little mouse? Stealing away from this plane of existence? The anger burns higher, floods my veins. It seems there is only so much time left for me to enjoy you before you ruin my flawless plan with your incompetence. I am drinking in the sight of you, trembling with the heat of my rage and something indefinable, much colder underneath, when finally, you collapse and lie in a motionless heap among the dry, brown grass. The air goes still. Something overcomes me at the sight, and I struggle not to bare my teeth. With a flick of my fingers, your last two attackers burn to ash. Immediately, the wizard is at your side. “Give him room.” I approach, slowly. It is meant as a command rather than a threat, but my words fly with far more intensity than intended. If my thoughts weren’t utterly consumed by the figure lying on the ground before me, I might be concerned by the suddenness of my own outburst. “Would you be so kind?” With an arch of my brow the request imparts an order. The useless mage finally flinches back from where he is crouched at your side, but I can feel the vampling’s red glare on me from some distance behind where he too lies wounded, all your companions drained of all power to regenerate or heal. I lower myself to take a closer look at you. You are shivering. Sweat pours down your face in saline rivulets. The hollows of your eyes appear too deep, your skin waxy, your scent earthen and sweltering. I can feel the hostile magic still raging through your body. “You won’t escape me like that.” My voice seems to cut through the haze in your mind. Your long lashes flutter. Then your eyes meet mine, glazed and feverish. When I cup your damp chin you startle, sucking in a jagged, pitiful gasp. I swallow hard, ignoring your pained little whimper. Pathetic. A few infernal words and my own power cleanses you of the destructive influence of the magic your opponents infused into your blood. Perhaps unconsciously, you lean into my touch before your gaze clears. “Raphael?” A feeling rises in me, and I find myself suddenly consumed by an irresistible need to hide you away from all eyes, friend and foe alike. It’s agonizing and unwelcome, this foreign, ridiculous urge.

I am no stranger to desiring you, perhaps beyond what you are strictly worth for my plan, and as much as I attempt to distance myself from this need, I’m incessantly aware of its presence. But this is not desire. At least not in the way I’m accustomed to experiencing it. No, what tears at me and clouds my senses is something else, nameless because I deny it the solidity of a name, unacceptable because in conflict with my very nature. I take a slow, even breath, getting hold of myself before I can do something rash. Another flick of my fingers makes a potion appear. I uncork it and bring it to your lips. “Drink.” You do, your body language uncharacteristically submissive, docile like a mindless doll. It displeases me to see you like this, robbed of your gleam, of your value to me. In a few heartbeats, the liquid will take effect. I raise my eyes and examine your worthless companions for a long moment. They will make it back to your camp. With that, I turn away, ready to vanish from this place and leave behind me the brief but frankly alarming lapse in control I have experienced at your hands. Your voice stops me. It is disgustingly weak. “I … thank you.” With a wide gesture of my arms and a cold smile on my lips, I turn towards you once more: “The list of your debts is growing, little mouse. You can thank me when I come to collect.”

[dmagedgoods]

Owlcatober day 1: Teatime

@chaosteddybear and I use this year's Owlcatober to explore our co-commander timeline idea between his Knight Commander Mesclavete (Mix) and my Knight Commander Salvadore.

We picked our favorites among the prompts and it led to fun little scenes.

Happy Owlcatober 1 everyone! 🧡🖤🧡🖤

(story by me, art by @chaosteddybear)

~

Soft music filled the room, gentle violins accompanied by the faint ripples of a piano. A quill made a quiet scraping sound, consistent, familiar to the man in white uniform, putting lines of elegant, curved writing on expensive parchment. Those noises had been the only ones in the room for the last six hours. A calm evening spread over Drezen. Commander Salvadore Arrigo had barely noticed the setting of the sun and only paused to illuminate the room with the warm shine of the magical light he preferred to open fire.

A firm knock brought his attention to the door. Wasn’t it too late for visitors?

“Come in.”

It opened slowly and Daeran appeared, wearing a wide emerald coat and a confident cocky smirk. His golden hair shined in the light like his luminescent eyes.

Daeran sat down on his desk. “That’s more than enough for one day, Commander.” He stole his quill and twisted it playfully between his fingers. “Join me for a more relaxing rest of the evening.”

“I fear I have to disappoint you.” He suppressed a sigh, truly regretting the fact that he had to finish this letter before he could even think of rest.

