OKAY! So, I read through a ton of fanfiction, and finally played enough of the game after years to actually start writing for it. Because, truthfully, its difficult to find good writing for this damn game. Like, HELLO? You all thirst painfully over Halsin because hes a hunk of a man, BUT NOTHING FOR MINSC? THAT STUPID, MOUNTAIN OF A MAN? COME ON! Fanfic writers, get it together. You are SLACKING! Haha, anyways-
For starters, of course, allow me to fill your gullets and depraved little minds with our horned characters!
WARNINGS; Blood, open wounds, pain kink, degradation(Raphael), non-con if you squint (Zevlor). Swearing.
Not proof read.
❤️🔥~❤️🔥
They are wonderful at giving head, beautiful, sweet things. They don't mean to scratch the succulent meat of your thighs! Leaving not just lovely blooms in their wake, but scratches from the tips of their horns. Half are genuinely sorry, others find it *dreadfully* hot. And you, our sweet b/himbo of a reader, find it all the more hot than your delightful partner.
Wyll Ravenguard/Blade of Avernus
You waited literal weeks for this moment! Your sweet, ever devoted prince wanted to court you. Dance, sing, and revel with you. And while that was so sickeningly sweet and darling of him, he would also *tease* without harm. Mentioning the new prongs in his private areas left very little creativity to that filthy, debauched mind of his. And his horns?! Oh, gods save you, you're *drooling*. Wipe it up.
But, this moment had nothing to do with his fancy little blade, or his lean, deliciously dark, toned arms. It has everything to do with how slow, and deliberate his tongue strokes at your sex. Dragging, plunging, bobbing his sweet little head. With each motion, everytime he dips his head innocently, the very tips of his horns slice thin, bleeding cuts into your thighs. Not deep gashes, of course, nothing a dab with cotton and water won't fix.
Its only when he finishes, does he finally lift his cute head up in a daze. His eyes snap from their haze to your cut thighs, bleeding in mere droplets than streams.
It still worried him! His hands immediately holding your thighs close to his chin, rasping apologies has your essence *dripped* from his mouth. Oh, poor thing, his lip is trembling from how apologetic he is!
"Love," You exasperate, propping yourself on your elbows as he delicately touches the fresh scratches, "They're shallow, sweetheart. If anything, they'll scab over and flake off by tomorrow night. I'm quite alright." His scarlet eye locks onto yours, still filled with profound worry, before a wry, uncharacteristically smile etches his hell-kissed face.
"..So, am I to believe my dear heart *enjoys* this?" It's then, your cheeks flare up a delicious maroon, before you scoff with an eye roll, already dragging his head back down by his horns.
"Stop *yapping*, already!" You sigh, as he simply chuckles, lowering his face back down to your sex, his scratches now entirely on purpose.
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Karlach
It's when you start to whimper, whine and cry like a little pathetic baby, is when her head lifts, her chin slick and shiny.
Your wonderful tiefling girlfriend, always so hot to the touch, but, thanks to Dammon and some rather convenient infernal iron, she's able to indulge blissfully. She was quite excited for this night, waiting over a decade to touch and be known again. Hells, poor girl can't even remember her first time, thats how long its been!
Imagine how confused she looked when she keened into your watery eyes, full of pleasure and pain. Her gaze peers down to your thigh, one completely untouched, sticky with sweat. Then, her eyes lock onto your other thigh, dripping with spiral scratches and tears; all thanks to her curled horn.
"Oh, shit! Babe, I am so, so, so sorry!" She nearly props herself up, eager to retrieve a healing ointment from the camp's chest, until you gasp,
"No! Where the hell do you- get back down here." You choke through sobs, yanking her by her horn down to, not your sex, but your thigh, "*Clean* it up, you know how." You command, and while Astarion may have been the only one interested in consuming blood, its how efficiently and sassy you tugged her back down. How your fingers curled around her single horn softly, before giving it a forceful yank, unlocking a myriad of kinks neither of you knew you possessed.
"Oh, holy shit. You're.. fucking hot." She whispers, before her tongue darts out in a thick, sticky pad. Her muscle drags up your thigh slowly, savoring the metallic taste of your crimson with uncanny cheer.
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Zevlor
It was after the tiefling party died down, everyone turning in or falling into other's arms for a night of passion. You, our sweet, wonderful hero just couldn't take sweet defiance as an answer from the hell raiser. He had told you several times throughout the night, each rejected less firm and more drunkard than he'd like, until you came up to him one last time. Cheeks flushed from the wine that flowed like rivers, hair strewn in just the best way, eyes lidded and puffy, and lips absolutely quivering just for him.
