#and its biting tiefling tails

[seizedeath]

@lunaerising asked: the moment was peaceful...quiet...serene, almost. a relaxing afternoon until - BITE. tiny, sharp teeth suddenly chomp down onto the tip of jester's tail. and there's frumpkin, staring up at her oh so innocently.

the thing with tails, jester will say to anyone who listens, is that they are very sensitive. the fact that she has made it through most of her life without truly injuring her getting her tail even more flattened has been a conscious effort. keeping it from dragging, up and away from from any harm while also not lifting up her skirts in an embarrassing way. 

all of that works fine, until she’s painting. then all of her little tricks to keep her tail safe ( and usually out of reach of mischievous kitties after she saw him go after molly’s tail more than once ) fall to the side. 

crouched on the floor painting a field of flowers in yasha’s room, jester is fully focused, only keeping an ear out for people footsteps, instead of kitty footsteps. 

shrieking, jester nearly ruins her painting, dropping the paintbrush when her hands fly up in defense, furiously looking around when her mind pinpoints where the pain is coming from. her eyes narrow at frumpkin as she snatches her tail back, glaring. “you’re lucky you’re cute,” she growls, “or i’d bite you back!” 

but her anger falls before that cute face, sighing loudly before she wrangles the cat into her arms, pressing loud, obnoxious kisses to the side of his face. “you’re stupid cute,” she grumbles into his fur. if his tail gets a little yellow paint in it before she’s able to rescue the brush from her lap, she won’t say anything of it. 

[underdark-dreams]

It's finally here, all 7k words of it 👀 Thank you for everyone who read chapter 1, and waited so patiently!

[ch1]

Birds and Bees - Ch.2

Rolan isn't usually the type to accept help. In his defense, Tav is very persuasive—and he is very, very desperate.

Tags: Tailplay, Oral Sex, Biting, NSFW | Word Count: 7.7k [Read on AO3]

Rolan didn’t appear again for the rest of the day.

After their awkward exchange this morning, Tav felt she might be somewhat to blame. She tried to recall the bits of Tiefling etiquette she’d picked up from the Elturians; perhaps touching his tail had crossed some sort of line? Either way, the gesture seemed unthinkably forward to her now. 

Then again…Rolan was the one who’d coiled his tail across her desk like that, its tip nearly brushing her hand as she wrote. She’d never seen him do anything like it before. If she didn't know him so well, she’d have found the move almost flirtatious.

At shop’s close, Cal took charge of locking up the front. Tav caught sight of the large iron keyring he carried and realized that it must be Rolan’s. So his brother had checked in on him today, at least—that gave her a modicum of relief.

Lia pitched in to help wipe down all her equipment and carefully fill the many waiting bottles with her cooled elixir. Tav held her tongue from repeating any of the worries she’d made after Rolan during the day—but it seemed her silence was just as damning.

“Stop fussing,” Lia repeated firmly. “Rolan’s just overdue for a rest. I mean, you saw his face.”

“I did.” Rolan had never been the type to slow down or show weakness easily. To Tav, the fact that he’d willingly taken himself to bed worried her more than anything. “Just promise you won't let him turn down a healer if he needs one?”

“If it comes to that, which it won't,” Lia said down to her work. “I promise we’ll find someone, okay?”

Tav kept her tone teasing as she packed away the sealed bottles in their crate. “Hmm, yes…if only you already knew someone with some knowledge of healing.”

Lia let out a bark of laughter. “Trust me, you’re the last person Rolan wants to see right now.”

The sting of those words took Tav by surprise herself. Lia caught their edge too; she pulled up with a grimace, letting a few drops of antidote dribble onto the desk. “Shit, Tav, I didn't mean it like that.”

“It’s okay,” Tav replied, making a fuss of sealing up the filled crate. The thought made her feel rather less than okay, which she didn't want Lia to see. “I think—I don’t know. I feel like I did something rude today, anyway.”

“Oh?” Lia’s tone was light, but she allowed a conspicuous pause to stretch between them. Tav pushed through a twinge of embarrassment to turn to face her.

“Lia, what would you think if I touched your tail?”

Lia glanced up with an eyebrow cocked. “What, right now?”

“No, just—say I did by accident.”

Lia straightened to take a thoughtful inhale. “I mean…it depends on the context. You and I are friends, I wouldn’t think much of it. Unless you grabbed it up by my backside or something,” she added with a laugh. “It wouldn’t be a big deal. If I’m walking somewhere crowded, lots of people might brush against it unless I’m careful.”

Tav had moved around to reset the rest of her clean glassware as she listened, feeling marginally relieved by the explanation.

Then Lia paused her work again. “Are you saying you touched Rolan’s tail?

“You what now?”

With impeccable timing, Cal skidded to a stop at the edge of the conversation, a heavy lockbox under one arm.

Tav glanced between the two of them. “Yes?” The word came out as a question somehow; her mouth went dry as they stared at her. “Like you said, I didn't think it was a big deal. He laid it on my desk while I was working, so I just kind of—” She mimed a little picking-up motion with her hand.

The siblings exchanged a significant look with each other. 

“What?” Tav felt her face burning and knew the color must be noticeable to either of them. “How does it being Rolan’s tail make it different?”

Cal turned back to her with a frown. “What do you mean he laid it on your desk?”

“I don't know, damn—clearly I’m no expert!” She flailed her arms out a bit. “I just turned around and it was sitting there by my hand, all right?”

Another shared glance.

“That explains it,” Cal decided. It earned him a swift pinch on the arm from his sister. “Ow, hey—”

Tav looked between them again, trying to translate. “Explains what? Seriously, if I offended Rolan somehow, I want to kn—”

“You didn’t,” Lia cut in firmly. “This one here's just an idiot. It’s harder to control your tail when you're sick or tired, and Rolan’s been both, that’s all. I'm sure it was a mistake. And he shouldn't have minded you moving it,” she finished with a decisive nod.

With that, Lia snatched up the filled crate from her with one arm and grabbed her brother’s sleeve with the other. Cal stumbled slightly as she pulled him along, but he wisely held his tongue as they headed for the back stockroom. The hinges creaked shut behind them both.

Tav was left standing alone in the cavernous interior of Sorcerous Sundries, beside the desks that she and Rolan used to comfortably share—not sure if she should feel better or worse.

—

The next morning, Rolan was once again nowhere to be found.

He hadn’t even conjured his projection the way he usually did when occupied with research in the Tower. It was a shame; the shop was unusually busy by midday, and Cal and Lia worked without pause. When she could, Tav left her alchemy just to lend a hand with customers or make runs to the supply room.

She found herself worried to the point of irritation. Was Rolan really so stubborn that he wouldn’t take a potion? Or accept healing from someone he’d claimed was a trusted friend and colleague? She tried and failed not to be hurt by it.

Then again, Rolan had always been the type to shoulder his way through awful things alone while firmly turning down help—particularly from her. His apprenticeship, most recently. The memory made her radiantly angry on his behalf even now.

“Shit—” 

Tav jerked away from the flask and sucked on her freshly scalded thumb. She must have the ratios off again; this recipe wasn’t new to her, but the nuances had escaped her all morning. These sublimates shouldn’t get nearly so hot when mixed.

Might as well admit defeat and review the recipe before she wasted yet another bunch of black oleander. Surely there was a reference text somewhere in Rolan’s library?

Tav glanced around to the front of the shop. Cal was recording a sale at the front desk; Lia was chatting with a very large half-orc over near the conjurement runes. Things seemed well enough in hand. Tav damped the flame at her station and quietly took the stairs for the portal.

For lack of a better word: the library of Ramazith’s Tower was absolutely magical. 

Tav stood breathing in the quiet afternoon sunlight, taking an appreciative look up around her. The collection must be the best one this side of Candlekeep, with all sorts of books on spellcraft, Weave theory, alchemy, religion, the history of Toril—just to scratch the surface. She could think of no hands more deserving than the ones its ownership had fallen into.

Just as Lia mentioned the other day, Rolan had clearly been hard at work reorganizing the place. She ran her fingertips over the books’ spines as she walked around the perimeter of the main floor.

She imagined Rolan with his robe sleeves pushed to his elbows, enthusiastically at work in his book stacks, and bit back a grin. There was something so endearing about his passion for taming disorder. As she walked, she found her gaze drifting to the delicate staircase at the far end of the main floor. It spiraled upward invitingly. 

She’d never been to the upper floors of Ramazith’s Tower—nothing past the library. Certainly she hadn’t stepped foot in any of the private quarters of Rolan or his siblings. She wouldn’t even know which door led to whose.

But her mind wandered readily at the thought of Rolan’s bedroom. What it might look like…smell like. 

No doubt it was packed with shelves of books and scrolls, filled with the scent of fresh parchment and leather-bound volumes. That warm, bookish smell that seemed to be woven into his robes. The fresh hint of cedar from the way he kept his clothes meticulously cleaned and stored. And that other faint spice that she could never identify, but always picked up when he stood close to her.

The same scent that had filled her lungs with dizzy pleasure when he’d hovered close to her yesterday, chin brushing her shoulder and arm circled possessively around her waist— 

She bit her lip as heat pooled between her legs at the memory. She couldn't help it—how very fucking nice it had been to feel Rolan’s elegant hands on her, casually and effortlessly touching, as if he was accustomed to touching her much more often and much more intimately.

It would do no good to dwell on that moment. If anything, the uncharacteristic gesture was just proof of how out-of-sorts Rolan must be feeling. He was her friend, and by all accounts, he’d been too sick to leave his room for days. 

With a sudden burst of determination and a disregard for the consequences, she strode for the stairs.

Taking the curving ascent so rapidly left her dizzy. Tav planted her boots on the landing for a moment, holding onto the railing while she took in her surroundings.

This upper hall was also quietly sunlit, filled with fine carpeting and oak paneled walls; but the atmosphere was somehow less grand than the cavernous library below. More intimate. 

Two doors stood on both ends of the hall. Hazarding a guess, she stepped to the closest one on her left. Its heavy oak panels swung forward with the slightest touch.

Not a bedroom at all, but a bath—and a tremendously fine one at that. All the fixtures seemed to be wrought from polished gold. Underneath a towering stained glass window stood the deepest, widest clawfoot tub she’d ever seen.

As she gazed around, Tav caught sight of her reflection in a large glass above the sinks. Her hair was all frizzy flyaways from a day over her potion work. Indulging a bit of vanity, she paused to tame it with her fingers.

One of Rolan’s many endearing habits was his dedication to fastidiousness. Never a hair out of place, horns polished and shining, robes immaculately pressed—knowing him, with a bit of the Weave.

She must look like some sort of wild hedge witch by comparison. Tav had never minded life in the wilds as a wayward adventurer, even after the Elder Brain was felled to the Chionthar. It was part of what drew her to the career of a traveling alchemist. 

But there were moments…most of them in this Tower, with Rolan and his siblings. Sharing a meandering dinner at a real table with actual chairs. Sitting with Rolan out on the starlit balcony, discussing blood alchemy over a glass of wine as they watched the harbor.  

Tav forced her hands still and stared back at her reflection. 

“What do you want?” She muttered to herself. The Tav in the mirror had no answer. But in her mind, one softly bloomed.

Over the past months, her feelings had tumbled forward faster than she could keep up with them. Seeing Rolan, talking with him about anything and everything, working beside him in quiet moments—she found those were the moments she looked forward to most.

His offer to turn one of the Tower’s empty vaults into a greenhouse for her. Essentially giving her a permanent place in his home, if she wanted it. Was it stupid to hope that he wanted more, too?

As she stood frozen silent in the confines of her lavish surroundings, a muffled sound came from her right.

She hadn't noticed the second door past the bathtub; presumably connecting to one of the bedrooms. She realized it most likely led to Rolan’s.

She stepped toward the heavy oak paneling and raised a hand to knock. As she did, more muffled noises came from within. Tav hesitated, questioning whether she should—then leaned in to press one ear to the wood.

There were the sounds of labored breathing, as if from pain or exertion. She strained her ear harder. There was something almost…rhythmic in it.

And then—she could swear—she heard Rolan's voice groan her name aloud.

A shock of heat ran through her chest, prickling up her neck and diving between the cleft of her legs. The rapid, hot ache at her core made her gasp out in surprise, then clap a hand to her mouth lest he heard. She felt her cheeks burning with realization.

Whatever she had expected to find by wandering up here…this had never been on the list. All she saw in her mind’s eye was Rolan, sweating and panting and desperate. And that thought filled her with overwhelming want in response.

Tav pushed herself back from the door with a jolt. She turned and ran, not knowing or caring whether the ring of her footsteps on tile carried past the door. Her pulse pounded against her ears as she rushed out of the room and back for the staircase. 

Even before Tav’s foot hit the third stair, she knew she was headed for the Elfsong. And a very stiff fucking drink.

—

Day passed to night and back to day again in a feverish jumble. Like a vessel adrift in a vast ocean, Rolan was passed along wave after wave of searing impulse.

Had his ruts always been this overwhelming, and he’d just forgotten? Or was there something different about the drives this time around? 

Even the little dignities were stripped away, one by one. He began by conjuring mage hands at first, but his concentration faltered too many times at the cusp. He finally just settled for his own grip. Desperate sounds rose in his chest each time he neared his next finish, the likes of which he’d never utter voluntarily.

And he quickly gave up on clothes altogether. He lay naked and spread-eagle on his sheets and tried to sleep when he could, before his demanding cock inevitably twitched back to life again. The fever turned his dreams shockingly lewd whenever he did manage to drift off.

By sunset, another strong wave of need was pulsing through his core, demanding his attention. Rolan lay back against his pillows and groaned open-mouthed as he stroked himself.

Even slick with oil, the friction between his hand and the raw, overstimulated ridges of his cock bordered on painful. His finish danced out of reach to the back of his mind.

With an impatient growl, he flipped over to his knees and snatched up a feather pillow, folding it into a sleeve for his cock. A crude solution—but with his first few thrusts, the cool softness of the silk caused a moan of relief to rise in his throat. He squeezed his eyes shut as he fucked his own pillow in a desperate chase for relief.

And behind his eyelids, there she was again.

Tav appeared there so easily now. He’d tried to fight it at first—ashamed to be using her like this, without her knowledge or consent—but he found that nothing satisfied his urges so well as when he pictured her on his cock.

So he closed his eyes and imagined Tav…pliant, eager, hungry. Legs spread and center dripping with desire for him. The shameful depth of his need faded away as he fantasized her own. How her eyes might shine as she panted and gasped under him, calling him by name and begging him to fuck her and fill her and mark her as his—

What would she sound like as he took her? He conjured the timbre of her voice, always warm and musical, now canting to a whine as the ridges at his base slammed against her with each thrust.

Pressure coiled rapid and hot at his loins. Rolan slid off the mattress with legs braced, the pillow cast aside, and tugged frantically at his stiff length again. His tail arched and flicked behind him.

Through clenched eyelids he saw Tav laid at the foot of his bed, hair splayed in a messy crown against his sheets as she cried out his name. Her legs crossed behind his flanks to hold him deep inside her tight wet heat—

‘Rolan—’ She moaned louder, her heels digging into his lower back as he took her. Tav gripped two handfuls of the bedding underneath as he thrust relentlessly, chasing more of her heat around his cock, more of the delicious scent at her throat and between her legs—

“Rolan!”

“Fuck—” With a strangled gasp, Rolan’s hips stuttered one last time as his come spilled in ropes to the floor. Panting and shaking, he caught hold of the bed post with one hand as he frantically worked out the rest of his finish with the other. His head spun with the force of it.

But as he opened his eyes and his vision cleared, so did that cottony feeling in his ears. Someone was rapping insistently on the door to his room.

“Rolan, we need to talk—” Even muffled by the heavy wood, Tav’s voice was unmistakable.

“Fuck,” Rolan hissed again, this time with enough wits about him to panic. How much of that last performance could she hear through the door? He snatched up the nearest towel to wipe himself, then tripped away toward the pile of clothes on the floor that had lain untouched since yesterday.

“Go away,” he called tersely, nevertheless yanking the trousers up over his hips. Thank hells that last round had left him soft enough he could do up the laces for now.

On the other side of the door, she was undeterred. “I’m not leaving till I’ve seen you.”

Rolan cursed as one of his horns snagged the ties at the neck of his shirt. Once the fabric dropped over his torso, he whirled around to take in the state of his room. 

Bedsheets pulled sideways from the mattress; pillows strewn across the floorboards; air thick with the smell of him. Absolute filthy shambles.

Using a rush of energy he couldn't afford, he cast a mass prestidigitation spell on the space. The improvement in the air was immediate. But the resulting light-headedness caused him to stumble forward; he caught himself with a hand braced on the door frame.

“I'm not joking,” Tav called loudly, unaware he was now much closer.

He could have yelled at her to wait outside for another week, then, if he wasn't so sure she was stubborn enough to actually do so. After all, this was the person who’d defeated an Elder Brain and taken on several gods in the process.

That…and he found he badly wanted to see Tav in the flesh. Hearing her voice from just beyond his bedroom door only increased that desire. Rolan’s tail lashed behind him in helpless frustration.

“What do you want?” He asked instead, lowering his voice. No use broadcasting any more of this conversation to the whole Tower.

There was a pause on the other side of the oak paneling. “I’ve barely seen you since I got here,” Tav’s voice replied, matching his volume.

“And?” 

“And I'm worried about you…obviously,” she added. “Cal and Lia said you’re sick. But I’d feel better if we could talk face to face.” Even through the barrier between them, he could hear a strain in her voice. She wasn't lying. 

Rolan rested his horns against his braced forearm with a sigh. “Tav, I swear I'm perfectly fine.”

“Then just open the door a moment. Please, Rolan?”

It was far too pleasant to hear her say his name outside of his own imaginings. Rolan glanced down at himself. Barefoot, shirt untucked, but technically presentable. And not pitching a tent for once in the past twenty-four hours. 

“If I do, will you leave?” 

There was another pause. “If you want me to,” came the reply. He unbolted the latch and drew it open to shoulder width.

The wave of Tav’s scent hit him almost before he registered her face in front of him. The sweetness of it overwhelmed his other senses for a moment. It tested all Rolan’s limited reserves of sanity not to grab her by the waist and pull her body against him.

Unaware of the silent struggle raging in his chest, Tav stood with face tilted up toward his. Her eyes had traveled over his figure immediately, checking him over with a worried little crease between her brows. Something at the side of his head caught her eye; Rolan realized his hair hung loose and rather sweaty, exposing the slender tips of his ears.

Her demeanor changed at the sight. Tav sighed, leaning her head against the flat of the door.

“You’re even handsome with a fever,” she told him softly.

Rolan blinked at her. Perhaps exhaustion and hormones were driving him to hallucinations. “What are you—”

Faster than he could react, her palms landed on either side of his face, and Tav pulled his mouth down to hers.

A burst of colors exploded behind his eyes; the sensation of her lips moving on his kindled the dormant heat in his body to wild blaze. She notched her hands upward as she kissed him, and her fingers slid up along the sensitive tapers of both his ears.

Rolan let out a hungry, animal sound against her mouth. Both hands landed on her back and crushed the line of her body forward into his, leaving no space between them. He could feel the soft hills of her breasts pressing against his chest through clothing. The warm scent rolling off her skin and hair surrounded him with dizzying force.

The higher part of his mind was screaming at him. Rolan desperately tried to focus on what it was saying; as he did, he caught the tang of wine on her lips. The discovery gave him just enough will to pull back from her.

And he did, with one jerking step back into his chambers. “You can’t be here.”

Tav stood panting through parted lips, eyes half-lidded as they traveled over him. Rolan felt flames lick his skin everywhere they moved.

“Why not?” She breathed. “I wanted to see you.”

“You’re drunk,” he told her. He rather felt that way himself, still reeling from the electricity of kissing her.

Tav pouted at that, and Rolan wished to bite that lower lip firmly between his teeth. “I’m not drunk,” she corrected. “I’ve had a drink. There’s a difference.”

“You wouldn’t be here if—”

“If what?” Tav watched him as she took a step closer. Rolan stepped back in tandem, reflexive. She was well over the threshold now. “If I knew what was really happening to you?”

Those words sounded much more knowing than he liked. Rolan stared at her, trying to read into her face. He swallowed against the dry lump of his tongue and went out on a limb. “Which one of them told you?”

Tav shook her head. “Cal and Lia have been nothing but discreet.” 

“Then how could you possibly understand?” He demanded. The very recent discovery of how soft Tav’s lips were was making it very difficult to maintain this conversation. He could still feel the way her body had pressed into him.

One corner of her mouth twitched. “Rolan, I’d like to think I’m not completely oblivious. There have been…signs. And I’ve had a lot of time to think about them. I’ve been at the Elfsong all afternoon, just—thinking.”

At that, Rolan felt his tail twitching nervously behind him. “I see,” he replied. Pivoting, like an idiot, trying to pretend this was a perfectly acceptable conversation to have with the woman who occupied most of his thoughts when he was pleasuring himself. “And you think that I—that my—”

Tav made a quick twisting motion to get around the door. She latched it and drew the bolt closed behind them, then turned back to him.

“A lot of humans have heard rumors about Tieflings,” she confessed. “Some stupid, but some credible. I’m saying this is maybe not the secret that you think it is.” As he watched, a much deeper blush spread over Tav’s cheeks. She glanced away to the side. 

“Rolan…I grew up in the Dales, remember? Around rabbits, and cattle, and oxen. Half my friends lived on farms.”

Her analogy couldn’t be clearer. To hear her lay it out so plainly—Rolan felt the last dregs of his pride shrivel up and die. He gripped two palms over his eyes and let out a groan of abject humiliation, turning away to the middle of the room. 

How early had she connected the dots? The moment she felt him brazenly place a hand around her? Had she known all along that he was locked up here, rutting into every one of his pillows?

“Look, Rolan, I’m sorry—I didn’t know how else to say it—” 

Completely overwhelmed by his embarrassment, he hadn’t heard her follow. When Rolan finally dropped his hands from his face, he turned to find Tav standing very close to his chest.

“And I’m sorry for kissing you before,” she blurted out. “I mean, I’m not sorry for it…I’ve wanted to do that for a long time, to be honest. But it wasn’t fair. I just…wanted to know how you’d react.”

Rolan watched as her chest rose and fell heavily where she stood. The look in her eyes made his blood pound through his veins. He felt an urge to reach out and smooth back her hair to bring her in for another kiss, one he resisted.

“I care about you,” Rolan told her, before he could lose his nerve. “Our friendship. I respect you, Tav, it’s not worth—muddying things with this.” 

He felt fingers lacing through the ones that hung at his side, and despite his words Rolan tightened his grip automatically. Her hand was so pleasantly cool against the heat of his skin.

“Why do you think I’m here?” Tav answered earnestly. “I care about you, too. If I can help, I want to. Please—”

She was so close to him; Rolan breathed shallowly, but the warm scent rolling off her skin and hair nevertheless swept past him with dizzying force.

“You don’t know what you’re offering,” he managed hoarsely.

She didn’t falter. “Then tell me what else you think I should know.”

His senses were growing clouded with her; the offer that had tumbled so easily from her rang in his ears. It made the thread of Rolan’s control stretch dangerously taut.

“I won’t be gentle,” he warned. 

His inadvertent shift in tone changed something in the air between them. There was a crackling energy that hadn't been there a second before.

Tav licked her lips as she watched him. “Good.”

Rolan thought he might melt from the heat that spread across his skin. His tail snapped against the mattress behind him. If she moved a step closer, she’d feel how hard he was in his pants.

“Mating bites,” he went on hoarsely. “I’ll mark you. Quite a lot. I’ll try not to draw blood, but…I can’t promise it.”

Tav nodded. “What else?” She asked, encouraging him to go on. 

Rolan swallowed against the embarrassment. But this was important for her to know. “This time for us, it’s all about…reproduction. We become quite virile.” He nearly choked, but there was simply no other way to put it. “For the urges to pass quicker, I need to come in you.”

Tav let out a throaty hum of approval. His cock twitched in his pants at the sound. “That’s fine, I take preventatives—it’s safe.”

They stood looking at each other for another moment. That shivery, electric feeling buzzed in the air around them. Rolan wondered if she could hear the way his heart drummed against his ribs.

Tav leaned in slightly. “Well…” She said, and her wet tongue passed nervously between her lips again.

That taut thread in his chest snapped in two. Rolan crushed her up against him with a whimper. Arms circling around her waist, he nudged a thigh between her legs and firmly ground their hips together.

Tav matched his eagerness. Their lips crashed together; at the back of his mind, he felt her grip cradling under each of his ears. Her fingertips licked like flame against his scalp.

Even through layers of clothing, he could feel the heat of her. Rolan jerked her hips forward harder against his thigh; the swelling length of his cock pressed against her soft, yielding center. Tav dipped her head back from the kiss, arching into him with a moan, and her fingertips laced at the nape of his neck. 

It offered an irresistible angle at the column of her throat. Rolan’s claws raked back in her hair, pulling it to a tight ponytail. Then he tugged firmly, holding her open as his mouth descended on her neck.

He kissed and sucked along the band of muscle from her ear to the curve of her shoulder, then parted his lips to bite down firmly on her soft flesh. 

“Yes,” Tav moaned in approval above him. Her hips rolled into his, grinding herself against the hard cock straining in his pants. Rolan felt her pulse skip against his mouth. Only when he tasted sweet copper did he pull away, laving his tongue over the crimson pin-pricks of his teeth into her skin.

He took only a moment to admire the trail of marks blooming along her neck. Tav was already pulling him in for another kiss. Their lips crashed together with bruising force; her tongue explored, tasting, searching for proof of her blood against his tongue and moaning against him when she found it.

Her scent filled his mind. Without breaking from her mouth, he plucked open the laces of her pants. Rolan slipped his hand under the waistband, beneath her smalls, and slid two fingers to dip down between her legs. Her folds were shining-slick; as he nudged her in circles, a trickle of her arousal rolled down his fingers. She shivered prettily under his touch.

“You’re soaked,” Rolan groaned against her neck. 

“All because of you,” she breathed without hesitation. “Been wanting this, gods, wanting you for months. Your hands on me—cock in me—”

At the words he withdrew his fingers from her impatiently, then sucked them clean. Her sweet taste on his tongue made his cock ache. She scarcely had time to curse at the sight before Rolan gripped both arms around her waist to lift her into him.

With one quick pivot, he landed her down on the bed with his frame pressed into her. Her legs hung off the edge from the hip down, and he used the position to grind the stiff length in his pants against her cleft.

Even fully clothed, it was maddening. He could feel the wet patch between her legs, and when she arched further into him, a primal growl rumbled in his chest. 