“We knew you would say that.” The voice came from the door this time and Mesclavete stepped into the room, an amused smile on his lips as well, but concern clearly visible in his blue eyes, mirroring the color of his ornamented coat. He was carrying a tablet with three cups of tea.

A warm smile spread across Salvadore’s face. Black with lemon, his favorite.

“Well,” He took the quill out of Daeran’s hand, letting his fingers brush his before he offered the chair next to him to Mesclavete. “I assume it is never too late for teatime.”

[dmagedgoods]

Owlcatober day 7: Lamplight

(story by me, art by @chaosteddybear )

~

He had provoked this outcome this whole glorious evening, sprinkling it with all those small “casual” touches, moving by just slightly too close, brushing Mesclavete’s waist, his nimble fingers, leaning in for a small comment to almost bring his lips to his ear, voice low.

Ah, Daeran wondered if he had gone too far during dinner, right in front of the unknowing eyes of the small-minded sycophant around them, gallantly continuing the conversation while underneath the table his hand had lingered on Mesclavete’s thigh, letting it rest there to make him feel its warmth, thumb circling in sensual strokes. It was a delightful pleasure to cause his muscles to tense at the secret touch, to imagine his struggle for composure while he gave a straight-faced response to the woman he talked to while he moved his fingers just the slightest bit higher.

He had wondered if his body was reacting to his presence as strongly as his own reacted to his. Advantageously cut garments had protected him from openly revealing the truth about his state of arousal, but he got his answer half an hour later with their crotches pressed tightly together while he was holding him in place against the wall behind. The parlor he had found them was empty, yet they could hear the voices and music from the nearby party through the thin wood of the closed door.

“Someone could come in.” Mesclavete sounded breathless while Daeran kissed along his neck, pulled down his collar, and revealed just enough skin to have a taste. He looked good enough to eat in the golden lamplights bathing the room and his skin in their luxurious shine.

“Then, my overly concerned pet, better stay quiet and send a desperate little prayer to some voyeuristic god that they’ll stay the only audience.”

He moved his hand between their bodies and felt the heat of his cock, all hard for him, throbbing with need.

Mesclavete moaned and Daeran muffled the sound with an eager kiss while he rubbed him through the layers of his clothes.

If he just … Without breaking the contact to the edge of his neck, he opened just enough buttons to find his way in and brushed aside some silken fabric to free both Mesclavete and himself from the tightness of their pants and underwear. Daeran let out a heavy breath when he felt him skin to skin, their cocks moved smoothly along each other in his grip and he had to kiss him harder to suppress some treacherous sounds of his own.

“Wait”

Mesclavete had pulled free just enough for this one little word. The slight distress in his voice let Daeran know that he probably thought of the inconvenient fact that they both had to show up at the festivities again, with people eyeing them in badly hidden curiosity. Was he worried about making a little mess all over his clothes? Adorable.

A knock had Mesclavete stiffen against him and his eyes widened with a hint of amusing fear when he answered the intruder, wearing a nonchalant grin while he started stroking again, slowly now:

“Come in.”

Mesclavete struggled against his grip but the door already opened.

With each movement radiating his typical confidence, Salvadore stepped into the room. His ocean-green eyes observed them, showing a calmness he’d find offending – would the bulk in his white pants not give away the expression as the act it was.

“You started without me,” Salvadore stated and closed the door without any haste before he stepped closer and ran his fingers down their precious prey’s cheek. “So impatient.”

Daeran bit Mesclavete’s tender neck. “There is enough of him left. If you hurry.”

They would make him lose control between them – he decided –, they would make him shiver and shake at their touch, coax those delicious moans from him he so urgently tried to suppress and, eventually, they would make him cum right over those gorgeous garments he wore.

