#Infernal Worms

[zestyderg]

Ice and Fire Festelcan: People ask us why we don't relax more often. Girl the Worms.

[tys-kitty]

CC took the whole „Would you still love me if I was a worm?“ thing to a whole new level with Benedict Lightwood in Clockwork Prince

[amongaesthetics]

Ok, so I’ve thought this for a while. But the whole trend of “would you still love me if I was a worm” HAS HAPPENED. To Benedict Lightwood. In The Infernal Devices. And his sons did NOT love him anymore.

[caterpillarinacave]

[sunflowers-and-starry-skies]

I still can’t believe that the incredibly emotional book ‘Clockwork Princess’ opens with the gang having to fight a gigantic worm (formally known as Benedict Lightwood).

[maskeddiany]

my new nemesis is that mf worm from Wordle.

[probably-unreliable]

God Empress of Dune (People)

[trutletruffle]

i’m obsessed with dower he’s such a loser. he’s least the last person to know what’s going on. whenever something good happens to him he fucks it up. he makes the worst possible decision in any situation. he’s a prude. he hates women. he doesn’t know how to leave well enough alone or when to shut up. he creates all of his own problems. he is his own worst enemy. his entire role in all of the books he’s in is to be useless. a+ protagonist to be honest

[pheonixgrave]

Ignore It (18+)

This is really my first time posting a story to here, I usually only do it to AO3, but this is what I made this account for. Might as well start using it?

WARNINGS: Heavy smut, corruption kink, mild blood kink? (not sure about that one) Fem Tav, hetero relationship, stress fucking, not beta'd, angst, use of cunt

Smut blow the cut, please enjoy!!

Trekking through the wilderness was exhausting as is. But the bickering? That was starting to drive Tav crazy. Vampire this. Shar that. Eating magic this. Demons that. It was always something else. No matter what she did, they were always at each other’s throats. Oh the irony in that. Maybe the Illithid worm wasn’t the worst thing. Maybe this, the arguing, was the worst thing to happen to her. If she had to hear any Githyanki phrases in the next thirty minutes, she might kill Lae’zel herself. Tav was at her wits end, ready to beat her head against the nearest tree just to see if that got rid of the tadpole. It would be a win-win if it also got everyone else to shut up. 

They didn’t even let up at camp. Sure, they all had their respective tents and spaces. But the glaring. Oh, the glaring! Not a moment of peace before bed. She sat near her bedroll, closer to the fire Gale had set up. A tankard in hand, her back to the more vocal members of the party. She could practically hear Lae’zel glaring at Astarion. And Shadowheart wasn't exactly quiet about her distaste for him either. It’s not like there was an Infernal being less than ten yards away from him. Or a Warlock just across the flames. 

She very quickly downed the rest of her drink before tossing the tankard near the flames. Curling up in her bedroll, she tried to block out all of the noise and barbed words. It was currently taking everything in her to not scream at her first three companions. They had all been through something insane and deadly. Why could they not have it in them to simply get along? It felt impossible. 

Fortunately, her sour mood was noticed by her party. Not that she’d realize it at the moment. The biggest point of contention, Astarion, managed to get the courage to walk up to their fearless, albeit grumpy, leader. He nudged her with his foot. Which he immediately realized was a bad decision. Taz shot up to meet his eyes in the blink of an eye. “What do you want?”

The bite in her voice was unmistakable. But he knew how to handle it. “I want-”

“Don’t bother,” she cut him off. She never cut him off. She was more than happy to let him talk at her sometimes. The final glare she gave him was intense as she stalked towards the lake, away from everybody else. Astarion watched her walk away. Did he only watch to see her hips sway? Absolutely. But that didn’t change the fact that the Bard needed to relax. He smiled to himself before following her. “Didn’t I say don’t bother? I’m not in the mood to be your midnight snack tonight.” 

He didn’t fail to match her step. “Why darling! Do you truly think so little of me?” He pouted. 

Tav just sighed, “Take your antics somewhere else for now, Astarion.”

“Will you just sit down?” He pushed on her shoulders, forcing her down.

Much to the rest of the party's dismay, she did trust the vampire. Whether that would lead her to her own doom was yet to be seen.

Her knees crumbled under the pressure as she fell on the ground. She shot another glare in his direction but that didn’t seem to dissuade him from his plan.

“You’ve been far too stressed today, darling.” He purred in her ear, his hands never leaving her shoulders. 

“Astarion?” He continued to move her body until she was on her stomach.

“Shhh, do you trust me?” Gods, that man was always far too much for Tav.

“Should I?”

He chuckled as he readjusted himself so he was sitting on the back of her thighs, straddling her. It took every ounce of self restraint he had to not immediately rub her ass. Gods, it always looked so perfect when she walked. He took a deep breath before applying pressure between her shoulder blades. He felt her body tense before slowly relaxing. 

It wasn’t what she expected. Was he giving her a massage? His hands worked slowly from the base of her neck to her waist. And-oh? Did she just moan? 

“It’s alright, my dear, I love hearing you.” He smirked before continuing his work. He continued like that for a few moments, just enjoying the little sounds she was making. “Let's get you out of these clothes, shall we?”

She pushed him off her, rolling on her back and sitting up. “So that’s what this was? Just an excuse to get me naked?” That fire was coming back.

“Darling, if I was trying to get into your pants, I’d try flattering you more first. Unfortunately, it is difficult to get this right over your clothes.” He sat next to her, staring out at the water, just watching the water crash against the coast. “I was taught how to do this a long, long time ago.”

She stared at the rogue before swallowing. The tips of her ears and the back of her neck were flushed. But she did trust him. He would say if this was untoward. Right? With a shaky breath, she sighed but said “Alright.” 

Astarion watched her shaky hands start to untie the little knots holding her bustier. His mouth started to water, but he had patience. As she shrugged the last of her tunic off, she covered her chest and turned the other way. He did manage to lay down her tunic so she wasn’t just laying on the dirt anymore. She laid herself in front of him. He could feel how shaky her breath still was as he climbed on top of her once more. 

He resumed his previous work, addressing the knots in her lower back. The elf’s skin was so soft, so warm. He found himself just getting lost in the feeling of someone trusting him. It was a strange feeling but a welcome one. 

Tav, on the other hand, was getting lost in his touch. His cold hands worked their way up her back and she liked it far more than she thought she would. What started off as little moans slowly became louder. It didn’t help that he was an expert with his hands. And her mind started to trail off to things that were unbecoming of a lady.

But Astarion could feel her thighs clench. No matter how she tried to move without him noticing too much. Gods, he could almost smell her arousal. Over 200 years old and here he was, still trying to keep himself from getting hard. But then she moaned his name. And what little restraint he had disappeared. He put his hands near her head before leaning down towards her ear. “This wasn’t an excuse to see you naked but you are making it very hard to not act on my…baser impulses, my dear.” He felt the shiver go down her spine. 

