You want a sinning prompt, ill give you a sinning prompt *cough*Ascendedform!usingyoutomakBloodofRaphaeltieflings*cough*
A/n: /checks the time Ok. It’s sin o’clock. I'm hiding everything under the cut. Because it's...well. You know.
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Ascended!Raphael x Reader 18+: Well, well, well, if it isn’t the consequences of your actions.
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"Look at you," Haarlep breathes the words against your ear, nose tweaked against your cheek. There's a scrape of teeth, and you shiver, screwing your eyes shut against the sensation. Sensitive, so sensitive. Every nerve in your body feels alive. They lick across to the corner of your mouth, turning your head to kiss you deeply. The incubus' tail curls around your thigh, urging your legs to fall apart for him. Fingers circle your clit, a lazy series of strokes meant to build you higher but never break. He chuckles, a mimicry of affection, as he kisses you again. "Such a pretty mess you make. Even Raphael couldn't fault my work."
You gasp, head lolling back against their shoulder. His right arm is a vice holding you back against his chest. The warmth of them helps. Haarlep smells like summer fires and vetiver, fresh and burning; it suits them. You're burning.
Their fingers dip lower, pressing into you and scissoring. You whimper, and Haarlep swallows the sound, pushes their tongue into your mouth, and makes you taste, drink, and welcome him. The fever is almost unbearable. The incubus has stretched and stretched you. All you feel is empty.
"Good girl," they coo. Haarlep wipes your slick on your thigh. They smile against your skin. "So good for us. So ready. Say it, sweetling. Say you're ready."
"Please."
"Ah, ah, that," they nip the tip of your nose, "was not what I asked: are you ready, pet?"
"I'm ready. Gods, please!"
"Oh, darling," he shifts, dragging fingers down your sternum, your belly, down to the apex of your thighs. "After tonight, not one of your gods will have you. All ours. Always." Haarlep hums, leaning their head against yours. "Isn't that right, Raphael?"
Raphael waits, kneeling. The ascended fiend tilts its head to the side, tongue lolling from the center mouth. Its eyes burn with animal intelligence; part of it is weighing Haarlep's words, tasting them. Its wings fan out to the side, brushing the tile, braced for stability. The clawed hands rest on either side of the pair of you.
The beast noses your chest. Scents you. And purrs. You groan, shifting back against Haarlep, lifting your hips.
How lovely you'll look, he'd said, as conversational as he might have been over brunch, full of my seed. That's what you want, yes? To be good for me? Serve me?
You wanted it more than your next breath. The fiend tastes you first, its growl vibrating through your body. The heat makes you shift, panting, glancing over your shoulder for help. The flat of its tongue covers the whole of your cunt with flat pressure, warm and wet; Haarlep leads you in a lazy rock, cock still pressed against your ass. You clench at his thighs, searching for purchase, anything, as the fiend works itself up. The more it laps at you, the wetter you get. The better you taste. The more it wants. Up, and up, and up, and there has to be a breaking point, there has to be a ceiling, there has to, has to, has to…
Your back bows, thrusting into the creature's touch. There is enough of Raphael in there to delight in this naked affectation, and it howls its pleasure, tongue pressing inside your clenching hole. It's being filled with heat, stretched, and you can't help but fuck yourself onto it, welcoming more. You want him. You wish you could put into words how badly you want him.
You're lucky, you know, he'd breathed the words against your lips, skirt rucked up around your hips. His hand over your mouth to keep you quiet as he thrusts into you. I've chosen you, little mouse. My treasure…what pretty spawn you'll give me.
And, oh, it's too much. Too much, the head of its cock pressed to your soppy cunt. Haarlep spreads your legs wider, angles you, purring filth in your ear until you're grinding down, desperate. They want to see you speared on him, want to listen to you babble, want to watch you come and come. Raphael pushes, and you jolt, feeling your body finally relent.
You could never take all of him, but you take enough. It lowers its head, licks your cheek, and howls. It fucks without grace or concern, pulling you where it wants, its head thrown back, taking. In the back of your mind, you're vaguely aware of Haarlep laughing, lifting your hips just enough to let the fiend slide deeper. Air is an afterthought. You're screaming, and it's sharp, everything: the heat, the pain, the pleasure. Sweat tracks down your body in lazy rivulets. You're coming apart, but your body won't stop. It's rocking with him, hungry. One of the fiend's hands snakes around your waist, jerking you away from the incubus and into it.
You belong to Raphael, his, his, and you shake, one hand tangling in your hair, one reaching out for Haarlep. He leans over you and kisses you just long enough to leave a fresh swell of intoxicating pleasure rocketing through your system. And then leaves you to the fiend.
You lose track. You're exhausted. It flips you onto your front, up on your knees, filling you again. You ache, but it's good. Its folded over you, panting, screaming, and you break again, clutching at its cock. And when Raphael finally comes, you want to sob; forehead pillowed on your arms—filled with him, full of him. Its spend drips down your thighs.
Fingers, oddly gently, card over your lower back and thighs. Raphael, your Raphael, leans over you, pressing a kiss to the small of your back. He gathers his seed with a chuckle, pushing it back into your cunt. You moan.
"Look at you," he mumbles. "So beautiful. Eternally mine."
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