"Alright..Fine, but, just for tonight, hero." He finally gives in, trying his best to ignore his own crimson flush. You gasp with absolute gid, dragging the tiefling leader to your tent. You toss the bottle in your hands to the ground, as you yank the tiefling to your lips. Fingers snaking up behind his horns to free his tied, golden locks.
And as the night deepened, you soon found yourself below Zevlor, his lips and tongue sucking and slurping with fervor. It isn't until you release a choked sob, one devoid of much pleasure, but a genuine *whine* of pain.
Zevlor snaps his head up, only eliciting another sharp, painful gasp, unaware of his own horns as the tips dig deeper, leaving shallow pricks webbing with blood.
"Are you okay? Was I going too fast, did I bite too hard?" He stutters, assessing your face and sex for any sharp marks, before he spots the wounds left on your thighs, "Oh, I.. apologies. The horns.. I, I can stop-"
"No!" You choke, sitting up quickly, eager to drag him back down, "No! It felt.. my adrenaline was *hot*, but each time your horns slit my skin, it made my blood feel *cold*. Its.. exciting. Painful, yes, but.. that mix of hot and cold, it feels really good. Please.. continue." You explain, your hand finding his face, thumb stroking the aged, weary depressed lines beneath his worried, golden eyes, "Don't. Stop."
And that, was it for you. Come morning, when he left your side, he healed your thighs regardless of your protests to keep the *souvenirs*.
"I can't have our savior running around with open wounds, sweetheart." The paladin chuckled, pressing a hand to your flesh as he mutters a cantrip. In an instant, the skin closed, leaving glittering glyphs in their wake. You of course, our sweet bimbo, just had to give him a pouty lip. He simply grins, taking your chaw with a firm hand, his claw scratching ever so slightly on your cheek bone,
"Wipe that pout off your lips, and I'll see to it we have another night like this, hero."
❤️🔥
Dammon
Oh, this one is truly delicious. You may not see it, but our sweet, weak, docile little blacksmith is quite the pervert. He's been dreaming of wrapping leather harnesses around you, and your camp members since the start; especially you, and Karlach. You two certainly left the impression on our poor man.
How many nights, in at Last Light he pounded metal with his hammer mercilessly. Each time you'd come back, new materials in hand, he'd create the most exquisite tools, bombs, and armor just for you. Half of it was for the sake of survival, the rest, a ploy to keep you from running off so soon.
His piercing, blue eyes staring you down as you stripped out of your clad, into the helldusk armor he made just for you. His cheeks red like a tomato, disguised by the warm, licking flames of the makeshift forge. His gaze trailing down your exposed thighs with hunger, a need to be betwixt them, sucking and practically chewing to his hearts content.
Its then his mind travels to a rather dark corner, how far he could go. How much he could hurt you, and you take it with enthusiasm. How his horns, ever long and sharp, would leave the cleanest, deepest gashes they could. Getting caught on the crevice of your flesh, leaving you a crying, pathetic mess.
Oh, how he would degrade, and praise you. Exploit your pleasure and pain for his own, to see his strong hero crumble as his horns drip in your violent crimson. Just how loudly you would scream, so he'd have a reason to forge a beautiful, custom gag just to shut you the fuck up.
"Dammon, darling," you muse, as you adjust the armor properly, "You're drooling. Are you sick?" You ask so.. innocently. You absolute cat! Knowing exactly why hes drooling, but not what's fueling him.
"Oh, am I? I suppose its.. I haven't slept in a few days." He mumbles with a grin, using his sleeve to wipe his mouth, "I probably should, although I don't particularly want to dream nightmares."
Its then that you give a shit eating smirk, taking the leather straps of his apron, playfully tugging him to meet your gaze directly, "Well, why don't you go on up and have a *wet* dream?" You laugh with evil mirth, watching the smith falter, freeze under your touch, before he gives an equally malicious chuckle,
"I didn't know I could *choose* my dreams. Perhaps, you can help me fall asleep, then."
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Rolan
Poor, poor Rolan. When will his luck turn? Stranded in a Druid's Grove with albiet, racist druids. Stuck in the Shadowlands, his siblings slipping through his fingers, possibly dead or being tortured as he drinks himself to death in Last Light. And when he finally reached Baldur's Gate, his long awaited apprenticeship was nothing short of an egotistical man's need to abuse wizard's across the realms.
