Halo In Reverse

by Anonymous

Summary:

Various mostly smutty moments highlighting your (or your tav's) relationship with everyone's favorite Hellrider. Each chapter can be read as a stand-alone if you want to. Think of it like an any% speedrun of a slow burn. Or don't, because that's a terrible comparison.

Chapter 1: Act 1 - The First Time (Smut)

Notes:

idgaf if his age is triple digits, how many wrinkles he has, how saggy his balls are OUR 👏 BOY 👏 STILL 👏 GOT 👏 IT 👏 give him a chance to dick you down and i PROMISE YOU IT WILL CHANGE YOUR LIFE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

WARNING: alcohol, yearning level 9000, grabby hands, cunnilingus

“I've a spare bedroll if you need a place to crash for the night. I could also use the company.”

Your words rang in his mind. Watching you as you sauntered off towards the raucous group with drink in hand, he found himself desiring to be walking alongside you, even in silence. And while you knew to heed his warning about purple liquids, the instinctive protector in him also wished to keep by your side to stave off any other ‘cocktails’ some of the tieflings might offer you.

Though the time you had gotten to know each other was brief you had the natural talent to bring him at ease. Something he hadn't achieved in months, putting it conservatively. He acknowledged he was drawn to you, but he pledged he could never actually let it show—he didn't consider himself that much of a fool. Age was surely one thing, but after Elturel, he by and large had no idea who he was anymore. His life, his duty, his identity shattered in front of him and not even by his own doing. He would have picked up the pieces but they were swept away and tossed in the bin.

He fought with himself, swirling the wine in his hand but never putting the chalice to his lips. It couldn't have been more obvious: You had openly, directly, intentionally, specifically invited him to spend time with you. Yet he was stuck convincing himself that it was untrue. That you had meant something else by it, somehow.

Well beyond after everyone retreated to their places of rest, the campfire all but embers at this point, he decided impromptu to shut up his idiotic inner voice by downing the rest of his cup in one swig, and made his way to your tent.

The piece of cloth acting as a door was pulled down but there was a faint glow of light from inside. Immediately assuming you had been sleeping, he kicked himself for taking too long, blowing his only chance clean out of the water. Turning back and taking a few steps to wherever his feet happened to take him, cursing at himself all the while, he halted at the sound of your voice.

“Zevlor?”

He looked back and found you holding the cloth open with one arm, the other holding a lantern. “Where are you going? Come in.”

Both of you now in your tent you continued, “I almost didn't hear you coming at all. You should've said something.” You placed the lantern behind your bedrolls, both rolled out and laid beside each other. Your tent was small, so really this was the only viable positioning (or perhaps that's just what you told yourself).

“I thought you asleep. I didn't want to disturb you,” he replied.

“Just reading a book. But no matter,” waving his excuse away, “you're here now. So take that damned armor off and relax. You deserve it.”

He smirked at your blunt remark and almost argued he actually doesn't deserve it—at all, really—but that would be moot. He was too tired, anyway.

You went back to reading your book, or at least attempted to, since you quickly grew distracted watching his backside as he cautiously took off his armor, revealing a plain undershirt and pants. You peeked his lower midriff when he lifted his arms to take out his hair tie and run his fingers through his hair. You felt a blush coming on. If he mentioned it, you would blame the alcohol. You stared blankly back at your book as he turned around and gestured at the empty bedroll beside you. “May I?”

“Hmmm, no. I require two bedrolls for myself, actually. You can sleep… over there, somewhere.” A corner of his mouth upturned in amusement as you pointed at an empty space before continuing. “Of course you may. Please, make yourself comfortable.”

The Hellrider exile thanked you and laid on his back, one arm propped underneath his pillow, the other against his side. He adjusted into the position, a deep relieving breath as he closed his eyes.

You could tell he was genuinely trying to let go and get some much needed rest, but his face still held tension. Saying 'he must have a lot on his mind' would be an incredible understatement. You had this tadpole to worry about, but at least you have a home to return to once you're healed.

You closed your book and reached towards the lantern and killed the flame. The glow from the full moon outside kept your tent dimly lit through the thin sheets. Lying on your back as well—don't want to make it too awkward now—you shut your eyes. If you kept completely still, you could hear Zevlor's steady breaths which, oddly enough, bring you peace.

It was only a few fleeting moments of quietude before the sounds of passionate, rowdy sex could be heard in the near-distance; loud enough it couldn't be ignored easily.

“Well, at least they're having fun,” you chimed.

Zevlor chuckled. “Can't blame them.”

Despite being completely exhausted, physically and mentally, his mind drifted its focus on the carnal sounds. It was a pleasure he hadn't indulged in longer than he'd admit to even himself. The remnants of the warming effects of alcohol combined with the rising tide of arousal within him made it all the more difficult for sleep to take hold. If he were alone he might've gotten himself off, though quickly followed by the regret of feeling like a depraved, old pervert.

So there was nothing he could do physically and he couldn't tune it out. He had no choice other than to drown it out. The sound of his own dull, tired voice rehashing his bottomless thanks for the hundredth time should do the trick:

“I want to thank you, again, for everything you've done for us. You had no reason to.”

You were glad he said something to distract from the tension building between you because you couldn't focus on a damn thing. Following his lead, you responded, “There doesn't always need to be a reason. Sometimes you do it because… it feels right. You don't even need to think about the choice.”

A distant time ago Zevlor would've wholeheartedly concurred. But Avernus changed everything. His once rock-solid morals supported by unshakable faith were challenged, leaving an empty foundation filled with cracks.

His silence from being lost in thought made you suspect that you made him uncomfortable. Saying the first thing that came to your mind, you followed up. “Although, it certainly makes the choice simpler to make when the person requesting said help is easy to talk to.”

Brought back to the present moment, he couldn't help but smile. “Come now, no need to resort to cheap flattery for justification for your good deeds.”

You placed your hand on your upper chest as you feigned shock. “Cheap flattery? I'm hurt! What would you rather me say? That I accept other forms of payment if you can't afford coin?”

He was quick with his retort. “That depends. Name your price.”

You took a risk, the last of the liquid courage you drank earlier still coursing through you. “I'm all for bartering, but if I'm to see that handsome face again one day, I'll have to write this one off as a loss.”

He let out a bellowed laugh. “Oh please, you must be blind.”

You turned over on your side. “What if I told you I meant it?”

He tutted. “Then you must truly be blind. Or mad. …Perhaps both.” Zevlor was chastising himself for nearly always dismissing praise thrown his way so easily. You were clearly giving him opening after opening, but it was all but instinct to shut it out. At his age it would be near impossible to change.

You doubled down. “If being blind and mad allows me to bare witness to the truth, then so be it.”

Stopping himself from digging a hole that would soon become a bottomless pit, he bit the inside of his lip. He wanted to reciprocate, to let you know he thinks the same of you, that he hadn't been this close with or had this much fun with someone doing something as mundane and trivial as lying beside each other talking until one of you passes out from exhaustion or the day breaks, whichever comes first. That he wanted to let you in, so damned terribly, but that door was rusted shut long ago.

In a softened, more serious tone you spoke, “You're a handsome man, Zevlor. I mean that. I'd even wager to say that you had quite the lineup, too, in Elturel. I imagine Hellriders were never short of lovers.”

Instead of rejecting your compliment he settled for ignoring it, and acquiesced your offer to change the subject. “We had a duty. A strict oath to abide by at every moment. The weight of our responsibilities and the unwavering dedication to protect our grand city of Elturel kept our visions true. …Though I'd be lying if I said we didn't have our cake and occasionally eat it, too.” He smirked as he reminisced. “It wasn't often we took advantage of such unspoken benefits—some of my comrades more than others. I was much too focused on my work, strategizing over our next threat.”

Heart beginning to race, he couldn't tell if it was the wine earlier or the epiphany he may never have a chance like this again. “But, if I had to be completely honest, should I have met someone like you…” His gaze turned to meet yours. You looked more breathtaking than ever—soft, gentle eyes paired with an even softer smile, intently listening to his nostalgia of days gone by.

A rough, dry swallow followed by a shiver of uncertainty rushed through him as his vision stayed on your lips. He hastily breathed out in a raspy whisper, “To Hells with it.”

His kiss was soft, but the hand laid over your cheek following after was trembling slightly, unsure of its purpose. You confirmed his choice by tilting yourself into the kiss. After what simultaneously seemed like forever and nothing, he pulled away. Though not far, as you could still feel his shallow breath. Zevlor refused to pull away any further, almost silently begging you to keep him close.

Beginning to become overwhelmed by years of suppression, his breathing was becoming panting, his heartbeat deafening his ears. Your hand trailed up his arm onto his shoulder. Though he was naturally warm to the touch, he felt like your hands left trails of white-hot flames on his skin. You swear the fires of his eyes grew brighter by the second.

With a shaky low breath he inquired, “Do you want this? I will—”

“Gods yes, Zevlor. Take me. I'm yours.”

A guttural groan was his response as he mashed his lips on yours once more; pressing his body into yours, rolling on top of you, propped up by an elbow on the bedroll. Only the Gods knew how long it had been since he'd been touched like this. Desired. Wanted.

With his mouth plastered against yours, he longed to share a much deeper, needier kiss, but he was apprehensive of the pointy edges of his teeth. However, you did not care, pushing his lips apart with your own and twisting his tongue with yours. The risk of being cut was far outweighed by the reward of sharing more of your body with him.

One of your hands crept under his shirt, feeling his muscles flex under his skin. He instinctively pushed his hips into yours and you could feel his cock already hard. His tail haphazardly seeked to wrap itself around your leg and spread you open.

His free hand roamed your body, memorizing every dip, bump, and curve. He would squeeze every soft part he could find, briefly digging his nails before loosening his grip. Trying to control himself, you took note.

Eventually his hand settled on your chest. You never realized the size of his hands until you felt it easily cupping your breast. As he squeezed and kneaded, his lips left yours and suddenly you remembered you had forgotten to breathe. Each kiss he meticulously placed along your jaw and neck burned hot as a branding iron, and when his lips lifted your skin stung like ice. Your chest heaved from the stimulation of his fingers playing with your nipple and the wet, heated kisses on your flesh, periodically stopping to suck on and lick an area every time you made a beautifully sinful sound.

You placed a hand on his wrist and guided it from your breast to your groin. His hand found purchase, fingers gliding against your clothed pussy. Your hips rolled along his touch.

It wasn't enough. You needed to feel him. You yanked his wrist and shoved it underneath the hem of your pants. He chuckled at your eagerness, quickly followed by a low keen as his palm glided along your soaking folds. It drove him wild, you were this wet for him without him doing so much as touching you. But he would've never believed it if you had simply told him this effect he had on you.

He was mindful of his nails. Even so, decades of heavy weapon handling and fighting formed permanent calluses on his hands, and the roughness of his caress was felt by every nerve.

The heat and pressure building in you was overwhelming. “Gods above, Zevlor, I can't take this much longer. I need you, now,” you pleaded with a whine.

He peeled himself away from you, breaths labored, his hands now on either side of you. “Apologies, I–” his mind scrambled to form a sentence. “It's been… I haven't…” his mouth opened as if to continue the thought but cut it short. “Forgive me.” His eyes closed and breaths slowing down, he regulated himself.

You wrapped your arms around his torso and back, lazily rubbing and grazing over the mass of muscle, scars, bumps, and ridges. And as if you read his mind of what he had ultimately wanted to say to you, you suggested, “We can go slow, if you'd like.”

His eyes glazed over for a brief moment, searching for an unknown answer, until he blinked and settled on one. “I… think that would be best.”

As if starting over, he embraced you in a tender kiss. Moving his arms so they were under you, he held you, securing you to him. His tail unwrapped from your leg as you positioned them around his waist and pulled him towards you.

In response, he lowered his hips and in one agonizingly slow grind against you, you arched your back, pushing yourself into him as you felt the outline of his stiffened cock pressed against your aching cunt. Even with layers of clothes between you, his size was… generous. You thanked the gods you were already wet as hell for him.

One of your hands ran through his hair and he tightened his hold on you. Another roll of his hips. Your other hand on the hem of his shirt, sliding it up his torso. He sat up and in a swift movement, removed and tossed it by his armor. You ran your hands along his abs, and he let out a sigh upon your squeezing of his chest. You had then decided it was only fair to take your top off as well. You threw it in a random direction and his hands molded your breasts as his head dipped down to suck on a nipple. You leaned your head back with a mewl, feeling every lick and twirl of his tongue. He switched to the other nipple and did the same.

You awkwardly tried to remove your bottoms but only got part of the way before reaching a dead end. Zevlor popped himself off your nipple and kissed the soft of your stomach as he finished stripping you down.

Your clothes now discarded around your tent, nude form now on full display. The Hellrider sat up on his knees, arms and hands resting on your legs which leaned against his thighs. He drank up every part of you, committing it to his memory. Reminding himself this was real.

“You know, many nights I had dreamt of this moment, seeing you laid bare before me.” His gaze filled with both lust and awe. “I can only hope the Heavens are as beautiful as you are right now.”

Sweet Gods, he's a romantic too? The rush of hormones swimming within you almost makes you want to propose to him right here, right now.

But as much as he desperately, achingly yearned to be inside you, to unite himself with you, his need to taste you surpassed even that.

“I apologize, but there's something I need to do first.”

Your mind clouding with lust, you didn't bother asking what he meant with his vague choice of words. He leaned down and left a slow and deliberate trail of kisses down your stomach, skipping over to your inner thighs, his toned arms holding them open. A final, gentle kiss on your mons pubis.

Oh. This is what he meant.

Hovering above your sex, the smell of your arousal hit him like an aphrodisiac. His cock straining and pulsing in his trousers. The blush across your cheeks turned further prominent, feeling slightly self-conscious as he took in your scent and sight.

A long, languid, relishing swipe of the flat of his tongue along your folds caused a louder-than-anticipated whine emit from you. Your hand slapped over your mouth in a poor attempt to cut yourself off.

A cheeky, almost prideful grin spread across his face. Curious to see your further reactions, he maintained his focus on you as he rolled his tongue on your clit. Your form writhing above him, your teeth clamped around the meat of your hand just below the thumb, trying to concentrate on that acute pain rather than the lecherous bliss below you. If you looked at him lapping at you, performing the very act you had touched yourself to on countless nights of recent… if you even so much as glanced down at him now, you would crack.

Your other hand reached down, aiming for his hair to grab onto but instead bumped into his horn. Fuck it—you just needed something, anything, to hold. He hummed in response. You were hanging on by a thread. Giving him any further encouragement would break you. But Gods… you almost want to beg them to never let this moment end.

Feeling the pressure build, you arched your back and clamped your legs around him. The hand clamped on by your mouth was now clawing the sheet beneath you. His nose was buried against just above your vulva, he sucked on your clit harder with the occasional flick and twirl of his tongue, stopping only to lop up your sweet wetness. It felt like bolts of lightning. Your mind was clouded with ecstacy. It was only a matter of seconds before it all came to a head. “I'm so close, don't stop,” you wailed.

He squeezed the plump flesh of your thighs in acknowledgement. He then pushed his legs to move him forward, tilting your hips up. His hands repositioned to further spread your legs apart, giving him more of your pussy to devour; the squelches and sopping sounds of his debauchery becoming even more apparent. Your hand on his horn moved to the crown of his head and you grabbed a fistful of his hair just as your body jolted and convulsed from your orgasm. There was no chance of holding back your borderline scream—every muscle in your body clenched and pushed out every ounce of tension you held trying to hold yourself back.