“Astarion,” she moaned again before grinding back on him. And she got what she wanted when he flipped her on her back without moving from his spot. And there she was, laid out in front of a vampire spawn with her chest bare. She looked up at him with wide eyes, unsure how to go from there. But him? He had far more experience than most. He moved faster than she thought. He captured her lips as he slotted himself between her thighs. And just like that, his hands were everywhere. 

It was like he couldn’t decide where he liked them best. Her throat? Her breasts? Her hips so he could grind against her? He just couldn’t decide. And she tried so hard to keep herself quiet. But then he moved his lips down her neck, his fangs brushing over the still healing marks from the night before. He thought about feeding for a moment, but something far more filling had his attention right now. He moved until he had her nipple in his mouth. Flicking the nub with his tongue, his hand went to massage the other one. He wasn’t gentle. No one that knew Astarion for who he was thought he was a gentle man. It was rough but Tav didn’t seem to mind. 

In fact, Tav seemed to love it. Her back arched into him. “Astarion!” And then her hands were on his shoulders, urging him downwards.

And he didn’t want to fight it. He kept moving, biting and nipping at her stomach. And then he got to her trousers. He sat up, panting and looking wild. His fangs were bared and he was panting hard. He threw her legs on his shoulders, tossing her loafers somewhere behind him. And then he went to work on the knots holding her trousers up. Which he made very quick work of. He shimmied them off her, making sure to keep her underwear on for a moment. He stripped off his shirt before returning to her mouth. 

He needed her. 

“Astarion, please, touch me.”

He was quick to snake his hand towards her cunt. And even quicker to find the spot that made her gasp into his mouth. Gods, he could do this forever. He made his way back to her neck, lapping over those same marks. Her hand tangled itself into his hair and the other gripped his shoulder with far more strength than he expected. His cold hands were a sharp contrast to the warmth of her. Her head was thrown back against the ground as she gasped for air. She was shaking. 

It was already so much for her. She had been so pent up and so angry. But the way he worked her clit? It was a way no one ever had before. Not even herself. In fact, no one had ever touched her like this before. Nothing past shy kisses or heady glances. If she had known, maybe she would have lived her life a little differently. 

But once her back arched and she cried out his name? She clenched around nothing. She felt so empty now and he hadn’t even gotten close yet. He chuckled as best he could, “Already, darling?” he muttered against her neck.

“I-” she gasped once he slid a finger inside her. “Astarion,” his name rolled off her tongue and he swore he wouldn’t mind hearing her do this forever. He could still feel her cunt clench around his fingers and he groaned. He couldn’t wait much longer but she was enjoying herself. “I’ve never-” he curled his finger before adding a second one. 

“You’ve never felt this good before?”

“Done this before,” she managed to gasp out before he curled his fingers again. 

His hands stalled for a moment and she whined. “I’m to be your first?” She nodded, wriggling her hips, trying to will him to move again. “My dear, why didn’t you say anything?” He removed his fingers and she cried out. “Shhh, I have to make a good first impression, don’t I?”

He practically ripped her underwear off. She was a virgin. He couldn’t lie that it made him even harder to think about being the only one who got to touch her. But he had to take care of her if he wanted to be the only one.

He buried his face in her cunt, holding her thighs open with his hands. Tav covered her mouth to hide her cries of his name. But it was his name on her lips. His fingers going right back inside her, where they belonged. His lips on her clit. He groaned again when she came, this time right on his face and hands. He lapped at her for a moment longer and started pistoning his fingers in and out. He couldn’t help but watch her cum make a mess of his fingers. 

“Astarion!” She cried as she came on his fingers yet again. “Please!”

“Please what, my dear?” He wiped her juices off his chin before closing the distance between them. His lips hovered over hers, those red eyes glazed over with a hunger. Her eyes fluttered open. She smiled at him, all too happy to offer herself to him. She bared her neck. And dive he did. His fangs pierced her neck once again as he drank. He knew better than to drink more than his share but he wanted nothing more than to keep drinking as she wrapped her bare legs around his waist and rubbed her cunt against the fabric of his trousers. He released her neck and practically shredded what was left of his clothing. 

He leaned back for a moment, taking in the sight. This elf, a noble from Waterdeep, was laid out before him. Freckles dotting her skin and her blonde hair spread out like a halo before him. It would be angelic if not for the blood slowly trickling out of her neck. “Astarion,” she whispered. Her voice was full of something he couldn’t quite place. Something he had pushed aside a long time ago. 

All he could do was nod before he lined himself up to her. As he slowly slid in, he swore that this was the closest he could get to heaven. 

Astarion wasn’t small. Tav could feel his cock stretching her cunt out. Why did no one ever tell her it could feel like this? She gripped his shoulders and wrapped her legs around him once more. She sighed as he finally finished. “Gods above, you’re amazing.” She whispered, almost too afraid to say it. Too afraid to say the other things on the tip of her tongue. Her eyes traveled down his body to where they were connected before looking back up at him. 

“Shit,” he panted, withholding every emotion that came flooding through him. Instead, he snaked a hand underneath her thigh, lifting it up before he began to thrust.

She thought just having her inside him felt amazing. But this angle had her barely able to breath. She threw her head back and arched into his body. It was all she could do to hold on to him as he upped his pace. Tav could barely gasp out his name as she tried to look at him. His eyes were shut and his hair was more than perfectly tousled. “Beautiful,” was all she could get out before she tightened around his cock. 

“Shit!” He followed closely behind her, seemingly unexpectedly. They laid there for a moment, just feeling each other before he slipped out of her. She cried, a palpable sense of emptiness. He watched her breath for a few moments longer, secretly enjoying his cum starting to drip out of her cunt. Normally, he’d leave. He’d get up, put his clothes back together and leave. But Tav? Something told him he couldn’t. So he grabbed his tunic and wrapped her in it before carrying her to the water. 

He tried not to notice her nuzzling his neck. He tried to ignore the praises she said. He tried desperately to ignore the draw she had on him. He tried to ignore her moan as he set her in the shallow water, gently taking his tunic off her shoulders. Instead, he sat next to her and let the water wash away the previous activities. 

[ghostchems]

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

you set foot into raphael's kingdom without a chaperone to retrieve the hammer he's promised you.

author's note: read part one/two. sorry for taking so long with the next installment. 4.2k words! there's lots in here. haarlep makes an appearance (of course). cunnilingus, face sitting, blowjob, rough sex, overstimulation. ao3 link.

You only caught a glimpse of the House of Hope when Raphael whisked you away during your first meeting but now you’ve nearly been through it top bottom. Yes, he told you to come here and go straight to the boudoir to retrieve the Orphic Hammer but were you really going to give up the opportunity to go through all his stuff? Of course not.

