thefinalyeehaw

[thefinalyeehaw]

How to sleep with your cambion

I had other sketches planned but I ended up doing something new for the Raphael romance event

@dmagedgoods thank you for creating it! I wouldn't have pushed myself to paint without it lol

#bg3 raphael #raphael x tav

[thefinalyeehaw]

emotional support incubus <3

#raphael bg3 #haarlep bg3 #baldurs gate 3

[thefinalyeehaw]

Okay, but have you considered how hot it would be for Raphael to use his claws to "undress" Tav? Or him dragging those claws all over Tav's body?

*Heavy breathing*

But of course, anon! This little drabble is very much sfw but still suggestive, tensions building as they're both on the verge of eruption, haha. My favourite kind of intimacy. *winks*

Summary: Raphael takes matters into his own hands when Tav proves to be a less than cooperative model for his latest painting. He will do anything to create a masterpiece, even if that means teasing his little mouse into submission.

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

Practice Makes Perfect

(Image via savriea)

“Gods, this is torturous, Raphael. How much longer do you expect me to just sit here?”

“Until it’s perfect.” 

Raphael did not look up from the painting, but he could sense Tav was glaring at him, no doubt giving him another one of her infamous disgruntled looks.

“Frowning is unbecoming of you, little mouse.” Raphael continued, delicately dabbing a brush in some paint. He brought it to the half finished canvas but hesitated, unsure where to make his next mark. 

He instead sat back in his chair, humming a tune to himself as he compared the painting to the model before him. 

Tav sat a few feet away from Raphael, lounging on a plush leather chair. Per Raphael’s request, Tav wore a black dress with thin straps. The ensemble was form fitting, highlighting her voluptuous figure. Even whilst relaxed, her curves were strong and delicate, fierce but soft, like lush rolling hills sweeping through a vast countryside. 

She had her elbow on the arm rest, touching her chin with her thumb and index finger, the other hand placed on her lap. Her head was tilted slightly, in a way to suggest thoughtfulness, but Tav’s own visage added an extra layer of mystery to the pose. Her expression was stoic, yet her eyes were deeply alluring, teasing Raphael, as if to say, ‘come just a little closer, Devil, and I’ll tell you my deepest, darkest secrets.’

The chair was positioned on the balcony of Raphael’s private atelier, in his House of Hope. The skies of Avernus had been fickle that day. Midway through the painting session, a sea of smokey clouds floated into view, as if on purpose; viciously orchestrated by someone watching from the sidelines, hoping to rile Raphael. Something Haarlep would’ve loved to achieve, if they had any ambitions. The clouds brought with them mild winds and a torrential downpour of blood rain, completely souring the atmosphere Raphael had been working with. 

Tav sighed, rolling her shoulders. She interlaced her fingers, stretching her arms out wide in front of her like a cat pulled from slumber.

Raphael raised his fingers, threatening to snap her back into place if she continued to move about like a misbehaved child. He had reprimanded her twice already. Once when she refused to sit still mere seconds after he had placed her in the current position; and the second, when she fell asleep, her body slumping and nearly sliding off the chair. 

Apparently it was too strenuous, too tortuous even, for a mere mortal to sit in one position for a few hours. Perhaps Raphael would consider testing this new type of punishment further on some of his future debtors? 

“Is there something more you wish to moan about? Or shall we proceed?”

Tav hesitated, adjusting her dress before reluctantly resuming the pose. 

“Surely you don’t expect to finish this painting in one day?” Tav grumbled. 

“You forget yourself, little mouse. We had an agreement and I never specified a duration.” Raphael paused, noticing a tiny blemish on the canvas that needed touching up. He dabbed the paintbrush across the spot a few times until it disappeared.

“And as I’m sure you’re well aware, time has no relevance in Avernus...”

Raphael shifted to the side so that his face was no longer obscured by the canvas, smirking at Tav.

The Devil had been enraptured by the little mouse the second he spotted her, stumbling from the Nautiloid ruins like a bumbling buffoon. And yet still, in her own way, she climbed through those flames, like a phoenix from the ashes, igniting sparks within Raphael’s very being. She had been reborn, and she would rise to greater heights suiting his own motivations very soon.

Raphael re-focused his attention back to the painting, suddenly finding his ego deflating as he stared at the blasé first pass. It did not stir him the same way Tav tormented him with rampant desires; hideous mortal emotions he had strictly forbidden himself to feel, believing to have locked them away within the recesses of his infernal heart. And yet still, he found himself frantically gathering the pieces of his broken composure, haphazardly putting them back together after each rendezvous.

He was better than that and he damned well knew it.

This current piece, however, was proving to be more problematic than he imagined. Raphael had painted hundreds of portraits in the past; from famous Devils to mortals alike, and yet something was missing. It was void of any life or passion. In this portrait Tav was merely a facade, a poor initiation of the real thing before his own eyes. 

“What to do…” Raphael whispered to himself. 

Perhaps it was the pose? Or could it be Tav herself? 

Raphael’s mind lingered on the last thought, noticing Tav was a bit stiff. In all their time together, she never quite shed that awkward part of her personality. Getting her to relax had proven, time and time again, to be more difficult than all his preparations to procure the Crown of Karsus. He did find that aspect of her endearing, no less; but she needed to loosen up, to become more comfortable within her own skin. 

There needed to be more spontaneity in this painting - that was it! In order to achieve greatness he needed to push himself further, and in turn, push his muse past her breaking point... 

Just as Raphael considered destroying the rough draft and dismissing Tav, the dark clouds parted and a glowing orange spotlight poured through the skies, illuminating his balcony.

“The solution has presented itself, alas!” Raphael jumped up, rushing towards Tav. 

She could barely register a response, or more likely a complaint of some kind, before Raphael swept her in his arms. He pushed her towards the balcony, posing her so that she was looking out over the side.

“Do not move an inch,” Raphael warned, flying back to his easel. 

“What are you p–” Tav turned her neck in an attempt to look back at Raphael.

Snap! 

Tav was forced back into place.

Another snap!

And a new, blank canvas appeared in front of Raphael. 

“Not. Even. A. Finger.” He snarled, narrowing his eyes.

Raphael picked up the paintbrush, his fingers trembling as he pondered where to start. He needed to move hastily, the current spectacle could change at any moment.

As he peered up at the little mouse, observing her under the new light, another impulse overtook him. He quickly found himself caught in a tidal wave, swept away from the safety of the shores as he struggled to find something to grab hold of. Spiralling… Suffocating… drowning in Tav’s beauty. 

Tav was glowing under the radiant beams of Avernus, perfectly illuminated from the powerful spotlight. Sheer brilliance. Despite being in the Hells, her very presence suggested angelic beauty. The theatrical side of Raphael immediately put together a narrative, filing it away in his mind for a later use when he was alone; when he had the time to write.

It would be a tragedy for the ages, a fallen celestial, a devious Devil. Falling hopelessly in love despite their damned ancestries…

No matter how brilliant Tav looked in that moment, her body was still too rigid for the painting. What Raphael needed was a model, not a statue. Nothing felt genuine or realistic with how he had staged her. The lighting would not be able to save this piece alone. Something must be done. Something more.  

Raphael’s eyes moved to Tav’s figure, his gaze carefully caressing every inch of her, every curve. His chest ached as he took her in and soon the only thing he could hear were the throbbing sounds of his heart. 

Something cracked in his hand, piercing his palm. He looked down, realising the paintbrush he had been holding was now reduced to splinters. He clenched his bloody fist, turning the shattered paintbrush into ashes…

The Devil couldn’t control himself any longer. 

Raphael stepped away from the canvas, shifting smoothly into his cambion form. He drifted silently towards Tav until he was looming behind her. He lifted his hands, leaving them to hover inches above her shoulders. Finger by finger he started caressing her with his claws, using his digits as he would on the keyboard of a piano. 

Tav shifted her neck, leaning into each touch. Raphael’s temperature rose, the tips of his fingers becoming flames as he continued to softly stroke the little mouse. 

Raphael watched as his movements impacted her, his lips moistening at how she writhed in pleasure wherever he placed his fingers. The veins in her neck pulsated; if he listened close enough, he could just about hear her irregular breaths at the anticipation of his movements. 

The Devil truly had the little mouse in the palm of his hands. These mortals, so easy to entice… 

He continued, grabbing her chin and turning her head so that she was now looking at him. Her pupils dilated as she fixated on his face, those luscious lips parting.

“Raphael…” She began. 

Raphael used the claws from his free hand to pluck the strings of her dress like a harp; they snapped against her skin, the sinful notes filling the silence around them. He proceeded to use the same claws to cut one of the straps in a swift motion. 

“Silence, little mouse. I did not grant you permission to speak.” Raphael teased.

At Raphael’s words Tav gasped, her body shaking. He cut the other strap and it fell loosely against her shoulders. The dress barely moved, still hugging Tav’s body. If anything, it showed more bosom.

No, that was not enough. 

He brought his hands to the base of her neck, using his claws to trace down her body. He began slowly from the collarbone, moving to her shoulders, and then along the edges of her frame. As he went, his claws slashed through the fabric on her upper thigh. He cut more and more of the dress so that her entire leg was bare. 

Tav loosened at his touch, at this newfound freedom, her brows sweating. 

“Don’t you find this r-relationship… rather odd?” Tav murmured. 

“How so?” 

Raphael leaned in closer, so close, they could kiss if either of them moved out of turn. Tav melted, holding on to the balcony railings for support. Her knees quivered as she struggled to keep herself upright. 

The power Raphael had over this mortal was intoxicating. He no longer cared if his heart combusted as it raced alongside Tav’s.

“It’s just… us, I-I… I know you will never truly have feelings for me. And… I suppose that’s fine, I guess.”

Raphael paused, staring intensely at Tav. He sloped forwards, moving towards her neck. He made his breath kiss the side of her nape in his place, sending puffs of hot air that trailed down her spine. He grinned at the goosebumps sprouting on her skin.

“I’ll be sure to let you know when I no longer care for you, little mouse. Will that put your mind at ease?”

Tav bit back a moan, her cheeks flushed as she nodded, desperately trying to hold on to whatever composure she had left. 

Raphael’s eyes widened at the sight before him. The little mouse, always showing nothing but restraint and resilience, now on the verge of collapsing at his very touch. This is what he had been craving to see all along.

This is what he needed to capture.

The Devil breathed slowly in an attempt to keep himself from ravishing her, from tearing the rest of that dress off. Tadpole infested and all, he needed her. Craved her. She belonged to him and he would savour every inch of her. Whether that was in the flesh or by capturing her essence on one canvas after another. 

“Now, be a good little mouse and hold that position...” 

Snap! 

Raphael was back at his easel, a new brush in his hand as he began painting furiously.

This will be his greatest artwork yet.

His greatest conquest. 

#bg3 raphael #raphael x tav

[thefinalyeehaw]

The Devil's Prized Possession

Synopsis: You are Raphael's warlock and tasked with the most difficult mission: Retrieve the Crown of Karsus from the clutches of Enver Gortash. Remember, Raphael does not take kindly to failure. But do him proud and he will reward you for your troubles. As it turns out, he's been particularly eager to introduce you to a certain Incubus for a while now...

A/N: During my 5th run doing the House of Hope I had the most devilish and filthiest idea for a Raphael fic…so here we go! ;)

Words: 3637 Warnings: smut, smut, smut, blood, injuries, violence, voyeurism/exhibitionism, mentions of suicide and rape (past events), and um… incubus?

“My, my…look at how diligent my little warlock has become.”

You breathed out, the grip around your dagger loosening. You were covered in sweat, your damp training clothes sticking to you like a second skin. There was a mirror in the corner a few feet away from where you’d put the training dummy—a straw sack dressed in leather armour. Your cheeks were flushed, your hair greasy. In short, you were in no way presentable to receive your devilish patron.

You flipped around, facing Raphael with his hands clasped behind his back and a sly smile on his lips.

“Do you ever use doors? And knock? Like a normal person?”

“Oh but I am far from a normal person, am I not?”

You sighed. “I remember. That’s how I ended up in this situation in the first place. Why are you here?”

“Why am I here? Can a devil not check in on his little…protégée?”

You scoffed. “Come now, Raphael. I know you better than that. What do you want?”

“Very well. Let us cut to the chase. I have a mission for you.”

“A mission?” You frowned, removing the gloves you had been wearing to protect your knuckles. “For me? Does Korilla have annual leave?” you joked.

“I did not ask Korilla, I am asking you.”

You crossed your arms before your chest when he stalked closer, his eyes fixed on your form, observing every little movement you made. “Running errands for you was not part of our deal, Raphael.”

“Then perhaps you will be interested if I tell you what’s in it for you?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“Why, power, of course, my dear. What do you know of the crown of Karsus?”

Power? To hunt down the remaining thugs who’d stolen your life? “I’m listening.”

