#tav raphael my beloved

[kawareo]

More of Tav!Raphael AU! Interracting with companions, part 1/2

Lae'zel finally has a guy in the group that's stronger than her (her STR is 17 and Raph's 18) so i think she'd respect him, Astarion and him share skincare tips, and while noone knows that he's a fiend he is fireproof so Karlach could finally touch someone! Just don't ask Raphael to explain it, he can't remember.

[itsafreetrialofdeath]

I can fix him

(I can make him worse)

[cherriesandsulphur]

I love Raphael's "I'm a mentor, not your mother." line so much.

This dialogue happens if Tav fails the "Paint me a clearer picture than that." persuasion check while talking to Raphael at the Grand Mausoleum.

[thechaoticdruid]

Winnie (my Tav) and the weirdos have stolen the orphic hammer, freed Hope and are currently about to flee through the portal back to the Gate. Alas! Raphael arrives home in time to confront them. Winnie is able to convince the Orthon to fight by their side, but the theatrical devil is still fully confident he'll come out on top!

"It'll only take a moment for me to finish you."

"Funny, I've heard that's twice the amount of time it takes for Haarlep to finish you, ya little bottom bitch!" Winnie cackled with a mischievous little shit eating grin.

"How dare you!" The devil snarled.

"Not to ruin your witty little one liner my dear, but are you certain you're in any position to mock someone for being a bottom? I've had you whimpering beneath me since I first took you to bed." Astarion spoke up, eyeing Winnie with a smug mischievous smirk.

Winnie turned bright red. "Astarion! Not in front of the weasely devil man!"

Just something that's been in my head for a while.

~Druid

[thunderwavesolveseverything]

Worth

Masterlist for my ongoing Astarion x Tav fic <3

Phayelynn was only a bard. She was trained to regale tales of brave adventurers of Faerûn. To write and sing praises of their heroic conquests. The excitement and amazement- the romance of it all. She never wanted to be the subject of songs. She didn't have what it takes to be a hero, no matter how hard she tried to be- a fact that was quickly becoming apparent to her newfound companions as they desperately searched for a cure for the Mind Flayer parasites taking up occupancy in their skulls.

The Baldur's Gate brain rot is alive and well, and I'm obsessed, and want to novelize my playthrough. 💜💜💜

---

(on Ao3)

Act One

The Being in the Dank Crypt

Self-Preservation

The Little Thief of Emerald Grove

A Bard & A Harpy's Song

The Night We Met

Goblins, Mindflayers and a Feared Creature of the Night

Sanguine Hunger

The Morning After

I'll Take Your Secret to the Grave

Playing the Hero

Pick Your Friends Carefully

Magic Lessons and a Sleepover

If I Knew It, I’d Cast Heroism

Words of Mine Will Turn to Ash

Down by the River

Mighty Booyahg

Devil with the Heart of Iron

Secrets and the Voice of the Absolute

Personal Cost

The Devil's Call

Unique Appetite

It's A Plan

Let Your Sleeping Soul Take Flight

Dance In Flames

[dark-and-kawaii]

ʚ♡ɞ New Life & Beginnings ʚ♡ɞ

- Rolan x F!Tav/Reader

- Zevlor x F!Tav/Reader

- Raphael x F!Tav/Reader

✧˖°. Summary: Separate stories involving Rolan, Zevlor, and Raphael with their newborns.

✧˖°. Notes: I’m a sucker for these men being dads, and I just needed some softness… And a little angst for Zevlor

✦ Fluff | Prt 1. For Zevlor but not needed to read this | Hint of Angst For Zevlor & Rolan | Dadphael

Rolan

Rolan stood by the window, cradling a newborn in his arms. The child, swaddled in soft, faded blue linens, was a stark contrast to the crimson of Rolan's skin. His tail swayed gently back and forth in rhythm with the quiet hum he sang to soothe the infant.

It was a rare sight indeed. He never thought he’d hum to some infant, let alone his very own. But he figured this child, his child, deserved everything he never got to experience. His own childhood had been marked by absence, devoid of a loving mothers touch and a fathers protection…

Life had not always been kind to Rolan. As an orphaned tiefling with horns that curled back like the branches of a twisted tree and eyes the color of molten gold, he had wandered through his early years shrouded in solitude. No last name to claim, no family to return to after his day's adventures. That was until Cal and Lia found him.

Now, here he stands in a grand tower to call his own, his life transformed yet again. The room was filled with the quiet murmur of a new beginning. His gaze drifted towards the bundle of pillows on the floor where you, his beloved, rested deeply. The labor had been long and taxing, and Rolan despised the fact it happened here in the tower. Still though, a faint smile crossed his features as he whispered a heartfelt, “Thank you.”

The infant, perhaps sensing the warmth of his father's gratitude, joined in on the thanks and cooed softly, a delicate sound that seemed to stitch the very air with joy and its very own magic. Rolan chuckled, a sound rich with love, and lowered his face to plant a gentle kiss on the baby’s forehead.

But the tranquility of the moment was abruptly punctuated by a tiny sneeze from his little one. Reflexively, Rolan pulled back slightly, just in time to see a small flame burst forth from the baby’s nostrils... The flame caught the ends of Rolan’s hair, igniting them with a soft fizz.

Rolan's initial annoyance flickered across his face as quickly as the flame had caught his hair. He patted down the singed ends with a practiced hand, his expression melting into one of bewildered joy. The tiny sneeze had revealed something extraordinary about his child.