His house floats in the desolate hellscape of Avernus, yet he has no allegiance to Zariel as far as you’re aware. It’s moody and dramatic, two key adjectives for Raphael himself. The archive is overflowing with infernal knowledge, bookshelves from floor to ceiling and his prized possessions on display as if it’s a museum. The dining room is just as grand as you remembered it but with a hint of unease due to the rotting food. He knew he was having company - shouldn’t he have at least cleaned up? You attention is pulled from statues of devils to portraits of himself to the grapes and wine and hookahs seemingly strategically left throughout the house. You fine yourself drawn to the many balconies that oversees the green souls keeping the house afloat. You wonder what would happen if you fell. Will your soul be dammed? Will your bones turn to ash? Will you shed your human body and be stripped down to the delicious soul you are?

You may have learned more about Raphael in the last half hour than all of your other meetings combined. Much to your companions ire, you’ve stopped to speak to every single debtor. They’re broken. Broken souls worn down to the very essence of their being, cursed to toil away in eternity in Raphael’s House of Hope. Something about it… tickles you. He’s been nothing more than “helpful” since you’ve met him, sure the threats have always been there, but seeing what he is actually capable of with your own two eyes makes you remember what he is. A devil. A cambion, specifically. He could turn you inside out with the snap of his finger. But he doesn’t. He’s touched you instead, slithered his way between your legs just as the tadpole has wormed into your brain. Does he see you as a formidable ally? Or another plaything to break down? You wonder if Raphael has already started on you — if this is apart of your deal, scribbled in infernal (a language you can’t read) on your contract.

The thought makes you shiver. It makes you want him all over again. Even if he hasn’t started trying to wear you down… you hope he’ll try.

Speaking of Hope. You didn’t know what to expect when he gave you the order to steer clear but it certainly wasn’t a dwarven cleric being held captive in his basement. She accosted you the moment you set foot into her home, begging you to help her. You smiled and told her you would, the hero that you are. It was a lie, of course. She is desperate and broken but she still clings to her namesake. You can understand why Raphael would keep her — she rebukes his every advance and won’t give up her optimism. She believes she can be saved, and maybe she’s right but your hands are tied. Still, the thought of him having her here to continue to torture when he could be focusing that energy on you. You decide to at least bring it up to him the next time you see him, which has yet to be “scheduled”. Part of you wants him to be waiting for you in the boudoir, hammer and a glass of wine in hand.

“For all the sense of dread and horror seeping through this place I really feel quite at home.” Astarion chirps, tearing you away from your thoughts in an effort to get you back to the task at hand. He’s far more understanding than the others and at this point you’re not sure what you would do without him. You offer him a small smile and start to lead your merry group of companions to the boudoir. A crowd, certainly. But this should be easy — pop in, take the hammer which is the salvation for all of Faerūn and then have a pint at Elfsong (and maybe a visit from a certain devil later that evening).

The boudoir is expansive and you can see why it is held in such high esteem by the debtors. There’s a large, steaming bath surrounded by more grapes and wine. You fight off the urge to dip a toe in. There are several desks with journals, quills, books all stacked on top and large canvas paintings of hellish scenes and dark portraits. If these walls could talk…

You see sparks out of the corner of your eye, your head twisting to see an empty space where you companions once stood behind you. A trap. This is a trap. Your chest tightens and you swear to yourself, you should have known something wasn’t right. Anger boils within you and a readiness rises to swing your blade at the next living, breathing thing that comes into your eye line. You keep your hand firm on the handle of your sword and move deeper into the spacious room. Are you a fool to have fallen for Raphael’s trickery? Or is he really that good? Even in the face of potential betrayal,

“Raphael?!” You are bewildered, mouth agape and eyebrows furrowed. The devil gives a delighted laugh as he slinks to his knees, his wings stretching out behind him. You blink a few times, overwhelmed just by the sight of him — displayed in all his glory in a leather harness, even though you are sure this is some sort of trick. The second he opened his mouth, you knew. You suck in a deep breath, steeling yourself to focus.

“No, no, love… has he not told you about me?” Haarlep bares his fangs in a sinister smile, creeping closer to you at the edge of the bed. His tail slithers back and forth behind him, dangerous yet playful. You open your mouth to respond but he cuts you off — “I’ve heard quite a bit about you, mouse.” Warmth blossoms in your chest. He talks about you? Haarlep swings his legs over the edge of the bed and lifts himself to his feet, his body becoming the only thing you could possibly focus on. He lingers in front of you and eyes you as if you are a delicious meal, his tongue wetting his lips and a low hum rumbling from his chest. “A pretty little toy, aren’t you?”

“I… no, he hasn’t told me about you.” Confusion. Utter confusion. And, is it… is it hot in here? You’re sweating — you can feel it on your brow. “I’m here for the hammer.” Back to business. “We made a deal and he said it would be here.” Your voice strains, a mix of frustration and being so completely lost in the situation.

“A shame.” Haarlep purrs and leans in closer, leering over you with a sharp smile. “I am not too surprised though — how does one bring up having their own personal incubus who takes their form in casual conversation?” A claw runs along your jaw, the tip of his nail giving you goosebumps. From your adventure in Raphael’s house, it was easy to come to the conclusion that he has a plethora of kinks but this — this is something else. “You’re here for the hammer, that is correct, my dear, but you are also here to play.” His tail starts to slink up your leg and warmth starts to pool in your core.

“B-but Raphael —”

“You have his permission, mouse. And, fun fact about me using Raphael’s likeness — he’ll be able to feel everything we do. He’s expecting it, in fact, and I’m sure he’s looking forward to it.” Haarlep’s claw closes around your chin and forces you to gaze into his familiar burning eyes. Black holes. You feel their pull. “Perhaps he is conducting business right now — could you imagine? Him trying to make a deal while being able to taste you on his lips?” A jolt of arousal rushes through you, bringing a blush to your cheeks. Haarlep’s lips twitch into a devilish grin as you fall right into his grasp. The image he’s painted for you is beyond tempting; having Raphael be helpless to your touch while he’s off doing his devilish duties, desperate to conceal his erection. And, well, you have his permission, don’t you?

Haarlep lets go of your chin and swishes by you, his warm bicep brushing your shoulder and his tail flicking against your ankle. Your eyes trail after him, catching a glimpse of his toned back and his wing joints, veins bulging from the taut skin. You wonder if Raphael’s looks the same. It dawns on you that you haven’t seen much of his skin, in fact, you haven’t even seen his cock yet despite him spilling his seed inside you. You swallow thickly and take a step back, the backs of your knees hitting the foot of the bed.

“Cat got your tongue, mouse?” Haarlep moves in closer to you, the heat radiating off his body making your chest flush.

“No.” You answer sharply before slowly sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back on your palms and spreading your legs wide. His eyes rake over your figure, tilting his head to get a better look at you. You say nothing but Haarlep understands and sinks to his knees in front of you with his head settling at eye level. A hand rests on his chest, coarse hairs underneath your fingertips as you start to wander lower. Haarlep’s arms curl around your back, the tip of his nose just about touching yours as his body makes your legs spread even more. The heat between you is palpable and only continues to grow while you start to stroke at the ridges along his hips. It’s unusual for Haarlep to get this sort of attention, from both guests of the House and Raphael himself.

