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[evdelacyimagines]

Sweetening the Deal (Ch 4)

Description: Raphael brings you to the Moonshae Isles and continues to wear down your resolve. You fail miserably at not fantasizing about him, but you can't ignore the dark reality of his nature for long...

Rating: M, no smut yet (cries in slow burn) but suggestive

Pairing: Raphael x Fem!Reader

Tags/Warnings: beach date, Raphael wearing white, pining, slow burn, violence, mild blood, dissociation mention, spoiler/tw: animal death (dw it's not the cat!)

Wordcount: ~5k

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 | Read on AO3 or under cut ♥

For the vibes in the first half if you're into music x fic: Romantic Bossa Nova on YT

A/N: Chapter 4 of “fuck it I’ll do it myself” and pretending I know anything about DnD lore. Thank you for joining me on the ride, I hope it’s fun!

4: Sloth & Wrath

Black noise and acrid air flood your senses momentarily before waning into the soothing indications of a beach.

The air tastes salty and cool, and rushing water swells and fades in volume against your ears.

When you open your eyes, the Moonshae Isles greet you. You recognize the highly sought-after vacation destination from its soft pink sand and lush islands scattered across the sea horizon. The sky is tinted a calm shade of cerulean while the ocean stretches out beneath with humbling brilliance.

The tide is some distance away, but close enough to hear clearly. Water rolls gently on the pastel pebbled shore, tickling your ears with sprinkling sounds as the rocks tumble back and forth against each other.

You look down to realize your attire has changed – from heavily worn and mildly stained camp clothes, to soft and flattering white linens that hang loosely on your body. Raphael wears a similar sort of outfit, casual but classy, a white tunic and matching long-fitted pants.

Your eyelids rise a bit at his exposed neck and forearms. Little things like this… he seems to become more human by the hour.

There’s a well-stocked bar nearby – Thank the gods, you think to yourself, unsure whether the relief is spurred by hunger or the desperate need for a stiff drink to dull the nerves.

Flower baskets hang suspended from the bar’s pergola ceiling. Tropical flower vines weave around every support beam, sprouting voluptuous blooms of peaches and yellows. Miniature oil lamps arrange neatly along the sandstone countertop, and a tower of whimsical bottles filled with exotic liquors sits just beyond reach.

A surly barman folds napkins and hums to himself quietly. When he notices you, he greets you both with a wide grin.

“Good sir! A pleasure to see you again,” he predominantly addresses Raphael, but directs a little nod to you as well.

You order together – an unfiltered rice wine, a double shot of rum, and plenty of tapas. The bartender serves your drinks promptly and asks you wait at one of the adjacent seating areas for the food to arrive.

You sip your drink twice – creamy and mild almost like milk and honey. It makes the wine back at camp seem like musty fruit leather. You make mental note to pace yourself; it’s been ages since you had a drink of this quality.

Raphael takes the lead, opting to sit at a pair of longue chairs a bit closer to the ocean shore.

“A toast,” Raphael offers his glass after you’ve both settled into your chairs, “To the soon-to-be hero of Baldur’s Gate.”

“I appreciate your confidence,” you say warily after a beat. Your eyes search his own curiously as you clink glasses, “Cheers.” A third sip.

“Of course. I wasn’t lying when I said you’d impressed me. Most would have shriveled up to die on that beach of the Sword Coast, but you,” his eyes hold yours, “You kept hope. And assembled an impressive party of heroes no less.”

He’s laying the flattery on thick, but you can’t help but feel a little pride from his words. You allow yourself to bask in the praise, just a little.

“Well, I can’t take all the credit, but we’ve come quite far, haven’t we?” You smile a bit at the memory of your companions’ early days. It feels like only yesterday and ten years ago at the same time.

You can’t help but consider the Emperor’s role in your survival as well. The thought pulls uncomfortably tight on your guilty center.

“And here I meant to say you’re the only reason any of them made it this far,” Raphael answers.

“Ha!” you can’t help but laugh to deflect, “I’d have been dead a long time ago if it weren’t for Shadowheart. And all of them, really.”

“Take the compliment my dear,” he says with promise. It surprises you to see there isn’t a trace of teasing or malintent his eyes. He’s being sincere, but not going out of his way to convince you.

You consider pressing further, but the waiter brings your food and interrupts the small moment. He sets two trays of luxurious meats, cheeses, and a variety of hors d'oeuvres on the small table between your chairs.

“Thank you so much,” you regard the waiter eagerly, barely waiting for the plates to hit the table before shoveling a shrimp dumpling into your mouth. An ‘mmmm’ of relief can’t help but escape your lips, and you can hardly be bothered to care.

To your surprise, Raphael’s hand reaches out to pluck a cluster of red grapes from one of the platters. You watch the fruit roll and give between the pressure of his fingers and disappear behind his lips. His jaw flexes handsomely while he chews.

Devils didn’t need to eat, from what you could recall of their history and lore. But perhaps his human half still derived some pleasure from the pastime. You find it ironic that he spoke so much of hunger in the archive when he may not even feel the sensation in the literal sense.

“Do you enjoy mortals’ food often?” you ask curiously.

“Occasionally,” he replies, “Celebrating a new deal with dinner and cocktails isn’t uncommon in my line of work. And breaking bread does encourage mortalkind to be more… pliable. I’d be a fool not to use it to my advantage.”

Of course it’s merely a strategy.

“You won’t simply wine and dine me into striking a deal with you, Raphael,” you pop another hors d'oeuvre into your mouth indignantly and lean back into the lounge chair, satisfied with yourself.

“Won’t I?” he peers coyly at you through his next sip of rum. A familiar look, one that can’t be interpreted as anything less than flirting.

You can’t help but notice how closely the toasted brown liquor resembles his chestnut hair and eyes as he brings the glass to his mouth. This, and the provocative pitch of those two words nearly sends you spiraling out of your chair.

This has been turning out to feel even more like a date than anticipated.  

“Do you think so little of me?” you ask in return, then balk at the realization you’ve slipped into what almost feels like playful banter.

“Quite the opposite. Did all my flattery earlier fall on deaf ears?”

It didn’t. But you wouldn’t mind hearing more.

“There are very few clients I’d clear my schedule for. Let alone ones I’d ‘wine and dine’ in the Moonshae Isles rather than my own, perfectly-suited estate,” he feigns slightly hurt feelings with perfectly measured charisma and convincing.

It’s a predictable counter to your concern, but maybe there’s some truth to it.

Underneath all his taunting, he clearly has a keen interest in you – Another sip of sake.

What’s even more interesting is that you’ve felt no serious inclination to leave his side so far today – not when he dragged you through the Archive, not when the prospect of a couple’s painting was rudely sprung on you…

Not even when that intrusive sensation from earlier roved over your skin you while you sat flush beside his warm body. Something you’ll have to reflect on later, since you can’t afford to be distracted in that way right now.

All this to say, that even amidst the twisted chaos that threatens Baldur’s Gate and the broader Faerun today, you still find this is where you’d like to be.

“I’ll admit this has been… nice… so far,” you hesitate to part with the compliment. “But, surely you can understand why I’d be wary of dealing with a ‘devil like you,’ as you once put it.”

“Fair enough. I can appreciate a cautious client,” he pauses to swallow more rum before locking unflinching eyes with you again, “I also appreciate you memorializing your first time in Cormyr with a devil like myself.”

You can’t help but smile, almost with teeth now, “Who am I not to support the arts?”

When you go to sip your drink, it startles you to feel more air than liquid hit your tongue. The potion’s already run dry.

Fuck. Already?

Awareness of the warmth in your belly and a soft buzzing in your cheeks comes over you. You still have your wits about you, just sufficiently loosened. It’s not so bad, though you’d hoped to ease into this state much more slowly and intentionally while you were in present company.

A wave of silence settles between you. Now that your drink is gone and your belly is full, it’s a bit hard to relax.

You curse yourself for having been so meek in his presence thus far. Intimidated into submission by his charms. This was supposed to be a business venture after all, yet you’ve hardly gotten to the meat of the issue…

Raphael notices your tension and encourages you to rest. Restore.

“I’m not used to slowing down this much. I’m not sure I like it,” you admit.

“Do you desire entertainment?”

“I wouldn’t object…” you answer slowly to hide eager curiosity.

A small stack of books materializes above his lap.

He hands them to you. For the first time today, he doesn’t use magic to distance himself from the act of giving you something. Your fingertips barely brush his own in the exchange, but the contact radiates all the way up your elbow.

The book titles include: The Moonshae Isles: Native Wildlife & History, Nine Plays of the Hells, A Pleasurable Deal, and Collected Poems of Fruit and Fervor.

It’s surprisingly considerate of him, and you don’t want to refuse the kindness, but the books hardly seem all that interesting when a hellish enigma sits beside you. He senses your hesitation.

“Is none of it to your taste?” he asks after a moment.

“No it’s – these are great, actually. But, I suppose I’m more interested in…”

You.

Gods, don’t say that.

A miraculous thought finds you just in time.

“…perhaps the former glory of Netheril, before it fell from the sky,” you finish slowly. It was both interesting and a relevant topic. Maybe it would better contextualize the scale of power the crown of Karsus was capable of, and further still, give you some insight into Raphael’s past.

He raises an eyebrow, “Quite the arduous topic to entertain oneself with at the beach.”

“This is a business venture, is it not?” your tone means to challenge him a bit.

His head tilts a fraction to the side, “I have some texts on Netheril as well. But I can also regale you with the details of my memory... If you have a preference between the two.”

He teases the true intent of your question out effortlessly. As if to say, ‘Admit it.’

It’s obviously, the option that promises more velvet words from his experienced tongue.

“Your memory, if you don’t mind,” you relent, “I want to know your experience.”

He’s pleased with this answer.

“Picture sheer utopia,” his hand drags across the air just above eye level. “Great cities suspended in the sky – architecture unmatched in its grandeur and intricacies – the streets bustling with an abundance of brilliant mages and scholars.

“The Great Age of Humanity, as we’ve come to know it, marked by countless magical experiments and advancements. Soon, magic powered nearly everything in Netheril's cities, including the boundless weave that held their floating structures suspended.

“The Netherese created extraordinary luxuries and spectacles in all aspects of their lives. They could manipulate the weather, so the sky planes brimmed with natural resources and prosperous crops. They automated most of the mundane undertakings of day-to-day life so they could seize more personal freedom. They could even cure all manner of diseases and unpleasant maladies with their powers; illness was eradicated and no one was made to suffer through life with an impairment.

“The air smelled of sweetgrass and potential – ” his voice, airy with reminiscence up to this point, begins to morph into sadistic excitement, “– only to be swallowed by the scent of scorched earth and profound tragedy when Karsus brought it all to ruin.”

You shudder inwardly a bit at the dark giddiness in his voice as he describes the untimely end of such a beautiful domain.

“I suppose you and many other devils feasted that day,” you state more than ask.

“Quite enthusiastically – but it wasn’t the feast of souls alone that moved me that day, it was the devastatingly catastrophic nature of it. To see how fragile such a seemingly unshakeable kingdom was, how quickly it was reduced to rubble in the face of such fearsome power.”

“Gale told me the weave was gone ‘for a spell’ after that day,” you chime in, trying to steer the conversation toward a less morbid tone.

“Yes, after the last bits of rubble lay still, it was as if silence had been cast across the entire realm. But things returned to normal after some time.”

“Did you enjoy spending time in the sky cities before they fell?”

“Hm. As much as a devil can enjoy such a tediously quaint slice of the mortal realm, I suppose,” He seems dismissive of the thought.

A temptation to play him at his own game strikes you – Flirt. Flatter. Disarm.

“You’re telling me that someone of your status and exceptional tastes didn’t indulge themselves in some of the luxuries such advanced cities like that must have offered?”

His lips finally curl into a generous smile.

“Perhaps a bit, but few are willing to deal with a devil when they live so close to heaven. Usually, I was spending more time on the lower grounds helping mortals make the ascent. However, there was time…”

Jackpot.

“…A client whom I dealt with for some time in the sky cities. When I wasn’t checking up on her progress, I was inhaling honied tobacco, unwinding in mystic hot springs, drinking fine wine in the bistros… enjoying the most luxuriant brothels,” his words curl suggestively around the last phrase.

Your mask almost slips at the image, but you hold composure and press him further.

“That does sound very nice. Though I wonder what you had to check in on her for?” it feels uncomfortable to pry, but you’re curious.

“Contractor-client confidentiality, my dear, please,” he feigns offense comedically before slipping back into flattery, “But for you, I suppose I can just exclude the damning details…”

His expression looks amused by memory as recants it -

“She wanted to grow orange trees. But the archmage in power over her district refused to change the weather patterns to accommodate the fruit. I offered to relieve him of his position and ensure his replacement would use their powers to grow the trees for her.”

“…Orange trees?” you ask with unrestrained confusion.

“Hm?”

“It just seems a little… extreme. In exchange for her soul?”

“Hers and the stubborn archmage’s,” he corrects. “But I seem to recall it having something to do with how the trees reminded her of her dearly departed husband. Killed before he could join her to live in the sky cities. As powerful as Netherese magic was, it still couldn’t resurrect the dead. Some mortals make do with strange things.”  

How… sympathetic.

You resist speaking the words aloud.

Another wave of friendly silence eventually settles between you again. Propmting you flip through the stack of books still resting in your lap – finding yourself mildly curious about the one called: Collected Poems of Fruit and Fervor.

You turn to a random page and read a small piece to yourself silently:

--

Drown with Me:

Snowflakes melt against my tongue

Morning dew melds to the flower’s petal

Salt coats your skin and I long to taste the ocean

Fruit pressed against my lips

An apple’s nectar dripping down my chin

Your candle flickers against my fingers

Bright shadows swallow my eyes

The sun and moon converge to eclipse

The ocean moves, and you and I are engulfed

Soaked in tides of rapture

--

You close the book quickly, quelling the ripple of excitement the few words have already managed to stir up.

You glance subtly at Raphael through the corner of your eye, letting your vision travel down his neck to the V in his shirt collar that reveals a bit of his chest. Sparse brown hair grows thicker and darker the further south your eyes fall, and his toasted caramel skin contrasts beautifully next to the ivory apparel.

Your eyes land on his closest forearm, dismayed to notice a couple of prominent veins curving around the muscle underneath.

Is this really the same man you sat pressed against for that painting in the garden? Flank to flank, with his arm practically cradling you into his shoulder?

You find yourself wishing you could touch him again. To know he’s tangible and real underneath…

Gods above.

Whatever sieve your mind normally has to filter and dismiss these ideas from attention is nowhere to be found. It’s impossible not to lean a little further into them, to let your mind frolic willfully into dangerous territory.

“If you’re still feeling tense,” Raphael interrupts your little turmoil, “You can arrange to have a massage or other spa service while here. You need simply speak with the barman.”

Your eyes can’t help but sparkle, “Really?”

“Really,” he smiles. “We have plenty of time. Indulge yourself.”

~

You take him up on the offer and speak with the bartender to arrange a massage. A member of the spa’s clientele collects you from the bar, leading you to a more private pergola some ways up a hill and sheltered by tall grasses and other foliage. ‘Salus per Aquam’ is carved into the wooden sign atop the structure.

Two plush massage beds with white sheets sit in the center of the space, granting an uncomfortable amount of power to a vaguely imagined scenario of Raphael joining you.

The massage therapist gives you a quick consultation before leaving you alone to undress to your comfort and get settled under the sheets. They return after some time and soon begin to work oil into your neck and shoulders, instantly pulling apart tight bunches in your muscles. They vary their pressure consciously – sinking the heels of their palms deeply into the thickest knots and switching to rub with firm fingertips wherever the bone sits just beneath the skin.

It's the first time in weeks you realize just how stiff and ragged of shape you’ve been in. The overburdened state was something you’d grown desensitized to. The release reveals just how badly your joints and muscles have ached, carrying pain from all the crouching, fighting, stabbing, and walking. Oh, the walking.

The muscle release encourages your mind to loosen too, and you find yourself picturing Raphael’s hands on your back more than once.

You repress the thought, but it’s only followed by other insane curiosities, like what he uses to make his hair look so full and silky. What kind of touch does he prefer? Would he ever even lie on a table like this? With the tender muscles of his back exposed to a stranger? Exposed to you?

Would his cambion form’s chest and shoulders look just like that sinful glamoured incubus? Surely his hands and mouth would feel the same on your skin at least…

You stifle the thoughts and the memory of incubus spittle beading up on your tongue again. Think about this much longer and there’s a chance you’ll leave this massage more pent up than before…

When your session ends, the therapist uses hot damp towels to wipe excess oils off your skin before expressing sincerest thanks for your patronage and excusing themselves. You redress slowly and roll your neck from side to side to test the newfound flexibility.

Your legs feel weak as you leave the pergola and walk back down the hill to your seat. Upon returning, you see Raphael reading the book of poetry he gave you earlier and finishing up a second glass of rum.

“There she is~ How was it? I hope you feel sufficiently spoiled?”  

“Quite.” Your jelly muscles shake on the way down to sit in your lounge chair.

The massage warmed and accelerated your bloodflow. This mixed with one very strong and hastily drunken sake was making for a wobbly feeling in your knees and elbows.

He chuckles through the seam of his soft lips. His face looks a bit warmer, a subtle rosy glow from the liquor.

“Well, you have perfect timing,” He folds his book closed and gives you an amused look. Your disheveled, rubbed down state seems to be apparent.

“Let us return, before you melt into the ocean.”

~

Back at the House of Hope, your strength and wits gradually begin to return. Your shoulders feel light and your back doesn’t ache. The fresh air and pampering you’ve experienced so far today have truly done wonders.

Raphael mentions there’s a show he’d like to bring you to, and you have the opportunity to pick out an outfit of your choosing. You can barely keep your heels from rocking off the floor in curious excitement at the news.  

He’s amused to see a flash of disappointment in your eyes when you learn you’ll be dining at the theater, rather than the dining hall here.

“Worry not, you’ll have the opportunity to sit at my table in the morning,” he hums with reassurance.

That’s right; it was a day and a half, you’d agreed to spend with him.

A curious amount of time – the implications are mildly concerning, but Raphael’s made you feel surprisingly comfortable and respected so far today. A touch of hope dares to dull the edges of your opinion on the man. 

He leads you to a guest bedroom, another area you missed during your first, dishonorable visit. The room looks much like master bedroom, only much smaller and lacking any extravagant pools.

On the south wall, two large wardrobes stand. Their doors open to reveal full racks of various elegant suits and dresses: expensive silks, plush velvets, illustrious satins, and long robes embroidered with various precious gemstones and delicate metal chains. All in varied shades of scarlet red, shimmering violet, emerald greens, and inky blacks.

As you take in the wardrobe, something dark flits past the corner of your eye, and you look to see the black cat from the archive.

It winds around Raphael’s leg affectionately a couple of times before returning your gaze with curious sun-colored eyes. You give in to the inclination to kneel closer, offering a cautious, non-threatening hand. It approaches you carefully. Its nose twitches through short sniffs while assessing you, its baby whiskers tickling your fingertips.

You pass the test, and it gives your hand a tentative nudge of approval, grazing its wet nose and soft cheeks against your digits.

The moment feels oddly causal and… intimate.

Heavy, panicked footsteps interrupt the gentle pause, slapping against the marble floor with increasing volume as they draw closer.

The three of you turn to see the Archivist has rushed into the room, panting through ragged breaths with distraught features.

“And what, pray tell, is the meaning of this?” Raphael barks at him.

“Master, I’m – I’m so sorry, but I neglected to cancel your appointment with Bhaalphegor today. She will be here within the hour.” His voice cracks and wavers with barely contained terror.

The Master of the House says nothing.

A noticeable chill seems to ooze from his body and flood the room’s atmosphere.

The flicker of warmth in your chest is snuffed out.

All that remains is emptiness, and an ominous, threatening trail of smoke.

The Archivist hurries to explain himself further, “A thousand apologies, Master, I will speak with her and explain - ”

Snap

A blood curdling scream that makes your heart plummet to your stomach bursts from the tiefling as Raphael snaps his fingers and wrenches his arm in a twisting movement.

The Archivist crumples to the floor and his cries bounce off the marble tiles. He looks like he’s being crushed, as if his backbone was being folded under a tight fist.

Between his excruciating screams, you can hear bones snapping underneath his robe, and disgusting, gurgling, desperate sounds leaking from his throat.

His arms twitch unnaturally, shoulders appearing to pop from their sockets and spasm violently with limited range of motion. His legs convulse until his knees appear to be bending the wrong way, and it’s this detail of the image finally moves you to stop staring at the horror.

You look to see Raphael’s face is incensed with anger. Eyes wide with contempt, lips curled into an expression of pure revulsion. A face you’d almost forgotten he was capable of in the past few hours of seeing softer sides of him.  

“Insolent worm,” he regards the tiefling venomously. The disdain in his tone alone feels potent enough to kill. The archivist continues to sob and choke on his own blood, sputtering some of it onto the floor.

“I will meet with her briefly and take care of it. You can spend the rest of the evening licking your wounds and eating maggots for dinner.”

His fingers snap once more, engulfing the whimpering archivist in grey smoke and embers to clear him from the room. A small puddle of blood stains the floor in his wake.

“It would seem I have some matters to attend to,” he says through gritted teeth, eyes trained on the floor where the tiefling disappeared. “If you’ll excuse me.”

His gaze flits to yours for the briefest of seconds before he too is gone in a black shroud.

You’re left standing there in shock for a moment, trying to make sense of the sudden horror you just witnessed. It’s over almost as quickly as it began.

The doors to the wardrobes full of clothes are still wide open.

The loss of the quaint scene you experienced earlier is painfully stark.

In a few moments, a timid-looking elf in homely clothes enters the chambers in a hurry. She carries a rag and a bucket of water over to the stained floor, beginning to scrub at the tile a bit frantically and mutter nervously to herself.

You stare blankly at her, still consciously pushing shaky breaths in and out of your lungs, trying to rationalize what just happened. Teetering the line of dissociating.

Again, you notice a fuzzy black shadow at the edge of your eyesight –

You look to see the house cat near your feet.

It’s curled into a suspicious posture, hunched over the ground with its fur slightly bristled. It looks up to flash you a crazed look with fire golden eyes before darting out of the room.

Something small lies on the ground beneath where its body was crouched over.

A small mouse, grossly maimed. It’s body nearly split in half, but still clinging to life.

Still moving a bit.

You shriek and stumble backwards, fear fractures your chest and it’s too painful to stifle.