“By the stars,” Rolan murmured, his annoyance flickering away as quickly as it had ignited, replaced by a surge of excitement. “A sorcerer?… Or should I say, sorceress?” His voice was a mix of wonder and pride as he looked down at his daughter, whose big eyes blinked back at him, unaware of her fiery debut, “If you wish to master your skills you’ll need a good teacher. Thankfully you have everything you need- right here.”

Turning back towards the cozy corner where you slept, his tail continued swishing softly behind him. Carefully, almost tenderly, he nudged the sheet with the tip of his tail, pulling it up to tuck around you more securely. He then sat down beside you, his smile never wavering.

“I- I can't thank you enough,” Rolan reached for your hand, holding it gently between his, “Before you, my world was a tapestry with beautiful threads but no real picture.” he glanced down at yours and his daughter, “you've helped me start a family to call my own, besides Cal and Lia.”

His tail curled around, encircling both himself and his daughter as he continued to hold your hand.

Once an orphan, now a cherished father and partner. Rolan found himself at the center of his own growing family, with a sense of belonging he had never imagined possible.

Zevlor

His sleep was anything but peaceful… Zevlor tossed his head from side to side, his features twisting in torment. The sheets were crumpled beneath him, damp with sweat, as he muttered a sullen, “gods... no.” Each word was a whisper of despair, barely escaping his lips as the nightmare clenched its cold fingers around his mind.

In the throes of his dream, he found himself with blood stained hands as you lay lifeless in his arms. His hands tainted with your blood, his own sword impaled through your slightly distended abdomen… The nightmare depicted a grim scene where the influence of the Absolute had pushed him too far. By the time he realized his actions, it was tragically too late…

While holding your still form, Zevlor shut his eyes tightly, tear drops forming at their edges, desperately praying to any deity that might hear his cries, begging that this horror was not reality. Yet, upon reopening his eyes, the haunting image remained unchanged… There you were, still and devoid of life. His hand grazed your stomach, his head resting against yours, as he envisioned the life that might have been…

The tiefling bolted upright, shaken from the harrowing nightmare, his heartbeat pounding as the nightmarish visions clung to his mind. He extended his hand hesitantly, a wave of relief washing over him when he felt the comforting warmth of your sleeping figure beside him.

“It was only just a dream…” he whispered, though the words did little to calm his frayed nerves. Rolling onto his side, he pulled you close, his tail coiling around your leg to help keep you in place. He took a deep breath, inhaling your familiar scent as if to reassure himself of your presence. You stirred slightly but did not wake, for which he was grateful. He did not think he could speak of the horrors he'd seen. Far too afraid that you might have regrets keeping him at your side.

With a tilt of his head, Zevlor surveyed the room in search of the sole other treasure that held immense value in his existence. His infernal gaze landed on the crib where his beloved child peacefully slumbered. Silently he stood and peered into the crib, observing the delicate rhythm of his precious newborn’s tranquil breaths, finding solace in their steady respiration. Recollections of tender smiles and tiny grasping fingers alleviated the remnants of fear lingering in his thoughts.

How close he'd come to losing everything that day… When the absolute swayed him… Never again though. Never.

Quietly, Zevlor lifted the babe and returned to your side.

Holding his child close, the newborn's tiny heartbeat and warmth proof that the nightmare was not truly a reality.

“I vow to you, my child, and to your mother,” he whispered softly, his voice a tender rumble in the quiet of the night. “I will be your shield, your protector. No harm shall come to you as long as I draw breath.”

Zevlor's gaze shifted from the baby back to you. The sight of you both, safe and sound, was truly a balm to his troubled soul. Carefully, he adjusted his child in his arms, ensuring they were snug and secure. With a deep, steadying breath, he allowed himself a moment to simply be present, soaking in the quiet joy of fatherhood and being your lover. The fears of his nightmare seemed to dissolve, replaced by a quiet confidence borne of love and duty.

As the night deepened, Zevlor continued to watch over his little family. Every so often, he would gently touch the baby's cheek or brush a soft kiss against your forehead. These small acts reaffirming himself that this comforting reality was indeed true, not merely an illusion.

Raphael

In your room where shadows danced with the dim candlelight, all was silent except for your gentle breaths as you slept soundly. The bed, large and ornate, cradled not only your dreams but also a newborn, wrapped in delicate linens embroidered with gold stitches. You, with a serene expression, appeared as a portrait of peace as you held your infant close to your heart.

It was always around this time that the air shifted subtly, a warmth flooding the room, a sharp scent of sulfur and cherries mingling with your very own fragrance. From the darker corners of the room emerged a figure, tall and imposing, wrapped in fine silks to match the hells of which he was born from.

As Raphael approached the bed, his movements were silent, almost reverent. His fingers, warm and soft, traced a path up your exposed arm, stopping just short of your face. For a moment, he merely stood, his gaze shifting between you and the child nestled within your arms. A rare, tender expression softened the harsh lines of his face.

With the care of one who handles precious artifacts, Raphael gently brushed a strand of hair from your face. His touch was surprisingly tender, a contrast to his usual character. “Such a sleepy little mouse,” he murmured with an affectionate tone, one that seemed unfamiliar on his lips, “how quaint.”

Carefully, he lifted the infant from your embrace. The baby, undisturbed, continued to sleep, her tiny chest rising and falling in a calm rhythm. Raphael seated himself on the edge of the bed, ensuring every movement was calculated and silent, not to disturb the peaceful slumber of the infant's mother, you.

Holding the child merely inches from him, he looked at her with a complex mixture of emotions; affection, pride, perhaps even a hint of fear. His eyes, usually so piercing and cold, warmed as they rested on the child's placid face.