Tav’s fingers were brushing at his sides, tugging at the hem of his shirt. “Off,” she panted impatiently.

Rolan tilted back to rip the garment up over his horns, immediately reaching for her own once his was free. He stripped her frantically, ripping her smallclothes in two before he could work them down her thighs.

When she lay bare beneath him, moaning and arching into everywhere he touched, he was overcome with hunger for more of her taste. 

Rolan gripped her hips, dragging her with a jerk to the edge of the bed. With her glistening folds displayed before him, all he could do was drop to his knees and bury his tongue between them.

The sounds she made were like sweet music as he explored her. He sucked and massaged her slit with his tongue, then plunged it as deep within her walls as he could. His eyes rolled back in his head. Her taste surrounded him; his nose brushed her clit as he ate her, further overwhelming his senses with the scent of her arousal.

“Gods, yes, Rolan—” Tav moaned above him as her hands flew to grip each of his horns. She alternately tugged them and arched into his mouth, grinding her clit against his face.

He wanted to hear her say his name like that another thousand times. Rolan curled his tongue against her walls, determined to taste her even deeper, but to no avail. Without his sharp nails, he would have sunk two fingers into her.

Instead, as his mouth left her, the ridged end of his tail looped around to brush over her slit.

“Ah—” Tav gasped from the bed. One of her hands left him to prop up on an elbow to look. 

He watched her face in adoration as his tail slid between her soaked lips, coating itself in a mixture of her arousal and his saliva. Once it was thoroughly wet, he let the heart-shaped tip push experimentally into her.

Whatever hesitation he had evaporated at the way she arched and keened. He pushed in further, inch by inch, hissing in breath at how tight and wet her walls squeezed around him. Rolan felt his cock leaking between his legs at the sight of his tail disappearing into her plush cunt.

“Taking my tail so well,” Rolan praised without thinking, then groaned. “Fuck, Tav, you’re so tight—”

“Don’t stop,” she demanded, breathless.

When he felt the tip brush the limits of her insides, he held it steady as she panted down at him. Her mouth hung open in anticipation as she watched him lean in again for her center.

But instead of landing on her clit, his mouth met with the soft skin of her inner thigh and sucked it firmly between his teeth.

Tav gave a little yelp of pain, but her walls constricted around his tail so hard he moaned against her flesh. He left two more lovely red marks against her thigh before withdrawing his tail from her, leaving only the tip inside her silk.

Then he thrust back into her and took up a forceful rhythm of stretching her open on his tail.

“Fucking gods,” she gasped, gripping both his horns again. He felt her use them as leverage as she bounced her hips down to meet him. 

“Like this, don’t you?” Rolan urged her on, drunk off her desire. “Fucking yourself on my tail—” He leaned down to take another taste of her clit, swirling and sucking as the ridges on his tail dragged more wetness out of her with each thrust.

“Yes,” Tav moaned, shaking under him as his tongue worked over her clit. “Feels so perfect in me, so—ngh—!”

When he flicked the tip of it up inside her, Tav’s words stuttered to incoherence. He felt her inner walls clench and flutter, and repeated the motion over and over with each thrust.

“I’m—oh, oh ohohoh—”

She dissolved into soft cries. The muscles at her core tensed and shuddered as she climaxed against his tongue. Rolan withdrew his tail from her with a slick release, instead clasping his mouth over her to lap down the sweet taste that poured from her. His pants were so wet he was nearly convinced he’d already come, but he felt his cock straining against the fabric just as firmly.

When her thighs collapsed limp to either side, Rolan pushed himself to his feet for a look at her. Tav’s eyes were bright, cheeks flushed with arousal, her hair coiled out in wild tendrils that framed her like a crown. Their eyes met; with both hands on his arms, she pulled him down for a kiss.

Rolan landed braced on his forearms. Their tongues slid and pushed together, trading the taste of her release. When he felt her reaching between them to undo his laces, he pulled away to loose them and strip off the rest of his clothes. 

Tav reached for his erection, and before he’d steadied himself, she gripped his length to drag the generous droplets of precum around his tip with her thumb. His hips bucked into her.

“Eager, aren’t you?” She teased softly.

“Yes,” Rolan groaned. Tav’s soft hand was around his cock for the first time; it was all he could do to locate words. He knew his face was flushed and tense with arousal, but Tav only looked up at him with appreciation from where she lay back on his bed. 

When she guided his length across the wet of her core, he rocked his hips to drag his ridges across her. She shivered slightly, still sensitive, but rolled into him.

“Need you,” Rolan panted, not sure whether he was asking her or begging. “Tav—please—”

Tav’s hand lined him up with her entrance. When his leaking tip nudged inside her, Rolan pushed forward with one slow, determined cant of his hips.

The cool slick of her walls clutched each inch of him so perfectly. A low groan rose in Rolan’s throat—this was the closest thing to real satisfaction that he’d gotten in days, and he hadn't even started moving yet.

“So good,” Tav said under him, voice sweet and husky. “Keep going—”

Rolan braced his hands against her hips. He pulled out slowly, legs shaking beneath him, then pushed back into the tight plush of her. 

His hips took up a firm pace, and Rolan couldn't bite back his whines as he plunged his cock inside her. Whatever his fevered imagination had conjured, it was nothing compared to this—he fell over her again, fangs skating against her breast as her body rocked under him with each thrust.

“Yes, yes, fuck—” Tav was just as breathless as her fingers gripped the infernal ridges on his shoulder blades. She tugged, egging him on.

Rolan took the invitation with enthusiasm. He nipped and sucked around the swell of her breast, breathing in lungfuls of the sweetness rolling off her skin.

“Harder,” Tav begged, the words vibrating against his lips. The hunger inside him surged in agreement.

Rolan’s lips fastened over one nipple. He sucked, hard, letting his tongue roll her against his teeth. Tav let out a whimper, but he felt her legs crossing around his hips as he continued to bury himself in her.

Rolan pulled away to look at her face. A mist of sweat dusted her brow; Tav’s lips were parted and twitching with silent words. 

“Look at me,” Rolan ordered, still filling her with his cock in a steady rhythm.

Tav obeyed, her eyes shining and pupils blown wide. He straightened away from her, never breaking, and laid a hand each on her calves. Then he pushed up, folding her legs to her chest and opening up her cunt even deeper for him.

“You look so beautiful like this, Tav,” he told her, thighs trembling with the effort of keeping his pace slow and steady. “Folded in half in my bed. Stretched around my cock so perfectly.”

In response, Tav’s hands grabbed her knees, pulling herself open even further to each side. “Is this how you imagined it?” She asked wickedly. “All alone—wishing it was me and not your own hand—”

Heat prickled across his neck and shoulders, but Rolan was too far gone to feel shame. He couldn't resist breaking eye contact, however, watching the way his cock stretched open her dripping cunt.

“Just like this,” he panted in answer. She took in breath to respond, but he was already slamming back into her at a reckless pace.

The lewd, wet sounds of his thrusts filled the room, layered with their chorus of whines and moans. Rolan shuddered at how slick and tight she was around him, perfectly gripping each inch of his needy length. His cock throbbed in anticipation of a satisfying release, finally, after all these times of not quite enough—

“I’m close,” he panted, gripping her hips to pull her down deeper onto his cock. The tip of him nudged against the limits of her walls. “Where should—”

“Inside,” Tav insisted, still holding herself wide for him. “Only inside, Rolan, want you to fill me up—fuck—”

The imagery pushed him over the edge, and he did just that. With a throb of release, he felt his cock pulsing and filling her deepest walls with his seed. His hips stuttered into her as he pushed his spend as far into her as he could reach.

Tav clutched his shoulders as he came, humming and moaning out praises for him. Their hips rocked together, nudging his coated length back against her deep center. 

Tav went tense under him. He forced his eyes open and saw her lips parted in surprise.

“I’m—oh—!” 

She gasped in shock as her own climax gripped her. Rolan hissed in breath at the way she clenched and fluttered so suddenly around him. His length was still hard, and his ridges pulsed against her.

As she drifted back down, Tav’s eyes finally lit on him in a daze. “What…what was that?”

Rolan was abruptly reminded of how many ruts he’d spent without a partner. “I'm sorry, I should've warned you,” he confessed. It was hard to form his thoughts while still inside her. “During the cycle…infernal traits get stronger. Like incubi. Helps attract a partner.” Somehow this explanation was more embarrassing than any of the other filth he’d just spoken to her.

Tav stared up at him. “You're saying your come is going to make me come?”

“Essentially.” Rolan shifted inside her slightly, still not confident he was done. “I apologize—I didn't think to tell you. Is that a problem?”

“Rolan—” Tav let out a breathless laugh, and the sound went straight to his chest. “This is the exact opposite of a problem. Just a bit of a shock, that's all.”

The lovely sight of her happy and satisfied under him was too much to resist. Rolan leaned forward on his arms to kiss her, trapping her legs between their chests.

As her hand stroked softly under his jaw, Rolan felt a second ache settling in his loins. He released her lips for just long enough to push her legs out over his hips, then ducked back down for her mouth.

He rolled his hips into her slower this time, but it was somehow more intense. Their lips stayed connected as he drove into her deep. Her walls were slippery with arousal and his own seed, and they gripped like pure silk around his cock. Her opening slid over the sensitive ridges at his base with each thrust.

When he dipped a thumb between their bodies to rub circles over her clit, Tav broke away with a little gasp.

“I can’t again,” she said, panting.

“You can,” he told her simply. “Hold on to me—” 

She did, wrapping both arms and legs firmly around him as if he was her anchor. Rolan dipped his head to her neck as he doubled his pace, their hips slotting together with each brisk slide into her. He breathed deep against the curve of her shoulder.

Still so hungry for release, it wasn't long before he came again hard. This time he just barely pumped his spend into her before he pulled out to look down.

Sticky white seed dribbled out of her slit, running down toward her hole. He dipped the thumb circling her clit down to swipe it back up across her cunt, painting his come across the bundle of nerves at her peak.

Tav’s thighs twitched under him, and she gripped his arm tight with one hand. She swore as he continued flicking across her clit with the wet pad of his thumb, then whined out his name.

While her next orgasm nearly doubled her in half, Rolan tilted his head to watch the sight between her legs. She was soaked, twitching, utterly intoxicating. Her contracting walls pushed more of his spend out of her; it flowed generously from her slit and soaked down into the bedding below.

Finding himself now utterly spent, Rolan collapsed on his back next to her. As he did, he realized his legs had grown fatigued to the point of buckling from the exertions. He let his body sink heavy into the mattress. 

“I made a mess on your sheets,” Tav panted from beside him. 

Rolan groaned at her descriptive language. The fact that his length continued softening was a sign his urges were finally giving him a reprieve, however. “It was mostly my fault.”

She only let out a weak breath of laughter.

Too tired to trust his shaking legs, he reached an arm blind over the side of the bed and snatched up the first fabric it touched. His discarded shirt.

Pushing himself seated, he gently reached to dry between Tav’s legs. One of her hands traced the ridges on his back as he quietly tended to her.

“How long before the next?” She asked him.

“An hour or two.” Rolan didn't look at her. “Tav, you've done more than enough for m—”

The mattress shifted as she sat up and turned his face into a waiting kiss. It was soft, just a chorus of little presses across his lips.

When Tav pulled away, she tucked the damp curtain of his hair behind one ear. “Rolan, unless you want me to go, I'm staying until it’s over.”

Rolan cast a glance over her. Despite the fact that she was naked in his bed and covered in blooming bruises from his mouth, she was very much the same Tav as ever. “Thank you,” he told her quietly.

She pushed him onto his back with a sudden laugh, landing with her chest pressed to his. “What an utterly Rolan thing to say,” she mused. “Need I remind you I just came three times?”

Tav was teasing him, and was of a mind to put her in her place—only he found that none of his limbs wanted to move at the moment. Instead, his only response was a deep hum as his eyelids drooped shut.

He felt the mattress shift as she rose and wished he could reach out to stop her. But a moment later she curled up next to him again, dragging a soft quilt over their bodies. 

Rolan turned inward to rest his head on Tav’s chest—and fell into his first real slumber in days.

[cambion-companion]

Tail Talk

Based on this anon ask:

I would love to see more smut with raphael and a Tiefling tav- Some tail to tail action !! And stuff involving horns..

AND inspired by the art piece where the Tiefling OC has a "heart tail" position around Rolan because I love the idea of Tieflings having tail language.

Especially if our Tiefling Tav is unaware they're doing it.

Raphael x gn!reader

Your tail flicked like an agitated cat. "I'm working on it, Korilla. I was close to success when you whisked me back here." You gestured to the familiar lavish dining hall, the grand fireplace crackling behind where you stood upon the marble floor.

"Our master wishes to speak with you." Korilla raised a preemptive hand to ward off your questions. "Don't ask me why, you know how he is."

"Hmm." You did indeed. You had been his warlock for a shorter time than Korilla, yet his theatrical and often contradictory nature still kept you on your toes.

"And do try to keep that tail of yours in check this time, yes?" Korilla gave you her trademark smirk. "I think he's beginning to notice."

"Notice what?" You were quite puzzled but the Dwarven woman just waved you off and sauntered back to the archive, leaving you alone to wait. "Notice what?" You asked a little louder at the empty doorway she'd disappeared through.

"Hells it's hot." You tugged at the collar of your shirt uncomfortably, familiar with the stifling heat, yet never as comfortable as you were in biting cold climates.

"Indeed." Raphael's voice made you turn, his leathery wings and red skin glowing in the flame light. "This is hell, my dear."

Your tail immediately stilled from its nervous swishing, the blood rushing to your cheeks as it always did when he caught you by surprise.

"I asked you to have an update on your progress." Raphael cocked an eyebrow as he slowly circled around you. He clasped his hands behind his back, observing your comparatively diminutive form. "Two months ago. Perhaps I've been too lenient with you."

"No." You quickly protested.

"I am not one to coddle my servants." Raphael looked you up and down and smiled, looking for all the world like the cat who got the cream.

"No, I know." You said, wanting to turn to face him but hearing the edge in his pleasant tone. "I was almost there when Korilla-"

Your words broke off in a short gasp as you felt a large hand press hot against the small of your back. Raphael leaned over your shoulder, his breath tickling your ear. "Your words paint an idyllic picture, yet the rest of you is quite beyond your control. Is that not so?"

Genuinely confused, you furrowed your brows, your heart hammering in your chest. "I don't know what you mean."

Raphael chuckled and the sound alone sent a shock of feeling to your core. "You truly aren't aware." He slowly withdrew and circled back around until you were chest to chest. "For such a precocious flower, I expected more."

His glowing eyes roved your puzzled expression, self-satisfaction practically oozing from him. His long devil's tail whipped around and tangled with yours. You let out a small squeak of surprise.

"Your tail, my dear." Raphael explained, his tail continuing to twist and pull with your own. "It betrays you."

With a wave of his hand, a large standing mirror was conjured beside you, the reflection of the hearth fire nearly blinding you for a moment. His tail trailed down your leg to wrap around your ankle and Raphael gestured broadly for you to look at yourself. He watched you closely as you turned your face to the shining mirror.

"Oh." You said, your cheeks burning.

"Eloquent as ever." Raphael sounded amused, though something simmered below the surface.

Your tail had been curving in the shape of half a heart, slightly raised at the base in a universal signal of wishing to mate. You quickly let it fall to a normal position, unwilling to look back at your master.

Long fingers tucked beneath your chin and coaxed your face back to his. Raphael's tail slithered slowly up to your thigh, you thought for a moment you were going to succumb to the heat and faint, but his fingers beneath your jaw grounded you.

"I do not mind." Once sure you would not turn away, Raphael released you. "For the present, we have other matters to attend to. Do not think I will forget this revelation, however."

[reverieblondie]

Finding the Tiefling Bachelors Smut

A/N: I really hope everyone enjoys these hcs. Now these are just my ideas if you have ideas or things you feel like should be added please share! I would love to hear what you think! Huge shout out to @f4iryt3a for letting me use their Cal screenshot! I really appreciate it!

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, fem!reader

Rolan: Scholarly romantic, who endeavors to seek experience outside his books

Now I love the idea of Rolan accidentally finding smut/erotica. That dork would get embarrassed so quickly, but I know he would be intrigued as the new master of Razamaths tower. Rolan, of course, has made it his mission to quickly understand all the tomes and books found in its grand libraries. Through his cataloging, he discovered that not all the books are necessarily history books or grimoires, but there is a collection of books that are stories. Needing to flip through for a rough summary of the story quickly, it's when he scans the pages and pauses…

Ardent eyes trail over her shivering skin. His lips come over to caress her body, his hands sliding up her belly towards her breast. Rough fingers pinch and twist at her sensitive buds, making her tremble with a breathy moan. All while his lips trail down lower and lower…biting softly, licking down her mound. Her skin is like silk against his fevered tongue, and no doubt the lower he wonders, the sweeter the taste… 

"And to think you thought me intolerable…now look at you, love. Panting like a bitch for my tongue…" 

Rolan slams the book closed, his face burning a bright crimson hue. Now, Rolan isn't dumb; he knows what smut is, but he's never actually read it before…And now, as he keeps looking through the books near this one…it seems Rolan has acquired a bit of a collection. He keeps the collection of his newly acquired smut in a locked drawer on his desk.  

Now, on late nights, while he's been in his office for hours, his back is tense, and his neck and shoulders are filled with knots. He needs to let out all this unreleased tension, so his hand wanders down to that locked drawer to finish reading that last chapter… 

The book has been discarded but not forgotten as it lies on the desk. Rolan's breath is labored as he is hunched over his desk, feverishly fisting his cock, whimpering, and throwing his head back as he lets the images flash in his mind. Doe's eyes stare up at him, his hand with a tight fist of their hair…their tongue rolling and lapping at his ridges, tail rubbing their wet sex as he approaches his high. Fuck How he wished it wasn't his hand but their mouth eagerly sucking him, desperate to take all of him. Rolan's thoughts spur him on more, your nails digging into his tights, your throat so fucking tight, just like he is sure your pussy is. And where would you want in? Your gorgeous face? Your breasts? Or would you swallow?

Rolan's hips buckle faster, his loose hair sticking to the sheen of sweat on his neck as he lets out a groan. He would give you all of it; he would make sure to show you everything he could do, how he would study your body just to get you to cum. How he would remember every moan, every tremble, and the way you feel wrapped around so tightly, your sweet voice trembling all those words he dreams you would say.  That's when he feels that wave rushes over him, his legs tremble, and a whimper "ah, a-h!" leaves his lips. Rolan has to brace his hand on the desk as he cums in fast spurts in his hand. Catching his breath, he looks at his mess… "Zurgan…" 

You and Rolan are friends, but you two still manage to argue most days, and you wouldn't like it any other way. Something about that grumpy attitude just makes your head spin. You want to get under more than just his skin; getting under him would be ideal. It's good that you're patient because you're just waiting for the snap where this teasing finally pays off, and he becomes yours. 

You find yourself waiting for Rolan to ask about some magical artifact you found. Honestly, you could care less; you just want an excuse to talk to him and tease him. Unfortunately, you must wait for him…might as well snoop a little. And what do you find in your snooping? A locked desk drawer, intriguing…with a trick you picked up astarion you get it opened to see books? 

Oh….smut books…with a clear theme, enemies to lovers; it looks like Rolan likes to argue as much as you do…you can work with this. 

Rolan walks through the door, "Okay, what do you have for me?" His voice catches as soon as he sees you sitting on his desk (something he says he hates), watching you read through his smut. 

You flick your eyes up to him, "Rolan… I never took you as a smut reader; I would think the Great Master would be too busy…" Rolan approaches you quickly and tries to snatch the book from you, but you hold it behind yourself, not making it easy for him. 

"Hasn't anyone ever taught you about privacy!" He stands right in front of you now, his flushed cheeks on full display for you. "Why are you embarrassed?" you taunt; Rolan sighs irritatedly as he struggles for the book. His body leaning in so close, his chest brushing against yours, his hips between your spread legs, his face getting so close to yours. Rolans is so desperate to get the book he doesn't realize how close he is. 

"Someone needs to teach you proper decorum!" his voice grumbles. "Is that an offer…" Rolan pauses as he hears you whisper in his ear; he turns to face you, his face already so close your noises brush together. Rolan swallows as his eyes flick from your lips to your eyes. " You're teasing me," he says lowly, dropping the book behind you; you wrap your arms around his neck. "Not unless you want me to." 

Rolan lets out a shaky breath before he places his hands on your hips, guiding you to wrap your legs around him. "Must you always have a comeback every time?" 

"What? I thought you liked my smart mouth. Perfect for arguing." Rolan gently lays your body down against his desk, his body over you, making your breath quicken, and your arousal ruins your panties with want. "How about I put that mouth to better use?" 

You two don't miss a moment to start stripping on one another. "What use? Oh, great master Rolan?" Rolan smiles and leans his now bare chest down, his lips pressing hungrily against yours. Before you can slip in your tongue, he pulls back, relishing in the whine you give from missing his lips. "Like making you moan my name." -Damn that cockiness… 

The next few moments are a blur of sloppy kisses, sharp bites to your neck, and the feeling of his hot tongue tracing over your nipples, making your thighs clamp tighter around his waist in a whine. Rolan eggs you on to say his name as his textured cock runs slowly up and down your wet sex. His body shudders with a groan from the feeling of your slick all for him. 

Rolan slides into you, whimpering along with you as you finally moan his name, "Rolan~" you can't help but arch yourself as he pumps into you deeper and deeper with every thrust. The more he rocks in you, the rougher he gets, as his nails dig into your ass, lifting your lower body off the bed as you keep clamping down on him from the praise he rewards you.

His cock hitting your G Stop, you feel yourself squeezing down on him as his hazy eyes look down at you with a lazy smirk; he's read enough to know what's happening to you, "Oh? About to cum? Come on… Don't hold back, cum for me."

It hits you like a wave making your whole body tremble as your orgasm on his cock, with a scream of his name. Rolan is quick to silence you with a moan of his own as he leaves a rough kiss on your lips. 

Zevlor: An Experienced Romantic

Okay, but can we all imagine Zevlor's shirtless body littered with scars and a nice set of reading glasses low on his nose as he reads some smut/erotica. (Ugh, the dream!) Zevlor, our oldest of the bachelors, has seen his fair share of smut; back in the day, it wasn't odd for some of the guys to hide erotica under their bunks. Though their books were quite different from Zev's. Sadly, those books have been lost to time and the descent. Maybe it was curiosity or the fact that a certain someone has been making his heart race every time they say his name. Now, here he is in the romance section of the library, trying to find one of those old books he used to own. Unfortunately, he only sees books he's not familiar with, so on a whim, he opens a random book…  

If someone walked by, it would tarnish her reputation. A high blood in the gardens this late with a man will surely cause gossip. Especially with her legs spread so wide and her guard positioning his cock so deep in her. Her soft voice moaning so heavenly, only causes his cock to throb more. He's meant to be guarding her…If anyone finds out… She's too important, too perfect to be with a man like him…

"I love you." Her voice, like sweet honey, draws him to hold her tighter, to rut in deeper. He drags his lips across her slick skin, tongue lightly licking the sweat from her neck. Finally, he reaches her ear, "Darling flower…I love you more than you can possibly know…" She clenches and flutters with a whimper, and his hips start to move faster…

Zevlor ended up checking out that book, along with three others the lady behind the counter recommended for him. It turns out they had similar tastes…He made sure to rush home so nobody saw what he had, and Zevlor made sure to put the books in a safe place…in his dresser drawer. 

It's another one of those sleepless nights. His eyes just won't seem to close, and his body won't relax. Maybe he should read a few chapters in his new book…just until his eyes get heavy…

Zevlor can't help but grunt as he feels his balls twitch, begging himself to stroke his girth faster, but Zevlor is patient… he knows what his body can take, so he continues his slow build. Zevlor spits on his other hand to lube his cock, making it slip faster within his hand. His grunts get louder as his hand moves faster, building up to his release. Zevlor shuts his eyes, focusing on the approaching wave of pleasure, his thoughts immediately going to you. Your body is bouncing beautifully as you ride the old hellrider. Gods, he wants to talk you through it and be your guide to your sweet pleasure before he fills you up. How he would dig his hands into the soft plush of your hips to help roll you deeper, cooing softly to you as you begin to babble, your pleasure starting to build to its peak. Gods, how he wants to hear your voice trembling his name… Zevlors hips start to roll at the thought of your snug cunt and your sweet voice chanting how it's too much and how you're coming to cum. The thought of your cum coating him is enough for his cock to throb as he lets his cum shoot against his abdomen. Zevlor sighs coming back down from his high. As he cleans himself up, he wonders, would you clean him up? Perhaps with your tongue? Zevlor shakes his head and chastises himself for the lewd thought. 

You and Zevlor developed a strong bond after everything; you two were supported by each other through getting past everything. Even though Zevlor decided to retire to a small farm on the city's outskirts, you two kept in touch through letters and visits. Part of you wishes that Zevlor would one day invite you to stay at his farm with him permanently…though you are unsure if that is just a silly dream of a lovesick girl… 

During one of your impromptu visits to Zevlors farm, you were helping him wrangle the goats, it turns out Philp the Ram is not a fan of yours… So that is how you found yourself crashed into the water trough after running from a grumpy goat. Zevlor was a slew of apologies as he helped you from the water and told you that you could borrow some clothes from him while yours dries. So, while you were looking for a shirt in his drawers, you found a book? Maybe a peek wouldn't hurt…

Turns out that Zevlor is quite the romantic…maybe it's time you confess…but you need to have a plan…

Zevlor was done setting up the tea, but you still hadn't emerged from his bedroom. Perhaps nothing fits you, right? Or maybe you are embarrassed? Zevlor sits pondering for a few minutes before he decides to walk to the room and check on you. You hear his heavy footsteps before you hear his Knock. "Tav? Are you alright?” With a deep breath, you tell yourself it's now or never. "Zev? I'm fine, but could you ... come in, please?"

Zevlor, never one to deny a request from you, opens the door; when he sees you, he thinks his heart stops at the sight of your bare thighs sitting on his bed in his favorite mauve shirt. Then he sees the book on his dresser, and his face turns an impossibly deeper shade of red. Great, you think he's an old pervert. Zevlor is about to explain when you cut him off, patting the spot beside you on the bed. He watches your face blush, "sit with me?" Zevlor sits beside you. The tension is thick in the air as both your minds reel, Zevlor panicking that you think he's a gross pervert, while you are working the courage to make your next move ... something romantic to impress him.