As you came to, your legs trembling with both euphoria and emptiness, you watched Zevlor impatiently remove his pants; one step shy of ripping them off. He stroked himself a few times as he knelt back down and then climbed over you. His flaming eyes blown with lust.

You curled your arms and legs around him once more and he sloppily kissed you, and you could taste yourself on him. When the kiss was broken, you hoarsely spoke, “I thought you said you hadn't done this in a while.”

A dark, growly chuckle emanated from him. “I suppose you make it easy for me.” He marked a line of kisses along your jaw once more, stopping just under your ear. “One look at you and I lose sense of myself.” You hummed in response and pulled him closer to you, one hand moving to the nape of his neck as he licked and nipped on your ear.

He shifted his weight onto one arm and looked down so the other took the head of his cock and rubbed it against your overworked pussy, watching as it was being covered in your slick. He lined himself up with your entrance, both of you waiting on bated breath. Bringing his arm back up and on the other side of you, he had a want to watch you as he pushed in, not willing to miss a single moment or expression.

Your mouth dropped open, a moan escaping from you. Your nerves still sensitive, you could feel every bit of him, every vein, sliding against your inner walls. You were thankful he did all that he did to you earlier. Turns out he wasn't just showing off—he was preparing you. His thick girth stretched you oh so very nicely.

Bottoming out, he buried his face into your neck and groaned. You tightened your legs around his waist, causing your walls to clench around him and his hips to twitch in response. Aside from his tail slowly moving side-to-side, he remained still, and you said sweetly in his ear, “It’s okay, you can move.”

His heartbeat pounded in his ears, he wondered if you could hear it too. “I know. Just… give me a moment,” he struggled between ragged breaths. “You feel so godsdamned good.”

“You do, too. You're perfect.”

He kissed your neck and began to rock back and forth, each time he pulled out just a hair further before sinking back in. He tried to take his time to prevent finishing too soon, but equally (if not more) to enjoy the intimacy with you. The closeness. The vulnerability. The trust. Casual sex was one thing, and perhaps this night will be considered that by you, but he begged to differ.

The sounds of your skin coming in contact became louder as his thrusts hastened. Moaning into each other's wet, impatient kisses. Eventually he adjusted his position so he would pull almost fully out, then ram back inside you, ending with a slow, hard grind before repeating. When he would pull back, you tightened your pussy around him which caused an infernal curse or two to be growled between clenched teeth.

Lifting himself onto his elbows, he quickened his pace, smashing his mouth onto yours once more. You took your hand and rubbed your clit, sore and hypersensitive from his handiwork earlier; the other raking your nails down his back.

It wasn't long before you were nearing another finish. You mewled out your warning, “I… I'm close, fuck.”

Voice becoming hoarse he replied, “I can feel it.” More expletives punctuated his thrusts. “Go,” he panted between breaths, "I'm right with you.”

Being given the permission to cum made you feel you were among the stars. Wailing out curses of your own, nails digging into his back, pussy clamping down on him, mind devoid of any thought. He landed a few more erratic thrusts before pulling out and finishing over you, hot ribbons of white coating your stomach and tits, moaning as he shot his load.

Once he emptied his cock on you, he collapsed beside you, both of you a sweating, panting, breathless mess.

After a minute or two of cooldown you reached for whatever article of clothing of yours was nearest to you. Holding said clothing, a hand stopped your wrist and you heard a tired voice beside you, “Let me do that.” You swung your head, his face softly pleading. “I can't have you clean the mess I made of you.”

You slunk back down on the bedroll and handed him the fabric material. He looked at it and questioned, “Are you sure you want to use this? You were wearing this earlier, no?”

“Don't worry, I have more,” you reassured him. He nodded in acknowledgement. Despite his rough and battle-worn hands he had a delicate practice. Perhaps leftovers from days of dressing wounds on the field when no cleric nor healing spells or potions were at the ready. Perhaps as recently as Avernus.

“You're quite the gentleman, Zevlor,” you confided. “Treating me to wine and a night of passion, now you're tending to me. Careful, or I may just try to take you home with me.”

He snickered, discarding the soiled garment. Laying on his side, sliding an arm underneath your head, the other across your waist, he pulled you towards him. His arms encased you as you curled your body into him, listening to his heartbeat. The last thing you hear before slipping out of consciousness, his words stuck like honey in your mind, “You assume I haven't thought the same of you.”

Chapter 2: Act 1 - Morning BJ (Smut)

Summary:

Spiritually healing morning head : )

Notes:

WARNING: morning wood, fellatio/blowjob, semi-rough handling but not really

Light chirping sounds just outside your tent had brought you back to the waking world. Your eyes fluttered open. It took a moment to remember about the night before and why exactly it was that you were wrapped in the warm naked embrace of someone. A certain tiefling, in fact. A certain tiefling who was now glued to your back, an arm draped over your waist and the other underneath your head. Your legs intertwined with one another, his tail mixed in as well. His head rested just behind yours, his breaths tickling the back of your neck. Though both of you had slept nude, the heat continually radiating from his body kept you from getting cold throughout the night.

You remained still so as not to disturb him. So still, that you could feel his chest swell against your back with every inhale; every so often the lightest snore. Instead of waking him to prepare for the lengthy trek to Baldur's Gate, you let him have this moment of tranquility. It was perhaps the most peaceful he's been in a long, long time.

Though the Sun hadn't risen quite yet, gauging if anyone else was out and about you tried to listen for anything, or anyone, else outside. Figuring you two were the most sober of the bunch, it was unlikely anybody was awake yet.

As you were about to fall soundly back in your slumber, his tail twitched and he stirred—a quick, sharp breath he drew in as the arm around you rubbed against your skin and pulled you closer, as if the entirety of your backside wasn't already pressed against his front and his face buried in your hair to the point you could even feel the base of his horns.

However, you felt something else stir, now beginning to press against your bottom. Keeping still, unsure whether to entice him further or not, his breathing remained even and nothing else of his seemed to be shifting. That is, until his hips lazily pushed against you and you heard the faintest grunt uttered from him. His tail wound itself around your leg.

The temptation to push back against him was appealing, you had to admit. Should you let him stay in his dream world, away from the bleak and depressive reality you both lived in, or gently wake him and show him that he need not be alone? That you and your laying beside him are not a figment of his imagination?

Your train of thought was broken when he stirred once more. A sharp inhale through his nose, your natural scent coaxed him to rouse. He groaned from his muscles and joints aching in soreness as he stretched his legs. He appeared unaware of his… condition. You greeted each other in weary, hoarse voices and you slid your hand down his arm that was nestled against your stomach, brushing along the prominent veins. Finally you intertwined your fingers with his; he squeezed back in appreciation.

Needing to stretch the rest of his limbs, he reluctantly peeled himself away from you and bemoaned at the ache of his tired body, turning over on his back. He stayed for a few moments, and though he so desperately wanted to stay laying with you forever, he knew the road ahead was waiting for him.

As he sat up and rubbed a hand over his old and weary face, he was immediately dawned with an erect realization. “Oh, gods,” he turned his attention to you, “I hope I didn't interrupt your sleep with this. I had no idea.”

You giggled and shifted your weight onto your elbows. You noticed his glance at your breasts. “I was already awake. Though I hope the dream was satisfying.”

“I've forgotten it already,” the words pouring out of his mouth like velvet. “That won't matter, as I've now an exceptionally more pleasant memory to draw from.” Gods above, his morning voice was just about enough to make you wet again. “But, I'm sorely reminded that I am not as spry as I was at one point in time.” He averted his gaze from you.

Ah, there it is again. You reassured him. “Trust me, I have bedded people that wouldn't do so much as lay a finger on me before trying to stick it in. Then had the gall to ask me why I never came crawling back for more.”

He smiled with a light chuckle in response. You leaned over and placed a hand on his arm. “Let me help you. Especially after that unforgettable experience you gave me last night.”

He waved his other arm and shook his head, sternly declining. “No, no. That is unnecessary. You don't owe me a thing.”

“Please, Zevlor,” he raised a curious eyebrow at your pleading tone, “I want to do this. I mean, additionally, who knows when the next chance will be? When—or even if—we'll see each other again?” You moved closer to him.

“Hah, enough with the dramatics,” he spat out, half-jokingly. “This is sex we're talking about, not the apocalypse.” Instantly reminded of the tadpole inhabiting your brain, a wave of anxiety unfurled through you. He's completely oblivious to it, but you very well, perhaps likely, may never see him again after today.

He rested a hand on yours and looked into your eyes with his half-lidded ones, flames burning like the Sun. “But if you truly do want to, I would be a damn fool to stop you.” Leaning in with a kiss, he pulled you on top of him as he lay back down on the bedroll.

You lazily made out for a bit, both of you still worn out and sore from the previous night's activities (possibly a tiny bit hungover). In time you made your way down his toned and scarred body, leaving soft kisses along the way—particularly on his bony bumps and ridges, his tiefling features.

Zevlor leaned his head back against the bedroll pillow, trying to let go of any worry, secret, or threat he harbored in his heavy mind. And if he was wholly honest with himself, he would selfishly take you with him to the city. It would make the journey far more tolerable. Sometimes he felt the refugees still expected the world out of him, as if Avernus didn't affect him at all. All because of his moniker of “Hellrider.”

You, however, managed to wedge your way into parts of him he had long since discarded. Or, at least he thought he did. You were the first thing he was able to think about aside from Elturel, Avernus. Goblins. Staying alive. You were an enigma to him. He was well past his prime yet here you were, practically worshipping him. If only it were possible to freeze time.

You finally reached his member that laid against his groin, red and swelling with need. A beautifully fat, heavy cock. Veins protruding under a layer of foreskin. Whatever he may have lacked in length (which you would faithfully argue is none at all) was more than made up for in girth.

Recalling what he did to you last night, you mirrored his teasing actions and slid your flattened tongue from just below the base and up his shaft, lifting just before reaching the tip. Peering up at him, his eyes were closed and brows furrowed, mouth slightly open, the sharp points of his teeth peeking behind his lips.

Pressing your lips to the head of his cock, you poked out your tongue and gave a teasing lick. You heard a sound between a groan and a grumble, causing a smirk to form on your face.

Taking a hand and cupping his balls, you gently fondled them. A relieving sigh above you seemed to be approval of your action. Your other hand wrapped around the base of his cock, lifting it up. Placing your tongue back on the underside of the tip you secured your mouth around him, stretched and almost barely able to accommodate his size. You sucked off a few short pumps before drifting down to the base. Your pussy clenched at the moan he failed to hold back. He hissed as the tip hit the back of your throat. “Hells take me. I won't last a minute if you keep this up.”

A nefarious chuckle from you vibrated through him, cock twitching in reaction. Your cheeks sunken in as you brought your head back up and you could feel every pulse from his dick. Keeping your lips around the tip, your hand slid back his foreskin, fully exposing his glans. Most importantly, allowing you more surface area for you to wrap your tongue around. His entire body seemed to twitch at the ultrasensitivity.

Removing the hand from his balls you began fingering yourself as you sucked him off. However this was quickly interrupted, your hand being pushed to the side by something. Hearing his strained, sultry voice above you, “Please. Allow me.” Upon realizing he was using the end of his tail to get you off, moaning as it rubbed against your clit.

Using your mouth and hand simultaneously you continued to bob on him, varying the pressure and twisting and twirling your tongue around him, at least as much as you could. Though you were inconsistent on purpose, your own arousal and stimulation was becoming distracting, wonderfully so.

His breathing became short and quick, muscles clenching and relaxing. Every so often a curse was mumbled under his breath. His tail eventually dropped from your wet and needy pussy and wrapped itself over your ass and around your hip and thigh. “Sorry, I… I can't focus,” breaths laboring between his words, “not with you–”

Your mouth lifted off his head with a pop “Good. I don't want you to focus on anything except me sucking on this lovely cock of yours.” You punctuated with licking circles around his cockhead as you kept your gaze up at him, tasting it like some perverted lollipop. Under a growly breath and fierce stare he replied, “You… are going to be the end of me.”

And good Gods, you wished you could keep a picture of this very moment. A sheen of sweat covered his body, hair sticking to his skin. Enlarged veins on his neck and arms looked as though they would burst. Face red as a ripe apple. Chest heaving. Hands gripping the bedroll as if he was about to fall through the earth. The most peculiar was the look behind his eyes that pierced straight through you—burning with the fires of Nessus itself, you could see it was still Zevlor, though distinct, separate. You decided to pocket that observation for now, and give this man the release he more than deserves.

As you took your time bobbing on him, he placed a hand on your head, firmly running his fingers back and forth through your hair; nails scratching your scalp. It wasn't that it hurt by any means, but he had a fierce grip on you.

You began to increase your speed, pumping your hand at the same time. There was also increased pressure on your head as now both of his hands were in your hair. The faster you pumped him, the harder you sucked, and the more he began to become undone. His hold on your head was pushing down and pulling up in tune with your movements, though you suspected he was still trying to hold back—ultimately craving to facefuck you, though he would entirely avoid answering it if you had later questioned his desires.

“I'm close,” his voice so low and gravelly it was almost incoherent, “oh Gods…”

Body tensing, balls tightening, cock pulsing, eyes shut, teeth baring, nails digging in your scalp, you waited for his signal. His ragged breathing littered with infernal expletives turned into strained moans as he gushed in your mouth. You removed your hand from his shaft and shoved your face down. Eyes watering and tightly shut you struggled against his thick cock throbbing in your throat, releasing a massive load of cum.

Finally feeling his hold on your hair release and his breaths evening out, you slid back up, briefly and gently sucking the sensitive tip for any remnants of his finish.

Looking up at him, his eyes were barely open but the corners of his mouth were ever‐so-slightly upturned. He cupped his hands on your face and ears, palms hot on your cheeks. Pulling you up towards him, you graciously obliged and crawled over him.

He pulled you into a kiss, so agonizingly sweet it was a stark contrast to the man with the animalistic gleam in his eyes from earlier.

Reluctantly peeling away, he placed his forehead against yours and rested there as he came down from his high. Not a word spoken—just blissful silence. Perhaps the most intimate moment you've both shared yet, you thought, even compared to having exchanged your body fluids with each other.

Finally, the stillness was broken and you were brought back to reality. “Thank you,” he half-whispered, “but what about you? I can't leave you without something.”

You placed an inquisitive finger on your chin. “What was it someone once told me? Oh, right.” The finger on your chin now tapped the end of his nose. “You don't owe me a thing.”

He laughed, and how beautiful it was to see him light up. “You make a convincing argument. But I refuse to leave this camp until I know you've been cared for.” Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to yours and pushed into you until you were beneath him.

Chapter 3: Act 2/3 - Between Acts (Fluff, G/N)

Summary:

Non-proofread, no-smut fluff. You and Zevlor have some sweet parting words after Moonrise, as well as a parting gift :' )

Notes:

WARNING: none. yearning levels 75%

“Last chance to join us. There's safety in numbers, and we've got several of Faerûn's finest—also possibly strangest—warriors.”

As much as Zevlor wanted to run and hide away after the events of Moonrise, you had managed to convince him to rendezvous with you by the towers before leaving for the city.