“You do not deserve to call such a man ‘Master’.” He can’t help it, locking eyes with yours. His words sting but the feeling is quickly washed away by his tongue slipping into your mouth. The breath leaves your lungs, sinking into the hellfire that is Haarlep. Nothing matters but how he tastes you in a deep kiss, his claws pricking at delicate skin beneath your sleeves. You top is gone in a matter of seconds and whether your helped him take it off of you or it disappeared with magic is beyond your at this point. All you want to do is feel. He breaks the kiss and brushes his lips along your jaw, his teeth nipping right where it meets your earlobe. You pull him closer by his harness until he is flush against you. Haarlep trails kisses further down your neck and your collarbone, sucking and biting enough to draw gasps and hums from you. He gently guides you to lay down on your back, his entire body enveloping you until he starts to move his mouth lower and lower.

Each kiss is like an explosion of sensations along your skin, buzzing and burning yet feeling so deliciously blissed out. You’re melting into the mattress, melting into him, each touch of his taking more and more of you. He leaves a trail of goosebumps in his wake, his mouth then closing around your nipple. His tongue flutters around your hardened peak, making you tip your head back as you give a breathy moan. His hands are somehow everywhere all at once; Fingers feather through his hair and then settle at the base of his horns while he continues his descent. You feel him mouth around your navel with light scrapes of his teeth, his hands slinking down to tug at your pants. He takes his time, pulling them down inch by inch, lavishing kisses across your hip bones. You wriggle out of your pants, growing impatient but not wanting to order him.

Haarlep tongue lazily traces your clit and a ragged gasp escapes your lips, a jolt of pleasure rocketing through you. He laps at your slick folds, groaning at the taste of you and presses his face into you, his nose settling just at your clit. Your grip on his hair tightens and you can’t stop yourself from giving it a sharp tug as you squirm and huff. His claws curl around your thighs, the tips of them digging into the tender flesh of your inner thighs. You’re seeing stars, his tongue pressing into you so deeply while he grunts and laps at your juices. Your back arches off the mattress, your mouth hanging open and spilling hoarse moans. It’s devastatingly sensuous, your temperature rising to a comfortable simmer as your mind starts to clear. This could be forever, couldn’t it? You could stay here with Haarlep’s head between your thighs, devouring you until nothing else matters.

Your hands close around two of his horns and your hips start to roll, tugging him with each of your fluid movements. He growls into your cunt, making your thigh and core muscles tense, a deep groan falling from your lips. You’re so far gone yet so close to the edge, his tongue laving at your core as his claws dig even dipper into your thighs. The fire in your abdomen is raging, overwhelming you almost to the point of no return with soft moans turning to deep whines. You hear a rumbling groan, one too deep to be Haarlep’s, just as your dam bursts. Your eyes flutter open and you see him — Raphael — in cambion form with his navy blue doublet and a smug expression on his face. A broken sob heaves from your chest, Haarlep savoring the taste of your cum.

“Enjoying the amenities, are we?” Oh, he sounds so pleased with himself. If you had any energy you would mouth off but all you’re able to muster is a dramatic eye roll. Raphael slinks out of view, the bed dipping behind your from his weight. He had planned for this, the bastard. Your mouth is still slack and your heart is still pounding, trying to come down from an impossible high when Haarlep grips you by the hips and flips you over, your chin nearly landing in Raphael’s lap. He grabs you, his claw nearly clasped around your entire head and lifts you so that you’re looking up at him, though he makes sure you’re able to get a nice view of how hard he is through his trousers. “You taste sweet, little mouse. It’s only fair that you taste me after how wound up you’ve got me. Allow me to assist in getting you started.” His voice is dangerously low, glee in his fiery eyes as he unlaces his trousers, freeing his leaking cock**.**

It renders you speechless, larger than any cock you’ve seen before and it’s ribbed, a pearl of pre-cum already collecting at the top. Your jaw drops and Raphael takes this as an opportunity, forcing your mouth around him and guides you down his length. You groan as soon as you taste him, his cock heavy on your tongue as you run it along the underside, feeling every bulging vein. He’s so large that you drool and gag once he hits the back of your throat, swallowing and trying to breath comfortably. Haarlep is lurking behind you but you’re too focused at the task at hand to notice — until it’s too late. He positions his head between your legs, this time underneath you, his horns flush with your stomach, hands digging into your ass as his tongue savors your folds.

A moan of surprise rumbles up your throat and your head wrenches backward. Raphael’s grip on your head tightens and forces you back down his length with a violent tug. You’re eyes are watering and you struggle to breathe with his pulsing cock shoved down your throat while Haarlep toys with your clit, pinching it between his fangs and flicking his pointed tongue. Raphael bucks his hips into your mouth, fucking your face as he growls with need. You whimper around him, your vision blurring further from the tears in your eyes and the building tension in your core. You feel helpless, used. It’s the first time with Raphael you’ve felt you didn’t have the upper hand, or at least a cool head. The devils have reduced you to a mewling mess, a toy for them to play with. You mindlessly grind you hips against Haarlep’s face and he groans into you, his nose pressing firmly into your clit. A choked sob falls from your lips, your fingers digging into the sheets and your skin buzzing.

“Your lips are so pretty around my cock, mouse.” Raphael croons and tilts your head up so he can see you. Your cheeks are flushed and streaked in tears, your lips swollen and eyes half-lidded. He would paint you if he wasn’t so preoccupied by that mouth of yours. Hmm, perhaps he could paint your face. His claws dig into the sides of your head as he pulls you off of his cock, his other hand giving himself a few strong pumps before spilling his seed on your face. You’re panting, gasping for air as you sink forward, your cheek landing on the soft sheets. Raphael lifts himself off the bed but you’re too tired to lift your head to watch him, instead focusing on steadying your breath.

“You’ve had your fill.” He sneers and pulls Haarlep out from underneath you who gives a frustrated snarl. There’s some bickering but you’re too overstimulated to listen. After a moment Raphael’s claws settle on your waist with a low hum. He says nothing as he drags his cock along your dripping folds and you give a sharp whine, scrambling to adjust yourself. Your hips press back into him, sinking himself deep inside you with a calculated thrust. Primal lust explodes and courses through your body as you give a broken sob, your legs trembling and your core tensing while you ease his size. One large claw rests on the side of your head, nearly covering your eyes with his long fingers, and he clamps down on you, your face smushed against the mattress. His hips buck wildly against your ass, his pace brutal and punishing but you are basking in it, pushing back into each of his thrusts.