"About the book I-" It was so quick .... but you forget Zevlor was a paladin, a well-trained one at that. So when you turned to kiss his full lips, Zevlor caught your face between his hands. His eyes widen in surprise as he looks at your squished cheeks and puckered lips. Your face reddened, "I'm sorry, I was trying to be romantic... I should have asked to kiss you.” You manage to tremble out through your squeezed lips ...His eyebrows furrow and a slight laugh leaves him “you... Want to kiss me?” He lets go of your head, and it's your turn to laugh. “That and more... if you're willing?" 

Zevlar was definitely willing, willing to run his hands over your soft body, while you do the same to his hardened one, tracing his scars with tender kisses as you sang sweet praises into his crimson skin. His Kisses were so soft as your lips pressed together, slowly building up your hunger for more.

It could have been minutes, hours, hells, even days as you two explored each other's bodies. "Slow ... ride it slow ..." his deep voice whispers in your ear as you slowly roll your hips ."Beautiful ... look at you ...” His lips return to kissing a bruise to your neck as you look into the mirror. Your legs spread wide over his thighs, one of his hands on your hip as the other is wrapped around your waist, holding your front as steady as possible as he thrust So slowly into your drooling cunt. You can see your arousal dripping down his ridged cock as he moves it through your snug cunt, stretched so taut for him. Your hands are holding onto Zevlor for dear life as he molds your insides to his shape.

Zevlors pace steadily builds as your insides start to clench on him tighter, and your cooing gets higher pitched. He smiles and meets your eyes in the reflection as he slips his hot fingers to your twitching clit, rolling over it in quick circles So desperate to watch his lovely Tav squirt all over his girth again.

What could be more romantic than watching the one you care for come undone on you?

Dammon: A lover of erotica through and through

It is canon that Dammon likes smut, which inspired this whole thing. Damon isn't one to shout out from the rooftops what he enjoys reading, but he isn't shy about it, either. He enjoys reading smut/erotica, and he isn't going to be embarrassed about that. He finds that his favorite works are Bondage and Corruption Kink-based. Sure, the stories are undeniably hot, but the trust, the communication shared between two people engaging in that level of intimacy he's utterly addicted to…and his library will only grow. Still, he always returns to his rarer favorites…

His hand is cold compared to the burning flesh of her ass. She leans into the touch, losing her grip, but that only earns her a swat that furthers the rosy flesh to a fiery blush…" keep holding your ankles.." his voice is stern, and she wishes he would talk to her for hours like this, She grabs her ankles tighter mumbling a soft apology. He smiles and kisses down her spine in approval, "Good girl. Now, what's your safe word?" She feels his hand sliding across her ass, the tightening in her gut coiling further. "L-lavender…" she can't help but tremble, feeling his hand spread her blushing cheeks. "When do we say that word?" she's fully spread to him now, feeling dizzy in anticipation. "If-if I'm feeling overwhelmed, hurt, or just ready to stop." 

He muses at her, bent over, ready for him; he runs his oiled fingers over the metal plug keeping his eyes on her tight entrance…he feels his cock throb from the rush, she wants to slam himself into her ass, but he calms himself with a breath. "Very good, now I'm going to put the plug in, remember to breathe and that it will be cold…"

Dammon only occasionally has guests in his small house, so he has never felt the need to hide his books. So what does he do? He proudly displays them on his bookshelf, rotating out his favorites for a nice reread on his nightstand. 

No matter how many times he might read this book, it always excites him. After a long day of pounding away at scorching hot metal it can get a person tightly wound up…and what's better than an excellent book to help wind you down after a long day…

Turns out that winding down is not what his body had in mind for him tonight. It started off as it usually does, his hand lazily stroking his cock, while he read from his book, but as he kept reading, he couldn't help but think about when he saw you last, bright smile, tight trousers, and your shirt barely containing your breast. You always looked like a vision, and he wouldn't mind getting his mouth on if you only asked. Dammons thoughts go to you bent over his anvil as he pounds into your warm heat, his hands keeping your wrist behind your back as you moan for more to show you all he knows. Dammons bites his lip at the thought, continuing to ram his cock into the crease of his pillow folded between his legs. His hand is not enough, and neither is the pillow, but if he thrusts fast enough, he can almost trick himself. It's your plush thighs he's ramming against. Dammon lets out deep moans as he gets closer, his cock weeping at the tip as he thinks of how deep he could go… how he could explore all of you for him to devour. Gods, to feel you cum all over him, to demand more from you till your body shakes from overstimulation. The pleasure he knows his rigid cock could give you. The surge of his orgasm washes over him as his cum shoots into his pillow with a low groan at the instant relief. Dammon throws his pillow off the bed as he catches his breath, so much for relaxing…

After the end of everything, it only makes sense that you would keep in touch with Dammon; every good hero needs a good blacksmith, and Dammon is yours. He was always so reliable and fun to talk to. It only makes sense that you were running his way whenever your sword or armor was nicked. You two slowly boned and found yourself spending hours just sitting and talking to him, telling him your adventures while Dammon just smiled and worked. Watching Dammon work was also an enjoyable experience; he was always so passionate about what he did… you wonder if he's as passionate in other ways

Dammon had told you to come by his place to pick up your weapons, which he was repairing. Having to do some last-minute things, he had set tea out for you and had you wait in his quaint little home. You waited and waited, but he was just taking so long, so you decided to walk around. While you were walking around, you saw Dammon's bookshelf and looked to see if you two shared the same taste in books…

As soon as you picked up one of the books and started to read it, you just couldn't stop. You didn't know if it was shocking, curiosity, or interest ... but what you were reading was so intense, and you just couldn't help how your thighs were pressing together to help ease your growing arousal. "Enjoying the book ?" his voice chimed, making you jump. Slamming the book closed and trying to stumble out an apology, Dammon just looks at your increasingly flushing face, and his smile grows.

Finally, Dammon gently places his hand on your lips, his face completely unfazed as his calm voice asks, "Want me to show you my favorite parts? "- How could you refuse?

What turned into him reading them to you led to you reading it yourself as Dammon ideally played with your hair as he watched you; he Turned to you, finally sharing in a passionate kiss, to where you are now ...

Both of you stripped down to your underwear, straddling Dammons thigh as he leaves slow, sloppy kisses on the column of your neck, "We will start slow...to show you …"

Your hands are holding on tightly to his broad shoulders as his hands slide down your waist to squeeze your hips. His bright eyes take in your blush as he asks if you're okay if you're ready. With a shy yes, you two start as he starts to guide your hips to grind on his thigh; the feeling of your clit rubbing against him makes warm pleasure rush down your spine to spread through you. Dammon just watches your beautiful face contort to the pleasure, listening to your soft moans and trembling Whines, his cock growing stiff as the arousal drips from your panties to leak on his thighs. God, he wants to trace it with his fingertips and have you taste yourself, but he contains himself, telling himself to go slow with you. Dammon moves his hands up to your breast, groping you softly as you continue your soft grind.

You keep rocking back and forth, feeling the tightness in your stomach as you gradually build your pace. From how wet you feel. Dammon knows you are so close to that high, so he decides to help you more. His left hand lowers your bra as his lips kiss your perked nipples before his tongue carefully traces the sensitive skin, making you moan so softly. Then With his right hand, he slips two fingers through your soaked panties to play with your swollen little clit. The feeling of his rough fingertips toying and then pinching softly is enough for that coil to break within you as you squirt on his lap.

"I'm so sorry …" You say in a gasp, but Dammon only shushes you as he holds you to his chest, his expert fingers guiding you through your orgasm. "You have nothing to apologize for ... that's so beautiful, which makes me want you to do it again ... "You whine and bury your face in his neck from his sultry words. Damon can't wait to teach you more things.

Cal: Innocent but wants to learn

There is not enough smut about Cal, which is a shame; he is a cutie and deserves to be included in the Tiefling Bachelor lineup. Cal always thought that there was only one way to get sexual stimulation from a book and those erotic art books people hid in their homes. He had heard of the desire to seek them out. Well, now Cal's grown up, he has needs. It's while Cal is trying to discreetly find one of these books when he comes across smut. Curious why a book like this would be in this section. That is when he figures it out… 

He couldn't help how her strong body roused him. It was an accident coming across her during her bath, but even the warrior jumped to action and could pin him down beneath her foot. He just stared at her bare body, shining in the moonlight as the water dripped down her skin. He swallowed his suddenly dry throat as the need to lick up every drip off her body to quench his thirst, but only if she wished it. How he would be a dog for her… "Why are you spying on me during my bath? Are you an assassin or just a pervert?" His rehearsed lines over why he joined her on her journey evaporate from his mind.

"My lady…lady, I wish to serve your every whim…I wish to be your hand…it would be an honor to travel with a noble hero like yourself…" Her eyes narrow before she swiftly drops down to his prone form…Gods, please don't sit on him and reveal to her his aching erection… "careful with your wording… you could easily end up as a squire… or my chew toy.." he tries to steady his breath… "whatever my knight wishes…" she smiles…this should be an interesting addition to her travels… 

Of course, Cal quickly bought the book and immediately packed it for home as soon as he left the store. As soon as he got to his room after sneaking past his siblings, he needed to find a place to hide it. The last thing he needed was for someone to see that he had this book. So, after a quick scan of his room, he shoved the book underneath his mattress. Nobody will find it there, right?  

Cal was completely immersed in the story; any time he had time off, she was sneaking off to his room to read another chapter or two. Then, late one night, he found that the plot was thickening, and it was starting to stir something within him. Cal springs from his bed and quickly decides to take a cool bath; that should help cool him right…

The bath did little to ease him; all while he was in the bath, his thoughts kept wandering to his book… and you. Now here he is, his fevered skin feeling the sharp bliss of the bathroom's tiled wall against his back, groaning lowly as he fucks his fist. Cal knew it was wrong to think of you this way, your beautiful legs spread open… your hand teasing yourself as your sweet arousal drips more and more. Cal knew he shouldn't be doing this, but that didn't stop him from shutting his eyes tighter, buckling his hips more desperately as he chased his high. All those previous feelings of shame melt away as your sweet voice calls his name, your eyes lidded, telling him to "Watch me, Cal…taste me…" Fuck, his breath picks up as dose his pace mumbling to himself how much he wants you… what he would fo got "Ah, just to taste you… to have you cum on my tongue…" Cal stroked faster, whimpering and moans growing louder at the thought of you pushing him down and sinking your soft cunt onto his cock. The way you would ride him as you screamed for him was the final straw that had his cock spasming, "Fuck, fuck, Fuck!" Cal couldn't help but chant like a prayer as he made a mess over his clean body. Cal looked down at his ruined body, "Dammit… I need to rinse off again…" 

Cal was always a pleasant person to be associated with; your friendship started when he thanked you for helping end a squabble between his siblings. After that, you two kept running into each other. First, he sought you out for combat advice, which made you two have friendly chats. You two both find each other to open up about your troubles with one other. Cal says he admires you and all the incredible heroic acts you have done, but you admire Cal and his cheerful, never-giving-up attitude. The world always seemed just that bit warmer when Cal is near…  

When you saw that Rolan and Lia were out at the tavern without Cal, you were instantly worried about him. They had told you he was not feeling good, apparently, and that immediately made you need to go see him. So, with a key from Rolan, you made your way to the tower to check in on Cal. When you reach outside his door, you hear a sound that makes you worried…   

The air in your lungs ripped from your throat, causing you to let out a gasp as you saw him fisting himself under his blanket. You and Cal locked eyes; he immediately stopped and quickly apologized to explain himself as he was trying to get untangled from his sheets. Poor Cal fell out of his bed, crashing to the floor in a tangled mess of his bedding. Walking over to him, you crouch Where his arm hides his face. "I .. am so sorry ... I ... didn't mean - ""Cal?" Cal Swallows, "Yes ?" You carefully move his arm away so you can look into his eyes. "Do you want me to help you ?" Cal looked up at you with wide eyes before nodding quickly.

Cal's breath was labored as his sweaty hands gripped the sheets as he looked at you in awe. Your hands wrapped around his length as you -Kissed and licked his peddling tip, your eyes watching his adorable face. Then with a final smile and a whisper to relax and enjoy, you start sucking around him, your soft tongue - licking around his sensitive underside making his hip twitch and buckle. Cal thought he must have fallen and cracked open his skull, passing on to the next heavenly realm; how could it be that you, perfect beautiful you, are sitting on your knees eagerly, sucking and slurping on his cock; it just couldn't be real.

Then he felt his cock push to the back of your throat, and he couldn't help from throwing his head back and moaning your name. You relished in the feeling of his trembling as he came in thick spurts down your throat. You had to hold back from laughing as you heard him apologize. Standing up, you smile at his hazy expression and slight smile. You swallowed him down and caressed his cheek, giggling as he pressed frantic kisses on your palm, saying a thousand thank yous. Grabbing his chin, you smile at him as he asks those words you were hoping for. "I .. um. I have never done it, but could I help you ?' Turns out Cal is very good at following directions.

[dark-and-kawaii]

Okay but what are some HCs for Zevlor Raphael and Haarlep and what they like in bed 👉👈

୨♡୧ What They Enjoy ୨♡୧

18+

Zevlor - Haarlep - Raphael

⋆˙⟡♡ Notes: I could go on for hours about this because honestly it depends on all their moods!! But here’s what I have today!!

⋆˙⟡♡ Choking | Love | Toys | Breeding | Bed Breaking

Zevlor

The tiefling gives off switch vibes. Zevlor is ready to fulfill your every plea whether it be him on top doming you or being a soft bottom. It's always about you, as Zevlor's main goal is to make you happy.

However, on those rare occasions when it's about him, it's usually because he's feeling a bit frustrated. But oh boy, once he takes full control over you, you better be prepared for a wild ride that will leave your bed in dire need of replacement. And don't be surprised if you find a delightful tail shaped bruise on your thigh or wrists, evidence of his firm grasp on you to keep you in place.

Prepare yourself for a shower of pet names and praise from Zevlor. You're his whole world, and he loves showering you with the sweetest of endearments. He'll worship your body like it's his personal temple, tracing his thumb over any imperfections on your flesh before expressing his deep appreciation for your beauty (*꒦ິ꒳꒦ີ)

Choking. He takes pleasure in lightly grabbing your neck, and sometimes his tail acts on its own, gently wrapping around your neck while you go down on him. And guess what? He absolutely adores it when you use his neck as leverage as you grind down onto his beautiful cock. It's a vulnerable position that he would never allow anyone else to put him in, but he trusts you with his life!

Now, if you're looking for Zevlor to be mean and degrading, you better buckle up because it'll take quite a bit of convincing. We're talking a lot of convincing here. But hey, if you push Aradin in front of Zevlor, that might just be enough to ignite that side of the tiefling and have him fulfill your desires for some deliciously mean treatment. In the moment he loves it, but afterwards he’ll always feel bad and express it on his face.

Zevlor's heart yearns for slow, passionate sex that ends with him creamping you. He wants to savor every moment with you, to truly feel and appreciate your connection before filling you with his potent seed.

When it comes to punishment, Zevlor is more of a gentle spanker. He can't bring himself to hurt you, as he cherishes your well being and wants to maintain a loving dynamic.

Biting and leaving small marks are Zevlor's guilty pleasures though! Will always leave them in places where you can easily hide them. He secretly loves the possessiveness and connection that comes with marking you as his lover.

Zevlor's fantasy involves engaging in intimate acts in semi-public places, the risk of potential discovery adding an extra layer of excitement for both of you.

And let's not forget Zevlor's deep need for a family. He absolutely has a breeding kink and dreams of building a future with you. Perhaps it's time to consider giving him what he’s been dreaming of *wink*!

Haarlep

Haarlep is a hardcore dom with an insatiable desire for control. It's just in their nature, but oh, how they adore it when that spark ignites within you and you take charge. The way you pleasure yourself to their body sends a thrilling chill up their spine, and you can always tell when Haarlep is happy by the telltale sign of their tail.

Now, i think we all know this but Haarlep is a true sadist. They derive pleasure from witnessing your tears, pushing you to the point of crying, begging, and whining. Your tears are a delectable treat for them, and they take delight in licking your messy face clean, relishing the taste of your salty tears against their tongue.

Edging and the use of degenerate names are Haarlep's specialties. They enjoy teasing you to the brink of release, denying you until you're a quivering mess beneath or atop of them. And when it comes to punishment, my dear, if you dare to challenge or provoke them, don't expect to find release that night. Haarlep knows how to discipline a brat and keep them in line.

Haarlep will degrade you until you’ve earned their praise, my dear *Winks*!

Haarlep absolutely loves fucking you in places where the risk of being caught is high. The scandal of the all powerful tav fucking a lowly incubus is so fun for Haarlep.

Toys, my dear, hold a special place in Haarlep's heart. They enjoy using anything they can find on you, pushing you to new limits. Love watching your stomach bulge with their tail.

Bondage, chains, gags, and the use of their tail are a must for them.

Choking, uh yeah! Prepare yourself because your neck will bear the marks of their hands and tail. The sight of your eyes rolling back and your mouth hanging open for precious air always sends Haarlep over the edge further, it’s intoxicating.

An ownership dynamic is something that Haarlep finds alluring. You’re theirs, right? No one else’s. Haarlep will always finds way to make this known.

Despite all this though, Haarlep does enjoy connection with you if you’re their little dove. Will pull you into their chest, entwine their fingers with yous, their tail curling around so limb of yours simply because you are theirs and they refuse to let you go.

Raphael

Switch, but he rather you do the work/ warm his cock and ride him while he’s sitting writing out a new contract/writing in his diary. He’s a man that enjoys a good performance after all.

Blood play & knife play. He has a fascination with your blood, finding it sexually arousing. Will use a gold dagger to create controlled cuts -especially on your inner thigh- before dragging his tongue against the wounds he inflicted. Period sex is totally fine with him.

Breeding kink. The devil is lonely, you’re his little mouse and he’ll make sure you remember this and make damn sure you’re stuck with him. Besides, having a little him around house hope doesn’t seem all that bad considering he can shape the little thing into a copy of him.

Possessive, scratching and bruising you gives him satisfaction. The devil is possessive by nature so marking you is a must no matter what. Enjoys scratching and bruising you till you’re begging him to stop, leaving visible reminders of his control and ownership.

Sadist as well as humiliation. Raphael fully embraces his sadistic nature, finding immense joy in inflicting pain on you. He takes delight in your suffering and is always satisfied with your reactions. Loves to humiliate you, has taken you in front of the souls that are trapped within his home, loves grabbing you by the hair forcing you to look at them while he degrades you.

Master & slave dynamic along with dumbification. Enjoys the concept of dumbification, reducing his little mouse’s intellectual capabilities and turning you into a submissive and obedient cock sleeve.

Raphael likes controlling your orgasms, loves having power over you, denying or prolonging your release. He gets off in edging you, pushing you to the brink of climax and then denying you the satisfaction of release.

Exhibitionism, enjoys watching and feeling Haarlep use you like some rag doll, won’t allow the incubus to ever finish- Raphael will take over when he’s good and ready.

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

The Red Tieflings Bachelors (Rolan and Zevlor) Reacting to You (Tav) Thanking Them

Featuring: Rolan/Tav; Zevlor/Tav

A/N: Just a little something that popped into my mind while working to clear the writer's block. I was feeling very low the last week or two, so I apologize for my inactivity here. And then I was on vacation with my family. Thankfully, I’m feeling better now. (Currently working on Yandere! Alucard Part 4 and the next ask. Yan! Part 4 will probably take a while because it's long-form (not hc), so expect the ask after that to be posted first.) 

Rolan

🔮 It was just another bustling day in Sorcerous Sundries when you decided to stop by,  a newfound magical item in hand. To no one’s surprise, it appeared your favorite tiefling wizard was too busy sorting through the inventory of Ramazith's Tower to man his shop, seeing it was his programmed illusion who greeted you with a relatively uncharacteristic amiable tone.  

“Welcome to the Sorcerous Sundries. Is there something in particular you’re looking for today?” 

Knowing Rolan, in reality, his body was pacing around Razamith’s Tower, nearly tearing his hair out, as he obsessively mumbled, sorting through the piles and piles of books and scrolls Lorroakan had gathered in his time. The compelling image in your mind was such a stark contrast to the one before you, that you bit your lip to prevent your signature mischievous smile from dawning across your face. 

“I believe Rolan left something upstairs for me.” 

The illusion looked at you, eyes narrowed, presumably scanning its programming for an appropriate response. Yet, just as Rolan’s Projection opened his mouth to speak (in all probability to deny you entry) your conversation was interrupted by a boisterous halfling patron, hoisting an item that he declared comprised of defective magic. 

Never one to waste a distraction, you took the opportunity to make your way up the stairs of Sorcerous Sundries to its second floor and into the correct portal leading to Razamith Towers. 

Upon entering the portal, you were met with the familiar sound of Lia and Cal bickering with none other than the new proprietor of Sorcerous Sundries himself. 

“If you simply spoke to them instead of pining inside this tower all day and night…” Lia went straight to the point as usual. 

“I am not pining!” You could hear Rolan answer, in his usual defensive tone. 

“I think what Lia means to say is, it would be easier for all involved if you were to simply ask them-” Always the mediator, Cal must have jumped in. It did not surprise you, seeing as how he was rather skilled when it came to talking his siblings down. 

“Ask who what?” You interrupted, the concrete visage of Razamith’s Towers finally greeting you. Despite having known the tiefling family for months now, you were always amused by their antics. “Does Rolan have his heart set on an apprenticeship with yet another asinine wizarding master?” You had a feeling Cal and Lia were referring to something else entirely, but you’d prefer to speak to Rolan alone about that. 

Rolan rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed by both your sudden presence and your insistence on teasing him. “I no longer require a master, nor a teacher. Lorroakan gathered enough magical books and knowledge within these walls for me to teach myself all I could ever wish to know.” Behind him, his pointed tail lashed sideways, always ending with an upward flick of the point. To a fellow tiefling, his irritation would have been quite obvious. Then again, you were not a fellow tiefling. 

You nodded, ignoring Rolan’s wilful tone. You had become accustomed to his many displays of false irritation and indignation. More often than not, your headstrong ally was more bark than bite. “That may be,” you continued. “But in case it isn’t, I’ve brought you one more tome for your collection.”

Rolan’s entire posture, tail included, stiffened upon hearing your words. The tiefling wizard was in disbelief. A gift? For him? But, why?

Lia smirked, before elbowing Cal, whose own knowing expression soon followed suit, spreading across his face. Nodding to each other, two brother-sister duo walked off, leaving you and Rolan alone, standing in a near deafening silence. 

“It’s a tome on the origins of The Weave, or, at least I think it is. That’s what Gale told me anyway.” 

Rolan's previously erect shoulders slumped at the mention of your former traveling companion’s name. “Ah yes, Gale, The Great Wizard of Waterdeep. How is he faring these days?” 

“Better,” you answered honestly. “It seems not living with a ticking time bomb just inside your chest does a man some good.” 

Rolan brushed off your attempt at lightening the mood, pushing past you to a stack of unsorted books piled on an end table to your left. “I assume the two of you have kept in touch then?” 

“Rolan!” You mock gasped. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.” 

“Pfft, you’ve clearly let the title of Hero go to your head. Why would I be jealous of a mere professor at Blackstaff Academy when I possess an entire library of magical writings, a shop full of magical items, and several arcane cannons to defend all of the former?” 

“He’s a very respected professor, and there’s something to be said for enjoying the simpler things in life.” 

Rolan scoffed once again. “He had the power to be a God and turned it down. After enduring all your group did, taking on the shadow curse, fighting the goblins, destroying the Absolute, a job instructing ungrateful, know-it-all brats hardly seems like a reward.” 

Now it was your turn to roll your eyes. “Well, it’s what Gale wanted. But I do have to wonder,” you slowly stalked towards the red tiefling, “If a very coveted and respected position of authority isn’t something you'd consider a reward, what exactly qualifies as recompense to the mighty Wizard of Razamith’s Tower?” 

Slowly, you trailed a finger up along Rolan’s robed arm, delighting in the little gasp that slipped from his lips. 

He both hated and loved how you could make him feel like this. How just one word, one look from you could leave him a needy, wanton mess, how he longed for you to step even closer, for his body to press up entirely against yours. In the back of his mind, he imagined what it would feel like for your strong weathered hands to run down his red infernal skin, but that time, with no gloves or thick robes in the way. 

Rolan was certain you knew the degree of power you held over him. He was sure you delighted in pushing and prodding at his buttons, drawing out each one of your visits with flirtation and playful verbal sparring.

“What… about…a…?” you enunciated each word with another swipe of your finger across his robe’s velvety material, your face moving ever so slowly closer to his. 

Finding his composure, Rolan shrugged off your advances with a shaky sigh. “Spit it out already. I don’t have all day.” Defiantly, he turned to face you, calling your bluff. His lips were mere inches from yours: red, plump, and just begging to be kissed. 

Never one to back down from a challenge, you continued to press forward, pressing your lips to his. 

With a breathy sigh, Rolan’s tension melted away as he melded his mouth back onto yours. 

Reaching up with one hand, you cupped the back of his head, ever so gently pulling him even closer to you. 

Rolan moaned into the kiss and moved to grab your waist, but before his hands could secure you in his grasp, you stepped away just as smoothly and silently as you had stepped forward. 

Embarrassed and flustered, Rolan flashed you his pointy teeth in a frustrated groan. “Why must you tease me so? Have you not grown tired, frequently coming here just to pester me?” 

You beamed, proud to see your previous suspicions confirmed. “No,” you stated, matter-of-factly. “It’s too much fun! Besides,” you held the book out for him to take. “You didn’t seem all that excited about my earlier thanks, and that simply wouldn’t do.” 

Rolan rolled his eyes, accepting the tome with a huff, his tail back to swishing violently behind him. “Was that what that was? And here I thought you were trying to come up with new ways to annoy me.” 

“Annoy you?!” You mock gasped. “Surely my kiss was not that bad.” 

“For a ‘thank you’, that kiss was highly inappropriate, it! Well…” he trailed off, his cheeks somehow blushing an even warmer shade of red. 

You tilted your head, encouraging the tiefling to go on. 

Rolan avoided your gaze, pretending to find interest in the book you had just gifted him. His voice was quiet, but also self-assured. “It was entirely too short of a kiss to count as a ‘thank you’. You might as well just have given me a peck on the cheek.” 

Rolan continued flipping pages of the tome, doing his best to act uninterested in your kiss and your presence, even though the both of you knew all too well it was a lie. 

“Don’t worry,” you started to take your leave, giving Rolan a playful pat on the shoulder. You paused for a moment, leaning into his ear to whisper, “I’ll make sure the next time I pester you goes more in your favor.”    

