( !! 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤 : suggestive · nsft / usft !! ) 𝘪𝘯 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳 : 𝔯𝔞𝔭𝔥𝔞𝔢𝔩 / 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔡𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔩 × little crow emilia prompt from : lustful action prompts. [ accepting ]

also sort of replying to this that you sent a while ago-

two for one deal 😎

The air in his private suite at Sharess’ Caress smelled like a blend of scattered rose petals and wine. Just for show.

Raphael watched her from across the room, where he lounged with one leg crossed over the other. A doe-eyed menace. So much potential for ruin packed into such a deceptively delicate frame.

She was a wild thing brought into his gilded cage, and he was eager to see if she would bite. 

She had kept him waiting for quite a while this time, and he would punish her for it.

“My, my. I heard that you have acquired a certain. . reputation, little crow. A feral thing that dislikes being told what to do. But the act grows thin, doesn’t it?”

His hands came to rest on his own waist, his fingers finding the buckle of his belt. The click as he unfastened it was particularly loud in the silent room. He drew the leather free from its loops.

“Give me your wrists.” It wasn’t a request.

A collar would be far too obvious, wouldn’t it? Not very creative.

His gaze held hers, daring her to refuse. 

With one hand, he caught an arm, his grip firm but not yet bruising. His other hand brought the belt around, wrapping it around her wrists, pulling the leather tight like an expert in binding. He was, after all, a master of binding things: contracts, souls, and now, this pretty bird.

He didn’t grant her a moment to recover, much less to think, dragging her roughly towards the large bed.

A firm shove would send her tumbling onto the mattress, rolling her onto her back, bound wrists trapped awkwardly beneath her.

For a moment, Raphael simply stood there, admiring his handiwork. The arch of her body. The vulnerability. A condescending smirk bloomed on his features.

“There now. So nicely presented for me.”

He moved onto the mattress, crawling over her, settling his weight heavily between her legs. He braced his hands on either side of her head, caging her frame.

The devil lowered his head, nuzzling the exposed curve of her neck, inhaling her scent. He adored it oh-so-much.

“You think you have a choice in this” He ground the thick ridge of his clothed cock against her. “You think your little rebellion matters.” He pressed more firmly, rotating his hips, forcing her to feel every inch of his length. “All it does is make me harder. It tells me how badly you want to be punished.”

He shifted, one hand leaving the mattress to roughly rip her clothing, exposing the skin of her stomach. A finger traced a path from her navel down to the waistband of her trousers.

“In the end. . .you always come back, don’t you, my sweet? To me.”

BAG   OF   BONES    ;    𝐔𝐍𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐃  𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

           ╰┈➤     @duelblades

▊  &&.    “don’t  make  me  come  up  there”

          PUCK   LAUGHS   AT   THAT,    arms  crossed  over  his  chest  as  he  lifts  an  eyebrow.  He  has  the  urge  to  reach  out  &  press  a  single,  massive  palm  flat  against  the  top  of  her  little  head.  Or  grab  her  by  the  scruff  &  toss  her  over  his  shoulder.    

          ❝   Oh,  &  what  will  you  do  when  you  get  up  here   ?   ❞ 

🎁 ( spotify wrapped ) uno reverse / tossing emmy back @ astarion :) spotify wrapped: accepting!

The stolen goblet had been cradled with a lithe, tipping ease between the grasp of his palm and fingers; the stem rested with a homely saddle against his knuckles, while his wrist swayed the cherry liquid– some poor excuse for a wine that was being passed around the camp.

“Oh captain, my captain,” The elf had drawled with a lazy, insincere smirk over ashen lips. Invasive footing in his direction had caught his immediate attention, forcing him to cast the tease of wording toward his fellow companion. “Finally settling for better evening company?”

Astarion lingered at the edge of the camp as though the ground itself had asked him to stay there. In truth, he was rehearsing. And by the time he finally approached Emilia, his voice was quieter than usual, the edges smoothed down. "Do you have a moment?"

He was quiet again until he and his companion had stepped a bit from their camp for somewhere more private to talk. "Earlier," he began, then stopped, breath catching like he'd misjudged a step. He tried again. "At Moonrise. With the drow. You stepped in," he said, carefully, as if each word needed permission before leaving him.

There was no teasing glint there now, no practiced charm. Just something bare and wary, like an animal peering out from cover. "People are very comfortable deciding what I should endure, as a lesser being. As a vampire spawn," he went on. "I wasn't allowed to say no," Astarion said quietly. "Not for a very long time. So, I didn't even realize how uncomfortable I was. Not until you were already there, already furious on my behalf. So... Thank you," he said at last, the word soft and unguarded. "Truly."