#m. raphael

ANSWERING HONESTLY [ Accepting

Raphael is looking at Gabriel their head tilting o the side for a moment. they were better then this. They were GODS STRENGTH

" ....Since when were you such fucker of the Machine and mortal kind Gabriel?"

" How could I want better when my own brother is here smothered in blood well his light is fading?"

" You cannot suggest that I should want better when the very walls our father built were desicrated and destroyed our lives themselves were seen as flaws after his departure. We have only ourselves ever since he left and Lucifer fell. This world will continue to crumble "

For a moment they'd reach out their hand before pulling it back almost like they were worried that their touch would hurt Gabriel

"You don't hate me Gabriel "

" he looks like a nerd"

"MY BEST FRIEND ♡ but he is a little nerd and as the cool kids say, he serves cunt"

"And in the closet "

Sorry daddy's still gone fishing

INSUFFICIENCY IS A CURSE THAT RUNS THROUGH his blood, half-fiend and forever wanting of the other half he refuses to acknowledge. A rather significant stain that besmirches Raphael's otherwise touted pedigree of being Mephistopheles's son. One of many, true, and yet even his name alone bears weight that only few could begin to fathom.

It is such an irate thought to entertain that the Dark Prince speaks to him in a way comparable to that of how Mephistopheles would regard those beneath him. And Raphael is always beneath, he finds, countless pairs of eyes crawling into his skin as if to flay him apart.

If he's worthy enough to be distinguished in such a manner. Preposterous.

The smile on his face, though falters, doesn't fade. Raphael's eyes flicker to the edges of his periphery, how the shadows begin to darken and the firelight diminishes into but a void. He unravels his fingers and places them over his own lips.

"I've come to hear many curious things over centuries," the drawl of his voice is contemplative, brows rising when his attention returns to the demon before him, extending an upturned palm. "My father, for one, I'm sure you're well acquainted. Ambitious. Viciously so. He wants the Hells in his grasp—" Raphael closes his fist, "—wrest it from the Lord of Lies."

Perhaps he inherited the same desire from that vile blood. A hunger, no, a festering greed. Oh, yes, Mephistopheles has done nothing but try.

"The soul, through the siege of temptations, yields not unto fraud, nor to might. Unquelled by the rush of the passions, serene 'mid the tumults of fight." The same fist eases and rests upon his own chest as Raphael leans forward, a half bow, a tilt of his head, a cant of his lips. "But what is a devil if not his temptations? I am ever seeking change. But now, I seek precisely that: the death of a god. His throne. The Hells."

SCHEMES AND INTRIGUE ARE THE BREAD and butter to any good devil. And no good devil should truly be good. They're jealous, vying creatures that are always want of something. At this current moment, Raphael finds himself wanting for a soul. To be specific, that of the man before him.

He hums idly, pondering while he rubs his forefinger and thumb together on the edge of the page in his book. A leather-bound tome filled with illustrations of monstrous intrigues one could find throughout the realm. His attention is, however, fixated on the curious sorcerer.

31. A kiss to the inner thigh

WATCHING HER SIT ON THE MATTRESS, Raphael cannot help the click of his tongue as he cages her legs between his own. His brown eyes seem to appraise her while he hums a thoughtful sound.

The devil leans down, hooking the underside of her knee as he guides her further into the bed, urging her onto the pillows. Lean, dexterous fingers trail from her knee upwards, lifting the fabric of her garment in their path.

"My, my. Mystra is a rather poor choice for a dear one such as you, little miss," he says with what seems to be genuine forlorn. Raphael's palm rests on the bend where her thigh meets her hip. "Happier thou mayest be, worthier canst not be: taste this, and be henceforth among the gods. Thyself a goddess, not to earth confined."

Teasingly, their noses brush, although Raphael continues his downward path. "I should show you that there are more options in this world, better ones," he tempts, lowering himself till he's slotted between her thighs, and looks up at her through the frame of his lashes. "Seek, and you shall find it."

Raphael's presses the kiss against her supple skin, eyes fluttering while his arms wrap around her pelvis. He can feel her fingers resting on his, the quiver of her limbs, the spike her of pulse on his lips.