You feel his devilish strength, each roll of his hips sending you forward, your face buried in the covers as you cry and whine in twisted pleasure. Raphael has you laid bare. You’re nothing but a hole to him right now, a means to get him off just as he uses Haarlep. But there’s something about it that sends shivers down your spine: the possessiveness of it all. His claw is splayed out over your head, his other one digging harshly into your hip, slicing your flesh and making you bleed. The only thing on his mind is having you, having you in his true form, exerting his strength over you until you’re a quivering mess. He wants to fill you. Raphael hikes your ass up even higher and fucks into you, the new angle making your toes curl. You moan his name and he gives a pleased purr, driving into you quicker and harder.

You body feels as though it splits apart, overcome with your white hot climax. He rest his entire body weight on you now, crushing you beneath him as he buries himself deep inside you, over and over. His hot breath fills your ear, sharp and strained. You’re shivering, tears staining the sheets. Raphael utters one last hiss, teeth grazing your ear as he spills himself inside you, his hips slowing with each pulse of his cock. He’s on top of you until he’s spent, his nose nuzzling into your hair.

You can’t feel your limbs. Your body is trembling, your voice hoarse in your throat as you manage a weak protest. Raphael has you on your back in the blink of an eye, his tail slithering up your hips while he slots himself between your legs, using his knees to spread them further. His board is hard against yours, his clothes having disappeared. Your breath catches in his throat at the pressure of the top of his hard cock against your entrance. Surely you couldn’t take any more of this? You feel like you are about to melt away physically and mentally, your body limp and your brain fogged from the intense overstimulation. Raphael’s massive claws close around both your wrists, pinning them to the bed as his forearms cage you beneath him. The edge in his fiery eyes has softened and his nose drifts along your cheek, taking a deep inhale of your scent.

“A delicate little thing, aren’t you, sweetling?” He growls into your ear, his mouth hot and his sharp teeth pricking your skin. You open your mouth to answer but Raphael shifts his hips forward, the head of his ridged cock easily slipping inside you, the words getting caught in your throat. He hums against your ear and then drags his sharp tongue down the side of your neck. Your eyes roll back, squeezing them shut as he gives a languid thrust and pushes in to the hilt, a loud gasp forcing its way up your throat. Arms slip around his broad shoulders, body arching into his and you feel yourself start to disappear. Raphael lifts his head and hovers his mouth above yours. A groan vibrates up his chest to his throat, his lips parted as he continues at a lazy pace. He can’t get enough of your reactions, your cheeks flushed a delicious shade of pink, your lips swollen from how he fucked your face earlier and those sweet, breathless sounds that are spilling from them.

This is a stark contrast from how he had just taken you, his hips circling in slow, sensual movements that has your core twisting in arousal despite your exhaustion. His own deep moans send current after current through you, reigniting your passion and need for him. You bring your hips up to meet his with each thrust and he bares his teeth as your writhing grows more fluid. Raphael releases your wrists so that he can drag one of his sharp claws down your collarbone and along your side, leaving scratch marks. You move your hand to his hair and you realize this is the first time he’s been comfortably within grasp. Self control out the window, you touch his pointed and then bravely run your fingertips over his horns. Despite looking rugged and razor-sharp they’re smooth beneath your fingers. You wrap your hand around one of them and give it a gentle tug.

“Mouse.” The word is strained, sounding like a warning or potentially a challenge. You take the gamble and pull on his horn again. Raphael shudders, an uncontrolled moan spilling from his lips. His mouth drops open, lips curled into a blissful smile. You hum in response, feeling a deep flush in your chest from his reaction. His eyes sharpen as the feeling passes, slowing his thrusts and silence falling between you. Your breath catches in your throat, tension in your chest, your mind hurdling a million miles an hour suddenly because you feel like you’re in trouble. Raphael slowly moves his claw to curl underneath your chin, eyes locking with his. He groans, his entire body rumbling against you and leans in, capturing your lips. It’s shockingly gentle, passionate that only increases with his need to consume you. His hips jerk, tail wrapping tightly around your leg only to peel you further apart as he picks up his thrusts again. Your tongue runs along his sharp fangs and he purrs into your mouth, biting down on your tongue and lip playfully.

You’re all too aware of the way he throbs inside you, his ridges massaging your walls in a way that makes you see stars. Raphael’s growling grows deeper, vibrating through him as his pace starts to grow ragged, frantic and out of time. He gives a strangled hiss into your mouth, his body shuddering while he empties himself inside you. You’re already so full that it seeps down the insides of your thighs. Raphael breaks the kiss and presses his nose to your flushed cheek, catching his breath.

“I won’t stop. Not ever. Not until I own you completely.” A hot whisper of the clearest words he’s ever spoken to you. You sink further into the mattress, melting away as he rises over you, his red wings ruffling behind him. His obsession with you is written all over his face, his eyes taking in every part of your exhausted body, plotting more ways to keep you in his bed. He cracks his neck and his expression hardens in an effort to get back to the business at hand, though you feel one of his hands stroke at your arm.

“Rest now, mouse.”

Comfortable darkness envelopes you.

[yael-art-den]

Robbie, my Tav Infernal Warlock I'm using on my solo playthrough (and Blues the Rat)

Robbie (or Rob, whatever you prefer) is just a vagabond country musician who is the literal incarnation of "guitar player that sold his soul to the Devil at a crossroads". He never had much to his name, and even though music was his passion, he was never extraordinarily talented at It, just... good enough to get by.

He has, pretty much, Shitty Life Syndrome. Not a "sad" guy, just this whole aura of not really caring about himself, being convinced that whatever good thing he has is temporary, and being okay with the fact that the afterlife ain't gonna be much better after making his pact. At least he can focus all of that into his dark country-styled music, which honestly fits him so well

Also, my man sold his soul just to... Get a new guitar. His instrument was the only thing he owned and how he made money, and when THAT broke, he truly didn't have anything else. The pact gave him a new guitar (his spell focus), and an extraordinary musical skill, plus a GREAT voice. He was starting to have a fairly successful career when the Worm Thing Happened, he can't have shit

This pic was all before he met his Patron or the whole party (he dresses better now!! He has money!!).

[sky-kiss]

I came across the Warped Headband of Intellect which gvies the wearer 17 int and cannot stop thinking about 8 int Tav putting it on and shocking poor Raphael out of his socks with their sudden smarts. 😅 And maybe their sudden lack of them once he removes the headband. 😂

A/N: I run screaming into the night because of how schmoopy this is.

____________

Raphael x 8 INT Tav: Don't Go Changin'

_____________

He pauses to regard the Little Mouse with curiosity and caution. 

She's looking at him. Not in the vacant, slightly dreamy-eyed way he's grown to expect, but with genuine understanding. Tav cocks her head to the side, eyes narrowing, lips pressing to a thin line. An uncustomarily severe look, and not one Raphael can say he likes. 

"You keep coming back," she says, unprompted, and the tone is different too. Raphael searches her face and aura for anything unusual, but there's nothing. Only a new tiara, one dull stone set in its center; it's a tacky piece, certainly not one he'd have gifted. Tav steps towards him, hesitating, before reaching out to touch his wrist. "Tell me why?" 