One of your hands comes to cover your mouth, and opposite arm wraps around your waist to protect your soft torso. As if the threat of having your own stomach swiped out was imminent.

The haggard elf notices you scream and starts to approach, before uttering an, “Oh…” and walking backwards to retrieve her bucket and rag again.

She cleans up the mouse and you watch in quick glances, still clutching your body tightly and breathing forcefully through your nostrils. Nausea starts to hit you, and you focus on taking sharp breaths to quell the inclination to retch.

Your legs shakily bring you to a chair at the edge of the room where you sit for a few moments and rub the skin of your hands anxiously. Staring catatonically at a dark red reflective tile on the hard marble floor.

The elf approaches you again – you’d hardly noticed she’d left the room and returned.  

She hands you a sky-blue potion in a round bottom glass.

“For your nerves,” she offers. “The Master will be back to normal soon, but in the meantime…”

You don’t particularly want to take it, but anything to potentially dissolve your anxiety sounds essential right now.

You take and sip the potion hesitantly, only a little swig just to be cautious. Within seconds, the cool liquid pacifies the burning in your chest a bit.

It does not, however, erase the memory of Raphael's darkened scowl and the sounds of suffering he drew from his servant.

Dread threatens to smother the flowering excitement in your heart.

This was going to be an interesting conversation at dinner tonight.

~

To be continued --

A/N: No tieflings were harmed in the making of this fic. I’m sorry Raphael is so mean/scary to them, okay? It’s not like I can control what he does >.>

[evdelacyimagines]

Sweetening the Deal (Ch 2)

Description: When you visit the House of Hope, sleep with Haarlep, and leave without stealing the hammer, Raphael takes notice and approaches you with a new proposal.

Rating: SFW

Wordcount: ~1.6k

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

Read on AO3 or below the cut ♥

~

2: Indulgence

You can’t recall another time you felt so exposed.

Raphael smiles cruelly as you awkwardly shuffle under your covers to discreetly redress yourself and claw your way up to your feet with urgency. Your blood is hot with fear and waning arousal.

It occurs to you that your head is abnormally quiet again. Normally the comforting hum of The Emperor could be felt at your forehead after experiencing such a strong and sudden emotion. It would seem something’s blocking him from psionically communicating with you again, just like in the Devil’s Den and Avernus.

You are alone.

“Why are you here?” you hiss, skipping formalities.

“Don’t play dumb,” he says curtly. “I have a very similar question for you, dear. Why were you in my home, today?”

Glancing around the harbor campsite, it doesn’t look like anyone else has noticed him. You brace yourself to call out for your companions if needed and begin to evaluate the situation. Is he going to kill you? He’s certainly confrontational, but still calm. His demeanor is smugger than anything really, not as absolutely incensed as expected… which is a good start. But his lips are still curled into some twisted sadistic smile that makes the air feel heavy and your hands feel numb. 

“Is now the best time?” you ask, already exasperated. You try to hide your terror, try to act like his intrusion is undeserved. But a bright, culpable fear burns you from the inside like caustic. It was foolish to think there wouldn’t be consequences for your actions today.

“I insist. Most rude of you to visit without leaving your name in the guest book,” he jests.

“I was… just in the neighborhood,” you respond with a nervous smile, knowing full well how ridiculous this sounds.

“Is that so? You know, I would have invited you properly if you’d taken the deal.” The words are laced with a bitterness.

His glare is met with your silence. The tone of this encounter is still too uncertain. It’s best to let him play his cards first… probably. It doesn’t really matter since your throat is too tight to say much anyway.

"Let me be the one to ensure we’re on the same page, since you’re not feeling very loquacious tonight.” Raphael’s hands fall to rest behind his back and he begins to stalk the ground in front of you.

“You, against your better judgement, refused my proposition to trade the crown for Orpheus’s freedom. So, you decided to plunder the Orphic Hammer from my collection instead. Yet, despite the considerable lengths you took to gain access to my home… you did not take it. Why?" He stops his pacing to stand directly in front of you.

“Okay. Yes. Fine. I couldn’t take it because you had a magical force field around it, does that answer satisfy you?” you spit out with irritation.

“One which you had the means to disarm,” he adds coolly.

The hairs on your arms prickle. Why did you have to take that note from his safe? Why did you take anything?

“I don’t know what you mean…”

“Please, you don’t give me enough credit.” His posture relaxes and he raises a hand to glance at his cuticles. “In your haste, you left my safe open.” He smiles mockingly.

Your heart sinks.

“And I have a feeling,” he continues, “that if I were to rifle through some of your things, I’d find quite a few of my own. One of them being a little piece of paper with a passcode on it, perhaps?”

You don’t respond, too focused on masking the intense dread that grips you underneath your measured breaths.

“As for how you were made aware of the safe, I can only imagine… though maybe more vividly than most.” The words drip from his mouth suggestively.

The implication compels you finally answer his question. Anything to change the topic.

“It did not feel right to take it from you.” The admission feels like laying your neck on the guillotine. “I’m still not even convinced I need the hammer.”

“My dear. You really do prove yourself naïve at every turn,” he says with feigned affection.

“You underestimate my resourcefulness.”

“And you underestimate how critical a role Orpheus plays in your survival.”

You don’t budge.

He sighs dramatically, "It seems you're in need of a little more convincing. Let me… sweeten the deal, as it were.”

“Put our contract out of your mind for now,” his sharp hands gesticulate from his forehead to the sky, “Indulge me in a day and a half of your time, and we can revisit this deal of ours. After all, I do understand it's a weighty decision – these things take time for one to mull over. And when all is said and done, I’ll even be so kind as to let you borrow a few other powerful artefacts from my collection to aid in your conquest of the Netherbrain.”

He ends his pitch with a small bow, accentuating his boundless generosity.

It’s a lot to take in. First question -

“’Indulge you for a day and a half?’ Can you be more specific?”

“Let me give you a clearer picture of how a devil such as myself lives,” he says with some bravado. “You seemed quite interested in my possessions – I could show you more of them, their origins, the souls of their previous proprietors.”

He sighs and his expression softens to one of understanding. “You were… reasonable for declining the deal, after all we’ve hardly truly gotten to know one another. Let me prove myself just as worthy an asset to you and give you a little taste of what you can expect should you accept my deal. Think of it as a business trip. Or consider it a date.”

What…

What the fuck?

The synapses in your brain stop firing for a moment. Your mind scrambles for words to hide how deeply the suggestion affects you. He just wants to see you flustered.

A long and awkward pause passes. Second question -

“I’m flattered. But I’m also quite busy with… several things at the moment. And you want me to spend a day and a half with you?” You churn over what feels like hundreds of local mysteries that you’ve found yourself involved in since you arrived in the city. There’s frankly no time for this.

“What am I truly keeping you from, my dear? Another day of stumbling around Baldur’s Gate like a lost puppy? I’d wager our time together could be much more productive in the grand scheme of things,” he disputes.

You grimace at the sliver of truth in his words. Your experience upon arriving to the city had been… overwhelming to say the least. Sometimes, evening would come, and you’d realize all you’d accomplished was running around the circus and getting your boots wet in the sewers. It was not always productive.

You squint at him. Third question -

“A fair point… but what about you? Are you not busy? Souls to torture and all…”

“Please, for my favorite client, I can easily move some appointments around to accommodate.”

How generous. Also, still his favorite apparently?

You realize he used this word moments earlier too; when he interrupted you…! Actually, let’s not think about that right now. Fourth question -

"What's the catch? What do you get out of this…” (date!?) “…whatever this is?”

“Please, no catch, I've simply chosen to cater to your more… materialistic interests. And I have a feeling you’ll come around to my offer once we part ways. I am, undeniably, an excellent host.”

Now that you consider it, he probably is a great host.

You resist the inclination to again ask him to simply give you the hammer – no infernal contract, no weird afternoon of courtship – you know better. He will not give without the certainty he can take.

He reads your apprehensive features and offers a final addition to his pitch.

"Think of the bigger picture - You'll have greater confidence in your decision, a much-needed respite from these dreary conditions of yours, and it will afford us a chance to get to know one another better."

This is all sounding dangerously reasonable. Warning signs become dimmer. Last question -

“You seem quite confident that I’ll only accept your deal after this. What if I still say no?”

He smirks as if the words are laughable. “It’s true I’m confident you’ll accept, but you are still free to refuse. The only consequence you can anticipate is death or worse when the Netherbrain inevitably enthralls you because you chose to challenge it without Orpheus. Until then, I will simply find some other idyllic hero to aid in my quest, and you will not hear from me ever again...

Though, it would sadden me to see our fates diverge here.”

Another pause settles between you. The night’s breeze stings your cheeks and wind sighs quietly as you stand there together.

Darkness falls against his features softly and his eyes hold yours with expectation. He is a welcoming shadow, a rich and elegant obscurity that draws you in like the smell of red wine.

The quickness of your answer surprises you – it shouldn’t, considering how much you’ve ruminated on Raphael’s role in your story lately.

How some part of you protested at the thought of betraying him.

How you clung to his form and cried his name into walls of his boudoir.

How tempting the thought of this rendezvous truthfully is.

“Fine. I will… ‘indulge’ you for a day and half,” you concede, “but I am not promising this will make me sign anything.”

His inviting smile twists into something more foreboding.

The air seems to thin, the wind seems to die, and he steps toward you until the gap is closed. You watch his hand leave his hip to reach for your own, lifting your palm with warm fingers.

“Excellent. I’ll come for you mid-morning tomorrow.” He presses an earnest kiss to the back of your hand and you fear you might slip through him like sand. “Until then, little mouse~”

~

To be continued... Part 3

Thank you for reading!

[evdelacyimagines]

Sweetening the Deal

Description: You’re reluctant to take Raphael’s deal OR steal the hammer from him. When you visit the House of Hope, your encounter with Haarlep stirs things inside you and furthers your indecision...

Rating: Explicit, +18, MDNI

Pairing: Haarlep x Fem!Reader (x Raphael in later chapters)

Tags/Warnings: gratuitous smut, dub-con, teasing, veins, ridges, size difference, oral sex (receiving), PiV sex, kind of a plot, boudoir scene with some changes, tiny bit of pining for Raphael, tiny bit of tail-play, 🚫 not a finished work yet but could stand alone

Wordcount: ~5k

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

Read on AO3 or below the cut ♥

~

1: Pried Apart

“You can’t seriously be considering making a deal with him! And to an arrangement to give him the crown of all conceivable things?” Gale’s voice is incredulous, warbling with disbelief.

The air is sour with disagreement after the day’s events. You’d managed to quell the bickering earlier, but your companions have started to rile themselves up again.

Lae’zel glowers at Gale and stands up menacingly. “If we’re reconsidering stealing it then what else would you suggest we do?” she seethes. “You heard what Voss said - we must free The Prince of the Comet. Whatever the devil has planned for the nine hells is inconsequential in comparison!”

Her voice is passionate, just like Voss’s had been when you spoke with him at Sharess’s Caress. His urgency stung – it was gut-wrenching to tell him you didn’t take the deal.

Every one of your options has a bad end.

Your head is torn apart with indecision. How has your journey culminated to this place?

The Emperor has been particularly inflexible about your involvement with this whole ordeal. He’s made it clear that you shouldn’t take the deal or the hammer. So clear in fact, it raises suspicions. His insistence and increased supervision are unnerving. He’s quite literally been breathing down your brainstem ever since you left the Devil’s Den.

At first it was strange, to feel the total loss of his presence. He had been known to seclude himself to quiet corners of your mind sometimes, but this was different. Vast, inky black, and entirely empty without him. It almost worried you. But upon his return, his company has quickly become nothing but suffocating. He monitors the leatherbound cover to your thoughts, waiting for the tiniest shift in the pages so he can slither inside to read them.

Something he said earlier is still bothering you too:

“Remember who is truly on your side. No matter what the devil whispers in your ear.”

Irritating.

The only one whispering in your ear is him. The Devil has been quite consistent and forthcoming by comparison.

A thick wedge has been skillfully driven between you and your illithid confidant. A confidant you were just beginning to trust so implicitly. One you were even starting to care for. But now --

“The hammer does sound promising. But I don’t trust a word that slimy bastard has to say,” Karlach says.

“Honestly, I don’t see what’s all the harm in letting him rule over the hells,” Astarion quips. “He’d probably make as fine an Archdevil Supreme as anyone else. But I do find the idea of taking the hammer from his house a little exciting.~”

“Yes! I vote stealing!” Karlach grins and raises her wine goblet.

“And is that where the plan stops? I’m certainly not saying we should take the deal, but we should think very carefully about our strategy if we really plan to break into a devil’s home,” Wyll says seriously.

“Signing the deal would certainly save us the trouble,” Shadowheart says.

“I don’t think any of you are understanding the brevity of this situation! The Crown of Karsus is categorically not something we want in the hands of a devil!” Gale is all but beside himself.

“I very well understand the brevity of the situation, Ska’keth!” Lae’zel raises her voice. “Orpheus is the only hope my people have left! We’re this close to a means to free him after a millennium of Vlaakith’s corrupted reign and you’d have us sit on our hands?!”

The same key points of this argument continue to circulate amongst them. The volume and interruptions rise to an unbearable level.

“Your companions are wasting energy. Do not let them keep entertaining this,” The Emperor’s voice echoes inside your skull on top of it all. It’s too much. Your fingers dig into your temples.

“That’s enough!” you bark. The bickering stops.

“You too.” You snap internally at the illithid.

“Tas’ki!” Lae’zel’s scoff cuts the silence and she addresses you:

“I will wait to see where our fearless leader stands on the matter. But I do hope you decide soon, preferably by sunrise. We can’t afford to waste more time.” She leaves for her tent.

Spirits have died for the evening. You and everyone gradually disband to their tent sites.

Astarion walks quickly on your heels until he’s matched pace beside you.

“So? Where is your head at with all this?” he asks curiously.

“I really don’t know,” you admit. “Of all the hard decisions I’ve made on this journey, this is the hardest. No competition.”

“You still don’t know? I’m disappointed you continue to toy with the idea fracturing our alliance,” The Emperor’s voice rattles in your head once again.

It’s the last time you’re willing to deal with it today.

“Fuck. Off. I don’t want to hear from you again tonight.” You flare back at him. Your psyche thunders to illustrate the depth of your frustration.

His presence quiets, then dissolves into a silent corner of your mind as you’d hoped. Finally giving you some privacy, or some version of it.

You sit down with Astarion underneath the awning of his tent, settling on a pillow across from him.

“What do you think we should do?” you ask him with your chin in your fists. Your face must look pitiful because he rolls his eyes at you a bit.

“Honestly, I’m just as conflicted as you,” he sighs. “We might as well find a diabolist and consider our options from there.”

You squint your eyes and groan with contempt at the decision before you. This had been a long time coming, though you never would have predicted the complexity of it.

As much as it pains you to admit it, it’s true.

Raphael has you right where he wants you.

~

Ultimately, you did not take the deal, even though a part of you wanted to. You’d even shared Astarion and Lae’zel’s collective thought: what would be so bad about him ruling the hells, really?

But even you knew it unwise to trust a devil. That small pit in your stomach and some disapproving looks from your more ethically-inclined companions convinced you to refuse him. Again.

The first time had been so easy.

You enjoyed rejecting the bastard.

But now, every encounter with him built more rapport and anticipation inside you. At some point, the initial contempt you held for his smug, performative attitude evolved into something else. You’ve come to associate him with excitement.

This was intentional on his part, no doubt. Besides being a bit patronizing at times, he’d done nothing but extend advice and genuine interest in you. It’s obvious that he’s playing nice because he wants something, flattering you every chance it would seem. But that doesn’t change the fact that he’s been honest and reliable.

The theatrics were admittedly charming too.

Insane as it might be, it feels wrong to turn around and stab him in the back now. Devil or not.

However… when the opportunity to break into his home was presented, something compelled you. Dark curiosity had been growing in the back of your mind from the moment the idea was presented. And The Emperor’s insistence that you avoid all contact with this “distraction” eventually drove you to do just the opposite.  

So you did, and now here you are.

The House of Hope. Brimstone fills your nostrils.

It’s immaculate; nothing less was expected. Although it is… homier than imagined. But best of all, The Emperor is completely absent from your mind again. The respite from his brain fog is so freeing, even if the air is hot and smoky here.

Guilt isn’t absent from your mind though, as you take in the foyer’s intricate detailing and high ceilings. You wonder how angry Raphael would be to find you here, already picturing his dark eyes slanting down and his lips curling with disgust. But your trepidation wanes when you peek inside the house’s guest book and see a glimpse into his life…

You don’t recognize any of the names written inside, but you’re intrigued all the same. You imagine all different types of guests arriving and penning their name in the book. The willing and unwilling, what expressions do they have on their faces when they arrive here? What conversations do they get to have with the devil? What do they get to see beyond these doors?

Curiosity swallows your guilt just enough to let you embrace this little heist, and as you explore, it doesn’t take long for you to get a little bold and start pocketing some inconspicuous possessions.

It starts innocently, some silver cutlery and little notes left lying around. Then escalates to fistfuls of fine silks and precious jewelry, Tethyrian textiles and Calishite emeralds. Stealing the hammer will ruin your good standing with Raphael anyway, so you might as well take a few other things. Some can be pawned for gold, but mental notes of some pilfers you’d like to keep file themselves away in your mind.

The dining hall is in complete disarray, much different from how you first saw it. The lavish spread is picked clean and any remaining morsels are sufficiently rotted. It’s as if they’ve been sitting there for weeks. Maybe even untouched since your last visit?

In contrast, the archive is beautifully in order. The hammer sits atop a pedestal in middle of the room, covered by some shield of warding magic. Unsure how to reach past it, your search for answers drives you elsewhere. You duck and weave through questions the Archivist presses you with, and by some miracle walk away with an invitation to Raphael’s private quarters.

Upon entering the boudoir, your heart rattles with fear and excitement. The air inside is wet and heavy, drenched in the aroma of rosewood. The source, a uniquely large bath, greets you with fragrant glistening waters at the center of the room. Its tiled edges are peppered with flickering candles and throw pillows arranged in little nests to lounge in. Silver platters of fresh fruits and ceramic dishes filled with bath soaps and oils also decorate the perimeter of the pool. You notice the food here isn’t spoiled – every plate looks recently refreshed. Spending plenty of time in this room, are we?

You spot some particularly soft looking bath towels, more Tethyrian stitching no doubt. You walk further into the boudoir toward them, already opening your travel bag to make room for another steal --

 “A lost ♪ little mouse-”

Your muscles turn to stone. That voice…

“-is running ♫ through the house~”

Your eyes find ‘Raphael’ in his cambion form, wrapped in a tight leather harness that leaves little to the imagination. His form lies on the master bed lazily with his legs spread wide.  

“Raphael?” you choke out. Your eyes just barely treading water above his waistline.

It had been a long time since you’d seen him in his fiendish form, ages it feels. But the memory is potent. It left you in awe – and it’s all here in front of you again.

The alluring creature replies:

“Raphael?~ Ha! No, no, no,” his form grins with calm delight. “I am Haarlep. Raphael’s personal incubus, glamoured to model his appearance.”

The fiend’s voice shares the same likeness to Raphael’s, but its intonation dances delicately on each syllable spoken. Different from the commanding tone you’ve come to know. Their face undoubtedly resembles his too, but their cheekbones are higher and forehead creases thinner.

The only thing left to compare was, well, incomparable, for more reasons than one. You had no way to reference the rest of Raphael. But judging from the other characteristics you’d observed… the rest of his body can’t be too dissimilar from the one lounging in front of you.

His muscles seem accentuated with suggestively placed ridges on his waist and thighs. Obscenely swollen veins scrawl beneath his skin. A particularly large vessel punctuates the flesh beneath his navel and disappears underneath his leather hemline. His exposed limbs are strikingly long and thick, gracefully draping over the silky bedspread. Grand red wings form a canopy behind him and his devilish tail laps the surrounding air with amusement. The image is surreal and… obscene.

He reminds you of a beautiful sculpture, one you might imagine yourself lavishing with adorations. You feel saliva retreating from your mouth. Anxiety (or is it anticipation?) trickles down your stomach when you realize where your thoughts are heading.

Before you can respond to Haarlep’s introduction, they continue:

“And you… I know who you are,” they sneer. “Let’s have a little privacy, shall we?”

With a snap of their fingers, your companions evaporate into red embers and your guard rises.

“Don’t fret, they’re just outside the boudoir. I’d like to devote my full attentions to you, pet.” They lean forward and ask, “And so I ask, why~ have you come here, little thief?”

You muster composure. “For the Orphic Hammer,” you grind out.

“Is that so?” Haarlep’s expression opens and they tilt their head to the side. “Intrepid, indeed,” they seem to say to themselves.

“Raphael would be very… discontented if you were to take such a priceless artifact,” they tut. “Though I’m sure you would survive his wrath. He, himself has been quite taken with your resilience.”

Although the words are a compliment, they hiss through their teeth with wicked spirit. The dulcet venom of their voice is alluring nonetheless.

“Well, maybe he should have just given it to me if that’s the case.” Pent up disdain leaks from your reply. “Rather than dangling my home’s safety over my head.”

“The master being withholding from his favorite client? How naughty indeed~” they coo. “But I think I may have a solution for you – if you’re willing to do something for me.”

“…Let’s hear it,” you say warily.

“Play with me,” he purrs through a smile. “Your clothes – take them off.”

Your resolve wobbles. The fact that a vehement ‘No’ doesn’t leave your mouth is… unsettling.

Are you insane? Are you really considering this? It can only lead where you expect it to. Maybe it’s the thrill of being unsupervised. Maybe it’s because you’ve truthfully been a bit lonely. Opportunities for more fitting companionship have been all but thrown into your lap, and yet…  

Maybe,

if you’re really honest, it’s because you are a moth and the devil is a candle.

The sight of Haarlep provocatively splayed out in front of you… on the softest bed you’ve seen in months… the sweet smell of roses and grapefruit playing on your senses…

Your mind furiously tries to calculate the pros and cons that could come of this moment. Rationale fights desperately against surfacing excitement. There’s a sure possibility The Emperor could find out, but so be it. A mind-flayer’s judge of character should be of little concern to you, right?

Ultimately, you lose the battle. Temptation is heavy and it tips the scales with little effort.

You find yourself enticed into obedience, garments dropping to the floor one by one into a puddle. It should be a cooling relief to feel the air hit your bare skin, but the atmosphere is so warm and humid from the pool, it only feels like another blanket to swallow you. Haarlep’s eyes instead, are what send a cold shiver through your body. They take you in greedily, peeling the skin off your body with their gaze.