[dmagedgoods]

For Eneas:

7. What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling?

10. What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

22. How does jealousy manifest itself in them (they become possessive, they become aloof, etc)?

7. What triggers nostalgia for them, most often? Do they enjoy that feeling? Ah, nostalgia, his old enemy. One should assume he tried to get rid of it since it often led to intense suffering. His memories of what he lost are so vague, just enough to torture him, and at the same time: A valuable thing he would never want to lose. Over the years, the pain became less sharp, less all-consuming, and a bittersweet yearning instead. Now he almost enjoys the nostalgia, indeed. He definitely has a fondness for the warm, melancholy feeling regarding later sections of his life, thinking back to people he observed, influenced, guided for a while, how they shaped him in return, the twists and turns of the way he goes, the lessons he learned. Those memories are dear to him, another collection of small treasures. Nostalgia is triggered by many things for him, places connected to certain events and emotions, sometimes by as little as atmosphere, light, smell, a piece of clothing or jewelry, very often by a song or melody. 10. What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them? Of all the lies he tells? "I love you." - In all the forms it comes, non-verbally shown or spoken out loud in different phrases all meant to carry the same meaning and used like a weapon. "I care." "How do you feel?" "Let me show you." "I am here." and all those incarnations. Though maybe that's not fair, it rarely ever was a lie entirely. And still, it often led to the demise of those believing him. Does it haunt him? They do, they do. 22. How does jealousy manifest itself in them (they become possessive, they become aloof, etc)? Eneas is not a terribly jealous person. And why would he be, he holds the strings and he is there to watch people react, to guide them, and to step back once he played his part. He binds people to his games and still rarely claims anyone for himself. Mentor, lover, experience, whatever he becomes, it's a role at the sideline. If things get uniquely deep with him though, ..., well, there might be hints of jealousy in phases when he wonders if his deeds from the past and who he is underneath the masks will destroy any possible future of the connection he secretly yearns for and if someone ... simpler would suit the spot better. Altogether, it needs more than a flirt or kiss to cause a strong reaction from him in most cases, and the slight jealousy coming with this sort of thing? Well, he can live with it, even smile about it. In stronger cases though, when the one he chooses in this special way (so very rare for him in the first place), really seems to be more interested in someone else, well, it depends: Should he find himself displeased with the one he's jealous of, he might destroy them. Of course, without making known that he's the one responsible. Should he come to the conclusion that the one he's jealous of is a better fit for the one he loves, though, he will leave.

[dmagedgoods]

Infernal Case Study

Rating: Explicit

Relationships: Raphael/You/Haarlep Summary: A cambion's anatomy can be quite a fascinating topic. Haarlep is willing to show a few specifics about their reproductive organs on a slightly displeased test subject. Of course, you are eager to learn, aren't you? Tags of importance: sex education but it's only a game, edgeplay, orgasm delay/denial, hand jobs, riding, bondage, gags, teacher/student roleplay, anal or vaginal sex depending on what you want to imagine, no gender statements about the reader, dirty talk, knotting, teasing, breeding kink AO3 Written for the A Devil You Do Dick Challenge

~ “Now, a cambion’s cock comes with a few particularities,” Haarlep said in their best teacher voice, using the cane in their hand like a pointer to show their statement on the living, breathing, and very much seething specimen. You leaned back on the comfortable scarlet couch, while you attentively followed the incubus’ words. This kind of homeschooling was decidedly to your liking. Raphael had not known what he would be in for when you both had seduced him with your touches and kisses for him to allow you to tie him to the chair he was sitting on. You were more than pleased with the view. Haarlep had only removed his shoes and pants – as usual, Raphael had not worn any undergarments – while his upper body remained neatly dressed. You smirked at the thought of how humiliating it certainly felt in the situation he was in, with only the parts of him exposed Haarlep and you needed for the lesson. The ropes were enchanted to keep the cambion from ripping them apart – something his angry struggling surely would have accomplished by now without those precautions, if the anger in his burning eyes was a hint. Then again, well, Raphael could easily use the nonverbal gesture you had agreed on a while ago to order you to free him if he truly wanted out of his predicament. Apparently, he found himself reluctantly curious about this little game. Or maybe, you thought, he just enjoys the humiliation of being a helpless test subject. His raging hard-on gave away that the treatment didn’t leave him unaffected. [continue reading]

[dmagedgoods]