He followed you over to your small kitchen area. You kept some good wine hidden away in a cupboard for the sole purpose of his visits. Your life in Baldur’s Gate wasn’t exactly a luxurious one. When Raphael stepped into your life and you became a Warlock to take revenge on your family’s murderers and your rapist, he’d saved you from a dark pit you feared you’d never be able to get out of. You’d been close to suicide when he found you and offered you a way out. You didn’t regret it, didn’t regret the power his devilish abilities trickled into your very blood to give you abilities beyond your comprehension. Raphael was the reason you were still alive. All he had asked for in return was your soul—forever a guest in his House of Hope.

Raphael sat down at your mangled table. If he was disgusted by the leftovers of your breakfast and the dirty dishes, he hid it well.

You poured him a glass and set it before him on the wooden surface before sitting down opposite him.

“I assume you know the story of Karsus?”

You nodded. “Who doesn’t?”

“Then you’ll know what a powerful artefact the crown is. And I want it.”

“Well, where is it right now?” you asked, seemingly unaffected by his words. You knew better than to question him. You didn’t give a shit about this world anymore. If he decided to take over, at least you knew he’d make the sinners suffer, simply by seducing them into agreeing to a deal with him that they could not refuse.

“It was stolen, my dear. Stolen by someone you know all too well. It was our self-proclaimed saviour of Baldur’s Gate, Lord Enver Gortash. I hear he is up for archduke now.”

You frowned. “Why would Gortash steal the crown of Karsus?”

“Why would anyone? The crown in the hands of this Banite tyrant will bring ruin to the city, to the whole of Faerûn. I intend to save it. I want the crown,” he repeated.

“Wait. Did you say Banite? Enver Gortash is a Banite? Really?”

“The crown, dear. We were talking about the crown.”

“Alright, alright. So what do you want me to do?”

“Oh, it’s quite simple, actually.” He leaned back and smirked. “I want you to retrieve it for me.”

“And steal from the future archduke?”

“You are skilled in stealth. You will find a way.”

“Why me? Why not Korilla?”

“Korilla has been tasked with…some other business of mine.”

You blinked, considering his offer. “I still fail to see what’s in it for me.”

“The crown of Karsus will allow me to become the archdevil supreme. The most powerful devil in existence. Legions will bow to me and follow my command and the hells…will be mine. And you shall become the most powerful warlock any devil has ever taken under their wing.”

“Those were a lot of ‘most powerfuls’ in one sentence. But fine. I bite.”

“Excellent.” He waved his hand and out of a mist of smoke and sparks, a roll of parchment appeared. “Here is all you need to know to infiltrate Wyrm’s Rock. I expect results within a fortnight. Do not disappoint me, little mouse.”

He was gone before you could respond, his glass of wine left untouched.

Stupid, handsome devil. Stupid, stupid Banites! You should never have agreed to this. How could you have known that they would start a bloody cult directly at Wyrm’s Rock? Who could have known that they would, instead of questioning you, send you to the prisons to have you executed the next day? Raphael. Raphael could have known. You scoffed. That damn devil. He’d never elaborated on the consequences if you failed but knowing him, it couldn’t be good.

But then again…you’d already promised him your soul in return for your powers, so what else could he possibly take from you now? You were of little use as a lemur, after all.

If you ever made it out of here, at least you wouldn’t return completely empty-handed, you thought, as you played with the loose straws of hey on the dirty ground. You’d found out a great deal about Gortash’s plans. And he wasn’t operating alone, either. He had both the Chosen of Bhaal and the Chosen of Myrkul by his side.

You’d always known Gortash to be a bit shady but this form of evil was on another level entirely, even for him. An Elder Brain? Frozen ceromorphosis? An Illithid empire with him on top? You shook your head.

It was just then that sparks of hellfire danced through the cell. Smoke erupted in the corner, the smell of sulphur filling the stale air; and yet, despite the discomfort this very circumstance should have brought you, you felt relief flooding your body.

“My, my, what a predicament you have gotten yourself into here.”

“Raphael! Thank the gods… get me out of here, please!”

He truly was a sight to behold—hope, ironically, given your current predicament.

“Come. We have much to discuss.”

You stood, patting the dirt and the dust from your clothes. A sliver of hesitation wrapped its icy claw around your heart as you took the hand he offered and teleported you to safety. But wherever he took you…it was not your home.

“Where are we?” You peeked around, taking in your lavish surroundings. Imposing statues of devils—of Raphael himself—towered up into the air, marble pillars holding a high ceiling. Everything in here had been placed in the right spot with the utmost care, carefully chosen by Raphael himself, even the bottle of finely aged wine and the silver chalice next to it on the small table in front of a luxurious armchair by the fireplace.

The chimney was lit and spreading warmth. This…this was…

“The House of Hope,” Raphael finished your thought.

“I’m in the hells?”

“Indeed you are, my dear. Now. Have a seat. And tell me what happened.”

You did as you were told—there was little to no reason for you to resist or fall to your knees to beg him for his forgiveness. Not yet, anyway.

Raphael sat down in the armchair opposite you.

“You are…surprisingly calm,” you said.

“Should I not be?”

“Well…I failed you. Your mission. Aren’t you going to roast me over eternal hellfire?”

“You did fail. Except you did not.”

You raised an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon?”

“I knew that retrieving that crown was going to be no easy feat. I knew Gortash was a force not to be underestimated. You merely needed the motivation to try. So tell me. What were you able to find out?”

You blinked. You were…forgiven? By Raphael himself? Confused and still a little hesitant, you told him everything you had learned—including where his precious Crown of Karsus was right now.

“Hmm…hmm…”

He looked away and said nothing else for a while but who were you to interrupt his devilish thoughts?

“That indeed changes the game…I will need time to accommodate to these…circumstances, shall we say.”

“So…am I dismissed?”

Finally, Raphael’s gaze found yours again. His smirk burned hot in your veins, setting the power he fed you with ablaze. Damn that warlock connection.

“You are. You provided me with everything I needed to know about the crown’s whereabouts. About Gortash’s plan, the dead three, and the Elder Brain. You did well.”

You tilted your head. “No punishment? No ‘your soul will burn in eternal hellfire for failing me’?”

A pause. And then, his smirk grew even wider. “No.”

“Okay…um…thank you. So…how do I get back home?”

“You don’t.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

“As of right now, you are a wanted criminal and a traitor to Baldur’s Gate. The Banites will long have infiltrated your home. It would be suicide to return just yet.”

Shit. He had a point. “But…where am I supposed to go then?”

“Why, you will stay here, of course, in my House of Hope.”

“You…you want me to stay here…in the hells…with you?”

“Now, now, I will be very busy. Do not expect me to entertain you, little mouse.”

You bit your lower lip. You despised his nickname for you…except you didn’t—and neither did, apparently, your nether regions.

“But for now…” he continued, looking you up and down as if deep in thought all of a sudden. “Let me show you around. I believe you deserve a reward for all your hard work. You can freshen up in my boudoir, wash the dirt from your skin. You will most certainly enjoy what awaits you there.”

You didn’t like his tone when he said that. Not at all. Expect you loved it. There was something sensual about Raphael’s voice—the devil loved to listen to himself talk but of course, that was nothing new. You’d grown to like his ways, his attitude, even his arrogance. After all, he was the very reason for your powers.

Raphael led you through a long and empty corridor, safe for the souls who had been unfortunate enough to strike a deal with him. If this was his way of showing you what awaited you once you perished…you swallowed thickly, your stomach churning.

“Oh…oh…oh…you will be so much fun to watch!” The soul who spoke to you had wide eyes and she was visibly…aroused. Perhaps at this point, your alarm bells should have been ringing. Whatever Raphael’s plans were…whatever awaited you in the boudoir…

“I gave them exactly what they asked for, little mouse,” Raphael said, his hand finding the small of your back. “Don’t worry. The fate you promised me will be much less hopeless and sufferable.”

You stepped through what resembled a portal—an arcane lock, you realised—keeping unwanted visitors out. Cool magic grazed your skin, and then you faced a vast pool with two running faucets on either end. Cushions, wine, delicacies, and even books formed a wreath around the pool, along the wall there were several wardrobes you assumed contained fresh clothes and towels. There was another area behind the pool, one that was barely visible from where you were standing. Still, you could make out the wooden posts and the luxurious fabric of a king-size bed.

“Please… step inside. Help yourself to some fruit and some wine.”

You hesitated—again. But this time it was because of a strange stab of excitement in your stomach.

Eventually, you stepped forward and took off your boots. Raphael, however, made no move to leave. Instead, he stalked over to a lush sofa in front of a high window and sat down with his legs spread wide as if he owned the place. Well. He did.

What was his plan? Was he going to watch you? You knew better than to object. You had no problem with nudity, although it was a little strange Raphael would want to watch you bathe.

With a sigh—if anything to shake off the nervousness eating away at your insides—you began to undress until not a single layer of fabric remained.

Your patron’s eyes followed your every move as you stepped into the pool, taking in every single inch of your exposed skin. It was…pleasant. The water was just right and as it wrapped around your limbs to clean it, it felt…soft.

You moved to the middle of the pool, submerging yourself until the water reached your collarbones. The bruises and cuts you had taken with you from this mission all but shrunk and disappeared, leaving behind healthy and unmarred skin. Restoration faucets…no wonder Raphael always looked so impeccable and untouched.

The relief was like a balm for your body. Your aches disappeared, the exhaustion draining from your core. You were about to close your eyes when all of a sudden, a tall figure appeared above you. A gust of wind tore through your hair. You looked up, discovering bat-like wings keeping a red-skinned figure in the air with its arms crossed, a sly smirk on its—his lips.

The demon, an Incubus, you recognised quickly, was the spitting image of Raphael.

“Hello, little mouse.” Fuck. He sounded like him too. “Is that your little warlock?” he asked. You were very well aware he wasn’t talking to you, yet all you could do was stare at him with wide eyes and your jaw dropped.

“Isn’t she a fine specimen?” Raphael bragged.

“She is indeed.” The incubus lowered himself down until his bare feet touched the carpeted floor, his eyes, identical to Raphael’s, never leaving your form. You were frozen in place. Meeting an incubus in the flesh was quite a remarkable experience—but also potentially dangerous. What did your patron have in mind? To show you off? You gasped for air. He’d promised you a ‘reward’. He couldn’t have been referring to…

“My name is Harleep,” the incubus purred as he flew closer. The faint smell of sulphur hit your nostrils. Every instinct inside of you screamed for you to get out, to save yourself…yet a very depraved and filthy part of you was begging you to stay to see what would happen. What could happen.

You told him your own name and he gave a toothless grin. “Such a pretty little mouse…what do you say? Should we make you feel good? I take it Raphael has brought you here because you’ve been a very, very good girl.”

You lower regions clenched. Fuck. Why did this excite you so much? It shouldn’t. And yet, you found yourself nodding. “I…I think so?”

Raphael chuckled. “I was hoping you’d say yes. Harleep is a very…thorough lover. And I do admit, after all of our time spent together, I am rather curious as to what it would be like to claim you.”

Oh. Oh. He…oh gods. If there was one thing you knew about Raphael it was that he was quite possibly the most narcissistic and self-absorbed devil in the nine hells. It was beneath him to mingle with anyone who didn’t live up to his standards—and the only one who did, apparently, was himself.

You actually had to bite back a laugh when you realised. Raphael had made Harleep take his form because he wouldn’t fuck anyone but himself. And now…he wanted to watch Harleep fuck you. You would be lying if you said you didn’t find the thought intriguing. It had been ages since you’d last had sex, besides, receiving pleasure from an incubus? There was nothing else like it. Should you give in?

“My…such a shy little mouse…” Harleep’s hand came up to stroke your cheek as you stood there in the water, naked and dumbfounded. It slid down the side of your face, over your neck, your shoulders, and your arm until he was able to intertwine his fingers with yours and gently pull you with him.

And just like that…all of your remaining resistance, any doubts and fears…faded away. Harleep snapped his fingers to dry your skin and had you sprawl out on the huge king-size bed. The bed sheets were soft, silk, or satin as you sank into the mattress and rested your head on the pillow. The Incubus crawled over you in an almost predatory manner, Raphael following suit behind him. He pulled up a chair and poured himself a glass of wine, his mischievous eyes glistening with curiosity and desire.

Oh gods…he really was going to do this, wasn’t he? This was going to happen. He was going to watch Harleep fuck you right before his eyes.

You breathed out when Harleep grabbed your knees and spread your legs for him to position himself between them. You glanced down, eyes widening a little at his size. He was as hard as a rock, his red skin almost glowing in the orange light of the hells. Feeling him inside you…all of a sudden, there was nothing else you wanted in this world any more than this, any more than him.

