Nan was a creature bred for the slaughter, breaking bodies with the fervor of a rabid wolf, but this was new. This was greater than she could have ever dreamed. The shape forced upon her was an unwilling gift from father dearest, but there was no denying the new length of her claws, the teeth as long as a man's arm. Blood and ichor dripped from her maw, painting her four hands red.
The people she saw as friends seemed so fragile now, breakable porcelain dolls to be played with until they shattered. But had she not protected them? Cut down the cultists who would have killed them all? Did she not deserve a reward? Her cock slowly extended from its sheath, ridged and ready to be used.
She prowls over to the group, eyeing each one up like a predator picking out its prey, tail whipping back and forth in anticipation. If a volunteer doesn't step forward soon, she'll gladly make the choice herself.
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mirror sex? yes. probably so he can watch himself easily while doing it ( nsfw hcs for raphael lol )
from [ Send a N S F W headcanon you may have for my muse and see if I like it ] ❤️
omg yes, absolutely. he 100% gets off looking at himself in the mirror, like Patrick Bateman, more than looking at his lover's goods lmao. like ''wow. incredible. flawless. the best fiendish dick. the prettiest hell princess. 10/10. would sign a contract with myself.''
he was 100% a chronic mirror masturbation enthusiast before harls. any reflective surface, really. god bless the shiny ice back at Mephistar when he was a teen…
[ C.O.I INFORMATION TERMINAL. STARTER. @calamitism - FOR KORE. ]
He isn't normally one for sticking with a party. Despite his general appearance and reputation, Simon doesn't like to consider himself an adventurer. He is a prisoner with a sentence to finish. It doesn't matter that he escaped the clutches of the C.O.I - his handcuffs had been traded for a pact. He isn't adventuring, he's being used.
His patron is currently using him to save the world. And, Simon supposes, it's not exactly the worst thing it could be using him for. He doesn't question it too much; it's easier to just go along with it, so he's currently sat at a camp full of adventurers, making stilted conversation with a tiefling.
They'd been in a fight today. Simon tends to avoid doing anything other than an eldritch blast when he's around others, but it had been difficult. Necessitated more power. And so his blood magic is the subject of discussion, now that they're able to rest. With a slightly-irritated grunt, the warlock waves his hand and casts shape water. The small amount of water he'd put in a cup instantly turns red, and with a flick of his wrist Simon is able to shape it into the crude image of... well, something. It's more of a formless blob than anything. He's never been very artistic.
"See? It's just like --- manipulating water. But, uh, worse."
------ "You're such a good dancer." It's been a long rehearsal: Drack has been in enough music videos by now to know the score, but his body still aches far more than he'd like. He's never been a particularly skilled dancer; showmanship and singing is more his speed, and the choreography for this particular video is more involved than he's used to. "Will you help me out? I just can't get the hang of these moves."
Send 📱 for a drunken text from my muse || accepting
@calamitism sent; 📱 ( for vox, from charlie or @devilvette )
The spiked tea refresher already went straight to his head. As an idea popped up in his mind. Though, he couldn't be too sure it was a good idea. Better run it by Velvette first.
{ TEXT -> QUEEN V } screenshot1342.png
{ TEXT -> QUEEN V } should i send this to charlie???? is it cringe???
Fuck it, he was going to send it anyway. Velvette was taking too long to respond for his liking.
{ TEXT -> PRINCESS } saw you on the news tonight
{ TEXT -> PRINCESS } looking reallllyyyy cute doll 🦈
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Whoa --- it'd be really nice if Tex would knock before he opened her dressing room door ( not that he hasn't seen her tits before, in a platonic way, obviously ). Welp, either he or some overzealous groupie was about to get a face full of double d's... but when she turns, the face she sees is one of the last ones she'd ever have expected. Ho... ly... shitballs !! Her jaw drops, and her eyes light up like fireworks. Was that Velvette ?! THE Velvette ?! As in, Velvette Couture ?!! A sharp gasp is sucked through her lips, elbows crooked and fists drawn up to the level of her very exposed chest as she suppresses the urge to squeal. Keep it cool, V ! You're the popstar... ! But what could a sinner like her want with a succu-bitch ? And why the fuck had Tex not fucking warned her ?! He was so getting a dressing down later ---
Mizora hummed softly, a low, velvety purr curling from her lips like the wisps of smoke of the narghile they shared that trailed into the cool night air. The rooftop of the Elfsong Tavern was theirs alone, the city below a quiet murmur, distant and inconsequential. Up here, the moon was their only witness, casting its silver light over Kore’s skin — smooth, warm, and utterly captivating beneath its glow.