Watching your form retreat into the portal, Rolan brought a finger to lips, just ghosting along the surface you had latched onto not seconds before. 

Emerging from their eavesdropping positions, Cal and Lia could not help but give Rolan a pair of mischievous smiles. 

Watching as the whirls of the portal spun around you, you overheard one last bit of conversation just before your body was transported back to the upper floor of Sorcerous Sundries.

“Not one word,” Rolan warned, his stern body language failing to conceal the pleased sound within his voice. 

“Told you to just ask them out.” 

“Lia!” 

Zevlor

⚔️ It had been some time since you defeated The Absolute. Of course, despite the changing season, much of Baldur’s Gate was in need of repair and renovation. While Halsin had taken many refugees to his new settlement in Reithwin, a part of the former Shadow-Cursed Lands, many chose to remain in the city and restart their lives there. Being a frequent flyer of the city yourself, you found it easy to visit those who chose to stay behind. One such individual, a former Hellrider called Zevlor, was someone you found yourself visiting more than the others. 

You shifted the rather large rectangle basket within your grasp, moving it so it rested within the crook of your left arm as you freed your right hand, before raising it to knock upon the unmarked door before you. Faintly, you could make out whispered gossip floating up from the stairs behind you, but you paid the hushed voices no mind. Sure, to outsiders it may have seemed odd that the savior of Badlur’s Gate was so keen on visiting the same acquaintance, one who resided in such simple dwellings, but to you the luxury afforded as a hero and adventurer paled in comparison to a good conversation between friends. 

‘Friends’. The word echoed in your head, like a schoolmarm repeating the dishonest words of a misbehaved child. 

In truth, you found yourself more drawn to the older paladin than perhaps you’d like to admit. You found your admiration and respect for the former Hellrider only grew with each passing visit, and now, there was hardly a day the tiefling did not fondly cross your mind. 

Then again, those silly girlish feelings would no doubt ruin the peaceful nature of your current relationship with Zevlor, so you pushed them aside in favor of maintaining a friendship while pining rather than speaking your truth and risking having no relationship at all. 

Hearing a shuffle of objects on the other side of the door, you smiled and released a breath you didn't know you were holding. It was just like any other day, there was no reason to get nervous now. 

“Ah, Tav,” Zevlor opened the door with a soft smile, “Right on time, as usual.” Always the gentleman, Zevlor stepped back, holding the door open for you. 

“My parents always said punctuality is a virtue,” you smiled, remembering their words fondly. “As much as I try to embody their lessons, this life doesn’t present many opportunities to do so, so I like to fit them in where I can.” 

Zevlor hummed, closing the door behind you. “They must be proud of you. Not every parent can claim their daughter is one of the great heroes of Baldur’s Gate.” 

Walking over to the settee just beyond the door, you took your usual spot seated on the right-hand side of the rather cramped sitting area. Despite being inside Zevlor’s home many times, you still found yourself amazed at how the tiefling managed to move around without knocking his tail into everything. 

The furnished room Zevlor currently resided in was a single-room loft, settled above a rather quaint little cafe spot in the lower part of the city. It wasn’t much, and it had very little privacy, especially for visitors, but that was little concern of yours. And despite Zevlor’s constant apologies for the small space, you felt more at home seated inside his little apartment than you did your camp at times. 

In the corner opposite the door, a cast-iron stove and a washing basin with a faucet were secluded just beyond a shutter-style room divider. You knew from previous visits that was where Zevlor always warmed the kettle for your meeting tea. Next to the settee you were seated on was a single dresser, about waist high. Upon it sat the few various plates and utensils Zevlor used daily as well as the collection of mismatched tea cups and teapots. And despite never seeing the inside of them, you assumed the drawers of the dresser housed his clothing and armor. Although, you must admit you were rather curious as to how he got his chainmail and breastplate to fit. 

Directly across from the settee, on the opposite wall was a twin-sized bed, undoubtedly too small for the tiefling paladin, even if he was never one to complain. Zevlor always kept it neatly made, the sheets all tucked in evenly, almost as if no one had slept in it the night prior. You supposed he had no choice, if he wished to entertain guests, as there was no way for their eyes to avoid it. Then again, a part of you had a feeling that order and precision were just key elements of who Zevlor was. Despite no longer being a Hellrider, and having long broken his oath as a paladin, several of his attributes like discipline and respect went far beyond any former occupation or title. 

Setting your surprise gift onto the wooden coffee/dining table before you, you answered Zevlor’s observation with a much more melancholy smile. “I’d like to think that, if they were still here, that yes, they’d be proud.” 

Taken aback by your revelation, Zevlor’s face fell before he recanted. “Tav, forgive me. I did not know your parents had passed. But I do still believe that regardless of where their souls may be now, they are looking upon you with pride.” 

Careful not to accidentally knock you with his tail, Zevlor retrieved the teapot, ready with tea already steeping, and two of the mismatched cups, before he returned to be seated next to you. 

Due to the tight nature of the room’s layout, and the small stature of the settee, every visit between the two of you resulted in your knees touching. In the beginning, Zevlor was overly apologetic, insisting he could instead sit on the bed, and allow you to have the sofa all to yourself, but you insisted the proximity was more than fine. You knew many people still saw tieflings as devils, monsters, or hellspawns, but you were not among them. The tieflings were just like any other race you had encountered on your journey: they were simply doing their best to survive. 

If anything, the hardships Zevlor and the tiefling refugees endured before arriving in Emerald Grove only made you respect them more. You were no stranger to hardship. You knew how difficult it was to have to get back up after you’ve been beaten; particularly how hard it was to accomplish the sixth or seventh time around, but it was something Zevlor managed to do with dignity when leading his people. 

You knew he did not see it similarly, his mind having been temporarily corrupted by The Absolute, but you would have fared no better if it was not for The Emperor’s intrusion. Truth be told, few minds ever could have resisted such a powerful psychic force. And even though several of Zevlor’s former tiefling friends and allies held him in contempt to this day, you could not bring yourself to agree with them. 

After the tea had been poured and sipped, your comfortable silence gave way to conversation. 

“How long will you be in the city this time? Any adventures planned for the future?” Zevlor asked. 

“I do have some news,” you admitted, placing your teacup down. “I’ve been thinking of this for a while now, but I needed some time to come to terms with it.” 

Zevlor motioned for you to go on. 

“Well, it’s been nearly seven months since our victory against The Absolute, against Gortash, Orin, and Ketheric Thorm. The former Shadow-Cursed Lands have blossomed into a new hope for so many people. I’ve thought about hanging up my adventurer’s hat. At least for now.” 

“I see. And what will you do with all your spare time? Travel? The Sword Coast has much to see, or so I’m told.” 

You shook your head. “I’ve been thinking of settling down.” You fiddled with your fingers, hands resting in your lap. “Maybe starting a family.” 

“Oh,” came Zevlor’s deflated response. “I see.”  

You placed a reassuring hand on Zevlor’s shoulder. “Don’t get me wrong, I love helping people. And I want to continue to do it. But I think I can do it differently, in a way where I can have both, ya know?” 

Zevlor nodded, clearing his throat. “Yes, certainly. It makes sense. You’re young, you want to live life to the fullest but you also don’t want to live it alone. I understand perfectly.” 

Seeing Zevlor’s downtrodden posture, you brought your hand down from his shoulder and placed it on top of his. “The reason I wanted to tell you was because, well, I was wondering if perhaps you’d like to come with me?” 

Zevlor’s eyes snapped up. “I’m- I’m sorry?” 

“I found a house, a cottage in east of Reithwin. It’s nothing fancy, and it’s most certainly in need of some major repairs but there are two rooms. It’d be away from the chaos of the city, in a town itself that is starting anew. I thought, there’d be a chance, you’d prefer those circumstances as opposed to living here.” 

Zevlor swallowed harshly. “I’m not certain what to say. You’ve already been such a help to me and my people. You’ve forgiven me even after… I do not know if such an old tiefling like myself is worthy of such kindness.” 

“Oh Zevlor,” you sighed, pulling the older man in for a reassuring hug. “You deserve this kindness and more. You’ve survived so much, and you’re the reason so many others have survived. You stood up and fought The Absolute’s Army when it descended upon the city. You could have hidden. You knew what kind of power it had, you knew all too well the way it could destroy your mind. But you chose to do the right thing. You’re incredibly brave, and I wish you could hear me say that and believe it.” 

Letting Zevlor go, you could see the faintest bit of water welling up within his eyes. But to further spare the former Hellrider any embarrassment, you thought it best if you took this time to go. 

Standing up, you carefully slid over the rectangle box towards Zevlor before making your way toward the door. 

“What’s this?” Zevlor asked, taking a good look at the box. 

“Oh, I saw them at the market the other day, and I wanted you to have them.” 

“Tav, please,” Zevlor started, his hands held up in protest. “You’ve already given me so much. I couldn’t possibly-” 

You cut him off before he could start his whole self-deprecating spiel up again. “It’s nothing big, just a token. I wanted you to have your own set. That way, even if you don’t wish to come along with me, we’ll be able to use and enjoy them when I come and visit you here.” 

You opened the door, letting yourself out. But before you descended the stairs, you turned to face Zevlor one more time. “I’ll be at the Elfsong Tavern for a few more days, I have some things to get in order, some other people to see. I want you to know we’ll still be… friends if you don’t change your mind. Although,” you spoke, a relaxed smile upon your face. “I truly hope you will.” 

You reached for the doorknob, pulling it closed behind you. 

Zevlor waited, listening to your footsteps as your boots descended the stairs. When he was sure you were not going to return, his clawed fingers moved to carefully remove the top of the box, being mindful not to scratch the contents inside. Once the lid was off, the softest of gasps escaped his red lips. 

Nestled in the box was a matching tea set: one teapot, three teacups, three saucers, one sugar bowl, and one cream pitcher. The rims of everything were painted to look gold, and the main design itself was a collection of watercolor flowers, each very dainty yet boldly elegant. 

Gently, one of Zevlor’s hands grazed over his knee on the part where yours rested against his just moments ago. 

“Friends,” Zevlor spoke aloud. The word repeated inside the Hellriders mind. But unlike the commanding voice of The Absolute, it was soft and sweet and entirely in your tone. And in its echo a second word emerged, although similar in sound and nature, the weight of it felt differently settled upon his heart. 

‘Family,’ Zevlor thought looking down at the tea set you gifted him. ‘Yes, I do think I would like that.’ 

A/N 2.0: Can you tell how much of a soft spot I have for Zevlor? Related Fun fact I took a BG3 personality quiz once, and it said that I’m him due to my longtime suffering and constant masochist desire to keep doing the right thing even though life punishes me for it…

(个_个)

As always, please Like and most importantly, REBLOG!

Also if you enjoyed it, consider Tipping Me Via Kofi! <3 

[sorcerous-caress]

Tiefling with a human kink finally bags a human baddie. He’s sweating just trynna act normal and not ask the human a really indecent question

"Do you cu-" clearing his throat, Ardour tail's end dug into his ankle. "Come." He corrected himself, "Do you come here often?" The tail curled around his leg tightly.

"Here?...my own house?" Expecting irony or the build up to a joke, turning your gaze away from the TV screen as you lowered the remote to face him.

Only to be met with a sincere expression. For a second, the suspicion of the guy in front of you being an idiot crosses your mind before you immediately brush it aside.

"I guess. You know, since I live here." You went back to scrolling through the list of movies.

"Cool cool."

Ardour's sharp claws traced the soft surface of the couch underneath him, taking advantage of your distracted gaze to blatantly trail his gaze up and down your thighs. Drinking in the sight of your hips. Hand curling into a fist to prevent his claws from tearing the couch.

Humans are really...so squishy. He pictures your own hand pressing between your thighs, touching yourself and chasing pleasure with desperation. How different would his own hand feel around you? Would you like grinding against the bumps and sharp bones underneath his skin? Would you enjoy the rough infernal texture of his skin against your fragile, easily injured human one?

"Did you ever fuck yourself on this couch?"

He can't say that.

"Did I ever what?"

"Uh...meet a tiefling before? Other than me?"

"No not really." You press the remote's button harder than usual, "you're my first" your eyes suddenly find the floor interesting before going back to your scrolling.

Your first.

Ardour closes his eyes, taking a sharp breath.

Your first infernal cock to stretch you open and fill your insides with his cum. The big bad tiefling defiling the pretty human, pouring sin down your throat.

"Have you tasted a tiefling's cum before? Would you like to?"

No.

Inviting him to your house, allowing him to see you in your comfortable clothes, complimenting his horns.

Being such a fucking tease.

Heats build up inside him. Putting a small pillow on his lap to cover the growing tent between his legs as he scoots over to you.

"You've never had a cock littered with bumps before, You've never been properly fucked so just bend over and-"

Shut it.

Behave. Act normal. He can't fuck up another date with a human.

...maybe if he starts innocently? You don't know much about tieflings so he can always play that card.

Ardour's tail leaves his leg as it wraps the other way towards you, settling on your lap and brushing against your stomach.

The strange sensation makes you glance down at it, a questioning look on your face.

"Oh sorry!" He fiegns ignorance, "it does that sometimes, it has a mind of its own."

He watches as you take in the false information he's feeding you at face value. Smiling and saying it's no problem.

"Is it okay if I-" your other hand moves towards your lap.

"You can touch it." Ardour immediately replies, "I don't mind. You can even kiss and lick it, shove it down your throat to get it wet enough so I can use it to open up your tight-"

Stop.

"And my horns too, if you want. I saw you glancing at them" he says instead.

You beam at his words, delightful surprise in your eyes before a conflict of embarrassment washes over you at realising he noticed your glances.

Still, you nod eagerly.

The sight of you has his heart in a vice grip. Is curiosity really this adorably intense in humans?

He scoots even closer, his knee brushing against your own as he lowers his head to present his horns. His position's slight resemblance of a bow doesn't go past him as his his sharp pointy teeth bite his lower lip to suppress a whimper.

A tiefling bowing to a human. It feels fitting in a way. It was your race that was slutty brave enough to get fucked mate with demons, gracing the tieflings with the gift of existence.

Worshipping the humans is a thought many races would scoff over. The notion by itself is enough to send a high elf into hysterical laughter.

Yet all he can think about is kissing up your feet, licking your ankle, gnawing at your thigh with his razorsharp teeth until you have mercy and spread your legs open.

"Do I have to beg to sleep with you? Do you want to see me kneeling on the floor pleading for your permission to touch myself?"

He can't make up his mind if he wants to worship you or put you in your place the same way his demon ancestors must have.

Just what kind of humiliating acts the humans submitted to in order for the demons to agree to breed them? What kind of degradation did the human kind endure while being stuffed with burning hot cum or being milked for all of their worth?

...do you miss it? Do you want him to replicate it?

"I'll ruin you to anyone else. Fuck all of your holes and plug the cum inside with my tail. Make you nothing but a pathetic fleshlight for me to use and squeeze like my ancestors have always done to your kind, human."

His thoughts are cut short by the feeling of your finger tracing up his horn, testing the waters.

The feeling is electric on his end. His teeth dig deeper into his lips as he suppresses any sounds threatening to slip out.

"Please touch me. Fuck please please, I want you to pull them. Pull my horns. I don't care if you break them. Just don't stop."

Bit by bit, your touches get bolder, abandoning the remote to wrap both of your hands around his horns. Stroking up and down, brushing the tips and experimenting with this new texture to your heart's content.

This new position presses your chest against his face without realising it. Ardour feels his hands shaking as he stares in front of him.

The urge to touch you, squeeze you and bite you. Mark every corner of your body until you can't look in a mirror without the ghost feeling of his touches hovering over your skin.

This was his plan. This was his doing, so why does it feel like he bit off more than he can chew?

A throbbing between his legs, his cock painfully hard. His claws tear through the pillow on his lap as he drags his fingers dow, imagining it's your plush thighs instead.

"That weird elf wasn't kidding when he said the human body was made for nothing but sex." His hand slips underneath the pillow to press against his aching cock for any sort of relief. "You're not even aware of how much of a slut you're being, are you? That's how in your nature it is."

Ah.

His eyes open wide in panic as your hands abruptly stop touching his horns.

He said that out loud.

[dragongirlintestines]

A Disappearance on the Entoran Trail

From an RP with @sunspot-stomachache

Content Warnings: Vore, Cruel Pred, Digestion, Bones.

4700 words.

Rain splashes heavily against the granite peaks of the Entoran Ridge. The rough, craggy stones funnel torrents of water down ancient ridges, forming rushing creeks perilous enough to make even a seasoned adventurer lose her step. The wind howls through the valleys, whipping up loose foliage and tossing debris all around.

Tieflings were not made for rain, as rarely do rains fall in their homeland. For one to be woefully caught unprepared in a storm, let alone amidst the Entoran Ridge, is what might be described as a nightmare. Every sharp droplet of rain which lands on one young tiefling’s green skin hisses with hate, met with such foreign heat. She is soon enveloped in steam, her own, and it’s unbearable. The cold and her own body heat wrestle within her. If she did not find shelter of some form soon, she’d surely end up blinded, by the storm or the steam.

Amidst the imposing range, a narrow hewn path carves its way along a cliff, and the lone traveler curses her luck. What light made it through the clouds was dimming, and the prospect of being caught out at night by some mountain beast further compounded her troubles. Up ahead, one shadowy overhang appeared to dig into the side of the mountain, offering a promise of some respite from the biting cold.

Stumbling across the cave is enough to almost make Sunspot thank the gods, though she bites back her forked tongue before she says such things. She shuffles inside, instantly finding solace from the whipping winds and arrow-like rain. Her tail flicks discontentedly, her clothes sopping wet, and her mood not much better. Luckily, what little firewood she did have was safely contained in her pack, and she sets about making a fire for herself to wait out the storm within the cavern.

Elsewhere, down a winding tunnel extending from the rear of the cavern, a perceptive adventurer might faintly make out the sounds of something snoring within. Atop a mound of coins and otherworldly artifacts, a beast breathes deep and slow, wrapped in slumber. The faint scent of fire winds its way down into one of her nostrils, and slowly, her electric blue eyes crack open. Sitting up, it stretches to its full 12' height, yawning wide. As it stands on its two powerful legs, a low rumble emanates from its guts, and it licks its lips, wondering about what snack could have disturbed its slumber.

Sunspot watches the smoke flow deeper and deeper into the cavern, the wind howling outside pushing it away. Her bright yellow eyes follow the trail drawn by the billowing gray, landing on the darkness further within. Her ears…twitch, flopping slightly as they do so. Someone, or something is in this cave. Her tail flicks a bit more, back and forth, no longer in discomfort. There’s a unique fear that bristles down her spine. “There’s only so many things that live within caves…” She thinks to herself, realizing she is not as safe as she might have wished.

The tiefling scrambles to her feet, bracing her hands against the smooth rock beneath her as she stands. Her fire continues to crackle, casting her shadow down the length of the cave. Her tail flicks, back and forth, back and forth. Back into the rain? Stand her ground? She can’t seem to make a decision.

Some kind of noise squeaks out of her and dies on her tongue.

As the dragon rounds the corner, Thorne takes another whiff of the smoke. She can smell sweat, wet clothes, tiefling, and fear. She thinks a moment. Her prey is already timid and ready to run, but going out in the storm to hunt would be so annoying, and she wouldn't want to risk a lovely meal falling down a ravine and spoiling the fun. She settles herself into a more friendly posture, stands up straight, and masks her hunger with a smile.

"I don't often get visitors here," she speaks, emerging from the darkness. Her voice is low and gravelly, but with a measured, gentle tone, as if speaking to a timid animal. "It's much warmer inside, you're welcome to stay if you like," she gestures towards the tunnel she emerged from.

A dragon. Sunspot’s tail almost stiffens in shock as her eyes meet Thorne’s gaze. She should run. Leave. Escape. Right? Running in the rain was a recipe for death, considering walking nearly sent her tumbling down the side of the ridge. Her gaze flicks away from the dragon for a moment to stare down at her soaked outfit, cloth and cotton clinging to her skin and leather weighing her down. Maybe…maybe it wouldn’t be terrible.

“Kind of you,” She finally manages to eke out, her voice in an upper register with a bit of bubbliness beneath the fear, “I ah…didn’t expect the storm,” She admits, her tail beginning to soften.

Thorne suppresses a grin as she sees Sunspot freeze. The dragon takes one long step towards the campfire, then another, slowly crossing the cavern. I needs keep my demeanor measured and calm, she thinks to herself. Be a gracious host. Don't scare away such a tasty looking meal.

"The weather can be fickle, yes. But really, the pleasure is mine. I do so rarely get visitors," she replies, as she steps aside, no longer directly approaching the timid adventurer. "A warm place to rest is the least I could offer."

The dragon looks inquisitively at the tiefling, awaiting her response. A gnawing hunger urges her to pounce, but she fights it back. She's having fun leading this morsel on.

Sunspot’s nostrils flare slightly in surprise when Thorne begins closing the distance between the two of them, now realizing just how tall the dragon was compared to her. Her tail continues to flick back and forth, though not as stiff and violent as before. She takes a sparing step backward as Thorne nears her, surprised by just how much she loomed over her…dragons were large, she knew that, but seeing one in-person was quite a different experience than hearing of them, or seeing artworks.

“…my apologies,” She utters softly, straightening how she stood. Her eyes looked upward at Thorne, bright yellow irises swimming with a mixture of first impression fear and a lulled sense of security…

“If you’d lead the way? I believe you may know your home better than I, aheh.”

Thorne slowly turns on her heel, tail whipping around as if to accentuate the motion. A quick tug lifts the flailing limb to clear Sunspot's horns, almost an afterthought.

Sunspot warily dips her head down when the tail nearly whacks her horns, her breathing heightening for a moment in shock before she regains composure. Getting knocked out by a giant dragon tail was not how she’d like to spend her evening, that’s for certain. Though, she didn’t quite know what she was in for by any stretch of the imagination. Her campfire crackles behind her as she follows Thorne inside, not knowing that that’s likely the most that’ll be left of her.

The blue mass of the dragon's scales stride down the tunnel, every so often stopping her long strides to check that her "guest" is keeping up. A few hundred feet, and the tunnel opens into a more spacious cavern, evidently the conjunction of several ancient lava tubes, lit by faintly glowing crystal growths. Unlike the mouth of the cave, this conjunction is slightly more than pleasantly warm. In the center of it all, light twinkles and refracts from a pile of coins, gems, and exotic, almost alien, artifacts, the construction of which is evocative of the dragon's synthetic arm.

"Perhaps cliché, but I do hope it is to your liking," she chuckles, striding to the center of the room.

Sunspot marvels at the scenery of the cavern, her eyes sparkling a bit with the sight of the dragon’s hoard. She wouldn’t lie, it was quite tempting to grab something from the pile…though she knew what dragons would do to those who steal from their hoards.

“Very, ah…comfortable, Miss..?”

Thorne turns, fixing her gaze on Sunspot once again. She had the little morsel right where she wanted her.

"Thorne," She replies.

The dragon begins to pace around the tiefling, her tail trailing behind her like a serpent encircling its next meal. The facade would be up soon, and the gnawing hunger in her belly was growing impatient, but she wanted to see just how far she could lead this meal on.

"And how may I call you...?"

A growl from her belly threatens the charade.

Sunspot’s bright yellow eyes watch attentively as the dragon begins to encircle her, her tail once more beginning to flick back and forth in a reaction of danger. What was she to do? Turn tail and run? Perhaps if she stayed on the dragon’s good graces, she’d be able to make it out of whatever was to happen alive.

“Sunspot. You may call me S-” The growl from Thorne’s stomach cuts her off, “…Sunspot..”

Her eyes widen, and she looks upwards at Thorne with a shocked expression. The scent of fear once again fills Thorne's nostrils, and she sinks into a more predatory posture. The facade of hospitality gone, she stalks in a tightening circle, fully entrapping the gullible adventurer with her tail.

"Such a cute name, really," she growls, a low, predatory purr. It was time to break the terrible news.

Her tail tightens into a firm, but not yet crushing, grip. A single talon lifts Sunspot's chin, and a strand of saliva drips down onto the adventurous tiefling’s face.

"It's good to know the name of the meal that so kindly delivered herself to my lair."

Sunspot’s breathing hitches as she’s grabbed, the strength behind her tail proving that there was little to no chance of escape. Nevertheless, she still thrashes in Thorne’s grasp, coming to a tense stillness as her chin is tilted up.

Thorne leers down at her, tongue dancing along her lips. Her jaws crack open in a hint of a cruel grin as the breath catches in Sunspot's throat. The saliva makes her recoil, but there’s a strange mixture of admiration and absolute terror upon seeing the dragon’s face this close. Her eyes flick rapidly, and after a moment of staring in shocked silence and fear, she bites Thorne’s finger! Her teeth find purchase amidst the scales, but barely sink into the soft flesh, unable to pierce the dragon’s tough hide.

Surprised, Thorne feels a slight pressure in her finger, and realizes, with a slight chuckle, that her prey has bit her.

"Cute," she taunts. "But you'll need more than that to save you,"

The beast wrenches her finger out of Sunspot's mouth, eliciting a “GAH!” from the young woman, and grabs her by the horns. Instantly, Sunspot’s body tenses. Her horns are particularly sensitive to foreign touch, and her eyes roll back for a moment at the sudden pressure against her before she regains her composure. Well, perhaps ‘regains’ is not the right word.

Thorne forces her victim to watch as the dragon's jaws yawn open. The faint light of the cavern reflects off of glistening strands of drool. Sunspot’s eyes refocus as the maw before her opens, dripping with drool…and the dragon was drooling because of her.

Thorne leans in, dragging its tongue over the tiefling's neck and up the side of her face, tasting her. The tiefling fusses and kicks, trying to pull herself free from the grip Thorne has on her and recoiling away from the rough tongue as it drags across her neck and face, leaving a trail of drool alongside a patchwork of scratches…

"Mmmmm..." The dragon purrs, relishing the taste of her victim.

“…p-please, I- D-Dragon’s need familiar’s, right? I can- I can find other food, something or someone else! Just- Hhhnnn…” An adjustment of pressure from its grip shocks her horns’ nerves, “J-Just…put me down…don’t…e-eat me,” she pleads.

"let you bring me food..." Thorne pretends to consider for a moment, before her stomach interrupts her with another grrgggmmmbbbllll. "Or eat you now. My stomach is making a very convincing argument,"

Sunspot thinks for a moment, just a split second, that she did it. That for all the little mistakes she made stumbling in here, she managed to pull herself free from the fire she fell out of the frying pan into. And then there’s another stomach growl, and it might as well be a death knell.