"You're asking questions? Are you well, my dear?" 

Her lips quirk up; the softness, at least, is correct. Tav chuckles, shrugging. "I've been running our encounters over and over in my head, trying to come up with a reason. Protecting your assets, maybe," and some alarm trills in his head because the turn of phrase is wrong. "Curiosity, perhaps. But I've signed your contract. I've made good on my word at every step. Do you distrust me?"

"Fae," the word still chokes him. "Do not trust easily. And I have lived a long and twisted life. You have the right of it. I am nothing if not protective of my interests." 

"But that isn't right." Her brow furrows, features twisting prettily. The infernal blood in his veins delights in her frustration; the mortal is…compelled to touch her. Raphael's fingers curl around her forearm. "You only rarely visited before. This," Tav gestures to him, "is a recent development. Since our…" she clears her throat, "Liaison in the Devil's Den. I have a theory, of course, but I prefer to hear your take." 

Raphael frowns, "What's happened? Where is this cunning stemming from? You've theories? You're studying me? Has the worm finally squirmed too deeply into your skull?"

"We both know the tadpole has nothing to do with this, Raphael. Now, I'm asking you for honesty. After everything, you cannot claim that is too much." 

He can and will! The devil crosses his arms over his chest, searching her face again. His gaze keeps straying to that damnable headpiece, horrific and garishly out of place on her lovely face. "I am magnanimous, but even my graces have their limits. I do not indulge my clientele's idle accusations." 

"If we examine your behavior…" 

"Hang my behavior! What has come over you?" 

One of her companions, the tiresome little spawn, sidles up to her. Astarion taps the garish piece. "Do excuse the interruption. And far be it from me to stick my nose in a devil's dispute, but…" He hooks his finger under the headband, lifting it free from her hair. 

And his Mouse's demeanor shifts all at once: all notes of pretension and accusation falling away in the face of better instincts. 

"The headband, you see." Astarion taps it. "Quite impressive what it can do from one's intellect. You know, I would have imagined you preferred a…touch of the cerebral in your partners. It seems I was wrong." 

"For her sake, I will allow that breach in etiquette, little vampling. Begone now." Raphael holds himself to the full of his height, imperious, kingly. The spawn holds his hands up for peace before slinking back into the night, leaving them alone. 

"You've come to visit me again, my prince!" Tav clutches his hand, all instinct, light, and love on her face. There is not an ounce of self-preservation in her marrow as she winds her arms around him, hungry for contact. "You must be so busy, and still, you take the time!" 

Raphael frowns, smoothing a hand over her hair. It feels…wrong, somehow. "Your earlier accusations…" 

She shakes her head, "Don't matter. I don't care why you visit. It doesn't matter. I like it. I like you." 

Submerging him in a pool of holy water would have been less jarring. The cambion blinks, staring down at Tav. 

And this once, a touch of honesty. Raphael clears his throat, an air of offended dignity and dismissal hanging around him. "My dear, for tonight, let us say the feeling is mutual." 

"Just tonight?" 

"Don't get greedy." 

She hums, delighted, pressing her face against his chest. 

And gods, it's all such a mess. 

[hexed-padlock]

Hi. As requested by a few people, here’s a fic of my AU/Headcanon where Tav killed Strahd but keeps it a secret from the party. I’m planning a few different scenarios of the reveal, but here’s the first (and most serious). Next ones are gonna embody the original premise more. Couldn’t get this scene out of my head though. Also a bit of Astarion x Tav here.

Takes place as you meet Cazador, where he starts mocking Astarion.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Do the cattle not know you?”

They were below the Palace, facing Cazador as he readies the ritual for his Ascension. 200 years of torment and this is where it all ends. Here and now.

Astarion tenses, seconds from lunging. This was his tormentor, the bastard who robbed him of his freedom, the monster who destroyed thousands of lives. A vampire hundreds have tried and failed to kill.

The room grows colder as Cazador continues to humiliate, to mock, to belittle.

Astarion’s jaw clenches and-

Tav laughs, loud and mocking. They’ve barely reacted thus far, and the sudden noise catches everyone off guard. Their eyes glint, one natural and the other burning with fiery, infernal magic.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t take you seriously anymore. You truly are pathetic.” Tav taunts, head tilting as a lazy smirk crawls onto their face.

Cazador’s own mocking grin turns down into a sharp frown as he finally turns his attention to Tav. “Just what makes you think you can speak to me that way? You’re nothing more than a lamb led to slaughter. Cattle to be consumed. An animal at best.”

“Are all vampires this delusional?” Tav voices the question to no one in particular. Cazador seethes, and the party tenses.

What was Tav doing? Were they insane?!

Astarion moves to grab Tav as they take a couple steps forward, but misses as they smoothly sidestep away from his grasp.

Tav pulls out a sword hilt from the pouch on their hip, testing it’s weight in their hand absentmindedly. The party never understood the significance of this old sword hilt. Sure, it was beautiful, made of an elegant platinum, but it has long since lost it’s blade. Dammon once offered to forge it a new blade but Tav politely declined.

“I’ve met another vampire before you. He was always prattling on and on about being all powerful, lord of the night… something something.” Tav pauses to shift the sword hilt to their left hand. Slowly, deliberately, Tav locks eyes with Cazador (pointedly ignoring their party). “He’s dead now, of course.”

For a moment, Cazador pauses, before the same mocking grin returns. “A spawn is hardly considered a vampire. Though perhaps to you, worm, you see no difference.” Cazador then begins speaking slowly, as if communicating with a child or an animal. The mocking grin grows. “Allow me to enlighten you-“

“I never said ‘spawn’,” Tav cuts off Cazador. “Maybe your old age is finally getting to you, leech.”

Tav shifts the sword hilt back to their dominant hand, subtly maneuvering the hilt into a proper grip. “Maybe you’ve heard of him. His name eludes me. Forgive me, but it’s been a few years. I think it starts with an S.”

All the while, the party is flabbergasted. Sure, they’ve seen Tav do some questionable things over the past few months such as walk straight into a goblin camp, lick some spider meat, and even taunt Mizora—but this is a new level of insane.

Astarion tries to get their partner to stop, because for the love of everything, shut up. He’s never seen Cazador this mad before. Sure, they’ve survived some pretty dangerous situations before, but taunting a vampire lord is madness. However, each time he tries to move or speak, his voice dies in his throat. He’s terrified, he’s rooted on the spot. He’s afraid of Cazador yes, but he’s even more afraid for Tav. The brilliant, shining light of his life. The one person who showed him kindness, love. He’s afraid of Cazador, but he’s more scared of losing them.

Before Astarion could try to intervene again, he feels Tav send a wave of reassurance through the tadpole. They glance back at him for a moment, narrowed eyes softening, before turning once more to face Cazador.