Raphael's attention was momentarily drawn to the balcony where a pseudo dragon perched, its eyes fixed on him with an unblinking gaze. The creature, a guardian by nature, watched with a protective intensity, ready to act should it perceive any threat to the child.

Turning his gaze back to the infant, Raphael spoke softly, his voice a whisper that carried weight and promise, “When she is grown, she will rule the nine hells with me.” The declaration was not just a statement of future events; it was a father's vow, a ruler's plan, “the perfect heir.” His daughter, this innocent soul, was not just any infant; she was his daughter, destined to share his ruling over the realms of damnation.

The room remained silent, the only sound the occasional flutter of the pseudo dragon's wings and the steady breathing of you and his child. Raphael continued to hold his daughter, his mind undoubtedly racing with plans and dreams of what was to come. For now, however, this moment was tender, a father bonding with his daughter, their future sprawling before them like the starlit sky outside the balcony.

[dekariosclan]

Halloween in Waterdeep

⬆️ This lovely gif is from @waterdeepwhiskey’s post, and it is exactly how I picture Gale on Halloween night.

Halloween HCs for Gale:

Gale’s tower would be the Wizard equivalent of a house that has 100 inflatables in the yard and a full spooky soundtrack playing on outdoor speakers.

He’d have his simulacrum wearing devil horns and handing out candy.

The exterior of his tower would be a complete Hell-themed illusion, giant fireplace included. Meanwhile, he’d be trying to frighten the trick-or-treaters by telling them about how he and his beloved Tav had actually met and dined with the devil: “Gather round, for I have quite the tale to tell—”

Of course he wouldn’t manage to scare the kids at all, because instead of describing the encounter with Raphael the way a scary story should be told, he’d happily be lecturing about it. Gesturing, infodumping, reminiscing, chuckling to himself, then wondering why the kids weren’t spooked or even paying that much attention.

They’d all be gathered around his simulacrum, who, despite Gale’s instructions to act scary, would be cheerfully dumping bucketfuls of candy into their bags and saying things like, “I sincerely hope you enjoyed Hell!!!😄 Have a pleasant evening!!!😄”

Tav would be watching all of this and trying to hide a smile. And when, mid-lecture, a group of children suddenly gasped in terror and ran away screaming, it would take everything in Tav’s power to stay silent when Gale turned to them.

“Ah! See that, my love?” Gale would say, proudly. “I knew my unparalleled storytelling ability would strike fear into their hearts!” And Tav wouldn’t have the heart to tell Gale that Withers had just appeared behind him.

[kiame-sama]

More of druid Tav with Yan companions+ Raphael

Warnings; gender neutral Tav/reader, druid Tav/reader, yandere, yandere behavior, yandere relationship, possessive behavior, obsessive behavior, injury, threat to life/limb, yandere companions, spoilers for act 1 companions, slight spoilers for a bit of the act 2 side quests,

~~~~~~~~

"This deal is with your vampire spawn friend, not you. I don't want you getting involved in this matter."

"I am the unofficial leader of this group and I refuse to let a cambion tell me I can't protect my companions."

~~~~

Raphael frowned deeply as he thought back on the light spat he had with the defacto leader of the illithid anomaly group. He had plans for the druid far beyond the defeat of the Absolute and their cultists. One could even say that he had formed an attachment to them far beyond what he should when it comes to the pawns of his game. To think, the powerful cambion- master of the chess board of life- has formed an affection for one of the pawns on his side of the board. Or perhaps, it would be better to assign them to the king piece. If his precious druid falls, so too does all of Baldur's Gate and the rest of the Sword Coast. He cannot afford to be put in check, least of all check-mate.

The Orthon he had set the group after had already appeared in his House of Hope as agreed upon. Now, he stood waiting for the group to return to their camp to hold up his end of the bargain.

He expected them to return quickly and they did exactly that, what he didn't expect was the group to return in a frazzled and rushed state. None of the odd group even glanced in Raphael's direction as the Githyanki and the Tiefling grabbed several bedrolls, laying them out on top of the other. The rest of the group was not far behind as they hurried into the camp, the human waving forward the rest with a frantic gesture.

"Come on, Astarion, hurry!"

"I'm fucking hurrying, Wyll! You try running with your arms full like this!"

The spat between the two made Raphael raise a brow, wondering just what all of the fuss was about. It wasn't until the vampire spawn lay what was in his arms on the bedrolls that Raphael even realized the weight of the situation. Laying limply with blood-marred skin was the beloved druid, clearly having suffered some kind of serious wound. Raphael knew the tell-tale jagged edges of the open injury on their soft body, one that could only be caused by an Orthon.

The half-elf cleric and the burly elf druid kneeled on either side of their unconscious leader, trying to use their various magics to staunch the blood flow. None of what they did seemed to be working and Raphael knew he would have to act or risk losing his precious druid permanently to the cruel hands of death. He was quick to shove the half-elf aside so he could access his favorite mortal and try to prevent the rapidly approaching end.

"Hey," Shadowheart snapped at the demon, "what the hells are you doing!?"

Raphael didn't even give a response to the upset woman, setting to reversing the damage done by his soon to be reformed minion. He had half a mind to just flay the minion that dare put such a wound on his precious druid, but he also knew others may take it as a sign of weakness. All he could do for the time being was try to help his little druid survive what- to most- is a mortal wound. Luckily for sweet (y/n) they had a powerful cambion lord on their side who could actually heal an Orthon caused wound.

For most, a direct attack from an Orthon causes death. Usually only a powerful cambion could reverse such a wound, lucky for them that Raphael was certainly a powerful cambion.