He rises to stand and beckons you.

“On the bed.” Three words in Raphael’s voice that almost make you go numb.

The bed is so tall you’re forced to hike your leg up past your waist to hoist yourself to the mattress. You lie back against the ornate headboard tensely.

The incubus tracks your every movement. You wonder if he’s keen enough to notice how much you tremble. To be fully nude and off your feet in front of him is terrifying. Regret starts to intermingle with the anticipation in your chest. As you shift your body, your legs slip against each other unexpectedly… and you feel some cocktail of defeated and mortified to realize arousal already coats your inner thighs.

That can’t be right, you’ve been here all of five minutes and no one’s laid a finger on you. Is there something in the air here? Some airborne aphrodisiac the incubus infected you with you the moment you entered the room?

He saunters around the bed before climbing to join you. Wasting little time to cover your body with his own and instilling you with a kiss that floods you with preternatural lust. His saliva injects sweet venom into the kiss that amplifies every sensation. He towers over you in size and his head dwarfs your own, but his kisses are sensitive to this. Soon you are flat on your back underneath him, his tongue impossibly warm and soft inside your mouth, artfully caressing you into compliance.

You shake gently underneath him, awestruck from the simulation of kissing Raphael and how tender it is. His sultry skin slides against your own, some combination of human and serpentine that feels exquisite as it brushes along the nape of your neck and wraps itself in long fingers around your arms.

Those fingers find your breasts to thumb at your nipples and rub them gently, earning chaste whimpers from your lips. He’s so large, you notice he could wrap a hand around your throat and touch his thumb and forefinger easily. Onyx black talons make you nervous as they dimple your flesh where the tips of his fingers move, but they stop short of harming you. It seems he’s only interested in giving you pleasure at this point, and it’s too much to go unreturned. Your curious hands rise to touch his broad neck and a sigh escapes you at its warmth and texture in your palms.

"Such a small and sensitive creature," Haarlep teases, admiring how you bite back a reaction to the pinch of his fingers. As he leans over to kiss you again, one of his hands slips between your legs to slide along your opening, drenched in wet. “She’s soexcited already...”

You gasp, hot air plunges to the bottom of your lungs and you instinctively draw your legs together. The thick middle of his tail coils around one of your thighs like a hungry snake, pulling you open with alarming strength. The rest of his arrow-tipped tail hangs threateningly above your sex.

Your opposite leg moves to cover yourself again, to do what the other cannot, but the incubus has other plans. He breaks your kiss to move down your body - his tail slides against your skin as it follows him, but it’s long enough to stay wrapped around you like a persistent vine. He settles between your legs and grapples your other thigh in the crook of his arm, holding you down spread wide. So easily overpowered.

You thank the gods for your flexibility, otherwise this would probably hurt – the stretch in your hips is already pushing your limits. But the way he has you splayed out like this is doing sinful things to you. Fully immobilized, nervous magma courses through your body. His eyes fall to admire your shiny exposed flesh, now convulsing expectantly from the way the tip of his tail feathers at your clit.

"Oh, you do enjoy this don’t you? Being pried apart underneath him?"

You hardly have time to recover from the words… before his head leans between your legs. The sight of his beast-like horns descending with him lights another fire within you. This afternoon’s events have escalated from surreal to brain-breaking. Struggling against his grip does nothing, your thighs still pinned open against the bed. But your muscles are quick change course and buck into him when his thick, forked tongue starts to lick softly at you. His hellfire eyes hold yours all the while.

“You could stay here, if you like…” He works at you with leisurely expertise, drinking your wetness until pathetic cries spill out of you. His hungry lips close around your clit, gently suckling and pulsing his tongue against it. The charmed saliva seeps into your pores in powerful waves with every agonizing nudge of his tongue, already sending you dangerously close to the edge.

Two clawed fingers come to stroke your vulva beneath his bottom lip. They scissor your entrance open teasingly, destroying you. His smile grows, noting the weakness and abusing it further until you’re wound tight enough to implode.

“Stay here and let me learn every little detail of what makes you come apart,” he breathes against you.

He rises, releasing his vice grip on your thighs. Flames lap at his body, yet they don’t burn you, and when they’ve dissipated, so has the leather harness. The incubus in cambion’s skin kneels fully nude before you now, every swollen vein and sharp edge uninterrupted. That one thick vessel that squirms down his navel feeds directly into his cock, just like you suspected.

Your second suspicion, the question of ridges in unmentionable places… was also confirmed. Some stretch down the length of his cock like firm ribbons, others jut out like small rivets or soft spikes. All running perfectly along his length to promise exaggerated friction. Your cunt throbs.

His embellished cock swings heavily as his thighs move in closer to you. He cups your hips and pulls you into him, spreading your legs with his own and lining up against you. Suddenly the oxygen in the room feels even scarcer. You pant through bated breath like prey underneath him as he begins to lean his hips forward and part your lips. Small firm ridges on his member’s head rub against you – a novelty to be savored. It starts to push through you, excess wetness giving him little resistance as he begins to slip inside. But your tense muscles brace against him, squeezing his cock out with every prod.

He moans angelically as the tip slowly presses just past your tight entrance again and again. He laughs at you quietly when you arch desperately under him, rigid with anticipation. When he reaches a certain depth, the head of his cock is abruptly sucked inside you. He stills while you convulse around him, grasping wildly at the sheets to ground yourself from the teasing intrusion.

“Very good, little thief. Now…do try to listen carefully-”

His hips retreat again and your muscles practically snap back together when he leaves. He rubs the warmed tip of himself across your clit, making you writhe against him.

“Devote yourself to me, body and mind,” he growls. His cock starts to press into you once more and the tapered end of his tail snakes between your bodies to find your clit again, twitching against you excitedly.  

The lustful compulsion you feel to obey without question is overwhelming. But some inexplicable willpower finds you, allowing you to grasp at a thread of control.

“I’ll devote my body, but not my mind,” you choke out through strangled whimpers. The head of his infernal cock barely halfway inside of you.

“An excellent choice,” he purrs as he sinks into you slowly and fully. Your pussy welcomes him with the ocean of arousal that’s been budding inside you.

Not expecting this, a shocked and blissful sound trips from your mouth. It invades you completely and the shape he stretches you into is indescribable, unknown to you before.

His cock delves into you again and again, ridges dragging deliciously against your tight walls each time. His tail still twitches rapidly atop your sex with intent to drive you to release. He leans in close to your neck and emits a low and heavy growl, markedly close to Raphael’s true voice. The sound nearly sends you hurdling over the edge. Or maybe it does, because within just a few moments you feel your pleasure concentrating to a peak.

"Say his name while you come, little thief," Haarlep drips into your ear.

You need little convincing. You’ll do anything he asks in this moment. Especially that.

A defeated and sweet, "Ra~pha~el" falls from your lips, each syllable bouncing out at the same pace Haarlep fucks you. More cloying noises follow as you unravel around the incubus. He praises you while your ecstasy takes over. Complimenting your moans and how your pussy bares down on him while you come. Heat continues to lick at your insides with every thrust he intentionally carves into you. Your orgasm is white hot from the root of your core to the back of your throat. Your head falls back into the sheets and the smell of clove drifts into your senses in your final moments of rapture.

Haarlep’s thrusts begin to slow as your climax wanes gradually. He locks you into a quick but fierce kiss as you gasp back to reality, waves of pleasure receding into ripples.

“Thank you, pet,” they whisper to you before leaving your body and gently and arranging themselves to spoon at your side, stroking sweaty strands of hair from your temples and cheeks. Their tail winds snugly around your ankle.

“What for?” you manage to ask through labored breaths. You wonder if the incubus even had the opportunity to come themselves. Judging from the hard length pressed into your side, it would seem not.

Haarlep smiles wickedly. With a deft wave of their hand, their body disappears for a moment in a shroud of mist. It re-emerges looking just like… you.

You stare dumbfounded at your own face, resting its chin on your shoulder and looking back at you. The form drapes their arms around you in a full body embrace. Their flesh against yours, all the same color, it’s unclear where your limbs start and theirs stop. You feel an overwhelming blanket of skin-to-skin contact, notably smoother and more pillowy than Raphael’s form was against you.

“For this,” they say in your voice, planting kisses on and around your shoulder. You swear you can feel it on your own lips. They suck lightly at your clavicle and you feel the skin between your own teeth.

“I’m quite taken with how supple you are in some places.” As they speak, they bring a hand to their breast, your breast… mirrored back at you, cupping it in their hand and rolling their fingers into its swell. You stiffen as the sensation is distinctly present on your own chest.

“This was what you meant… about devoting my body?” you ask nervously.

“Indeed~,” they smile coquettishly and give your nipple gentle tug for confirmation.

“I can’t wait to explore you and toy with every crack in your defenses.” Haarlep’s hand floats to the air once more and in another subtlety theatrical puff of mist, he’s returned to Raphael’s cambion form, dwarfing you in size once again.

Dots connect.

The grim reality of where you are and who you’re dealing with begins to return to your consciousness again.

"So does that mean… Raphael…" The thought is mortifying. You can hardly put the sentence together for another to hear.

Had he felt the texture of your sex on his tongue? Felt your cunt trembling around the tip of his cock? Could he even hear your wanton desperation when you cried out his name?

Haarlep laughs wickedly. “Yes, pet. Whatever form I take, its pleasures are shared with the owner. Truth be told, I would have liked to keep our little tryst a secret. But you had such an irresistible aura to you…” He almost sighs.

The incubus dotes on you as you struggle through speechlessness. They run their fingers through your hair, seeming to comb out the mess they’d made of you moments earlier. "It will be… interesting to see what comes of this to say the least."

You rise from the bed shakily and his tail seems reluctant to release your ankle.

Your chest burns. A violent shade of anxiety starts to well up in the pit of your stomach. There’s no way you have the stones to take the hammer now. Let alone be here one second longer.

Before you go, Haarlep insists you take the key to Raphael’s safe. You find within it a scrap of paper with the passcode to disable the magic around the Orphic Hammer.

In this moment, the words themselves do not strike you as much as Raphael’s handwriting. The weightless parchment feels more like an anvil in your uncertain hands. You fold it tightly and slip it into a flat space in your pack, careful not to crumple it.

You stumble to get dressed quickly. The incubus bids you farewell with a “ta-ta~” as you scramble out of the boudoir.

Reunited with your companions, you dismiss their questions quickly and insist to leave right away. It’s received with skepticism, but you’re adamant that it’s best to regroup; the hammer will still be here tomorrow.

“What guarantee is there that Raphael won’t be here tomorrow? Are you sure this isn’t because you’ve gotten cold feet?” Gale challenges you.

“Chk. She has led us well up until this point. And with no way to remove the hammer, I understand the need to regroup, despite how much it pains me to delay this further.” Lae’zel says. Surprisingly cooperative compared to the mage.

Your throat tightens at her words and you struggle not to think of the neatly folded note in your pack, a conveniently excluded detail.

Leaving doesn’t bring relief like expected. Some mixture of sickening emotions tugs at your skeleton as you step back through the gates to hell.

~

It’s no surprise that it’s hard to sleep.

You huddle deeper into your bedroll with a shiver.

The Emperor gave you an earful when you returned from Avernus, of course. But you didn’t let it break you down. You convinced him you had things under control, but reality is much more uncertain.

He too, seemed surprisingly accepting of your confusing strategy – not happy of course, a bit despondent in fact. But maybe he’s surrendering to the fact that you’ll ultimately do what you wish. Perhaps he was just relieved that you didn’t end up stealing the hammer today. And surely, he felt your tempest of emotions upon returning; maybe he knew better than to add to your distress.

He’s been quiet since then. His attentions elsewhere, finally. Good. It gives you the privacy to finally reflect on the afternoon’s events.

Was the illithid able to access your memories from the boudoir? You feel like you’ve done a decent job of filtering them out of mind so far, but it’s hard to know if you’ve been successful. If he does know, he’s chosen not to say anything.

Gods, enough about the squid. He’s taken up so much real estate in your mind it’s exhausting. He really seems to be far away right now though.

You can take advantage of his current absence to finally think of

Haarlep.

What a strangely fitting name. The phonetics had such a pretty sound to them. Its similarity to the word, ‘harlot’ was not lost on you either. Even the way your tongue uncurls in your mouth as you speak the name feels erotic. You can't help but roll your eyes as the taste of them creeps back into your mouth.

Their words echoed in your mind, ‘you could stay here if you like’ - Stay? And do what? That forever?

Tempting, honestly.

And what of the way they shapeshifted into your form? The promise of a phantom caress on the forms owner? You haven’t felt anything since. Perhaps you can’t feel it now that they’re so far away… or better yet, it was all a lie. You hope so. Or at the very least, you hope that Raphael does not know who slept with his incubus today.

Your hands slip between your thighs, tracing yourself in a way that feels harmless at first. Soon though, your fingers press circles into your vulva eagerly as visions of Haarlep looming over you reenter your thoughts. A weighty arousal drops between your legs when the visceral memory of being restrained beneath them invades your mind. And their words… ‘You enjoy this…being pried apart underneath him’

How did they read you so well?

Choking back a silent moan, your fingers bring you closer to another release. Now starting to think about how hard his cock was. How full it made you feel. All the devilish details that slipped against you when he took you.

Starting to feel overheated underneath your blankets, you reach for the waistband of your pants to shed some layers, shimmying out of your sleep trousers under the covers.

Just as you slide them off your hips, the smell of matchsticks and cherries wafts into your nose.

A volatile sound bursts some feet behind you and an overwhelming feeling of being watched closes in around your body. Your head turns to see an uninvited guest at the edge of your campsite. The voice of your tormenter sends and arrow through your stomach…

“My favorite adventurer, good evening.”

~

To be continued... sorry for the terrible cliffhanger! -> Part 2

Thank you for reading :>

[evdelacyimagines]

Raphael x Reader: Act I: The Bargain

Summary: Bloody and bruised from the nautiloid ship crash, forging a contract with a devil becomes your best and only option for survival. This is the first flashback oneshot for the main story of the series. The poem is The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe. Word count: 2197 Notes: Dealing with a devil, canon-typical blood and injury.

My writing masterlist

Bottles of Ithbank and mugs of red ale rose up to meet the bright stars embroidered into the velvety midnight sky. Comforting and familiar voices of laughter and cheer bubbled around you. It was a night to remember, reminisce and celebrate. In destroying the Absolute you had faced the impossible and lived on to tell the tale. You had gained allies and most importantly, you had met people, who you proudly called your friends.

Deep in thought, you fiddled with the ring on your left hand’s ring finger. A vexing lark from the gift giver, as the ring would fit no other digit. You had bet your soul on never removing the stupid piece of jewellery, at the same time dooming yourself to the eternity of answering delighted queries about a presumed marriage.

Every time you took a sigh to explain you were, in fact, not married, you heard the devil over your shoulder laugh somewhere deep in the Hells. Out of sheer spite, you wished you could hate him. But he had given you this life and this victory, so you endured.

Wyll, the freshly appointed Grand Duke of Baldur’s Gate, sat next to you by the large table and noticed you twiddling with the ring.

“So. Do you know what became of Raphael?” he asked cautiously and nodded towards your hands.

You shrugged, not exactly keen on discussing the devil even though the wine had already spun your mind into a pleasant, relaxing buzz. You had been prepared to answer this particular question during the course of the evening and it was no shock Wyll was the one to voice it. You had met with Wyll from time to time after your travels together, but had always avoided the subject. Luckily the Grand Duke was a busy man. 

“I guess your pact still stands then. I’m sorry,” Wyll said and took a swig from his goblet.

“Don’t be,” you corrected him and opened your mouth to justify why, but Wyll just looked at you with compassion.

He was the only one of your companions who truly knew what you had been through since he had made the same choice – albeit your reasons were initially more selfish than his. The only difference was that he had found a way to outwit his devil patron to get out of his pact. The Duke Ravengard still had horns, but no longer even a tiny bit of the infernal power of a warlock was coursing through his veins.

Wyll changed the subject: “It feels like the whole thing happened in another life.” 

“It really does,” you sighed and raised the bottle to your lips again.

“I’m glad you decided to stay in Baldur’s Gate, though.”

“Don’t say anything about being a hero, please,” you exclaimed and Wyll grinned. You couldn’t help but grin right back at him.

“I wasn’t going to,” he assured you.

“I’m done playing the hero for now. I need time to put my feet up” – you lifted your boots and planted them on the table – “and enjoy just being alive.”

Wyll shot you a humorous look, but decided against noting how the heroics usually had happened when you had tried to avoid those situations the most.

Six months earlier

Hidden behind wreckage, you dared to inhale a shallow breath and barely held back a cough. Unknown parts of the nautiloid ship and horrifying, giant flesh pods laid scattered and broken around you. Their colourful liquids were mixed on the ground into sickening pools. There was a reek of burning something you didn’t want to think about and it made breathing even harder.

A couple of your ribs were likely broken from being thrown around by the impact from  exploding tubes. It had not been one of your finest moments or the best aimed fire bolt, but at least you had lost the pursuers, for now.

You prayed to every known god and goddess under your breath. You had survived the nautiloid crash and found yourself alone again amidst the debris – only to be attacked by a group of pathetic, random looters. It was five against one and you didn’t even have a weapon on you. It would’ve been a tough fight on a good day, but you were seriously injured, bleeding and delirious from the environmental hazards affecting your senses. So you had attempted to cause as much chaos as you could to hide.

If you had thought getting taken by mind flayers was bad enough, it had been pure downhill since then. The inevitability of this one becoming your last adventure started to settle in.

You sat on the broken floor, leaning into a crevice in the debris and listened to any voices. The looter group was not far, but unfortunately they were not foolish enough to make noise as they were tracking you down. You had maybe minutes to live and there was literally nothing you could have done about it.

So you prayed. Incoherent words tumbled from your mouth under your broken breaths.

You would give anything for the power to smite those pathetic thiefs.

Anything for the power and means to save yourself from the predicament.

You closed your eyes and focused on listening to the approaching final moments of your existence.

Anything to live and die on another day.

A soft step. Then another. Your pulse surged. Someone was coming, but nothing about him was what you had expected.

A man you would have eagerly described as mysterious and handsome walked towards you. His steps were leisurely, his pace unhurried and his expression tinged with curiosity.

Maybe some poison gas had finally addled your mind and you were seeing things.

“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—” he recited carefully with graceful cadence, pacing closer.

A poem? So you were either dead or poisoned. Your head lolled to the side, trying to see his face clearly in the midst of the smoke and floating embers.

“While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.” His voice was smooth, almost drawling. It sent a warm shiver down your back. His hands motioned in rhythm with the words.

The stranger paused right in front of you and continued: “’Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, ‘tapping at my chamber door—”

He leaned down to have a closer look at you and his expression turned unreadable. His eyes were chestnut brown, cunning and framed by dark lashes. The high cheekbones were tinged with healthy red.

“Only this and nothing more,” he ended the verse with a contemplative note.

You blinked in confusion, openly staring and wondering could he have been one of the looters, because he certainly didn’t look like one. His clothes were fancy: a blue doublet, ornamented with gold trimmings and a frilly collar. His brown hair was combed back and waves of light curls gathered behind his ears.

Maybe you had gone mad or lost consciousness already.

“Are you really here?” you asked in a shaky voice.

“Is that not why you were rapping at my door?” he returned the question.

Delirious from the smoke and blood loss, you couldn’t understand what he meant.

“Please, you have to help me…” you pleaded, still unsure if the man really even existed.

“Wouldn’t you rather help yourself?” he remarked, tapping his chin in calculating thought. His gaze was evaluating you.

“What? I don’t…” you spluttered with desperation.

“Come.”

He took your hand and pulled you up from the floor. His touch was almost burning, or maybe your hands were just that cold from the loss of blood. A consuming inferno of bright flames swallowed you both and instantly you reappeared in an entirely different place.

The warm air and the general, faint smell of fire and sulphur ravaged your senses. Avernus.

“The House of Hope. Where the tired come to rest, and the famished come to feed,” the stranger presented dramatically with a flourish motion of his arms – an invitation for you to look around at all the lavish glamour. Paintings of devils hung on the walls and the large fireplace was lit with the most mesmerising, hungry fire you had ever seen. A massive table right next to you was loaded with mouth-watering delicacies and you were overwhelmingly reminded how hungry and weak you were.

Your legs were shaking and every muscle in your body ached, resisting the notion of staying up on your feet. Every breath now made your lungs sizzle, the air burning on its way inside.

“So you’re a devil?” you asked feebly.

The stranger crooked a smile at your quick wit and answered: “Raphael. Very much at your service.”

A devil – out of all the names of the gods you had taken in vain, this was the one to save you. The irony stung deep.

“Forgive me that I don’t drop a curtsy. I’m feeling so…” you fumbled to find the proper word and focused your energy on staying on your feet. You glanced down and realised that you had already smudged the floor with blood and dirt.

Raphael noticed the stains too and snapped his fingers.

Immediately, you felt better and stopped gripping the table edge, knuckles white. Air poured effortlessly into your lungs without any pain and although shaky, you felt that you could stand properly. Your posture eased.

“Oh, thank you,” you murmured in surprise, but at the same time your pulse started quickening. As little as you knew of devils, you knew for a fact that they didn’t give anything for free.

“You’re welcome.” Raphael bowed lightly and pulled a chair for you.

“Please, sit, partake. You and I have much to discuss,” he mused and when you were comfortably seated, he circled around to the other side of the table.

Now healed, you were positively ravenous. You hesitated only a second before starting to fill your plate with pork sausages and honey-sauteed vegetables. Raphael’s crooked smile deepened, but he only watched, evaluating.

“How did you find me?” you asked, when the silence began feeling too oppressive.

Raphael tilted his head to the side, gauging your refreshingly lame reaction to the revelation of his nature. He replied: “That delicious life or death predicament you were in did the knocking, but you, my dear, were the one to push the door open.”

You swallowed a mouthful of food. “I don’t understand. I didn’t do anything.”

Raphael hid his smile, which felt even worse than seeing it widen. He leaned over the table on his elbows, resting his chin on his intertwined fingers.

“Oh, but you did. You wanted to survive. You craved the power to burn those insignificant worms,” he explained with an intensive look in his eyes. Then he leaned back in his seat and continued: “Unless, you’re saying there has been a mistake? I can send you back with an apology.”

“No!” you interjected.

The devil’s eyes glinted. With a nonchalant wave of his hand, a piece of parchment manifested into the air. Red letters in the language of the Hells were seared on the surface. A quill hovered next to it.