Thorne tightens the grip of her tail, letting the tiefling's legs flail freely as she lifts the struggling morsel towards her jaws. Hot, humid air caresses Sunspot's head as her face is pressed fully into Thorne's mouth. The dragon's tongue squishes around her, slathering her in thick, slimy drool.

“NO-!”

Up goes the tiefling, thrashing and kicking her legs as hard as she can as her face is met with Thorne’s tongue once more, her head almost enveloped in nothing but the dragon’s maw…she tries to kick at Thorne’s tail, or dig her nails into her scales, or poke and prod with her own tail, just anything to wrench back control and escape!

The terrified exclamation of her prey echoes through Thorne's lair. Were Sunspot's face not threatened with imminent consumption, she might see the corners of the beast's jaws twitch into a cruel grin. As she squirms in the tail's grasp, a throaty chuckle rises up around her, and Thorne tightens her tail around the little appetizer's waist.

The claw forcing Sunspot's head down releases her horns, before the tiefling feels the threatening pressure of the dragon's teeth close around her collarbones. The dagger like fangs lightly pierce her skin, staining their tips in crimson ichor. The tip of Thorne's tongue probes these fresh wounds, drinking in the flavor.

"Mmmrrrrrrr..." Another satisfied growl rumbles up Thorne's gullet, shaking Sunspot's world around her.

The teeth pressing into her body, though the may not be gnashing, is further confirmation of what’s to come, alongside the fact that the efforts Sunspot had been making weren’t accomplishing much of anything. She winces as the dragon’s tongue presses against the marks her teeth have left. Not even her blood was safe from Thorne.

And moments later, neither was her body.

The familiar feeling of Thorne's meaty claws returns. Wicked talons grip the tiefling's torso, before wrenching away, tearing the upper half of her drenched outfit to shreds, and leaving shallow but bloody furrows in their wake.

Sunspot’s eyes widen within the dragon’s mouth when her outfit is ripped away, the rainwater almost making it easier. She feels the sting of Thorne’s talons, as well as the new temperature her body is met with. Damp with rainwater, her skin is glistening, though no doubt that would soon be replaced by drool.

*GLLK*

The dragon's maw shifts around Sunspot, forcing her head down into the beast's hungry throat, and her exposed chest follows into the dragon's jaws. A warm, wet caress plays along her chest as Thorne's tongue begins pulling her in. The flavor of blood and sweat soaks into her taste buds, eliciting a ravenous growl from within.

Again, talons grip into Sunspot's remaining clothes, groping her rear, before tearing the fabric from her meal. Soaked remnants of clothes fall to the ground, as Thorne's tail uncoils and she leans back, lifting her prey high into the air.

Aimlessly, Sunspot’s arms and hands try to grab onto something to find purchase and prevent herself from being swallowed, be it a molar or a uvula, hoping it may get Thorne to spit her back out, but the tiefling is far too panicky in her movements to actually make a good grip before she’s forced in deeper.

Her legs kick harder when Thorne’s tongue reaches her chest, and the sudden release of the massive tail around her lower half makes those kicks wild, not expecting a lack of force. It also, combined with the lift, pushes her in deeper.

Sunspot finds her head forced ever deeper down Thorne's gullet as she flails, but also soon finds herself on the receiving end of a vicious bite. The dragon did not expect quite such violent motion from her prey, and instinctively snapped her jaws closed, driving her fangs into the tiefling's meaty thighs.

“AH!”

Sunspot flinches and recoils in pain within Thorne’s throat as the fangs enter her thighs. She becomes tense and shaky, her body reacting to the pain by trying to keep the adrenaline pumping. Satisfied that her meal is well enough secured, the predator's tongue relaxes, and plays itself along the woman's chest, toying with the tasty treat. The tongue lapping at her breasts and nipples keeps the tiefling’s adrenaline pumping, but in a way Sunspot truly abhors.

*GLRRP*

Another swallow pulls Sunspot deeper, the pressure of Thorne's esophagus hungrily grabbing at her body. Sunspot’s arms are pinned to her side. Any attempt she had made to find purchase and slow her descent was useless, and now, she wouldn’t be able to make them anymore. She feels every part of Thorne’s throat squeezing and refusing to release, her squirms rendered little more than the occasional shift.

Meanwhile, Thorne's tongue continues its probing, teasing her victim's breasts one last time before slithering lower. Sunspot feels the muscle trace a slimy path down her torso, following rivulets of blood to lap at their source, before moving on to the next.

Eventually the tongue finds its way down to the tiefling's hips, sliding between the unfortunate woman's thighs. She tenses. This big, strong, drooly thing slides down her body with ease, and soon slips between her legs, eliciting an “EEP!” followed by more squirms. Thorne relaxes her jaws, and Sunspot feels the tongue press in, before...

*GLLLLPP*

Another throaty gulp pulls her hips fully to the back of the dragon's maw. The throat vibrates around her as Thorne moans in pleasure at her taste. Sunspot slides deeper once more. Her entire body rattles as the dragon moans, so much taste dancing on her tongue from just a small tiefling.

Thorne's throat bulges out as she takes one more big swallow, tossing the tiefling's hips into her gullet with one final, powerful thrust. Slowly, inexorably now, her prey's body glides downwards. Thorne dances her tongue one last time over the poor thing's ass, then thighs, then calves, and feet, rough taste buds scraping the last bits of flavor from them before they vanish forever into her guts.

Sunspot does her best to try and halt the process, to try and latch onto something before she slides down all the way to no avail. Her previous attempt coming up empty might’ve discouraged her from doing so, but nevertheless the fight to exist is still in her… despite the fact that she’s not even in the predator’s mouth anymore.

As the squirming morsel slides down Thorne's gullet, her best attempts to stop herself almost seem useless, until her descent briefly comes to a halt. Somehow, she realizes, she has managed to wedge herself somewhere. A muffled growl resonates from above, indicating just how deep she is.

Hah! Aha! Her horns, her tail, something had put a stop to this! Her bright eyes alight with darkvision as she realizes just how far down she is, but that doesn’t mean there’s no escape, right? She’s stopped! She kicks and squirms, hoping to activate a gag reflex or something. Maybe she could just climb back out of the dragon if she passes out or-

*GLLLLP*

“AGHH!!” Not a snowball’s chance in the Hells. What hope she might have had of choking the beast is quickly snuffed out, as another powerful swallow forces her back into a more manageable position.

Moments later, her journey pauses again, as her face is pressed against a ring of muscle. She cringes when her face presses against the muscle, filled with disgust even more than she was already. It slowly opens as the peristaltic motion of the esophagus eases the unfortunate tiefling through. Her nostrils are instantly assaulted by the sting of acids, while her body is slowly extruded into the stomach, falling with a faint splash into a pool of fluid. The cuts and wounds on Sunspot's body sting as they are submerged, the digestive enzymes eager to bite into the tender flesh.

She hisses in pain, pushing her head up above the pool and frantically looking around. There’s gotta be something she can do, right? Everything stings!

As her meal reaches her stomach, Thorne rubs her hand over the small bulge she makes. Live, struggling prey was always a pleasure to digest, and just in time, her latest victim was putting up a fight.

“RRRRGH!” The dragon’s meal puts all her strength behind a head butt against the stomach wall, hoping to dig her horns in! This does little outside of splash more acid.

Sunspot's horns slam into the wall of Thorne's stomach, and the dragon growls a soft "mmmmhhh" in response. Her stomach, however, is less pleased with the resistance, and the organ clenches against the struggling meal, forcing some air up Thorne's throat into a small “urp!” carrying with it the faint taste of tiefling. Thorne smiles at the taste, and, hungry for more, lets her tongue play along her lips and teeth to chase the last hints of Sunspot's flavor.

"Ahhhhh," she growls, "I really should thank you for delivering such a delicious meal."

Meanwhile, Sunspot tries to push against the sudden constriction, her hands shoving at the slick interior and trying to get more space within the claustrophobic confines of the dragon’s stomach. She grits her teeth and tries to head butt again, thumping her head and horns up against the wall once more!

The voice taunting her, echoing far above her, only serves to make her angrier in her thrashing escape attempt, despite the futility of it. At one point, she just punches the stomach lining, roaring out in a sobbing anger from within Thorne.

Belly laden with prey, Thorne lumbers lazily back towards her hoard, and settles her massive bulk amidst the coins and gems. As her prey writhes within her, each thrashing motion elicits a noise of sadistic pleasure, and the occasional churning response from her stomach.

"You're quite a lively one!" The dragon teases. "Got somewhere important to be?"

As Thorne mocks her meal, the acids in her stomach are heating up. What was a mild sting in an exposed wound has turned to full body irritation, scouring the outer skin of the struggling tiefling within.

Of course she had somewhere to be! She wasn’t just wandering around the ridge with no destination, and her final resting place was certainly not the one she had in mind! The unfortunate tiefling thinks to herself. She can’t quite respond to Thorne, though, as no doubt her growls of anger and sobs of panic were being drowned out by churning of the dragon’s stomach.

Speaking of being drowned out, the pain she was beginning to feel was drowning out a lot of her current feelings, and many sensations. There’s a sickly hissing, one that is followed by Sunspot’s own hiss of pain as her mind begins to get overwhelmed. It’s then that her thrashing becomes much more panicked and less calculated than before, not just trying to get out anymore, but also trying to escape the pain!

"I did say I had a nice warm place for you to stay, but if it's not to your liking, I won't come chasing if you can fight your way out," Thorne muses, reveling in the cruelty of her offer. "But I'm looking forward to feeling you soften down into a nice, filling meal."

With that taunt left to hang in the air, Thorne rolls onto her back, idly rubbing her boiling gut. Slowly, each contraction of her stomach softens the living meat within, and the dragon listened and felt with keen interest as thrashing struggles turned to despairing sobs.

“LIAR!!”

She mostly shouted it for herself, at this point. She feels her space once again shrink, the dragon’s stomach doing everything in its power to melt her down into nothing but sustenance…but she was so much more than that!

She was a person, not food!

Large hands press into her from outside, and she can do little but bat at their forms in an attempt to get the dragon to leave her alone, her breathing hitching as more and more of her body is enveloped in acid.

Thorne grins wickedly to herself as she listens to the little softening morsel's futile cries. The taste of denial and helplessness, when a little piece of meat like this soon to be former adventurer could not possibly accept their destiny as dinner, was more sublime than any blood or terror. Always mere moments before they finally gave in to her gut, she thinks to herself.

Thorne begins kneading her belly with both hands, with some intention helping it along, but mostly just feeling just how much her prey has softened.

"You're so close now, but I'll give you a choice," she offers, her voice honeyed with crooning mockery. "You can hang on a few more delicious minutes, and let my guts finish you, or," she pauses to let her claws find their target, "I can show you just how soft you are and finish you with one squeeze now."

Sunspot refused. She wouldn’t- She couldn’t end up like this! She was a proud tiefling, the mark of the continuation of bloodlines thought long since dead. She had to survive! She couldn’t just be dragon food!

She weakly squirms as the hands knead against her, whimpering at the further taunting before the claws press into her…she grits her teeth and kicks, trying to fight with what little was left…

"Mmmmyeaahh," Thorne purrs, thoroughly enjoying Sunspot's desperate struggles.

The tiefling's pride may have given her a burst of strength to struggle against fate, but Thorne's stomach is relentless. Though the dragon deigns not to end the adventurer immediately, the incessant roiling of her guts, assisted by the massaging of her claws, have softened her meal to the point of inevitability. Deeper below, Sunspot can hear the hungry gurgling of Thorne's intestines, ready to absorb a meaty tiefling soup. If she gives up fighting, but for a moment, she feels she will melt into mushy red chyme, never to return.

Sunspot’s breathing has slowed to gasps between momentary thrashing, her body simply reacting to the fact that she’s staring down her final moments. She tries to gather her strength for one last head butt, tries to slam her horns against Thorne’s claws, but all the dragon is treated to is one last pitiful thump before…

*GLLLLLLRRRRRSSSSHHHH*

As the tiefling makes her final, pitiful effort, Thorne's gut clenches down, melting softened flesh into nutritious soup. The dragon feels her victim finally succumb, and in a moment of ecstatic victory, lets out a roar that shakes the cavern.

Over the next few minutes, her stomach begins a vicious, churning cycle, until the only solid forms Thorne can feel are the faint outline of her latest victim's bones, slowly draining with the rest of the meal down deeper into her guts. She leans back, flopping into a euphoric post meal bliss, losing track of time in her pleasured haze.

It is only once her stomach has nearly fully drained that she begins to recover, feeling a slight bump pushing back up her gullet. Something solid, a little larger than her guts must have wanted to take. It eases up her throat, carried on a cushion of Sunspot's last breath, exiting with a faint burp.

Thorne looks down at the mysterious gastrolith, before chuckling to herself. Empty eye sockets look up at her from a polished skull, scoured clean of any sign of life. All that remains to hint at the tiefling who met her unfortunate end in the dragon's guts are her lovely curled horns, protruding from the skull's ivory white brow. A beautiful addition to her hoard, she thinks to herself, before sinking back into blissful, satiated slumber.

[ceo-of-sloppy-men]

A 'Thank You' Gift

Rating: explicit Ship: Halsin/Tav (Reader)/Zevlor Tags: threesome, biting, dom halsin, sub zevlor, afab reader, 2nd person pov, smutt with feelings, tail sex Summary:

Zevlor's been ignoring you the whole party, and you've been letting him get away with it. Luckily, Halsin isn't about to let the two of you spend the whole night sneaking glances and drowning your sorrows in wine.

Also under the cut.

It has been a long week. Ever since the Mindflayer ship plucked you from your cozy life, stuck a tadpole in your eye and promptly crashed. That week had only been made longer by an army of goblins standing between you and the man who was supposed to be your cure. Unfortunately for you, life has dealt you a really, really shitty hand.

At least it has its good moments. Ones where it puts a glass of wine in your hand and lets you observe the increasingly rambunctious party from a cushy seat around the fire. You had dragged a pillow over here, hoping that maybe it might give someone the hint to find and seek out your company. A particular tiefling who’s been giving you side-long glances ever since you saved his people from a pack of goblins threatening to crash down the only gate standing in their way. You had pretended not to notice at first – truthfully, you had thought it was a trick of your mind, but the hellfire eyes always following you through the camp, practically trained on you like you were the only one in the whole wide world, gradually became harder and harder to ignore. You had visited the tiefling camp a handful of times after meeting them, saving wayward children and getting your new friend a patch job for her heart, and each time he’d be out of his office, pretending to survey the camp and trying to find every excuse to talk to you. You’d had several small, light conversations with your party members around and a few more in-depth conversations about all manners of things when you’d camped there.

Yet he hasn’t said a word to you the whole party. He’s stood there next to Halsin, sipping his wine stiffly. Even when Halsin cracked a few jokes to him he merely offered a clipped, weak laugh. That hasn’t stopped you from trying to beckon him over with your eyes, all the while pretending you’re staring at Halsin.

“You’re absolutely pathetic,” Astarion drawls, dropping himself on the log next to you.

“What?” you grunt, barely turning your head to him.

“Look at you! You can’t even turn your head properly to speak with me. It’s bad enough we have to play witness to him acting like someone stuck a spear up his ass and planted him in the ground, don’t force me to watch you do the same. You’ve been over here for an hour giving him a longing look that belongs in overdramatic, drawn-out romance novels,” Astarion sighs, sipping his wine to refresh his parched mouth. “Don’t try to deny it. I can practically smell it in your blood. A thundering, heady arousal.”

“I am not looking at him,” you lie, shifting your gaze fully to Halsin as if to prove a point. At least his biceps provide ample enough distraction.

Astarion breaks into laughter. A mocking, joyous laughter riddled with sinful amusement. You attempt to bury your face in your wine glass, hoping that maybe the wine will make your blood smell foul to him, and he’ll scamper away.

“Darling, don’t try to deny it. The two of you have been dancing around each other since you knocked that sniveling brat out before he even got the chance to throw a punch. Like you couldn’t stand the thought of a bruise marring his skin,” Astarion points out, taking another sip from his glass. “This may very well be your last chance to do anything about your budding romance. Unless you want to be plagued by ‘what if’s until we succumb to this wriggling in our skulls.”

“I’m not looking at him; I’m looking at Halsin,” you insist, hating how your brain loops his unfortunately good advice. You should never have let him raid your collection of wine when he started whining about what he had.

“Hm, maybe you can get him to join in two. He seems more than amicable, considering the hunger that practically roars in his blood every time he catches sight of you,” Astarion says, swirling the remaining win in his glass.

As if on cue, Halsin finally catches your lingering gaze and cocks an eyebrow. Then, much to your horror, his brow furrows, and he retraces the line your eyes are drawing back to Zevlor – when had your gaze wandered back to him? – and his mouth forms a very small ‘o’ shape. Then he grins widely and winks at you. Your face flushes. You won’t deny that Halsin is incredibly attractive, but he hadn’t given you any hints that he felt the same about you, and – then he tosses his arm around Zevlor’s shoulders, steering him toward the fire. You feel panic rise up in your throat as Zevlor tries to find some way to refuse Halsin but comes up short as the other man says something you can’t hear (if only you could read lips). At least Halsin’s smiling about it.

Right?

Conveniently, Astarion frowns at his suddenly empty glass. “Would you look at that? I’m out of wine. I suppose that’s my clue to leave then. Ta ta, darling, I wonder if we still have any of that good stuff left!” Astarion practically giggles as he saunters off in search of more wine. You’re fairly certain he’s already drank through the “good” wine you’d nicked from a crashed caravan.

Unfortunately, you don’t have enough time to call after him to inform him of such. Mere moments after he’s slipped away, you’re flanked on either side by unexpected company. Halsin sits easily on the log, stretching out his feet and looking rather pleased with himself. While Zevlor sits rigid posture, his tail tucked neatly around his crossed legs. He looks positively uncomfortable, and you can’t help but feel a little downtrodden. Had Astarion not fake gagged while digging through your wine collection. As if he could smell the three of you from all the way across camp.

“Ah, that’s much better,” Halsin sighs, warming his hands against the fire. “It gets so cold at night, even with the wine.”

“You should have stood closer to Zevlor then. He’s radiating heat so much I’m afraid he’s got an infernal engine for a heart like Karlach,” you quip without thinking. It’s the truth; Zevlor feels like he’s on fire.

The moment the words leave your mouth, he tries to scooch a little further away. You mentally scold yourself for the comment as he curls further into himself while trying to maintain that air of confidence and protection for the tieflings.

“That’s why I put him next to you – you seemed awfully cold over here, even with the fire. You were staring at it so intensely, as if engaged in a battle of wits with it,” Halsin comments, catching Zevlor moving out of the corner of his eye.

“I can move closer if you’d like me to. I wouldn’t want our host catching a cold I could have prevented,” Zevlor offers, his previously hidden confidence poking its head out from the rock he’d hidden it under.

Now is as good a time as any, you suppose. Grab life by the balls and all that.

“Actually, I was thinking of going for a walk and trying to think of a way to bring the fire with me. I need to clear my head; the camp’s rather loud for me,” you state because it’s partially true. You were thinking of a walk before Astarion butted in, but it wasn’t because the camp was loud. You were trying to mentally map out a good location to rub one out so you stopped acting like an utter buffoon. “I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to come along…”

Halsin catches on immediately. There’s a look in his eyes as he straightens up, rolling his shoulder. “I’m never one to refuse an invitation to partake in nature’s beauty,” he grins, the words rolling off his tongue like honeyed wine. As if Astarion had been right and he had been waiting for an invitation.

“A walk… a walk might do me good,” Zevlor agrees, and you can’t help but share a look with Halsin. Of course, the subtext of your invitation would be lost on him.

“Then we’ll make it a good walk! Come, follow me,” Halsin declares, standing from his seat and offering his hand out. You take it as Zevlor pushes himself stiffly to his feet.

You manage to catch Zevlor’s gaze as you follow after Halsin, ignoring the quiet whispers of acknowledgement that flicker through the camp upon your departure. You offer Zevlor a small smile, and he quickly looks away, radiating so much heat it feels as if you never left the fire. You let your hand brush against his just to feel his heat roar, blanketing you in pleasant warmth. His tail swishes rapidly behind him as he attempts to feign ignorance about it. Zevlor’s nowhere near Karlach’s fires – you can only notice his heat because you’re walking side by side. If you were a few inches further apart, you’d feel nothing but the cool night air. It only prompts you to cozy up closer to him, letting your hand brush against his as your heartbeat thunders in your ears.

The three of you walk in silence for at least ten minutes. A good distance away from camp that will certainly hide any debauched sounds from reaching the party. And if they did, they’d be lost in the haze of music and laughter. Halsin has even managed to pick somewhere beautiful – a small meadow with tiny white spots of clover in the grass and a brilliant view of the night sky. He stops rather promptly in the middle of it, taking a deep breath, his head tilted up to the moonlight.

“It’s a beautiful night,” you comment, breaking the silence.

“It would be a shame to waste it,” Halsin agrees, with a soft, patient smile on his face. Even still, you can feel him undress you with his gaze, as if taking great care to remove each and every piece.

“We could have chosen no better night for a party. There hasn’t even been a cloud to blot out the stars,” Zevlor nods, standing stiffly at your side.

“You were the one who decided to have a party. This is all thanks to you –“ you take his hand gently, clasping it between both your own and staring into his wide eyes. His hand radiates warmth between yours – “I mean it, thank you. You have helped far more than you give yourself credit.”

“I only did what was right,” Zevlor argues, making no move to pull his hand free. Yet his gaze flickers to Halsin, who’s patiently watching their conversation.

“You did more than that. You risked giving us shelter when you knew the druids were already unhappy with you, you’ve been nothing but kind each time I visit camp, and you helped me find Halsin, bringing me closer to a cure. If you’d like, I want to thank you properly,” you confess, rubbing absent-minded circles into his skin with your thumb.

“And I as well – I might never have escaped my captors had you not set them on my trail,” Halsin chimes in, having circled around behind Zevlor. His hand hovers next to Zevlor’s neck, ready to brush aside his hair at a moment’s notice.

“You – I – well, I didn’t – please state it plainly,” Zevlor protests, his gaze flickering around, ready to bolt frightened deer.

Halsin walks back around him, noticing his discomfort immediately. You let go of his hand to give him the freedom to leave if he wants.

“We want to spend the night with you. Naked and intertwined. But only if you want,” you state, laying all the cards out on the table for him. Halsin nods in confirmation rather than echoing your words.

“Oh - oh. I didn’t dare hope that you would be interested in someone like me. I’ve been a fool; I apologize – I should not have assumed. It was wrong of me to –“ Zevlor starts to ramble, and you know if you do not cut him off, he’ll never stop.

So, you reach forward and cup his cheek, lifting his gaze to yours. “Zevlor, is that a yes?”

“By the Nine Hells, please,” he begs, melting into your touch.

“He’s begging already, and we haven’t even started yet,” Halsin chuckles light-heartedly, circling back around him. He drags his knuckles down Zevlor’s tail, and Zevlor shudders, gasping. “When was the last time someone touched you like this? Surely there are others who have sought to pray with their lips against your skin.”

“Years –“ Halsin wraps his hand around his tail – “It’s been years. Not since before Elturel fell. Even then, no one…”

“Have you had sex before?” Halsin pries as you step forward, carefully weaving your fingers into the knots of Zevlor’s armour.

“Yes. Just not many times. Something would always come up – my life never had time for such matters,” Zevlor confesses, sharp teeth biting into his lip to stifle a moan as Halsin drags his hand down his tail.

“Then we’ll make this a night to remember,” you declare, undoing the ties to his chest plate and easing it off him. He has a simple tunic underneath until Halsin lifts it off as well. Zevlor freezes, staring at you with wide, fearful eyes, feeling Halsin’s hands trace the ingrown wings on his back. Quickly, you pull at the hem of your shirt and toss it to the side. Then you take his hands and place them on your breasts. “I want you to touch me. I can take whatever you’re willing to give me.”

He stares into your eyes, searching them for any indication that you’re bluffing. Any indication to back off or restrain himself. Yet when he finds none, he surges forward and captures your lips, pressing his thumbs against your nipples. You moan in approval against his mouth, meeting his tongue with your own. It’s forked – a new sensation but definitely not an unwelcome one.

His hands move from your breasts to your hips, only to tangle his fingers in your laces. You give him your consent by pulling at his laces. A moment later, you’re stepping out of your pants and suddenly notice Halsin is missing. You open your mouth to ask, only for something warm and solid to press up against your back. You can’t help the gasp that escapes you as Halsin buries his face against your neck, grazing your skin with his teeth. From the look in Zevlor’s eyes and the way his phallus twitches between his legs, you can tell they’re making eye contact. Then Halsin bites down on your neck, and you groan in pleasure. There’s a spark in Zevlor’s eyes that prompts him to lean forward and nip at the other side of your neck. You grab his horn, pulling him closer, encouraging him further, and he sinks his teeth into your skin as his erection drips against your stomach. You moan openly, attempting to wordlessly assure him it’s more than alright with you.

Much to your relief, he takes the hint. As calloused hands dip between your thighs, toying with your clit, Zevlor’s lips never leave your neck. He bites every inch of skin he can wrap his lips around, panting against your skin. You grab his tail, and he whines, stilling as you drag your hand up and down the sensitive skin. A deep rumbling growl vibrates through your body at the sound, almost jealous you’re pulling such pretty sounds from him. Two thick fingers are pushed into you a moment later with extraordinarily little resistance. You can’t help the way your hips cant backward, begging for more. Halsin gives them freely, stretching you out as he ruts his cock against your back, panting heavily.

Just as you’re starting to get used to their hands all over you, you find yourself on your back, with Zevlor kneeling over you. Halsin’s bent over him, mouth at the demonic ridges of his body. You can tell every time he bites one as Zevlor whines into your mouth, his hips rutting needily against yours. Grabbing his horns, you pull him off you and stare into his hellfire eyes.

“Take me, I’m yours,” you practically order him. The sudden buck of his hips at the barest hint of dominance isn’t lost on you.

In an instant, he’s pushing the head of his dick into you. “You’re so wet,” he breathes, staring at the apex of your thighs in disbelief.

“How could I not be? I’m having sex with two stunning men in the middle of the woods,” you point out, hooking your leg around his waist as Halsin throws his tail over his shoulder.

Zevlor doesn’t even get a moment to respond. You don’t need to see Halsin to know he’s slicked his fingers with grease and carefully eased one inside Zevlor’s ass. You can see it on the tiefling’s face as he suddenly finds himself torn between fucking you and fucking himself on Halsin’s fingers. There’s a desperate look on his face as he attempts to find a solution in the depths of his own mind.

“Give me his tail,” you say to Halsin, holding out your hand.