It was *you*. You, who inspired him and his brother, Cal, to stay when his sister Lia nearly screeched her head off about leaving the kin to die. It was you, who saved him from the curse, his drinking, and brought his siblings back to him.
"I already gave you my thanks, don't be *greedy*." He mused, bringing a controlled sip up to his lips as he saw just how your eyes seemed to soften, thighs dragging together by his purr.
And, it was you, no one else, who saved him from his abusive, shitty master. It was you, who practically served him a fruitful future on a silver platter. The caterer, to his whims and hopes. And he was more of an ass than a gentleman, a trait he was quick to rectify when you both faced Lorakkan.
"I've bored witnesses to true fealty, leadership," his gaze flickers to you, sharing an empathetic smile, praising and recognizing your efforts across the coast, "But nothing like that, under *your* scrutiny." He glares at his master, crippling the mage's ego.
It was later that night, that Rolan sent out an invitation to your rented floor at the Elfsong, urging you to meet him back at Sorcerers Sundries for a proper, intimate apology.
Come that night, you took the liberty to doll yourself up for the pathetic wizard. When he saw you, his jaw nearly dropped. Lia merely teased, pressing a finger up to close his mouth, remark about a bug flying in, before leaving her brother to his well-earned privacy.
"So," you hum, sitting languidly on one of his plush sofas, "An apology? My, my, Rolan, shall I allow myself such greed?"
The tiefling rolls his eyes, pouring a rather delicious vintage wine into your crystal glass, "Typically, I'd disapprove of your needless gloating. But, considering.. everything. I'd say you earned it." Your gaze follows him, as you take a slow sip of the wine, an eyebrow raised at his turn of attitude.
"I, want to thank you. Properly. For everything. For taking Lia's side, for saving the idiots, and for.. ugh. For saving *me* from myself countless times." He huffs, finding the apology rather difficult to discuss without gritting his teeth. He isn't one for choking down his pride, no matter how appropriate and deserved.
"I want to thank you, for everything. Properly. If.. you'll let me."
-
"Holy ff...Rolan! Rolan! ROLAN!" You gasp, fingers in his hair, practically ripping strands out as he plunges his face deeper, bobbing his dusty red face into your sex. Teeth scraping the delicate flesh, his pointed nose pressed against the sensitive muscles. His horns? Digging deep, dark wounds into your thighs. The tips of the horns practically daggers in your skin, leaving gashes pooling with blood in their wake. Drops of your blood and essence drip off his head, face, *everywhere*. This was his apology, giving you absolutely every feeling possible. Pain, pleasure, assurance, disgust, delight. Everything he's ever felt for you, given in one single night.
And don't worry, the tower is full of healing scrolls and alloys. He'd surely sever your tendons for the sheer thrill, leave you to bleed and whimper.
Just you wait for the aftercare, darling. That's when he'll clean you up properly, feed you until your full. Let you drink until you can't breathe. Take care of you, because he loves you, loves you more than the blood pooling from your thighs, or the cum dripping from your pelvis. What a disgusting, perverted little man.
Gods, isn't he like a drug, absolutely addictive. May kill you during the high, but leave you absolutely breathless.
❤️🔥
Raphael + Harleep
You filthy succubitches are going to love this one.
Our defiant, resilient little hero. You thought you had it all planned; Defy the deal, buy your way into the House of Hope, and steal the Orphic Hammer. It was perfect! To shatter the chains tethering both Hope and Orpheus.
What a delicious, fucking idiotic mouse you are. Your plan went off without a hitch, until the master of the home came back a little earlier than expected. You hadn't even found the library yet, and you simpleton chose to come to hell all alone.
When Harleep found you, scuttling around the chambers, they couldn't help themselves! You were so doe eyed, so succulent. How could they not become so demanding, when you feigned such innocence.
In an instant, your clothes were gone, and you were above the Incubi's mouth, dragging your hips with no abandon. All of it, the world, your esteemed camp, everyone who depended on you didn't matter. What happened to your heart, how did you become this repulsive in a matter of seconds? How everyone, no doubt, would come to hate you for this. For endangering them, for leaving them to die at the mercy of the elder brain. Gods, your so selfish, fueled by lust. You deserve it.
"You deserve all of it." Raphael mutters, sitting in a lush, cushioned corner, a sardonic grin and his glowing eyes are all thats visible. You choke up another meaningless sob, as the jagged base of Harleep's horns cut and scraped the soft meat of your inner thighs. Blood soon trickling down their face.