Your pulse quickened again as comprehension snaked its tendrils around you: You had prayed to give anything to save yourself. Anything, including your very soul as if it were a mere trinket to be traded off. But, what else was it in this transaction between life and death? You would lose both your life and soul, if you didn’t take the deal. A soul didn’t do much good for you if you were dead already.

“Tell me, what is your name, mortal?” Raphael asked.

“Tav.”

“Well then, Tav. Let’s bargain,” said the devil in the most complacent tone you had ever heard. “I can grant you the ability to manifest my power. The power to tear through your enemies, to guile the unworthy and cull the weak – the power to survive.”

You set the utensils down and drew in a shaky breath. “You want my soul?”

Raphael cocked a brow, entertained, and leaned over the table, closer to you. He said: “Lest you have something else to offer for your salvation, but I promise you this: I take good care of my clients.”

You stared right into the chestnut brown eyes of the human facade of the devil, who was after your very soul.

And nodded slowly.

“I accept,” you said simply, forcing your tone even. “We can go over the details after I’ve killed the fuckers.”

The devil barked a laugh.

“Excellent.”

You signed off the contract for your soul. It would take a long time until the gravity of what you had just done would settle in. In the meanwhile, you would enjoy the patronage of Raphael and the benefits of the warlock pact.

In a swirl of flames, you were returned to the wreck of the nautiloid ship, right at the feet of the looting mob.

“She’s here!”

“Indeed I am,” you snarled as infernal energy crackled and surged on your palm.

There would be only cinders left when you were through with them.

[evdelacyimagines]

Raphael x Reader: Act I: The Ring

Summary: It's always the terms and conditions that you get into a mess. And with Raphael, there always seems to be a lot of those. This is the second flashback oneshot for the main story of the series. Word count: 2269 Notes: Some romantic tension, warning for (slightly drunk) int8 Tav.

My writing masterlist

Your rounds walking around the merrymaking camp had begun to resemble the tottering of a deep rothe kid. There was drinking, dancing and as tasty a cuisine as one might expect in the middle of a forest, but most importantly, everyone was alive and well. The three goblin leaders were dead, so the tieflings were free to continue their journey towards Baldur’s Gate. Your group had a little pit stop to make on the way at Moonrise Towers, but the plan was to eventually follow them – to go back home.

Wine had been flowing a bit too generously in the course of the evening, so you stepped away for a breather by the water. You had just leaned down to wash your hands in the river, when out of the corner of your eye, you saw the grass rustling.

“Who’s there?” you asked, straightening up and ready to summon a weapon into your hand.

In the grass before you stood a dark-haired dwarven woman, smiling benignly and fully given up on trying to hide. She looked at you up and down with curiosity. The woman didn’t seem to pose a threat, but you sharpened up as best as you could, already feeling dishearteningly sober.

“You’ve got keen eyes, warlock,” she said, not at all taken aback by being discovered, “Korrilla Hearthflame. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.” She bowed her head down slightly as a mark of respect.

“And why is that?” you asked in suspicion, still ready to sling a bolt of fire at her if needed.

“Raphael is terribly excited about you… and your condition,” Korrilla explained.

Your shoulders relaxed at the implication.

“He is your patron too.”

“Yes, the respectable Raphael is my master.”

Out of courtesy, you fought back the urge to raise a brow or snicker at her choice of words. You were quite new to this warlock deal, but if Raphael started insisting you call him ‘master’, the deal would be off, no matter the consequences.

“You and I will have time aplenty to speak – but not tonight,” Korrilla continued and a fiery portal opened behind her, “This night is one of celebration – enjoy it while you can.”

Without any further explanation, she stepped into the portal and disappeared with a small wave of her hand. You quickly looked around, wondering how no one had seen your little talk or the light of the portal. The noise your companions and the tieflings were making was gradually increasing under the starry sky.

You decided to bring the matter of Korrilla up first thing in the morning, but for the time being there was nothing else to do besides splash some cold river water on your face and get back to the party.

Idly, you wondered would your patron himself even deign to visit you. Surely Raphael had more important matters to attend to. You tried not to be disappointed at the thought.

The party got noisier and rowdier with each passing cup of wine as you continued your rounds, chatting with your drunken companions, the celebrating tieflings, the druid Halsin and inexplicably melancholic Zevlor. From afar, you cast a wide side-eye at Withers, the skeletal companion who seemed to always know where you were going to camp next. He was the only one you had not talked to yet. No one else seemed to notice or care about him. You opted out of a discussion about the ever turning wheels of fate and paced into another direction.

Astarion was standing by his tent, nursing a cup of wine and looking uncharacteristically bored for a night of celebration. With everything he had told you about himself and his past, you would’ve thought he would be delighted in an event of such revelry.

The moment he saw you approaching, his face lit up with a charming smile. “Ah, there you are, darling.”

“Having fun?” you asked in lieu of greeting.

“Not quite as much as I would like,” Astarion said and sipped the wine. His cunning eyes scanned over you.

“Hah. Not enough of a party for you?”

“It’s missing the key element of a blood sacrifice,” he deadpanned, “The music could be… better, too.” He glanced at the bard Alfira in the middle of camp. She had been strumming her lute and singing with some of the other tieflings for hours.

Smiling playfully, you said: “Well, the night is still young. I’m sure we can find a proper sacrifice for you yet. Let’s see…”

Playfully, you looked around to complete the joke. Before you could comprehend what you saw, your heart started beating faster and you had to do a double take. The grin faltered on your lips, but Astarion was too busy draining his cup of wine to notice.

“You’re always such a delight, darling,” Astarion purred and stepped to lean in closer.

Chatting with one of the drunken tieflings, was Raphael. Your eyes met. A smile tugged at the corner of his lips and his one brow elegantly, invitingly arched.

“So, I was thinking… we could make our own entertainment,” Astarion drawled on. He ran one finger seductively down your arm as he spoke, but you barely registered it. He had been throwing some flirty remarks here and there earlier too. Most of the time you had just deflected them with a nice thank you or a laugh.

You turned Astarion’s hand out of the way, eyes fixated on your patron and didn’t know what came out of your mouth as you started to leave:

“What? Oh, sure, I guess. Hold on a moment, I’ll be right back…” 

Raphael was actually there in your little camp. He looked even more handsome than you remembered – and more relaxed. He was visibly expecting you to join him.

Astarion spread his hands in confusion, mildly offended and muttering as you brushed past him and made a beeline towards the devil.

Had Korrilla told Raphael that you were celebrating? Was it customary for a patron to check in with their warlock at such events? You had no idea what to make of it as you walked closer, heart hammering and breaths short.

Raphael said something to make the tiefling leave and turned his full attention to you. He looked impossibly complacent. The back of your neck was tingling – in excitement, you soon realised.

“Ah, good evening,” Raphael greeted you with a small bow.

Despite the lack of courtly manners, you attempted a light curtsy. It made his smile curve steeply with amusement.

“Good evening, Raphael. What are you doing here?” you said in a more composed manner than your inner turmoil let on.

Raphael spread his arms to emphasise how pleasing he thought the environment was. “I was delighted to hear you were throwing a little party to celebrate the slaughter of all those goblins. A whole camp, indeed,” he mused.

It twisted your insides when phrased like that. “That’s… correct.”

“A true testament to your skill,” he continued with an incline of his head.

You couldn’t say whether he was mocking you or not. You shifted on your feet.

“Um. Thank you,” you said and swallowed, “But surely you didn’t come here just to sing my praises?”

Raphael chuckled with mirth. “As per our agreement, I’ve come to provide you with the means to summon your patron,” he touched his chest with a hand, “Namely, myself.”

You weren’t so sure you liked his expression. “‘Means’? What ‘means’?” you asked warily, brows drawing in puzzlement.

Raphael merely crooked a smile. “Give me your hand, my little raven.”

A shiver coursed through you. “‘Raven’?” you retorted.

Ignoring the question, he said: “A gift, for you.”

Nervously, you extended your right hand to him.

“The other hand, please. We wouldn’t want to hinder your sword arm.”

Raphael reached out to take your left hand – his hands were so warm against yours that it first took you by surprise. The second surprise got you as he slid a golden ring onto your ring finger. Too thrown off to protest, you just ogled at him, slack jawed and the wine churning inside your stomach.

Wearing an almost mischievous grin, Raphael gently touched your chin and withdrew.

“Clause H, section 7; ‘The soul-bearer shall never withdraw the magical focus item from their person.’”

Blinking and looking up and down from the ring to the devil’s face and back, you couldn’t quite understand what he was reciting.

“W-what?”

Raphael pointed a finger in the air as he continued: “Clause H, section 8; ‘The soul-bearer shall only use the magical focus item to attempt to summon the soul-binder. The soul-binder shall answer the call at their discretion.’”

“Are those clauses in my contract?” you asked, still stunned and examined the ring. It was a golden, petite thing with some kind of sharp symbol engraved on it. It weighed nothing but you felt its presence on you as if it were a sack of stones. Had Raphael just said you couldn’t take the ring off? And that it was magical?

“Indeed. You are welcome to visit my House of Hope to read the contract any time you wish.” There was a teasing edge in Raphael’s tone and you wondered what it meant.

“Any more of those terms and conditions I should know about?” you asked.

Raphael chuckled. The deep sound travelled through your bones, tickling pleasantly.

“Not at present, little raven.” He lifted a finger in the air. “There is one more thing to complete the ritual.”

“Ritual?”

“Listen closely, since I will state this only once: ‘Dominus, inferior ad te me flecto inferni.”

He pronounced each word with care. Your lips moved in sync with his, involuntarily but silent. The phrase was branded into your memory and you felt the ring warm against your palm in response. It was a simple summoning ritual. As long as you held the ring, you would only need to speak those words and Raphael would know. And he might answer your call and come to you – if he felt like it.

You examined the ring once again. It looked so innocent but you could feel the power radiating from it. Speaking those words had somehow activated it. It was now primed to act as the focus item for the ritual.

“...’Flecto inferni’? What’s that supposed to mean?” you finally asked.

“Every good ritual requires a fetching verbal component,” Raphael replied patiently, hand to his chin. As if he hadn’t spent the last three days perfecting the words to go with the ritual spell.

“But the left ring finger?” you insisted, ears suddenly burning from the insinuation that you only just now  realised.

Raphael had the audacity to laugh.

“You’d better start rehearsing your lies, little raven.”

Because lie you would about what the ring symbolised. You squared your shoulders and faced the gauging look on your patron.

“Well, thank you for taking the time to bring me this,” you said.

“I will always make time for you,” he purred and chuckled.

A surge of toe-curling surprise made you look bashfully away.

“A-and thank you again.” You motioned awkwardly to yourself. “For the powers.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Raphael replied with an incline of his head, “After all, I am invested in your success. Korrilla will keep me posted on your… progress.”

Sensing that the conversation was about to end, you glanced at the ring and lifted it to better see the symbol on it.

“Will you at least tell me what the symbol on the ring is?”

Raphael’s lips curved into a sly smile. “I’m sure your friend Karlach can assist in deciphering it. Let it be a surprise.” He chuckled again, impossibly satisfied. Somehow you started thinking he was doing all this just to keep himself entertained.

“I’m afraid I’m already late for my next meeting. Ta-ta, little raven!”

Raphael bowed and disappeared in a flash of flames.

You shot a pondering look at the ring and spun to look around the camp until you found the burning red tiefling laughing loudly at something Rolan had just said. Biting your lip, you  wondered if it would be worth the trouble to ask Karlach about it. On the other hand, you couldn’t imagine Raphael would give you anything nasty as a surprise. Better to take the devil by the horns. At least you would know.

“Hey, Karlach?” you waved a hand as you approached her and Rolan, who was rolling his sleeves up.

“‘Sup, soldier?”

Clearing your throat, you motioned Karlach closer. You could feel the heat radiating from her body and for a heartbeat it made you think about Raphael’s warm hand on yours. You cleared your throat again and Karlach started to look worried.

“Is something wrong?” she asked.

“No, I just… have a weird question. What does ‘dominus, inferior ad te me flecto inferni’ mean?” Grimacing, you faced the barbarian.

Karlach’s mouth was agape. She was obviously taken by surprise with what you wanted to know and you started to panic a little since you had no idea what the sentence meant. Before you could apologise, she forced her mouth shut to think while pure curiosity glinted in her eyes.

“‘Lord or Master, I bow down to you in hell.’ Or it could also be more like ‘lie down’ for them. Y’know, in a naughty, adults-only way.” She grinned. “Why?”

That fucker.

That bastard devil.

You groaned. Suddenly, you didn’t want to show the ring to Karlach anymore. You wanted to yank it off and throw it into the River Chiontar.

“...No reason.”

This devil patron and his antics would be your doom.

[evdelacyimagines]

Before the Happiness

After developing feelings for Astarion, it becomes clear to you that this is uncharted territory...and not just for you.

Pairings: Astarion x female Tav

Warnings: smut, fluff, angst, dual pov. MINORS DNI, 18+

Word Count: 4.4k

Requested: yes

A/N: Graphic made by me, I do not give permission to share it without asking.

The conversation and laughter around you had lulled to a dull roar as the night sky darkened. Sitting diagonal from Astarion at the campfire, you watched his lips move, almost in slow motion. You couldn’t focus on anything else – the rest of the party were conversing over bottles of wine that you all had found earlier in an abandoned village’s pub. Deciding to stay in the same campsite for two days as an extended rest, Karlach and Gale had the big idea of taking it easy and getting drunk – “to relax, and build morale!” Karlach had claimed.

Too bad you couldn’t take your eyes off of the fair-haired vampire across from you.

What started as an innocent crush – who could blame you, with Astarion being so cocky, and so charming, and so handsome? – quickly turned into something more. Now, you were unfortunately dealing with what you were sure was an unrequited love on one of Faerun’s biggest lady killers.

Figuratively, and literally.

“What say you, Tav?” Wyll asked, elbowing you gently. Snapping you back to reality, you immediately brought your goblet of wine up to your lips to buy yourself some time.

“Sorry, what?” You asked Wyll, keeping your gaze on your goblet. You felt a blush creeping to your lips…hopefully, no one had noticed your total focus on Astarion.

“Gale here was just saying that he could easily have taken on that hoard of goblins we came across this morning by himself!” Wyll chuckled, nodding towards Gale, “Him! Against 20 goblins himself! I say bullshit.”

“Now, now,” Gale interrupted, readying to defend himself, “I said if I had the proper time to prepare my spells correctly, I could easily fight against them-”

“Well, of course, if you had time to properly prepare for battle, you are more able to fight,” Shadowheart retorted, rolling her eyes, “But that’s not the point of battle.”

“Well…” You started as the party erupted into conversations about the designs of battle. As mini discussions started, you swept your eyes across the rest of the party, all who were animatedly debating whether they were for or against Gale’s point.

All, except for Astarion.

Once your eyes met his, you were locked on. He was absentmindedly swirling the wine in his goblet, his eyes unwavering against yours. Face completely unreadable, he caused heat to rise in you. You looked away quickly, only to check again to see if he was still looking at you.

He was.

You felt panic start in your fingertips as you gulped down the rest of your wine and immediately put your goblet down next to you. Standing, you wiped your hands on your pants.

“I’m going for a walk – I need some air.” You announced to no one (as they were still engulfed in their can-Gale-fight-20-goblins discussion). Without hesitation, you made your way to the creek a little bit beyond your campsite. Through the trees, the only noise was the fading of voices and the snapping of twigs beneath your camp boots. Finally reaching the creek, you were able to breathe out a sigh of relief, leaning against the nearest tree.

Your infatuation with Astarion was a point of panic for you – having never been in love (nor never had a partner before), you found yourself in undiscovered territory. You spent your whole life training as a fighter, not a girlfriend. So of course, the irony of it all would be that your first love would be a man who had so much experience, he would make the employees at Sharess’ Caress blush. He also happened to be a man that, though kind enough, wasn’t exactly a buddy. Astarion wouldn’t be the first person you’d reach out to in times of trouble at camp, no matter how much you wanted to. You and Astarion hadn’t had any talks where you were able to divulge your backstories – the only thing you knew about him was that he was a vampire, and his past with Cazador, really.

Oh, and that he was really, absurdly sexy.

You had only hoped that the others around you – especially Astarion – didn’t notice the extra time you spent staring at his face when you hoped no one was watching. Or the fact that your laugh was the loudest when he told funny stories around the campfire. Or that when travelling, you often found yourself walking near him.

“Are you alright?” A voice asked, forcing your eyes to pop open. You whipped around from the tree, finding Astarion step out from behind the forest. A friendly smile played on his lips, putting your thundering heart at ease slightly.

“Oh…yes, I’m fine. Thank you…I think I’ve had too much wine.” You said, quickly making up an excuse, “I guess my body has forgotten how to drink since we started this journey…since…we haven’t really had any wine…since…we started journeying.”

Smooth.

Astarion let out a chuckle, meeting you at the tree you were leaning against. “Ah yes, that makes…sense.” He paused the same way you had. You locked eyes and he broke out in a smile, and you realized he was teasing you. Your heart sped.

“You know what I mean…” You grumbled, kicking a rock in front of you and blushing.

“Yes, yes. I certainly do,” He paused for a moment, looking out at the creek. He didn’t speak, and you were suddenly aware of how loud the running of the water was. “I was worried about you when you ran off so suddenly. I was hoping you weren’t feeling ill.”

“Oh! Oh, no, I’m fine,” You felt flustered – Astarion? Worried about you? “Thank you, though…for checking on me.”

His eyes flickered down to your lips for a split second before returning to your eyes. For a moment, his eyes seemed to change…were they darker somehow? But he blinked, and they returned to his normal ruby red. He raised his eyebrows and he nodded, gracefully slipping his hands into his pants pockets. “You are welcome.”

“I’m feeling better, if you wanted to walk back to the campfire…with me?” You asked hesitantly. Gods, he was just a man! He wasn’t some sort of monstrous creature…so why did he make you so nervous?

Smiling, Astarion raised his arm as if to say, lead the way, “After you.”

You nodded and walked past him, ready to shake off your nerves. You committed to yourself to go back to the campfire and not look at Astarion once. You needed to be objective about your feelings towards him, no matter how strong they were. After all, you all had a mission to complete, and falling in love would simply get in the way. Leave your thoughts of Astarion when you were alone in your bed, drifting off to sleep – not when you were needed to be present.

Suddenly, Astarion gently grabbed your wrist. His fingers were ice cold as you expected, but it still sent a shiver down your spine. “I want to say something to you.” He started. You felt a lump in your throat, unable to speak. You simply nodded, your nerves making you unable to look at him.

“I have noticed that you and I haven’t been able to…get to know each other as much as the others,” His voice, barely above a whisper, was confident and sultry. “I would like that to change. I do enjoy your company very much. And after all, who knows how long we will be spending with each other until we can reclaim our minds from these wretched tadpoles, no?”

You swallowed and nodded, turning to look at him. His eyes glittered, mischievously. His signatured smirk was on his face as he slowly let go of your wrist. Somehow, his icy fingers left your skin burning.

“I would like that,” You eventually say, over the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears, “I also enjoy your…” Gulp. “Company.”

“Wonderful,” Astarion said. “Well, now that that’s settled, let’s get back to camp, shall we?” And even though he originally had you lead the way, he started off to camp first, leaving you a few steps behind.

Not that you minded…you obviously had to use this time to collect your thoughts.

Astarion wasn’t quite sure what had come over him at the party’s get-together the previous evening, but once he had seen you (very obviously) fixating on him from across the fire, something in him snapped.

Sure, he had noticed you immediately when he had joined the party – your kind eyes, and beautiful hair. Not to mention your lyrical laugh, and curvy body…the same one where, the mere thought of could keep him up all night…

It was safe to say he had developed strong feelings for you, so Astarion decided to do what he did best – keep a safe distance, and play it cool. There was no way romance and love and feelings would be a good idea in any sense.

Especially when he knew that your feelings were probably just lust.

Love was something so far from Astarion’s lexicon, he couldn’t even remember the last time he felt it. No one could ever love him – not after everything he had done, or even because of who he was. Worthless, disgusting, abysmal…there weren’t enough words to describe Astarion’s shortcomings.

Astarion was very aware of what many others thought of him – his only redeeming quality to the world was his looks, so the idea that people only wanted to fuck and leave was not a new concept. Though he couldn’t necessarily get himself into that particular situation all that much while under Cazador (though he somehow was able to sneak away for an hour or two while completing a mission), he saw how people looked at him on this journey.

It would’ve been flattering to him if he didn’t hate himself so much.

So the idea that your feelings – which were always written all over your face – could be any more than a fantasy of bedding him, was preposterous. Up until now, Astarion would be able to push that aside for a night or two in order to satiate his (and your) need to get off, but something inside him told him that his feelings would get in the way. His fantasies about you weren’t just sexual…sometimes, his mind wandered to holding you in his arms, or simply eating a meal with you by the campfire.

Or even worse…a future with you. One that didn’t include tadpoles and battles, but of sleeping in a fluffy bed with you on a Sunday morning; of going to the town market together to complete your errands, and of owning a cat with you.

Which, truth be told, scared him more than anything.

So when he found himself following you to the creek after you had left the campfire that evening without even thinking about it, he knew he was in trouble. Gone was any sense in his brain; instead, he knew his heart was taking over, and for whatever reason, he decided to go along with it. Maybe it was because his feelings were too strong, or that he couldn’t help himself, but he knew he needed to finally be around you more.

Even if that meant you wanted nothing more than a dirty fuck.

A few days after the night at the campfire (and - surprise, surprise - another night of drinking the following evening), you found yourself once again headed towards Baldur's Gate, party and belongings in tow. Since then, you and Astarion had fallen into your familiar rhythm of what seemed like standoffishness, but now with more smiles and pleasantries peppered in. Which, was more than okay with you, since the very idea of Astarion becoming close seemed to scare you.

However, your heart couldn't help but flutter when the surprisingly flirty remark Astarion made was thrown your way. So much so that you didn't mind the curious glances from Lae'zel, or Gale.

"C'mon, you have to tell us!" Karlach pleaded while on the road, her voice a hoarse whisper as to not draw attention, "What is going on between you and Astarion?! Don't think I didn't notice, soldier...him running after you the other night? And now he's flirting with you...complimenting you?! The others may not be noticing all that much, but I certainly am!"

You laughed nervously and swatted your hand in the air as if to say, it's nothing! "Oh, you know Astarion. He flirts with everyone!"

"Yeah, but this is the first time he's flirting with you," Karlach retorted. "Which, took long enough since Gods, you're hot! But, don't think I haven't noticed the change in attitude between you two."