He chuckled, “I greatly appreciate your offer, but I need time to think, to… process everything. Traveling with a party not privy to my situation will keep my thoughts in line.”

“I understand. Before we part ways, though, there's one last thing,” those last few words drawn out as you take something from your pocket. “Hold out your hand.”

His eyebrow twitched and his eyes slightly squinted at you, a combination of curiosity and suspicion. Holding out his open palm, you placed your hand in his and dropped an object. When you lifted your hand, you curled his fingers over his palm to ensure he couldn't see what it was prematurely—and more than likely reject your gift.

You held his fist closed. “You'll be able to utilize it before I do, so it makes more sense for you to have it than I. Hold onto it or place it in a pocket, but no peeking until you're on the road. Promise?”

He smirked and lowered his head, holding his arms out with a foot placed behind the other in a dramatic bow, “You have my word.”

“Good. May Tymora bless your path to Baldur's Gate, though I'm confident you can hold your own. I expect to see you there safe and sound, and not in a Mind Flayer pod.”

“I don't plan on it. They may have fooled me once in a moment of pure desperation, but I won't let it happen again.”

There was a wisp of tension between you two as if you weren't sure how to properly part ways. Your gazes lingered, waiting for the other one to make a move.

You cleared your throat, “Well, goodbye Zevlor. I'll see you in the city.”

As you turned on your heel, a warm touch enveloped your wrist, “Wait.”

Your head turned and you were met with pleading eyes. It was a moment before he finally spoke, stalling the departure as much as he could. “There's something I need to ask of you. I do expect to see you in the city, but after learning what I know now, any moment may be our last. I… would like to kiss you. If you'll let me. Though I entirely understand if you'd rather not, and I will leave it at that. But you mean too much to me to let you go so easily.”

A smile plastered on your face the whole time he spoke, you almost wanted to cut him off and kiss him right then and there, but there's something endearing about Zevlor's nervousness. For a man who was a high-ranking officer of his city's military, right now he was nothing more than an anxious young man before his first kiss.

You turned the rest of your body to face him. “I would love nothing more.”

The relief in his eyes could cure wounds. He stepped closer to you and placed the hand that was on your wrist onto your lower back and ever so gently pulled you towards him.

Like time had slowed just for you once his plush lips were on yours, with the most careful and kind grace. All of your thoughts and worries vanished. You inhaled his scent, being taken back to the night you shared at the party after defeating the goblins. He was the last thing on your mind every night, wondering where he was, how and where you would find him in the city. Admittedly you had even prayed a couple of times for his and his people's safety.

It was the same for Zevlor. He longed to hold you in his embrace since that night. Though seeing you as he was freed from the pod was simultaneously the best and worst thing to happen to him. It meant he was no longer in danger of becoming Illithid and a drone for the Absolute, but now he had to come clean with his betrayal to his people, as well as his lying by omission to you. And by the grace of every God in the pantheon, you forgave him.

Neither of you wanted to end the kiss, so as you pulled away you stared into each other's eyes for a few fleeting moments. You brushed your fingers along the ridges of his face, taking in his features. You pecked his cheek and stepped backwards. “That was lovely. I really needed that.”

“I as well. Thank you.”

You said your goodbyes and parted ways. It wasn't until several minutes passed that Zevlor realized he still had his hand closed.

He looked at it and cautiously opened it—there laid a folded piece of torn parchment. He picked up the paper with his other hand but an object fell out: a house key, with a tag attached to it by string. Looking closer, the key had an address on it. “Why would–” He stopped himself, already knowing the answer to his question.

Placing the key in a secure pocket within his armor, he read the note:

‘If it helps, there are some plants of mine that need looking after. Assuming they're not already dead.

And should your guilt prevent you from resting here, I won't hold it to you. But at least tend to the garden until I return.’

Notes:

Dick too bomb b/c this bitch really went "hey I know you just committed a betrayal of the worst kind but here's the key to my house"

Chapter 4: Post-Game - Rough Fucking!!!! (Smut)

Summary:

aka Zevlor being a gentleman in the streets and FUCKING FERAL in the sheets

Notes:

OH MYLANTA. Gonna be real with you chief ummm…. just read the warnings ಥ‿ಥ

WARNING: bratty sub/soft dom kinda thing, spanking, edging, whatever the feminine equivalent of blue balling is, light choking, hair pulling, eating pussy like its his last meal on death row, a hint of face fucking, a drop of possession, a sprinkle of self-objectification, and a dash of breeding kink

VERY short intro, it was a lot longer but I decided to save it for another chapter and I cannot be assed to write another one

Both of you had planned an entire day together, but the plan was that there was no plan. Roaming the city, dining at whatever eatery piqued your interests, sitting on park benches like a retired married couple observing the folk around you; whatever you had fantasized about during those bleak night in camp was now a welcome and refreshing reality.

After spending a day together, ending it by watching the sunset and gazing at the stars for a while, both of you were now back at your shared home getting dressed for bed. …Though also simultaneously knowing you will not be falling asleep anytime soon.

You didn't manage to get far before putting your hands on each other. You were in your top and underwear; he in just his trousers. He pulled you in for a kiss, your tongue pushing into his mouth to twist with his as your hand cupped against his crotch.

Breaking the kiss from the forwardness of you, he questioned, “Eager, are we?” His gaze carried from yours down to your chest and then waist. “Careful. Keep it up, and I can't promise I'll be able to control myself.”

“And what if I don't want you to?”

“What?” Half-shocked, he implored. “Are you sure? It's been so long since I've done anything like that. I… don't want to potentially risk hurting you. I will never forgive myself.”

“I trust you, Zev,” you caressed his cheek; the nickname stirring his heart. “Wholly and completely. Tell you what—if you go too far, I'll say a random word, like… ‘bugbear’. How does that sound?”

He stared blankly at you. Eventually closing his eyes, he leaned into your touch. You rubbed a thumb across his raised cheekbone. After a few moments he partially opened his eyes and a corner of his mouth upturned in a smirk. “Only if you swear you'll stop me.”

You smiled and nodded your head. “You have my word.” You held his face with both of your hands and stared intently into his eyes. “Now… Let. Go.”

He wrapped you in a warm, tender embrace. You always thoroughly enjoyed his hugs. They felt so purposeful, so personal. Plus, they lingered. He was never one for a quick hug—they all had meaning.

As he pulled away, he went in for a passionate kiss, enough to distract you from his hands gliding down your back. Once they reached your ass, he splayed out his hands and you gasped into his mouth at the force of him grabbing it.

Using your body to grind into himself, you could feel a growing hardness in his groin. His hands kneaded your ass until he ended with a light pat. Lips still locked together, he turned you towards the bed and took a few steps; you struggled a bit walking backwards with such a distraction attached to you. Finally the back of your legs felt the soft fabric of the bed. He placed a hand around to your lower back as he leaned you backwards until you were laid on the mattress, your legs hanging off the side. Crawling on top of you, he positioned a knee right up against your clothed pussy. You moaned into his mouth and grabbed his bare, ridged shoulders as you grinded yourself against his knee.

Your hand reached up and pulled off his hair tie, tossing it to the side. You ran your fingers through his hair, lightly tugging it to see his reaction. He grunted in satisfaction and sat up, his towering figure with a devious gleam in his eye turning you on that much more, not to mention the tent forming in front of you.

Curling his fingers underneath the hem of your panties, he yanked them down, and if you hadn't moved your legs to assist him you were fairly certain he was going to rip them off.

Giving you no indication, he dove straight into your pussy. “Shit!” You shouted, the sudden direct and raw stimulation shocking you like lightning. A significant contrast compared to his usual pace, he devoured you, frenzied and starving; your juices an ambrosia. Your legs clamped around him as he sucked and hummed on your clit, shaking his head side-to-side. One hand around your thigh, his nails digging into your skin, threatening to draw blood. His other hand shot up underneath your top and fondled your breast.

You quickly sat up and removed your top in one movement, coming down to rest an elbow on the bed while the other around the base of one of his horns. Peering down and watching him lap away at you, you moaned when he pinched and played with your nipple.

Acutely aware of your building release, your breathing became faster and you began to grind on his face, gently pulling on his horn in time with your hips rolling forward. He hummed and focused on your clit. Your eyes closed tight and you began trembling, feeling your orgasm come to a head

 

… until it was lost.

Between noisy, exasperated breaths you opened your eyes under a furrowed brow and see Zevlor with a devilish smile pry your legs open and sit back up, rubbing his rough thumb against your clit—the electric sensation making you jump. You can see the outline of his rock-solid cock begging to be released from its cloth confines. His hands ghostly traced along your thighs and knees with only the tips of his nails gliding across your skin, sending a shiver through you. He chuffed, “Oh, don't look so displeased. You wanted this, am I correct?”

You glared a thousand daggers at him. “Asshole.” Then smirking at his little game, you added, “Or, how do you say it, mragrashem?”

He cackled at your unexpected answer, “Look at you, and your precious attempt to be cheeky.” His tone had a hint of sharpness behind it. “You didn't answer my question.”

You bit your lip. “I'll answer your question when you make me cum.”

His smile grew wide; his pointy, infernal teeth peeking through. Eyes scorched almost entirely red by now. “As you wish.”

Climbing over you, heat radiating off his body, encouraging the thin layer of sweat covering you to bead and drip along your soft, supple skin. Seeing you so needy beneath him—that just the act of hovering above you makes you bend to his whim, without even saying a word for you to—stirs awake a part of him with which he had long since engaged.

Instinctively you lean back until you're flush with the bed sheets below you. Your lustful eyes meet Zevlor's ravenous ones. His arms on either side of you, caging you in. You felt a blazing hot touch caress your shoulder to just above your collarbone. Your breath hitched and eyes widened—not out of fear, but bewilderment. You figured you would have asked your lover about this kind of thing in due time, but you were pleasantly surprised he was testing the waters now. Shutting your eyes, you leaned your head back, exposing your neck. His hand traveled upward. You heard him purr, a low chuckle, “How did it never occur to me before,” his hand faintly constricting your throat, “that you could be so lewd. So… obscene. I wonder if there are others aware of this side of you.”

Still able to breathe easily, you sucked in a deep breath, his natural musk of brimstone and leather filling your senses. He continued, “Or perhaps I just got lucky.”

His lips roughly pushed yours apart as his tongue messily twisting with yours, his hand around your delicate neck tightening and loosening its grip. Your legs rubbed against him, a sign of your growing desperation. His tail curled below him and the moment the flat of his tail pressed and slid against your swollen clit, his grip around your neck tightened and you moaned something so downright sinful that even an incubus would blush.

His tail still held in place, his grip loosened and moved to your jaw as his lips left yours, a thin line of spit briefly connecting you. Your fragile neck still exposed, he nipped and sucked on the parts most sensitive on you—by this point in your relationship, he knew where you would buckle and squirm and make the most beautiful whimpering noises that only he would hear.

So badly you had wanted to toss him on his back and ride him until he felt faint, until his cock was completely and totally empty—and then some. Just as payback for the relentless teasing that had gone on long enough.

So badly you had wanted to plead and relent, to grind yourself against the tip of his tail like a debauched lunatic, to finally feel the release that was building in pressure to the point your mind was overrun and blinded by lust.

However, you knew doing so would only feed his ego; prove that it wouldn't take much for you to crumble. And you could not let yourself give up so easily.

Zevlor felt your body trembling, your utterly failed attempt at trying to remain still and unbothered. He focused on a particularly sensitive area on the side of your neck, just below your pulse point. Gently kissing and licking the spot, and in a split second he dug his face in and nipped and sucked hard. One of your heels slammed onto the bed with a loud THUMP and a hand clamped onto his shoulder, knuckles white and nails digging into his ridged skin. Your jaw held itself shut and through gritted teeth you successfully held back your crying out, but it came out as a breathy, disjointed growl.

Fuck.

Dropping his tail and peeling himself from you with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face, he selfishly admired his handiwork, now laying before him a breathless, lewd mess. Your skin was blotchy, now drenched in sweat. Your chest heaving with each breath. Your neck had a few spots already turning dark. If you were glaring daggers at him before, you were now staring in cold-blooded murder. But he didn't care, and you know he didn't.

As he stepped off the bed, his arms slid beneath you and for a fleeting moment you thought he was going in for seconds. That was quickly smothered when he flipped you onto your stomach like you weighed next to nothing. Before even realizing he flipped you, you yelped at the loud smack and stinging pain on your bare ass.

You heard the rustling and tossing of clothes, then felt the weight of the bed shift behind you as he spread your legs open and moved into place. He aggressively pulled you up and towards him by your hips until your lower body was supported by your knees. His hands glided along your waist and hips, his long, sharp nails tickling you in certain spots and your body shivered in response. You closed your eyes as he took a handful of your ass in his palms and kneaded the soft flesh, nails creating dimples.

You hissed and moaned as you felt a quick, piercing slap on your ass. It had stung for a few seconds before dissipating; the hand massaging it helped.

He spread your cheeks and grinded his hard, veiny cock against your soaking folds. You groaned out a sigh, partly from the stimulation and partly from your growing impatience.

Low and gravelly, you heard him behind you. “Tell me how much you want it.”

You pushed back against him and arched your back. “I need it. Now.” In an agitated tone you added, “You're driving me mad…”

He smacked your ass again, much more forcefully this time, leaving a red handprint. You cried out at the pain but were thankful for the soothing caress again afterwards.

More of a growl this time came out of him, “Not good enough. I need you to beg,” the last word emphasized by your head being viciously jerked backwards by your hair, moving your hands on the bed to support you.

“Fuck…” In a drawn out plea you responded, “Please, I need you now. Need you inside me. Fill me up.” While your head was held at an unnatural angle you glanced up, but never got the tiny satisfaction of being able to see him, instead gazing at the ceiling. “Gods, I'm empty without you,” you whined.

His grip on your hair loosened, letting your head hang back down. He hummed in contentment. “Much better.”

His hand ghosted down your back and rested on your hip, holding you in place. He had an abrupt, but slight, change in plans. Initially he was going to tease you one final time by rubbing his cockhead in your soaking, dripping folds, but even he was nearing his limit. Watching, hearing, and feeling you writhe in heavy desire did stave off his desperations in favor of an ego boost, if only temporarily. But now that he is looking down at your glistening pussy, a view only bested by seeing your blushing and blissful expressions, he cannot help himself.

In one push, as if sucking him in as he stretched you out, both of you moaned in paradisiacal relief. Wasting no time setting an aggressive pace, he pounded into you, both hands around the bent angle of your waist and hips. It was a peculiar but welcome change in comparison to his usual slow-and-sensual lovemaking.

He preferred seeing you beneath him so he can see your every expression with every thrust, though he wasn't going to whinge about the view that he had now of your gorgeously arched back and tossed hair, not to mention how perfect you felt, squeezing him for all he had as his balls slapped against your clit.

Though you were lost in bliss, you could hear him begin to pant behind you, his grip becoming tighter, his hips pistoning in and out at an industrial pace. Your fleshy walls began fluttering and a wave of pleasure coursed through you again—cloud nine was finally within reach.

He leaned down and took your arms by the wrists, positioning them behind you on your back. He bound your wrists with one hand as the other was placed on your ass, molding it as he slammed into you. The position you were in combined with the force of him shoved your upper body into the bed and you couldn't lie to yourself, the vulgarity of the discomfort and feeling of being used as his sex toy turned you on even more. Your body reacted accordingly: your pussy becoming wetter and the sounds of his fat cock ramming into you growing filthier.