He already was fucking with your mind then…Incubi had an uncanny ability to charm their victims before they devoured them entirely. But surely, Raphael wouldn’t let him go this far…would he?

Harleep’s tip pressed against your entrance and you realised in shock that you were dripping wet. Your pussy was throbbing, eager to take a cock and ease the growing arousal he was making you feel.

“Now…let us see how you taste, little mouse.” Harleep buried himself inside you to the hilt without any forewarning, meeting no resistance from your wanton body. A gasp escaped your lips as he claimed you, causing Raphael to chuckle as he twirled the red wine in his chalice before taking a sip.

“Hmm…like a lush and ripe fruit, juicy and ready to be plucked…” the incubus raved.

Was that really how you tasted to a sex demon? You couldn’t talk, couldn’t think… You bit your lower lip, digging your nails into the sheets as Harleep began to move inside you, withdrawing almost entirely only to plunge himself back in and fuck you slowly and intimately as if to savour your body.

Your breathing grew heavier, your arousal climbing even higher. Every single thrust was an ode to an impending orgasm. It was pleasure like you had never experienced it before. Nothing else mattered anymore. Whatever Harleep was doing, whatever his superpower was…it was working. Penetrative sex alone never did the trick for you—but with him, you’d been on the brink of climax from the very moment he’d sheathed himself inside of you.

Raphael chuckled and your head fell to the side. His gaze lingered on your joined bodies, taking in your bouncing breasts and Harleep’s powerful strokes, his cock disappearing into your wet warmth over and over again. He looked…fascinated—and you couldn’t help but let it fuel your carnal desire to drown in a whirlwind of lust.

Harleep joined in on the devil’s chuckle. “Keep going, little mouse. I can feel you tightening around me. You want to come so badly, don’t you?”

You bit your lower lip harder, almost drawing blood. Forcing your eyes back on Harleep, you nodded eagerly.

“Then come, little mouse. Show us how much you are enjoying this.”

It was all you wanted to hear, all you needed to hear. You fell apart beneath him on the bed, the delicious knot in your stomach unbound. Your walls contracted around Harleep’s cock who did not relent, fucking you through your orgasm until you turned into a whimpering mess.

The pleasure cursed through you like pure electricity, your mind shutting off. You were his…his for the taking, his to feed on, his to do with you as he pleased, forever…

“Now, now, Harleep. Don’t forget your manners.”

The incubus chuckled and with a start, as the last remaining weaves of bliss ebbed away, you woke up. Harleep dug his nails into your hips, lifting them off the bed to bury himself even deeper. He fucked you hard and fast now, ready to take his own relief.

“Do not come inside of her,” you heard Raphael say. His tone allowed no contraction.

You threw your head back, enjoying every single luscious thrust until Harleep stilled and pulled out, one of his hands wrapping around his length to finish himself off.

Ropes of his seed landed on the clean bed sheets between your legs, staining the pretty fabric. You were panting, fighting for your sanity when part of you didn’t even want it back.

“My, my…what a show.”

You half-expected Raphael to clap. Instead, he only chuckled again and got up from his seat. You couldn’t help it—you glanced down, noticing the considerable bulge in his trousers.

“Join me for dinner once you’ve recovered. You must be famished, my dear.”

With that, he left, leaving you behind with a seemingly out-of-breath Incubus who was still drinking in your essence, your arousal. He seemed…satiated. Amused, even.

Fuck. You’d need that restoration faucet again before you could even consider having supper with the very devil you had promised your soul to.

#raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #harleep x Tav #harleep

[thefinalyeehaw]

Zevlor/Rolan talking with Tav while lying down and getting all riled up and upset about something they're talking about and doing that thing cats do when they're irritated where they just whack the floor with their tail and it's just *THUMP THUMP THUMP*

Pls tell me you know what I'm talking about

#bg3 #bg3 zevlor #bg3 rolan

[thefinalyeehaw]

Suffering from writers block…. So have a Zevlor drawing.

Someone please help him…

#bg3 #zevlor bg3

[thefinalyeehaw]

i want raphael to breed me so bad it’s not even funny

♡ Breed us like the bitches in heat we are ♡

Your hands were wrapped around his horns, your mouth hot and wet on his lips, your legs tightening against his hips. Raphael pushed into you, his body slick with sweat and the remnants of his previous release.

Just how many times has he spilled himself deep within you? How many more times would you be able to milk him? You could feel his cock swelling, pressing up against your already sloppy overworked insides. Gods how you cries out his name, “R-Raph-Raphael~!!” It made him feel like the archdevil he so wished to become.

Your body was so small in his hands, so fragile. He chuckled at how he could break you so easily, could do as he pleased to you, but oh wait. He already is, breeding you full with his seed until it was almost comical. Breaking your mind till all you could do was plead for him every waking second.

Biting into your shoulder hard enough to taste blood, he growled your name, his hips pistoning harder and harder against yours. There would be no escape. Not now, not ever. You were his and soon to be filled with his child.

He felt you tighten and cry out, your hands digging into his hair, “Pl-please!~”

And just like that, you came undone again. Your cunt gripping and milking him as he slammed his cock into you one last time. His cock releasing his load, thick ropes of it, flooding your womb and spilling out onto the sheets yet again.

#bg3 #raphael x tav #bg3 raphael

[thefinalyeehaw]

Tiefling bachelors reacting to someone smacking or coping a feel of his partner's butt in passing? What does he do?

˖⁺‧₊˚✦ Don't Touch ✦˚₊‧⁺˖

✦ Awhhh I loved doing this one!!! We love us some protective tiefling bachelors!!! I hope you enjoy these *nervous laughter* xoxo

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ I feel like Zevlor is a man that pays close attention to his surroundings, so you can count on him when it comes to those who wish to pass on by and cop a feel.

It was such a lovely day in Baldurs Gate, the air was filled with the scents of exotic spices and the colorful sights of stalls brimming with goods from across the realms as you and Zevlor walked through Baldurs Gate. Zevlor, ever watchful, stayed close by your side, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd, “You never know what could happen in a place like this,” Zevlor murmured. His presence always making you feel protected in the sea of faces.

“Oooh look at this one!” you paused to admire a stall with shimmering fabrics,. Out of the corner of Zevlor’s eyes, he noticed a man weaving through the crowd towards you, his intentions clear. Just as the stranger's hand stretched out towards you, Zevlor acted swiftly.

Without hesitation, like the seasoned soldier he was, Zevlor grabbed the man's wrist, stopping him in his tracks, “I’d Mind your hands, if I were you.” His voice was calm but carried a deadly warning. His grip tightening just enough to make the man wince, his face contorting in pain.

The man, realizing his mistake, tried to pull away, but Zevlor's hold was unyielding, “Think before you act, for you never know whom you might run into,” Zevlor added, his tone stern. After a moment, he pushed the man back into the crowd, his eyes never leaving the stranger until he disappeared into the crowd of people.

You looked up at Zevlor, “And here I was going to say you worry too much.” gratitude filled your eyes and you gently kissed his cheek, “always my steadfast shield.”

With a soft smile, his arm finding its way around your waist, he pulled you close, “let’s not allowed that to run our day.”

For the rest of the day, Zevlor kept you close to his side, his tail gently coiled around your thigh, a silent promise of safety. His hand resting at your side, while you continued to explore the market.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ After everything happened with Lorroakna, Rolan was no longer afraid to get handsy with those that mistreated him or others, especially if it involved you.

Today Rolan found himself walking alongside you, Cal, and Lia through the city during a festival. The wizard would’ve preferred to stay in his tower but you all had insisted that he come with. Cal being the one to convince him, ‘she could get into trouble and need her fancy wizard to come to her rescue for once.’ Is what he had said. Crossing his arms annoyed, Rolan continued walking.

Laughing, you nudged him gently with your elbow. “Come on, Rolan. Even you can't deny it's nice to take a break from your books and potions.” Rolan's lips twitched into a rare, fleeting smile, “Perhaps. But only because the three children are enjoying it,” he said referring to you three.

As you absorbed the joy and laughter around you, a sudden jolt disrupted the harmony. You felt a sharp smack on your rear followed by a leering voice slurring, “Hey, sweetheart, how about a kiss for the brave festival hero?”

Instantly, Rolan's demeanor shifted as he spun around to face the pig of a man. Rolan’s tail quickly brought you behind him, “Stay behind me,” he murmured, his voice low and controlled, but with an unmistakable edge of anger.

The man laughed mockingly, stepping closer. “What's this? The little devil's got a temper, eh?”

Without breaking eye contact, Rolan raised his hand, fingers weaving through the air, chanting under his breath. The air around the man's feet began to shimmer, and suddenly, he yelped as his feet were bound by glowing ethereal chains, rooting him to the spot. Rolan's gaze was icy as he stepped towards the bound man, “I would choose your next words very carefully if I were you," he warned, his voice steady.

Lia and Call watched on the sidelines in awe, proud that their brother got to finally be your protector for once.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Dammon has a gentle heart, is soft spoken, and usually always tries to help someone in need. Confrontation? Nah, not really his jam. He had always been more at home among his anvils and hammers than dealing with confrontation. However, today something snapped, perhaps it was because it involved you.

As his hammer came down, shaping a new blade from glowing steel, a commotion- your voice, had broken his focus. Whipping around, he caught sight of a passerby hastily retreating his hand from your backside with a smirk, leaving you flustered and upset. Dammon's usual calm demeanor went out the window and was replaced quickly with anger and protection.

For a moment, he hesitated, his large, calloused hands tightening around the hilt of the sword. Then, with a swift motion, Dammon pulled the sword from the forge. The metal steaming as it was removed with an orange glow.

He walked over to the man, his heart pounding from the adrenaline of stepping so far out of his comfort zone. Dammon's approach was silent but swift, and as he reached the offender, he held the hot blade just inches from the man’s face. The heat from the steel was evident, a clear threat that no words could match.

"Never touch anyone without their consent, understood?" Dammon said, his voice uncharacteristically commanding, his brows furrowed. The man's eyes widened and he nodded. Pleased with this, Dammon flicked the blade in your direction, “Good. Now apologize.”

#bg3 #bg3 zevlor #bg3 rolan #bg3 dammon #zevlor x tav #rolan x tav #dammon x tav

[thefinalyeehaw]

I Hate You

Pairing: Alejandro Vargas x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your car suffers an accident, and you end up with no signal in the Mexican wilderness.

Warnings: Reader speaks Spanish (but is not necessarily a native speaker), Alejandro and reader hate each other, spanglish, unprotected sex, p in v, car sex, hinting at possible feelings (blink and you miss it), Alejandro and reader are very mean to each other, reader is purposefully annoying, not proofread!!

Words: 3.0k

Notes: I’ve been feral lately, so here is an Alejandro fic (I need to be locked and muzzled up). Lots of Spanglish (because I’m a Spanish queen) and possible grammatical errors bc English is not my first language. Maybe I’ll do a part 2 down the line bc this can’t end like this?

Also, the fic is heavily influenced by @XCaliper’s c.ai Alejandro Vargas chat.

The humming of the car filled the silence between Alejandro and you. The road was empty, dark due to the moonless night. The gentle hum of the AC refreshed your beat up face after a long mission, one that was assigned to both Coronel Vargas and you.

As always, every dreaded time that you had to work with him, it ended bad for you two.  You didn’t understand each other, your ways differed to be considered healthy. 

Still, somehow, you complimented each other perfectly when it came to work. Amidst the clash of personalities, you two found that there was no better pairing, as much as you hated it.

Today was one of those days where, apart from a successful mission, you ended up yelling at each other. That moment of peace in the car was nothing but a truce until you two reached the base. 

A slight disturbance, and hell would set loose. 

And that’s what happened. 

A pronghorn came out of nowhere, jumping into the road. 

One second, and the car spun out of control. The tires screeched, Alejandro tried maneuvering, but to no avail. 

You hit some cactuses, impromptu halting in a ditch. 

You tried breathing in, but the airbag had punched you straight in your chest. You swallowed, confused, your ears ringing from the impact. Smoke was coming out of the hood, the engine hummed one last time before finally turning off, letting in the distant sounds of the Mexican countryside. 

You stepped out of the car, coughing. The gasses on the airbag were strong, and they had already attacked your lungs before you could realize. 

Alejandro appeared from the other side of the car, more composed than you. He still was shaken, confused, but in a better position than you. 

“Pinche venado cabrón,” he spat, the rage in his voice contained by the last thread on sanity in him. “Mira lo que le hizo al coche, pinche suerte de la verga!”

Stupid fucking pronghorn! Look at what it did to the car, damn luck we have!

You looked at him, your demeanor as calm as possible, so as to not anger him further. You took in some air, your hands on your waist, thinking of what the hell would you do now.

“I’m going to call base,” you said, taking out your phone, giving him your back.

“There’s no signal here,” he said in a scolding tone. “I already tried.”