A blush crept to your face as you felt yourself unable to look away from the back of Astarion's head, who was walking a few paces ahead of you, discussing something with Halsin very intently. Your mind wandered to other things as your eyes scanned his body...his back, his behind...how both of them would look naked.

"Alright, I'm leaving you to whatever weird fantasy is currently going on in that brain of yours, okay?" Karlach finally said, pulling you out of your daydream. She playfully shoved your shoulder and walked faster, stepping in line with Shadowheart at the front of the pack. As she passed, Astarion slowly turned his head to look at you, Halsin still blabbering away in his ear. Your heart leapt to your throat as you locked eyes with him.

He had definitely heard.

The night had fallen silently, the only noise in camp being crickets chirping away. The oil lamp in your tent flickered as you pulled the blanket on your bed closer to your body. The book you were reading was propped up in your lap, and you reveled in the peace of the evening - retiring to your tent early, you heard exactly when everyone else had gone to sleep. Sure, you probably should have been sleeping already since Wyll insisted on an early morning start, but you wanted to enjoy your book for just a few more moments.

Suddenly, a rustling came from the front of your tent, the sound of someone announcing themselves.

"It's me," Astarion's voice called, "Are you decent?"

"Um-" You threw the book closed and swept the blanket off of you in a panic, though there was literally nothing to panic about. Rising from the bed quickly, you started to pace your tent, "Yes. Come in."

The flap to your tent was quickly undid and thrust open. Astarion strode in and redid the flap with ease. He looked down, and once he realized you had enchanted your tent with a wooden floor, slipped off his camp shoes. When he looked back up at you, he smiled.

"Good evening, darling."

"Good evening." You said, holding your hands behind your back. You plastered a smile on your face, trying to suppress the urge to smooth your hair. A moment of silence passed by before you snapped into action, "Would you like to sit?" You asked, motioning to your bed.

"Ah, yes. Thank you." Astarion said awkwardly, moving towards the bed. He sat at the far corner, causing you to sit at the opposite side.

How funny...with how badly you wanted to jump his bones, you'd think you wouldn't be on basically the other side of the world.

"Well, darling, I just came here tonight to...see how you were doing?" Astarion started, looking at you. You couldn't help but smile as he leaned back on the footpost of your bed.

"How I'm doing?" You clarified.

He nodded, "Yes, as friends do. That's what we're working towards," He paused, his eyes flickering down your body. Then, his eyes did the thing - darkened slightly, causing an indescribable look to cross his face.

Suddenly, you recognized that it wasn't an indescribable look.

It was lust.

"Friends, correct? That's what we're looking for." He finally finished, meeting your eyes again. This time, his eyes stayed dark, running his tongue quickly over his lips to moisten them.

You heart began to thud and you shifted in your nightclothes, arousal springing in your belly. Just Astarion's look alone and you were suddenly putty in his hands.

"Y-yes. Friends...that's what we are." You quietly confirmed. Feeling bold - you couldn't believe that Astarion was feeling lustful towards you! Could it be a mistake? - you scooted a bit closer and leaned in slightly, "Unless you had...other plans."

Astarion smirked and cocked and eyebrow, mirroring your body language by scooting closer. "Darling...are you coming on to me?" His voice was low, floating to your ears. You began to feel warm, a bit of sweat pooling on your brow. "If so...well, that changes everything."

"Does it now?" You murmured, staring at his lips. Your boldness surprised you - you were surprised that the first time you took a chance with Astarion was working in your favor.

Not that you were complaining.

As your heart started to beat faster, Astarion slid closer to you, closing the gap between your bodies. His hand slowly snaked up your side, his pointer finger lightly tracing your thigh. He moved in, his lips mere inches from yours.

"Say the word", He said, his voice ringing in your ears, "And tonight, I'm yours. But I will not continue unless you say it."

Your belly pooled with heat, and you couldn't contain yourself, no matter how nervous you were, "Then be mine tonight."

At once Astarion was on top of you, his lips pressed against yours. Spreading his legs so that yours were in between his, he pressed himself down on your body, his erection already prominent. You moaned into the kiss, causing him to deepen it.

"Astarion," You breathed as he pulled away slightly, starting to push your sleep shirt up from the bottom. He smiled as he quickly looked into your eyes, finally finding your lips with his again.

"If this is what friendship means for us, then I cannot wait to get closer." He spoke teasingly, his words sloppy, encased in your lips. You giggled through the kiss and suddenly gasped as you felt his cold hands on your sides, under your shirt.

You heart raced as your hands found their way to Astarion's shirt, pulling it above his head. You ran your fingers down his chest, taking in the sight before you. He paused, obviously loving the attention. A smirk played on his lips as he pushed your shirt above your head, eyes widening as your bare chest was finally on display.

"Gods, you're gorgeous." He purred, maintaining eye contact as he slowly lowered his head to latch his lips on to one of your erect nipples. You immediately moaned as his tongue swirled around your breast, leaving evidence of saliva around your nipple.

"Fuck, Astarion." You grumbled, your back arching into his mouth. He smiled but continued with his mouth, his hands finding their way to your soft pants. Without ties or buttons, Astarion was able to easily push them down, and you helped by kicking them off of your ankles.

"Darling, I can't wait to take you all in," He said, his mouth rising to yours again. One of his hands found its way to your neck, holding on to the side, while resting on his elbow. His other hand met your clit, immediately rubbing circles, "You're already so wet." He chuckled.

"You feel so good," You retorted as an explanation. Your thoughts were swimming overwhelmingly - you couldn't believe you were finally in bed with Astarion. You had fantasized about this moment basically since you had met him, and being here felt better than you could have ever imagined.

Say the word, and tonight, I'm yours. His words rang in your brain, causing your face to flush even more.

Tonight.

Tonight.

But what about after tonight?

You hadn't much experience with lovers, aside from the few and far between "relationships" as a teen, so you didn't know what was supposed to happen after this night. Were you supposed to go back to normal...as friends?

Suddenly, a pang of panic spread through you - the idea of going back to normal, as just friends, was painful to you. Here you were, with Astarion finally as a lover, someone you've come to care for deeply.

How deep it was going to hurt if you couldn't continue on with him. How deep it would hurt if you gave yourself to him like that, only to have him take you and discard you.

You snapped back to reality, realizing that many moments of silence from you had gone by. You hadn't even felt anything Astarion was doing, and he noticed, quizzically looking at you while continuing to work on your clit. You felt anxiety rise to the surface violently, and you suddenly sat up in the bed.

"Wait, wait, wait, wait, stop. Stop!" You said, immediately criss-crossing your legs. Astarion, shocked, sat back on his knees, his glistening chest heaving.

"I'm sorry! Did I do something wrong?" His lips were full and swollen, his eyes wide. You recognized the look of fear on his face, causing your heart to drop.

"I can't do this," You spoke frantically, sighing heavily. "I'm sorry I just...can't."

"Oh...kay," Astarion spoke slowly, seemingly afraid to startle you, "What's wrong?"

Your thoughts were still jumbled, the anxiety still at the surface, "I just...I just can't have you dismiss me after tonight!" Your voice was shrill, you knew it, but you couldn't stop.

Confused, Astarion slid closer. He was quiet for a moment, handing over your blanket. You took it, covering yourself, silently thanking him for the gesture.

"'Dismiss' you?" He asked, tilting his head to the side, "What do you mean, 'dismiss' you?"

"You know..." You said, almost panting from the panic, "Dismiss me! Like your...your other lovers!" You waved your hand in the air to accentuate the point, "Here I am, with true, deep feelings of love for you, and all I am to you will be another notch in your bedpost!" You sighed, finally catching your breath, "And I know I said yes to this, but truth be told I am not...experienced...with someone who is as experienced as you, and I know I said yes because I couldn't help myself due to my feelings for you. But I cannot go back to just friends after this, to party members after this. Like nothing had happened. I cannot be discarded..." Finally deciding to look at him, you felt tears spring to your eyes, "I think that will break my heart."

"Darling," Astarion whispered, taking your hand in his. "What makes you think I planned to discard you after this?"

"Isn't that what you want?" You asked, allowing the small tears to fall freely, "To just...fuck?"

"Gods, no!" Astarion cried, moving closer and smiling, "That's what I thought you wanted!"

"What?!" You asked, matching his smile, "What do you mean?"

"I thought you only wanted to bed me," He said, squeezing your hand, "That's why I came here tonight - because I thought it was what you wanted. My whole life, for as long as I can remember, my body has been used for others. I've never had someone bed me and want to stay...You know my history with Cazador...you know what I've been subjected to. I've never had anyone...care...for me before," He looked down, his voice softening, "...are you saying that you care for me?"

You nodded slowly. Bravely, you reached your hand to touch his cheek, causing him to look up to you again, "I care for you...deeply. I've fantasized about this moment since I've met you but..." You tried to find the proper words, "I'm not quite sure I'm ready for it. I have little experience and, I know that sounds young, but-"

"My darling, I would never ever push you to do something you don't want," Astarion interrupted, shaking his head, "If anyone knows about being forced to do things you don't want, it's me. Truth be told...it's quite a relief to hear you say that...I'm not...quite sure my body is ready to be touched in that way...right now," He smiled sadly, "Not by someone I care for deeply. Not in a relationship I want to grow more then just...sleeping with one another. I find that it is hard to think of myself sexually due to...my past. And I'd rather move past that before I..." His words trailed off, as if he didn't want to continue.

"Astarion," You whispered. "I won't hurt you like that. Just like you didn't want to hurt me."

He smiled finally, taking your hand closer to his mouth. Gently, he kissed your knuckles, a smile playing on his lips, "The last thing I will ever do is hurt you."

"So..." You gently nudged, "You're saying that you care deeply for me as well?"

Astarion looked at you seriously, continuing to hold your hand. He nodded, "I do. I'm terrified, but I do. I don't know what this is, and I don't know what it will become, but I've come to realize that whatever it is...I want to do it with you," He chuckled to himself, "A terrifying thought, my heart in your hands."

"And mine in yours." You spoke. Your heart was thundering with an overflow of joy - after all this time, this new revelation felt like a sunrise after a dark and stormy night. After a moment of silence, you tucked a piece of hair behind his ear, "Tonight, I think we just lay together. We don't need anything else. But I would like to spend time with you."

Astarion's eyes glittered as he nodded again, noticing your sleep clothes on the ground and picking them up. As he slipped his shirt back on, he laid beside you in bed, hesitantly putting his arms around you.

"I've never just...lay with someone before."

"There's a first for everything." You said mildly, turning to him in his arms. He smiled, gently kissing your forehead.

"I'm scared." He offered. You nodded, knowingly.

"I know. So am I."

"But before the happiness, there is always fear." He said. He looked at you, sincerity and kindness in his eyes. Gently, you met his lips with yours, trying to muster as much courage and support as you could through a kiss. When you pulled back, you smiled at him.

"And there will be a lot of happiness."

-----

What did you all think? I'm so sorry for the long break! I'm back! As always, reblogs, likes, and comments mean the WORLD for writers and are much appreciated!

My inbox is OPEN for requests!

[evdelacyimagines]

bad idea right? - raphael x f!tav (part two)

raphael lays some ground rules for your deal and extends an invitation.

author's note: read part one here. 2.3k words. 18+, mdni please. some bickering, some groping. thigh riding. ya know, the usual. ao3 link.

“What are you writing?” 

Raphael’s quill runs off the page, a thick line of black ink staining his desk. His nostrils flare and he quickly claps his journal shut, eyeing the incubus with sheer annoyance. He clenched his jaw before giving a soft sigh, his shoulders relaxing as he tries to let the frustration roll off of him. The last thing he wants to do is give Haarlep any ammunition. 

“My recent business dealings.” Raphael answers curtly and in one fluid motion slips his journal off his desk into a drawer. His eyes flit up Haarlep’s body before settling at his eyes and scrunches his nose. “And where have you been?” He sets down his quill and leans back in his desk chair. 

“You know I like to get some air every so often.” Haarlep yawns as he slinks onto the nearby bed, laying down on his stomach with his head propped up in his hands. “Writing smut again, are we? I can smell a certain aroma from you.” His mouth curls into a sly smile, his pointed teeth poking out from his upper lip. Raphael’s gaze falls to the incubus, eyes narrowing as his lips purse. It’s difficult for him to get frustrated with Haarlep at this point — he’s grown used to his teasing after having him in his “employment” for so long but still this situation is delicate.

“Are you jealous, dear Haarlep?” Raphael’s voice drops to a low purr. He gets up from his padded armchair and saunters over to the bed only to sit beside the other. Haarlep rolls over so that he can face him, claws immediately starting to drift up along his doublet sleeve. 

“Not jealous.” The incubus huffs, his touch drawing closer to Raphael’s stomach. “It has been quite some time since a mortal got your loins in a twist, though. Seems more receptive than your other pet.” He flashes a brilliant smile while Raphael digs his nails into the palms of his own hands, giving a vicious growl — a warning. Haarlep merely scoffs in response but he does lower his head, gaze beginning to drift around the room. “If you’re going to have her over you should probably have one of your debtors clean up the place.”

“Bringing her here is not a part of my plan currently. Are you requesting something of me?” Raphael peers down at the other as he cocks a brow. Haarlep shrugs and stays quiet for a moment before giving a huff.

“I want to see what all this fuss is about.” 

Raphael considers him, his mind quickly running through a few scenarios. Why should he share? But there it is, an opportunity underneath all the show: a deal to be made.

“Perhaps I could make some changes, but what would be in it for me?”

***

You feel a violent hand over your mouth and your eyes shoot open as a gasp rips from your throat. Once your vision settles, you’re met with those caramel eyes leering over you, Raphael’s teeth-bared and gaze sharp.

“Outside. Now.” There is venom in his voice unlike that you’ve heard from him before. He disappears in a spark of ash before you’re able to say anything — and then you realize he’s cast silence on you anyway. You feel an angry growl rumble through your chest but it’s swallowed up by the time it reaches your lips, in some ways a blessing since you don’t want to wake your companions. As you get out of bed, Astarion stirs in the one in front of you, making soft snores and every so often small whimpers? Do vampires have dreams? Your mind wanders as you put on your evening robe to fight the chill of the air. One last scan over your companions and you’re out the door, heading downstairs of the tavern and out to the alleyway.

Raphael is waiting for you, his arms crossed and his eyes narrowed. You hate that the first thing you think of is how radiant he looks in the pale moonlight. The dim light makes his brown eyes sparkle and the gold details on his doublet shine. Memories of the deal you made and what happened after flood your mind, replacing your annoyance with a familiar warmth in the pit of your stomach. You open your mouth but only air tumbles out, making you clench your fists in frustration.

“No, no. You don’t get to speak yet, little mouse.” He stalks closer to you, his movements slow and deliberate. “Rumors have made their way back to me that a certain hero has been fraternizing with an infernal being.” Raphael grits his teeth as he leans in, his eyes boring into yours. “You couldn’t wait to tell your little companions, could you?” There is anger in his voice but underneath it you swear there is a hint of teasing. He awaits your response but then gives a dramatic ah! before snapping his fingers. 

“I didn’t tell them about our deal.” You’re finally able to snap back but your voice is hoarse from the silence. “Astarion noticed! He could smell you on me. Called me a freak — but not in a disgusted way, more like… he was impressed.” Too much information but the words spill out of you. Raphael’s face remains unchanged, his lips pressed into a straight line and his brows furrowed. “He’s bad at keeping secrets… but I wasn’t sure if you would care since you left me alone at Sharess’ Caress.” 

He exhales slowly through his nose and his face seems to relax, his jaw shifting back into place and his eyes softening. One of his hands reaches for yours, which is balled into a fist at your side. His fingers graze your fist, lightly trying to loosen it before he takes your hand. Raphael’s eyes stay fixed on you, his lips starting to quirk into a barely there smile. You try to keep a straight face but his warm fingers laced with your own makes an infuriating blush rise to your cheeks.

“Did I hurt your feelings, pet?” His voice drops dangerously low as he brings the back of your hand to his lips. You roll your eyes, amazed by his nerve. Did he think he could bat his lashes and you’d be wrapped around his finger? “Mmm… forgive me, for that. Please. It’s been an eternity since someone has affected me this way.” He murmurs, averting your gaze as you swear you see a flash of embarrassment cross his face. Your breath catches in your throat at the sudden candor, having only seen it once before in him. 

“You shouldn’t have left.” You remain firm but your voice is a hum, your eyes tracing over his features. “After everything we’ve been through, I thought I would have gotten special treatment.” You wriggle your hand free from his grasp as you give him a sly grin, not about to let him off the hook that easily. Raphael’shead tilts as he regards you silently for a moment, as if your playfulness caught him off guard. His lips tug into a smile and you catch his gaze fall to your mouth, then back up to meet your eyes.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you. As you know, I tend to keep my word.” He all but purrs, drifting in even closer to you. 

“Well, I’d like to get it in writing.” 

“You what?” Raphael’s charming facade immediately drops, scrunching his nose. You are delighted with the way he glared at you. “Let us discuss this later — we have more pressing matters. Your companions, I am certain they aren’t very supportive of you mingling with a devil such as myself.” He presses his hand to his chest, those caramel eyes sucking you in like they always do. 

“I wouldn’t say that they are thrilled about it.” You sigh and break your eye contact. “But it doesn’t seem like a reason for them to leave, at least for now… if this is something that will continue.” He uses one of his long fingers to gently turn your head back to his gaze. 

“I would rather that they didn’t know about us, sweetling.” Raphael sounds almost sweet as he seemingly takes in every detail of your face, his hand now cupping your cheek. “Them and the entirety of the Sword Coast, at least until the Elder Brain is defeated. We don’t want the general public to think our savior is taking orders from a devil, do we?” It’s something you haven’t thought about until now. You were never one to care for optics but he isn’t wrong. “I have an idea that will put your companion’s minds at ease and take some of the heat off of us.” 

You’re hardly paying attention to what he’s saying because of how close he is. You could easily kiss him right now. What would he do? You decide to find out. The gravel crunches beneath your feet as you quickly push yourself onto your tippy toes to kiss him, nearly cutting him off. Raphael’s body freezes in surprise before his hand moves from your cheek to tangle with your hair, his tongue desperately pushing into your mouth. It’s like a switch went off in his brain. He’s grabbing you, tugging at your waist so your bodies are flush against each other.

You nearly fall into him as he takes a few steps back, your hands slipping to hold onto his shoulders. Tasting him again was almost just as overwhelming as the first time, the heat of his mouth making me crave him more and more, deepening the kiss. Raphael moves quickly, both his hands suddenly gripping your thighs to pull you down with him into a chair you’re sure didn’t exist a moment ago. He has you straddling his waist, strong hands making sure you stay in place. You finally manage to break away from the kiss to catch your breath, hazy eyes meeting his gaze.

“Go to the Devil’s Fee when you’re ready — my contact will grant you entrance to my House of Hope.” Raphael’s nose traces along your jaw, his lips brushing along your neck as he speaks. He teases at your neck with his teeth, inching lower and lower, while drifting his hands along your robe to grope your breast through the light fabric. Your arms wrap around his shoulders and you eliminate the remaining space between you, melting into his touch. Raphael sucks on your collarbone as he opens your robe even further, fingers toying with your nipples through your shirt before pulling it down and exposing your breasts. You’re dizzy from it all, lost in him and his expert touches and that velvet voice, lips parting to give a soft whine. 

“The hammer will be in a safe in my boudoir — an easy heist for you and your companions.” His voice is ragged, breath heavy as his mouth moves down your chest to run his tongue along your sensitive flesh. Raphael dips his hands to cup your ass and guides you along his thigh. Even through the layers of fabric the friction is delicious, making your legs tremble more and more with each drag over his thigh. You forget that you’re outside where anyone could stumble by, moaning recklessly as his lips close around one of your nipples. He flicks his tongue against it, teeth nipping it only just enough to hurt before giving it a few rough sucks. 

Your fingers move to dig into the hair at the base of his neck, tilting your head back while his mouth works over your breasts with feverish need. A growl rumbles up from his chest, feeling it against yours as you start to grind against him without his help. It all feels so reckless. Raphael’s composure is completely gone, groaning against your chest as his tongue teasing your other nipple. Your eyes fall shut and you snap your hips harshly into his thigh, chasing your release. 

And as easily as he gave into you, he takes it all away.

Raphael grabs you by the chin and wrenches you down to look at him in the eyes. You’re shuddering in his grasp as his caramel gaze sharpens, fire in his eyes. The sudden shift in mood has your mind turned upside down and your body aching to be touched by him again. 

“This part is extremely important, pet, so listen closely.” He snarls, digging his nails into your cheeks. “Do not assist Hope while you are a guest. Is that understood?” Raphael yanks you so that his lips are hovering directly over yours. You quiver at his closeness and you nod before even trying to understand what he is asking of you. All you know is that you want him now. There’s a spark in his eyes once you agree and he lets go of you gently, his hands dropping to cover you up before, leaning back in the chair with a smug look on his face. “Go on — take what you need.” 

You snap your hips immediately, flinging your hands to grab for his shoulders again. Raphael can’t stop watching your face, the way your expression twists in pleasure with each thrust, the soft groans spilling from swollen lips, basking in how much you crave him. You stare into his eyes as you do as he says, taking what you need from him until it’s all too much. You give a choked sob, hip stuttering and fingers digging into his doublet as your orgasm rips through you. His arms swallow you in his embrace, pulling you tight against his chest to help guide you back down to Earth. 

“I’ll amend your contract to reflect the changes discussed this evening.” Raphael purrs into your hair, lightly brushing his fingertips along your back. “I also have something for you – perfume that should mask my scent even from those with heightened senses of smell.” You lift your head up. A present? For you? Strangely sweet for a devil, even if it was to help with sneaking around. 

“You’ll also add your promise to the amendment, right?” You ask sweetly, the picture of innocence. He dramatically rolls his eyes.

“If you insist.”

[evdelacyimagines]

bad idea right? - raphael x f!tav

your companions have made their stance on making a deal with a devil clear but as the stakes of your quest grow you aren't so certain

a/n: i am shouting out @angellayercake for screaming about this with me and for also having to deal with this:

this is my first raphael fic! i tried :) 2.1k words. smut! mdni! 18+ please. both tav and raphael make bad decisions! ao3 link.