Where the healing efforts of the cleric and other druid had done little for the large wound, Raphael's touch managed to close the injury within moments. It had certainly been something that would have killed his favorite misadventurer and they had near infernal luck to survive up until reaching Raphael at their camp. Their sallow skin made his chest tighten as he searched for any sign of true recovery before he noticed their deep breaths, relaxing almost instantly.

"How did this happen?"

Raphael spoke in an even tone, but the hard edge to his words was not lost on those present. He wanted an answer and he expected nothing but the truth from them.

"It's our fault, really."

Gale spoke up, his tone bitter with resentment towards himself and the other companions responsible for allowing such an injury to befall the beloved druid. Where they had not inflicted such a wound, they were still the ones their leader was injured protecting. They all felt there was blame to share as they had not heeded the wise words of their leader and their leader paid the price for it.

"(Y/n) instructed us to not group up on the edge of the platform, but... we did anyway. That Orthon intended to shove us all off to the floor below and kill us, but (Y/n) blocked the attack with their own body, using themselves to absorb the attack."

Raphael felt a spark of annoyance flash in his mind, but decided to let it go in favor of focusing on his darling druid. They were slowly waking from their brief brush with death and seemed rather disoriented with the world around them. Their slowly trailing eyes fixed first on Raphael, a dazed and kind smile pulling at their lips as they reached out to him. He didn't pull away but watched in slight confusion as they rest their hand on his cheek.

"Raphael... thought angels were supposed to greet me when I died?"

Raphael couldn't stop the affectionate chuckle that escaped his lips, laying his hand over the druid's.

"Well, angels don't tend to save or greet the living."

"Save..? The Orthon magic... I figured it would take a devil to heal devil magic."

"If you figured as much, why didn't you call for me?"

"I doubt you would have shown."

The smallest wince from Raphael drew the attention of the onlookers, it only now dawning on them that Raphael may feel attached to (y/n) too. Some were in furious disbelief at the simple idea of this cambion bastard going after their dear leader. Some were impressed that their leader had ensnared the heart of a cambion. Even the cambion didn't want to believe how much he had begun to adore the druid that entranced all others to trust and adore them.

"For you, my favorite misadventurer, I will always show. Rest now, your body has healed but your mind will be fighting the Orthon influence for a days time. I will do what I can to ease your rest."

He was quick to wave a hand over the druid's head, quickly sending them into sleep before they could reply to his confession. Now he had to face their loyal pack and get them to concede to allowing the devil a fair chance at winning the druid's heart.

[reallyhatethiswebsite]

blame @ultrakatua for this raphael eats tav's heart (she's into it lol)

Read on AO3

-

“I heard an interesting saying once,” says the devil. Soft, slow, murmured like a gentle prayer by a devout at church. “You mortals are so terribly fond of those.”

“What saying,” says the mouse. Hushed, fast, words pushed through cracked dry lips licked one-too-many times by a tongue that cannot lay still. Impatient, but obedient.

“That the quickest way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” says the devil. “Quite the allegory. Don’t you agree?”

“Quite,” says the mouse.

The devil circles her. Stares, eyes dark and glittering. Calm, controlled, despite the yawning hunger so clearly written all over his handsome face. He is always hungry. Gluts upon the things he covets: souls, power, subservience. Her. Men like him cannot be sated. He will consume everything she offers and everything she doesn’t, for eternity. What a thrilling thought.

“I wonder,” says the devil. “What is the quickest way to your heart?”

He drags one sharp and solitary black claw along her bare flesh. Displayed so sweetly for him. Damp with sweat. Muscles quiver beneath her fragile skin that does not break, not yet, not until he wills it. Blood flows close to the surface yearning to be spilled. Her little baby hairs all stand on end.

“Raphael,” the mouse whispers. There is the gentle, ominous chime of a grandfather clock from somewhere.

“Beloved,” the devil croons. Smiles. Reaches between her legs to rub two fingers through her mons. She gasps, hips jerking when he nudges her swollen clit, but all he’s looking for is to coat himself in her warm slick. “A meal as fine as this should be savoured.” He holds those wet fingers up to her lips. “Open.”

The taste of her cunt is tart, earthy. Underneath it is purely him: cherries, smoke and magic. Reverently she sucks his digits clean. Bites them, thrilled by his quiet groan, the expanding of his pupils, the swish of his tail. Violence is a devil’s love language, after all. When he frees his fingers from the moist prison of her mouth, her teeth catch on his knuckles. He leaves twin trails of spit down her chin and throat as he lazily lets his huge paw rest between her breasts. She grows breathless with anticipation.

He doesn’t need a blade. The singular claw that earlier teased her with terrible promise is enough. He draws a division from the hollow of her clavicle to the end of her sternum, a division of red that blooms and blossoms into an incision, splitting skin and fat and muscle tissue like bursting fruit. She arches up off the table where he had her present herself, as all choice cuts should. The noise she releases is guttural, both agony and ecstasy. His first slice is always the deepest.

“Such beautiful sounds you make,” the devil purrs, voice tight. “Sweeter than all the music of the Hells. Let me hear more.”

Of course she obliges. Screams and whimpers and sobs even as her hands help him widen the wound further, pulling skin and meat slippery with gushing blood apart from the stained ivory of her ribs. It’s pain indescribable and pleasure inexplicable. The exposing of her true and tender self to the man who she wants to tear her apart. What he seeks, what she yearns to offer him, is protected behind a cage of bone. If he gave her a hammer, she would smash it open herself.