„I can feel your desire. Tell me about it. Tell me what it is, little mouse.” “Hold your tongue, demon, or I’ll cut it out.” The smirk on the creature’s face widened. “Because this adorable pet name is his privilege?” “It’s neither his nor yours.” “And still, you’re yearning. You’re yearning so fiercely, so deliciously, I could feed on your longing alone. But what fun would that be? I can give you what you need, tell me about it. Let me taste it.” Cian tensed. The only reason he had not killed this impertinent demon yet was his respect for Raphael. And … certain advantages they brought as a toy. “You think I’m going to trust you? – You of all creatures?” “My lips will be sealed.” Haarlep opened their arms in a winning gesture, wings spread behind them. “I promise.” Cian snorted. And yet … It was tempting. He could only guess how clearly they already understood his desire just by sensing it. But even if they should break their empty promise and speak of it, Haarlep’s words would sound like a teasing attempt to mock him – like anything out of the demon’s mouth –, not like a truth they knew to share. “His form,” Cian ordered coldly. Haarlep cocked their head, amusement playing in their burning eyes. “I’m already wearing it.” “Not the pathetic version he considers an improvement out of some kind of sad inferiority complex. His actual form.” Something darker appeared in the demon’s gaze – like they had found a hidden treat they enjoyed chewing and swallowing a bit too much for his liking. Then their body transformed, their features became sharper, more classic, signs of aging gave them their typical suave and sophisticated charm. Their body changed to a less defined version, still tall and muscular, but softer whereas the former version had been nothing but boring hard smoothness. Cian hummed. “Better.” “My my, someone has a little crush. – A dangerous one, no less.” They even imitated his way of speaking now. Cian hated the pleasurable shiver it caused. The demon reached out for him and cupped his cheek and he felt himself leaning into the gentle touch. “Come.”

Cian tried to compose himself but followed them to the bed. A heartbeat later he found himself pulled close, enwrapped by strong arms and giant wings, covered by the heat of their body, captured underneath their weight, and deprived of any will to free himself to turn the tables and bring himself on top. Haarlep kissed him the way Raphael would, with the same demanding harshness until … Cian quietly sighed against those sinful lips when their touch softened. The sudden tenderness was disarming. A clawed hand undid the laces of his shirt with practiced ease to slip underneath the fabric and pull it aside. He was stroked and explored with undisguised admiration. Feverish arousal spread down his chest and peaked in his groin. “You are irresistible, my dear.” Cian pressed against the offered thigh between his legs. And a hint of smug satisfaction flashed in Raphael’s eyes. Not … not Raphael, he reminded himself. It was so easy to forget now. His infernal lover kissed along his neck, his ... their sharp teeth scraped the delicate skin and burning pleasure flooded his veins. “You want to be mine, don’t you? To give me all of you, little mouse.” His mouth found his ear; hot breath tickled his skin. “And you will be. A jewel at my side.” His cock throbbed against his leg as an answer to those words. Following his desire, he buried his hand in his soft hair, pulling him into another firm, intoxicating kiss. “I don’t think I gave you permission to borrow my toys,” the same voice that had whispered into his ear only moments ago now came from the door – not sensual but with the sharp edge of something threatening – and brought him back into reality. Cold panic bloomed in him and he stiffened. How much had he heard? Haarlep let go of him immediately and turned around with a smooth movement, the insufferable grin back on their lips. “Master!” Raphael frowned while he looked at them for a long moment, a hint of surprise clear on his features, probably realizing the differences in Haarlep's appearance while Cian’s heart pounded harshly in his chest. Finally, the devil’s eyes found his. He swallowed. “Now, if anyone would be so gracious as to explain to me what exactly is happening here.”

[dmagedgoods]