Your muscles and bones ache as you toss and turn in bed, eyes squeezed shut while you try to force yourself to sleep but to no avail. The bed creaks as you shift, an exasperated sigh leaving your lips. Sleeping used to be easier before the tadpole, before your abduction and before you somehow became the hero of this story. Your eyes flicker across your companions, watching as they sleep, their chests rising and falling between soft breaths. You knew booking a room at Elfsong would be good for them, allowing them to sleep in actual beds for the first time during your adventure rather than bedrolls on the hard ground. You care for them, more than you’ve cared about anything before, putting their needs above yours. Perhaps that’s why you’ve taken on the role as the heroic leader.

But you don’t want to be. Not anymore. You’re exhausted from trying to go about this the right way when there is a slightly easier way to go about it.

The second those big, brown eyes fell upon you in the Devil’s Den he knew you were exhausted. You still went about the delicate dance of learning what he truly wanted from you and how you refuse to make a deal with a Devil. But deep down, you wanted to and he knew. The way his lips quirked into a slimy smirk as you left, your eyes met his and you gave him a knowing look. He would be expecting you to come back.

You just didn’t think you would be back so soon but you aren’t able to get your thoughts to quiet down. You need your plans in place to quiet your mind enough to rest. Gravel crunches beneath your boots as you make your way back to Sharess’ Caress, a cautious eye scanning the streets for anything out of the ordinary. You miss the days when you could walk these streets without worry, when signs of danger were few and far between. 

The hair on the back of your neck stands on end once you reach the door to Devil’s Den, a lump forming in your throat. Ever since Raphael showed his smarmy face and performed his rehearsed speech to your group, you couldn’t help but be curious about him. A devil, a cambion to be more specific, coming to you with a deal was never even a possibility that crossed your mind before, let alone having multiple run-ins with him since you escaped the wreckage. There is always something far too tempting about him and his schemes.

I’ve grown fond of you, in my own way. 

You think about the way those words rolled off of his tongue more than you would like to admit. An infernal creature fond of you. You can’t help but feel special. A quick thought blips to the front of your mind, a sudden worry that it’s too late at night for you to be disturbing him. You suck in a deep breath and shrug the thought away — you are his favorite client, after all. The door to his room clicks and you push open the door, revealing Raphael still perched at his desk almost as if he hasn’t moved since you left him earlier.

“Back so soon, mouse?” The devil tilts his head, an amused smile playing on his lips. “You put on quite the performance earlier, I figured you would take a few nights to stew over it before you came crawling back.” His voice drops deliciously low as he curls his fingers underneath his chin, his eyes scanning your body. You feel warmth start to blossom in the pit of your stomach but you choose to brush the feeling off. It’s just like him to continue this little game of his when he knows full well what you are here for. You decide to play along. 

“Where is the hammer, Raphael?” You ask, annoyance dripping from your town while you walk completely past him and into the bedroom. He trails after you curiously, watching as you start to go through the drawers of his bedside table. You know it’s not here but you must play along with him, wanting nothing more than to hold his attention. Raphael lingers behind you, peering over your shoulder with a bemused expression.

“It’s not here, my pet. You’ll receive it at the right time — if you accept my deal.” You feel his warm breath on the back of your neck and your cheeks flush, your grip on the drawer tightening.

“How do I know you won’t screw me over?” You don’t dare turn around, almost afraid how close he is to you. One of his hands grabs you by the waist and you can’t help but give a startled mewl. He snaps his fingers and a contract appears in front of you, the infernal script too complicated for you to understand, and a quill floats beside it.

“You wound me.” Raphael purrs into your ear, savoring the position he has you in. The chase, the seduction is always his favorite part. “My deal is fair. We get what we both want. I promise you, my dear, I would never lie to you. You are my favorite client, after all.” His lips touch your earlobe and he can practically taste your desperation. He sucks in a sharp breath to compose himself while his hand on your waist drifts lower. Raphael has you right where he wants to and he’s relishing in having the hero of the sword coast in his grasp. 

“Raphael—“ His name catches in your throat as his fingers slip inside your waistband. You shudder and your eyes flutter open and shut, your cheeks bright red as he continues lower. For Raphael, this is something that happens every so often with his business — having to sweeten the deal with a little bit of devilish delight, but this felt especially sweet. Raphael is corrupting you himself, in more ways than one. His fingers stroke along your opening, your folds already slick to his pleasant surprise.

“My, my.” He teases and you can feel him smile against your ear. “Seems that you are quite ready to accept my deal, little mouse. Take the quill.” His voice is a mere whisper now, his fingers teasing at your entrance. You hesitate for just a moment, putting on a small act of reluctance before following his command, the quill feeling impossibly light in your hand. Raphael hums his approval and presses one of his long fingers inside your dripping cunt. You dip your head back and lean into him, resting on his shoulder as your eyes close and lips part, an embarrassingly soft moan falling from them. 

A rush of desire courses through Raphael, so strong that it nearly distracts him from the task at hand, a blush rising to his cheeks that unfortunately you can’t see. He gives a low growl, his mouth finding your neck and sucking on the delicate flesh while he starts to curl his finger inside of you. You gasp and drop your hand to grab his forearm, fingers digging into his sleeve as he continues, your body writhing and your toes curling in your boots. Your body is impossibly hot, your mind thinking only about how sinfully good his finger feels, the dangers and worries of signing his contract far away now.

Raphael is lost in your taste. His tongue and lips drifting along your neck, planting wet kisses and sharp bites, his eyes closed and his breathing heavy. He slips another fingers inside, stretching you open with deft digits as he sinks them even deeper. You’re putty in his hands and you hate that it feels so right, that this is what you wanted, what you dreamt about after first laying eyes on him. Your knees start to buckle and the tension in your abdomen is almost at its breaking point, stuttering moans and huffs clawing their way from your throat. Raphael nearly forgets himself, so utterly wrapped up in your taste, your scent, but he’s able to catch himself before he takes it too far. He pulls his fingers from you and starts to stroke lightly at your fully drenched entrance.

“Sign the contract, my little mouse, and I’ll finish you off.” His voice is gravelly and you feel the words vibrate from his chest. You don’t hesitate this time, feverishly signing the contract as his fingers lazily circle your cunt. The second you’ve signed the contract ignites into flames and disappears, quill included. Raphael wastes no time, plunging his fingers back inside and thrusting them roughly. Your hips buck and your eyes squeeze shut, riding his fingers to the edge of the precipice. His teeth find your earlobe, grazing it before giving it a rough nibble that is enough to send you toppling over the edge. Your body trembles and convulses, breathing heavy as your vision blurs and it overtakes you.

Normally, Raphael would have slipped away from his mark, leaving them alone to bask in the delicious shame of making a deal with a devil. But he can’t leave you. His nose scrunches as his eyes meet your glassy ones, your cheeks an adorable shade of red and your lips shiny and pink. He shouldn’t be feeling this way, not for you, not for anyone, but he can’t help but want you. Raphael hasn’t felt this kind of want in ages. His heart pounds in his chest, his gaze drifting to your lips. He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. But he can’t resist you.

Raphael’s lips crash against yours, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth. You groan at the taste of him, cherries and musk, and you melt into the kiss. It’s fierce and possessive, his strong hands grabbing you again by the waist and clumsily pressing you back into the nearest wall. It’s like he can’t control himself which is alarming given how carefully he has crafted his image for hundreds of years just for you to tear it all away in a moment of weakness. He can’t stop himself though. His hands are groping you all over, drifting from your ass to your breasts, with one firm hand settling on your throat.

You can’t breathe and you’re sure Raphael has forgotten that you need to breathe. You manage to tear yourself away from the breathless kiss, air filling your lungs as he bites at your jaw, those caramel eyes never leaving yours. He uses his free hand to tug at your pants, ripping them in the process but he doesn’t care. He needs you. He needs nothing but you in this moment. You’re not used to how quickly he moves, suddenly finding your legs wrapped around his waist while he holds you up against the wall with one hand, his hard cock already pressing against your slick entrance. 

You brace yourself against the wall as he slams into you, his sharp nails digging into your ass and a deep moan rumbling from his chest. A scream leaves your lips, your hands pawing at his chest before curling into his doublet to hold on. He keeps the pace desperate, the mere strength of his thighs pounding into your ass enough to leave bruises. You squeeze your legs tighter around his waist and he whines, a sound you want more than anything to hear again. He captures your lips in a kiss again, his burning tongue dominating the kiss as he fills you so deeply, deeper than anyone has before. Your hands drift up his shoulders to settle around his neck, fingertips brushing the soft curls at the nape of his neck and you swear you hear him purr.

Raphael’s teeth, somehow sharper than before, sink into your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Your nails dig into the back of his neck as you give a sharp yelp, your body jerking as the pain sears through you. His breath catches in his throat before giving a deep, rumbling snarl against your lips. One last thrust and he’s spilling himself deep inside you, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. Your eyes are wide as you take in his face, his forehead glistening with sweat and a few loose strands of his usually perfect hair, his cheeks flushed red. His gaze meets yours, seeing your reaction and immediately disappearing, only to appear a second later in front of you and tidied up except for a hint of redness in his cheeks. 

Meanwhile your lips and teeth are stained with blood, your hair is a mess and your pants are still around your ankles with the devil’s cum dripping down the inside of your thighs.

“A pleasure doing business with you, mouse. We shall keep this a special secret between us.” Raphael sounds almost angry with you, nearly growling between gritted teeth but there is something else that catches you off guard. His face – his words sound threatening but his face looks unsure, perhaps even worried?

Raphael leaves in a flash of fire.

[evdelacyimagines]

Frozen Contract

I had to deliver on the poll I recently made. This is a drabble, being forced to share body heat with a cambion as you're stranded in a frozen wasteland.

"You have the freedom to choose the only option you have left."

Raphael x reader | drabble

You curled in on yourself, the coldness of hard-packed snow beneath you seeping through your thin bedroll straight to your bones.

Your shivering was becoming so violent you could just about feel your brain rattling within your skull.

“Dear, dear, you are in quite a state.”  Raphael sat quite unbothered upon his own pristine bedroll, golden eyes of licking flame as they watched you. “A frozen mouse quite fit for a snake’s meal.”

“Do you ever get tired of your metaphors?”  You could barely speak through the chatter of your teeth.

Raphael tilted his horned head, his breath creating puffs of steam with each exhale. “Does a nightingale get tired of singing the sun to sleep?”

You rolled your eyes.

“It’s self-evident you have life left in you yet, little one.”  Raphael noticed your annoyed expression, raising his eyebrow in return and flipping a page in the book he lazily read. His tail swept idly around in front of him, clearing a bit of snow and shoving it onto your blankets. “While we yet travel together, desist irking me with your trifling mortal troubles.”

“Such as freezing to death?” You bit back, your patience long gone.

Raphael smirked, holding out a large hand and catching several of the large flakes of snow that had begun falling from the dark sky. “Indeed.  I can hear the rattling of your bones from here.”

You glared at him for a moment, then squeezed your eyes tight shut.  

Raphael returned his attention to you, then snapped his book shut with a sharpness that made you jump.  He regarded you with a familiar haughty air. “I would admire your stalwart nature were it not so mulish.”

“I am not asking you for help.”

Raphael didn’t respond for a moment, his expression calculating. “I am quite accustomed to biding my time.”

You turned away, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself and attempted to sleep once more.

It was the shivering that awoke you, your body trying desperately to warm itself.  You couldn’t feel your hands or feet for the numbness, could barely lift your eyelids to check for signs of the dawn.

A heavy hand pressed upon your hip; you could feel the warmth of Raphael’s skin through the fabric over you. His breath was as the breath of life, hot against your neck and cheek. “Say ‘yes’.”

“Yes.”  You gasped out and the cambion responded immediately.

Raphael curled his large fiendish body around your much smaller frame, his fingers undoing the clasps of your clothing. He took hold of your wrists as you moved weakly to protest. “The ice will melt and leave you soaking, and I will not tolerate such a mess.”

You let him shed you of your clothing, his wing quickly covering you and his arm wrapping around your bare torso to tug your body flush against his own.

With two long fingers, Raphael tilted your face to look at him. His eyes flitted between your own, then down to your mouth. “Your lips are a charming shade of blue.”

“I can’t feel them.”  You mumbled; your thoughts hazy from the warmth seeping from his body into yours.

Raphael bent his head to you, his free hand cupping the back of your head, sending a thrill of heat through you. You closed your eyes, feeling his tongue trace liquid fire across your lips, then the soft press of a kiss that deepened to something more primal.

You felt the thick coil of his long tail slide and wind its way up your leg, warming you in a much different way.

Raphael took your chin between thumb and forefinger, forcing you to focus on him. “Say my name, pet.”

You hesitated only a moment.  Giving into a brief defiance before accepting defeat. Your lips trembled, but no longer from the cold. “Raphael.”

[evdelacyimagines]

Love

Amidst filling the lovely requests I received from you all in my inbox I wanted to write this concept I have been thinking of for days now. Loving a cambion. Actually falling in love with Raphael and how that would be received by him.

Raphael x reader | scenario snippets | tried to write like poetry of sorts | OH and there's SMUT so 18+ pls

"I love you."

It was a whisper. Your silent prayer.

The devil heard. He raised his head, the contract he was drafting momentarily forgotten.

Raphael smiled archly and chuckled darkly. "Then you are more foolish than I gave you credit for."

He slid the parchment over to your side of the table. "Sign your name upon this page. Prove your undying devotion to me."

Raphael's lips twisted into a mocking smirk; his eyebrow raised in an unspoken challenge.

A challenge you took. A trap you willingly sprung.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"I love you."

"I demanded the truth." Raphael's hand grasped the nape of your neck, bending it back until you feared he would rip out your exposed throat. "Not more of your insipid nonsense."

"I gave you the truth, as I always have." Your voice was strong, as was your character. A trait often lacking in warlocks sworn to a devil. "You asked for my candor, and I have laid myself bare."

Raphael laughed, harsh and humorless. "You have not even begun to bare yourself before me." His hand yanked your head back a little more. "An oversight I will now rectify. Then perhaps you will speak no more of love and other mortal fallacies."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"I love you."

The words left your trembling lips, pulled from you just as Raphael pulled another orgasm from your coiled body. Your limbs shook and he silenced your squeal of anguished pleasure as you stammered for words. His face pulled away just enough to see your dazed expression, he remained seated deep within you. "Hush, pet." He shook his head, chiding but not cruel. "Do not give voice to such impotent thoughts."

Your mind a red haze, you nodded in agreement, eager only for the friction and heat he provided.

Raphael took, but he always gave in return.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"I love-"

Raphael silenced you with a fierce kiss, and pressed a finger to your mouth to keep you quiet after he pulled away. "I deal in contracts and vices, my dear." He shakes his head, those long fingers trailing down the side of your neck, tracing your body. "Never has 'love' held any sway with me."

You open your mouth to protest but he kisses the words away yet again before taking your chin and leveling a quelling gaze at you. "Worship me, fear me, and admit you are mine." His nails pierced your skin before withdrawing, the sting of his touch remaining. "Leave such folly at the door."

You bit your tongue. The concept of loving was too foreign for a creature never before embraced by it. Yet, you would love him still, in whatever ways he allowed.

[evdelacyimagines]

bad idea right? - raphael x f!tav

your companions have made their stance on making a deal with a devil clear but as the stakes of your quest grow you aren't so certain

a/n: i am shouting out @angellayercake for screaming about this with me and for also having to deal with this:

this is my first raphael fic! i tried :) 2.1k words. smut! mdni! 18+ please. both tav and raphael make bad decisions! ao3 link.

Your muscles and bones ache as you toss and turn in bed, eyes squeezed shut while you try to force yourself to sleep but to no avail. The bed creaks as you shift, an exasperated sigh leaving your lips. Sleeping used to be easier before the tadpole, before your abduction and before you somehow became the hero of this story. Your eyes flicker across your companions, watching as they sleep, their chests rising and falling between soft breaths. You knew booking a room at Elfsong would be good for them, allowing them to sleep in actual beds for the first time during your adventure rather than bedrolls on the hard ground. You care for them, more than you’ve cared about anything before, putting their needs above yours. Perhaps that’s why you’ve taken on the role as the heroic leader.

But you don’t want to be. Not anymore. You’re exhausted from trying to go about this the right way when there is a slightly easier way to go about it.

The second those big, brown eyes fell upon you in the Devil’s Den he knew you were exhausted. You still went about the delicate dance of learning what he truly wanted from you and how you refuse to make a deal with a Devil. But deep down, you wanted to and he knew. The way his lips quirked into a slimy smirk as you left, your eyes met his and you gave him a knowing look. He would be expecting you to come back.

You just didn’t think you would be back so soon but you aren’t able to get your thoughts to quiet down. You need your plans in place to quiet your mind enough to rest. Gravel crunches beneath your boots as you make your way back to Sharess’ Caress, a cautious eye scanning the streets for anything out of the ordinary. You miss the days when you could walk these streets without worry, when signs of danger were few and far between. 

The hair on the back of your neck stands on end once you reach the door to Devil’s Den, a lump forming in your throat. Ever since Raphael showed his smarmy face and performed his rehearsed speech to your group, you couldn’t help but be curious about him. A devil, a cambion to be more specific, coming to you with a deal was never even a possibility that crossed your mind before, let alone having multiple run-ins with him since you escaped the wreckage. There is always something far too tempting about him and his schemes.

I’ve grown fond of you, in my own way. 

You think about the way those words rolled off of his tongue more than you would like to admit. An infernal creature fond of you. You can’t help but feel special. A quick thought blips to the front of your mind, a sudden worry that it’s too late at night for you to be disturbing him. You suck in a deep breath and shrug the thought away — you are his favorite client, after all. The door to his room clicks and you push open the door, revealing Raphael still perched at his desk almost as if he hasn’t moved since you left him earlier.

“Back so soon, mouse?” The devil tilts his head, an amused smile playing on his lips. “You put on quite the performance earlier, I figured you would take a few nights to stew over it before you came crawling back.” His voice drops deliciously low as he curls his fingers underneath his chin, his eyes scanning your body. You feel warmth start to blossom in the pit of your stomach but you choose to brush the feeling off. It’s just like him to continue this little game of his when he knows full well what you are here for. You decide to play along. 

“Where is the hammer, Raphael?” You ask, annoyance dripping from your town while you walk completely past him and into the bedroom. He trails after you curiously, watching as you start to go through the drawers of his bedside table. You know it’s not here but you must play along with him, wanting nothing more than to hold his attention. Raphael lingers behind you, peering over your shoulder with a bemused expression.

“It’s not here, my pet. You’ll receive it at the right time — if you accept my deal.” You feel his warm breath on the back of your neck and your cheeks flush, your grip on the drawer tightening.

“How do I know you won’t screw me over?” You don’t dare turn around, almost afraid how close he is to you. One of his hands grabs you by the waist and you can’t help but give a startled mewl. He snaps his fingers and a contract appears in front of you, the infernal script too complicated for you to understand, and a quill floats beside it.

“You wound me.” Raphael purrs into your ear, savoring the position he has you in. The chase, the seduction is always his favorite part. “My deal is fair. We get what we both want. I promise you, my dear, I would never lie to you. You are my favorite client, after all.” His lips touch your earlobe and he can practically taste your desperation. He sucks in a sharp breath to compose himself while his hand on your waist drifts lower. Raphael has you right where he wants to and he’s relishing in having the hero of the sword coast in his grasp. 

“Raphael—“ His name catches in your throat as his fingers slip inside your waistband. You shudder and your eyes flutter open and shut, your cheeks bright red as he continues lower. For Raphael, this is something that happens every so often with his business — having to sweeten the deal with a little bit of devilish delight, but this felt especially sweet. Raphael is corrupting you himself, in more ways than one. His fingers stroke along your opening, your folds already slick to his pleasant surprise.

“My, my.” He teases and you can feel him smile against your ear. “Seems that you are quite ready to accept my deal, little mouse. Take the quill.” His voice is a mere whisper now, his fingers teasing at your entrance. You hesitate for just a moment, putting on a small act of reluctance before following his command, the quill feeling impossibly light in your hand. Raphael hums his approval and presses one of his long fingers inside your dripping cunt. You dip your head back and lean into him, resting on his shoulder as your eyes close and lips part, an embarrassingly soft moan falling from them. 

A rush of desire courses through Raphael, so strong that it nearly distracts him from the task at hand, a blush rising to his cheeks that unfortunately you can’t see. He gives a low growl, his mouth finding your neck and sucking on the delicate flesh while he starts to curl his finger inside of you. You gasp and drop your hand to grab his forearm, fingers digging into his sleeve as he continues, your body writhing and your toes curling in your boots. Your body is impossibly hot, your mind thinking only about how sinfully good his finger feels, the dangers and worries of signing his contract far away now.

Raphael is lost in your taste. His tongue and lips drifting along your neck, planting wet kisses and sharp bites, his eyes closed and his breathing heavy. He slips another fingers inside, stretching you open with deft digits as he sinks them even deeper. You’re putty in his hands and you hate that it feels so right, that this is what you wanted, what you dreamt about after first laying eyes on him. Your knees start to buckle and the tension in your abdomen is almost at its breaking point, stuttering moans and huffs clawing their way from your throat. Raphael nearly forgets himself, so utterly wrapped up in your taste, your scent, but he’s able to catch himself before he takes it too far. He pulls his fingers from you and starts to stroke lightly at your fully drenched entrance.

“Sign the contract, my little mouse, and I’ll finish you off.” His voice is gravelly and you feel the words vibrate from his chest. You don’t hesitate this time, feverishly signing the contract as his fingers lazily circle your cunt. The second you’ve signed the contract ignites into flames and disappears, quill included. Raphael wastes no time, plunging his fingers back inside and thrusting them roughly. Your hips buck and your eyes squeeze shut, riding his fingers to the edge of the precipice. His teeth find your earlobe, grazing it before giving it a rough nibble that is enough to send you toppling over the edge. Your body trembles and convulses, breathing heavy as your vision blurs and it overtakes you.

Normally, Raphael would have slipped away from his mark, leaving them alone to bask in the delicious shame of making a deal with a devil. But he can’t leave you. His nose scrunches as his eyes meet your glassy ones, your cheeks an adorable shade of red and your lips shiny and pink. He shouldn’t be feeling this way, not for you, not for anyone, but he can’t help but want you. Raphael hasn’t felt this kind of want in ages. His heart pounds in his chest, his gaze drifting to your lips. He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. But he can’t resist you.

Raphael’s lips crash against yours, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth. You groan at the taste of him, cherries and musk, and you melt into the kiss. It’s fierce and possessive, his strong hands grabbing you again by the waist and clumsily pressing you back into the nearest wall. It’s like he can’t control himself which is alarming given how carefully he has crafted his image for hundreds of years just for you to tear it all away in a moment of weakness. He can’t stop himself though. His hands are groping you all over, drifting from your ass to your breasts, with one firm hand settling on your throat.

