#hellforge

Mhm.

Now with the exhaustingly necessary byline; There is no AI here! Like fuck people I don't even use spellcheck and you can tell. This is horny nonsense written for feral oddballs.

NSFT, 18+, MINORS DNI

Full AO3 profile.

Finished stories include word count.

Zevlor sighed wearily. He took the young man's hand and let himself be dragged on the dance floor where couples were dancing. He felt self-conscious. Surely they made a ridiculous couple with Zevlor being old enough to be Dammon's father. The young blacksmith certainly didn't seem to mind. All there was in his eyes was love, and it made the Hellrider want to kiss him until he couldn't breathe. Dammon nuzzled his neck as they danced slowly around, enjoying the music and each other's presence. Zevlor closed his eyes and focused on the young man's weight against him. For a blissful moment, Dammon was his entire world.

JELLYYYYY AWWWWWW 😭❤❤❤ this is so sweet... I love these two augh 🥺🥺

Pairing: Zevlor/Dammon

Warnings: none

Rating: sfw

It's my first time actually posting any of my writing and i haven't written anything of this length in over 10 years so please be kind 🥺

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I'm loving the whole idea of Dammon having a crush on Zevlor since he was a kid, sneaking off to watch him training the newest recruits. His posture straight, his tone commanding... Though his favourite moments were when he caught him training alone, often early in the morning, under the ever blazing light of the Companion. His movements precise yet graceful, and he watched, mesmerised, long past when he was due to be back at the family forge. He often got in trouble for that, but he was young and it was just a silly crush. It would pass eventually... right?

As Dammon got older, he got busier, preparing to take over the family business. He would spot Zevlor from time to time in the city, now a Hellrider commander, the young tiefling's gaze following him longingly until he disappeared into the crowd. He thought of him often.

During the descent, he loses sight of the Zevlor altogether. There was so much going on, he lost his family, he spent his days in the forge, helping as best he could, whilst also learning more than he ever had, his skill growing exponentially, quickly becoming one of the best smiths in Elturel. He almost forgot about his Hellrider. Almost.

One day, the commander himself walks into his forge and his heart stutters to a halt. There he was, as proud and fierce as he remembered. A little older, more scarred, brow heavy with the weight of his vocation, but no less captivating. In that moment, Dammon knew. It was him. It had always been him. No-one else could ever possibly compare. He was desperately and utterly in love... and he was so thoroughly fucked.

***

Zevlor recognises him as one of the youths who used to watch the Hellriders train. He had thought that perhaps one day Dammon would join up, with how often he saw him hanging around. But it seemed he had a different calling. Now a young man in his prime and one of the most sought-after blacksmiths in this gods forsaken city.

Zevlor began checking up on him regularly. The poor lad had no-one, facing the horrors of Avernus alone, though he did seem to be taking it better than most. Perhaps his visits to the forge were more for himself, a rare reprieve amidst the chaos. It kept him grounded, gave him a tangible reminder of what and who he was fighting for.

He would find excuses to keep "fine-tuning" his gear even though Dammon's work hardly required it. Though his visits were regrettably brief, he began to consider the younger tiefling more attentively. The way he would rub his face when he was nervous, the crease of his brow as he concentrated on his work, the deftness of his fingers working the fine rings of maille, the sculpt of his arms and shoulders as fine as any Hellrider's as he bent metal to his will... And his eyes... His eyes soft and bright and full of curiosity, a beacon of comfort in such a terrible place.

And then came the return of Elturel to Faerûn, the relief and celebration of victory short-lived, as eyes full of suspicion and hatred turned towards his people. The exodus that followed, his shame... It saddened him to see the young blacksmith amongst the refugees. He couldn't help but feel he had failed him. He deserved better than this.

They all did.

***

Dammon's heart aches. He sees the weight on the old Hellrider's shoulders and he wishes he could do something, anything, to offer him some form of comfort. But Zevlor was as stubborn as they get, and insisted on bearing these burdens alone and in silence. He would still always make sure to check up on Dammon along their journey to Baldur's Gate, but he remained stoic, guarded. Yet the young tiefling could see the bags under the Hellrider's eyes growing darker, his cheeks growing hollow, his posture slumping when he thought no-one was looking, the constant furrow of his brow... And it was driving him to near madness! He needed that stubborn old man to let him in! To let him take care of him like he had him during their time in Avernus... To let him love him...

But he pined in silence, his longing and frustration only growing. Just as Zevlor's own longing grew for his beloved blacksmith. His visits to the young man, much like in Avernus, the only source of comfort to him during this long and arduous journey. He craved his presence, his voice, his hand on his shoulder... He daren't wish for more... Dammon deserved better...

And yet during the long nights his thoughts always turned to him, dreaming of what could have been, were he a better man.