Moving the hand that was kneading your sore asscheek to your bound hands, he locked fingers with yours. You squeezed his harder and harder the closer you got to your release.

Your head dug into the bed as your mewls morphed into whines. Your body contorted with what little movement you had before you pushed back into him, your cunt pulsing with vigor around him. He followed you in suit, moans growing in intensity until after a few erratic thrusts he rammed into you one final time—filling you with his white heat, cock throbbing within your convulsing walls.

After a few moments of silent heaven, he let go of your hands and wrists, pulling his softening dick out of you as he softly rubbed your ass and hips. Thinking to himself that if he were younger, he would have been up for a second round simply upon seeing your pussy fully retaining his seed, none of it leaking out.

For now though, he needed to rest. He dropped himself on the bed beside you, laying on his back. Your legs stretched back onto the sheets and you groaned at the ache. Dragging yourself to partially lay on top of him, he pulled you in a sweaty, tired embrace and kissed the top of your head.

“So,” breaking the silence he inquired, “you have yet to answer me. Was it what you wanted?”

You giggled. “No, I hated it,” you nuzzled into his chest, listening to his heartbeat slow to a resting rate. “You were incredible. I do very adore your sweetness and tenderness, but… I also don't mind being tossed about.”

His chest vibrated as he chuckled, “So I've noticed.”

Glad he couldn't see the blush covering your cheeks, you replied, “Hey, nothing wrong with that.”

His hand lazily skated back and forth across your back. “Not at all.”

---------------

You both awoke the next morning in the same position as you slumbered, agreeing to sleep in once you realized how entirely sore your muscles were.

Notes:

fun fact: the devnotes confirm that mragreshem means 'shithead' in infernal : )

Chapter 5: Post-Game - Tiefling Traditions (Fluff, G/N)

Summary:

Assuming tav/reader is a non-tiefling, your curiosity of horn care gets the best of you. Luckily you have an excellent teacher.

Notes:

Inspired by Karlach's response if you play Wyll's origin and ask her about horn care after Mizora alters his appearance. I heard her answer and immediately leapt to my computer and started furiously typing on my loudass clacky mechanical keyboard

 

WARNING: None. Maybe a little bit of PTSD from Elturel and Avernus.

You were sat on your bed in your home in the lower city, a lazy breeze flowing through the open window. After defeating the Absolute, it didn't take long to adjust back to your usual routine, though this time you need not be alone. What was once a bed only fit for one had recently been replaced by a bed that could comfortably fit two.

Zevlor never asked to stay with you, nor had you asked him to. It was simply a given. And if you were honest with yourself, had you returned back to your residence alone after spending weeks almost never being alone, it would've made readjusting to your old life much more difficult.

Nevertheless, here you were, comfortably on the bed you shared. In your hands you were reading a book—though stealing looks at your partner drying himself off after a bath. It wasn't so much his body this time around, he had a towel wrapped around his waist and he was faced away from you (though neither of those things have stopped you before). Your attention was moreso on the cloth drying excess moisture off his horns. You inquisitively stated, “Zevlor, I have a question for you.”

“Yes, my love?”

“How do tieflings care for their horns?”

He chuckled at the unexpected inquiry, but was happy to share the knowledge. “It's rather simple, actually. Clean and dry them as you would with your regular bath routine, but including a condition or polish from time to time. Plan on growing your own pair soon?”

“Just curious. What do you use to condition or polish them?”

“Seed oil. Prevents them from drying out. They become brittle that way. Weak. They're porous; absorbing the oil keeps them healthy.”

“Ah, I see. Interesting.”

He turned around and looked at you with a newfound idea. “I'm overdue for one, now that you mention it.” He briefly paused before adding, “Would you like to assist me?”

You grinned, “I suppose I can give it a go.”

---------------

Now in comfortable smallclothes, sat in a dining chair facing a window looking out at the bustling streets, Zevlor was pondering to himself in anticipation. It had been years–no, potentially decades since anyone had oiled his horns. He couldn't remember the last time it wasn't a fellow tiefling, either, if ever. Your eagerness to learn about his people and traditions warmed his old, jaded heart. Tieflings often had to prove themselves for things never even questioned of other mortals. It was rare to see someone seeking to gain knowledge they otherwise had no use for.

Picking up the bottle of seed oil on the table next to him, you realized this was going to be easier said than done. Still, you slowly tilted it into your palm until a tiny dab had dropped. Reluctantly and excessively cautious, you grazed your hand over the top of his horn. “Can you really feel that?”

“I can. And while I do appreciate your delicate touch, they're not as sensitive as you may believe. Here.”

He took the bottle of oil and poured a bit onto his hand. Bending his head down and tilting it as needed, he rubbed the substance on a rigid horn. Practicing since he was a child, he didn't even need a mirror anymore, he knew where every bump, ridge, and groove was.

As he was finishing, he looked up at you, “You get the point. Don't try to tear or chop it off, and you'll do fine. But if I were at all concerned about ill intentions, I wouldn't be trusting you to do this for me.”

You rested your clean hand on the space between his neck and shoulder. Before you could reply, he interjected, “Oh, and do be careful. I know mine aren't dainty by any means, and it can be tough to get into some of the tighter areas, so please, go as slow as you must.”

Your hand still resting on him gave a reassuring squeeze. “Of course, love.”

Taking the bottle again and dispensing a bit more oil in your palm, you rubbed your hands together to spread it around and warm it up, and began where you had left off previously. Zevlor closed his eyes in contentment and relaxed in your touch.

He certainly was not wrong—there was not a smooth nor flat space to be found. Among all the tiny crevices and spines gracefully lining the elongated form, you had noticed signs of significant wear and tear. Scratches—some much deeper than others. Puncture marks. Dents. Every one you encountered you ran your fingers over it, as if picturing its origin. The vast majority had to have been in his Hellrider days, acting as a natural ‘helmet’ of sorts, sparing his head and skull from his enemies’ strikes. You had already noticed the many scars littering his body, but seeing just as many—if not more—on his horns gave you more of a glimpse into the difficulties and adversities he had endured in his life.

As you were spreading the oil in a particularly hard-to-reach area, you were thankful for its low viscosity. You were also thankful Zevlor had never commented on your ignorance earlier, instead answering plainly, much like a teacher. Deciding to inquire further, you questioned out loud, “I have always wondered, are tiefling horns really just exposed bone?”

His eyes opened and he answered in a relaxed tone, “Ah, a common myth—only the core is bone. The outer part is a material much like the nails on our hands and feet. It protects the highly sensitive inner core.”

“Oh, I see, now.” You paused, contemplating. “So cracking or breaking it would be painful, I'd imagine.”

“Much more than that. That tiefling you traveled with, Karlach was her name, yes? However her horn was damaged to the point of fracture, she must have begged on her knees for the swift mercy of death.”

You took a moment to absorb and process the traumatic event. “I… never thought about it like that, actually. She never spoke of it.”

His tone carried heavy weight behind it, “Perhaps she considers it something best left in the past.”

“And there it shall remain.”

Closing his eyes he sighed, an attempt to release his own emotions of regret and grief before they grew overpowered. Setting his concentrations on the sensation of your loving, cautious touch along with the breeze from the open window caressing his skin, he steadied himself, reminding himself he can be at ease now. No more war, no more Avernus, no more tremendous sacrifice.

Now on a rapid descent to drifting to sleep, his eyes instantaneously opened upon hearing the sound of your voice. “There, I think I got everything.” You moved your head around, observing his newly shined horns from different angles. “Go take a look. I don't think I missed a spot, but…”

“Unnecessary,” he turned his head towards you as you wiped your hands on a spare cloth that was next to the oil bottle on the table. “I don't need a mirror to know you did wonderfully.”

He lifted a hand in your direction. You graciously accepted his silent request and leaned down, his hand cupping the side of your face as you engaged in a tender kiss.

Notes:

And then he sat in his recliner and took a big nappy

Chapter 6: Act 1 - Grove Semi-Date (Fluff, Angst)

Summary:

Zevlor gifts you his Hellrider's Pride and y'all in this bitch, finna get crunk. eyebrows on fleek, the fuck

No but really you guys get drunk on shit wine and angst comes outta nowhere and leaves just as fast

Notes:

Wrote this to help me get out of my writing funk. It's just a fuck ton of dialogue and relatively boring lol but trust me... the ‘sequel’ to this will more than make up for it

Slightly changed from canon for sake of storytelling, here Zev keeps the Hellrider's Pride in the chest where the Battle-Worn Blade is.

WARNING: yearning level 9000, alcohol, getting drunk, zevlor has an impromptu vent session (aka random-ass angst [mentions of war, death, grieving]), pregnancy mention/THE SLIGHTEST HINT OF BREEDING KINK, Astarion

This technically could be G/N reader, but be aware of pregnancy mention at the end

Though you had been involved with the grove for only a few days you grew fond of the inhabitants, namely the tiefling refugees taking temporary shelter. You even knew a few of them by name, and they, yours.

After exposing Kagha and stopping the ritual, you bought some time for the refugees. Telling Zevlor, you could almost see some of the deep lines on his face fill from relief. It pained him greatly to thank you and ask for another favor in the same breath. But at the end of the day, his priority was getting his people to safety.

Before tackling the goblin camp as well as taking advantage of the extra time, you decided to take a rest day by lounging and chatting around the grove. Zevlor saw you just outside the caves on your way to the gate. He called out your name and jogged over.

“Glad I caught you—I was doing my rounds and was told you were here. Thank you, again, for what you've done for us. We still have the goblins to contend with, but you've bought us some time dealing with Kagha.”

“It gives me more time to pluck at the goblins, anyway. They're like bugs. See one, squash one, and suddenly there's an infestation on your hands.”

He laughed, “Hah! You're damned right about that.” He paused, quickly contemplating before you lost interest and walked away—though the string of thought came out of his mouth before he was ready. “I know I've asked no easy task of you...”

You looked at him intently, listening and absorbing his words. He continued, “But join me in the caves this evening. Don't expect any grandeur, but I want to give my thanks in more than words alone.”

Before you could speak he quickly added, “–If you'll let me. I understand you have your own problems, and I don't want you to take more time away from those than you already have. I'm already in great debt to you.”

You smiled, curious. “I could surely use some time away from camp for a while. I'll meet you tonight, Zevlor.”

He smiled back and nodded his head before you turned and walked away. He remained still—hearing his name from your lips stirred something nearly imperceptible within him. He had boasted to his people about your courage at the gate and kindness with the inhabitants of the grove despite being complete strangers. Truly a people's hero. Surely what he was feeling was just inspiration and admiration for your efforts, right? It was illogical to assume that it was anything more than a good feeling. You had just met and were barely on a first-name basis. …Then again, there's not much logic to be applied when it comes to feelings.

——————————

Zevlor was pouring over the map on his desk when you made your entrance through the massive stone door. The thunderous rumble pulled him from his line of thought, or rather his staring contest with the map in front of him as if it eventually would provide him with a eureka! moment.

He turned around and said your name as he welcomed you; also taking note of your camp clothes, showing more of your elegant form than your armor ever could. He wasn't fully consciously aware of it, but each step you took down the cracked and worn steps further relaxed him. His tensions eased, shoulders dropped, posture loosened.

As you made your way to him, you looked at him in his armor then at your clothes. “Now I feel underdressed. My apologies.”

“No need. I would have done the same, but the goblins could find and attack us at any moment. Every second wasted by me changing into my armor could mean another life taken.”

“Understandable. Let us hope they don't attack now, or I'll be as useful as a damp fire arrow.”

His imagination roused at the thought: he knew you were a more-than-capable warrior, but being able to keep you safe (and especially knowing that you were) would further fuel him against the assailants.

You glanced around the cave. “Where's Tilses?”

“Taking a half-day. She refused to even entertain the thought of using the entire day to rest, but reluctantly compromised with a partial one.” He looked over to where she usually stood guard. “I can't say much, however. Her level of dedication reminds me of my own when I was in her position.”

He turned his attention back to you. “Thank you for taking the time to come here. I'll make this quick; you and I both need time to prepare.”

He strode over to the large chest where you figured he kept his belongings. He pulled a key from his pocket, knelt down, unlocked and opened the lid, and reached inside. You weren't sure what it was he was holding, something metal. He stood up and held it out to you. “Here—left over from my soldiering days.”

Taking it from him, you realize it was a pair of gauntlets. Weathered and well-loved. Heavy and durable. There's a waft of sulfur and it dawns on you: Avernus.

“Zevlor… Are you sure? These–” Cut off by him holding his hand up, you looked at him with bafflement. Hand placed back at his side as he replied, “As I stated, left over from my soldiering days. I have no use for them anymore.”

You battled with yourself. What a complete fool—he has nothing yet gives you everything. But you know he won't take them back; this could conceivably be more for him than you. Ultimately you decided you would keep them and use them as he did. But no matter how worn or damaged they would become, you vowed to never be rid of them. For pessimistic days when you lost hope in humanity, they would serve as a reminder there are people with such selflessness it borders idiocy. People who have nothing yet give everything.

You nodded your head in reluctant compliance. But now you're at a different kind of crossroads. He said he would make this quick, yet you wanted to take your time. You were looking forward to this evening. To have it end so quickly…

Well, you could keep the acquaintanceship at surface-level and head back to camp now. Both of you were headed to the same city, but the likelihood of running into each other again was slim considering there were tens of thousands of residents.

Or… you could find an excuse to stay. Even for a few moments longer. You rather enjoyed the tiefling refugees, probably spending more time socializing with them than you really should. But their leader had something about him that drew you to him like bees to a wandering flower. The majority of your traveling party pitied him, a few even viewing him as inferior and incompetent to solve his own problems.

You searched your mind for a potential subject of discussion, but were drawing blanks. Glancing over at his desk you gained inspiration. “Have you always had a bottle of wine there?”

Curiously turning his head in that direction, he answered somberly, “Oh, that. I'd like to say I haven't, but tensions run high in this place. It's much less expensive than a potion to calm one's nerves.” He pointed his head toward it and you caught a glimpse of a mischievous gleam in his smile. “Care for a glass?”

You nodded, “Sure.”

He grabbed a second chalice from the shelf behind the workstation. As he poured the maroon-colored liquid, he mentioned, “Don't judge too harshly. The finish isn't as biting as the initial taste.” Once full, he handed it to you.

“Ah, looks like someone knows their booze.” You held the chalice up in both an acknowledgement and toast to Zevlor. Tilting the cup to your lips there's a strong waft of alcohol that burned your nostrils, a tell-tale sign of a cheap and terribly-made wine. You sipped on its contents and a pungent, piercing bitterness seeped into your tongue. Your face winced as it cuts down your throat. The so-called ‘flavor’ stays in your mouth, but thankfully not for long. You coughed out, “Well. It's surprisingly not the worst I've had.”

“I told myself the same,” he said with a sly grin. Pouring the rest of the bottle into his own chalice, he added, “I've another one if you'd like an additional gift. I can't part with much, but that I could certainly do without.”

Without thinking it over first, you blurted out, “Or we could kill it tonight. Saves both of us from dealing with an entire bottle of that vile liquid to ourselves.” You held a straight face, trying not to let your embarrassment show.