You can’t breathe and you’re sure Raphael has forgotten that you need to breathe. You manage to tear yourself away from the breathless kiss, air filling your lungs as he bites at your jaw, those caramel eyes never leaving yours. He uses his free hand to tug at your pants, ripping them in the process but he doesn’t care. He needs you. He needs nothing but you in this moment. You’re not used to how quickly he moves, suddenly finding your legs wrapped around his waist while he holds you up against the wall with one hand, his hard cock already pressing against your slick entrance. 

You brace yourself against the wall as he slams into you, his sharp nails digging into your ass and a deep moan rumbling from his chest. A scream leaves your lips, your hands pawing at his chest before curling into his doublet to hold on. He keeps the pace desperate, the mere strength of his thighs pounding into your ass enough to leave bruises. You squeeze your legs tighter around his waist and he whines, a sound you want more than anything to hear again. He captures your lips in a kiss again, his burning tongue dominating the kiss as he fills you so deeply, deeper than anyone has before. Your hands drift up his shoulders to settle around his neck, fingertips brushing the soft curls at the nape of his neck and you swear you hear him purr.

Raphael’s teeth, somehow sharper than before, sink into your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Your nails dig into the back of his neck as you give a sharp yelp, your body jerking as the pain sears through you. His breath catches in his throat before giving a deep, rumbling snarl against your lips. One last thrust and he’s spilling himself deep inside you, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. Your eyes are wide as you take in his face, his forehead glistening with sweat and a few loose strands of his usually perfect hair, his cheeks flushed red. His gaze meets yours, seeing your reaction and immediately disappearing, only to appear a second later in front of you and tidied up except for a hint of redness in his cheeks. 

Meanwhile your lips and teeth are stained with blood, your hair is a mess and your pants are still around your ankles with the devil’s cum dripping down the inside of your thighs.

“A pleasure doing business with you, mouse. We shall keep this a special secret between us.” Raphael sounds almost angry with you, nearly growling between gritted teeth but there is something else that catches you off guard. His face – his words sound threatening but his face looks unsure, perhaps even worried?

Raphael leaves in a flash of fire.

[evdelacyimagines]

could I request for you to write an scenario in which Raphael does not die to Tav nor their party, but in an other similarly humiliating circumstances, and Tav when learning about this desperately goes to save Raphael from his father by bargaining with Mephistopheles? (hilariously in a very sad way, I assume this, is the only moment that Mephistopheles would ever "value" Raphael's life, but then again that is devils for you) and Raphael's confusion at the whole thing, someone taking a terrible bargain to save him, just… because they… like him…??? (bonus points, if Tav still has a crown to willingly give Raphael XD)

It's beat up Raphael hours huh? (also Korilla will be fine)

Hi there love. This turned from a drabble into a oneshot haha

Have fun running to Cania to pick up your wayfaring devil!

Raphael x reader (gn)

Korilla had come to you.

Broker and bruised, battered and bloody. Her long curly hair matted with mud and dried viscous.

“Help him.”  Her first words, rasped from a throat raw from screams.

“Korilla!”  You caught her weight as her knees buckled, lowering her gently to the ground.  The Dwarven woman wasn’t your friend by any means, but she had been your ally.  “Who needs my help?”  You couldn’t fathom who she might be referring to.

Surely it wasn’t Raphael. It couldn’t possibly be the enigmatic, self-assured cambion.

Korilla’s answering rasp dispelled any doubt. “My master.”

A fog of shock settled over your mind, your hands loosening around Korilla’s shaking form.  She whispered the truth into your ear, her bruised lips trailing her blood onto your clammy skin. With fading voice Korilla told of the attack, Raphael’s demise and his imminent doom.

“Portal. Diabolist.  Cania.”  Korilla’s breaths grew short as she fought valiantly once more against the oncoming black.

“Hold on, Korilla.  You’re going to be okay.”

“Save him.” She said again, her eyes slowly glossing over as the life left her broken body.

You cursed.  The warlock’s last actions had been to find you in a desperate hope you’d help Raphael before he was consumed by his father.  His father who just so happened to be an archdevil. Mephistopheles.

“Little shit could’ve mentioned that.”  You grimaced, lowering Korilla’s body to rest upon the cold earth.

You stood, pinching the bridge of your nose as your thoughts whirled and clashed. Not only had the attackers killed Raphael, but they had also looted his house, stealing the Orphic hammer and the only hope you’d had of defeating the Elder Brain.

“Damn it.”  You returned to your companions with the news. “Looks like we’re taking a rescue party to hell.”

“Who’s the damsel in distress?”  Astarion asked, tilting his head as his red eyes flickered over your blood-flecked form.

“Raphael.”

The plan was to use as much stealth as possible. The vaults of Mephisto had been broken into not long ago, according to Raphael, so it was possible.  A direct confrontation with the archdevil himself was out of the question.  

The diabolist in Baldur’s Gate took some convincing, but in the end you were able to push enough gold across the counter to seal the deal.  

“Very well.  Though I warn you, you’ll not return alive or with your souls intact.”

“Yes, yes.”  You waved the woman off, her visage reminding you of Korilla. “Believe me, I’ve heard it all before.”  Your eyes scanned the musky shop. Do you have anything that will locate a specific fiend?”

With a Locate Creature spell scroll ready in your bag you watched as the diabolist created for you a portal. Ice crystals immediately crusted on the edge of the black abyss, the wind coming from the portal nearly freezing your shoes to the floor.

“Quickly, and remember the disguises!”  She ushered you and your party through, the frigid darkness enveloping you with a grim finality.

Through cold halls you’d snuck, invisible fingers cold as death scraping along your back and through your hair as you passed beneath torches of blue flame.

Time lost all meaning here.  Your eyes began to play tricks on you. The only thing keeping your mind focused was the spell lighting the edge of your vision with a warm glow, growing brighter as you hurried to where Raphael was being held.

An age, or an hour had passed.

The wrought iron door, so cold to the touch it burned, swung noiselessly inward, admitting you to an octagonal shaped room. On the far wall you saw him, his form dark, chained by one wrist to the wall.

“Raphael.”  You hissed, unexplainable relief flooding your frozen veins when his head moved in response.  

Your companions waited by the open doorway, keeping watch from the shadows.  You snuck as quickly as you could to where Raphael was restrained. His glowing eyes looking down upon you with consternation before recognition slowly dawned across his sharp features.

You held up a hand, silencing him as he opened his mouth. Movement could be heard from outside the prison room. You were running out of time.

“Can you get us out of here if I free you?”  You hissed, still keenly aware of the nature of the devil.

Raphael nodded, his tail moving to and fro in agitation.  Something about his vitality seemed to be missing, you had never imagined seeing him in such a state.  It was unsettling.

The matter of removing the singular shackle proved to be more challenging than you’d thought.  Astarion’s lockpicking skills proved futile.

“It’s a magical seal.”  Raphael breathed, his voice low yet sharp with anger born of desperation. “Now’s not the time to play the fool.”

You gave him a severe look which he matched right back at you, his eyes sparking flame.

You raised a hand to the ice-covered metal, about to dispel the magic surrounding the lock. “You owe me a favor.  A big one.  I don’t know yet what I will ask of you, but you will deliver. Understood?”

Raphael’s gaze scorched you for a moment, it was clear he was furious with his current predicament. But he had no choice, and both of you knew it.

He nodded curtly.

You cast your spell.

Raphael’s wrist broke free with the sharp sound of metal splintering. His hand closed tight around your arm, the dungeons of Mephisto melted away as you and your companions were yanked unceremoniously back to the material plane.

At least, your companions were.  Deposited non-gently upon the hard ground of your camp.

Raphael kept hold of you.  Taking you back to the foyer of his house. The house which still lay in semi ruin from its previous sacking.

He was angry.  Each step he took crackled fire and promise of swift vengeance.

“Raphael…”  You said hesitantly, following him down into the dining hall.  “Raphael, Korilla-”

“Is dead.”  Under the glow of firelight, you could properly see the state he was in. You winced when he turned to face you. “I know. Though not as dead as those who dared pillage my home, the fools.”

“Do you know who?”  You remained wary as you watched him conjure an armchair and sink down into it.

Raphael ignored your question, he issued orders in the abrasive Infernal tongue, seemingly into thin air.  His fingers clicked and a spark of flame licked around them.  Unseen servants began bustling around, clearing the debris and wreckage.  Setting the House of Hope back in order.

Raphael leveled his gaze upon you.  His expression was not unkind, it was calculating.  He had underestimated you and overestimated himself.  Not a mistake he’d make again.

“Why?”  No flowery words, no ado.

“I still need the hammer.”  You had the response prepared, having known the question was coming.

“You could have hunted down the thieves without my help.”  Raphael narrowed his hellfire eyes. “Why come to my aid?”

“Korilla asked me to.  It was her dying wish.”  You fidgeted under his piercing presence. “Besides, you’re a useful ally.  I still need your help to save the world.”

Raphael arched a brow, unconvinced. “Half-truths are still considered lies, dear.  But there are matters I must attend to.”  He stood, restless.  

“Will your father come for you again once he realizes you’re gone.”  The question came before you could stop yourself.

“Concerned for me?”  Raphael appraised you, a knowing tilt to his head. “No.  He will not.”

You didn’t argue, Raphael was clearly on edge, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

You rubbed circles against your aching temple. “Well, seems we have some thieves to track down.  A hammer to retrieve.”

Raphael looked as though he was biting back a sharp retort.  He chewed on his words, looking you over. “Yes.”  He growled, infernal fire flickering off his form. “You may watch as I peel their souls from the writhing mortal flesh.”

In an unexpected move, Raphael strode to you and took your hand, placing a kiss to your knuckles. His breath hot on your still chilled skin. “You may even assist me, if you so desire.”  He straightened.

That was as close to a “thank you” as you were going to get.

You set your jaw grimly. “When do we start?”

[evdelacyimagines]

Master of the Mouse

Yes yes there is really filthy shameful smut ahead. Adding this to Tumblr so I can keep my masterlist comprehensive.

Raphael x f!reader x Haarlep

Word count: 3174

Crystal blue water cascaded in waterfalls from feminine statues that surrounded a familiar steaming pool.

You licked your lips, the warm water as inviting as the first time you’d stepped foot into Raphael’s boudoir.

“Back so soon?” Haarlep reclined upon a plush red chaise pushed up against the far wall. The incubus once again wore Raphael’s cambion visage.

Haarlep raised an unimpressed eyebrow, seemingly unbothered by your unexpected appearance. “We did have such a delicious time together.” He gave you a lazy smile. “Although your stamina is worse than Raphael’s, if you can believe it.” Haarlep sat up slightly, grinning at the internal conflict he sensed within you. “Did you come back for more of Haarlep? Seemingly the closest you can get to what you truly desire. Has my master remained distant? How preciously sad.”

Every word, spoken in that infuriatingly exaggerated lilt, hit every insecurity and frustration you’d been battling since your very first visit to Raphael’s House of Hope.

The demon rose with a knowing smirk, rolling his neck and stretching his wings wide. Your pupils dilated as they followed the languid movement, each action made purposefully sensual for your torment.

“I must admit, I am rather disappointed you didn’t follow through with retrieving that little contract of yours. It would’ve made for such a satisfying ending.” Haarlep took one step forward, pushing into your space, the heat rolling off his body already warming your clammy skin. “I may even be free now if it wasn’t for your…weakness.” He trailed a sharp finger down your cheek. “You’ve felt him, I assume? The heady rush in your pliable mortal body as Raphael took me in your form.”

You shivered, remembering.

“Speak, little trifling creature.” Haarlep caressed your neck, nails digging into your skin just enough to raise welts. “I wish to hear your voice. Raphael seems to appreciate when I speak using it.” His strong hand wrapped around your throat, resting gently against your collarbone with a dangerous promise.

“I…” You swallowed thickly, your hand closing around his wrist as he gave your neck a slight squeeze. “Yes, I’ve felt it. Multiple times.”

“It must rankle.” Haarlep laughed, his hand trailing down to your tattered disguise, cutting into the fabric of the dirty bodice. “He chooses not fuck you.”

Your eyes sparked fury and you pushed at his chest angrily, not budging the towering fiend an inch. “You’re just a cheap imitation. How does it feel to have been stripped of any free will and identity?”

You’d made a mistake. Taken one step too far. Only realizing your fatal error when his grip on your throat became suddenly tight as a vice, cutting off your air flow. You scrabbled futilely at Haarlep’s hand, your eyes widening in fear. The incubus’ face was a mask of dark intent, grim and deadly.

You released a jolt of magic, channeling lightning energy into the fiend. He twitched and gasped in pain, loosening his grasp enough for you to suck in several mouthfuls of air.

“The kitten does have teeth after all.” Haarlep sneered, tail lashing. “Be aware in this house we yank them out.”

You withdrew your radiant dagger, taking a defensive stance, drawing an amused laugh from the demon.

“My dear, you were foolish to return.” A new voice joined, the familiar cadence of Raphael. The cambion leaned casually against a marble column; arms folded over the chest of his human disguise. His keen brown eyes observed your standoff with raised brows. “Don’t damage my property.” He straightened and strode to you, addressing you and Haarlep. “Or I will be forced to take drastic measures.”

Raphael gave his incubus a sharp look over your shoulder. You felt the demon shrink back, temporarily cowed.

“Haarlep isn’t as magnanimous as I.” Raphael tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, taking a moment to consider you archly. “You truly have a death wish, my errant mouse.”

“You are impossible to reach.” You said, slightly breathless, the skin on the back of your neck prickling under Haarlep’s glare. “I need to speak to you.”

“Thus, you think it prudent to break into my home, in violation of our contract.” Raphael tucked his fingers beneath your chin and tilted his head at you. “The only reason you are not cinders beneath my feet at this very moment is because you chose to not pilfer my belongings.”

“Haarlep doesn’t count?” You asked, your shoulders relaxing slightly.

“Haarlep never counts.” Raphael answered firmly. “I admit to being pleased by the little surprise you left for me.”

You flushed, though your eyes did not waver from his. “Something you’ve used plenty to your advantage.”

“Naturally!” Raphael chortled, a devious twist to his lips. “Just who do you think you are dealing with, my dear?” He leaned in close, his cheek brushing yours. The air around you grew thick with heated tension. “Surely, this isn’t you complaining?”

“Not exactly.” Your eyelashes tickled your cheeks as you turned your face just enough for your lips to graze the corner of Raphael’s mouth. “Though I certainly have no interest in being second to a demon.”

“Bold little thing.” Raphael withdrew just enough to have a clear view of your face. “I do so like it when my clients have some vim and vigor.”

Raphael took a step back, his eyes roving your body. “Such rags you wear. The better to not draw ire from the residents of my house?” He smiled knowingly at you. “Such a blight upon your body offends me. Remove them.”

He could’ve just snapped your clothes away, baring you in an instant, but it was clear Raphael wanted to savor having you in this position. You slowly began unbuttoning the front of your blouse, heat blossoming pink across your cheekbones as you stripped in front of both fiends.

“Your embarrassment is darling.” Raphael slid a hand across your side, resting it upon your hip. “However superfluous. I’ve seen and felt all of your flesh while my incubus has worn it.”

You gave the devil a measured look from beneath your lashes. “You’ve never yet touched me, however. Not truly.”

“Nor you, me.” Raphael seemed to be suppressing his amusement, cocking his head to the side with a gleam in his eyes. His visage shimmered, wreathed momentarily in hellfire as it grew and transformed into his cambion form. A slightly mocking smirk tugged his crimson lips. “I have it on good authority you prefer me like this. A quaint little quirk I find endlessly endearing, love.” Raphael took a measured step toward you, leaning down until your noses brushed. “Do as I say, to the letter, and you might still get out of this alive. Yes?”

You swallowed, reading the fine line between danger and desire you now tread.

You nodded, nerves fluttering in your stomach. “Yes.”

“Good.” Raphael gave your hip a final squeeze before guiding you towards the familiar bed. “Now, lay upon your back and do not move until I permit it.”

Your obedience was the only option you had left, Haarlep followed and sat at the corner of the mattress as you laid down. You shuffled back toward the headboard until only your feet hung over the edge. Haarlep leaned forward and began stroking along the length of your legs, teasing the inside of your thighs. The demon gave you a deviously discerning look as you shuddered in response to his attention.

You turned your head as Raphael approached the side of the bed, holding a glittering decanter filled with dark liquid. Notes of a rich whiskey wafted on a warm breeze to your nose and your muscles tensed, knowing where this was going.

“Hold still. Don’t twitch, little mouse.” Raphael’s hand pressed firm upon your shoulder, Haarlep moved to hold your ankles together in one hand. “This spirit is hellishly expensive. It would be unfortunate for you if a single drop was wasted.”

With a flourish, Raphael unstopped the glass bottle and tipped it slowly and with finesse. You felt the warm liquid filling your belly button, the drip of it splashing your skin as Raphael finished his pour.

“What a sinful delight you are turning out to be.” Raphael bent over your quivering form. His breath ghosted hot upon your chest. “Now hold perfectly still for me.”

You tried valiantly to remain still, a futile attempt, your skin shivering as his tongue circled each breast and threatened to bite at your pert nipples. You tensed slightly in mild trepidation.

“Good girl.” Raphael murmured and chuckled, knowing exactly the effect his praise had. His tongue moved slowly down from the valley of your chest to your navel. You felt his tongue swirl against your skin as he slurped the whiskey down. Raphael groaned with satisfaction and gave your waist a sharp bite before withdrawing, squeezing your thigh approvingly.

Hands gripped your waist; you weren’t sure if they belonged to Haarlep or Raphael. You were maneuvered like a doll onto all fours, the hands on your waist slid to your neck and hair as Haarlep positioned himself on the pillows beneath your torso, guiding your hands to support yourself on his lap.

You knelt over Haarlep, your fingers digging into the flesh of his thighs, smoothing your thumbs over the various ridges marking his infernal nature. You glanced up at the demon wearing Raphael’s form, hellfire eyes gazing back down at you with a cocky grin.

“Now, pet. Enough words.” Raphael instructed, the bed dipping behind you and his warmth pressing against your rear. “Put that lush mouth of yours to better use.”

The tip of your tongue wetted your lips before you pressed a tentative kiss to the angry head of Haarlep’s member. Precum coated your mouth, the heat of it simmering and stinging your lips.

“Now is certainly not the time to act the part of a wilting flower.” Raphael murmured in your ear, his chest and hips pressing flush against you from behind. His words were laden and dripping with lust. “Pleasure me.”

You obeyed, taking the incubus into your mouth, the answering groan from both fiends reverberating through your own chest. Raphael began toying with you from behind, spreading your thighs further apart with one hand and circling your heat until he deemed you ready.

Raphael pushed his hard length into you, drawing a moan from deep within your throat, the sound choking around Haarlep as the demon guided you by the hair further down against him.

Your body began rocking beneath Raphael’s weight, he hissed against the nape of your neck, unable to reconcile the combined pleasure you and Haarlep were giving him.

“Enough.” Raphael’s hands gripped your hips possessively, partially holding you up as your thighs began to tremble. “Kiss her.” Raphael said, his voice lowered in pitch as he continued to thrust into you.

Haarlep obeyed, withdrawing his length from your throat only to take your lips in a scorching kiss, his hand beneath your chin. Haarlep’s long tongue delved into your mouth, your eyes rolled back in pleasure while Raphael fisted your hair from behind and tugged until your neck arched back for Haarlep’s hand to wrap around.

The incubus licked his spittle into your mouth, not releasing you until you swallowed. The effect was immediate. Fresh heat pooled in your belly. The fiends surrounding you laughed as your sounds of pleasure heightened in pitch, a buzzing molten sensation overtaking your limbs to the point of near collapse.

Raphael’s arms wrapped around your torso, grasping a breast non-gently as he lifted you and pulled your body back against his chest. “There you are.” He purred, licking the shell of your ear as you watched Haarlep begin stroking his cock still shining wet from your own saliva.

Raphael turned your head forcefully to him, licking his way across your jaw before his lips and tongue began tangling with your own. You gasped at the ferocity of his touch, your bodies rocking together, the friction building to a crescendo as the incubus spit coursed through your veins. Turning the edges of your vision white.

“So eager, a perfect jewel in the palm of my hand.” Raphael murmured, taking your bottom lip between his teeth until you whimpered. “My treasure, not yet. You still must be punished for interloping uninvited.”

Raphael withdrew completely from you, gesturing for Haarlep to follow suit. A strangled cry caught in your throat at the sudden absence of pleasure and warmth. You twisted around with surprising dexterity given your current state, glaring daggers at both fiends. You were able to tell which was Raphael by the especially amused smile on the smug bastard’s face.

“Ah, ah.” Raphael raised a finger to you, commanding you to sit back down upon his bed. His tail swished back and forth as a sly grin tilted his lips, showing off sharp white teeth.

You made your displeasure known by the petulant expression you gave him before settling back cross-legged, having no choice but to obey the devil’s every whim.

“Watch and squirm, little mouse.” Raphael kept his eyes on you even as Haarlep began biting and licking down Raphael’s body, deep red as a ripe cherry. “Keep your hands upon the sheets.”

Your gazes locked, your whole body flushing as the sounds of Haarlep pleasuring his master filled the room. You fidgeted, trying to gain some sense of friction, especially after Raphael closed his eyes and moaned low in his throat. “Be still, my dear.” His eyes opened to burn once again into you.

Haarlep continued moving between Raphael’s thighs, his wings stretching to either side as he knelt upon the luxurious rug. Raphael continued voicing his pleasure, to torment you more than anything it seemed.

After what seemed to you an eternity, the cambion pulled Haarlep by the hair away from his body. “Change.” He instructed tersely.

A glimmer of orange light surrounded Haarlep, the fiendish form shrinking into a smaller feminine shape. Your eyes widened as you saw your own visage blinking owlishly back at you, the second time you’d had such a disconcerting view.

The demon had the gall to blow you a small kiss, grinning as the blood drained from your face.

Raphael arched an amused brow as well. “Hands on the bedspread, pet.”

You felt the familiar tingle from the top of your head to the tips of your toes. The incubus in your form turned to face you and pushed their hips back against Raphael’s.

All three of you made a soft sound of pleasure.

Raphael didn’t bother to move.

He made Haarlep do all the work, the incubus riding back against his cock. All the while the cambion’s eyes remained fixed on you sitting meekly upon his bed, your aching fingers twisting in the silken sheets.