“With pleasure. How’s he looking?” Halsin asks, easing Zevlor’s tail into your hand.

“Absolutely debauched. It’s the greatest sight I have ever been privileged to witness. You might want to take a hold of his horns,” you say, cupping Zevlor’s face with your free hand for the briefest of moments.

Halsin cocks an eyebrow at you over Zevlor’s shoulders. Grasping Zevlor’s tail firmly, you pump your hand back and forth. It restarts his brain – his hips lurch forwards as he fucks himself into you, realizing that with every thrust, he’s fucking himself on Halsin’s fingers. Behind him, Halsin lets out a deep belly laugh, grasping his horn with his free hand. Zevlor doesn’t have a distinct rhythm – he fucks like a desperate animal starved for release until it’s tied itself in an impossible number of knots. Each thrust unties a different knot, growing sloppier and more pathetic as he sinks his teeth into your shoulder. You’re not sure when Halsin adds the other fingers, only when he holds him open with a thumb hooked in his asshole, because you can see Halsin’s glistening fingers wrap around Zevlor’s hip to hold him steady.

“Please, please, please,” Zevlor begs, trying to push his ass backwards.

“I would have fucked you earlier if I knew you’d be so perfect,” Halsin purrs, slowly easing into him with a sigh. “Oak Father, you take me so well.”

“By the Nine Hells, thank you,” Zevlor whines, his tail going rigid in your hand. You drag your hand up it, holding the spade between your thumb and forefinger. Zevlor stills, watching you with wide eyes as Halsin allows him time to adjust. You bring the spade to your mouth, giving it a tiny lick and watching Zevlor shudder. His hips stutter forward, and his eyes roll back in his head at the sensation.

“You might want to start thrusting, I think I just fried his brain,” you inform Halsin, laving your tongue across the spade of Zevlor’s tail.

Halsin chuckles, giving a testing thrust and watching Zevlor lurch forward from the force. He grips his horns with both hands, uncaring how the jagged edges dig into his palms. “I suggest holding onto something,” Halsin warns you.

You hook your ankles around Zevlor’s bent knees, just far enough away from Halsin’s thighs that you won’t be bruised from each thrust. Once you’re secure, Halsin starts slowly thrusting, gradually increasing his pace and sending Zevlor forward with the extra force. He fucks into Zevlor earnestly, the older tiefling all but drooling above you as Halsin holds his head back and up. You don’t even need Zevlor to thrust as Halsin finds a rough, steady pace, pushing Zevlor in and out of you. Grabbing hold of one of Zevlor’s hands that had been uselessly squeezing your breasts, you place it between your legs. He takes the hint rather quickly, rubbing your clit and doing his best to pay attention to what you like better until he’s found a rhythm that has you moaning underneath him. Eventually he even starts thrusting, using Halsin’s force to move his own body and causing your eyes to roll back with each drag of his ridges inside you.

Halsin frees one of his hands to swipe Zevlor’s hair to the side, allowing him access to his neck. Dark bruises are left in the wake of his lips as he fucks into Zevlor with abandon. Until Zevlor starts mewling above you, his dick twitching inside you. He won’t last long, judging by the starstruck look on his face. You trace your fingers in the ridges of his hips as you prop yourself up on your elbows. Your lips find his like they were made for each other, Zevlor kissing you back earnestly. Had Halsin not been holding his head up, he would have bent over you and given your neck a break. Instead, his hand scrambles to the back of your neck, holding you up so he can kiss you like a drowning man.

Startingly hot cum splatters inside you a moment later, leaking down the curve of your ass and onto the grass below as Halsin continues to fuck him mercilessly. Zevlor shudders and shakes between the two of you as you pull back from the kiss allowing him space to breathe. You watch his face, memorizing each little detail as his eyes flutter and his mouth hangs open.

“Did you finish?” Halsin asks without so much as missing a beat.

“No. I take it you haven’t either?” you reply, licking the tip of Zevlor’s tail just to watch him convulse.

“I’ve got a little bit left. Shift backwards; I have an idea,” Halsin suggests, easing his hands off of Zevlor’s horns and down his sides to dip into the grooves at his hips.

Curiosity gets the better of you, so you shuffle backwards on the ground and let Halsin guide Zevlor down with a firm hand on his back. Zevlor catches on quickly, pulling you closer with his hands curled around your thighs. He’s mindful of his teeth as he buries his face between your legs, dragging his forked tongue up and down your vulva. You can’t help but grab his horns, encouraging him closer – an invitation he gladly accepts, wrapping his lips around your clit and sucking. He stares up at you, hellfire eyes blazing brightly in the moonlight as Halsin leans over him, kissing and nipping at his back. You feel his tail nudge your leaking core, and a moan escapes you as he slowly pushes it into you. It bends slightly, curling together to push into you and letting his cum dribble down between your thighs. His tail fucks in and out of you, making a wet popping noise with each sloppy thrust. You can’t help but pull him closer, squeezing your thighs around his head as you cum hard. A few rough thrusts from Halsin sends Zevlor lurching forward, nearly nicking you with his teeth before the three of you are finally still.

Halsin pulls out of Zevlor, crashing into the grass as you slowly let go of his horns. Zevlor slumps forward, curling up between your legs with his head on your chest. You let your leg straighten out, hissing at the stretch. A calloused hand gently rubs the cramp from it as the three of you stare up a the starry night sky.

“Whatever happens now, I’m glad we took this opportunity,” you admit to the stars.

“I’d gladly do it again if we find each other in Baldur’s Gate. If you’ll have me…” Zevlor mumbles, staring at the grass, fearing the sting of rejection.

“Zevlor, I’d go with you to Baldur’s Gate if I didn’t have to find Moonrise Towers,” you admit, carding your hands through his messy hair. “If this is something you want to continue, you need but only ask.”

“They are right. If you two aren’t opposed to it, I wouldn’t mind revisiting this moment at least a dozen more times,” Halsin hums, folding his hands behind his head.

“I’ll make sure to look for you in Baldur’s Gate,” Zevlor agrees quickly, forcing himself up to kiss you gently on the lips.

It’s a slow, lazy kiss that lets you lose yourself in him until Halsin pulls him away by the horn, kissing him as well. Zevlor melts into him as well, content to drown himself in whatever’s given to him. You can feel the rumblings of purrs against your stomach as he settles back down on your chest, the three of you unwilling to get up and return to the party just yet. You’ll have to eventually – time will need to move forward like always – but for now, you stare up at the stars, content to feel Halsin press against your side and listen to Zevlor doze on your chest.

[taneysha-pictures]

I adore bards...

Haarlep x named tiefling Tav (Lyra) SFW except for a couple of rude words. A few warnings: English is not my native language so be prepared. Haarlep is he/him here. (If you can accept that for a short time, then enjoy reading)

Here it is – another deal with Raphael. It's hard to call Lyra satisfied, but Zariel was a common enemy they would have to fight in the future. It was surprising Raphael wanted to deal with the young tiefling again. She was absolutely sure that during their joint adventure he had a few gray hairs on his head. Apparently his mood was greatly lifted from the moment he received the crown of Karsus. Long conversations with Raphael in his House of Hope didn't lead to anything, but only caused a headache. She hoped the discomfort would go away on its own. But now for the second hour the pain does not subside. The heat of Avernus takes her breath away, which doesn't help at all. Leaving Raphael, she went to the healing spring.

After washing her face, she felt pleasant relief. It would be great to always have access to this fountain.

A quiet giggle was heard from the direction of the bed.

“Here she is. A little nimble mouse who escaped the tenacious claws.” Lying on the silk sheets of the elaborate bed was a devil that looked incredibly similar to the one she had just left in the main hall. “I was so hoping to meet you in person.” The devil lay in an imposing pose, which with all his appearance showed who was in control of the situation here. The smile did not leave his lips, and his tail slowly waved in an inviting gesture. It took her a few seconds to organize her thoughts. “Oh yeah, you're that devil who can't keep track of his things.” The tiefling's emotions were as feigned as possible.

“The little thing robbed me.” Raphael's copy was no less pretentious. “How did this happen?”

"Potion of Invisibility." She concluded calmly. “Cheater.” The creature literally spat out these words. The tiefling had already turned to leave when the feignedly seductive voice was heard again. “The more contracts you sign, the more impossible to stop, right, little mouse?” "Wrong!" "Is this so? Remind me what are you doing right now?” He changed his position to a more comfortable one, leaning back on the pillow.

“This is a different case.” The young woman answered too quickly, which showed her anxiety. “Sure...” He drawled the sounds so that the word began to resemble the hiss of a snake that was about to bite. “Let me introduce myself: I am Haarlep, Raphael's personal incubus, glamoured and transfigured to look like him.” His speech became more animated. His monologue made no impression. However, many things have become clearer than before. Lyra didn't understand what this whole performance was for, and only raised one eyebrow. “So, all standards of decency have been met. Since you’re here, does that mean there’s a new doll for us to play with?” It was difficult to define from the incubus what he was thinking about now, but the guest themselves hoped that Haarlep was feeling irritated at this moment. “Deliver me from yourself. I'm untouchable" “It’s funny to hear that from a small creature who gives himself up to Raphael’s amusement over and over again.” The incubus smiled, showing off his sharp, snow-white fangs. “You are changing concepts, incubus. Don’t confuse business cooperation with carnal corruption.” To her surprise, she remained very calm, although the situation screamed that she needed to leave as soon as possible. She didn't hear this reasonable voice. Perhaps she liked to admire the picture presented, but didn’t admit it to herself. “Everything starts small, little one. Ultimately, you’ll give all of yourself to the Devil without a trace, it’s a matter of time.The only thing that depends on you is the amount of time. Cheap whore of Baldur’s Gate.”

It all seemed like a challenge that the tiefling couldn't let past her pointy ears. In anticipation of battle, she took out her lyre. The incubus looked surprised, but only for a second. Immediately after, he let out a booming laugh, which, it was assumed, was heard outside the boudoir. It seems he even cried. "Oh no! What are you going to do? Will you strum me to death?” He continues to chuckle. “Do not underestimate bards and the power of their musical instrument.” Her face remained serious despite the fact that she was openly mocked. “Mmm…” The incubus’s expression became even more pleased. “Bards are my favorite. They are so unconventional. Such inventors. So delicious.” Haarlep moved his groin just a little, which already seemed to Lyra to be an action that went beyond all boundaries of decency. She looked away, hoping the incubus wouldn't notice. But he did. “Let me see.” Haarlep took a deep breath, as if tasting the air, savoring every note of the smell. “Enchantment spells? Oh my dear little mouse, I am already enchanted.” With every word the incubus seemed to become even more seductive. How is this possible? The young woman gathered all her will into a fist. “I'm not interested in incubi. So you can stop trying.” It's time to leave before it's too late. “Hmmm...Then maybe a cambion would be more to your liking?” Too many emotions washed over the tiefling at once. Outrage, shame, anger, denial. She took a deep breath, keeping her emotions under control. It was clear the incubus was just having fun. So let's have fun together. She giggled quietly. “To my regret, the cambion’s slut position has already been taken, Haarlep.” Lyra deliberately emphasized his name. They looked into each other's eyes, giving the opponent killer smiles. The tiefling walked away under the gaze of a pair of eyes filled with hellfire. “I adore bards...”

[tealfling]

I just did the most un-necessarily petty shit in BG3 for a pale vampire man that isn't. even. real.

So, let me tell you about it:

Blood Banks & Bartering

Act 2: the House of Healing & Morgue

[So Warning mentions of Blood]

named Tav: Amaranth, tiefling Cleric, she/her

Astarion x OC (Amaranth), named Tav

Summary: After Astarion's confession, Amaranth (Tav) decides she wants to menace everyone's least favorite blood vendor.

The newly opened chamber at the back of the morgue didn't offer fresh air, exactly, but at least it was clear of toxic fumes. Amaranth glanced around the room illuminated by the holy mace she wore on her back. Another surgical-type room.

"Everyone good?" she called to her team, trying to access Karlach, Shadowheart, and Astarion before they could reply. Having two clerics might seem like an off-balanced party, but they just made quick work of a nasty group of zombies, and Amaranth was rather fond of Shadowheart. The amethyst tiefling smiled with a sigh. She'd never say so, but this was her favorite team. One she tried to avoid grouping too often, lest she play favorites.

Speaking of favorites, Amaranth peeked through her lashes at Astarion.

The last few days with him had been...eventful. Just two nights ago they had an honest discussion about their feelings--free of witty banter and innuendo-- initiated by Astarion, himself, surprisingly. She could feel the warmth creeping into her cheeks. Amaranth had been giving Astarion more space than usual today, torn between wanting to amp up the affection and not wanting to overwhelm him physically, she'd been exceedingly mindful of his personal space. But when his vermillion gaze met hers, Amaranth took it as an invitation to prance over while the others fussed over their gut-covered gear.

"Thank you for dealing with all those vents in there. I'm not interested in giving anyone food poisoning later." she teased, flitting her tail coyly.

"It's the least I could do, Darling, for such a gracious host," hummed Astarion. Something over Amaranth's shoulder caught his attention and he moved closer to the back wall. "Is that blood on the shelves?" He clicked his tongue, "Probably cold and congealed. Ugh." He shuddered.

Amaranth walked up to the towering shelf of various jars and bottles. She didn't have the talent for scenting blood the way Astarion could, but she could still pick up a faint copper odor. The tiefling traced a finger over a shelf, gingerly tipping a bottle of dark-gelled liquid into her hand. Wishing she had her bag of Momento Mori, missing since the nautiloid, Amaranth made a mental note to explore the idea of blood jelly later.

Astarion continued in her ear, "These days, I get to enjoy a warm, fresh meal." Frissons ran down her spine when his breath left her ear. Guess we're back to flirting, Amaranth thought. Continuing on in his usual nonchalant manner, Astarion picked up the blood bank log book. He thumbed through it flippantly, "Quite the list of characters, but hardly my taste."

"The poison's gone now. It's safe enough to leave." Shadowheart called from the entrance.

"It's about bloody time!" Astarion snapped the book shut and reshelved it unceremoniously. "This dank, disgusting corpse-littered place actually makes me look forward to a bath at that old run-down inn," he griped all the way back to the door.

Karlach approached Amaranth as she began to set the bottle in its final resting place. The robust red tiefling shuddered. "Ew, there's just so many of them," she said regarding the vast shelf.

"Yeah, there is," the shorter purple tiefling chuckled, "Almost more than---" She paused. Araj would know what to do with. Was the end of a sentence never spoken. Interrupted by a mischievous scheme. The previous afternoon, the drow's gall had earned her a place on Amaranth's personal shit list, not far down from Cazador. The merchant's blatant disregard of Astarion's person and boundaries left the tiefling fuming. Astarion might not want to bite her, but Amaranth was more than willing to rip out her throat.

"Karlach," Amaranth whipped up peering up at her favorite Yes Man. "I feel like being a little shit, you in??!" she fizzed, a small fanged smile curling across her face.

"Fuck, Yeah!" This is why Amaranth loved Karlach.

Amaranth clasped Karlach's hands in her's leaving the jar in the other's palm, "Awesome! One sec--" she turned her voice to the elves waiting at the threshold, their collective patience rapidly declining. "You two can head back to camp, Karlach and I are going to rifle through the House of Healing then head back to Moonrise to sell what we find."

Both elves frown disapprovingly, "You can't be serious?" They spoke concurrently. Amaranth smiled endearingly.

"Darling, there's nothing here even remotely valuable. Why waste your time?" Astarion pressed, gesturing widely to the obvious filth.

"Because, Dar-ling," she purred, "every little bit counts. All this fancy, enchanted armor that protects our squishy parts needs a lot of upkeep." Amaranth said waving a hand down her armored body, popping a hip out playfully. "And, then there are the mouths at camp that need to be fed-" she pauses giving Astarion his moment to huff and puff. "I know, I know, collecting strays is my toxic trait, but don't forget Star, you were my first. And I'm just not filling enough for everyone to have a bite." Amaranth pokes with a drawl. "So, as the responsible 'leader,' that I am, I'll collect anything that can be sold so that everyone can get what they need to make this little adventure of ours more bearable. And any good leader worth their salt knows you two are done. You're all but seething in place. So, you can head back, enjoy a bath, we'll probably be back at camp before you're even finished." Amaranth reassures.

Shadowheart speaks first, "If you're sure. " The tiefling nods.

Astarion pinches his brow for a second trying to read Amaranth's big round silver eyes before he relents. "Tsk. Fine." He huffs.

As soon as the elves are out the door, Amaranth bolts to Karlach, rapidly laying out her petty plan in a single breath. "Got it? She wants blood? We'll give it to her. Grab it ALL. Whatever we can carry," she said through a fiendish grin.

Karlach bounced back and forth, "OoOooh this is going to be good!"

Outside, Astarion waited, leaning against the neighboring cemetery wall. Fidgeting with his dagger in hand. It didn't take much to convince Shadowheart that he wasn't in need of a chaperone, that she could abandon him. It was obvious that his favorite little traveling companion was up to something. But what? And why didn't she want him in on it?

There had been an unusual amount of...space, between them since his confession. Amaranth normally orbited him, finding ways to either outright include him in her daily tasks or be in his company while doing them. And today he found he actually missed that proximity, not to mention that delicious body heat an infernal legacy blessed tieflings with, like his own private hot waterskin. He was sure she'd be extra clingy when she agreed to a real relationship. Physical affection often flowed from Amaranth, her touch as expressive as her face. Karlach recently enjoyed being on the receiving end of many free, unprompted hugs. But for Astarion, Amaranth always seemed to dance around him during the day, dealing out gentle, careful touches in moderation. For a moment, he thought she might be reconsidering their late-night conversation about what this relationship might become, but she'd approached him earlier just fine. But then, why tell him to go? This was a first, and it made him uneasy. So, he lingered. He was good at waiting.

After a while, voices could be heard shouting as they drew closer.

"Found one!"

"Got another!" These two were the loudest creatures in the Shadow Curse.

Finally, the doors of the House of Healing flew open as the kicking leg stumbled forward. It took a second for Astarion to make out what he was seeing. That was definitely Amaranth, struggling to balance two heavily over-stuffed bags hanging from her front and back, as well as a series of smaller sachels dangling from her belt, and strapped to her thighs. The only telling sign being the long silver stands of disheveled hair freely falling where they wanted, no doubt from situating that backpack madness. What in the blazes is she doing? Astarion thought.

A pit of panic welled in his stomach when Astarion realized Amaranth wasn't catching her footing and the momentum would topple her over the first step of the entrance stairs.

"Careful soldier." A swift red arm lunged forward grasping the pack on Amaranth's back and pulling her upright. "You good?" Karlach chuckled, checking to make sure her smaller counterpart was firmly planted.

"Yeah, just watch that first step, Karlach, it's a doozy." Amaranth joked sarcastically, bracing her stance.

Relief began to wash over Astarion, enough to internally groan at her joke, but then....he noticed that strapped to Karlach's back, was not one, but TWO CRATES. What in the Nine Hells were these lunatics doing?!? This was madness. With every step they took, he could now make out the sound of glass rubbing together. The rogue stood dumbfounded. Not entirely sure what he was witnessing. What were they carrying? Did he even want to know? At this distance, he wasn't sure if the scent of blood lingered on them or if it wafted from their haul.

Every step the women took they grappled with their utterly encumbering loot. Each giggled like a fool through large fang-tip grins with wild eyes when one whispered some joke the pale elf wasn't privy to. Astarion's face pinched. It seems he was worried for nothing. The tieflings seemed like they had...whatever this was...in hand. Apparently not needing his--not that he wanted to put his hands all over the disgusting things they'd stolen. Perhaps he had wasted his time, and while a perfectly good bath waited for him. He peered in the direction of Moonrise. It wasn't that far of a trek from the House of Healing, across the street really if you imagined what the lay of the land might have been before the shadow curse. Seeing no reason to involve himself in their foolishness, Astarion decided to head back to camp to enjoy that bath the previous leader suggested.

Karlach's cackling entered camp first. The soft glow of her chest giving away her location. As she stepped closer into the light of camp, her purple companion came into view. Perched behind the larger tiefling like a backpack, Amaranth giggled and waved.

"We're back everyone and we got new loot!" The smaller tiefling said sing-song, lifting the pack from her back and swinging it around. Approaching the fire, she hopped down from Karlach and inverted the bag on the ground, revealing her spoils. "Disperse amongst yourselves at your leisure," she said to those gathered round, waving her hand over the various bottles of glowing liquids and items.

Astarion watched over his book from his tent. Amaranth was making a show for the others, but her eyes eventually meandered his way, locking with his. As soon as Karlach started chatting about their- probably- ill-gotten gains, Amaranth practically pranced his way. Her big bright eyes begged to be questioned.

"Alright, I'll bite, what did you do?" Astarion asked when the bubbling tiefling stopped before him. Her mischievous grin barely containing the words she wished to spill. “And why didn’t you want my help?” He jabbed.

"Well," she began nonchalantly, "Let's just say that tomorrow when that Sanguine bitch has a….” The tiefling paused for a moment, trying to find the right phrase, “clearer head, she'll realize she's the proud owner of every bit of blood the House of Healing had to offer." She almost laughed. Amaranth tilted her head so he would meet her eyes, “And I didn’t want you to have to be in her presence ever again.”

Astarion scoffed, placing his hand in front of his mouth as if scandalized, , "Oh my sweet thing, did you steal from her?" He wiped a fake tear from his eye, "I'm so very proud."

“Technically,” she articulated, “We bartered. It was an even trade really. I took everything of value she had- including that ‘once and a lifetime potion,’” Amaranth mockingly slurred. She continued, “While giving her every worthless vial of blood as disgusting and vile as she is that we could find. I’ve completely ruined her profit margins.” The tiefling waved her hand flippantly.

Astarion chuckled, “Well, let’s hope she never financially recovers.” Amaranth started to pull at her armor to remove it. Astarion moved around to help her with the shoulder buckles.

“Granted, I still plan on ripping out her throat with my bare fangs at the first available opportunity,” Amaranth gritted, slugging off her chest piece. “Maybe then she’ll think twice about talking to you or another spawn like that.”

“I don’t recommend it, Darling,” Astarion hummed, “she smelled absolutely wretched.” He spun his little tiefling around to face him. “But thank you for wishing violence upon her on my behalf, it’s very charming,” he said brushing a strand of hair behind her little pointed ear.

Amaranth leaned into his hand with a faux pout. “I just hate her so much. If I’m lucky, she’ll be dumb enough to be in Moonrise when we face Ketheric,” she said with a venomous smile.

Astarion hummed, “You’re adorable when you have murder on your mind my pet.” He leaned down to plant a kiss on her forehead, but his target flinched away unexpectedly.

Seeing a flash of hurt in his eyes Amaranth quickly apologized, “Sorry. I just know I’m in desperate need of a bath and no one wants to dine from a dirty dish.” A soft half smile formed at the corner of her mouth.

"Oh, come now my Sweet, what's a little gore between friends?" Astarion drawled. "Besides, regardless of whatever ichor you're covered in, it'll hardly be the worst thing I've ever tasted. And it'll be made all the sweeter on you." He leaned in again, this time a hand pressed to his chest holding him back.

"But that's the thing, isn't it Darling?" Amaranth said warmly, an enchanting smile blooming across her face. "You said you wanted to be more than friends now, real lovers. And I want to give you more. More than you can imagine."

Astarion felt her tail curl behind his ankle, she probably didn't even realize she was doing it. He couldn't help but smile, it was like she was secretly hugging him.

"I'm here to raise your standards, my precious Star, you deserve the best my love has to offer. A clean, fresh face is the least I could do. I'll be quick. I promise it'll only take a minute. And I'll come right back to you, ok?"

Astarion sighed contently, "Alright fine."

"Fantastic," Amaranth beamed, "and you better be ready to cuddle when I get back!"

"Darling, how could I say no?" Astarion chuckled.

[dark-and-kawaii]

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Their Girl For The Night ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

✧˖° Summary: Imagine sitting on the ground just outside the tiefling party, your back pinned to Zevlor’s chest as he keeps you locked in place while Halsin eats you out as if you were his last me…

✧˖° Pairings: Halsin x F!Reader/Tav x Zevlor

✧˖° Content: NSFW - Cunnilingus - Halsin Eats You Out So Well - Zevlor Holds You In Place - Anal - Vaginal Sex - Squirting - Big Dick Halsin & Zevlor

✧˖° Notes: This is pure smut, I had the idea while horny for Zevlor now please enjoy and be horny with me hahaha xoxo

Zevlor’s arms hold you firm against his chest, his fingers tracing the curve of your waist, his breath hot against your neck, “Such a pretty thing, you are.” His tail finds its way up your outer thigh, slowly dragging across your skin before stoping at your stomach- the tip of it tracing slow little circles around your belly button.

You writhe and buck against Zevlor, desperate to get away from the overwhelming pleasure, “Ngh~ S’Zevy~ Mngh~~~!!!” Your words slurred, a jumble of half made syllables that were barely comprehensible, “I- Mah~ My~ c-Can’t~ Haaa!!!!”

“You can,” Zevlor moves to nip and lap at the nape of your neck, his horns scraping light patterns against your cheek, “and you will.”

Halsin chuckles, his breath ghosting over your wet sex, his hands kneading into your thighs, his tongue flicking and pressing against your clit with expert precision before diving his skilled tongue back inside your weeping hole.

Your back arches against Zevlor, a loud whorish moan falling from your parted lips, a thick line of drool slowly trickling down your chin, eyes lidded and glazed with lust.

You could feel Zevlor’s cum seeping from your stretched asshole, prior to Halsin getting his paws on you, Zevlor had bent you over the side of a fallen tree and fucked you like his own personal cumdump…

- The feeling of his calloused hands roaming over every inch of you, groping and fondling and squeezing, his mouth biting and sucking and licking, his tongue teasing and tasting, his cock ramming into you, his balls slapping against you with every rough thrust, his tail twirling and flicking your clit. You were a mess by the time Zevlor was finished, and when he came inside you, he took special care to push it all deep within you- he wanted his cum to be trapped inside you, not wanting a single drop to escape. The hellrider wanted to know that you’d be leaking his cum each step you took the next day. -

A hard bite against the sensitive flesh of your clit snaps you from your thoughts.

“FH~!!!! Noooo~!!! Hal-Halsin~!!! Ah~! T-too w’rou-rough” Your eyes screw shut as tears prick the corners of your eyes, “Zev~ pllllleaa~se- itz too mu-ch-“

“Look at the way your juices spill out from you, my dear- the way they coat his face. The way your thighs quake, the way your hips jolt, as if well as the way your toes curl, it is all so lovely.” Zevlor pulls and twists one of your nipples, just enough to send another wave of pleasure crashing over you, the waves of your impending orgasm threatening to drown you.