"Coming into my home without your friends to tell you any better. Pathetic. They will never look at you the same." The devil spits from the infernal shadows, twirling a goblet of blood in a golden chalice, propping his feet upon a debtor with no care.
"So, utterly selfish. So broken, little mouse." And all you can do is choke on your pride, as tears, blood, and cum fill your senses. Nothing else matters. Did anything matter? Was saving the world important, compared to this moment?
"You're horrible," he degrades, taking a long sip, "You made everyone believe in your cause. And you stoop to this? A whore. You're filthy, pathetic. Call yourself a hero, and yet, the one truly heroic thing you may accomplish, you'll never get around to." With each painful jab, remark, it unfortunately only fueled your sick, depraved mind further.
"Harleep, finish them off." He commands, digging his heels into the debtor, as they grin wide, tears pricking their eyes.
Harleep, ever the pleaser, grins against your sex, flipping you onto your back in an instant, positioning their fiery, pronged cock at your entrance.
You whimper softly, hair falling onto Raphael's feathered pillows with an uncanny grace, "I..oh..fuck it. I'm pathetic." You gasp, letting your lust fuel your judgement once and for all.
❤️🔥~❤️🔥
Upcoming:
Hope you filthy freaks enjoyed! Haha! <3
Part 2❤️🔥 will have; Cal, Lia, Alfira, Lakrissa, Mizora, and some of my personal characters!
So we're gonna break some rules here but the middle aged devil has caught my attention and here's what I DESPERATELY wish Larian had given us.
I need a Harleep that can take any form they see, who can shape shift into anyone they get a good look at (obviously they've gotta see the whole package for accuracy but they can get it close seeing 'em clothed too). I want the option to de-escalate from a fight and smarts your way into getting the info/key without banging them or killing them (I know you can technically knock them out but you get nothing).
I want the option to rob that joint for all its worth, get the Hammer and all that and NOT have to kill Raph. I'd LOVE the option to take everything/free appropriate parties and leave without Raph knowing, then him coming home to Harleep laying amongst the ransacked house like "Yeah that mouse is a funny one and they took all your shit." But if there has to be a confrontation, I wanna kick the shit out of him and get the chance to tell him something along the lines of "Ha Ha I win!", then dip out, while he's messed up, laying there on the floor of his own house and seething with fury because he cant FUCKING BELIEVE he got beat and outsmarted and ROBBED by a mortal. HIM.
I want him stewing in that fury. He can't kill you, for one that worked out badly last time, for two you still might be the best bet at getting the crown, and despite his ire he's a thousandish and isn't rash enough to just go and try and off you now he's got space from the issue (as in you left and he's been brooding) I want him crashing out about it. Drinking. Destroying things. Raging. Showing up at camp to bitch you out and smelling like Devil Whiskey and Brimstone and just fucking LOSING his cool over the shit you pulled and your frustrating attitude and lack of proper RESPECT and all those things just making him "AUUURGHH!!" In a ball of devil fire before vanishing back to his lair to brood and smash stuff some more.
I'm drinking wine so we're getting into NSFW territory here... Buuut I want a Harleep who KNOWS what is bothering Raph so badly, who, after many attempts to distract him with himself as usual gives turning into you a go. Maybe it's requested by Raphael himself during a rage, the intensity of his desire to own you, to dominate, to WIN messing with him so bad he just casts out for a way to make it happen RIGHT NOW since he can't actually do anything about it. Maybe he's raging, or brooding, or both and Harleep just gives it a go, playing up your irritatingly unimpressed attitude while flouncing your form until Raph fucking snaps.
I want a Raphael who breaks his boring, regular, bottom only routine in a fit of rage fueled arousal and fucking destroys Tavleep. Who fucks them into every surface in his room, hard and unforgiving, with teeth and claws, Raph shifting in and out of all of his forms as he absolutely loses himself unleashing his need to dominate you onto Harleep.
I want a Harleep who's left completely ruined, just a drooling mess who drags themselves up out of bed and away from a back to brooding Raph (I picture him smoking a cigarette all mad in bed for some reason) the minute they have feeling back in their legs to pen a letter to you spilling all the tea. I want that letter from them! I wanna read it with my companions and have a collective "ugh... oh no..." (Cause as much as I want this devil to want tav with every fiber of his damned soul I don't actually find him that attractive 🤣)
I ran out of steam. Keep it going?? Add in another unattainable fantasy person. Larian gave us SO MANY *COUGHROLAN/ZEVLOR/GORTASHCOUGH*
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.