You sighed in frustration. “I’ll try either way.”

Alejandro groaned behind you, his voice merely a frustrated whisper. “Nunca hace caso… pinche terca.”

She never listens… stubborn bitch.

You took your phone, trying to contact the base. Of course, just like Alejandro said, there was no signal. You sighed, tilting your head back. 

“Maybe we could try to get to the nearest town, try to contact the base that way. Not reaching out will alarm them, it's in our best interest to try and do something…”

“It’s not worth it,” he said. “There’s wild dogs, and with Las Almas out there…”

“It’s worth a try. How else are they going to find us?”

The muscles in his jaw tensed at the question, his body fixed in place

“They are waiting for us,” he replied calmly, his voice strained, like he was restraining himself from yelling at you. “In the morning they'll go looking for us.”

“I’m not comfortable accepting defeat like this,” you said, trying to make your tone as confident as possible. “Why don’t…”

“No puedes quedarte callada un segundo, eh?” he spat, his tone harsh, frustrated. “Todo el condenado día hablando…”

You can’t shut up for a second, can you? All the damned day talking…

“I’m just trying to help here, Alejandro,” you replied, already ignited. “Always acting like everything I say is stupid.”

He groaned at the mention of his name passing through your lips, placing his hands on his hips. “Because you are all talk, but you never fucking listen.”

The way he yelled at you almost made you retreat in defeat. He looked angry, annoyed at your every move. It made you boil in anger. 

“Que nunca escucho?” you said in Spanish, scoffing at him. “I do everything you say, Alejandro. Always. You act like you have more power over me than my own superiors. In here, you are nothing but my partner, okay?”

That I never listen?

“In here,” he said, getting close up to your face. “You do as I say, ¿me escuchas? This is Mexico, hermana. No estamos en Colorado, aquí un pie en el fango, and you’re dead.”

You do as I say, you hear me? This is Mexico, sister. We’re not in Colorado, here, you step foot in the mud, and you’re dead.

You pressed your jaw shut, holding eye contact with Alejandro. He looked as bothered as you, stopping the urge of punching you in the face full force. “Don’t act like I’m clueless, Alejandro. You take every chance you get to disrespect me, and I won’t accept any of that shit.”

He was silent for a second, eyes burning in anger and a surprised smirk in his face. “You think it’s bullshit that I’m on your ass about everything? Princesa, you don’t listen, everything is always a damn argument, and act like your fuck ups are everyone else’s fault. I’m not on your ass, I’m here to fix your stupid mistakes!”

You nodded at the floor, disregarding everything he said. Then, out of nowhere, you went up to the car, and took your assault rifle. You checked for bullets, made sure that the flashlight worked. 

When you were ready, you started walking away from the car. 

You felt Alejandro’s stare on you, the second it took for him to understand what was going on giving you more time to walk away. 

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” He said, starting to follow you.

“Somewhere where you’re not getting on my nerves.”

His footsteps were heavy and loud, his anger seeping into the ground like poison. 

“You think it’s easy for me to put up with you?” He snapped in response, more in defeat than in anger. 

“You think it’s easy to put up with you, too?” you barked, too composed for what you were feeling at that moment. “Deja de mandarme por un rato, por Dios.”

Leave me alone for a second, for God’s sake.

Those words of yours came out like a whisper, like a rhetorical plea to yourself. It was nothing but a complaint, one that you felt deep in your bones. 

Alejandro brought out the worst from you, turned you into a monster. 

“Stop!” He shouted. “This is ridiculous. Get back in the car!”

You stopped dead in your tracks, almost clashing against Alejandro. “I’m not getting in the fucking car, not with you.”

He reached out and grabbed your arm, his face seeping annoyance through every pore. “Get in the car. Now.”

You shook his hand away, narrowing your eyes. “Don’t fucking grab me like that.”

He sighed in defeat, looking at you in disappointment. “Stop being so difficult.”

You swallowed thick, looking him in the eyes. "I'm not being difficult. You are."

He stepped closer, getting in your space. “You’re infuriating.”

“I hate you,” you spat, empathizing every word, your eyes focused on him. 

Alejandro pressed his jaw shut, his eyes scanning you whole. He had never been disrespected like that, much less by a teammate; by a subordinate. 

It left him speechless. 

There was a pause, where neither of you faltered. Gaze on each other, a showcase of pride. The air between you was heavy, asphyxiating. 

You could feel the frustration radiating off him, your anger trampled by the sour sensation of heat. Your chest heaved slightly, your breath on his. 

Then, his eyes flickered to your lips for a split second, then back to your eyes. 

Before you could react, his hand shot out, cupping the back of your neck, pulling you closer. His lips clashed on yours, demanding, dominant. His body pressed against yours, making a rush of heat curse through your insides. He was kissing you like you were the air he needed to breathe, grabbing you in a way that made you feel weak at the knees. 

You were animals, tasting each other's mouths in desperation, feeling the softness of each other, that same sensation fueling the need to get closer. A low groan escaped his throat, vibrating through your body. 

Alejandro's kiss was bruising, relentless, as if he was pouring all his frustration and desire into it. The tension that had been simmering between you for so long erupted in this kiss, and there was no holding back. You nipped at his lower lip, eliciting a growl from deep within his chest, and his grip on you tightened.

The taste of him was intoxicating, a mix of anger and need that made your head spin. You felt his breath hitch as your hands went to rest on the sides of his neck, your thumbs reaching over to his jaw. 

For a moment, you felt as if you were caught in a storm. Alejandro’s kiss was raw, intense, full of hatred. 

It made you want to kiss him again. 

“Sube al coche,” he whispered against your lips. 

Step in the car.

You pulled back slightly, your eyes locked onto his. The command in his voice sent a shiver down your spine, and despite the chaos of the moment, you couldn't help but feel a thrill at his dominance. You nodded, unable to form words, your mind still reeling from the kiss.

Alejandro's eyes bore into yours, the anger and desire still blazing. He let go of you just enough to allow you to move, and you stumbled slightly as you turned towards the car. Your heart was pounding, your lips still tingling from the intensity of his kiss.

The moment you were both inside the back of the car, he was on you again, his hands pulling you towards him. He pulled you on his lap, his hands starting to undo your tactical vest, leaving you only with your shirt. 

His mouth moved to your neck, giving soft, hot kisses that had you moaning his name, running your fingers through his hair. He smelled of cologne, his natural scent battling for dominance, sending your whole body into overload. It had you grinding on him, whimpering, desperate to have him in the most intimate way possible. 

The car soon heated up, the leather of the seats becoming a sticky trap. Gasping for air, you took Alejandro’s tactical vest off, your hands feeling up his torso, the nylon of his long sleeved jacket rough against your calloused hands, making you want to take it off of him then and there. 

Alejandro placed his hands on your waist, tugging on your shirt, dragging it up your torso. It felt like an eternity, giving you goosebumps all over your body. You breathed in, trying to find his gaze. Instead, he was looking at your semi-nude torso in awe, the muscles in his jaw tensing, hands caressing the sides of your body. His touch was like fire, leaving a trace of tingly skin there where he touched, leaving you begging for more. 

You placed your hands on his chest, grinding on him, practically riding him with clothes on. He moaned, guiding your hips through his lap, the friction maddening, sweet torture that was leaving you more frustrated than before. 

His eyes finally met yours, dark, intense. He looked hungry, lost in the moment. You leaned in, capturing his lips like a feral animal, the heat burning you from the inside. In the midst of it, you felt his hands on your back, trailing to your bra. Before you could even react, he already had it in his hand, throwing it somewhere in the car. 

With a growl, Alejandro broke the kiss, his lips trailing down your neck, biting and sucking on the sensitive skin. Your head fell back, a moan escaping your lips as his mouth found one of your breasts. Feeling him like that made you melt, the car supporting your body the only thing keeping you from losing your mind. 

His tongue flicked over your nipple, eliciting a sharp intake of breath from you. He nipped at your skin, just enough to send shivers down your spine, the sensation maddening, a mix of pleasure and pain that left you craving for more. 

Then, in a swift motion, he moved you to the side, leaving you longing for his attention, mewling at the lack of contact. Alejandro found his way to your cargo pants, undoing the belt, ripping it from your body. You helped him get rid of your boots, and soon your pants flew to the front of the car. You took off his jacket, the bare skin of his torso illuminated by the little light that the stars managed to give.

Before he could get on top of you, you pressed a hand on his chest, hopping on top of him. There, you found his mouth desperately, hungry for more of him. You unzipped his pants, sliding one of your hands inside of them. Alejandro gasped, his lips on yours, giving small pecks as you explored, wrapping your hand around his cock.  

He groaned, the sound vibrating against your lips as you stroked him, your movements slow and deliberate. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, the tension coiled tight within him. His hands gripped your hips, urging you to move closer, to give him more.

You obliged, positioning yourself over him. He grabbed your thong out of the way, letting you guide his cock to your entrance. You could see the desire in his eyes, the impatience. Slowly, you lowered yourself on him, getting filled inch by inch. You saw Alejandro moan, grab your hips, helping you into his cock. Once your soaking pussy had taken him whole, you looked at him, your mouth agape, lost, deaf, the pleasure overtaking your soul.  

His hands roamed over your body, squeezing your breasts, running down your back, gripping your ass as he thrusted into you. You trembled on top of him, his thickness making you feel whole, like your life’s purpose was to get fucked like that. 

You began to move, rocking your hips against him, finding a rhythm that had you both gasping for air. Alejandro’s eyes never left yours, in awe of your moves, of the indecent sounds of your body slapping against his. His skin burned, the windows were foggy, the air hot, smelling of raw, animalistic sex. 

Every movement sent waves of pleasure through you, amplified by the hand that had slipped down to your clit, pleasuring yourself with urgency. Your breaths came in short, sharp bursts, all landing on Alejandro’s ear. His hands tightened on your ass, guiding you into his cock, each time rougher, harder. The friction, the heat, the sensation of him deep inside you, tearing you apart in the most addicting way possible was overwhelming, maddening. 

"Más fuerte," he groaned, his voice rough, primal. "No pares."

Harder. Don’t stop.

You increased your pace, your hips moving in desperate urgency, looking to break him, to leave him begging for you. From below, he started thrusting into you, meeting your movements with his own. The car seemed to close around you, making you focus on each thrust, each moan, the way in which the car shaked. 

You rode him with abandon, your body moving instinctively, lost in the rhythm, the heat, the pleasure. Your fingers were working on your clit, sending shockwaves through your body, making you moan, begging him not to stop. 

He was filling you perfectly, using you like his own personal slut, thrusting in like an animal, your free hand the only thing keeping you where you were. 

Soon, Alejandro's moans became background noise, a distant reminder of what was happening. Your body reacted before you did, squeezing his cock, spiking your heart rate through the roof. You mewled his name, lost. His thrusts became softer, longer, making you cry out. You pressed your face on the crook of his neck, moaning desperately, riding out your orgasm as best as you could. 

The waves of pleasure crashed over you, your body trembling uncontrollably. Alejandro's hands tightened on your hips, his own climax imminent. He groaned deeply, your pussy still milking him, driving him insane.

You became undone on top of him, your only purpose to pleasure him, to get used to the best of your abilities. 

Alejandro took it very seriously, his hands bruising your hips, thrusting into you relentlessly, whimpering as his orgasm approached. He found your gaze, grabbing the back of your neck, groaning, drilling into you like an animal. 

His moans came out sharp, irregular. His cock twitched inside of you, the heat of his orgasm making you grab onto him, focus on his eyes as he cummed deep inside you. 

Time stopped for a while. He was gasping for air, his eyes lost in yours, making out what had just happened. One of your hands found his chest, still beating hard, where you stabilized yourself, looking at him in the same way, clueless, in between surprised and ashamed. 

Alejandro pulled you closer, bringing  you back to reality, distracting you from your own thoughts. His hands rested on your waist, locking you in place. Your face pointed to the door, where you could almost make out the shape of what was behind the fog on the window. 

Sweat dripped from both of you, your bodies tangled, still connected. His body radiated heat off to you, his chest moving up and down against yours, his heart beating at a normal pace. 

You two were sticky, exhausted.

Silence filled the car, the cold of the night seeping in, sending shivers down your spine. 

Then, clarity set in. You realized what you had just done. 

With whom. 

It made you want to run away. But for the first time since you two met, he looked calm, non-threatening. A tamed beast. 

That, though, still didn’t take away from the disgust you felt for yourself. It didn’t excuse how much you had fucked up.

“This doesn’t change anything,” you whispered. 

He squeezed your hip, kissing your shoulder, knowing it was the last time you would accept that sort of affection from him. 

“Lo sé.”

I know.

#cod x reader #alejandro vargas

[thefinalyeehaw]

this will live rent free in my brain forever

Source: MCM Comic Con

#bg3 #bg3 raphael #andrew wincott

[thefinalyeehaw]

Biting the hand that feeds you? Very well.