Halsin’s eyes watched your face, drinking in your every expression, memorizing each sound, taking in the way your body quivered and writhed and twisted under his touch, how you were coming apart at the seams.

He wanted to hear you scream, wanted everyone to hear how you were claimed tonight and enjoyed the pleasures he could give.

Taking the swollen bundle of nerves into his mouth, his tongue laving and massaging the sensitive nub, his nose pressed against your pelvis- inhaling the intoxicating musky scent that was only you. His fingers plunged into your dripping sex, curling and pressing and scissoring, the slick sounds of his fingers thrusting into you were loud and filthy.

He felt the way your walls fluttered and twitched, the telltale sign of your incoming orgasm.

Releasing your clit from his mouth, his hand replaced his tongue, the other hand pulling his fingers from you, and in a quick motion, his fingers were shoved back inside you, and a third was added, curling them upwards, pressing into your plush walls, “Let it go- cum for us my heart, allow us both to taste your sweet nectar.”

Your eyes were wide, the feeling of the sudden stretch, the sensation of his fingers pressing and curling against your sweet spot, the command that came from Halsin… Your vision goes white and your entire body seizes up- a long, loud moan falling from your open mouth, and your release soaks his hand, coating his palm, his wrist, his arm, his chin, his mouth…

He drinks you in like a man dying of thirst, the sweet ambrosia coating his throat. He doesn't stop until you beg for him to, tears staining your flushed cheeks, “Please- P-pleeease… n-no m-more… t-too m-much~ a-aahhhhhh~~ Z-Z-Zevy~~~ Halllsinnn~!”

Another wave of pleasure rushes through you, a dry orgasm from Halsin suckling on your overly sensitive clit, his tongue swiping the little bud one last time before pulling away, his fingers leaving you with an obscene pop.

You were a sweaty, sticky, panting, shaking, and crying mess… It felt as if you were going to pass out, the world around you spinning and swirling.

You were dimly aware of the movement behind you, rustling and pulling you into his lap, into Zevlor’s lap. His cock already hard and rutting against your still sensitive pussy.

The feeling of Zevlor pushing into causes a pathetic whine to fall from your mouth. Your hips pulled flush against his, his cock buried to the hilt, the tip kissing the entrance to your womb, “Ngh, Zev~ Haaaaaaaa~ too much, it's- hhaaaa- so good- fuuuuuckk- but too- too much, t-tooooooo m-much. M-mooore~!”

His tail wrapped around your thigh, spreading your legs wider granting Halsin better access…

The Druid positioned himself at your already stuffed hole, the tip of his cock pushing inside of you, the head of his large cock attempting to slip in and stretching the sensitive ring of muscles…

You weren’t sure who spiked the three of yours drinks with one of Ethel’s potions, but you were thankful they did. You only hoped that you wouldn’t be to fucked out tomorrow so you can find and thank whoever it was..

[gloomstalkertav]

Summary: In which Zevlor’s terrible, horrible no good, very bad day - make that tenday - actually, when was the last time he wasn’t having a bad day? - is interrupted by the arrival of Tav (and readers of this fic learn to adjust their eyes to the author’s excessive use of hyphens and en dashes).

Part 2 of 10

Warnings: Violence, angst

Word Count: ~8K

View story masterpost | Read on Ao3

“Start at the beginning,” urges Alfira, quill-pen again poised against parchment. “The first day Tav arrived in the grove. Tell me everything you remember. Little details have a way of inspiring the most poignant lines.”

“I remember…” Zevlor leans back in his chair and casts his gaze overhead, seeing not the Elfsong’s wooden ceiling but a vision of ancient stone, rays of violent summer sunlight worming through its cracks. “… it was hot.”

Alfira snorts at the anti-climax and does not deign to write this down.

But it was hot. Punishingly hot. Hot as the hells, he might once have described it. Except those from Elturel knew better than to throw such comparisons around lightly, now. Nor did the heat of the day merit even a low-ranking place in his ever-growing list of concerns. However —

“Let my daughter go, right now!”

“She’s a thief, hellspawn!”

— Zevlor was finding it hard to keep his metaphorical cool with sweat sliding uncomfortably down the back of his armor and dripping off his tail. He inhaled humid air through his nose, rallying his failing patience, and stepped sideways, putting himself between the stolen child’s hysterical mother and the hard-eyed female druid barring the inner grove’s path.

“She’s a child.” But he had said these words so many times in the last few minutes they sounded worn and wrung of all meaning, even to his ears. “Please. Just let me speak to Kagha, I’m sure—”

“Refugees are no longer permitted to enter the heart of the grove. No exceptions. Kagha’s orders.” The druid’s face was set with all the stubborn immovability of a badger guarding its den, but she kept her gaze carefully south of Zevlor’s eyes — a reaction to the infernal sclera he had met with too many times. “Any foulblood puts a toe across this step and Maggran will bite it off!”

Outrage swept like a wave of scalding water across the small scrum of tieflings waiting restlessly at the top of the steps. They clenched fists and lashed tails, hurled curses of their own at the druids, who were quick to reply in kind. The stolen child's mother took a defiant step forward; her husband grabbed her arm to hold her back. 

Zevlor made no effort to calm them. In truth, he could barely hear them. That one, incendiary word still echoed like a smokepowder explosion in his ears as he turned on his heel and marched away.

Foulblood.

Hardly the worst slur he had ever endured, but something in it had snapped the final cord tethering Zevlor’s threadbare temper, and it was essential he remove himself before he made an already dire situation impossibly worse. The grove’s interim first druid, Kagha, had proven herself a more mercurial leader than the altruistic Halsin had been, but kidnap — whatever the child’s transgression — that was an unsettling new low, and the druid guards too many and too well-armed to fight. Trying to force a way through their line would accomplish nothing; except to put the child in more danger and execute any last possibility of extending his people’s stay.

Not that he expected the other refugees — civilians — to understand this. Zevlor could feel them watching him as he dragged his aching knees up the wide stone steps, their disappointment and disapproval as palpable as the sweltering heat. He avoided eye contact with any: a bad habit he had picked up on this gods-forsaken journey; he had never minded an audience before. Being a Hellrider, and a tiefling, meant he had always been the object of intense scrutiny, and under such watchful eyes he had thrived. Now, they felt like iron brands against his already sweat-slicked skin, and no more than he deserved. He had promised these people protection, the possibility of better lives, and what had he provided, thus far? More loss, and the threat of violent death on every side. 

At the grove’s central hollow, he slowed, watching Asharak adjust a child’s grip on a sword its young hands would be too small to properly hold for several years yet. And the child did not have years. It had hours. Twenty-four hours. After which, it would be thrust back onto the road with its unwieldy weapon, the leer of a gnoll or the cruelly laughing face of a goblin the last thing it would ever see. Zevlor turned away, running a hand through his hair in distraction, nails that needed cutting snagging on the sweat-damp strands. He tightened the tie keeping hair from his face and trudged on, leather travel boots scuffing up clods of dirt from the packed earth ground. A plan. They needed a plan. But, however hard he beat his weary brain, no new solution appeared. They were backed into a corner, surrounded on all sides.

It was Avernus all over again.

A sudden commotion from the direction of the grove’s front gate tugged Zevlor’s thoughts from their anxious spiral. Someone was shouting. Someone, or several someones by the vibrations, were pounding on the gate from outside. Zevlor doubled back. Shielding his eyes against the sun’s relentless glare, he recognised Kanon leaning over the ramparts, calling to someone below. And — Zevlor’s heart pounded in time with his feet as they sped him towards the ramparts — he thought he also recognised the voice that shouted back.

Aradin: leader of that ragtag band of treasure-hunters who had come and gone a few days prior, taking the grove’s original first druid with them. If he was back, so was Halsin, and Halsin’s return would surely mean a return of sense and reason to the rest of the druids. Hope bubbled like acid in Zevlor’s chest as he climbed the steep embankment, ignoring the protests of his stiff knees, heading for the bridge overlooking the grove’s front gate.

“What’s going on?” he asked Kanon the moment his boots hit wood, but it was Aradin who screamed up the answer.

“Goblins are on our tail! Open the gate, Zevlor, now!”

Hope dissolved. Zevlor could feel the poisonous pool of it burning his throat as he choked, “You led goblins here? Where is the druid?!” and cast a desperate gaze across the sun-seared environs stretched out below. But the light revealed no cantering bear, or massive wood elf outline lurking amid the scattered scrub; only a cloud of dust and dirt at the edge of the valley: the sort kicked up by a score of small, bare, fast-moving feet. Zevlor’s heart stopped pounding and sank into his stomach instead as the nightmare he had dreaded the last tenday took life before his eyes.

Goblins. And no mere scouting party, either. An organised raid — complete with armoured boss, half a dozen booyahgs and archers, one hulking bugbear, and a slathering warg — rounded the corner towards them.

“By the nine hells,” Zevlor breathed, despair constricting his lungs and darkening the edges of his vision. Were it not for the hard curve of wood he could feel through the thinning soles of his boots, he would have thought he was falling. How much more could the gods find to throw at him?

Then, the screams of the humans cowering below and the tieflings frozen on the ramparts behind shook his military training into place, and he was snatching up a guard’s crossbow and a bolt from a barrel and shouting, “Open the gates!” even though he knew it was too late. The goblin archers were already taking position on the high outcropping of rock in the valley’s centre, and Zevlor could hear the telltale whistle of wood and feathers through air. He ducked on instinct—

“If you’d like,” interrupts Alfira quietly, “you can just… just skip past what happened to Kanon. I’ve already heard the story of the fight from a few different people. And I’m sure you don’t want to relive all that.”

Zevlor blinks, momentarily disconcerted to find himself not in overbright wilds but the Elfsong's cool, dark interior. His eyes wander to the parchment scattered across the other half of the table — still blank; the bard has yet to write down anything he's said — then to Alfira herself. Her face is pale. The quill-pen trembles slightly in her fingers. He thinks it might be she who would prefer not to linger over old friends' deaths. 

"As you like," he says, and takes the opportunity to wet his throat with a draught of forgotten ale. 

“Just skip to the good part,” coaxes Alfira, “when you first saw Tav,” and waits in expectant silence for Zevlor to set down his tankard and close his eyes.

“I heard her before I saw her,” he says, memory once more saturating his mind...

The unrelenting heat. The goblins’ foul war cries and the thunks of iron on wood as Aradin and what remained of his band huddled together under one crude shield. The metallic scent of spilled blood steaming in the sun. The hell that only hopeless battle could be. And the voice that suddenly cut through the clamour, high and clear as a church bell, bright and bold as the sun overhead. Its words were unintelligible, but something in the voice itself seemed to steady Zevlor's unravelling nerves and bolster his sinking spirit. He lowered the crossbow a fraction, scanning the environs for the source of the rallying cry…

…and blinked, unwilling to believe his eyes. A figure in leather and ring-mail had appeared atop the rocky outcrop opposite, a short bow in one hand, a rapier in the other. With the sun arrayed behind her, catching the steel and making it shine, she looked like something plucked straight from Elturel’s High Cathedral: an artist’s interpretation of Divine Aid depicted in stained glass.

As Zevlor watched, stunned to stillness by what must surely be a mirage, the figure darted towards the goblin archer perched on the edge of the rock and executed a precise lunge. Her thin blade slid through the creature’s throat and out the other side in a wide arterial spray. Spitting dark blood from her mouth and smearing it off her lips with her sleeve, she kicked the twitching corpse to the ground and spun, rapier ready, to face the next goblin scrabbling up the rock. A long, pale tail whipped around her ankles as she pierced it through the eye, and Zevlor thought he had never seen anything so beautiful in his life.

Then more figures appeared alongside her — two, three, four more — all wielding weapons and stumbling down the rocky outcrop at varying speeds. The goblins, caught unaware from behind, howled their shock and displeasure. And time, which had paused politely while Zevlor processed this miraculous turn of tides, restarted in a chaos of motion and noise. He ripped his gaze from the new arrivals, tightened his grip on the crossbow, scanned the ground for the nearest goblin and took a more confident aim.

It passed in a blur; as did most skirmishes in the ex-Hellrider’s experience. He had a vague impression of fumbling for crossbow bolts, of his finger tightening on the crossbow’s trigger — once, twice more? — of a flurry of footsteps that turned out to be the Blade of Frontiers leaping unexpectedly from the ramparts to the rocks to join the fray. Then, a ringing silence. A stillness that hung heavy on his limbs, vibrating with adrenaline. Zevlor swivelled in place, seeking another target, and found only the raiding party’s corpses littering the blood-and-grease-stained ground.

It seemed impossible, unbelievable, but…

“That was the last of them,” he said aloud, and realised he was panting. Dropping the crossbow unceremoniously, Zevlor heaved himself across the bridge and fumbled with the wheel to raise the gate. “Get inside,” he called down. “All of you,” he added, searching the survivors for the figure from the rock, half-expecting to find her vanished: gone as mysteriously as she had come.

But there she was, kneeling in the dirt, inspecting the splayed body of an unusually armoured goblin. She looked up at Zevlor’s words, nodded once in his direction, then clambered to her feet, saying something he could not hear to her milling companions, and the five of them shouldered modest packs and made their way to the open gate. Aradin and his lot were already through, calling curses and complaints loudly enough to echo up to the ramparts above.

And the sheer gall of the man, mixed with the lingering dregs of horror and the adrenaline still pumping in his veins, the anxieties of the day — the tenday, really — and the realisation he finally had someone else he could blame for some of them, set Zevlor’s blood on fire. He threw himself down the ladder, never mind his knees, and caught the human before he’d made it to the grove’s stoney shade.

“There are children here, you fool!” and to scream was cathartic; but Aradin, too, was running on battle fumes and he spun on his boot to face Zevlor, unfazed.

“We was running … for our lives,” he panted.

Zevlor, pulse pounding in his ears, barely heard the words and did not care — “And you let them take the druid too?! Unbelievable!” — it felt too good, after days of decaying composure, to finally let himself lose control.

Then someone was standing beside him, and a voice he did not know but recognised immediately froze the rage whole in his chest, like a devil entombed in ice.

“What’s unbelievable is how we beat the goblins. You’re heroes! Both of you.”

Zevlor turned his head, and his eyes met hers for the first time.

Their sclera was white, rather than infernal black, but the blue of the pupils was nevertheless too deep and oddly spiralled to be human alone. And close up he could see the tips of short, stubby horns peeking out from her chaos of dark, blood-stained hair. She took up position between him and Aradin, a hand outstretched to each as if to congratulate them — or, Zevlor thought more likely, to keep the two fuming men apart; however broad her smile or friendly her words, there was a glint of wary steel in the not-quite-natural blue of her eyes.

“And who the hell are you again?” snapped Aradin, and Zevlor fancied he could hear the slight, unnecessary emphasis the human, eyeing the young woman’s tail, put on the word hell: fuel for his fury’s fire.

“Show some respect,” he spat, stepping closer, hand a hair from Aradin’s shoulder in unmistakable threat. “This woman saved your pathetic life.”

Aradin met him toe-for-toe, unabashed.

“Well, I didn’t ask for any goddamn help.”

“Please, you were begging me to open the gate. Anything to save yourself, you coward!”

They were a breath from each other now, and Zevlor could see the human’s eye twitch, his fists clench at his sides. He wanted a fight, and Zevlor, in his current state, would have been happy to give it to him; had a hand on his arm not brought him up short.

“That’s enough,” said the stranger, and her voice was no longer light, but as sharp and commanding of attention as a drawn blade. “More violence is not going to bring back any you’ve lost, but it might lose you more. Stop, and think.”

And just as it had on the ramparts, something in her voice cleared Zevlor’s mind. He drew in a breath, and it seemed to contain a higher proportion of cool air than the grove had offered all day. Fury dwindled to embers in his chest.

“You’re right,” he said, exhaling slowly. He took one, minute step back. “There’s too much at stake.”

A glance at the young woman’s face registered her approval. Zevlor felt inexplicably sated, as if he had passed some sort of test. Aradin snorted.

“Worried about your precious hides, the both of you,” he snarled, shaking off her restraining hand.

“Enough,” said Zevlor; though without rage to empower it, his voice was merely tired and worn. “Squabbling is pointless. The goblins have found us.”

And the grim reality of this pronouncement snuffed out even Aradin’s thirst for combat.

“At least we agree on that,” he grumbled, and gave both tieflings one last dark look before stomping away to join the remnants of his band, then limp together slowly towards the shelter of the grove.

Zevlor’s eyes followed them as they walked, but his mind had moved on from Aradin already; racing to process the last half hour and its ominous implications for his camp. If there had been any feeble chance they might escape unnoticed from the grove when their time was up tomorrow, that was long gone now. The goblin leadership had set their sights on this location. If the druids forced them out, they faced a slaughter. It was as simple as that. Zevlor closed his eyes, breathing hard. His limbs felt impossibly heavy. His brain throbbed against his skull as it raced compulsively for options, alternatives, some kind of plan.

Until a gentle squeeze of fingers brought him back to the present. The mysterious new stranger still had her hand on his arm. Zevlor’s eyes snapped open.

She was watching him closely, cobalt eyes flicking from one part of his face to another, and Zevlor, who could not remember the last time he’d glanced in a mirror, wondered what she saw. Too many lines, he supposed, most from worry, though more than a few were simply age; hair that needed cutting; fire-toned skin, roughed by years of military lye soap; equally fiery eyes and horns of a size he once boasted, though such obvious infernal traits had ceased to be a point of pride. The woman’s gaze drifted to his tail, and Zevlor felt suddenly hot under his armor in a way he could not blame on the sun. He was hyperaware of sweat soaking through the legs of his trousers, the smell that lingered on him - the bitter copper of old, overheated mail.

Not that she fared much better, this newcomer. Though she had clearly made an effort to wipe the goblin gore from her face and hands, she showed — and wafted — all the signs of at least a few days spent living rough on the land. Still, Zevlor straightened his spine and set his shoulders, determined to correct his poor first impression, as he addressed the grove’s unexpected saviour directly at last.

“Forgive that display. Aradin’s a blowhard, but that’s no cause for me to join him. Thank you for your help out there.” He tried to smile and found his face had quite forgotten how. He dipped his head respectfully, instead. “I’m Zevlor.”

“Tav,” she said, and it took him a moment to realise the single syllable was her name.

There was another brief pause in which she continued to stare at him, her expression uninterpretable, though it sent a frisson of something not-unpleasant across Zevlor’s skin. Then she blinked. Her face cleared and her hand fell from his arm. She waved it at her companions, edging closer now the confrontation was clearly resolved.

“And this is Gale, Lae’zel…”

She rattled off a series of names, none of which stuck in Zevlor’s brain. An idea had hatched there, inspired by this uncommonly helpful stranger and her auspicious — and reward-worthy — arrival.

“Well met,” he managed when silence confirmed introductions had concluded. He gave the others one polite nod, then returned his attention to Tav and cleared his throat. “But I should warn you, visitors are no longer welcome in this grove. Whatever your business is, I’d see to it quickly. The druids are forcing everyone out. This attack will only strengthen their resolve.”

One of the others, a thin, pale elf, gave a dramatic roll of his shoulders and murmured something Zevlor could not understand as Tav said over him, “Have there been many attacks like that?”

“There have been several attacks by different monsters. The druids blame us outsiders,” he gave Tav, the only tiefling of her group, a knowing look, “for drawing them here. They’ve started a ritual, to cut the grove off from the outside world. We can't stay, but we’ll be slaughtered if we leave. We're no fighters.”

Once, it would have galled Zevlor, Hellrider Commander, to sound so pathetic in front of anyone, let alone a stranger, but death’s first act was to rob potential victims of all reticence, tact, and pride. Still, he averted his gaze as he spoke, focusing on a point by her ankles where her tail flicked eagerly from side to side.

“We?” she repeated. “There are more of you? More — more tieflings, I mean?”

The way she pronounced the word was strange beyond the roll of her accent, as if it were a curse she was too well-bred to often say. Zevlor’s gaze flicked from her tail to her horns to her too-blue eyes. She was a tiefling, no mistake. Curious. But curiosities were a luxury he could not currently afford.

“Yes. We’re refugees from Elturel.” He laid the bare bones of their story out quickly. “We took shelter here after gnolls attacked us on the road. We were bound for Baldur’s Gate, and it was too late to turn back. Elturel had no place for tieflings after the descent.”

“Elturel,” Tav parroted again, but her eyes had gone wide, and Zevlor knew she understood. “Well,” she said, after a moment’s laden silence, “if you made it out of Avernus, surely you can survive anything?”

She offered Zevlor a weak smile he did not even attempt to reciprocate.

“So I’d hoped, but we’ve lost so many already. And more will die if we’re forced out again.”

Another short silence draped uncomfortably across them, filled by the distant chanting of the druids from the inner grove. The sound made Zevlor’s tail twitch with anxiety. He felt sweat beading at the base of his horns and fought the urge to swipe it away. Tav was clearly contemplating. She fiddled with the rough strip of leather tethering her rapier and short bow to her waist. Zevlor held his breath.

“This ritual,” she said finally. “Is there no way to convince the druids to stop it?”

Zevlor sighed. It was not an offer, but it was an opening. And the best he was likely to get.

“I’ve tried. Kagha, their new first druid, won’t even see me. You, though... I know it’s not your business, but she owes you for saving this place. Perhaps you could persuade her. For more time to prepare if nothing else.”

Behind Tav, a female elf — or half-elf, possibly — shifted her weight restlessly from leg to leg; a green-skinned creature the likes of which Zevlor had never seen made a hostile clicking sound. He ignored both. Their group’s dynamic was inarguable. There was one clear leader here.

“I’m … we’re really just here looking for a healer,” said Tav apologetically, rubbing a spot by her inner eye.

“Goblin got you?”

Momentarily distracted, Zevlor did a quick professional scan. Her chest and shoulders were clearly constricted by a leather and ring-mail cuirass at least one size too small, her tail dragged and she winced when she shifted her weight, her boots the wrong sort for this terrain, but she bore no visible bandages or any other obvious signs of injury. And as she offered no further explanations, he had no choice but to let this second curiosity go in order to keep their conversation on track. She had not refused outright, after all.

“The druid Halsin’s a renowned healer, but he didn’t make it back from Aradin’s expedition. If it’s not too serious, you could try his apprentice, Nettie. She’s with the other druids in the inner grove.” Zevlor gestured in its general direction. “They’ve withdrawn there to prepare this damn ritual of theirs,” he added, unable to disguise the words’ bitter taste.

Tav’s head, which had turned in the direction he indicated, snapped back swiftly at the mild oath, and for one gut-twisting second Zevlor was certain he had mis-stepped: offended the young woman and cost his people this final, flimsy chance. Then, she nodded.

“I’ll find Nettie, then. And I’ll speak to Kagha while I’m there.”

This announcement inspired an outburst of dissent from behind her; the male elf and the green-skinned being registering their protests, while another, a human in the garb of a magic-user, argued back. Zevlor, throwing the last of his pride to the wind, raised his voice to be heard above them.

“We’d owe you a great debt,” he said shamelessly. “If we’re forced to leave now, we won’t make it to the city.”

"We’re going there anyway,” — Tav’s voice carried hints of its earlier steel; her companions fell silent — “so it’s no trouble to find this Kagha and ask. I don’t know that she'll be more disposed to listen to me than to you, but...” She shrugged. “I’ll certainly try.”

Relief had become so foreign a concept to the ex-Elturian he did not immediately recognise its symptoms. The rush of warmth through his veins, the unknotting of muscles in his shoulders, the lightheadedness, he initially attributed to the heat. He heard his voice distantly: babbling more entreaties and, at Tav’s continued agreement, some inadequate and incoherent thanks. But it was not until she had finally stepped around him and headed for the hollow, trailing companions, that Zevlor fully grasped what had happened.

He had got what he asked for. She would help him. His people had one more chance.

But this world was a hell as deadly as any level of Baator, and no sooner was one devil slayed than two more sprang up to take its place. New anxious unknowns wormed their way to the front of Zevlor’s mind. Would she keep her word, this young woman he knew nothing of but a name? And even if she did, would Kagha deign to listen to her, tiefling as she was?

He turned hurriedly, watching the strangers walk away. Only Tav’s back was visible as she chivvied her companions into the shade, and he could see the crude hole cut too low into the leather of her cuirass and knew the base of her tail must ache. A twist of green briar was caught in her tangle of hair, and the rapier slung to her belt still dripped a trail of blood. New furrows creased Zevlor’s brow. His first impression of her standing high over the battle had been divine, but, somehow, he doubted Kagha would see her that way.

The new arrivals rounded the corner out of Zevlor’s sight, taking with them his short-lived relief. Reality resettled its weight across his weary shoulders; he could feel them sag as he made his own slow way back amid a creak and groan of protesting knees. They had twenty-four hours — now, a little less — to prepare for their hopeless journey, and he could not waste any of them waiting for word of a long shot with so little chance of success. A blessing unlooked for Tav might have been at the gate, but the gods’ blessings could be rescinded at any time. Elturel had taught him that.

Alone in the secluded stone chamber he had requisitioned off the refugees' main camp, Zevlor put himself to work: making notes on their skirmish with the goblins, updating their shrinking supply list to account for the used ammunition, re-organising watch rotations after striking off Kanon’s name. But his decades-honed discipline was cracking under the strain of the day, and more than once he caught himself frozen, quill dripping ink onto his map, as he imagined the scene that might be playing out even now in the inner grove. How much time would it reasonably take Tav to find and speak to Kagha? And how long after to send him word? Zevlor could not guess. And, he reminded himself fiercely, ought not to try.

Minutes crept by like days, Zevlor’s nervous tension wound tighter with each, until the stone door to the chamber rolled open abruptly and he shot up from the makeshift desk like an arrow from an overdrawn bow.

It was Tilses.

“She’s let her go. Arabella. Kagha, that is,” she related chaotically, hands on her knees as she fought for breath: she had evidently run. “One of those new strangers from the gate made a case for her, talked Kagha down. Her parents have her now.”

It took Zevlor several racing heartbeats to understand what this meant. Then he remembered: the stolen child of the morning. The fight at the gate had driven that particular unpleasant development entirely from his mind.

“That’s…” he fumbled for words. “That is good news.” Underwhelming praise, he knew. But the harsh truth was without a stay of their impending ejection, the child’s doom was only temporarily delayed. He cleared his throat. “Did any of them mention whether Kagha agreed to reconsider the ritual?”