“Oh, my sweet pet. My darling little mouse,” the devil growls. His composure unravels the more she suffers. He is a monster below his veneer of charm and decorum, a monster excited and aroused. “You are exquisite.”

“Raphael…!” The mouse weeps.

He answers her call. Strokes her face, smearing it with crimson. His fine clothes splattered with blood. His hard cock strains in his trousers. He breathes through his mouth, fangs shining, pupils so large his eyes are abysses sunk into his deep sockets.

“Just a little more,” the devil promises.

Together they pry away her ribs, snapping them like dry twigs, and at last she can watch him reach into her chest, reach into her very being, and wrench out the thing that will always belong to him. Her heart beats loud and fast, torn valves spurting bright red arterial blood everywhere, as he holds it in his palm like a treasured jewel. Stares with insidious desire. She feels nothing but depraved satisfaction.

“Eat it,” the mouse chokes. “It’s for you. It’s yours.”

He feasts. Sinks his teeth into her heart as easy as a man eating an overripe peach. Rips pieces of rubbery muscle apart and swallows them whole. Pieces of her sliding down his gullet. All of the twisted, consuming emotions he makes her feel, the dark things about herself she could never escape – everything she is, was, and ever will be, contained in that bloody mass, and he is devouring it. Such sick rapture, to be destroyed by someone who wants you that much. Now she’ll be a part of him forever.

[sky-kiss]

It's shahs1221 from the shadow realm... May it be possible to ask for Tav taking care of Raphael after he's expended from Ascended Fiend form? It could be anything from cleaning up blood and viscera or smooching and touching him or both. Anything involving our raggedy boy.

A/N: Ah, yes, Bloodphael my beloved.

____________________

Raphael x F!Tav: Ascended

_____________________

Raphael collapses in a pile of blood and viscera. His ascended form vanishes in an explosion of gore, flesh sloughing from the cambion's form. Iron clings to the air, superheated. Raphael struggles to stabilize himself, claws scraping across the flagstones. Blood-slick, he struggles to keep himself upright. 

Tav crosses the pavilion carefully. These moments between beast and man are convoluted at best, his mind struggling to parse the disparate sensations. She crouches on his left (outside his range of vision). She reaches out, stroking fingers through his slicked-back hair. 

Oh, the pretender-king. The devil-kin's words flit through Tav's head as she gathers him to her chest, listening to his ragged breaths. It takes hours for him to stabilize, superheated. Raphael's body struggles to reach equilibrium. 

"Can you stand?" she mumbles, a touch clumsy in Infernal. Raphael groans, the closest he can speak in such a condition. He's far too tall to manage effectively, too heavy; Tav slings his arm around her shoulder. It takes all the energy left in her to get him to his feet. The two struggle together back to the baths. Raphael's head lolls forward, chin pressed to his chest. 

Tav's free hand reaches across her body, pressing flat against his bare abdomen. The nudity barely registers. It's an afterthought in response to the carnage and his fluid mental state. Everything is reduced to its basest form: safeguard, help, protect. All that matters and will ever matter is getting him to the pools. 

She helps him into the near-boiling water, cooing when he stiffens, protests, and groans. Tav knows the best way to distract him: lips on his, drawing him into a gentle kiss, breathing affirmations against his lips as she walks him back to the furthest seat. The water stains crimson as she flicks on the taps. 

His claws bite at her skin, looking for stability, hungry for comfort. Raphael grumbles against her lips, tail lashing out to curl around her forearm. The pronged tip threatens to break the skin. 

Tav forces him down into the water. 

Raphael is a mess, always is after his transformations. Tav hums, skirting out from under his hands as he attempts to drag her into his lap. She knows what will happen if she gives in: animal instinct, rutting in the pool until he inevitably returns to himself. The Hero of Baldur's Gate leads his hands back into the water and dips a rag in the pool. Tav settles herself across his lap, first dragging the cloth across his chest. It's a right of gore. More importantly, his lovely face is dotted with streams of blood. She scrubs each away. Raphael stares at her blankly, gold eyes blazing in the candlelight. 

"You're alright," she mumbles, kissing his chin. Raphael's arm comes around her waist, his left hand digging into her upper thigh. The claws bite but never break the skin. "Tell me you're alright." 

Raphael licks along the seam of her lips, humming. He's still unfocused, still clinging, touching, grumbling. It'll be hours until he's right. 

That's fine. It's fine. Tav intends to be there. 

[cambion-companion]

"Hold Monster"

Based on this amazing post and artwork. I couldn't help but write something for our beloved INT 8 Tav from 1st POV since that's what I feel most comfortable writing.

Raphael x reader!Tav | Tav thinks the hold monster spell works in a very different way

You certainly hadn't intended to trip and fall into the portal, landing face-first on the polished marble floor of Raphael's entryway.

Your presence had been noticed immediately by Raphael who, upon recognizing you, wore a rather aggrieved expression. He set down his quill carefully and rose to full towering height, a slight twist of bemusement curling his lips. "Here I assumed you could go an hour without indulging in foolishness." He strode toward you and gripped you by the scruff like a wayward kitten. "You just caused me to lose a bet with Korilla."

"I really don't know how this happened!" You protested against his grasp as he dragged you back towards the portal. "I would've knocked if you had a door!"

Raphael released you with a slight push, his wings flexing as he glowered down at you. "Innocent or not, a trespass will be received as such."

"Ah! Raphael, it was an accident!" You began to panic as his eyes glowed a bright gold and flames began to dance upon the tips of his fingers. "Oh, not again." You groaned, wracking your brains for something to counter his retribution."