~

I had to remake the post and delete the original just to make sure tumblr hadn’t hid it or something. Sorry for the inconvenience!

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 raphael

[thefinalyeehaw]

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#writing reference

[thefinalyeehaw]

THIS IS MY OFFICIAL REQUEST FOR CAL REALIZING HE'S GOT A CRUSH ON YOU AND CONFESSING HIS FEELINGS HEADCANNONS. LIKE ALL PRE-RELATIONSHIP ACTIVITY. I need to feed the brain-rot

I'M WEAK AND I'M POSTING A DAY EARLY

I HAVE SO MANY IDEAS

(I did take some liberties with this list—this list assumes that Cal, Lia, and Rolan stay with the tiefling refugees and all necessary steps are taken to get the three of them safely from the Druid’s Grove to Baldur’s Gate).

I ended up breaking this into two parts—one that talks about how Cal's feelings develop leading into the relationship/confession, and the other part which is a bit more scenario-driven (and it ended up being pre-relationship stuff that led into the start of the relationship itself).

General Headcanons

Cal begins to think that he might like you as more than a friend around the time that he realizes that he always hopes to run into you while out and about. Not in a “Oh, we’re both in the same place at the same time” sort of way but more in a “I hope Tav is there. That'd be nice. Maybe I should invite them?”

He has absolutely hoped to stumble into friends before, but he wasn't too bothered if it didn't happen.

You, however? If you aren't at a gathering, he feels poorer for it.

And when you two spend time together (be this in a group setting or on your own), he’s always stealing glances your way… and he realizes he doesn’t really do that with anyone else.

When someone tells a joke that he finds funny, he looks at you to see if you’re laughing as well. Every time.

He takes every opportunity to be near you. 

Even if you’re just running errands or doing something boring, he is over the moon to be invited along—even if you assure him that he doesn’t have to. His company is always welcome, but you wouldn’t be upset if he chose to go do something more enjoyable. 

“It’s no bother. The work is easier when there are two people to do it.”

If he goes shopping and sees something that reminds him of you, he will get it for you.

If you offhandedly mention that you like a certain type of food, don’t be surprised if he makes it for you. 

And if you ask him what the occasion was, he’ll shrug and say, “No reason,” or possibly, “It sounded like you haven’t had  it in a while.”

Cal strikes me as a very physically affectionate person; so long as you’re okay with hugs, he will embrace you when the two of you meet up and when the two of you part.

Though he does enjoy spontaneous hugs too.

And he does like holding your hand. A lot. 

He is the type of person who will check in to see if you need a drink refill or more food. It’s one way that he likes to take care of you, but he initially doesn’t think much of it, because he would do that for his siblings too.

And while Cal is fairly good at coming to his own conclusions about how he feels, Lia and Rolan most certainly tease him about how he acts around you.

Initially though, he thinks he is just being a good friend. 

Until he hugs you one day, and the hug lasts a moment longer than normal. And he notices how you feel pressed against him.

He realizes that it feels really, really natural to hold you close.

And you smell really, really nice. 

He realizes that you have always smelled that way. He has definitely picked up on it before, but for whatever reason, this time it really sticks.

This isn't a scent kink so much as it's a “I am taking comfort in something that is so utterly familiar and perfectly you” moment.

And then he starts to notice other things.

He likes the sound of your laugh. A lot. 

He particularly likes when he can get you to laugh, because you will look at him, eyes bright and face flushed.

And then there is a moment where your eyes meet, and you hold his gaze, and everything clicks into place.

And if he hadn't already figured out that he has a crush on you, he absolutely does then.

Rolan and Lia point out that it seems like he is daydreaming A LOT lately. And while he might be dismissive of this at first, it doesn’t take long for him to put two and two together—he’s thinking of you a lot.

And he is also talking about you much more often. Sometimes he repeats the same stories about you because, honestly, everything reminds him of you.

Rolan and Lia will tell him that he is repeating himself, but he just looks so happy whenever he talks about you.

So they'll usually wait for a pause in his story to lovingly tease him.

While Cal has always enjoyed hugging you before, he is melting into your embrace now. He is constantly looking for excuses to be close to you, to brush his arm against yours.

If he gets too flustered, his laugh raises in pitch and he'll slosh the drink he's holding all over himself.

To make matters worse, you think he's cute when he gets so worked up, and that's enough to make him light headed.

He doesn't strike me as someone who worries over saying the right thing. He isn't agonizing over every sentence, but he makes an effort to be kind. And if he is kind and transparent with people, then everything will be fine and any misunderstandings can, hopefully, be smoothed over.

But around the point that he starts to notice all these things that he likes about you, he starts to really worry about what he says and what you might infer.

Part of me thinks that, if Cal gets really deep into his stress over his crush for you, he becomes a nervous, giggling mess of a person.

This is to the point where he cannot have a discussion with you, because he is so nervous about what he will say.

“This person is incredible. I adore them so much. Oh, Hells, they're looking at me. Oh, Hells, they're gorgeous. OH, HELLS, THEY'RE COMING OVER TO SAY HELLO.”

Cal is clumsy, but when he is flustered, he practically trips over himself.

Will drop anything and everything when you are in close proximity.

Spills drinks and food everywhere because he gets caught up watching you laugh at a joke.

Will have bruises on his thighs, knees, and calves from how often he runs into furniture around you/when he is thinking of you. 

If Cal gets to this point, Rolan and Lia might intervene. They won't speak for their brother, but they will encourage/beg/urge him to talk to you. 

Their persistence will depend on how much Cal is agonizing over things. If he's just quietly pining but is content to spend time with you and it doesn't appear that he is struggling, they'll tease him.

If it's to the point where he is overanalyzing everything he says, they're going to be a lot firmer on him communicating his feelings to you.

“I think I made Tav uncomfortable.”

“Cal, you completely froze up and wouldn't make eye contact with them. They probably think that they're making you uncomfortable. For all of our sakes, just talk to them.”

So, Cal gathers his courage and asks you to go on an outing with him—something the two of you would do regardless of if you were a couple.

He will be nervous. He will be dropping things and bumping into the edges of furniture.

But here's the kicker: if you are nervous, blushing, and generally flustered about being around him, then his nerves will settle a little. Because he has had to be the calm, steady one for his siblings. It's in his nature to be there for others when they are struggling.

So you're both nervous. And you're both stumbling over yourselves.

It becomes a question of which one of you manages to confess first, but for the sake of this list, we'll say Cal manages as you were working up the courage.

And when you reciprocate his feelings and tell him how much you adore him, he looks fit to pass out from how relieved he is.

Your first kiss is clumsy—he bumps your forehead with his and his teeth click against yours. 

But it's honestly perfect.

If you are the calmer of the two, Cal will definitely take comfort in that as well.

“This is Tav. I trust them. They are an incredible person. They have never made me feel like I can't confide in them.”

So he works up the courage and confesses. He wants more than friendship with you. He likes you a lot. He might even be in love with you. He wants to find out.

And he hugs you so, so tightly when you confess that you feel the same.

We're talking a hug so tight and so close that, regardless of how tall you are, your feet are dangling off of the ground as he holds you to him.

Your first kiss is clumsy regardless. But it's perfect, because all your nerves and anxieties melt away in that moment.

And it’s just the two of you. And a world of possibilities has opened up before you.

Scenario-driven Headcanons: Following Game Events - Basically if Cal was a Romanceable NPC - From Crush to The Beginnings of A Relationship

So, personally, I think that Cal likely wouldn’t be considering a relationship while he and his family are fleeing from Elturel to Baldur’s Gate. It’s not that he is opposed to one—he’s just in survival mode. Not only that, but he is also pulling double shifts as Rolan’s and Lia’s mediator. The more time the three of them are on the road, the more his siblings are prone to argue. That just comes with the stress of being exiled from your home and dealing with food shortages and exhaustion. Both siblings have strong personalities and opinions on what matters (Rolan wants to ensure the safety of the three of them; Lia wants to ensure the safety of everyone), so if both have the energy, they’re going to argue. 

In the druid’s grove, the stress is at an all time high. Any day now, they could be turned out by the druids—who would effectively seal the grove off with the Rite of Thorns. And from there, who is to say that the goblins won’t attack? They might be small, but they have the numbers, the weapons, and control of the road. 

And if the goblins won’t get them, what else will they have to contend with?

First impressions are fleeting when you walk into the grove—Cal can’t get a good gauge on your character then.

Though he wasn’t terribly keen on Rolan and Lia arguing in front of everyone, he did appreciate that you diffused the situation… for the moment. 

And at the party? The first time he and his siblings allow themselves to relax, to forget the road ahead for the night, he starts to notice little things about you.

But just because he isn’t considering a relationship doesn’t mean he isn’t developing feelings—he just might not be paying them as much heed as he may if the situation were different.

Things that he might not usually observe with people—the way the corners of your eyes lift up when you smile, for example.

He most certainly likes hearing you laugh. He would like to hear you laugh more.

And when Rolan casts prestidigitation and lights the night sky, Cal finds his attention pulled away from the magic show to you. Your eyes are bright and you are set aglow.

And he finds you enchanting.

When you first walked into the grove, you carried yourself like any scrappy adventurer might. 

But at the party? Out of your fighting gear and not toting around a weapon? You’re… softer. Perhaps not quite as guarded as you would be on the road, waiting for some enemy to barrel out of the brush and attack you.

And he likes that.

And he starts to gravitate to you.

Though he doesn't think much of it, he will check in and see if you need your wine topped off or if you need something to eat. He figures he's looking out for you, perhaps thanking you for helping him and his family.

And you rather like how pleasant Cal is. He’s a breath of fresh air. Beyond getting to chat with you, getting to know you a bit better, he doesn’t seem to have any ulterior motives.

And you like talking to him. He seems to feel the same.

Rolan and Lia most definitely notice. And they will tease him relentlessly.

“You’re practically hanging off of every word they say, aren’t you? I don’t think you left their side for more than a few minutes tonight.”

And it's true. They're just stating the obvious. But they're teasing him. They seem to think he feels more than just friendly towards you.

He's torn between dismissing them out of pocket and considering what they have to say. Rolan and Lia may tease him, but they also have his best interests in mind. 

Because he really, really, likes when you look at him.

And when the two of you part ways for the evening, he does watch you walk away to join your companions.

He definitely lays awake that night replaying your interactions. He gets giddy over the ones that went well, and he cringes and curls in on himself over the moments where he was less than debonair.

While the tiefling refugees travel through the mountain pass, he daydreams about what it would be like if your traveling party and his didn't separate. What if you stayed with them?

How many more interactions could the two of you have had? 

He sees mountain flowers or a blue jay's feather, and he thinks about how, if you were traveling with them, he'd give those to you. He hopes that you would light up, but he would still get an idea of what you liked from your responses.

And then he thinks about how, at the end of the celebration, he said “until Baldur's Gate.” And he starts to think about how much he'd love to explore the city with you.

If you're from Baldur's Gate originally, maybe the two of you got to talking about some of your favorite places. You might have offered to show him around.

And you did suggest getting a pint or two at the Elfsong together. It's a nice enough place.

He makes a note to take you up on that offer.

The mountain pass is a long trek, but he doesn't really notice. His head is in the clouds.

Lia and Rolan tease him over how besotted he is, but it is nice to see him thinking about something other than survival.

And then they cross into the Shadow-Cursed Lands, and the cultists attack. Cal and Lia are separated from Rolan and taken to Moonrise.

Cal is mad at himself for indulging in those daydreams. Maybe he would have noticed the cultists sooner, had his mind been more present.

Every time he thinks about you in that dungeon, he does so with a twinge of shame. 

He doesn't go so far as to fantasize that you'll save him. The situation feels too hopeless. He and Lia mostly talk about Rolan and how they hope he didn't get hurt during the cultists’ ambush.

So when you walk down into the dungeon, traveling companions in tow, he's not sure if he believes his eyes.

Everything that happens next is a blur of activity. One moment, the cell Cal is in has a back wall. The next? It's gone and the path to freedom stretches out before him.

Between escaping the prison and getting onto the boat, he doesn't have the time to think.

When the Last Light Inn is in view, when you tell him Rolan is waiting for him and Lia, that is when everything snaps back into focus.

And when the Harpers check him for a tadpole and nothing happens, he breathes a sigh of relief.

Only for the tadpole to react to you when you approach.

And he panics.

You? You have one of those things in your skull? What does that mean for you? Does it hurt? Is it changing you?

You don't have all the answers either. And that makes matters worse.

He promises to do everything he can to find a cure… He isn't sure what he can do, but he has to do something.

And, once things have settled with Rolan and the inn quiets down for the night (or the closest semblance of night that there is in the Shadow-Cursed Lands) they talk.