His eyebrows raised in amusement and a corner of his mouth upturned. “Or that's also a possible option. But what about the others you travel with? Will they be concerned of your whereabouts?”

You took a wincing drink then chuckled, “Tch, no. I told them I was coming here to meet with you. They all told me ‘have fun,’ but at least half of those were sarcasm.”

He turned to grab the second bottle of the cheaply made wine and placed it beside the empty one on the stone desk. “Seems like an… interesting lot to keep ‘round.”

Trying to avoid the whole mind-flayers-infected-me-and-a-bunch-of-strangers-with-tadpoles-and-we-have-no-idea-how-to-rid-them-without-risking-being-killed-or-worse talk, you summed it up to: “Eh, it's a long and complicated story best saved for another time. Still a work in progress.”

“Very well.”

“But what about you? You've only mentioned you're refugees from Elturel.”

“Also a work in progress, you could say. You've been around the grove, met the others.” With an open palm he pointed to his scattered belongings around the chamber. “This is all I—we—have now. We can only hope the citizens of Baldur's Gate will accept us. Ideally with grace and mercy, but so long as we are not denied entry, we will start anew.”

You recall the bitterness between the two cities—many times their conflicts with one another fell just short of war, primarily due to the trade routes along the river, but the opposition of societal norms surely played a part. Elturel was a holy city of order, law, and faith. Baldur's Gate was one made up of several corrupt leaders and rampant with crime and strife. For the Elturian refugees, it was a matter of luck if they were to be accepted. The likelihood of that further squandered simply due to the fact they were tieflings, who were often treated lowly by everybody.

Zevlor took a hearty drink of his wine, drowning any negative thoughts creeping in his mind. “Enough about that, though. You told me before that you're bound for the city as well. Is it your home?”

You swirled the dreadful wine in your cup. “Born and raised.”

“A family waiting for your return?”

Bringing the edge to your lips, “Nope. Just me, myself, and I.” You took some drink into your mouth.

In a relieving tone, “No spouse, or someone to call yours? I'm surprised.”

Nearly spitting it out, you had managed to make it look like a rough swallow. “Oh? Is that so?”

When you looked over at him, you guessed he probably had a bit of wine before you stopped by. His shoulders slouched, a haze clouding over his weary eyes as he stared blankly at the ground. This wine was strong but there was no way the amount he's had so far was already getting to him. He wasn't drunk, but whatever filters and masks he wore were beginning to erode. No idea what to expect, you gave him space to reply.

“No reason in particular. I'm sure you're aware of your natural beauty. I had assumed you were already betrothed or wedded, is all.”

Not wanting to fall too far behind him in terms of intoxication, you chugged a fair bit of the drink you had, nearly choking on the god awful taste. You also took note of his use of ‘already,’ but now was not the time to question the meaning behind it, though. Instead you turned the spotlight on him. “Well, what about you? I haven't heard you talk of a significant other. Aren't you wedded yourself?”

He tutted, “What in Torm's truth leads you to believe that?”

Echoing his words earlier, you answered, “Hmm, no reason in particular.” You looked at him, a smirk on his face. You continued. “I don't know. You carry yourself in a certain way. Perhaps it's your maturity; everything you've endured in your life. I don't know how else to describe it. You really don't have anybody?”

Taking another drink, he flatly said, “No.”

“What about children? Surely you have some little ones running around here.”

He looked at you incredulously then laughed. “Oh come off it, now you're just toying with me. Do I have the appearance to you of a strapping young father? Do you see miniature tieflings running around in this chamber, clinging and begging to me when they want something?”

“No, but there are several of them out there in the grove. Don't think I've already forgotten how you reacted to the news of Kagha almost killing Arabella. You about stormed in there yourself, wild-shaping druids be damned.”

His jaw tightened at the reminder. The sole reason Kagha was not dead by his hands alone was to prevent her and the other druids the satisfaction of being ‘correct’ in their judgment that the tieflings taking shelter were not only thieves, but violent ones. He shook his head to bring himself back to the present, with a dimmer aura about him. “None of those children are mine.” He motioned to take another drink, but stopped himself. “And before you ask, there was never any question. I couldn't bear the thought of starting a family in my line of work knowing the risks. I refused to subject that to someone I love.”

Both of you had downed the rest of your liquor. You had no intention of opening this box or leading him down this dark memory lane.

No turning back now. You remained silent as he continued; a man stalked by unspeakable, sinister things. You chalked it up to the ability of the alcohol to coax some of it out, otherwise hidden under lock and key in his mind.

An empty stare to the wall, but his mind excruciatingly vivid.

“I can recall each and every time I was tasked to bring a soldier's belongings to the surviving members. It's a delivery that haunts the minds of every Hellrider's family. The most difficult part isn't the moment when the smiles and joy give way to sorrow. No. It's the young children failing to understand why their loved one will never return home.”

You gave him a moment of silence before reaching to rip the cork off of the spare alcohol and wordlessly offer it to him. He took it and drank a swig. He swallowed and paused, then drank another before placing it back on the stone slab.

One for him, one for his brethren.

Maybe that's why he gave you his gauntlets. He had no use for them anymore—a fallen soldier.

Breaking the silence, you wanted to give him the space he needed, but also not wanting him to completely spiral. “I'm… so sorry. I don't know what to say.”

“It's alright.” He took a deep breath, exhaling in half-regret. “I didn't intend to spew all that. You didn't need to hear it. Nevertheless, thank you for listening to this battered old veteran.”

“I don't mind it. If the least I can do is listen, then I'll gladly do my part.”

He blinked at you in disbelief, with no idea how to respond to the surge of gratitude he felt. “I…” he stumbled out, but decided to sum it up to a simple “Thank you.” His heartbeat was racing, but he quickly dismissed it and blamed himself for drinking too much, too quickly.

But already forced to deal with his own thoughts and memories on a constant basis, he enjoyed this opportunity to learn about someone else. It was a moment to be able to feel ‘normal’ again. He cleared his throat and shifted the focus back to you. “What in regards to yourself? Any desires for children of your own one day?”

“I don't know, maybe. Though I do wonder what kind of parent I'd be.” Your eyes glanced around the room in thought, then down to your stomach as you placed your hands on your abdomen, as if you were already expecting. You chuckled, “Then again, imagining myself with a baby moving around and kicking me in the ribs all day sounds awful.”

Zevlor's gaze lingered on you as certain, quite pervasive, thoughts began to permeate his mind, quickly replacing the previously dark and heavy ones with visions much, much more enjoyable. His attention was snapped back to reality when he heard you speak.

“Hope you don't mind,” you said as you took the wine bottle, and he watched as you placed it to your lips where his just were. He swore you kept them pressed against the rim even after you swallowed. A warmth was growing in his core, both fueled by and mixing with the low-end wine in his system.

When you set the bottle down with a loud clank against the empty one, knocking it over, then followed by a quick apology, he instantly knew you were feeling the effects, too. He didn't plan out the night beyond giving you his Hellrider gear and maybe some light conversation. He wasn't expecting to get drunk, at least not until after you left. But if you were to join him in the blissful intoxication, he certainly wouldn't be opposed.

——————————

An indeterminate amount of time had passed, and you had both discussed various topics (from a sober view, ‘discussed’ would equate to drunkenly slurring words), ranging from your childhood dreams to your favorite dish that contained apples. Being sequestered in the cave you had no idea how long you had been there. For all you know the sun could be coming up, but you were none the wiser. Plus, let's be honest, you didn't care. Part of you didn't want the night to end at all. Neither did he. The stress of your tadpole situation, and the stress of his refugee situation were able to be silenced in the company of each other. … with the addition of alcohol, of course.

You also were so engrossed in conversation that both of you failed to even hear the giant stone door rumble open, let alone see Tilses slip her way back outside after seeing you two entertain one another—in awfully close quarters, at that.

At one point when you had sobered up enough to walk in a mostly straight line, you both decided you should get back to camp, though most of your companions probably couldn't care less if your tent remained unoccupied in the morning. If anything they would assume you had every intention of bedding the tiefling leader for some kind of benefit as there was little else to offer in exchange for your help.

Zevlor offered to escort you back to camp but you declined. As you stood at the gate of the grove, he gazed at the stars like lovers reunited, but you were entranced by his eyes. They always had a lovely glow about them, but right now, with the land washed in darkness and blue lowlights, his orange irises shone like haloes.

He caught you staring and asked, “Is something the matter? Are you alright?”

You noticed a warm embrace around your shoulder, you look and see his hand placed there. Stumbling on your words, you answered, “Y-yes, I'm fine.”

He gave you a quizzed look but left it at that.

You added, “Thank you for having me.”

He gave you a faint, tired smile. “It was a pleasure.” He squeezed your shoulder before lightly dragging his hand down your arm and placed it by his side again. It felt cold now.

You said your goodbyes and you made your way to camp, calling yourself an idiot for not taking him up on his offer to walk with you.

 

Bonus:

Later that morning, you were outside your tent preparing for the day ahead. You heard footsteps behind you and turned around to see Astarion with his usual smug look about him, ever ready to spread gossip. “So… let's hear it. Is he as dreadful in bed as he is in personality? Is that why you came skulking back here in the middle of the night?”

“Actually, we didn't do anything. Just drank some wine and talked. We simply lost track of time.”

He looked at you blankly before bursting into laughter. “Hah! Aha ha ha! Oh, you can't be serious!”

His devious, toothy smile dropped when you didn't react. “You're kidding me. Gods, what is wrong with you?” He averted his gaze and placed a hand on his chin. “A wet rag and a total bore. Hm. You two might be perfect for each other.”

He turned, scoffed, and sauntered off, mumbling “Ridiculous…!” to himself.

Notes:

Randomly felt like throwing Astarion in there. it's what he would've wanted anyway

Chapter 7: Act 1 - Breeding Kink Lite (Smut)

Summary:

Zevlor jerks himself off and fantasizes about viciously fucking and impregnating you in a god-honoring way (you are the god)

Notes:

WE GOT A PENIS UPGRADE YALL!!!!!!!!

DISCLAIMER: he is OOC AS HELLLLLLL IN THIS. He's fantasizing so of course he's gonna imagine himself as a Mega Alpha Gigachad Supreme with unlimited stamina and a steel resolve, giving you a million orgasms before he even has his first when in reality he would be cumming everywhere just by you touching his boner. Sorry Zev. Turns out being sexually frustrated AND touch starved is a deadly combination

WARNING: masturbation, body worship, breeding, feral fucking on top of a map, inappropriate use of tiefling tails, mating press, creampies for weeks, overstimulation, cockdrunk more like cockblackout, soft dom gone hard(ish), zevlor takes you to subspace, spitting, titfucking (but not really), rough handling, possessiveness, using the phrase “balls deep”, grade A aftercare

I really tried to write full-on breeding kink but god did not make me strong enough to carry out this duty. Love reading it tho. Idk how yall do it... Couldn't be me. Anyway hope you enjoy your ice cold glass of Diet Breeding LMAOOOO

Zevlor could not sleep.

Zevlor could not sleep for many reasons, just like any other night as of late. Anticipating a goblin attack, the druids casting them out, what the road to Baldur's Gate will be like, how many more of his people will die along the way. Sleeping on a dingy bedroll sitting on top of dirt in a chilly and damp cave certainly didn't help him.

But tonight Zevlor could not sleep because of you.

Surely after the relaxing and pleasant evening you shared, along with a couple bottles of wine, he should be able to rest easy tonight.

But nearly sobered up, he tossed and turned, as if maybe laying on this side or that side will do the trick. The time spent with you tonight was the most normal he'd felt in weeks, if not months. Reflecting back on it was keeping him relaxed, but there was something else bothering him. Something that was about to strain against his sleep clothes.

It was nice getting to know someone new, something beyond a business relationship for the sake of his survival. He was relieved, quite a bit so, to hear you did not have a significant other waiting for you back home, as well as even hearing you had no offspring. What piqued his interest the most, though, were the thoughts you verbalized when he asked if you had any desires to have any children of your own.

“I don't know, maybe. Though I do wonder what kind of parent I'd be.” Your eyes glanced around in thought, then down to your stomach as you placed your hands on your abdomen, as if you were already expecting. You chuckled, “Then again, imagining myself with a baby moving around and kicking me in the ribs all day sounds awful.”

He sincerely hoped you didn't catch his tongue peeking out to lick his lips that suddenly felt chapped and subtly widened eyes stuck scanning your form, pausing on your curves. His natural charisma along with the cheap wine were able to carry him forward the rest of your time together, else he would've been stuck in a whirlwind of inappropriate thoughts of you until he was alone and had time to be able to get it out of his system.

And right now was precisely the time.

Laying on his back, he untied his bottoms and with one hand pushed down his pants and underwear and the other pulled out his fully erect cock, gliding his hand over the infernal ridges that lined the top and underside of his shaft and the veins that wrapped around.

Sighing in relief as he stroked himself, adjusting into a rhythm, he closed his eyes and dreamt back to that moment.

He would've told you that you would be a fantastic parent, without a doubt. That you've got a good head on your shoulders, and a good set of morals, to boot. You are a formidable warrior with a gentleness about you—a rare thing to come by.

A blush spreads across your cheeks. “Oh, thank you.” A self-conscious and sheepish look on your face—which he finds painstakingly adorable—you glance at the ground before continuing, “A-and the same goes for you. It's clear that you care about your people a great deal. You were meant to protect and lead. It only makes sense all of that would carry into fatherhood as well. Our children would be proud.”

He blinks and tilts his head slightly. “Our children?”

Your blush deepens and your hands dart to cover your face, trying to hide from the humiliation. “I didn't mean to– Oh gods, I'm so sorry.”

He grins, “Don't be. I find it endearing.” With your eyes hidden, his gaze stuck on your mid-region as he imagines it swollen with child. With a voice soft and sensual as velvet he adds, “I will also say they would view you in the same light.”

Your hands lower, your nerves beginning to catch aflame and you swallow in anticipation. “Well… then what are we waiting for?”

There's not a single second of hesitation before he steps towards you and crashes his lips into yours. With his hands on your lower back he pulls you taut against him and your arms secure themselves around his neck and shoulders. Even with layers of clothes and armor, the growth in his groin could be felt pressing against you.

Lips still locked together as if held by magic, he bends down and lifts you up with an impressive strength you wouldn't otherwise expect from him. Instinctively, your legs wrap around his waist as he holds you in place. Making his way to the longside of the desk, he sets you on top of the map he mulls over every day.

Impatience quickly builds in both of you as you grab on each other's clothes and armor with desperate hands. Neither of your lips wanting to abandon the other's, you both frantically yank and practically rip your clothes off, feeling as if they were on fire.

It was almost a matter of seconds before you were both naked. Zevlor briefly pauses and looks down at your displayed form sitting atop his work: eyes half-lidded, chest taking deep, quick breaths, legs spread open, slit waiting to be filled. He spoke in awe, as if in the presence of divinity. “Of all the watching gods… you are far more beautiful than I ever could have imagined. You are perfect.”

He leans down to capture your lips with his once more, each second becoming more fervent and needy than the last. You lightly push against him and just barely break the kiss, his blazing hot stare meeting your pleading one. Your mouth ghosts over his and half-whisper, "I need you, Zevlor. Breed me. Please.”