You withdrew a small amount of silver from your pocket and shrieked. "I cast hold monster!!" Then charged at the cambion head-on.

So surprised was he by your yell and sudden movement, Raphael couldn't react in time before you leapt upon him. You wrapped your arms and legs around his torso and hips, clinging to him like a rabid spider monkey.

The force with which you jumped him caught both of you off guard and Raphael toppled to the floor, his wings failing to catch his weight in time. You felt his grip pierce your sides as he stared up at you in utter shock for a moment. The spell had worked, it seemed.

You panted. "I don't want my bottom singed again like last time. That wasn't very nice."

Raphael grimaced, his face sharpening again as his surprise subsided. Emotions warred across his features. "You are a most confounding creature. If I believed you at all capable of rational thought, you'd be a pile of ash this very moment. Now...get off."

"Sorry, I can't." You shook your head sorrowfully. "The spell lasts a minute."

Raphael growled low in his throat, his wings stretching as he slowly got to his feet. You still clung to him, holding him tightly as you could.

With great care and powerful restraint, Raphael removed you from his person limb by limb.

"Wow, you're strong." You said with awe, panting a little from the exertion. Seeing the look on his face you backed slowly towards the portal. "Okay, I can see you're busy. I'll be going now."

"I should think so." Sparks of hellfire danced between Raphael's fingertips as he looked at you, his expression much like one who is considering how best to skin a deer.

Once you'd disappeared back to the material plane, Raphael grunted and looked around his immaculate manor. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath of the infernal air. "For the crown."

[kawareo]

Gotta shower, eat, and then draw Tav Raphael for the next fourteen hours life is good

[itsafreetrialofdeath]

“You’re enjoying this aren’t you”

[dodorimo]

WIP Wednesday

Theater director!Raphael x Tav

He's supposed to be kinda creepy here, so yeah, this is a warning.

· · ──────  ❊  ────── · ·

It is a disaster, a travesty.

He wonders. When Tacitus beheld the charred remains of his beloved Rome, did he feel a similar way?

Chorus girls look to each other for guidance while lead actors traipse over the stage, painfully off-key. He has seen high school productions with more verve than this one.

That he has to share a room with such insipid talent. It is truly heartbreaking.

With a weary sigh, his eyes survey the stage for the weak link, and that’s where he finds her. A girl in the back row, looking a little lost and scared out of her mind.

“Dear God, who does casting these days?” he laments to no one in particular, crossing his legs on the leather seat.

“You do, sir.”

Raphael turns to look at the man beside him, taking in his ill-fitting suit and old-fashioned glasses. Poor fellow. He has neither the knack nor the grip for the job. And the syndicate thought sending this boy would keep him on his toes?

“Oh, I didn’t audition this one or I’d remember her.” There’s a pause while he mulls over his thoughts. “Tell me, Jameson,” he says and ignores when the other man voices a correction. “Why is she here?”

“The girl has promise,” comes the curt response. “She was highly recommended.”

The vague answer does nothing to placate his quickly dampening mood. “Recommended by who? Her parents? Her elementary teacher, perhaps?”

A few cleaning women choose this moment to walk past their seats, prompting the man to lower his voice. “The Royal, sir.”

Raphael reclines back in his seat. There we have it.

What these newcomers fail to understand is that admission to a fancy college isn’t nearly enough accolades for his standards. He didn’t build his reputation by bowing down to paper-pushers and sycophants. In this theater, he dictates the rules. In this theater, he is king.

With a wave of his hand and a few scathing words, he orders the session to be dismissed, much to the relief of those present.

“May I suggest a break instead?”

“You did well today, Johnson. You may take the rest of the day off,” he replies, his tone final.

The man opens his mouth to protest, but turns to leave the room instead. The buzz of conversation slowly dwindles as cast and crew head backstage. They turn off the lights on their way out, leaving the theater in semi-penumbra.

Despite his predisposition for pomp and extravagance, Raphael always thought he worked better on a smaller stage.

“Not you.” He points to the girl tailgating the group. “I’d like to have a word.”

The girl stops in her tracks, a thousand emotions flashing across her face, before settling on fear.

While he waits for her to come around, he pulls two chairs and rearranges them facing each other in the middle of the stage, right below where the headlights shine brightest. The girl moves to sit on one of the chairs, shaking like a foal standing on its hind legs for the first time.

“Fear not. This will only take a moment,” he says, his smile deceptively warm—a skill honed after many years in the business.

She is a pretty little thing, this new choir girl. But then, again, most choir girls are. If her theater career falls to pieces, he can imagine a profession or two where she would excel at. 

“What do you say we start from the beginning of act two?” he suggests, tone amicable as to not alarm her further.

The girl scrambles to flip through the pages of the script, her eyes skimming over the words in rapid succession.

This won’t do. An easier question, then.

“What is your name, dear?”

“River, sir. My name is River.”

“My man told me you came from the capital. Do you like it there?”

“I like it very much, yes.” The small talk seems to calm her enough to allow her to find the right page. What she finds there, however, does not please her in the slightest.

“Sir, this is a scene for two…” she trails off, eyes fearful.

“Make the best of it. Improvise. I can play the part of your would-be lover if you wish.” The abrasive approach isn’t to his liking. Unfortunately for this girl, he is short on patience.

If he had any hope that under the veneer of the ingénue might hide a true thespian spirit, it vanishes the moment she utters the first line.

He stands up and paces aimlessly around the stage. The girl stares at him, dumbfounded.