***

Once they reach the Emerald Grove things only worsen. Zevlor spends most of his time in that damned cave, pouring over maps and becoming even more weary and drawn, and Dammon is at his limit. One evening he finally decides to pay the tiefling leader a visit, with the excuse of gifting him a new sword. He had noticed the old Hellrider blade conspicuously missing from Zevlor's side as of late.

He finds him, as suspected, pouring over countless notes and maps strewn over his stone table. Zevlor doesn't look up, too absorbed in his work to register his presence. Dammon clears his throat and Zevlor finally raises his tired eyes, his gaze softening as he sees the young blacksmith standing across the table.

"Dammon, it's good to see you.", he straightens with a wince, his back protesting the long hours of research. He catches Dammon's troubled expression. "Is everything alright?", he asks, his concern immediate.

At that, something snapped within Dammon. "No. It isn't.", he huffs, discarding the new blade on the table more forcefully than he intended. "You are working yourself to death!", he rounds the table as he speaks. "Never asking for help, never giving yourself a break. You are always putting others before yourself!", he stops in front of Zevlor. "I can see you wasting away day by day and I can't stand it! You don't have to do this al—"

"It is my duty—"

"Damn duty!", he cried. Dammon closed his eyes, taking a steadying breath. "I just... I don't want to lose you..."

Zevlor sighs, shaking his head. "There is no need to worry yourself on my behalf Dammon. I assure you, I will be fine.", he begins to turn away, hoping to hide his wistful expression, but Dammon is having none of it. He catches his arm, pulling him back, and before he can stop himself, his hands are cupping Zevlor's face, crashing his lips to his in a sudden, desperate rush of passion. Pouring every day of longing, every ounce of frustration, every silent plea for more into this one single moment of vulnerability. Zevlor stiffens in surprise, hands rising instinctively, hovering over Dammon's waist, hesitant to touch him. His body betrays him as his lips respond in kind, as if of their own accord, hungry... desperate.

When Dammon finally pulls back, they are both breathless.

"Dammon... I... y-you don't want—", Zevlor stammers, trying to gather his thoughts.

Dammon shook his head, gently grasping the Hellriders hips and pushing him back against the table, "Let me take care of you", he murmurs.

Zevlor's breath hitches as he let the younger man's hands roam his body. Perhaps his dreams weren't so unlikely after all...

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Yes I am leaving it here because I am evil muahaha 😈

Ooooh very good!🧡

I haven't seen/read that much of them but what i have ive really liked and would love to see some more.

I just feel like it would be hella passionate. Sooo good for that spice 🔥🔥🤌Dammon's so bold and much more comfortable with who he is and what he wants. Like he's gonna be frank about how he wants to nail zevlor right into the floor. And when getting that kind of energy I think Zevlor would give it back in full. They're gonna get very creative together. Its awakening some of that hellfire mischief in that old man.

Plus gods I'm so weak for age gaps in general, but man I love Zevlor just being awestruck by a his beautiful younger lover wanting him. But this time instead of zevlor pining and trying to hold back they literally can't keep their hands off each. He still has some doubts but doesn't have time to linger on it cause they're fucking again and again and again

MY GOD

Dammon would JUMP his bones. Full on fucking him with the dress on. Biting him, sucking bruises. Zevlor is walking away with a limp!!!

- Hellforge jealousy anon

WHAT HAVE DONE TO ME ANON RKSKDKSKS I was supposed to work on anothe prompt but I saw this and wrote a fic in a fugue state.... I simply couldn't resist 😩

Hellforge in rut | NSFW | AO3

Dammon growled as he pinned Zevlor to the bed. The Hellrider bared his teeth, digging his claws into the young man’s shoulders. Their knots brushed, bringing sparks of pleasure. They had been pent up for a full week, unable to see each other when their rut had started exactly at the same time. Now that they could spend the night together, they had been at each other’s throat the minute they closed the door. They loved to battle for dominance, a way to scratch their primal instincts while also having rough foreplay.

Dammon bit his lip. Zevlor yelped, tasting blood. His cock twitched. He flipped their position, wrapping a hand around the young man’s throat. He rubbed his cockhead against his entrance, squeezing his windpipe. Dammon snarled, writhing, clearly refusing to submit. Before Zevlor could do anything, the young man surged forward to bite his throat, sinking his fangs into his flesh. The Hellrider cried out, humping him as pleasure overwhelmed him. Dammon pushed him back on the mattress, teeth still in his throat as he grabs his horns. He forced the older man to roll on his belly, twisting his arm behind his back. Zevlor hissed, trying to bite him back but Dammon was pushing his face against the pillow. The young man spread his legs, slipping his cock between his ass cheeks. Zevlor couldn’t help a moan as he pushed back. Dammon bit him in the shoulder, keeping him in place as he pushed his cock inside Zevlor’s soft and pliant hole. The Hellrider mewled, pushing back on the intrusion. He was well and truly tamed. He was submitting.

It was a rigged game, of course. Zevlor was always going to lose, as they had agreed beforehand. And yet the fight never lost its thrill.