Reclining on her side, propped up on one elbow, Mizora let her fingers wander, tracing idle patterns over Kore’s thigh, languid and indulgent, as though mapping out some arcane sigil only she could decipher. Her nails barely skimmed the surface, a teasing whisper of touch, before they found something — small and thin, a faint scar.
A quirk of her lips. How many more did Kore have? Did she even remember where they had come from? Probably not. Poor thing hadn’t even remembered she was a Bhaalspawn until recently. That had been a revelation. But here, now, under the hush of the stars, none of that mattered.
What mattered was the way Kore’s skin felt beneath her fingertips. The way the moonlight turned her into something otherworldly — untouchable, yet impossibly close.
Hells, when did this happen?
Months ago, Mizora would have scoffed at the very idea of this — lounging atop a tavern with some mortal, basking in the simple pleasure of their presence. But Kore had become… important. Not in the way others had been before, all temporary amusements and fleeting distractions.
No.
Kore was a soothing spring day after an eternity of frost, after a lifetime of endless, biting winter nights.
Mizora bit back the ridiculous urge to press her lips to every mark, every tiny imperfection, to taste the history written across Kore’s body. Instead, her fingers continued their slow ascent, tracing higher, up the curve of her hip, the dip of her lower back, until they found the base of Kore’s tail.
And there, Mizora’s touch lingered for a beat.
"Did you know," Mizora began, her voice a sultry whisper, "that the base of a fiend's tail is normally very sensitive?"
Her fingers curled around the base of Kore's tail, slow and delicate, feeling the warmth of Kore’s skin beneath them. Her nails skimmed feather-light over the ridges.
"Did Bhaal take this… finer detail into account when he made you?"
The words spilled from her lips before she truly considered them, and in another context, perhaps they could have been a mockery. But there was no malice in her voice, no cruel amusement. If anything, there was curiosity in the gleam of her ruby eyes, something almost reverent in the way she handled Kore — like she was unraveling a mystery, one delicious shiver at a time.
She tested that theory now, giving the base of Kore’s tail a firm, yet careful tug.
"And the tip..." Mizora’s fingers glided along the length of the girl's tail, tracing every ridge, every contour, until she lifted it up, closer to her lips, studying it with the same intensity as one might a forbidden, precious artifact.
"Some people," she murmured, voice dropping lower, "have them just as sensitive as the palms of their hands."
The whisper ghosted over Kore’s tail, warm and teasing, before Mizora pressed her lips to it — a delicate kiss, but with the promise of something deeper. Oh, that would be interesting.
"Is it your case?"
Without waiting for an answer, she let her lips part, and her tongue — slow, deliberate, sinful — traced along the ridges, a languid exploration meant to tease, to tempt. Her ruby eyes burned in the dim light, watching Kore’s every reaction with an almost reverent delight.
@calamitism said: “You really can’t take a hit, can you?” ( for sir pentious, from cherri )
Well, what had she thought? There was a reason Pentious always opted for long-range weapons when given the chance!
The barely-wounded serpent huffed indignantly and continued rubbing the part of his arm that had been so rudely punched by his friend in a fit of laughter.
"It issssn't my fault you like to lash out when I am least expecting," he complained, complete with a sad pout that reached his round, red eyes. It lasted for only a few seconds, though— he didn't wish to look more pathetic in front of Cherri than he already did.
The serpent straightened up, brushed himself off, and adjusted his bow tie.
"Trusssst me, Madam Bomb, were we truly doing battle, I would not have crumbled so easily!" Pentious tapped the side of his head. "It's all about the mindset!"
He doubted she'd believe him, so he had to prove it.
A sly grin was given.
"Oh, go on, DO hit me again! Watch as I react with true heroism..."