“You have been on the run. This man, this stranger, offers you solace and a roof above your head. He is charming and not too hard on the eyes. You feel indebted to him. You’re young, naive and you’ve never been properly courted.”

The deviation from the script wouldn’t pose an issue. He is the author, after all, and the play, a successful piece from his earlier career. “Updated” for modern audiences. The word alone is enough to make him grit his teeth. None of his plays needed “updating”. Younger audiences can take their grievances back to their food-stained couches. They had no respect for the classics.

His little summary provokes the intended reaction. He sees the pieces falling into place in her mind.

“Harlequin…” she tries again, this time with more passion. And is that the hint of tears he sees in her eyes? “I've never met anyone like you. If only I could repay you in kind.”

“Good, good… much better.” He returns to his seat.

“Say the word and my body will be yours.” She leans forward, exposing just enough of her cleavage for his eager eyes. It’s a bold move, but not unwelcome. His fingers twitch on his lap. This little dove may surprise him still.

Raphael recites the words that have become second nature to him. “Columbina. I’d rather you not return to your old ways. If you choose to lie with me, it must be of your own free will.” If his voice sounded more condescending than the play requires, it’s just an act of improvisation on his part.

He points to the script in her hand. It’s the cue for her musical number.

If the girl clearly struggled with the finer nuances of the text before, here she needs no assistance. Hers is a voice of singular beauty, the likes of which emerge once in a generation. He suddenly understood why James was so hellbent on bringing her here. It wasn’t just the charming Harlequin who was finding himself enthralled.

When it’s done, he takes off his glasses without saying a word and puts them carefully in his pocket.

“Oh dear, this is…” Beautiful, stupendous, awe-inspiring, his mind supplies. “A little crude, if you don’t mind my directness.”

The girl looks positively devastated, her lips quivering as if about to cry.

“But even the roughest of rocks can be polished into a beautiful piece of jewelry. Isn’t this what they say? Meet me at my office after tomorrow’s rehearsal. I expect you to be well acquainted with the text by then.”

“Thank you, sir. I won’t disappoint you.”

“Call me Raphael.”

“Raphael…” Her voice rings like angelic bells to his ears. “Until tomorrow.”

[myers-meadow]

Foolish Gratitude (Rolan x Tav)

Pairing: Rolan x Tav

Summary: After you saved Rolan from the shadow people, his mood worsens. It's up to you to make him feel better. AKA Rolan hatefucks you <3

Warnings: smut, 18 +, dub-con, penetration, (mild) spanking, degrading language, fem Tav (she/her and vulva used), submissive tav, no aftercare shown in the fic, no discussion of kinks or consent, Tav is into it though ^^.

Word count: 1767

This is my first ever foray into writing Rolan 💞✨, please be nice. Reblogs and comments are very appreciated (please feed my brainrot i beg). Proofread by the very kind @gauntermetaverse - thank you! Divider by saradika-graphics.

Rolan is taking his loss hard. After that drunk night, he turns mean - doubly so after you save him from the darkness the next day.

The Last Light Inn is pleasant tonight. There's some gossip, some small hopes and dreams shared at a table, and some tears. At least there is still warm soup, you think to yourself as you sit down at a small table with a bowl full. It warms you in just the way you need it to. The rest of your companions are around, resting, playing board games, reading. Lae'zel is armwrestling whomever dares. Gale is talking to Halsin about the nature of the shadow curse. A quiet evening. Your bowl is empty, and you stand to return it to the bar.

"There we have her; our beloved hero," It could've been Raphael if it wasn't for the cruel sarcasm dripping from his every word. Rolan. "Come to the inn to gloat? To rub it into my face how much better you are?"

He's not even that drunk, but his anger is something fierce. In the past, you were understanding, kind. The man has been going through a lot. But now... Even you are losing patience in the face of his barbed words.

"Rolan," You start, your tone soft, not wanting this to escalate. "I know you're-"

He cuts you off. "No, you don't know. But I have something better in mind."

He grabs you by the fabric over your shoulder - you're in your camp clothes, no armour to protect you here - and drags you past the bar. All the while, he's hissing things at you like a cat who had her pride hurt.

To avoid escalation, you follow him willingly. Then, the door of a small food supply closet shuts and the lock clicks shut. The key clatters against the ground as Rolan drops it over his shoulder.

"A hero who doesn't know her place, that won't do..." He muses as he stands over you. A cruel smile licks at the corners of his mouth. "How fortunate I've always been a good teacher."

His tone is startling. He doesn't even seem drunk. "Rolan, that’s-" 

He clamps a hand over your mouth. He's so close that you feel his breath on your cheek as he turns your head to the side. He breathes deep. "You think you can solve everything." The grip on your cheeks is hard enough to make you feel he's gonna leave a bruise.

Your muffled sounds go ignored. Rolan chuckles, and it sends a weird tingling sensation through your lower belly.

"You're gonna have to be quiet for this lesson," He says, and with a dizzying movement, he turns you to face the wall. A warm hand gropes at your ass, through the thin fabric of that cute skirt you found in a chest at Sharess' Caress. His nails dig in. How good it feels, startles you. None too gently, he bends you over - still keeping his hand over your mouth.

"You're nothing more than any other adventurer in this inn. Yet you think you're owed all this gratitude, all this praise..." His voice curls meanly at the end. "You need to learn. To really feel where you belong." 

In his groping, he moves your skirt up and tucks in the waistband so it stays. The first slap, hard, short, without warning, has you twist against his hold, and with a muffled shout to match.

Rolan tuts. "Now, hero, is that how you take a little spanking? I would've thought you could take more. This is a disappointment, really."