Owlcatober Day 12 - Song: Late-night tune

He doesn’t know what time it is when he wakes from his sleep. Not morning, surely, the room lies in silken darkness. Has he been disturbed by a dream? No – he realizes slowly –, something more pleasurable ... And it has not stopped. The melody dances through the air, melancholic, poignant, aching, and yet beautiful. Drawn closer to the music by curiosity, he leaves the bed while putting on his light, flowing dressing gown. The cold of the marble underneath his naked feet merges into the softness of thick carpets, then elegant parquet when he leaves their sleeping room, passes a corridor and enters the spacious parlor. There he stands, his muscular back to him, his violin perched carefully on his shoulder, and his cheek against the valuable wood. His body sways slowly with the tune, his arm moves gracefully but with vigor. He guides the bow with skill and passion while his fingers – his beautiful, long fingers adorned by golden rings – catch onto the strings. He stands mesmerized, barely breathing. But somehow his arrival has aroused Salvadore’s attention. He is tilting his head, his bow leaves the strings of his violin, and the instrument falls silent. “I woke you.” “And how lucky I am that you did.” He gives him a smile – warm and vivid, without holding back the deep affection he feels. “I couldn’t sleep,” Salvadore explains himself regardless, and starts to put the violin back in its case. “My apologies. I didn’t think I was this loud.” “Don’t,” Daeran steps towards him and stops him in his movement. “Play some more for me, will you?” A moment of thought crosses those sharp features before a little smile appears on his lips. He has the urge to press his own against it, and he knows the gesture would be eagerly appreciated and reciprocated, yet he denies himself the tempting pleasure. And Salvadore begins to play anew. This melody runs differently than the one before. It begins slowly but soon ascends into something that quickens his heartbeat, it surrounds them both, and he sinks into the tune and into the picture alike. His hair falls to his forehead, the way he never allows in public, and his concentrated gaze softens when his eyes meet his and melt into an expression he can only describe as … devotion. Heavens and hells and all planes in between and beyond, what did this man do to him? Eventually, much too soon, the song stops. The smile returns to Salvadore’s face. “You watch so intently,” he comments, and amusement finds its way into his words. “As though you’d learn it off my fingertips.” “Don’t be ridiculous. I was merely observing and complimented myself on my fortunate choices. I didn’t pay much attention during my own violin lessons,” he lies, “But as long as I keep you around, I’ll get all the pleasure with none of the work. – Or the hassle of finding musicians willing and capable to entertain me in the middle of the night.” “You could play a record.” “That’s hardly the same.” Salvadore chuckles. “Maybe I should teach you then. What if I’m not around for a while? And I admit I’m curious what you still remember.” “Not a lot,” he answers casually. Another lie. Meanwhile, he walks closer until he’s chest to chest with the man who makes his heart race so fast that he must feel it through the thin fabric of his dressing gown and his own silken shirt. “But maybe I’ll let you.” His lips brush Salvadore’s shoulder with the lightest graze. “– Maybe I’ll allow you to show off your remarkable talents and become my music teacher. Your oversized ego would like that, wouldn’t it?” Salvadore’s lips against his mouth keep him from uttering another word. He recognizes the faint taste of mint and then only heat, only him, and all the burning passion of his demanding tongue, his possessive hands, and his hard body that presses against his own. When he pulls away, he breathes hard. They both do. “You are kissing your students? Should a teacher exploit their power in such outrageous ways?”

“I firmly believe it will work on you,” Salvadore answers, his voice quiet and low. “And if you turn out to be willing to learn, I may consider a reward you may find even more outrageous. Just the way you like it.”

[dmagedgoods]

Owlcatober Day 6 - Family: Memories

The painting captured a moment so unburdened, so joyful, and free of the darkness that would soon erase the light and leave a deep, bleeding crack never to be fully closed again. Silaena’s golden hair shined in the sun, as warm as her loving smile. She could almost hear her gentle voice, encouraging her boy, telling him stories, laughing with him. By Iomedae, he had been so young. So innocent. His tiny hands gripped the seesaw in fearless glee. Time was a troublesome concept that tended to slip her mind in the center of this ongoing war, this ongoing battle. Years, decades of tragedy, and she herself the chosen idol of it all. Timeless. Unchanging. While the world around her moved forward and forward without any stopping. It never had been her decision. But it had been her duty. She wore the loneliness with the same determined pride as her crown. And still, in some secret moments, she wondered if, at any point, it would have been possible not to carry it all alone. It was a naïve, unreasonable thought and she should not be ungrateful, for Iomedae was always at her side. Family had become a foreign, faraway memory. She remembered her pain over the tragedy at Heaven’s Edge like a still throbbing scar when she allowed it, while, simultaneously, she felt removed from it all with her focus forced to stay on the big picture, not a single detail of it. Would she have been able to do more for the little traumatized boy, the one single survivor of the massacre, her only living relative? She remembered a time when he had looked at her with excitement and admiration in those green, glowing eyes, behind his charming, mischievous smiles. But eventually, in becoming older, he had grown more distant, more disdainful, and outright crude in his jokes, his diversions, and every area of his life. If there was good left in him, he didn’t show it, didn't allow it. Was it – at least partly – her failure too? Would they have been able to give each other some solace in their loneliness? If she had been there for him a little more … But there was no room for distractions of this very kind. In her ever-lasting role as the queen, the leader of the crusades, her attention had been needed elsewhere, and he – born into a place that demanded to take responsibility too, if only he wouldn't ignore it – should have been able to understand, should have been strong enough to carry it. Queen Galfrey sighed and straightened her posture when she turned away from the painting. Enough of the mournful musings. Her duties awaited her.