Tav hums for a couple seconds as they pause to think. “Samael? No. Maybe it was Seraph?” They huff for a bit as they make a show of wracking their mind for the name. “Aha! I remember now.”

They brace for combat and the Sunsword answers its wielders call.

Tav’s smirk turns into a cold sneer. Their eyes glow as the hilt in their hand erupts in a fiery plume, a blade of radiant light now burning in the darkness. “It was Strahd.”

————————

Idk… if anyone wants to be notified of a new fic in this AU/series you can let me know?

Anyway, next these will all be independent of each other. Each will be an alternate take on the reveal.

I haven’t written anything besides D&D backstories in literal years so please forgive me if this is rather rough. Always open to constructive criticism.

[brabblesblog]

Fear

Part 5 of the Goodnight Moon series

Visiting the githyanki crèche goes terribly wrong. Inspired by recent events in my second playthrough.

(The illithid skill transfuse health does exist btw - and it’s pretty useful!)

A fair amount of angst- and someone confesses.

Read on AO3.

Part 1

Part 6

Masterlist.

Finally, the githyanki crèche. It had taken a fair amount of time to get there, with all of the grove’s problems occupying most of the past weeks. You are cautious with interacting with them; other than Lae’zel, you really didn’t know much about them and how they would perceive you and your group.

You had sat in the zaith’isk, and when you needed reassurance, Astarion was who you turned to. You look to him quickly with worried eyes, hoping that the others wouldn’t realize how afraid you were.

He hesitates, and then answers in his usual way.

“I’m all for it, but… well, you first.”

Was that a bit of fear in his eyes? Concern? You probably only imagined it. But when the process goes wrong and you thrash in the chair, almost numb to everything else but the pain in your head, it is his voice that breaks through to you.

“It’s too much, you can’t take it. Get out of there, now!”

You are able to - just barely - wrest yourself from the clutches of that infernal machine. As it explodes, you find yourself in the rubble. That pain was gone, thank the gods, but you take a moment to reorient yourself before standing up. Before you even manage to sit up, a hand grabs your wrist and tugs you upwards, a little too roughly.

His eyes are wide, filled with an expression you can only guess was fear. But before you could say anything, it is replaced with a stern look.

“This is what happens when you trust the gith: they strap you to a machine and try to kill you.” He lets out a soft tutting noise and looks at you from head to toe, making an assessment. “At least there’s no permanent damage done. Or not too much permanent damage? I suppose time will tell.”

You roll your eyes at him. “Thanks, Astarion. I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” You sweep the dust off yourself and head off, a little miffed by the too-nonchalant way he was reacting to your near-death. You miss the way his shoulders drop from relief, that you seem to be yourself and alright, and the hurt that crosses his features for a fraction of a second.

The others make sure you’re okay, and you all proceed. You take a moment to calm yourself down as you make your way to the hatchery.

You take a measured breath and turn around. You knew he’d been sticking close to you since you snapped at him, as though he were a lost puppy trying to appease you.

“Um.” You meet his eyes. “That was- sorry. Just really not in the mood to be joking around.”

He waves you off with a dramatic flourish of his hand. “Understandable. You’ve never been the best conversationalist, even in the best of times.”

You sigh and open the doors.

To no one’s surprise, you inevitably offend the gith and fighting your way out was the only way.

Astarion runs ahead of you, which he has been doing lately. You wonder if he thinks you unable to keep up with him anymore; you used to fight back to back.

You see the gith all attack what’s nearest to them - him. You see them cutting into him, his resolve and strength weakening. No, this cannot be. No.

You feel the worm bristling in your brain, the power flowing through to you. You raise your hand, keeping him in your sight and thoughts, and in a split second you feel yourself sag as your own vitality is sapped and is transfused into him.

He stops for a moment to turn to look at you, his eyes like saucers - surprise, bewilderment, fear…? And before you register the source of the fear a blade erupts through your chest.

You fall to your knees, and the blade is pulled out of you as your assailant moves to fight someone. Someone who moved in a blur, daggers catching the light as they moved with breakneck speed. You clutch the wound, trying to stem the bleeding, but you are too weak. You fall to the ground. Everything starts to swim, figures blurring together. The last thing you feel is arms cradling you and someone shouting.

“No, you can’t die! Get up, damn you!”

Astarion. You want to tell him it’s okay, but somehow you can’t. Your eyes close and you go limp, the last of your strength failing you.

He has never seen true fear until this moment, he thinks. He hears your heart sputter out a few final beats before it stops, and screams as it does. He had seen you go down. The moment you gave him half of your life force, the gith youth had snuck up behind you and taken the rest of it. He had torn him apart, but he’d been powerless to save you. He carries you in his arms, snapping at everyone else.

“Scrolls! NOW!”

Gale and Wyll both look through their packs, and Astarion through yours and his, but there are none.

��I have one at camp,” Gale offers. “We can bring her there and-“

Before he even finishes his sentence, Astarion had already run off with you.

He arrives back at camp, breathless. He ignores the others as they gather around him to ask what had happened. He knew he looked horrible; gore all over his body and endless streams of tears in his eyes, but he didn’t care. He carried you to his tent, setting you down gently.

Karlach quietly hands him a scroll. He doesn’t even look at her to thank her, just quickly reads the incantation, then tosses the scroll aside and holds your hand in his. Work, please, he begs. He knows it will, but what if -

He shakes his head roughly. No. He won’t entertain that possibility.

It takes a moment, but he hears your heart restart. At first, shaky and irregular, but it slowly starts becoming a more regular rhythm. He quickly pours potions down your throat, then dresses your wounds. He’s done this numerous times over the years, treating himself whenever Cazador had hurt him, but his hands still shook.

Shadowheart approached him cautiously. “I can help heal her-“

He shakes his head. No. Right now he didn’t- couldn’t have anyone else touch you. She quickly assess the situation and found his work suitable. Without another word she leaves, gathering with the rest of the group as they ask Gale and Wyll, who had just arrived, what had happened.

Astarion never left the tent. He stayed by your side, just staring at you. After a while he finally mustered the energy to close his tent and huddle in the corner, sobbing in small hiccups, lest he woke you up. The sun set, and the moon rose. He was hungry, but he would not hunt tonight. He stayed there unmoving, until a hand wrapped around his wrist.

“A-star..” you mumble weakly.

“Darling? I’m here,” he whispers, voice uncharacteristically soft. “You’re okay. You’ll be okay. You’ll-“ he stifles another sob, and the fear slowly morphs into anger.

“Why did you do that anyway? I know you’re not the brightest bulb but that was far beyond the level of stupidity I thought you had!” The anger bubbles and twists in his chest.

You open your eyes and look at him. He looks positively feral, fangs out and eyes livid. But behind it you can sense mind-numbing fear. You slowly lace your fingers through his and squeeze gently. It was probably time for him to know, and time for you to let your secret out into the world.