The fire in his eyes flares and something in him unleashes as the lock violently breaks apart. His mouth smashes into yours and in one movement picks you up and lays you fully beneath him on the parchment, one of his legs on the ground and the other supported by his knee on the stone. His tail whips around behind him, an extension of the tempest churning within him. His body trembles in anticipation as his hands claw along your soft and plush skin, leaving inflamed streaks of red. His cock is almost painfully hard, leaking precum, and waiting so fucking impatiently to make you overflow with his seed. It took nearly everything he had not to stroke himself—he wanted to breed you proper.

Speaking of, despite the fact you were soaking wet, it would be awfully rude of him to not pamper and prepare the bearer of his offspring.

Pulling back and resting his forehead on yours, his breaths mixing with grunts, he looks down at your breasts. His cock twitches at the thought of them engorged with milk. He moves down and latches himself onto a nipple, suckling and licking, as if attempting to coax the liquid out. A hand reaches and fondles and kneads your other breast, fingers teasingly pinching and pulling your stiffened peak. You mewl and keen as you thread your fingers through his hair, tugging when he nips; your other hand holds the base of one of his horns and he hums. Your legs rub themselves along his waist and hips covered in spines and points, your touch convincing them to grind against you, yearning to feel his cock against your needy, sopping cunt, but he remains still.

He switches over to your other breast, and in between sucking your nipple he playfully nibbles the fatty tissue underneath it with his infernal fangs. Considering this, every bite on you he ensures to leave it with a kiss. Eventually after lingering on your tits, he continues to cover his love bites up to your collarbone and neck. He provides extra attention to the areas he knows are exposed, even with clothes on. Between his claws dragging themselves against your sensitive skin and his hard, open-mouthed kisses, he mutters against you, “I want everyone to know you're taken. I don't want a single soul to wonder otherwise.”

Becoming dazed in your sinful paradise already, you can't muster a protest even if you wanted to. But being honest with yourself, it's dangerously erotic that his self-professed duty of protection could manifest into jealousy and possessiveness this easily, and you two aren’t even dating yet. You have no idea what you're going to tell your companions about these special markings, but that didn't matter right now. Frankly, It didn't matter at all.

He catches you in a deep, messy kiss with nothing but tongue and wet smacks as a hand just barely glides across your skin down to your clit and begins rubbing rough fingertips in lazy circles. You squirm and moan into his mouth.

You reach down to his member and attempt to pump him, but a grunt and his other hand pull your arm away to rest on the thin paper beneath you. His palm slides up and fingers curl inbetween yours.

Begging for his cock without actually saying it, you use your other hand to gently push his face off yours, but just barely as his lips still brush yours. You cup his cheek and tell him in a panting breath, “I want to ride you.”

A corner of his mouth upturns as he nods his head and stands up, using your interlocked hands to pull you up with him.

The stone surface now cleared of books, candles, and empty wine bottles (which now lay strewn about the ground as they were quite literally tossed to the side), Zevlor lays on his back long-ways across the slab so his entire body fits. Beneath his back lay the parchment, still warm from your body. Watches you with nothing but depravity and hunger, his girthy, impressive cock lays and twitches on his groin like a ribbed, veiny heavyweight; his hefty balls tight with arousal. Both pumped so full of blood they're firm to the touch.

Halfway climbing onto the stone desk you look through your lashes and straight into Zevlor's piercing orange stare as you place a tender kiss on his cockhead and it throbs in impatience. Your tongue sticks out for a small lick before you hoist the rest of your body up. With a look of drunken lust he almost snarls out, “You little tease.”

You swing a leg over and straddle his sturdy hips. Hovering above him now you grin, “Sorry, darling, can't help it.” Your hands find reassurance on his tightened lower abdomen as you lower your dripping cunt against the underside of his dick and slide your hips forward. Zevlor's abs clench as he grits his teeth and sucks in a sharp breath; your mouth hangs open and a broken, stuttering moan escapes you as your clit rakes against the hard ridges.

Gazing upon your wicked ministrations, he gawks at you like a heathen in a grand cathedral. He's speechless in pure reverence. Ambient candlelight in the cave gives you a heavenly glow across your skin. He stares at you in your depraved apotheosis, adorned not with robes nor jewelry, but his markings scattered across your body as such. Reddened hickeys and indents of teeth marks on your neck and chest, and long inflamed lines from his talons scraping everywhere he could reach and grab. Every cell in his body screams at him to pin you beneath him and fuck you into oblivion and rightfully claim you as his for good. Stuff you so full of his cum that he's still leaking out of you days from now.

Currently speaking though, his carnal faith is placed in you. After all, your body would be the sanctuary where new life will form—a beautiful combination of your genetics. Only you know what would be the best conditions for such a success. And it seems at the moment that included writhing on top of his achingly stiff cock until your first orgasm.

Overwhelming shockwaves of tremors roll through you as you cry out, and as you arch forward from the spike in rhapsody, Zevlor reaches up to cup your face and smooths a warm, callused thumb across your cheek.

The feeling of your pussy gushing and pulsating over his dick is phenomenal. Balling up his other hand into a fist until his sharp nails nearly pierced his skin was the only reason he didn't cum right then and there. He has to save himself for you; reserve all of the seed he can give for your sweet and ready womb.

You look at him and turn to place a soft, lazy kiss on his palm, then sit back up and line up his heavy, fat, and swollen cock with your opening. Your slick coats his shaft and a thin, sticky line still connects you two.

Sinking down onto him, his hips rut up subconsciously, eager to fuck into you. His eyes close as they roll back and his mouth gapes open, your tight heat a euphoria, an incomprehensible sense of relief for his overworked, tired soul.

Even with ample preparation plus an orgasm, you gasp as he still stretches you wonderfully. “Gods... it barely fits… Look.” He lifts his head and groans at the sight of your hole stretched and sinking down onto him, enveloping him in your tight heat until you've bottomed out. You can practically feel every single bump, ridge, and vein. Every movement—no matter how miniscule—you make as you adjust to his size and girth issues a twitch of his cock inside you. Rolling your head back from feeling so full already and a long tendril coils around your waist. Drifting your touch over it, you can feel the ridges and scars on his tail as it snugs itself against you.

He was just about to beg you to move, to relieve him of his insurmountable frustration before he completely loses his composure—but with the sensation of you slowly moving up and down, it came out as a deep, obscenely drawn out moan.

Rough, battle-worn hands grip the meat of your thighs, giving him something to hold onto and giving you more stability to bounce yourself on him. Your face contorts in bliss, his ribbed cock drags along your fleshy walls and you know it's not going to be long before you come again. His gaze remains firm on your bouncing tits, decorated with the darkening, bruising remnants from his acquisition of you. The view strains his cock even more, his nerves feeling like fireworks.

He bites his lip as you grind your hips down, driving your swollen, exposed clit along the base of his cock. Your hands find leverage on his torso, giving you more control of your gyrations. You pick up the pace, swiveling your hips in circles as you chase another high. He watches as you get yourself off on him again, a lecherous surge in his broken ego providing all the more reason to mercilessly fuck you until you can taste him. Making damn sure you will never forget this night.

His hands travel to your breasts, still sensitive from before, and you mewl as he kneads them and rolls your nipples between his thumbs and index fingers. One of your hands holds onto his forearm, muscles and veins flexing under your touch. Your fingernails dig into his skin when he pinches.

His tail unravels as you lean down, kissing along his collarbone and up his neck. You can taste the salty, thin layer of sweat accumulated on his heated skin. He smells of amber, like a hot summer's night with the faintest hint of sulfur.

You place your lips on his pulse point and gently suck; his shaky breaths music to your ears. Underneath your lips you can feel the artery pulse harder, increasing the pace of blood flow. Making your way up you then bury your face just below and behind his ear and repeat the same action. He gasps and his arms wrap around you in an instant reaction. His back arches, sending a wave down through his spine and into his hips as he juts upwards. You grind harder on him and he moans so briefly, but so sweetly in your ear. The two of you operate as one, joined at the pelvis and united by primal instinct.

You kiss, lick, and suck his ear until your hip movements become erratic and your pussy flutters and you're right there at the edge. You spill out obscenities along with his name—to him, a beautiful chorus. His strong arms pull you even closer to him as your walls clamp around him so hard his entire body clenches.

The pressure building within him rings in his ears and pounds against his brain and it finally blows and he cannot wait for you to come down. He tells himself he'll ask for your forgiveness later, but right now the only thing on his mind is bedding you and breeding you. He's been waiting this moment his entire pitiful little life and by the gods above he will fucking take what he's earned.

With his arms still around your back, he holds you against his searing hot skin, the rough spines along his chest and abdomen press into you. In almost one swift movement he switches your positions and you're pinned under him with his cock still within you. The map beneath you is now torn and desecrated with your slick and sweat. You haven't fully come to your senses before being plunged back into your obscene delirium as he pistons into your soaking, overstimulated cunt. He's still thrusting and rolling his hips even as he positions himself so your calves rest on his traps. When he leans forward to capture your lips again your legs are split open, pussy facing the heavens and he pile drives harder into you along with the lewd squelching sounds of your juices splashing and covering both of you. Your arms hook under his and you grab onto his shoulders and triceps for dear life, feeling the taut muscles shift and move as he mates into you.

His thrusts are brutal and bruising—almost pulling out entirely, just to plummet back into you. Each time he bottoms out and his balls slap against your ass he pushes just a little more, his cockhead kissing your cervix.

He yearns to glue his lips to yours, to connect as much of you together as he can, but the exertion of fucking you so ruthlessly leaves him with little room to breathe. Between his grunting breaths and kisses with plenty of tongue, he whispers praises to you. How well you're taking him, how it's so clear that you were made for him and he for you, that you will look so utterly beautiful when you're nurturing within you the children you both created.

Mumbled sobs rise from you in response, the closeness and intimacy with him as you move and become united heighten your already volatile emotional state. The fury and power of his thrusts, the slipping of your skins against one another from perspiration, the animalistic flare in his eyes… all almost make you believe that you've transcended your physical form and this is your afterlife. What god could you have won the favor of to deserve such a gift as this?

He can't hold out much longer. His body begins to tremble from the intoxicating stimulation; his grunts turn to moans and infernal expletives. “Mrag,” he huffs out. "I'm close.”

You can feel his cock throb more intensely and frequently. Your mind pure static, your pussy fucked absolutely raw but still instinctively knowing to squeeze around him at the apex of your release. Trying to let him know you were close too, you just barely get out a hazy, “I…” before Zevlor croons in your ear, “Come. Come, I've got you.”

It was like a trigger—you shout and pulsate around him like a vice and the edges of your vision turn blurry. You start to lose your grip of reality but remain tethered from the force of his strength as he drills into you and he growls out, strained and nearly incoherent, “...‘m going t’ fill–ngh!”

His jaw tightens almost to lockjaw from the chokehold your pussy has on him and it overtakes any semblance of self-control he has left. Stars line his vision and in one final push, plunges his thick cock as far as he can into you, until he feels the crux of your womb—a direct shot, seeking to optimize the chances of conception. His tail thrashes behind him and hips twitch as his cock violently bucks inside you as you milk him for all he's worth. Thick, hot ropes of cum pour as he finally has his long-awaited release.

His forehead rests on yours, both of you gasping for breath; hair damp and sticking to wet skin. The body heat radiating off of him almost singes your exhausted lungs as you breathe him in. Slowly opening your eyes, you catch his own. Ever-burning flames against the infinite depths of onyx scleras entrance you, and you don't catch the smirk on his face as he melts his lips into yours. At first so gently, so delicately, as if you were made of flower petals. …until he started moving.

Rocking against you, his mouth presses harder on yours and you can feel the outline of his teeth. You whine pitifully as he becomes hard again, still buried deep inside you. There's zero friction when your fingers grip his arms, unable to find stability as they slip against scalding moisture. He breaks the kiss, his voice an octave lower as his words purr out,

“I'm not done with you.”

Before you can respond, he presses his lips back to yours, tongue swiping against your lower lip—ironically politely asking for entry as if he isn't currently fucking you into another plane of existence.

Your lips part and his tongue is hotter than before. The ridges lining his cock more prominent and your insides almost sting from the overstimulation. His cock grows harder and his hips slam against yours. He lifts his head, thrusts punctuating between his words, “I'm not done. Not until I know–ngh–that you are full. Until you're spilling out.”

The veins in his body expand, as if sending all the blood coursing through them straight to his dick, painfully hard and just as painfully determined to stuff you with his cum. “You're not walking out of here,” his voice low and raspy, “until I know you're fucking pregnant.”

With reddened, puffy lips you barely manage to drudge out, “Gods… Yes…” as immeasurable pleasure races through you, goose pimples roll across your skin, and he feels even deeper. You can practically feel him in your throat.

His body shifts.

“On second thought,”

A comically pathetic whine escapes you as he abruptly pulls out. His legs reach around and behind him. Placing his feet on the ground, he steps off the slab on the long side.

“I change my mind.”

Toned arms turn you with ease and pull you to the edge, lining up your needy slit with his slick-covered cock. You can barely feel anything as he maneuvers your pliable legs so your heels are perched on his shoulders.

“I don't want you walking out of here…”

His tail snakes around him and lays across your stomach, tensed and pushing down, securing you in place.

“... at all.”

Your back arches and your lungs have lost all air as he sheaths himself inside you once again. Upturned eyebrows and a smile span across your cockdrunken face, enraptured by a state of completeness that can only be achieved by the Hellrider who is currently gripping you by the hips and pounding relentlessly into you.

In a dark and husky voice he sharply commands, “Look at me. Look at the father of your children.”

Forcing your eyelids open, you look up, and perhaps it's the corrupted sense of perception as your mind swirls on high, but you're dwarfed by him. He towers over you—infernal features and fiendish traits take precedence. All he's missing at this point are giant fleshy wings. That polite, protective, worrisome, and insecure Zevlor you met by the gate was not the one now standing before you and balls deep inside you. The veins that snake around his body protrude against his vermillion skin; glistening with dripping sweat. His wide eyes wild, almost sanguineous, and fixated on you. Hot, guttural breaths blow past razor sharp teeth.

Slowing his pace to one simultaneously agonizingly slow yet relieving for your fucked-raw pussy, he shifts his tail so it slithers up your marked body, between your sore breasts, and alongside your neck.

“Push them together.”

With just fumes left of your strength, you manage move your arms so your hands cup the outer sides of your breasts. You press them inwards, squeezing around the appendage, and you hear a soft hum of approval from above you. He leans forward, stretching and straining your legs again as he reaches behind your head to lift you for a filthy, messy wet kiss, mixing your tongues and saliva.

He pulls away and a string of spit connecting you stretches and breaks. Setting your head back down but still hovering above you, he spits in the space between your breasts. He stands back to center and you can feel the mixture drooling down your tits and around the column of his tail.

It doesn't take but a few seconds before his pelvis begins to snap against your ass once more. Shoving his cock so far into you, it's forcing more of your slick and his cum out of you. His breaths are huffs mixing with croaky moans. Your vision is blurring, your hearing muffling, head bobbing in tune with his vicious thrusts; his fleshy tail fucking your tits at the same time, lubricated by your mixed salivations.

And though a layer of his cum mixed with yours filled your depths, you could still very much feel every inch of his fat, stiff length within you. But the dragging of his nails up your inner thighs, leaving lines of red welts, was the catalyst that had your toes curling and poor cunt tensing once again. Your body teeters the edge again and you swear this will be the death of you, but by the nine Hells, you'll die happy.