Rolan promises to ask Lorroakan if Cal can read through the library in Ramazith's Tower. A wizard, of all people, should know something about ceremorphosis… right?

Should you talk to Cal before you leave for Moonrise again, he will urge you to fight against the tadpole—to not give in. He promises to help however he can, even if all he can manage is to patch your wounds.

And, so long as you are comfortable, he'll hug you. 

He doesn't want to let you go. For a moment, he doesn't think he can.

Because this amazing person, this individual who has saved his life twice and has reunited his family, well, they might die a gruesome death.

And that terrifies him.

But you survive the fight with Ketheric. And as you and your companions gather in Moonrise's throne room, Cal feels at ease. For the moment. 

And he is torn. He wishes that you would travel with them to the city, but he knows that a smaller group will move faster.

Should you speak with him after the battle, he will end your conversation the way he did at the celebration in Act 1.

“Until Baldur's Gate.”

And, should you be so inclined, you could leave him with a kiss on the cheek. He’ll smile bashfully.

“Well, I really hope that there will be more where that came from.”

When he and his siblings arrive in Rivington, they try to cross Wyrm’s Corssing together.

Only Rolan is allowed to pass through Wyrm’s Rock Fortress and into the lower city. He promises to send for them soon. They just need to hold tight and wait in the refugee camp.

But time passes and the communication from Rolan is sparse. So sparse that the two of them are beginning to panic. Rolan would never leave them in the lurch like this. Not unless something was truly wrong. They make plans. There must be other means of entering the city.

And, eventually, you and your companions arrive.

And you're alive. And he holds you close, feeling your heartbeat resonate in his chest.

But he's also frustrated. He hasn't managed to find anything that might cure your ceremorphosis. And now, he and Lia are asking you to look for Rolan. 

He asks you to be careful. He says he feels helpless because he can't cross into the city. 

And watching you head towards Wyrm’s Crossing has him gutted. You’ll likely end up walking into danger, but was he the one who sent you straight into it with his ask?

The days in the camp were miserable to begin with. No one is happy, and the people who live in Rivington are hostile to the refugees. Time drags on.

Cal now has three people to worry about—Rolan, Lia, and you.

Are you and Rolan alive? Did Rolan make it to his apprenticeship? Did you turn into a mind flayer?

And then, a few days later, Rolan sends a letter. 

He asks that Cal and Lia join him at Ramazith’s Tower. For good. They have a home now.

Cal and Lia pass by the Steel Watch and the Flaming Fist patrolling the crossing without incident.

And when they arrive at Ramazith's tower, they find their brother bruised and bloodied, but calm—relieved even.

And after the nerves of the road have settled, after they care for Rolan's injuries and they are sitting in the tower’s study, Cal asks after you.

Rolan keeps the details vague, but he makes it perfectly clear that, were it not for you and your companions, the three of them wouldn't be sitting in that tower. No, if anything, Lorroakan wouldn't have lifted so much as a finger to help Cal and Lia pass into the city.

At this point, Rolan and Lia will gently tease Cal about his feelings for you.

“Well, they certainly know how to stick their nose into other people’s business, but they're tolerable enough. Invite them to dinner sometime.”

It isn't long before Cal is digging through the library, searching for books on Ceremorphosis.

Personally, I think he visits the Society of Brilliance per the suggestion of a shop patron.

And, when he gets there and the society sees how sincere Cal is, they introduce him to Omeluum.

These two hit it off, by the way.

Cal splits his work between reading through massive tomes and talking with Omeluum and Blurg.

He learns more about what it means to be a mind flayer. And he feels that, even if you were to transform, he’d want to be there to support you in whatever way he could.

And then, one day, as he is taking a break and cleaning the tower's study, you step through the portal.

He's speechless. He had realized back at Moonrise that his feelings for you extended beyond friendship, but to see you here? Now?

Rolan and Lia quietly excuse themselves while you two catch up.

You chat with him in the study, but eventually, Cal will ask for you to walk the balcony outside with him.

He is nervous. 

How does he begin to thank you for everything that you have done for him and his family? How does he begin to apologize for not finding a cure?

This interaction will end with Cal asking, “When all of this is said and done… Can I see you again? I'd… very much like to take you up on that pint. To celebrate.”

This interaction can end amicably or with a hug, but should you ask him, Cal will kiss you. He's careful, as if worried that one wrong move will ruin the moment. 

But, should you wish to continue the kiss, he lets himself melt into your embrace.

And, as he deepens the kiss, he'll hum softly, contentedly.

And, almost bashfully, he will mention that he'd love to show you his bedroom. He even offers for you to spend the night there. With him. Only if you want, of course.

The choice is yours.

He will say to you, either before you bid him farewell on the balcony (or as you are saying goodbye the following morning), “Please come back. Alive. I don't care if you've turned into a mind flayer or not. I just want you.”

But after Elturel's descent, where everyone prayed for the city to be returned to the material plane for life to then go back to normal (only for the Elturelian tieflings to promptly be exiled), he doesn't want to take a chance on things returning to normalcy after the Netherbrain is defeated.

So, before the final battle, the two of you get that pint at the Elfsong. And you talk for hours. 

It is entirely your call if the two of you end the evening by sharing a bed.

If you do, Cal holds you the entire night. He’s almost reluctant to let you go in the morning, because he is frightened that it might be the last time he sees you alive.

Should you and Cal share a kiss at any point in Act 3, he will appear in the grand hall before the final battle.

He jokes that Rolan has been practically obsessed with getting the Tower's cannon in working order. 

If you ask him for a good luck kiss, he will give you one. 

This kiss is urgent. Cal's eyes are squeezed shut as he presses his lips to yours. He is desperately trying to communicate all of his feelings to you in that one moment, and he knows his time is limited.

And then he pulls back with a shaky breath, resting his forehead against yours, his thumbs running down the line of your jaw.

“Come back, alright? I’ll be here, ready to patch you up. I… I love you."

#bg3 #bg3 cal

[thefinalyeehaw]

You know that data-mined line of Raphael declaring that he is at Mephistopheles' mercy?

Now imagine Raphael saying that he is at your mercy. Imagine him saying it and meaning it.

(Whether this involves a battle or a bedroom... I'll leave that up to you 😉)

So I never knew about this quote till you sent this ask and I finally looked it up, and let me say, It is great! I haven't found a Raphael line that I have not completely loved!

Raphael x Fem!reader

Word count- 1,066

You’re both tired and worn, injuries littering your bodies, but despite all the odds, you have come out on top. Splattered in blood, you stand tall as your body screams for you to fall, to finally rest, but you can’t, not now, not when you finally got him down. The game of cat and mouse is over; the cat had miscalculated, and the mouse bit back, taking the predator by surprise. Raphael finally sits up, managing to get on his knees, but before he can fully get back to his feet, he feels the heavy weight of a blade on his shoulder, the sharp edge threatening to dig into his neck. Raphael lifts his glowing, battered eyes to you. You, the one he once saw as weak and malleable, are now about to remove his head. Eyes stern, body bruised and bloodied but still up, still fighting, you look like the definition of powerful…the definition of beauty…

Raphael slightly clears his throat, and you press the sword closer, making him wince from the sting of his skin breaking, the small cut starting to bleed running down beneath his ripped collar. Considering all you have been through, you’re not taking any chances, and it’s completely warranted. Raphael’s eyes meet yours, shining bright as hell’s fire, and it appears as if you glow in an ethereal light. A slight smile curls to the corner of his lips; you truly have impressed him. A part of him wants to call out for his father to save him, but that would be a much crueler fate to be sure; if he dies, let it be with her; at least she is justified for it. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath, readying himself, then gives his final statement, “Tav, I am at your mercy.” 

You ponder for a long moment, ready to behead him and be done with it all, but as you look down at Raphael, head hung low, eyes closed in acceptance, you decide that it is your turn to strike up a deal to the lost and downhearted… “Raphael, you are correct; you are at my mercy, and I am ready to offer you a deal you would be a fool to refuse…” Raphael raises his head, eyes locking with yours in surprise, then smirks. Always so full of surprises…This should be good. 

You never would have anticipated this when he took the deal all those months ago. All those days spent arguing, playing his games, having him join you to be your aid…You never thought it would turn into this…

“Mouse..” his hot breath cascades onto your clothed sex as you lay down against the furs on the bed. Raphael presses his nose against your cunt, taking a deep whiff of your arousal, then licking slightly to the damp spot seeping through your panties. His hands are hot, the devil side of him desperate to burst into flames and claw into your hips, painting you with the beautiful color of your blood, but he holds himself back. Raphael has no desire to hurt you..only to taste you…

He slips your underwear off with experienced grace, his shining eyes never leaving your face as he watches it contort, and your hips mindlessly buckle from his teasing. Though the teasing is short-lived, he can’t help himself any longer. With a quick flicking of his tongue, he plays with your swollen little clit. He makes sure you’re dripping before his tongue plunges into your tight entrance, making you moan, and Raphael groans. Sure, you’re the one on the receiving end. Still, he’s the one in complete bliss, getting drunk off of everything about you, from your soft moans and your decadent scent, and with his tongue buried within you, he confirms what he has always thought you taste delicious.  

Raphael’s tongue plunges deeper into you, licking and twisting against your walls as you squirm and arch yourself up. In an act of blind want, you grasp his dark locks and grind yourself on him. His nose brushing your clit, his hands squeezing your ass, his groans and hums vibrating from his tongue and into your slick walls. The feeling is maddening and addictive. Raphael doesn’t even mind your fucking yourself on his face while he stays worshipping on his knees; to him, this moment is perfection. 

“Raph-Rapheal~ ah-” Your cooing voice has him throbbing against his pants as he gets you closer to your orgasm with his sinful tongue. Raphael lifts one of your legs over his shoulder, feeling you tremble against him as he moves to place chaste kisses on your clit. Fucking his eager hips into the bed to release his aching. Raphael’s already thinking of the poetry he will write about this moment while all your thoughts have evaporated into a hazy cloud. You can only focus on the tightening in your lower stomach, which burns your core. Then Raphael’s cruel nature starts to reveal itself as he shoves two thick fingers into your slick, and his mouth sucks hard on your clit. The pleasure was overwhelming; your clit sucked and rolled against his velvet tongue while his two fingers curled into your spongy walls. The tightening in your stomach snaps harshly, and your ecstasy floods through your body, making you scream his name. your body shakes, and you squirt all over his face.  

Drunk on your sweet taste, he licks up your mess before he gives a harsh nip to you’re overstimulated clit making you moan and pull his roots harder. Rapheals lips curl into a wicked smirk, his brown eyes enchanted by you but constantly toying. Returning the smile, you push his face away, your eyes filled with complete lust for more. “That was very naughty, Raphael; what am I going to do with you..” his lips and chin are ruined with your cyprine; he hums for a moment, then he coos those words he told you all those months ago. 

“Well, Tav, I am at your mercy.” 

With that, you let him bury his face into you again, his lapping more desperate and hot, his hands holding onto your hips in a bruising grip as you grind your cunt against his handsome face, all while you chant his name and ride him to your next orgasm. A part of you knowing that you are truly the one at his mercy now…

#bg3 #bg3 raphael #raphael x tav

[thefinalyeehaw]

Got Me Snoring pt.2

A/N: I'm so sorry it took so long... I've been doubting doing a part two simply because the first blew up like... crazy... and I'm afraid this one isn't going to measure up to the first. But THANK YOU to everyone for the love on part one... it's wild how much you all liked it. I appreciate all of you thirsty fuckers. Summary: Ghost is set on giving you the same change of perception on reviving head after figuring out just how bad you are at taking care of yourself. T/W: NS/FW 18+ ONLY, cunnilingus, size kink if you squint, spit?, lots of fem! fluids, a little male fluids..., cursing, aggressive tension?, taunting, not proofread, and I'm still terrified this is gonna suck.

You woke up with a sore throat.

No doubt or haze in your mind about how it happened or why. And the only thing you could think was the word big…. big… big…

God, Ghost was so fucking huge. You nearly mistook the images in your mind for a dream. One so goddamn filthy you’d not be able to look him in the eyes. Only one of those big hands was sprawled over your belly. Fingers digging possessively into the little bit of pudge under them. Denting your skin and steadily reminding you of the rest of his body melted against the back of yours. You’d not moved an inch all night. Highly unusual on a normal day, but not with your Lieutenant sharing the bed.

Sharing a seat on the plane home wasn’t familiar either.

He felt inhumanly warm with his arm rubbing yours as the jet stream rocked the cabin of the plane. And the looks shared between the others as they watched the pair of you didn’t make your skin feel any cooler. Gaz staring at the spot where Ghost’s thigh rested against yours nearly made your pants singe. You couldn’t believe Ghost was just sitting there with his head leaning back against the wall. Maybe sleeping… he wasn’t really moving much. But you couldn’t tell. Nor possess enough confidence to look up or nudge him and find out.