[dmagedgoods]

Owlcatober Day 22 - Nobility: The Intruder

His bright, familiar laugh captivated him the way it always had. It was a condescending sound, but it didn’t lack interest. “Lord Adar! A pleasure. I take it that you are not a frequent visitor to such exuberant gatherings? You ignored my last invitations with flagrant indifference.” The young, long-haired man smiled at Daeran. “A lord? Only on the paper.” With a cheeky wink, he added: “But you can call me Tao.” “I will call you a welcome distraction. This celebration long outlived its purpose: to provide me with frivolous, inordinate entertainment.” Daeran made a tired gesture. “Look at them, as tedious as uninspiring wherever I go, by ill luck, even here at the gate to the fearsome worldwound.” The party was past its peak, indeed, most of its decadent guests had reached an unpleasant level of drunkenness or intoxication by various drugs and alcoholic beverages, unable to even stand straight, muttering nonsense with their pompous, tasteless clothes disheveled, giggling senselessly while lying on red velvet couches and colorful pillows on the floor, or fucking prostitutes in corners not dark enough to spare him the view of their sweating, grunting bodies. The room was a disgusting mess of empty bottles, half-eaten food, knocked-over furniture, and two or three unconscious bodies. He had never seen Daeran not bored sooner or later during his own gatherings of this very nature, and still it seemed they stayed his diversion of choice for a reason unknown to him. “Rumors say it’s the Knight Commander himself who provides you with distractions,” the strangely sober, late guest continued their conversation, and Daeran’s smile grew cold. “The Knight Commander? He wouldn’t condescend to do something more fun than take a bath in ice water. He reminds me a little of my dear cousin, both politicians - which should be telling enough already -, as fond of their power as of their own wearisome voices. Even more, they share the same self-righteous, holier-than-thou demeanor that bores their enemies to death before they get an opportunity to attack. One should think that with this remarkable ability, the crusades would have been over a long time ago.” Fierce agony had entwined his body and soul alike, contracting tighter and tighter around his very being, cutting into what was left of him with every painful breath. His wishes blurred with his reality and memories, his need for him, his bitter yearning. Was Daeran feeling it too? – Or had he been successful at shaking him off like an annoying fever dream? The stranger laughed. “So, people are right with their stories? He is Iomedae’s chosen one?” “You truly haven’t spent much time in Drezen, have you? The only one who chose him is himself, as some quite amusing current developments have shown. Neither Iomedae nor my cousin are overly fond of him anymore. An enjoyable little irony.” The only one who chose him is himself. The truth in those words weighed heavy on his heart. “Well then, it seems, you and I, we are outliers among the local nobility.” Lord Adar smiled his charismatic smile, and a part of him wanted to turn it into a grimace of pain. “We?” Daeran asked mockingly. “Well, unfortunately, we are surrounded by his kind in one direction, and …” He gestured toward the room. “theirs in the other.” “Excruciating.” “In this case, as your distraction of choice, allow me to suggest something closer to the excitement you wished for.” “Oh? And what could you possibly have in mind with that oh-so-subtle insinuation?” The stranger leaned closer until his lips almost touched Daeran’s ear. He couldn’t hear the words, but he saw his mouth brush his cheek, Daeran’s long fingers on his arm as if to hold him in place, and how Lord Adar elegantly escaped him nonetheless. “My room. In half an hour, and I will await you in most pleasant anticipation.” With that, and after a playful bow, he left through the large doorway. Daeran leaned back. Not a hint of a smile stayed on his features the moment he found himself alone again among his illustrious guests.

Maybe it was his oracle senses, maybe just a last hint of their once-so-strong connection, but something made him look up to the low, elegant gallery with the dark entwined balustrade, his luminescent eyes attentive and searching the moment he stepped back into the shadows. His black coat merged with the darkness. He should not have come, not have given in to the urge to see him. For some long, torturous heartbeats, they stood motionless. Sensing each other’s presence. Or maybe just a vague impression. Then Daeran turned around and walked towards the door as well to get ready for his distraction of choice. A potion of invisibility hid him further when, eventually, he stepped out of the darkness and left the house behind. ~ While not needing the story at all, this little snippet is an added scene to "Below" and happens after the second chapter.