You bit into your bottom lip, tasting the iron of your blood. Your gaze became pleading, not able to look away from Raphael’s sharply angled face. His tail wrapped around Haarlep’s leg as he growled a command for them to move faster.

Haarlep bent forward, grasping the bedpost, the lewd sound of lovemaking teasing your ears and making your mouth water.

“Now, your turn to watch.” Raphael spoke, his teeth gritted from the effort it seemed to take him not to spend himself there and then. “Observe how I treat a playmate I actually desire.” He pushed Haarlep unceremoniously to the side and strode to you. His body pressed you back against the mattress as he crawled over you, his massive wings extending and falling either side of where you lay prone.

“Raphael.” You didn’t know what you intended to say, all thoughts silenced as his mouth found yours. All teeth and tongue, demanding a claim to you that no amount of magic could wash away.

He hungrily swallowed your moans and whimpers, his sharp nails digging into the flesh of your hip until beads of blood blossomed. Your hands touched and pressed against the thin flesh of his wings, his body shivering in response as he slowly began grinding down against your writhing hips.

Like the rest of his fiendish body, Raphael’s cock had ridges all along its girth. You experienced the dizzying stretch of your body accommodating his intrusion, the ridges catching and rubbing against your most erogenous parts. Your toes curled in response, your legs wrapping instinctively around Raphael’s torso. He answered with a growl as his sharp teeth found the base of your neck, marking you as his possession.

Hellfire surrounded your twisting bodies. It licked harmlessly against the sheets and your skin, framing the lurid scene in flickering light and shadow.

Pain and pleasure mixed with desire and fear.

Your fingers sought him, wrapping around his lower right horn. Raphael took your wrist and pinned the offending hand to the bed, giving your neck a reprimanding bite. “You are here to serve me.” He reminded you, his tongue soothing over where he’d broken skin. “Careful.”

You wanted to say something witty and stinging as a retort, but your mind was far too lust addled for such a feat.

You were his. He was not yours.

The igneous tension in your belly began seeping down into your legs. Your tired muscles tensed. You cried out your release against Raphael’s neck, clinging to the cambion as his body became the anchor to your own.

Raphael followed soon after, unable to withstand the way your body milked him. His seed burned into you as he slammed against your hips, each thrust drawing a cry of pained pleasure from your aching throat.

Raphael sat up slowly, observing the mess he’d made of you upon his own bed. He caressed a hand through your hair before digging his claws against your scalp, drawing from you a final mewl.

Looking conceited as ever, the devil stepped to the floor and rolled his shoulders, admiring his reflection in the standing mirror. “The wanton woman waltzed blithely to the devil’s den. With the sole aim to feel pleasure beyond mortal ken.”

Raphael grinned at you, self-assured and smug while you continued to desperately catch your breath, struggling to sit up. He tilted his head, gesturing lazily for Haarlep to approach from where the incubus had sat back against the chaise.

“Clean our guest.” With another wave of his hand, clothes reappeared upon Raphael’s form, his appearance collected and coiffed as though nothing untoward had occurred. “I have important business to attend to.” Raphael hesitated a moment, his glowing eyes looking you over then flicking to Haarlep as the incubus walked to where you still lay. “Keep her here. Our time together is not yet done. Oh, and Haarlep…” Raphael’s tone lowered to a menacing timbre. “Speak to Him about this little distraction and I will find out. I demand your silence, or I will personally strip that twisting tongue from your wretched mouth.”

Long fingers snapped and a shower of sparks enveloped Raphael, whisking him from the room and leaving you alone once again under the piercingly judgmental gaze of his incubus.

[evdelacyimagines]

Wearing His Shirt

Was literally about to go to sleep and was stomped by the idea of Tav wearing only Raphael's shirt, sleepily coming out of the Boudoir to bother him while he drafts a contract.

Raphael x reader (cause I cannot for the life of me write 3rd person) | Drabble

You rolled onto your back, tangled amidst silken sheets upon Raphael's bed. The cambion with whom you'd shared the night was no longer curled beside you. Your skin was still dewed from the heat of his home, the raging fireplaces did nothing to ease the discomfort.

You got up, the marble floor offering a cool touch against your bare feet as you padded towards the doors. Blearily rubbing your eyes, you stooped on your way and picked up a garment which slid easily over your head and gave you a modicum of modesty. A luxurious cotton shirt acting as a tunic upon your body, filling your awakening senses with the musk of your devil.

"Raphael?" You called quietly, the halls outside his protected room still gave you the creeps. You made your way as stealthily as possible towards the light behind the door of his study.

The smell of old parchment hit your nostrils as you eased your way inside and saw Raphael working away at his desk, the clink of metal and glass as he dipped a quill into ink. Raphael marked your entry and raised his hellfire eyes, a brow quirking as he took in your appearance.

"Your own apparel no longer suffices, I take it." Raphael took off his scholarly spectacles, an accessory more affectation than necessity. He leaned back in his seat and reached out to you, a wordless command for you to approach.

You moved into reach and yelped softly as his large hand grasped the front of the shirt you wore and tugged you sharply. You braced your hands against the expanse of Raphael's chest, unsure if you saw disapproval or desire burning in his infernal eyes.

"That is my shirt, sweetling." Raphael rubbed the fabric between finger and thumb, admiring how it fell to the top of your thighs. His tail snaked round your leg, and you jerked at the unexpected sensation.

"You were hardly using it." You protested, gasping when you felt his tail squeeze in response. "It was dark...I wasn't paying attention."

"I hardly am so spiteful as to begrudge you." Raphael took your face in his hand pressing his thumb to your lips, quelling your speech. "Quite the contrary, I could get used to a vision such as this. You are mine, after all." He grinned and kept holding your face firmly as his tail slowly coiled higher. "Brace yourself on the table, pet. You served me a sweet distraction I intend on taking full advantage of."

[evdelacyimagines]

Curled atop Raphael to thaw.

@sky-kiss put it in my head how nice it would be to use Raphael's hellish body heat to unfreeze after a cold day. Actually, she's mentioned it several times. So of course I had to make a drabble. This is the softest Raphael has been or ever will be haha

(Also remoras are the fish which attaches to larger fish to "clean" them.)

“I feel like I just trudged through the snows of Cania.”  Your teeth chattered, making it difficult to speak.  Huddled as you were by the inn’s paltry fireplace, the flames were doing very little to thaw the bone chill.

Raphael looked up from where he reclined, perusing a long scroll of parchment. His hellfire gaze swept over your shivering form, arching a brow in amusement. “I did warn you not to venture forth.  Yet you remain intrepid and stubborn as ever.”  He cleared his throat and resumed reading the contract he’d been editing since your return.

You glared over at the devil on his bed, not that he saw.  You shuffled off your heavy coat, the fabric stiff and just as frozen as the rest of you.

On numb bare feet you crossed the small room at a slight run,and hopped up next to where Raphael reclined. He gave you a look that you recognized as a sign his patience was slipping. “I don’t share my bed with little frozen mice.”

“Good thing I’m not a mouse, then.”  You snuggled close to his body, his skin the shade of ripe cherries and giving off infernal heat. “Indulge me.” You repeated the words he’d spoken to you days previous, accentuating your accent to mimic his own.

Raphael tutted and, with a tug, moved his wing away from where you rested on it. “Your body has the appeal of a corpse.  Get yourself hence ere I remove you.”

“Hurtful.”  You didn’t budge, instead pressing yourself closer and sighing as the heat radiating off him began to seep beneath your clammy skin. “Please, Raphael.”

The cambion stilled, his hand holding the parchment still outstretched to keep the fresh ink from smudging as you moved yourself as much on top of him as possible. You felt him sigh beneath you and smiled, sensing victory.

You did not expect the pressure of Raphael’s hand upon your hair, stroking once before resting against your upper back. He waited for you to stop moving, finding a comfortable position half-curled atop his torso.

“What are you willing to do in exchange for my constant lenience?”  Raphael’s breath stirred your hair.  He rested the parchment back against the top of your head and seemed to be only half interested in your reply.

In response you made sure to tuck your ice block feet against his thighs.  Raphael’s muscles twitched in response, and he gripped your waist hard in retribution. “You’re telling me you don’t enjoy this at all?”  You asked, your sense of self-preservation long since fled.

“I’m reminding you everything has a price, my dear.”  Raphael murmured. “I shall let you ruminate.  For now, be silent, I have work to do.”

You found no issue with that, feeling the rise and fall of the devil’s breath beneath your body as he warmed you.  Your eyelashes fluttered with a sudden wave of drowsiness.

Raphael’s wings curled around you both in a sort of cocoon, increasing the feeling of being thawed.  Soon you were enveloped in a haze of red and heat, every so often hearing the sound of paper rustling and the scratch of a quill.

You stretched, hooking one of your legs over the cambion’s waist and wrapped your arm around his chest.

Raphael looked down at your relaxed body, curled atop his. He smiled slightly to himself moved his long fingers through your hair. “What a soft, pliant creature you are. The errant remora seeking refuge, fully knowing it’s within the jaws of a shark.”

[evdelacyimagines]

Some lines to consider for Raphael/reader or Raphael/Tav whichever you'd like~

"I specifically told you not to leave." and "you're not as heartless as you think you are."

Yes, he specifically tells you not to leave, but like fondly. Seems that I have a thing for that pool. Enjoy 😘

Raphael x Gender-neutral!Reader: Damned Fools

A devil, who doesn’t take pride in their professionalism and conscientiousness is a devil soon out of both souls and status. This particular contract that has brought in two succulent souls, however, is starting to feel decidedly like too much work for Raphael’s tastes.

He strides around in an exasperated circle in the House of Hope, barking orders around and smiting anyone aside, who has the ill fortune to cross his path too closely – be it by accident or purpose.

He was too greedy, too eager to claim these two sinning souls, that he didn’t even think to consider that he could be tricked.

The familiar tug of Korrilla using his might makes Raphael pause momentarily and direct his steps hastily to the boudoir.

“You idiot!” he hisses as soon as he crosses the threshold.

Then he sees Korrilla dragging your limp body towards the pool of restoration.

If he had a heart, it would have just stopped beating.

“Alive. Barely,” Korrilla answers the unvoiced question.

Raphael’s nostrils flare with burning fury. This absurd contract would one day be his downfall. Being tasked with protecting your life for mere two souls was clearly not worth the trouble. But he doesn’t really have a choice on the matter. If you die untimely, he is in breach of contract. Not a desirable outcome.

You have become more reckless with each passing year and daring adventure; too trusting that the devil on your shoulder will save you, no matter the threat. Raphael gets a headache just thinking about the contract. His only solace is that mortal lives are so fragile and fleeting. It will take only some decades until he can once again fully focus on something else.

Raphael motions for Korrilla to leave and snaps his fingers to move you into the shallow water. You’re unconscious. He has to be more careful in the future and watch you more closely. Or lock you up in the dungeons, which is starting to sound more tempting with each dip into the pool of restoration you take.

Raphael stands next to you, waiting and waiting. It takes uncomfortably long to hear the pained grunt raise from your throat.

He waits until recognition lights your face – or shrouds it with dread.

“An explanation. Now,” Raphael demands, but the tone is tinged with a hint of relief.

Your head lolls back to look at him. You try a grin, but the devil is not amused.

“The usual. Nice to see you too, Raphael.”

“You fool. You almost doomed us both. Again,” he seethes, but only you could hear the affection seeping from the words. He can never stay mad at you for long, possibly because he might end up strangling you himself.

“I know, thanks for getting me out,” you say and since he glares at you, you add: “Again. Despite what you said last time, you’re not as heartless as you think.”

“You have every intention of going back, don’t you?” Raphael asks, eyes narrowing at your cheekiness, but he leaves the last notion without attention.

“Well, they must miss me terribly,” you reply and start to gather your bearings to get up from the pool.

“You’re not going anywhere yet. Your injuries haven’t healed,” Raphael says in a sharp tone. He can see how laborious your movements are and how the pain still slashes at your body. A damned fool is what you are and he is an even worse one for entertaining you like this. He always has been too soft with you.

Raphael scowls as you haul your body up and on the third try manage to stand upright before him.

“See? All good again,” you smile and wince at a sting of pain.

“I specifically told you not to leave,” Raphael growls.

As engaging as it is to watch you struggle with the consequences of your own actions, Raphael decides he has had enough and pushes you back into the pool of restoration.

[evdelacyimagines]

Raphael x Reader: Act I: The Bargain

Summary: Bloody and bruised from the nautiloid ship crash, forging a contract with a devil becomes your best and only option for survival. This is the first flashback oneshot for the main story of the series. The poem is The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe. Word count: 2197 Notes: Dealing with a devil, canon-typical blood and injury.

My writing masterlist

Bottles of Ithbank and mugs of red ale rose up to meet the bright stars embroidered into the velvety midnight sky. Comforting and familiar voices of laughter and cheer bubbled around you. It was a night to remember, reminisce and celebrate. In destroying the Absolute you had faced the impossible and lived on to tell the tale. You had gained allies and most importantly, you had met people, who you proudly called your friends.

Deep in thought, you fiddled with the ring on your left hand’s ring finger. A vexing lark from the gift giver, as the ring would fit no other digit. You had bet your soul on never removing the stupid piece of jewellery, at the same time dooming yourself to the eternity of answering delighted queries about a presumed marriage.

Every time you took a sigh to explain you were, in fact, not married, you heard the devil over your shoulder laugh somewhere deep in the Hells. Out of sheer spite, you wished you could hate him. But he had given you this life and this victory, so you endured.

Wyll, the freshly appointed Grand Duke of Baldur’s Gate, sat next to you by the large table and noticed you twiddling with the ring.

“So. Do you know what became of Raphael?” he asked cautiously and nodded towards your hands.

You shrugged, not exactly keen on discussing the devil even though the wine had already spun your mind into a pleasant, relaxing buzz. You had been prepared to answer this particular question during the course of the evening and it was no shock Wyll was the one to voice it. You had met with Wyll from time to time after your travels together, but had always avoided the subject. Luckily the Grand Duke was a busy man. 

“I guess your pact still stands then. I’m sorry,” Wyll said and took a swig from his goblet.

“Don’t be,” you corrected him and opened your mouth to justify why, but Wyll just looked at you with compassion.

He was the only one of your companions who truly knew what you had been through since he had made the same choice – albeit your reasons were initially more selfish than his. The only difference was that he had found a way to outwit his devil patron to get out of his pact. The Duke Ravengard still had horns, but no longer even a tiny bit of the infernal power of a warlock was coursing through his veins.

Wyll changed the subject: “It feels like the whole thing happened in another life.” 

“It really does,” you sighed and raised the bottle to your lips again.

“I’m glad you decided to stay in Baldur’s Gate, though.”

“Don’t say anything about being a hero, please,” you exclaimed and Wyll grinned. You couldn’t help but grin right back at him.

“I wasn’t going to,” he assured you.

“I’m done playing the hero for now. I need time to put my feet up” – you lifted your boots and planted them on the table – “and enjoy just being alive.”

Wyll shot you a humorous look, but decided against noting how the heroics usually had happened when you had tried to avoid those situations the most.

Six months earlier

Hidden behind wreckage, you dared to inhale a shallow breath and barely held back a cough. Unknown parts of the nautiloid ship and horrifying, giant flesh pods laid scattered and broken around you. Their colourful liquids were mixed on the ground into sickening pools. There was a reek of burning something you didn’t want to think about and it made breathing even harder.

A couple of your ribs were likely broken from being thrown around by the impact from  exploding tubes. It had not been one of your finest moments or the best aimed fire bolt, but at least you had lost the pursuers, for now.

You prayed to every known god and goddess under your breath. You had survived the nautiloid crash and found yourself alone again amidst the debris – only to be attacked by a group of pathetic, random looters. It was five against one and you didn’t even have a weapon on you. It would’ve been a tough fight on a good day, but you were seriously injured, bleeding and delirious from the environmental hazards affecting your senses. So you had attempted to cause as much chaos as you could to hide.

If you had thought getting taken by mind flayers was bad enough, it had been pure downhill since then. The inevitability of this one becoming your last adventure started to settle in.

You sat on the broken floor, leaning into a crevice in the debris and listened to any voices. The looter group was not far, but unfortunately they were not foolish enough to make noise as they were tracking you down. You had maybe minutes to live and there was literally nothing you could have done about it.

So you prayed. Incoherent words tumbled from your mouth under your broken breaths.

You would give anything for the power to smite those pathetic thiefs.

Anything for the power and means to save yourself from the predicament.

You closed your eyes and focused on listening to the approaching final moments of your existence.

Anything to live and die on another day.

A soft step. Then another. Your pulse surged. Someone was coming, but nothing about him was what you had expected.

A man you would have eagerly described as mysterious and handsome walked towards you. His steps were leisurely, his pace unhurried and his expression tinged with curiosity.

Maybe some poison gas had finally addled your mind and you were seeing things.

“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—” he recited carefully with graceful cadence, pacing closer.

A poem? So you were either dead or poisoned. Your head lolled to the side, trying to see his face clearly in the midst of the smoke and floating embers.

“While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.” His voice was smooth, almost drawling. It sent a warm shiver down your back. His hands motioned in rhythm with the words.

The stranger paused right in front of you and continued: “’Tis some visitor,’ I muttered, ‘tapping at my chamber door—”

He leaned down to have a closer look at you and his expression turned unreadable. His eyes were chestnut brown, cunning and framed by dark lashes. The high cheekbones were tinged with healthy red.

“Only this and nothing more,” he ended the verse with a contemplative note.

You blinked in confusion, openly staring and wondering could he have been one of the looters, because he certainly didn’t look like one. His clothes were fancy: a blue doublet, ornamented with gold trimmings and a frilly collar. His brown hair was combed back and waves of light curls gathered behind his ears.

Maybe you had gone mad or lost consciousness already.

“Are you really here?” you asked in a shaky voice.

“Is that not why you were rapping at my door?” he returned the question.

Delirious from the smoke and blood loss, you couldn’t understand what he meant.

“Please, you have to help me…” you pleaded, still unsure if the man really even existed.

“Wouldn’t you rather help yourself?” he remarked, tapping his chin in calculating thought. His gaze was evaluating you.

“What? I don’t…” you spluttered with desperation.

“Come.”

He took your hand and pulled you up from the floor. His touch was almost burning, or maybe your hands were just that cold from the loss of blood. A consuming inferno of bright flames swallowed you both and instantly you reappeared in an entirely different place.

The warm air and the general, faint smell of fire and sulphur ravaged your senses. Avernus.

“The House of Hope. Where the tired come to rest, and the famished come to feed,” the stranger presented dramatically with a flourish motion of his arms – an invitation for you to look around at all the lavish glamour. Paintings of devils hung on the walls and the large fireplace was lit with the most mesmerising, hungry fire you had ever seen. A massive table right next to you was loaded with mouth-watering delicacies and you were overwhelmingly reminded how hungry and weak you were.

Your legs were shaking and every muscle in your body ached, resisting the notion of staying up on your feet. Every breath now made your lungs sizzle, the air burning on its way inside.

“So you’re a devil?” you asked feebly.

The stranger crooked a smile at your quick wit and answered: “Raphael. Very much at your service.”

A devil – out of all the names of the gods you had taken in vain, this was the one to save you. The irony stung deep.

“Forgive me that I don’t drop a curtsy. I’m feeling so…” you fumbled to find the proper word and focused your energy on staying on your feet. You glanced down and realised that you had already smudged the floor with blood and dirt.

Raphael noticed the stains too and snapped his fingers.

Immediately, you felt better and stopped gripping the table edge, knuckles white. Air poured effortlessly into your lungs without any pain and although shaky, you felt that you could stand properly. Your posture eased.

“Oh, thank you,” you murmured in surprise, but at the same time your pulse started quickening. As little as you knew of devils, you knew for a fact that they didn’t give anything for free.

“You’re welcome.” Raphael bowed lightly and pulled a chair for you.

“Please, sit, partake. You and I have much to discuss,” he mused and when you were comfortably seated, he circled around to the other side of the table.

Now healed, you were positively ravenous. You hesitated only a second before starting to fill your plate with pork sausages and honey-sauteed vegetables. Raphael’s crooked smile deepened, but he only watched, evaluating.

“How did you find me?” you asked, when the silence began feeling too oppressive.

Raphael tilted his head to the side, gauging your refreshingly lame reaction to the revelation of his nature. He replied: “That delicious life or death predicament you were in did the knocking, but you, my dear, were the one to push the door open.”

You swallowed a mouthful of food. “I don’t understand. I didn’t do anything.”

Raphael hid his smile, which felt even worse than seeing it widen. He leaned over the table on his elbows, resting his chin on his intertwined fingers.

“Oh, but you did. You wanted to survive. You craved the power to burn those insignificant worms,” he explained with an intensive look in his eyes. Then he leaned back in his seat and continued: “Unless, you’re saying there has been a mistake? I can send you back with an apology.”

“No!” you interjected.

The devil’s eyes glinted. With a nonchalant wave of his hand, a piece of parchment manifested into the air. Red letters in the language of the Hells were seared on the surface. A quill hovered next to it.

Your pulse quickened again as comprehension snaked its tendrils around you: You had prayed to give anything to save yourself. Anything, including your very soul as if it were a mere trinket to be traded off. But, what else was it in this transaction between life and death? You would lose both your life and soul, if you didn’t take the deal. A soul didn’t do much good for you if you were dead already.

“Tell me, what is your name, mortal?” Raphael asked.

“Tav.”

“Well then, Tav. Let’s bargain,” said the devil in the most complacent tone you had ever heard. “I can grant you the ability to manifest my power. The power to tear through your enemies, to guile the unworthy and cull the weak – the power to survive.”

You set the utensils down and drew in a shaky breath. “You want my soul?”

Raphael cocked a brow, entertained, and leaned over the table, closer to you. He said: “Lest you have something else to offer for your salvation, but I promise you this: I take good care of my clients.”

You stared right into the chestnut brown eyes of the human facade of the devil, who was after your very soul.

And nodded slowly.

“I accept,” you said simply, forcing your tone even. “We can go over the details after I’ve killed the fuckers.”

The devil barked a laugh.

“Excellent.”

You signed off the contract for your soul. It would take a long time until the gravity of what you had just done would settle in. In the meanwhile, you would enjoy the patronage of Raphael and the benefits of the warlock pact.

In a swirl of flames, you were returned to the wreck of the nautiloid ship, right at the feet of the looting mob.

“She’s here!”

“Indeed I am,” you snarled as infernal energy crackled and surged on your palm.

There would be only cinders left when you were through with them.