The second slap lands on your other asscheek, just as stinging as the first. The third deepens the sensation. You don't struggle out of his hold, instead, you lean into it. After the fourth, he soothes your sore bum with strokes of his hand. That's far from the end, though. A fifth, a sixth, the heat increases, the stinging takes longer to leave after each slap. Seventh, eight, and you lose count. His speed increases, and your shouts of pain turn to whimpers as he tires you out.

He seems barely out of breath as he speaks again. "And that is the hero against the Absolute. Pathetic. Look at you. Whimpering after just a few meager slaps." Another sharp one lands, your whiny moan of pain punctuating his words. You're not sure you're hearing it right through the ringing in your ear, but it almost sounds like he moaned.

His hand lets go of your face, instead he pushes two fingers in your mouth. "If you can barely take a spanking, I'm not sure how you'll take this, but you owe me more than some pain."

The nails dig into your tongue, but you wet his fingers a bit too eagerly. "You want to help others, right? To serve them. You'll call me 'master', understood?"

You nod, but it's not enough. He jerks your head to the side by the fingers now hooked in your cheek.

"Yes," you manage to get out.

"Yes, what?" he grits his teeth. Another slap on your ass that feels like it's on fire.

"Yes, master." After you said it, you sigh in something close to relief that comes from the depths of your chest.

"Good. Finally you're beginning to understand." He lets go of your face fully, leaving you to feel cold without his touch. He tugs at the straps of your underwear, and the sound of fabric shifting emphasises the tension in your body. There was no way Rolan could've known your submissive streak, he really just needs to get all this pent up frustration out - somehow his wordless confidence and the lack of care for whether you enjoy it or not turns you on more. It's a primal feeling, that only very few people can unlock from within you. Exhilarating.

Something nudges between your legs, and with a start, you realise it's his cock. Even though you'd hoped this is where it was headed, had pined for him night after night, experiencing the real thing was so much more raw and real than you ever envisioned. He presses inside with little care for your comfort. It surprises you how smooth it goes in, even with you already dripping wet, it's still quite the stretch. His groan of pleasure is the most sinful thing you've ever heard.

His lips are at your ear, his tone changed completely to before. "Aren't you just good and wet for me? Filthy little slut."

Finally, his cock hits home somewhere deep inside, and the drag as he moves out is even better. "Gods, I needed this."

You can tell how much he needed this by how he wraps his arms around you, pressing your back against his chest. His horn bumps into your cheek, as he bites your bare shoulder. As slow as he went before, he seems to lose all control and sets a messy pace, slipping out and forcing himself back in again and again. The sounds of your slick and skin slapping skin are disgusting.

"Perhaps you have some redeeming qualities yet," he says, his playful tone returning as he relaxes. His grip around your torso is crushingly tight and you try to reach down to touch your clit, whining as he won't let you. "Na-ah, your first lesson isn't even done yet, you naughty girl."

Rolan fucks you roughly, his horn keeps bumping into you but neither of you mind. Every time he thrusts in, it draws attention to your sore ass, its small edge of pain only heightens the pleasure. His groans and moans are delicious. You angle your hips to make him hit deeper and he delivers, with a bruising pace. 

“Who knew the hero would be such a good little slut? Fuck, you feel amazing.”

“Rolan,” you moan, pressing your lips against his cheek. 

As much as you imagined fucking him as intense, your fantasies are nothing compared to the real thing. You moan something high-pitched as he hits just right, dragging his tip back and forth against the most sensitive parts of you. The feeling builds quickly, even without being able to touch yourself, and your breath is catching as the pleasure of being filled transcends all. 

His thrusts stutter, and although it takes great effort, he pulls out, and whirls you around. Surprised, but altogether too overwhelmed to resist him. He tugs you down to your knees. Your core throbs, yearning for him, but it’s your lips that now enjoy the taste of him. He’s salty, and you taste your own wetness on his length as he pushes himself into your mouth. When you gag, he grabs a fistful of hair, and prevents you from leaning away. No choice but to take all of him as he pumps himself in and out. Drool drips from the corners of your mouth as you try your best to please him. His groans are delightfully filthy, heavy with all his pent up emotion. Your own desire makes you light-headed. As soon as your hand darts down to your core, Rolan slaps them away. 

“What did I say? No touching.” He’s just as stern as a school teacher. Your core throbs around nothing. He groans as he makes you gag, “The others should see you now, on your knees, doing so well to please your superior.”

His grip on your hair tightens to something uncomfortable. “This just shows what can become of the high and mighty hero - ah, fuck - who amounts to nothing good without proper guidance.”

His thrusts grow sloppy, yet deep, so deep, fuck you need him inside of you so bad - he moans and pulls out. Ropes of cum land on your face, some on your tongue, or across your chest. You twitch as several flecks get in your lashes. Rolan looks so proud, smiling down on you like this, so pleased. A sense of satisfaction swells in your chest, even as you still tingle with ghosts of his touch, longing to be sated. 

Rolan bites his lip. “Such a good hero, really willing to go the extra mile for those in need…” He considers you for a moment, tracing a finger over your face. “I’m sure this is the best reward you’ve ever gotten, dear hero.” 

You’re not sure whether the curl of his lip is playful or contemptuous. After collecting enough cum on his finger, he presses it to your lips, for you to clean off for him. 

Despite, or because, of his mean expression, you say just what he wants you to say: “Thank you, master.”

[sassyandsodone]

More posts about Raphael! My most beloved of bastards!! (feat my Tav: Xalli)