[dmagedgoods]

Owlcatober Day 1 - Protection: Guardian Angel

I can feel your eyes on me. He had developed a sense for its presence, lingering, threatful, oozing depravity of a dark, bottomless depth too wide, too strong for the material plane. - The shift in you when I touch him. The breath of the golden-haired Aasimar came strained and interrupted by little sounds of distress, sometimes almost a word – reaching out for him but fading back into the blur, not fully formed behind the barriers of his nightmare. His fingertips brushed along his cheek and jaw with feathery tenderness. A quiet sigh fell from his throat. - Your sharp interest when he leans towards me, body and soul. Do you feel arousal then? Discontentment? Both? Do you believe he is yours? Calmly, he lowered his head towards those beautiful, vulnerable features to place a kiss on Daeran’s fear-damp forehead. His expression softened ever so slightly, before tensing in a new, a closer way. You are deeply mistaken, creature. Bright green eyes opened to search for his in dizzy confusion. He is mine. “I dreamed.” “You did,” he confirmed, voice soft and warm. “What was it about?” Daeran moved, still captured by the pictures of his nightmare, and his eyes glazed with memory when he turned his head in the flood of messy golden curls. “An old, familiar darkness, its grip around … everything I know” Sleep clung to his words, its muffling heaviness clearly dulled his awareness of his own statement. “And then … obliterated by wings of radiant light.” “Wings of radiant light, you say?” A playful smugness made its way to his face. Daeran blinked as if he started to realize that he was awake and actually speaking to him. The dark entity retreated to the corners of its realm. Its presence was weaker now. Meanwhile, a hint of embarrassment appeared on Daeran’s features, captivating and rare. “Well, isn’t it a tragedy what this idiocy about a ‘holy crusade’ does to my poor subconscious mind?” “The crusade causing this is of a much more personal nature.” Daeran’s expression grew intense, penetrating, as if he was trying to break through to the deeper meaning of his words. – Wondering. Salvadore smiled. “To me, it seems you are protected by a guardian angel.” His face relaxed again, and his fingers ran through the feathers of his wings, causing a shiver of pleasure along their way. “Whatever you hoped to find, I’m afraid I must let you know that you got astray, angel.” “Not in the slightest. I’m exactly where I need to be.” He kissed his lips with firm devotion and felt the last rest of darkness slip away further, far enough to let them breathe more freely. For now. I will never let you have him.

[dmagedgoods]

Owlcatober Day 18 - Dancing Lights: A Glow in the Dark

The chilly north wind mercilessly cut through the air and crawled under the soft, ornamented fabrics of his custom-tailored coat that was made to fit his body’s shapes in perfection but no match for cold autumn nights spent on a balcony of Drezen's citadel far from any warming fire. He felt strangely numb to the sensation. Visible puffs of air rose out of his mouth with each breath while his gaze wandered across the sleeping city. The silence in Drezen never became as full, as peaceful, and all-consuming as during those long nights at Heaven’s Edge that seemed to belong to another life. He had hated the quiet tranquility when he had been a child. Now he missed its calming embrace or at least …, well, every once in a sappy while. It was such a simple little spell. Effortless, a light emerged from his palm, warm and bright in the rough darkness surrounding him. His chest felt heavy while the magical lantern floated as light as a feather. He wished he could join its journey, just as weightless, just as free. He trembled. His heartbeat hurt in his veins. She had loved those lights. He remembered their reflection in her bright green eyes, his own wonder and excitement, his little hand warm in hers. The wind still tore at his coat and he flinched at the sudden feeling of warmth, of tightness around him. A familiar warmth, he realized almost immediately, a familiar tightness too – not limiting but welcome and protecting. Salvadore didn’t speak a word. He just stood there with him, held him close, and he refocused on his spell, the slightest bit calmer now. Another lantern gained its form in his hand, and he set it free, then another and a fourth. The flickering lights rose higher and higher into the dark, endless sky, all the way up to the stars, and they watched in silence, back against chest, as the magical flames grew smaller and smaller, dancing around each other in the cold, relentless wind. “Happy birthday, Mother,” he whispered quietly, and Salvadore pulled him even closer, steadying him far beyond any physical support. The lights were still dancing and they watched until they couldn’t see them anymore. Even long after they had disappeared from view, they didn’t move. Instead, they remained in their tight embrace, looking up at the stars that blinked down on them.