He groans, shuffles his feet to the side and slightly bends his knees. He moves his hands back to your hips and you sense yourself dipping off the edge of the rigid desk so he's pistoning up into you at an angle that his firm and swollen tip rubs against your g-spot and that's it for you—your muscles tremble to the threshold of convulsion, your vision goes entirely black and you're plunged into a nirvanic ocean. Still aware of your physical surroundings and sensations, though now you're experiencing it all in some kind of elevated state. No aphrodisiac could replicate this.

Your thighs clamp together making you feel even tighter to him, your contractions around him more severe. He strains out your name and more infernal expletives, and another load of his heated essence empties into you. You swear you're going to burst.

You have nothing left to give, but that was fine. Zevlor has plenty.

——————————

Your nerves shot, your synapses fried.

You are nothing but a soft jelly thing. The smell of sex and sweat linger in the air. Remnants of adrenaline and endorphins course through you as you lay still, eyes closed. At the same time though, you're isolated, empty, and cold.

But not for long. A warm, wet cloth soothingly glides across your skin. Its touch careful and slow. From your face down to your neck, over your shoulders and along your arms. Periodically, whenever the material becomes cold, you can hear a soft sloshing nearby as the rag becomes warm and wet again. Your legs are moved slightly, and though your groin is still hypersensitive, the hand guiding the cloth around it is methodical. Cautious to clean you without disturbing you.

Once finished, a wave of linen brushes over your naked skin and remains there, covering you and hugging you. You're no longer laying on your back on a thin parchment over hard stone, but rather on your side, a bed of straw and animal hide beneath you.

A breeze of cold air flows over you as that blanket of warmth is temporarily lifted, then you feel the familiar, heated touch of a hand glide over your cheek and thread through your hair. Gentle and toned arms pull you into a toasty embrace. A small, loving spot of pressure is pressed against your forehead. Fingers brush through your hair, massaging your scalp.

You cannot move; no strength remains. You will wake up in great pain, but right now, you are floating.

——————————

The next morning you stopped by the grove to give him thanks for the entertaining night previous, even if it was thanks to some foul wine. He was by the gate wheel, lost in thought and staring out at the clearing, the bloodstains from the battle before still linger.

“Zevlor!”

He whips around, startled, and mumbles your name.

He turned to the wheel as you made your way closer to him and mentioned, “I was on my way to the goblin camp, but I wanted to thank you first. I had a really good time last night. A tad hungover, but it was worth it.”

More concerned about keeping his backside to you, he stared at the wooden contraption, looking as if he was inspecting it. Not even bothering to turn his head to respond, he replied, “Pleased to hear. As did I.”

Your brows furrowed at the flat response. Perhaps you caught him at a bad time. You cleared your throat. “Uh, well, I'm glad to hear you had a good time, too.”

He was silent.

You frowned. “I'll catch you later, then?”

“Yes, do keep me updated.”

… What in the hells kind of answer was that?

Suspicion overcame you. Did he drink so much he didn't retain any memory of last night, at all? No matter, you thought to yourself, I can question him later. Perhaps with another bottle of wine. A far better tasting bottle of wine.

You turned on your heel and made your way back to your party. Zevlor released a breath he was holding, relieved you didn't see his face turn ruby red. But at least he needn't worry about you knowing of the pools of dried cum littered across his stomach and chest he woke to this morning.

Notes:

shout out to I Have No Mouth And I Must Scream for inventing (great) soft jelly things

My writing will be slowing down so I can focus on my new drawing tablet! Which of course I will be drawing our favorite Hellrider, perhaps nsfw if I get my rusty-ass art skills back up to par

Chapter 8: NSA - Mutual Masturbation (feat. Gloves) (Smut)

Summary:

Zevlor gets you off with his hands but he's wearing protection so he's actually fingering you instead of stabbing you.

Notes:

NSA = Non-Specific Act. So you can imagine this in the grove, at Moonrise, in an alleyway in Baldur's Gate, the comfort of your shared home… wherever your wicked little heart desires. Because let's be honest, you're probably here for the porn, not the story. (I also am just very lazy when it comes to exposition)

WARNING: tav/reader being blunt as fuck, fingering, maybe a glove fetish if you squint your eyes, gushing/borderline squirting, cum going everywhere

The last chapter took a lot out of me, so enjoy this short smut.

“I want you to finger me.”

Zevlor's head perks up and asks you in partial shock, “Pardon?”

In the same tone as before you repeat, “I want to feel your fingers inside me.”

“I heard your words.” He holds up a splayed hand between you, displaying his pointed nails. “But you do recall I have these, yes?”

“And they're lovely as ever.”

His blank stare still pierced through you, as if you remained—somehow—failing to understand what he was trying to convey. He spoke sternly, sharply. “This isn't a matter of if I will injure you, but how severely.”

“That is why I've come prepared.” You reached in your pack and firmly held a pair of plain leather gloves against his chest as you exclaimed, “Behold!”

His hands instinctively reached up and took them from you, studying them—you already had a much stronger, sturdier pair that you used as part of your armor. Looking at you with further questioning, he raised an eyebrow, “Had this on your mind, have you?”

“Ever since our first night together. Before that, actually. Ever since I started touching myself to the thought of you.”

Your directness stirs in his core. His ear twitches and cheeks grow with a faint blush. He smirked, “I suppose there's no harm in trying.”

 

After removing all but your underwear, you lay on your back. Zevlor, donning the gloves, stands above you shirtless and palms himself through his unbuttoned bottoms. He kneels down and lays on his side, capturing your lips with his.

As you're lazily making out, the cool material skulks across your skin and down your body. Skirting on the outside of your underwear, his fingers reach the apex of your thighs and you spread them, giving him better access. Using the flat of his fingers, he rubs along the divot where your slit is. You moan into the kiss and his body moves towards yours, his erection grazing your thigh.

The arm between you and Zevlor takes his cock begins to stroke at a leisurely pace. He grunts into your mouth, his hips languidly thrust into your palm. His fingers press firm against your pussy.

A warm appendage coils itself around your leg, coaxing it further open. His fingers wind their way under the seam of your panties and his index finger holds it to the side. His long fingers tease you, running their length so your swollen, needy clit remains in between them and the tips ghost along your entrance. You can tell just how wet you are from how easily the cool leather glides your slick around your folds.

You whine in protest to his drawn-out taunting and he smiles into your kiss in amusement. He relinquishes and your hips roll up as the leather material glides over your clit. Though you prefer the intimacy of actually feeling his raw touch (calluses and all) the gloves provide a wider, thicker surface area.

Your own hand lazily stroking his cock moves up to the tip; your delicate touch like bolts of electricity to him. His hips twitch and he catches a low whimper in his throat. Spreading his precum around and down his shaft, you use it as lube.

Following suit, he drags his covered hand along you, from his palm to the tips, coating your slick along the leather. After a couple of passes, his middle finger circles your entrance and pushes in. The hand on his cock squeezes in reaction, giving him a clenching pump and his hips buck.

The digit inside you drags along your walls nicely, but it's not enough.

You break the kiss and, your lips brushing against his, you whisper, “More. I need more.”

He hums and moves in his ring finger. You mewl at the stretch, the thick material of the gloves providing more girth than just his fingers alone. Both curl inside you, dragging along your spongy walls, sliding against your g-spot. You whine and pant, increasing your speed as you stroke his cock, rock hard and twitching. His forehead rests against yours. Your mouths hang open. Both of your breaths mix with one another. His tail tightens its hold on your leg.

Eventually his ministrations grow more fervent, your needy whimpers in combination with the lewd, wet sounds of your cunt spur him on. He cannot help himself—his pride is usually suppressed, but seeing, feeling, and hearing you unravel because of him and him alone reignites a spark that has since burnt to ashes. He still questions why you keep coming back to him, why you confessed that you think of him. But right now those doubts are pushed aside and replaced with pleasure.

And though he would love nothing more than to feel all of you against his hands—no gloves preventing the interaction of your nerve endings—he would have agreed to do this well before if he knew you would react with such wanton.

Brushing his palm against your swollen clit, his fingers pump in and out of you. You can feel him spread and scissor them inside you, stretching out your passage even more. A galvanizing moan escapes you and Zevlor catches it as he places his lips on yours once more. You quicken your pace on his cock and it throbs in your grip.

His movements become rapid. Your other hand grips around his flexing forearm with a slap and your mouth pulls away from his as you whine out, “Don't stop, please,” and the urgency sends him spiraling. He groans velvet in your ear and his hand shakes in place. Your walls clamp around him, keeping him inside, and you can hear and feel droplets of your slick being shoved out of your tight cunt. The texture of the leather fretting against your clit is pure reverie and your mind fills with a joyous nothingness. Your free leg lifts, knee bent, toes curling.

Your hand mirrors his speed. His cock throbs and his hips twitch and thrust in tune with your movements. Your bodies writhe and voices tremble. He sees white in his vision despite eyelids clamped shut and he shakes out in a restrained rasp, “I… I can't–” but is cut off when you respond with a hastened “Me neither,” and you capture his mouth with yours and intertwine your tongues as you both come. Your nails bury themselves in his arm and your leg thrashes against the circulation-cutting grip of his tail. His hips and cock erratically buck against you, covering you both in heated ropes of cum. Your pulses are aggressive on his fingers and you gush around him; some even spills out and splashes against your inner thighs and drips down your ass, soaking your panties.

Both of you coming down now, your muscles relax and breaths even out. You let go of his softening cock with reluctance and he hesitantly pulls out, leaving your pussy feeling lamentably empty.

The surface below you is damp with sweat. You're covered in both of your ejaculates. You and him have individual things you really should be tending to, but instead, the furnace of a man beside you curls into you and you reciprocate his gentle touch.

Except for one thing.

“Zevlor.”

“Hm?”

“Your tail. My leg is going numb.”

“Apologies.”

Notes:

I believe in both hypersensitive-cockhead and tail-haphazardly-always-finding-its-way-to-wrap-around-you Zevlor supremacy 🙇

I want to practice some male!reader smut, so I may post a version of that. But right now when I try it just triggers my gender dysphoria lmfaooo (it's all good, I just get really pissed and jealous I can't have a dick sometimes HAHA)

Chapter 9: Act 2 - G/N Service Top!Tav (Angst, Smut)

Summary:

Gender-neutral service top!tav tending to and indulging Zevlor's wishes directly after the events of Moonrise.

Notes:

sorry for the wait. i wanted to write SOMETHING for act 2 but it always ended up Zevlor trauma dumping (which lord knows he really needs to). so this is the best i could come up with lmao

WARNING: angsty as hell with a sliver of fluff, sex as an outlet, blowjob/fellatio (i love writing head okay), riding the Hellrider, pain mention (those damn tief nails), Zevlor speaks Infernal and gets you off (narratophilia i guess..??), Zev also gets kinda feral at the end sry

Zevlor paces around the long forgotten home in Reithwin Town. Rotten wooden floorboards groan under his worried steps. The structure is partially destroyed, though arguably one of the least destroyed in the town. At least it still has somewhat of a roof and most of its walls.

After freeing him from mind flayers and hearing his confession, you had managed to convince him to meet you again before the final stretch to Baldur's Gate.

He did what you told him to do: take the remaining survivors to Last Light Inn, narrowly manage to stay out of the line of sight of his people (‘his people’... it wasn't right to call them that anymore), meander his lonely way to the home you told him about. And now it's your turn.

Making his way to what once was a bedroom, his mind is a pounding, frenzied cluster of thoughts; all of them demanding, screaming for his full attention. He knows you would keep to your word; having nothing but unwavering faith you could take down Ketheric, but then again, he was fooled once already. Fatally, almost.

Is he that vulnerable? Is he even vulnerable at all? Did it sneak its way in, or walk through an open door?

He paces, wondering where it all went wrong. But that's the catch, that's the thing; it never went wrong. Nothing steered from the course. The moment he was born, when his skin was toned of the Hells, donning a miniature tail and nubs of his horns which sat on his head, his grim fate was already decided. Spending his entire life proving his heart of gold only to have it melted into nothing by fire and brimstone.

There was something he could've done to stop this—if he just hung onto his faith for just a bit longer; not be swayed by the tides of contempt and selfishness. Only thinking of his pride and his dignity when the blade of the righteous guillotine struck down, sworn oath bleeding out in the basket. The executioner wore a hood and a concealed identity, but had horns and the eyes of Nessus. And not even its ‘divine’ mistress, a false god, who was one measly step away from fully enthralling the paladin to do her bidding, sought his servitude. There was nothing he could've done to stop this.

So he accepts being a living ghost, a complete failure—even in the moment of death's calling. Tail tucked between his weary legs, he could meander back to Elturel. Live as a vagrant. Observe the tip of a Hellrider's blade pointed at him and not with him, denied the expiation he so desperately sought. Serve as an example to others of his kind: what happens when devilkin try to convince themselves they can be anything but evil.

So deep in thought and self-damnation, he didn't hear your footsteps approach him from behind.

“Oh good, you're here.”

He whips himself around before you even finish the sentence. “By the Hells… you're alive.”

Next thing both he and you both know, you hook your arms under his, embracing him. He stands in shock, his arms hang in the air, unsure as ever. You weren't expecting this either, at least not immediately after exchanging your initial words. Deciding to go with it, you stand still, your head resting on his chest—mildly frustrated you couldn't hear his heartbeat through the thick, metal breastplate of his armor.

Surprisingly, but happily, you feel his arms come to rest over your shoulder blades. The weight of them was barely there, still ever apprehensive, but they were there. He shuts his eyes, enjoying a brief moment of peaceful silence before you peel yourself from him. “Thank you for keeping to your word. I was half-expecting this place to be as empty as it ever was.”

Perchance it's just the angle you were looking at him, maybe it's the dull air still harboring the atmosphere, but the downturn of his eyes bares his soul. Or whatever is left of it. Infinite flames burn as his irises, yet they carry nothing but the ashes of what once was.

He remains silent; that is alright with you. In reassurance, you lay your head back where it was on his armor.

After a harrowing series of events where neither of you expected to live to see the next moment, you bask in the quietude in each other's embrace; hearing only the sounds of your breathing.

Neglecting—or rather, unwilling—to lift your head, you mutter, “You don't have to explain yourself. I care none about that. Only that you are safe.”

And Zevlor swears he would've shed a tear in another circumstance, but the closest he can do is place a hand on the back of your head.

After a moment you tilt your head up to look at him once more. Both of you thinking the same thing, but stand frozen. Maybe it was the numerous close calls with death in succession that drove him, and suddenly his lips are on yours.

It's reminiscent of the first time he had done this: in your tent, away from the prying eyes of drunken party attendants. Like you were young again, realizing your crushes for one other, sneaking off so it was just you two. His love was delicate and uncertain.

You were simultaneously the best and worst person to rescue him. Humiliation is just the tip of his godforsaken iceberg; he almost would rather have faced his people, with their justified fury against his betrayal.

At the same time, though, he wouldn't have wished for anyone else to come to his aid. Though his faith in the gods is now all but fine particles of old, settled dust, he questions if your being at the grove gates was really a happenstance at all.

A foul tempest brews within him as he holds you tighter. Visions of being back in the pod flash in his mind every time he closes his eyes. Every time they shut for more than a blink, his muscles tense and his mind reels, as if bracing for her.