Your sore throat ached a bit too. Raw, and making your voice scratchy, it’d been hard to give a solid ‘good morning’ without everyone asking if you’d come down with something. Your only thought was how Ghost came down something… and you had swallowed. A thought that felt good to hear in your own head… at least when Captain Price wasn’t looking at you with sharp, observant eyes.

Surprisingly, Ghost wasn’t the one who made you feel anxious. He’d been… different in leading up to the flight home. Having your bag packed before you’d noticed, getting you up before the others…. ‘Answer their questions later, little one.’ he’d whispered, masked mouth heating up your ear as he murmured so closely to it. Thoughtful… you’d decided. Realizing only after he’d solved the problem that waking up in bed with him would’ve caused a stir amongst the boys. He even made you tea… the way you like it; With some thick honey at the bottom. No doubt for your rasping voice.

No. Ghost was different.

No one had the gall to mention the Lieutenant strangely shadowing you though. Like you’d suddenly gained a massive black phantom tagging alone at your heels. On missions he would linger close by without anyone noticing, but that just felt… professional. Watching his wide shoulders slump towards yours while sitting on a shitty, makeshift, bench in a cargo plane? That was a whole different look. Even Price spent a good half hour chewing on an unlit cigar, trying to work out what you two had talked about the night before for Ghost to act like this. It was clear though. None of them suspected anything close to what actually happened.

Sitting next to him felt surreal. Especially when he’d been the one who silently insisted that you sit next to him. Having snatched you by your belt and tugged you onto the bench beside him instead of letting you find somewhere mushed between Gaz and Soap like normal. A low grunt of a sound and a firm nod pointed in your direction once he got a look at you sitting next to him much more shyly than normal.

You could smell his cologne, and memorize the tattoos peeking out close to his wrist. Feel his leg twitch to steady himself in his seat when the plane shook a bit. Even listen to the sound of his steady breathing. A whole new experience you’d not really thought about trying before. You nearly felt like you were learning Ghost all over again. Taking every small movement and reexamining it. Because… you couldn’t deny that he had readjusted his view of you.

A blowjob shouldn’t have felt that… intimate, you thought. Remembering the undeniably filthy things Ghost had said. It should’ve left you fulfilled… but not like you actually were. Some warm, expanding feeling, filling up your chest and making you want to hide your face and giggle. A grade school crush level of nervous energy you’d never felt towards a man before. Yet here you were, sitting there half-dumbstruck, watching your Lieutenant stretch his long legs and sigh softly as the landing gear rolled to a stop on the tarmac.

“Comin’?” He muttered, voice level. Maybe a bit impatient as those dark eyes settled on you.

Normal… you reminded yourself. He wasn’t talking you differently; No need to over analyze everything. Letting him lead was the smartest thing. The only way, really.

“Yeah,” Your voice makes you hesitate to say anything more. “Just got stuck staring…”

Ghost doesn’t show any real reaction. Just nods, and grabs his rucksack off the floor next to him. Wordlessly taking yours along in the same hand, walking off with -essentially- everything you had. Suddenly motivating you to not only move your ass off the plane, but follow his long strides to wherever it was he was possessed to go. And whether or not the others even noticed, you didn’t have the luxury of worrying about.

The Lieutenant had your weapons… and your only clean pair of pants.

You didn’t have to follow him far though. Only walking a few meters past your own quarters and down a hallway. Staring at the wide gap between his shoulder blades and the heavy sway that rocked the belt clipped around his hips.

He had your bag tossed next to his on a desktop inside his room without a single trace of the fact it wasn’t a habit. Sitting down heavily and reaching over stiffly to tug at the laces of his boots. Toeing them off with small squeaks of new leather and sitting them under the desk. Either purposefully staying silent to listen to your brain working, or totally unaware that you were stupidly standing there, watching your Lieutenant do a decidedly human thing with wide eyes.

“Come’ere…”

Ghost took off your boots just as simply as his own. Quiet, leaned over your foot propped up on his thigh and not even mentioning your hand resting on his shoulder to steady yourself. Feeling him tug the blouse out of your pant legs, and gently squeeze at your ankle to hold your foot steady.

You didn’t know how to feel about it.

Mortified… maybe. For the simple fact that you had worn the same socks for two days and his head was too close for comfort. Touching you. At least, touching you in a way that wasn’t meant for sex. It didn’t feel like you were doing enough. Weren’t providing him anything.

Guilty… yes? This wasn’t something normal in any situation. You hated a return. It’s what made you feel like you were causing a problem. Made laying low and staying quiet a habitual behavior. And Ghost being the one bent over and struggling to undo the tight knots in your laces? Nearly unacceptable. He didn’t need to… shouldn’t lower himself like that.

Ghost noticed it and you tried to beat him to the punch.

“You don’t have to-”

“Look like you’re gonna faint.”

That hand squeezing softly on your ankle tightens a little before releasing, gliding up your calf and patting you softly before guiding it off his leg. Those dark eyes look up and down your clothes, over your decidedly nervous expression, and back down to your boots before sitting them right next to his.

“Don’t tell me…” he mutters, leaning back in his chair, hands resting on his hips. “You’re not a fan of receiving… are you?”

~

The next two days, you leaned quickly that what was his, suddenly had made room to account for you as well. Almost instantaneously you’d been accounted for in just about every single way you could think of. You washed laundry… you found it put away in one of his drawers. You ordered food to base… it was in his room, not yours. Tried to get into your old quarters… the key wouldn’t open it anymore.

How he’d managed it, you didn’t even want to know. But, Ghost effortlessly took into account every single thing necessary to move you into his life without even a single question. And managed to do it perfectly. You couldn’t question it either, since he’d accomplished the endless tasks to such a degree of attention that you weren’t sure a man could even reach.

“Um, have you seen my black jeans?” The question felt a bit odd, and so did standing in the doorframe of his bathroom with a towel wrapped around you.

“Top drawer. In the closet, next to my pants.”

You couldn’t quite adjust this easily. Not that it wasn’t what you wanted per se. You’d enjoyed Ghost’s company more than anyone else the past couple days. And while he’d been accommodating, it wasn’t like he was bowing to your feet. He came and go as he wanted and didn’t crowd you like he was clingy either. However he did make you feel uneasy with how little he made a fuss about doing something for you.

You never asked for him to do anything. Yet he managed to do everything you ‘hadn’t gotten around to’. And worst of all, when it was time to sleep, he wouldn’t lay down until you eventually caved in and crawled under the blankets first. Almost like he was letting you get settled exactly how you wanted before even thinking about moving closer. No sex. No outward attempt at it. Not even a subliminal hint that he wanted more of your mouth, or anything else for that matter.

It nearly broke you. Or, better spoken, broke your perception of how you expected him to act. Which, made sense considering Ghost wasn’t anything close to the men you’d been with previously. They were always pushy… and he didn’t even push you to your side of the bed when you unconsciously wormed your way to his side at night. Your exes treated sex like a favor needing to be owed. And Ghost wouldn’t begin to act like he’d ever thought about the possibility despite having fucked your throat like he owned it.

Your jeans were indeed in the drawer next to his. And he did ask you to grab a pair of his as you retrieved yours, adding on that you’d be leaving in fifteen minutes… unless you needed more time to get ready.

You finished up in less than ten.

A bar on a Saturday night was Soap’s idea. Drinks, a few cigars, and the whole task force was his way of ‘team bonding’ and no one had a good enough excuse to deny him. Especially when there was a new mission lingering in the next couple weeks, and Price already had the files on hand. You thought it was a bit cliché. Sitting in a musty bar, listening to Price talk over the music about terrain, entry points, possible back-up, and the preemptive teams he was putting together.

It seemed his mind had been working just as hard as yours over the past days. Only you were preoccupied with Ghost’s hand firmly kneading at your thigh under the table. His thumb working at a sore spot just up and to the right of your knee. Forefinger squeezing to alternate the pressure and resist from making the movements feel too harsh. Looking far too relaxed while scanning a document and flipping through the pages with his free hand.

You’d resisted for hours at this point. Forcing yourself to stay quiet and not say something about it. Reminding yourself he was just doing it because he wanted to. Not because he thought he’d get something out of it. He wasn’t holding out. Every time his skilled fingers found another sore spot that made you twitch, you needed to physically clamp your mouth shut or take a drink so you didn’t tell him to stop.

“Another round?” Gaz held up a few bills in his hand, looking around the table.

When everyone agreed, you lost the willpower to sit still. Straightening up and trying to scoot towards the edge of your seat.

“I’ll go up since you’re paying.” The rush in your voice was lost on everyone. Everyone but the man who suddenly locked down with a vice grip on your leg.

Ghost didn’t even flinch. Still looking at the file in his hand, but that cold grip on you didn’t hesitate. Gluing you to your seat and enhancing the sudden sensation of his fingertips dipping under the ripped material stretching over your thigh. You couldn’t understand it. Dumbly trying a second time to stand up, only for it to earn you a side-eyed glance and a slight pinch to your exposed skin.

“No.” he muttered, chin jutting out in the direction of the man, already heading towards the table after seeing Gaz pull out cash .“The waiter’s comin’.”

And right on cue, a younger guy walked up and began taking orders. Going around the table, and stopping at Ghost was a very familiar kind of apprehension on his face after seeing that black mask stretched over his face. If only he could see under the table at the way your thigh was shaking from the soft touches.

“Nothin’ for us,” Such a cool dismissal of the guy that you hardly even notice what he said. “Price, leavin’ out.” He added, moving his hand to palm the back of your neck easily. Giving the slightest tug to get you up out of your seat as well.

“Little one’s comin’ with me.”

Not a soul at the table questions it.

~

Against the wall yet again.

Not unlike the first time… Ghost has a pattern. You’re breathless, but much more unaware of how this situation is going to play out. He hadn’t said a word in the drive, and kept the tightest sightline out the windshield you couldn’t even see his irises from your profile view in the passenger seat. The second he could spot the door to his room? His big body bullied yours right where he wanted it. Keeping you pacified by a hand over your mouth and dark, plotting eyes glaring down.

“Why’d you do that?” His question further raised the questions in your head. It’s all you can do to shrug, as if you had much autonomy over the rest of your body at this point anyways.

“At the bar,” The clarification deepens his irritated tone. “Why’d you take orders like that, huh? Like some fuckin’ maid.”

“You all wanted drinks.”

Unfortunately it’s not the answer he wanted, and you’re hauled that much further up the wall. Only now, you’re suspended fully off the ground. Balanced on his forearm jammed between your thighs; feeling his palm flat against the wall. God, it felt fucking ridiculous. He shouldn’t been able to do it, but he wasn’t even shaking. Dead calm and just watching you unintentionally grind down more on his arm the longer you’re forced to stay like that.

“I got my own.”

You nearly catch an attitude. Wanting to mention that it’s just ‘polite’. And for that matter, you’d not paired for a single drink all night. So, naturally it was only fair you go get them… You settle on saying something a bit more safe. Maybe more manageable even with how little your mouth wants to function.

“I didn’t pay.”

Ghost just snarls, head tilted and looming closer.

“I don’t fuckin’ care,” His hips flinch forwards, jamming against you to send the point home. And you’re not stupid enough to ignore that he’s hard. The long, thick line of his cock disappearing under the edge of his belt; tucked safely to have been able to escape the bar without anyone throwing looks his way.

“Stop doin’ shit just because.” He growls out a bit more directly. “Do it because you want it.”

His point skims over your understanding. “I do what I want!”

“Sure, sweetheart.” The dismissal is soft enough you know he’s not totally pissed.

“When’s the last time you made yourself feel good, huh?” He pauses, giving you a glimpse of his tongue licking his lips under that mask. “I think I remember you sayin’ you’ve faked it plenty of times… How many times is that? How many times you ignored that pussy cryin’ for attention?”

You get it. Oh, you finally understand… And damn it your face doesn’t burn hot with the realization that he’d caught on to just how bad you were about prioritizing yourself. Not even the dull, thudding pressure of your cunt sitting directly in his muscled forearm is enough to distract you from it. The mind game over, and Ghost holding yet another victory in his hand.

“I.. I don’t know,” You look away, unwilling to admit it. “A few times.”

“Bullshit,” He grunts, jerking his lower body against yours yet again. “You might not know that… but you do know how many men… don’t ya, sweetheart?”

Chest caving in defeat, you answer. “Five.”

Ghost’s chuckle is almost patronizing. A deep, rumbling one low in his chest that makes chills run up your back. Purposefully his wrist rotates a bit and your clit rolls over a thick muscle. You’re helpless to hide the pinched yelp it earns him, and it only makes him chuckle for longer. If you’d been in any other position, it would’ve been music to your ears. Now it just felt… punishing. Arousing beyond belief, yes, but still a bit of a sting to your pride.