“They haven’t come out yet. The strangers, I mean.” Recovered enough to stand, Tilses rolled the stone door closed behind her, then crossed at her self-enforced military pace to the back of the chamber where Zevlor waited in tense anticipation for her to relate the rest. “Once Kagha gave her the go-ahead, Arabella ran out of their cave right away and found her parents. I heard the story from Komira. Apparently, Kagha threatened to set a snake on her, and only called it off when that new tiefling — Arabella didn’t know her name — said something about the druid’s god, Sylvanas. The girl couldn’t remember exactly what she said.”

“I see,” said Zevlor, disappointed and trying very hard not to look or sound it. Tilses took up her self-appointed position beside his desk, but Zevlor did not think his shot nerves could take any more ingenuous commentary or well-intentioned questions just now. “Do me a favour, Tilly,” he said, not looking at her, “and keep an eye out for the strangers. I want to know when they emerge from the inner grove and what they do next.”

It was a mark of Tilses’ dogged dedication to her Hellrider training that she neither questioned nor complained, simply fired off a salute and marched immediately back the way she had just come. And if Zevlor felt a twinge of guilt at the abrupt dismissal, he paid for it tenfold over the next few hours as Tilses, obedient to the letter, brought him regular reports of everything the new arrivals, and their tiefling leader, did.

The tales were incredible.

They had rescued another child, this time from harpies. They had formed an alliance with the Blade of Frontiers. Tav herself had talked Kanon's sister out of killing their only goblin prisoner, and the camp’s apprentice wizard from spiriting his family off into the dangerous wilds. She had defended yet another child from a confrontation with Aradin’s gang, and Zorru against her own companion: the green-skinned female who turned out to be one of the mythic githyanki his scouts purported to have seen. Had Zevlor not known Tilly to be an almost painful paragon of honesty, he would have suspected her of embellishment. But her accounts were later confirmed in their every detail by the Blade of Frontiers.

Wyll, who had arrived in the grove a few days prior, had been instrumental in assisting Zevlor’s scouts in culling a few of their surrounding threats. The young man had his own mission, however, and his own affliction for which he sought healing; and which, he explained to Zevlor when he visited that afternoon, the new arrivals apparently shared.

“Mind flayer tadpoles … in people’s heads?”

“It doesn’t seem to be catching,” said Wyll, with an uncomfortable smile. “And everyone’s agreed there’s something unusual about them — none of us seem to show any symptoms. But we’re each armed with a contingency plan, just in case.” And he tapped the phial affixed to his sword-belt with a thong. “Wyvern poison.”

Zevlor shook his head slowly. He knew, objectively, this was the worst thing he had heard all day, but there was simply no room left in his brain for more horrors that did not affect his people directly. So he asked without segue:

“Did Tav or any of the others mention whether Kagha will allow us to stay?”

He saw the answer in Wyll’s averted gaze. And though he had told himself to expect it, Zevlor’s heart still plummeted and lodged hard somewhere in his gut.

“I know she tried, but … Kagha couldn’t be budged.” Wyll crossed his arms uncomfortably. “You know I’d help escort you myself, but I have to find my quarry. It’s important. More hinges on it than you know. Tav’s agreed to help me, then we’re going to search for Halsin. He was researching the tadpoles, and Nettie seems to think he might have discovered a cure.”

So, that was another possibility struck from Zevlor’s diminishing list, though not a very likely one. Wyll was skilled for his age, but it would take half a hundred blades to give them a fighting chance past the horde of goblins, gnolls and, apparently, mind flayer ships lying in wait. No, a fight on the road inevitably meant slaughter. Which left only one remaining solution Zevlor’s military mind could see. It had prowled the back of his baser thoughts since Kagha first announced her ultimatum; but he could not execute it, and dared not ask the wholly law-abiding Wyll. Now, though, there was someone ... someone with access to Kagha … someone who could creep up on goblins and plunge rapiers through their throats with thoughtless ease. Only … was it right to ask her? And, more to the point, would she possibly agree?

These were the new devils persecuting Zevlor as the sun slunk away for the day, and he was still wrestling them into a coherent plan when he emerged from his secluded chamber for supper into an only marginally cooler hollow, lit by pools of flickering torchlight and the flame under Okta's cook pot just visible behind the refugees' solemn queue. 

Nights were always a tense affair among the tieflings. All of them, even the children to some extent, never knew which one would be their last. And tonight, what with Kanon’s notable absence and the knowledge they would be thrust back onto the road the following day, the undercurrent of dread was especially charged. Men, women, and orphaned children received their rations and shuffled away in private clumps and pairs. Zevlor winced as he watched them. It had been a major goal of his, when they first set out from Elturel, to bring them all together as one people, one family; to restore that innately necessary sense of belonging they — he — had lost. To see them reduced to these splintered factions was particularly depressing. Though he, too, was guilty of it. He kept his distance, lingering on the outskirts of the camp until everyone else had been fed, then sidling up to accept what was left. Usually precious little. Amongst their many, many problems was scarcity of foodstuffs, and while their own numbers might be one less tonight, they had five more mouths to feed.

The new arrivals, and Wyll, could hardly be refused supper after their assistances of the day, but they seemed cognisant of the low rations and had the good grace to wait till the last tiefling but one had taken their portions from Okta’s pot. As Zevlor approached, the strangers accepted their bowls with varying degrees of thanks; all except the pale elf, who sniffily declined, and Tav, who Zevlor did not see. This put a wrench in his tentative plan, and he was considering his options — whether to wait for her to appear or seek her out — when the strangers traipsed away, leaving him alone at the cookpot with Okta and the last queued tiefling, apparently unable to extricate herself from one of the old woman’s long-winded yarns.

The younger tiefling’s pale blue tail flicked low around her ankles. Something in the motion caught Zevlor’s preoccupied eye. He was just wondering which of his refugees this was — he thought he might have seen the patched dress on Bex — when she turned and—

“Oh! There you are,” said Tav, her voice a perfect mirror for Zevlor’s surprise. “I was looking for you earlier. Commander,” she added belatedly, and, after a second’s hesitation, thrust the bowl she was holding like a peace offering into Zevlor's stunned hands.

He took it automatically, still chagrined at not immediately recognising the person who had occupied his thoughts most of the day. But, under the circumstances, Zevlor thought he might be forgiven. It was amazing the difference a wash, a thorough brush of her hair, and the shedding of her ill-fitting armor made. Tav cocked her head slightly. Zevlor realised he was openly staring. And that she had spoken to him and he still had not responded. It took him several more awkward seconds to register what she had said.

“It’s just Zevlor,” he corrected.

“Oh. Of course. I'm sorry.” Tav’s face, revealed to be a light wisteria once cleaned of goblin blood and grime, flushed the colour of storm clouds. She looked and sounded every bit as wrong-footed as Zevlor felt, though he couldn’t fathom why. “Um… the other soldier. Tilses. She said — or, that’s what she called you.”

“We were Hellriders together,” he explained automatically. “I was Tilses’ commanding officer. She’s had some difficulty adjusting to a more civilian form of address.”

“Ah.”

Behind her, Otka was saying something in her low, croaky mumble and pressing a replacement bowl against the fraying corset of Tav’s borrowed dress. She turned and took it with overenthusiastic thanks, and it dawned on Zevlor for the first time since meeting this new young tiefling that Tav was pretty. The natural upturn of her lips, the cobalt eyes that stood out like jewels against her smooth, clean skin, the curve of her modest horns now fully visible crowned atop her tamed mane of raven hair. Quite pretty, in fact. All his admiration for the young woman so far had been predicated on her passionate defence of people she did not know, but as she offered Otka a final thank-you and took a few pointed steps to the side, catching Zevlor's eye with a smile, his stomach turned over and a prickle of nerves nothing to do with the subversive subject he planned to broach crept down the back of his neck. 

He stepped forward to join her. The tin spoon in the half-full bowl still clutched in his hands rattled as he moved. Zevlor looked down at it, inhaling curls of onion-and-garlic scented steam and his numb brain began to thaw. 

“I heard what you did for the child,” he said by way of proper greeting, pleased to hear himself sound more cogent. “Children, in fact. Half our camp owes you something, it seems. Thank you.”

He looked up, attempting a grateful smile, but it must have come out more a grimace because Tav's freshly polished face fell.

“I don’t know that it will matter much,” she said quietly, not meeting his eyes. “I’ve been looking for you to tell you. I mean, I’m sure you’ve already heard, but… I couldn’t get Kagha to change her mind.”

“Yes, I did hear some of the story.” This grim reminder of their impending deadline and what would happen if he could not forestall it, fell across Zevlor's back like a lumpy, overstuffed pack. He set his shoulders against the familiar weight. “But if the druids are this far gone, we’re hardly better off here. I still can’t believe Kagha would threaten a child like that. It seems we can risk violence here or face it for certain on the road. Quite the choice, isn’t it?”

“I don’t think it’s all the druids,” said Tav fairly, swirling her spoon through her bowl. “Most of the ones I spoke with seemed unhappy with Kagha’s decisions.”

“Perhaps,” Zevlor agreed dubiously. Remembering his own food, and Otka standing nearby, he scooped a spoonful into his mouth and swallowed. Then, explained: “Halsin, the arch druid before Kagha, was a much kinder leader. I think most of the druids are of his mind, but…” His grimace had nothing to do with the stew's lingering taste. “It’s Kagha’s influence. Without her twisting things, I believe the other druids might see sense.”

“So what's your plan, then? Assassinate her?”

Perhaps it was Zevlor’s own wishful thinking, but a true, shrewd question seemed to lie under the trappings of the joke. He flicked his gaze to either side. They were at least twenty paces from the nearest ears except Otka’s, and he knew hers to have a limited range, but he still took a few surreptitious steps away from the cook pot, stopping under the tattered awning where Ethel, the local trader, occasionally set up shop. Tav took the hint and quickly followed.

“It’s a low thought,” Zevlor murmured over his bowl. “But I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t considered it. But the druids are too powerful. They would slaughter us if we tried to stage a coup. We’d have to get close to Kagha, within striking distance. I can’t manage that. But…” He met Tav’s gaze meaningfully. “They’ve already let you pass once.”

An almost palpable chill blew across the young woman's pretty face. The deep blue of her eyes froze and hardened in a way Zevlor recognised. He had seen it before. He had worn it — that shield against the expectations of a world that thought it knew you, knew everything people with horns and tails were capable of. He knew before Tav opened her mouth what her answer was going to be. And sure enough...

“I’m not a murderer for hire.”

The blade of her voice was flat and cold. Zevlor flinched as though struck.

“It doesn’t sit well with me either,” he hastened to say. “And I’m still hoping Kagha can be swayed from this madness, but… we’re running out of time.”

He paused. Tav remained silent. Zevlor reached up and self-consciously brushed away strands of non-existent loose hair. For some reason he could not define, this new young woman's disapproval hurt him more than anyone else's in his own camp. He wet his abruptly dry lips and added, “Leaders have to make tough decisions,” his words almost a plea.

Tav blinked. The cobalt ice in her eyes melted to liquid again, and she said, more softly, “I suppose they do.”

She considered Zevlor closely — the prickling sensation down the back of his neck increased — then released him from her intent gaze. She stared instead over his shoulder: whether out at the scattered groups of refugees or inward at her own inscrutable thoughts, Zevlor could not say. They stood quietly for a few minutes, Tav spooning stew absently from her bowl to her mouth, Zevlor clutching his spoon but unable to bring it to his lips. Her no had been vehemently final, which meant there was really no more for them to discuss. He ought to excuse himself, retreat to his chamber, pour over his maps and notes for an option he had missed, but his feet were as stiff as his fingers. He could not seem to move them.

Finally, Tav spoke again.

“I can’t imagine how hard it’s been, keeping all these people together. Coordinating food and supplies ... bedding, laundry ... assigning jobs and overseeing them all. It's like running a small village, I suppose.”

Zevlor’s brow furrowed. He could not see where this was going, but, “Not far off that,” he agreed.

“You know, I’ve never seen so many … so many people like … like me in one place,” she said with difficulty. “I’ve travelled a lot the last dozen years, and met maybe a score all totalled, and never more than two or three together. It’s … it's incredible, your camp.”

Tav closed her mouth abruptly, cheeks darkening the colour of storm clouds again, and Zevlor was thankful his own fiery skin tone swallowed any hint of his gratified flush.

“It's not uncommon, your experience,” he assured her. “Elturel, before the descent, was the most enlightened city on the Sword Coast — perhaps in all of Faerûn. Tieflings were not the only marginalised race to make their way there in large numbers, seeking fairer treatment, more opportunities, better lives. It was my intention to keep us all together ... to try and recreate what we had in Elturel in Baldur's Gate. But I don't imagine enough of us will make it there. If any.”

A lump formed in Zevlor's throat. He gathered a spoonful of tepid stew and hastily swallowed it down.

“Oh, I don't know,” and something in the way Tav said it made Zevlor look up, then drop his spoon into his bowl. She was smiling: the sort of glowing smile he'd seen on clerics who had communed with their gods and come back blessed. “This is always the part of the story where things seem darkest, but ... something almost always happens to turn it around. I think you've a better chance than you think you do.” She set her bowl down, and when she straightened her posture reminded Zevlor vividly of the way she had first appeared to him across the ramparts. “We're leaving to look for Halsin in the morning but... I think I will get up early and talk with Kagha again before we go.”

“That's ... good of you,” said Zevlor, slightly dazed by her change of aspect. “But ... ours is not that sort of story, I'm afraid. And I don't see how merely talking to Kagha will have any more effect than before.”

“Ah, but there's a difference, you know,” said Tav, her voice brimming with all the same nerve-soothing, spirit-buoying notes he remembered from the battle, “talking to someone and talking with someone. A conversation is like music — you can just strum and see where the strings take you, or you can play the proper notes at the proper time. Atmosphere, build-up, the proper application of questions: you'd be surprised what they can achieve. I'll read up a bit on the druids' order — they had an interesting library in the inner grove — then talk to Kagha in the morning. And if that doesn't work,” — she smiled again and placed her hand on Zevlor's arm — "we'll figure something out. Don't worry."

And in her voice the words were transformed from meaningless platitude to something like a benediction. Tav squeezed Zevlor's arm, and warmth seeped through his armor into his skin, his very veins. A tangible weight seemed to slide from his shoulders. He felt suddenly light. As though he wasn't bearing the burden of everyone's lives all alone anymore. As though after tendays of sinking through layer after layer of hell, someone, something, some benevolent or whimsy-minded god, was offering him a hand.

But Zevlor knew no way to express all this. He heard himself say, “Thank you,” and it sounded stilted even to his ringing ears. If Tav was offended by this unenthusiastic response, she gave nothing away.

“Of course,” she said, giving his arm a last squeeze. “Good night, Zevlor.”

The roll of his name in her accent made Zevlor shiver in the grove's stale evening heat. It echoed in his head as he returned to his chamber; not to work, but, at last, to sleep. For hours. The longest he had slept since Halsin's departure, and for the first time since he could remember he did not wake in a pool of nightmare-induced sweat.

“So, you already knew, then?” Alfira prompts into Zevlor's thoughtful silence. He looks up. There's a poet's ochre fire in her eyes. “Knew you were falling in love?”

To her surprise, Zevlor shakes his head slowly.

“I knew I felt something,” he admits. “But I wouldn't have called it that. Rather the opposite. It felt like ... finding sure footing. Like I had stopped falling for the first time since Elturel.”

And that, Alfira hastens to scribble down.

[the-grove]

Ashurah or Ash(for short) (She/Her,)

Art I did for our Kholo( Pathfinders word for Hyena people) Thaumaturge(superstitious warriors who use stories and folk lore to do magic-esque stuff and exploit enemies weaknesses)

She is a Nephilim( the term pathfinder uses for aasimars, tieflings and other outerplanar influenced people) and the apprentince to the Communitys local witch.

Her main attacks are her bites and her extra long tail from her supernatural origins.

She was gifted a semi-magical chalice thats always filled and can heal her and allies. Its made from the bones of a fallen tribe member.

She is a bit overconfident and eager to prove her place her in community. A bit rambuctious but she is a loyal student and apprentince.

[nsfwordwitch]

Kinktober 2023 Day 21

Prompt: Lingerie Pairing: Astarion x nonbinary tiefling Tav 1688 Words

🔞Adults Only Blog🔞

“You like gifts, don't you, Astarion?”

“Oo, what have you gotten me this time?”

Weft hands him a long, flat, paper box, and he opens it eagerly. Inside, nestled in paper, are three articles of clothing, though, he thinks, one would hardly count as “dressed” if wearing them. A gauzy robe with velvet floral designs, a narrow corset in black and silver, and a spit of fabric he assumes is underwear, though it’s difficult to be sure.

“Oh, darling,” he says, “they’re gorgeous. How do you always know just the thing?”

Weft beams at him. “Are you going to try them on or what?”

“Trying them on, then or what.” He waggles his eyebrows at them as he hops to the next room, and they laugh.

The whole get-up fits him perfectly–of course. Weft knows his measurements as well as their own at this point. He looks down at himself, idly regretting his lack of reflection. He must look damn good. The panties have no seat at all, just three straps to hold the front in place, and the robe has a long slit up the back that ends above his tailbone. “How saucy,” he purrs to himself.

He returns to the boudoir, striking a pose against the doorway. “Well! It seems I’m not the only one who got a new outfit.”

Weft is also striking a pose, demurely holding their own ephemeral robe closed, entirely failing to conceal themself beneath it. “I wanted us to feel pretty all of a sudden, so I ordered these. That was four months ago, of course, but fortunately I”m still in a pretty mood. Do you like it?”

“Are you kidding? I feel like I’m floating.” He twirls over to them, enjoying the rise and fall of the delicate garment. “Like I’m the prettiest harlot at the orgy. And you! Why you're easily the second prettiest.”

Weft laughs. “I’m glad. And you’re having the effect on me I was hoping for.”

“Oh, that’s what I like to hear.” He slides a finger up the edge of his robe in the front, drawing it off his shoulder and just barely letting one nipple show. “Is this what you like, my sweet?”

Weft bites their lip, and reaches out to trace a line up his ear to its point and back to his cheek. He closes his eyes and leans into the touch. “You do look ravishing,” they murmur.

He opens his eyes and looks up at them through his eyelashes. “Then ravish me, darling.” Some emotion crosses Weft’s face and it gives him pause. “Is something the matter?”

“No, I...sorry, it’s stupid.”

“Tell me.”

“I was just thinking how…” they sigh, color rising in their cheeks. “How there was a time when this wouldn’t have been alright, when you didn’t want me to...look at you...the way I’m looking at you now.” He can tell there’s a hesitancy they still feel, a holdover from that time, now years past. He places his hand over theirs on his face. “Sorry. I’m just happy to see how far you've come.”

“Credit where it’s due, my darling. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

They smile. “Good for us.”

“Good for us! Now how about that ravishing?” He turns to show them the back of his underwear. “I assume that was what you had in mind when you bought me panties without an ass.”

“When I what? Oh no.” Weft is looking at him with a hand hiding their smile. “I’m so sorry, love, I think there's been a mixup.”

“What do you mean? You didn’t mean for me to have my whole backside hanging out?” He raises an eyebrow at them and smirks. “For easy access?”

“No, it’s for a tail!” They turn to show him theirs, and sure enough, the straps that he had found a little mysterious fit perfectly over their tail. “They must have taken my order wrong. Oh, your robe too! I’m sorry, darling, I’ll send them back and get you the right ones.”

“Excuse me! We will not be sending back a thing.... You are welcome to purchase me an additional set, however.” He reaches into their robe through the tail slit and pinches their ass cheek. They let out a yelp and slap at his hand, laughing. “Here I was, thinking you had an incredible sexy idea, and it was just a great sexy idea with an incredible accident.”

“You have a point.” Weft wraps their arms around his corseted waist and pulls their bodies together. Their cocks collide, nestled as they are in luxurious silk. He lets out a soft sound, and grinds his hips into theirs.

“Besides, darling,” he says, “I hope to leave these in a state that means they’re beyond sending back to the store.”

Weft kisses him. They draw their hands down his torso and cup his ass cheeks, extra perky as they are. He snakes his arms around their neck and jumps up. They catch him, like he knew they would, and carry him to their bed. 

Astarion falls on his back on the bedspread and they climb on top of him. He traces a hand around one of their breasts hanging over him, drinking in his partner’s beauty. They slide his robe off his shoulder and kiss the spot left bare, trailing down to his nipple. He hums at the flick of their tongue and bucks his hips up into them. He strains to reach behind them and unbuckle their underwear. They make a noise against his chest as he leverages his feet to scoot the panties off of them.

“Ready to go?” they ask, rubbing their erection against him.

“Gods, just flip me over already! Ah!” Weft does as he suggests and he finds himself facedown. They plant more soft kisses on his neck as they summon a bottle of oil to their hand. He shivers when their slick fingers enter him. They lay their cheek on his back while they finger him, their skin separated from his old scars by the thin layer of gauze. He still can’t feel, in the lines where he was once mutilated, but the treatments he’s been using have softened the skin, and the uncut places can feel Weft’s touch more easily.

Weft sighs against him. “I could finger you forever, you know.”

“Mn, darling,” he says, head swimming with pleasure, “I would hardly complain if you did.”

“I don’t have to worry about finishing too soon, and I can go anywhere on your body.” He feels them shifting, moving down, and the absence of their warmth strikes him. He rises to his elbows so he can turn and see them where they’ve settled, between his legs.

They draw their tongue across one of his cheeks, making him shiver, and the hand that isn’t inside him gently rolls his balls through the silk that cups them. He moans and drops his head, still keeping one eye on them over his arm. They’re looking at him with something like wonder in their eyes, then flash him an embarrassed smile. “You look so good, my love.”

His chest tightens, and he smiles at them. “Is that my best angle?” They laugh, and press a kiss between his cheeks, above their fingers. They press harder on his balls, making him gasp in pleasure. “Oh, Weft,” he moans, “don’t stop, darling.”

“Mhmn.” They keep him suspended like that, moaning, toes curling, chest aching for them. Then he speaks, with a hint of a whine.

“Weft. You could finger me forever. But…” He pauses. “I do love to be–ah–filled by you.”

They hiss the word “Fuck.” He manages a throaty laugh. “You always know just what to say.”

“Please my love,” he says softly, “let me take you to the hilt. Ah–” Their hands slip away from him and then their body is hovering over him again. He watches them apply oil to their cock, twitching in anticipation, before they guide it inside him. “Gods,” he blurts out, “my darling, yes.”

They fall around him, their thighs touching his thighs, their breasts dropping against his back, their hands, one gripping his hip and the other by his elbow on the bed. Weft pants into his hair and a wave of pleasure radiates down his body from the feel of their warm breath on his scalp. “Fuck,” they hiss again, “my beloved beloved.”

“Yes,” he breathes, “you’re perfect. Weft, please. Ah–” They press in and out of him, making small high cries into his hair with each plunge in. “Yes, that’s it, please–” He doesn’t even know what he’s begging for. What more could they possibly give? Weft is inside him, filling him, their body surrounding him, swallowing him up. He is whole, complete, with them inside him. Astarion digs his face into the bed.

Weft’s cock hits the spot deep inside him that makes him see stars and he gasps. “That’s it,” he cries desperately, “that’s it, you’re right there don’t stop!” He moans, his voice getting louder and higher, until he comes, filling the silk surrounding his cock.

“Oh my love, oh beloved.” Weft wraps their arm tight across his stomach and slams into him four more times, then finishes, with their face against his neck. He reaches an arm up past his head and grasps at them, getting a fistful of their robe. They cling to his corseted torso, holding him close. “Astarion. My love.”

“Weft, my sweet.” He turns beneath them and they pull out of him as he rolls. His hands find their face, his thumbs caressing their cheekbones. “My beauty.” He pulls their face down for a kiss and they lay their body on him, their weight pressing him to the bed. He’s indescribably happy.

Weft breaks the kiss and lifts their hips off of his. “You were right, my love.”

“Mm?”

They reach between their bodies and draw a finger under the top edge of his underwear, damp from his spending. “These are not going back to the store.”

He barks a laugh. “You couldn't pry them from me, anyway.”

[ruinouss]

Plotted starter for @faerunscursed

The feeling of constantly being watched haunted her since entering the grove and only intensified when she made her way to where the druids were performing their ritual. Faye had assisted a few of them earlier, allowing her temporary access to their area, and quickly learned she was not a fan of Halsin's stand-in Kagha. While the bad bitch attitude never really bothered her there was something about the druid and the whole ceremony that rubbed her the wrong. She didn't know Halsin but from what the others had mentioned about him she couldn't imagine he'd approve. So, it was easy to imagine there was something else going on. Heroics didn't inspire her to uncover the truth but simple curiosity. A commotion had started outside, allowing Faye to slip inside the druid's cave unnoticed.

Entering didn't help ease the feeling of being watched and only seemed to worsen. The walls felt as if they were breathing around her with natural magic. Plants snaked their way along parts of the wall, dancing and whispering with the slightest airflow change. She slipped into the shadows as more of the druids left to see what the refugees had done to cause an upset. Unnoticed, she was able to find her way to Kagha's desk and read over the rite of thorns. A knot formed in her guts as she set it aside and continued searching for something else to satisfy her.

It was when she was about to leave the chamber that she noticed a ledge and what could be a convenient hiding place. Surprisingly perceptive, Faye quickly learned that the spot behind the bookcase had been hiding something. The plants in the room almost went completely still as she knelt down in front of it. She ignored how uneasy she felt picking the lock and continued until the beautiful click revealed it was now open. Inside she found a letter, showing a meeting location that would be happening soon.

"Well, well, well," Faye grinned, "I do wonder what this is about." Shutting the chest, she peeked around cautiously ensured no one was around before slipping from behind the bookshelf and heading toward the exit.

Unfortunately for her, as she approached the main chamber she stumbled across some bizarre trial. Faye stood far enough away she couldn't hear exactly what was being said but could see a young Tiefling rooted to the spot with Kagha and another druid on one side and an oddly familiar man — no, he had devil horns and a tail — standing on the other side of her. A particularly venomous viper was poised near the girl, ready to strike the girl at its master's command.

Faye watched as the devil defended the girl and eventually got Kagha to back down, her viper relaxing and slithering to its owner as the Tiefling ran off. As Kagha turned, her eyes narrowed at Faye but no words were exchanged as she left the area.

"Hells, thought she'd let the snake bite her, you must've made a damn good deal with her," Faye said, approaching who she believed was a devil. But, he was so damn familiar for some reason, and as far as she remember she hadn't tangled with any demons in some time. "Do I know you?" She blurted out without a second thought, eyes narrowing as she stared relentlessly, trying to figure out how she knew him.