“Because… because I care for you. Very much.” His face goes through a million different expressions before it resettles into that anger that he hides behind.

“Care about me? Like you care about the tieflings? Like everyone else? I am not a charity case! I do not need your help!”

You shake your head and squeeze his hand again. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what? That you care for me because I’m useful? Because I satisfy you like no one else does? Is that it?! If it is - you are pathetic,” he hisses, all barb and not really thinking of what he was saying. All he was trying to do was to defend his heart, which felt all too tender at the moment.

The hurt clouds your eyes, and he immediately regrets what he said. Before he can remedy it, you continue. “Astarion. Before I say this… know that I do not-“ you wince as you shift and the wound sends a jolt of pain through you. “I do not expect anything in return. I’m merely stating a fact.”

You brace yourself, meeting his wide eyes.

“I love you.”

[swordcreature]

Hiiii I love your writing so much and I have a request for Wyll! I love the tiefling headcanons about their infernal traits and was wondering if you had any thoughts about Wyll after he’s transformed into a devil. Do you think like his horns and ridges on his face would be sensitive and causes him to fluster more easily if you touch them?

aw tysm you're so kind!!! <33

it hurts me so bad that they didn't give Wyll as many tiefling features as the "true" tieflings in the game. it makes me SO SAD because he looks so good when i used that mod that gives him a tail and pointed ears. SO GOOD!!!!!

but i answered this based on his in game features (and an implied detail about ridges being in places he didn't expect hehehoh) so no tail or cute ears here ):

also i know this prompt wasn't explicitly asking for nsfw, but i can't help myself. i'm a simple worm, i think of tiefling ridges i think of dirty things, it never stops. i did make a note below of where the nsfw stuff starts though in case you wanted to skip it!

Wyll - Infernal Traits

contains some explicit content, MDNI/18+

How Wyll reacts to some of his more infernal features

First and foremost, I think growing horns hurts. Sure, it happens instantaneously, but then he goes through the painful ordeal of learning how to navigate the world with these big ol' horns. His skin is probably so sore where they start, since he's not used to the tension or weight of them.  

He’s too shy to talk about it, but eventually Karlach notices and shares some tips that helped her when she was a kid with growing horns. 

The actual horns themselves do not have feeling, I think they are more like bovine horns where they are bone/keratin and start off growing through the skin and attach to the skull later as they grow. So although they have little feeling, he can sense the pressure of touch and things like that.  

It’s an unnerving sensation when a horn gets caught on something or is pulled by someone, and until he acclimates to it, it’s a bit painful. He’s not used to having anything attached to his skull like this, so yanking them unexpectedly does not feel great!  

I think he would be protective of them because of this, defensive of anyone being too rough around them. Anyone coming close with the intent to fool around with his horns is going to get a good shove; he’s not putting up with anyone who's willing to make him feel uncomfortable.  

He definitely does not like them being touched during intimacy for a long while either. Even gentle touches to them can cause those foreign sensations, so he prefers to keep hands off them. Not to mention the fact that he’s dealing with the complex emotions of transforming. It’s not forever though, he does get used to it at some point, and even comes to enjoy it. 

The ridges on his skin are sensitive due to how thin the skin is as it’s stretched over the cartilage. It can be a bit ticklish, especially on his face and on his ribs. He discovers this himself one day when looking in the mirror and feeling over the new bumps. The entire process of adjusting to his new form has been uncomfortable at best, so it’s nice to find one part of his new body that is sensitive in a good way.  

It’s the first part of his infernal features he lets his partner actually touch, partly because it would be hard to connect at all while avoiding the ridges – they’re everywhere – but also because the light touch of his lover on them is comforting (though it does still tickle him a bit). When they skim his ridges while cupping his cheek, he tries to hide the shiver it causes and gets a little flustered.  

Like everything though, the ridges lose a lot of sensitivity over time. But every once in a while, a particularly soft touch against the spines on his ribs does make him shudder.  

NSFW content below:

The ridges on his more private areas, however, never lose that responsiveness. At first it’s almost unbearable how much more intense they make everything feel. Even the most mundane acts like gripping himself through his trousers make him squirm like he’s never been touched before.  

The first time he touches himself? It’s over in record time. A few good pumps of his hand over the rippling bumps that lead up to the head has his hips bucking like crazy. He normally prides himself on being discrete with his baser urges, but the infernal bumps make it almost impossible. He almost whines. 

For a long time, he can’t really handle oral or even an eager hand job because he’s afraid he’ll spoil the evening too early. And he’s right, because when his partner goes down on him and runs their tongue over the bumps that start at his base, following the trail that leads up his shaft, he cums almost immediately.  

Of course, he’s embarrassed about it, blushing and apologizing because it came without much warning and he’s a gentleman. But there’s also a tinge of excitement he feels – it’s the strongest orgasm he’s ever had. He gets rather giddy thinking about the fun he and his partner can have with this part of his new infernal body.  

[robsheridan]

“Neon Demons: Genesis” Part II (continued from Part I here). Holoroid photographs from the Laboratories of the Seventh Spire of Hell, circa 1980s earth time, during Satan’s grand experiment to fuse human, demon, and machine.

The architect of the Neon Demons project was an old Fallen Angel known as Malachor, whose bitter rage at his former kingdom fueled a centuries-long obsession with finding a dimensional pathway between the realms of Hell and Heaven. He walked amongst mortals, studying their technologies and ensnaring the souls of brilliant scientists who would serve their eternity in Hell working on Malachor’s legacy: The Seventh Spire.

Although The Seventh Spire achieved heights of cosmic elevation far beyond any previous structure in Hell, it could only manage to graze the very outer spectrum of radiation from Heaven’s Light. Malachor felt he had failed, but Satan saw it as a different type of success, and assigned Malachor a new, even more impossible task: Bioengineer a new breed of demon, transfused with Heaven’s Light: the first demon with the power beauty, the ultimate manipulator of men.

The years (centuries? eons? Time in Hell does not flow so much as it squirms and stretches like the skin of a writhing worm) spent in the laboratory were a strange atmosphere, even for the underworld. The low levels of Heavenly radiation wore at the demons, depleting them gradually. Meanwhile, it nourished and uplifted the otherwise dead souls of the beautiful earth creatures whose bodies would become an essential ingredient of the Neon Demons. Even as their physical forms were dismantled and augmented, they moved through the halls of the Spire with a grace and lightness never before witnessed by Hell’s denizens. For most of the already tired demons, the presence of these glistening nymphs in this unholy realm of infernal misery made them uncomfortable and irritable. But a few demons, in their weakened state, let their guard down and allowed themselves some comfort in the beautiful mortals. But that is another story…

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NOTE: This alternate reality horror story is part of my NightmAIres narrative art series (visit that link for a lot more). NightmAIres are windows into other worlds and alternate histories, conceived/written by me and visualized with synthography and Photoshop.

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