“Five boys…” He muses aloud. “Not a fuckin’ one with enough sense to breathe without thinkin’.”

He stills for a moment, eyebrows furrowing over dark brown eyes. A debate in his head.

“Then i’ll teach you…” He nods once. Firm and resolved to the decision. His free hand coming up to trace your jawline with a reverent, almost scared touch. “Now that you’re mine… I’ll teach you how to be selfish.”

“S’not like I don’t know how.” It’s a wonder you’re able to sound that confident between the pressure to your cunt and the way he’s talking to you. Unflinching as always, he just smirks under that mask.

“Gonna show you how easy it is… to take pleasure. How to enjoy it.” Each word falls from his lips like thick honey. Whatever he’s planning so fucking rich in his kind that even his mouth slows and his accent thickens at the mere imagination of it. “You’re gonna learn to be good for me… and M’gonna start with that little pussy…”

One dangerous look down at where your thighs are trying to clench together freezes you.

“Not gonna let her be ignored anymore…”

~

Ghost’s tongue curls through your swollen, sensitive, lips; helping guide himself to your pulsing clit. Humming victoriously when your stomach flexes and your body jerks away from the steady pressure. Each lick is the same. Dragging up your slit and purposely spitting against your hole until you both can feel it dripping between your cheeks. Taking his time like this was almost painful. Feeling the twitch of his jaw against your inner thighs and hearing his thick swallows as he drank down your arousal.

It almost made you feel queasy, being the sole focus of this. Your hands unable to find somewhere to rest. Feet unwilling to settle on his back or off to the sides, like you knew you probably should be. Ghost was so intense that you shook. Muscles tremoring around his head and exciting him that much more. You were still stiff though, and it showed. Much to his excitement, it meant that he’d have that much more time between your legs. More opportunities to take you out of your head and throw you into a totally new one.

“It ain’t my mouth makin’ you shake, little one.” He murmurs, almost like he’s talking to your cunt instead. It’s hard to reply when those dark brown eyes lay locked on you from between your slicked thighs.

“I… I don’t know…”

Ghost just chuckles, kissing your inner thigh. Both hands slipping between your legs and using his thumbs to spread you open for him. Heavy eyes looking at your glistening hole covered in his saliva. Spitting on you yet again, and letting out a deep, satisfied sigh when your breath evaporates from the sheer sight of it.

“M’gonna make you feel everythin’ they couldn’t,” your eyes nearly roll back in your skull when he blows a soft, cool, breath over your hot skin. “You’ll memorize what my tongue feels like in your cunt… never gonna come empty again…”

You clench when those words come out more like a threat than a promise. Having heard that tone so many times sitting in on his interrogations. Always relating it to pure torture and the promise of wishing for death over being rested in Ghost’s hands. Only now it was startling just how badly you wanted to hear him speak like that again. Never having heard anyone sound so fucking serious about sex, or find yourself reacting so desperately. Your eyes scrunching shut and your head falling back against the bed, nearly pained with anticipation and a healthy dose of the most fearful arousal you’d mustered.

“Ghost - please, please… just, god take it easy on me.” Your voice is soft, pleading. Actually a bit timid of how far he planned on taking this. Of course he wouldn’t hurt you. You trusted him that much. But pleasure could be just as effective of torture, and Ghost was well-versed.

Another kiss presses to your thigh, “Nothin’ without your permission,” Those dark eyes gain crinkled lines at the corners though as he smiles. “But you’ll like it, little one. Every disgustin’ thing m’gonna do to make this pussy cream…”

His thumb glides over your outer lips, toying with you. Gentle to avoid sensitive spots and draw this out, but mean enough to remind you just how dedicated he was.

“Yeah, baby… you’re gonna look so good when I lick the fuckin’ come out of you.”

His mouth descends over you without another moment of hesitation. Still slow, but now it’s not just his tongue lapping at you. It’s his lips, rough with a couple days neglected of shaving. His teeth -which make you jump at first- pinching and nipping. But it’s all in the perfect pressure. Somehow fully aware of how sensitive you are right now and that the slightest move could be far too much. Reversing your twitches of apprehension into soft rolls of your hips against his face. Allowing you to guide him without a word. Learning how you want it whether or not you ever realized that it was guiding him better than a map.

You loved the slow, consistent pressure around your clit. Not rubbing right over it like he was sure you’d been subjected to before. No… you needed it softer. Sweeter. Just how a pretty girl like you deserved. Circles with a flattened tongue and his fingers working inside you. Even then, you got so fucking tight when he didn’t pull his fingers out all the way. Instead letting you milk them as the pads of his fingers curled against that textured, upper wall needing attention.

God, it was so easy. You had such beautifully clear reactions. What felt good, you’d nearly hold still for. As if you’d never felt it before and couldn’t withhold from the desperate curiosity. And when it didn’t, such polite grinds and roll of your hips would be almost too helpful in moving the bridge of his nose or his tongue to where you wanted it.

Ghost couldn’t remember the last time he ate pussy with such rapt attention. Enjoy it had always been easy. The taste, the sounds, feeling in control… any man in his right mind would relish in it. But you? You made his hard cock brushing up against the mattress fall to a true afterthought. He didn’t even care that there was enough precum drooling from his tip to soak through denim jeans.

Your first orgasm is a beautiful accident. Ghost’s body isn’t even what earns it. It’s his fucking mouth saying the nastiest things imaginable with a busy tongue stroking your clit. Rambling low and sluggishly, a thick lisp when his bottom lip tries to slide across your pussy on the right syllables.

Good job, tha’s it… s’good for me.

Keep fuckin’ drippin’ like that.

Stay right there -just like that- let me lick her clean baby…

You come quick and hard. Not even getting to relish in the feeling of release that wasn’t by your own hand before Ghost is working for another. It’s the most impatient habit he’s got and won’t deviate. Using the clench of your pussy around him to advantage by working you open all over again. Purposefully providing that “first touch” stretch throughout orgasms like a reset. Short term memory erasure of all his hard work just to massage at your shaking legs as gentle reassurance.

“Don’t — Don’t stop.” Your panting. Wanting to warn him as the second approaches a bit slower.

You’re still nervous to perform, but the edge is off. Having been given just enough reassurance that you can, in fact, come from someone else’s touch. But the slight tremor in your voice hints at the hesitation you have to come again.

Enough time elapsed to overthink what you sound like. How you appear from this angle and anything in between that has been a problem before now. Ghost doesn’t move an inch. The only thing he does is take a steady deep breath and move one arm to rest his forearm on the bed. Like he’s settling in.

Getting fucking comfortable.

And he stays just like that until you’re shoving yourself up the bed and away from his chasing mouth to try and take at least one complete breath. Your feet sliding in the sheets and the hair on the back of your neck getting cold once it’s not matted to the pillow. Previous experience anticipates that it’s the end. That Ghost isn’t going to follow. That he’ll take the credit for making you come twice, and enjoy a fluttering, wet cunt around his cock.

His face is next to yours and his swollen lips are kissing your temple over and over sweetly. One hand keeps his heavy weight off of you while the other gently reaches to your neck. Holding your head to ease the acute angle of it and shyly feel your pulse. You’re too dazed to see the look on his face. How relaxed he is, counting your heart beats and watching sweat slide across your temple and get caught in the baby hairs there. Observant, but utterly obsessed by this moment. Drinking in self-satisfaction and the much more addictive taste of seeing you fall apart under him.

“I got you. I’m here, breathe baby.” Keeping his chest close, he exaggerates his own. Pressing against you, grounding the feeling.

“It’s so much.” Admitting it makes you feel awful. Like you’re not enjoying it more than anything you’ve felt before. But you’re unable to explain just how raw your nerves feel. Terrified that if he touches your clit again it would bring real tears to your eyes.

Ghost moves closer, sharing body heat you didn’t know you even wanted. “I know, little one… you’re so sensitive. S’okay.” He answers, gently reaching down to pull both your thighs together and against him.

Curling you to his body and holding your legs to help ease the radiating pleasure signals thrumming in your pussy. His hand rubbing your outer thigh, squeezing at the stretched muscles in your hip. Dissipating the tightly-wound lower half of your body that is still expecting his fingers to touch you again. Split between wishing he would force another orgasm out of you and nearly passing out from overstimulation.

Ghost knows better though. You’d gone too long without someone else controlling your pleasure that it was going to be hard enough. And a second only compounded your body’s response. In the moment he felt possessed to prove a point. Really, the same one you had for him. But the moment you scurried back, that part of his brain turned off. Keeping you safe in this state was just as important as anything else. He didn’t want you faking anything again. That included when you felt like you couldn’t take more.

“We’re done, baby…” he kisses your cheek, tasting the sting of salt on his lips. “No more; jus’ easy touches… M’not gonna play anymore.”

It works wonders, simply taking the guesswork out of this. Allowing your legs to fully sag against him, trusting those fingers grazing up and down. Even your head letting go of the remaining tension holding you off the pillow. Ghost can’t help but smile. Kissing you yet again. And again. Helping himself to the sounds of your breaths evening out and the softness of your dewy skin on his mouth.

His hot body sticks to yours a bit, but it’s comfortable. Helps you feel secure, laying there balled up and trying to work through the multiple sensations still making it nearly impossible to open you eyes and look at him. Desiring to say a simple ‘thank you’ or at least, give him a smile just to show that you’re appreciative. Another one of those nasty little things you’re convinced is necessary right after the deed. Poised to give positive reinforcement at the first moment so the guy won’t run off.

“Th-thank you,” The way you say it almost sounds guilty to Ghost. Even the hand rubbing you doubles down, more firmly. Like he’s hoping to keep his own emotions in check by reminding himself of how skewed your perceptions are.

“S’not a ‘thank you’,” He replies, lips against your ear, feeling the easy, toothless, smile he’s got. “Told you the other day… I wanted it. Wanted you.”

Your eyes do open then. Hearing him refer back to the mission. Like he’s not the least bit affected by it in an embarrassed kind of way. Adding that much more reinforcement to the nearly unbelievable idea that he’s actually meant it and not just so he could get a bit closer to you. Surely he couldn’t, right?

“You mean that?”

Ghost’s eyes brighten, and he chuckles very deeply. Bumping his forehead against yours.

“You and your sweet pussy aren’t going anywhere.”

requests are thanks to: bvxygriimes bobochacha kmcmpmd simonsslvt verynastyspoon featherbrainedangel flower-olive riri-is-a-girlie bii-aan-ckaa mxshpitmom stormy-knight134 glocuseguardian3rd variety-fangirl and about eight anons that I can't tag unfortunately :(

you're all so lovely and I want to give you each a big smooch

reblogs and comments are always appreciated <3

my ask box is always open, but fair warning I'm slow haha

#simon ghost riley #cod x reader

[thefinalyeehaw]

That anon ask about premature ejaculation was so good ✨

Now I can’t stop thinking about Raphael, finally has his crown in his hand and his mouse, naked in his bed, ready to be claimed as his. The moment he bottoms out in his mouse’s cunt, Raphael let out a groan and cums immediately. Raphael has his face buried in the crook of her neck, feeling hotter and looking more redder than usual (poor devil is flustered) as the humiliation of his premature ejaculation tenses up his body, his cock still hard and throbbing inside of his mouse’s cunt.

Hnnng~!!!! Why are all these pre ejacts turning me on so hard.

Awh poor baby, you just know Raphael is embarrassed like you said, especially after Haarlep told you he wasn’t good in bed. So you just hold his head against you, your nails playing with his scalp as his hair tangles between your fingers. You tell him it’s quite alright, that you don’t mind.

He stays there for a moment, his arms still holding himself up so he won't crush you and his tail is thumping hard against the mattress. It’s so cute, he might be hiding his face but his tail gives him away. That he’s frustrated he didn’t last long, that he couldn’t last long for his little mouse. But that sweet tight cunt of yours just felt too good.

As he tries to regain control over his emotions you can’t help but grind into him, your thighs hugging his hips as you clench around his cock. He may not be able to last long, but you don’t care, not when it makes him far more sensitive. It gives you an opportunity to flip him over and ride him like he’s your little pet, making him an absolute writhing mess beneath you. Fuck, the way he cums again so soon has you seeing stars. You can feel how full you are after the third round.

He may not be able to last long, but at least he can keep going each and every time.

Thanks anon for sending this one in, I went feral again for pre ejact men. Stay slaying xoxo!!!

- 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝒦𝒾𝓌𝒾 𝓍𝑜𝓍𝑜

#bg3 #bg3 raphael #raphael x tav

[thefinalyeehaw]

ʚ♡ɞ New Life & Beginnings ʚ♡ɞ

- Rolan x F!Tav/Reader

- Zevlor x F!Tav/Reader

- Raphael x F!Tav/Reader

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

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

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

Rolan

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zevlor

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Raphael

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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