Desperate to stay grounded in any way possible, he deepens the kiss, tightens his embrace around you, and you feel his touch roam your figure, clutching and frustrated it wasn't your skin he was feeling with his own. You pull away, though not without his lips chasing yours for a moment afterwards. In a heartfelt, sincere tone you ask, “Are you sure you want this? Now?”

He says nothing, but barely nods his head. The dichotomy of his needy touch and the look of spiritual fracture on his face is, at best, perplexing.

Gods. What the hell did they do to him?

It wasn't difficult reading his body language usually. No matter how much he tried to portray a stoic leader his true emotions always floated to the surface. Though—and only taking you just now to consider it—none of the other refugees, who had spent every day with him for the past who knows how long, had mentioned this, even when expressing their contempt of him at the inn.

Pulling yourself away, enough to see the entirety of his face, concerned, “I need you to say it.” You brush a couple of stray, graying hairs behind his ear. “Your mind's gone through a whirlwind back there. I need to hear you tell me exactly what you want.”

He hesitates. Then, in a raspy whisper, “I want this.”

A hefty pause—not adequate enough an answer.

Continuing, he averts his gaze and stares at the floor behind your shoulder. “You said I didn't need to explain myself. So I won't. I wouldn't even know where to begin.” His eyes close and turns his head further away from you, “But if you still choose to place your blind trust in me, grant me this.”

He has a point—blind trust. Conflicted between indulging him and questioning his intentions, you ponder for a moment. You had dreamt of meeting him again, though never considered this circumstance. You longed for his reassuring yet cautious touch; full, soft lips warm as a summer's day dotting across your skin; attentive and sickly sweet lovemaking, the kind one only reads about in romance novels.

Your fingertips on the side of his chin, you guide him to look at you. “Promise me.”

He forces a tiny smirk, but his voice sounds genuine. “I promise.”

“Good,” you glanced at the ground. “Let me take care of you.”

A part of Zevlor wants to protest, to insist otherwise. He isn't sure how it is so easy to let someone else be the leader, but perhaps it's for the best. Maybe it's instinct that compels him to listen to you. His chin quivers, and all he could do is nod.

The old bed frame creaks from his weight as Zevlor sits on it, giving you easier access to his armor while he takes off his boots. Wordlessly, you share this somewhat oddly intimate moment. You assist him in shedding his armor, piece by piece. At the same time, he helps you remove yours. There is no rush this time; no frantic movements to touch each other as quickly as possible.

Eventually he’s just down to his trousers, and you swear he had fewer scars the last you saw him. Despite being at ease with you, he can't bring himself to be fully nude. You, on the other hand, have not an inch of you covered anymore. Sure you feel a tad exposed, and quite chilly, but Zevlor radiates a heat akin to a furnace.

Instead of lying down, he rests a hand on the back of your thigh and pulls you towards him, his forehead and base of his horns pressing against the soft of your stomach as you take a couple of half-steps, closing the gap between you. You feel your leg lazily coiled by his tail. He holds you like this for a few moments of peace—peace he doesn't deserve. Echoes of those who had perished, in the Shadow-Cursed Lands and otherwise, permeate his mind.

You could tell he is getting lost in the fray of his mutilated mind, and run your fingers through his loosened brass-colored hair.

He presses a lingering kiss on your stomach before looking up at you, the most fragile look in his eyes of citrine and obsidian, pleading for you and thanking you at the same time.

He then leans back and maneuvers on the bed so he can fully lay down on it, pulling you on top of him. His arms snake around your back, their warmth providing safety and security, even if he thought the opposite of himself. Your bodies press together, the soft smacking sounds of your lips and creaky groans from the old, tired bed beneath you fill the room, and give him something to hear other than his thoughts.

After some time, you move to love on other parts of his face, your lips never leaving his skin. Each kiss a reassurance, a reminder. Placed randomly yet purposefully, you move from his smile lines, to his raised cheekbones, sunken eyelids to rigid brow bone, and on the base of his horns where keratin meets skin.

Then trailing along his jaw, feeling bits of rough texture and stubble scratching your lips, you continue to his neck. He automatically tilts his head, opening himself to your ministrations. His hands glide along your back, curling around your shoulders, implanting your form in his memory. Mumbling sweet nothings into his flesh, hoping your words be absorbed; he hums in response.

Minutely lifting your head, you mutter, “Want me to keep talking? Or prefer it quiet?”

“Keep going. Please.”

Gently suckling on his neck, you continue your praises.

As you continue down to his collarbone and chest, textures mixing between his hot flesh, infernal bumps, and poorly-healed battle scars, and you can feel every pulse of his quickening heartbeat.

Between open-mouthed kisses you mumble into his skin, “Where do you want me?”

“I don't care. Anywhere,” he huffs out.

To be honest, you silently grumble to yourself, as had it not been for his needy hands grabbing all over you and his half-hard cock swelling against your groin, you might have said something.

As you make your way down his torso, feeling his abs contract as your lips and breath tickle his skin, you unbutton his trousers. Once you make it to his groin, you smooth a hand on top of his lower stomach, a line of faint hairs leading down, then over his sightly bulge before reaching beneath the seam of his underwear and the sound of a sigh of relief is produced above you.

As you pull it out, you had to admit, his cock is bigger than you remembered. Ridges line the shaft, with a couple of prominent veins winding from base to tip. And as if those alone weren’t somehow pleasurable enough for you (which: oh they very much were), his cock is thicker in the middle, guaranteeing a lovely stretch no matter how deep he was inside you.

Holding it up with a hand at the base, you had also forgotten the variation of his body temperature. Tieflings ran a few degrees hotter than everyone else, but a fully-hard tiefling prick apparently runs a bit hotter than that. You drift your tongue along his deliciously warm length, your eye contact with his holding steady. He gives you that same look he did the first time you gave him head—his piercing eyes fixate on you, a peek of his tongue and teeth show as he tongues the notch in his lower lip and bites down.

Reaching the tip, your hand grazes over it a couple of times before pulling back his foreskin, exposing his needy and swollen cockhead. Giving it a lick, his hips twitch from the sensitivity. How easy it is to succumb a man with a simple action like that. Smiling to yourself, you swirl your tongue around his tip as you take his length into your mouth, sliding your tongue down and around the shaft until it kisses the back of your throat—with room on his cock to spare.

The salty taste coats your tastebuds as you begin moving your head up and down, sucking in and hollowing your cheeks when you move up. You go at this for a few moments, borderline worshipping his cock with your mouth.

Zevlor fights with himself, conflicted between closing his eyes to focus on the sensations of you, and keeping them open to stave off any potential darkness lingering within him.

Ultimately, he looks down at you. When he lifts his head, he groans at the sight. You are kneeling: your back, ass, and hips on display. Your head bobs, taking nearly his entire length in your mouth, feeling your wet tongue snaking around as much of his girth as possible. One hand cups and massages his balls, the other—much to his dismay, being out of his view—is pleasuring yourself. His head immediately falls right back down, mouth agape and eyes squeezed shut as his hand finds purchase in your hair, nails gently scratching your scalp in encouragement; his tail lazily wrapped around your ankle. He winces and groans as you lift yourself off of him, exposing him to the damp, chilly air. A line of spit that still connected you breaks and your hand starts to pump his wet cock as you tongue his cockhead and slit, tasting his precum.

“Stop.”

Immediately you remove yourself and sit back on your knees with as much of a blank face as you can muster, but you aren't sure if you can fully conceal your worry.

You look him over. “Are you alright?”

His breathing heavy and quickening. He doesn't seem like he's in a panic, but you wouldn't put it past him considering only mere hours have passed since the events. He shifts himself, propping himself on an elbow, “Sorry, I didn't want to finish too early,” his other arm reaches toward your direction.

“No sorry needed.” A soft grin appeared on your face as you crawled over him, his large hand coming to rest on the bend of your jaw, just below your ear as you continued, “Though I have to say, it's honestly quite flattering to hear that.”

A low, genuine, chuckle purred from his chest. “Only a fragment of what you do to me.”

In a tease, you lean down and he angles himself for a kiss that never comes, stopping yourself just above his plush lips, “What if I want you to finish early?”

He tuts, as if you said something so utterly “Ludicrous. That will not happen.”

You turned your head to the side and exaggerated a sigh, then turn back to face him, “Even with all that's happened, you still remain a steadfast gentleman.” You pause a moment, your eyebrow flickers as you notice a cheeky look upon his features. It's good to see this side of him again.

Finally you seal your mouth against his. Hands run along the sides of your body until they cup your hips and ass, kneading the pliant flesh. Sharp nails skim along, leaving red lines in their wake. He presses the rest of your body down, and you happily oblige, grinding yourself; thankful for the lack of clothes which had separated you before. The sensation of flesh against flesh, nerve against nerve, elicit moans from both of you. And exhaled along with yours: your patience.

Sitting back up, eyes locked on each other, you said low, breathy, “Are you ready?”

One of your hands that rested by your side was being taken by a large, heated one. Wrists rolling so your fingers interlocked, squeezing once secured, “Always.”

Both of you holding your breath, anticipating this moment since you last saw each other the morning you parted ways. Though you could balance yourself fine whilst straddling him, you keep his hand held in yours. Your other one lines him up, and once the head is pressing against your entrance you let go, giving him an indelible view to watch his wet cock slide with ease into you.

Bottoming out, you whine, not just from being stretched to your limit in both length and width, but you now feel noticeably toasty despite being completely naked (and in the cold, now Formerly-Shadow-Cursed Lands, no less). Pressing your weight onto your knees, you slide back up and he rubs your thighs and hips in encouragement, and you moan from the drag of his ribbed cock. Your tight walls tug on him and Zevlor curses to himself; a silent, lewd prayer, may he last more than a few seconds.

Keeping your pace slow all the while, you ask, “Do I make you feel good?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think about me riding you like this? Taking you so well? Stuffed full of your cock?”

A full-body shiver cascades throughout him at your blunt, bawdy vocabulary, rolling his head back and shutting his eyelids. “Yes, Gods, yes.”

“How often?”

He didn't respond—and from his tight grip on the meat of your thigh, panting breaths, and a thin sheen of sweat on his forehead and chest, he was beginning to drift away into bliss.

And as much as he deserves bliss and the most euphoric of mental paradises right now, you didn't want him to go just yet.

Your hand slides up his abs, over the prominent spines and lining his ribcage, and to his pectoral, giving his nipple a light pinch, which he fails to successfully stifle a wanton gasp from slipping out of him.

You smirked at his reaction, your own breaths coming out short and quick. “Well? How often do you think about this?”

He swallows, “Omna zurgnak kashat.”

“Translation, please.”

“Every godsdamned day.”

You squeeze around him, satisfied with his answer, doubly so in Infernal.

Beginning to find your rhythm and bounce on him properly, as you bottom out he juts upwards, digging as deep as he can go. At last, his hand retreats from yours just to cling onto your pelvis, his thumbs creating dimples from his firm grip. The force of his strong, sturdy hips reverb throughout your body. You close your eyes, enjoying the fullness and the sinful noises coming from him, mewls even, which he doesn't seem to be trying to hold back as much anymore. One of your hands creep to your groin so you can resume touching yourself, you were already close before but this would—

Suddenly your nerves spark—looking down to see a scarlet hand already on you. His rough, battle-hardened fingers providing friction that yours would not have (and not that his infernal cock pistoning inside you didn't provide more than enough of that friction already). Your sensitivity was already high—he might be a paladin first and foremost, but gods, it was like his life's purpose is to please you. “Fuck, Zevlor,” you bleated out.

Part of you wants him to achieve orgasm first, but you and he both know he's too stubborn for that (and an odd thing to be so chivalrous about). Though he already has a response in mind if you push further: that you agreed to indulge him tonight, even though neither of you expected to be so… intimately united so quickly. But nevertheless you accepted him, and for that, as much as he wants release in more ways than one, you will be first.

Speaking of, as tension builds in your core, you have an idea—hoping he'll go with it. “Talk to me. Infernal,” and you bite your lips in anticipation, focusing on the sound of his voice and the feel of his touch. “... if you want to.”

He's surprised, but took note to ask questions later. “Mreibaj, zatal meum kulpore vos,” and you clamp around him, cutting his words short into a deep, low strain. His talons nearly pierce your skin, though sharp pain radiates from the puncture, but the igniting pleasure from his rough hands along your nearly exposed nerves far outweighed any pain.

He continues; you knew Infernal was a guttural language, and you were never turned on by it. Until now. The sounds were not just produced by his vocal cords, but came from much deeper within. Every word vibrates through his body and into yours.

Your finish is close in sight—his thrusts increase in force and speed, slamming into your ass now; his hand still fixated on you, every touch a wave of heaven—you began to see stars before they turn into a blur and the edge is now underneath you; a drawn-out whine escapes from you.

His movements slow and as you come to, you thank the gods he has his armor to wear over him, where no one would see the soaked spots of your release over his skin and clothes. He certainly doesn't mind, though, as he thinks to himself while his cock throbs from seeing you come undone for him.

Leaning forward, you rest your hands on his ridged and scarred crimson chest, the muscles underneath firm and solid. You look at him, your eyes half-lidded and a blush smears across your cheeks—he has those soft eyes with a closed-mouth smile, one corner upturned; a moment of his old self. Well, the old self you came to adore before…

You blink the train of thought to a halt and adjust yourself, using his chest as leverage to grind and bounce once more. On an exhale, you cooed, “Your turn.”

Finding a rhythm and riding your high, you ride him like your life depended on it, the bed creaking beneath you ferociously, threatening to give way. His hands rest between your waist and hips, encouraging your movements.

Eventually he's getting close—his body tenses, he grips and claws onto you tighter, his cock twitches as he ruts against you. He hastily mouths something you can't discern, possibly Infernal, but nonetheless figuring it was a warning. You were barely able to place your hands on either side of him before his arms latched onto your back, locking you to him and he presses his heels into the old bed, tilting you in a way that his ruts turn into vicious thrusts. The end of his tail violently twitches, seeking something to twist and coil around.

He holds you so tightly you can barely breathe. Shoving and rubbing his face against the side of your head and your hair, his lips brush your neck and it takes everything in him, every cell and membrane, to refrain from giving into his infernal instincts: to sink his teeth into your unclaimed flesh, signing you off as his.

And in your ear, his growly, shuddering breaths transition into needy and almost pathetic whines.

His thrusts lose their momentum as they become erratic. Your hearing is dulled from the pounding of your own heartbeat but you can just barely hear your name. After a few final thrusts, nearly every muscle in his body contracts and locks you like a vice; his voice breaks in a restrained, teeth-gritted, crying out and his cum overheats your core as it coats you in thick, hot ropes.

Both of you lie there in each other's embrace well after you had both come down. You thought he asleep as you slowly move to climb off him and clean yourselves up, but instead are frozen by his hoarse, tired voice:

“Don't– don't go,” and his mouth remained partially open as if there was more, but only silence came out. The lines of his face had softened, his touch relaxed, but his eyes said everything.

You nodded, returning to your embrace, “I'm not going anywhere.”

Notes:

a HUGE SHOUT OUT to faerunsbest and foreignobjecticus on tumblr for helping me figure out how tf to portray Infernal when there's virtually no resources on it. Thank you Latin and Black Speech of Mordor 🙏