#Durgetash fic

[vermilionskiinmorning]

Promises | Durgetash

Pairing: Durgetash

Summary: This is for the “Grieve” prompt from the write November 2024 prompt list

Enver finds out his durge is “dead”.

Words: 1.8 k

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After a week of hearing nothing from Feravel, it was Orin of all people had turned up in Enver’s office to inform him: she now spoke for the temple of Bhaal.

Enver clenched his fists tightly behind his back with such force that the claws of his gauntlets pricked his palms. The pain of it grounded him -kept him from lashing out and he so wanted to. He should’ve known something was wrong when he hadn’t heard from her for so long, but Enver was always loath to check in on Feravel. The last time he had she’d threatened him in no uncertain terms and disappeared without word for a month. That had been years ago though, before she regularly started staying in his lower city home.

“And what of Feravel?” Enver questioned careful to keep his tone in check.

A wicked smile twisted Orin’s lips.

“My blood kin has been returned to our father.”

Her expression of manic pleasure as she spoke nearly drove him over the edge.

What he wouldn’t do to take the skinny mad bitch by her throat and squeeze, but there was an agreement. One which had been made under a different chosen, but he had no choice but to abide by it nonetheless. All acolytes of Bane were bound to this alliance with the damned temple of Bhaal. Enver could not lay a finger on Orin’s insane head -at least for now. Who bore the title of Bhaal’s chosen was not his business to meddle in.

Despite how much it enraged him to see the smugness in Orin’s eyes. There was no doubt in Enver’s mind Orin had killed Feravel. Now she’d come to gloat.

“Well, I thank you for informing me promptly then of the change.”

Suddenly Orin lunged for him drawing Bloodthirst swiftly from her belt and pressing the flat of the blade to his cheek. Its curved edge was sharp enough that it would only take a twist of her wrist to cut a slash across his face.

“We’ll be working together from now on Banite. But my blade is thirsty . How it longs to hear you scream!”

Enver scowled sharply jerking her from him by the wrist. He would not accept threats from the likes of Orin. She laughed.

“You’re forgetting yourself.” He snapped. “I am Bane’s chosen and we are allies.”

“Allies! Yes, yes, thanks to mine foolish slaughter kin!”

Orin cackled before changing her appearance and disappearing from his office.

Alone, Enver stood stock still for a few moments until he was certain she’d truly gone before crossing the room to his desk and sinking into his chair. Another few seconds passed before the weight of it sank in. His shoulders slumped and he leaned forward to press the heels of his hands over his eyes.

In his mind’s eye he could picture Feravel as he’d last seen her: tucked against his side, tangled up in the black satin sheets of his bed, messy hair, and half asleep. They’d been up late discussing their most recent trip to Moonrise after an evening spent reveling in each other. She’d fallen asleep before him, but he’d still had to be up early for a meeting. He had hoped that she’d be at his home in the lower city that evening. They’d made no such plans, but usually, they didn’t outside of their formal partnership. Things between them just fell into place -they had just fallen into place in truth. Still, his expectation was warranted as it had become Feravel’s habit to return to the lower city house. So he’d been disappointed, but not concerned when Blinky informed him Feravel had not been to the house at all since their return. That had been almost a week ago. And now, she was dead.

What had happened between then and now? He wondered. How long has she been dead?

Enver tasted bile on his tongue.

Feravel was utilitarian and artful when it came to dealing death. She enjoyed it as it was in her nature, but she was not a rabid animal like Orin. Orin who had killed her. Horribly no doubt. Enver pressed the heels of his hands so hard against his eyes that he saw stars.

He slammed his hands onto the desk. No . Feravel couldn’t be dead. She just couldn’t. Any moment, he thought, she’d come like a whirlwind into his office teasing him for believing a pitiable creature like Orin could best her. He glanced toward the door, the windows, and even the ceiling. But she wasn’t there. Deep down Enver probably knew she wouldn’t be, but still, he’d had to look. Keeping an eye out for her appearance was second nature.

But Orin had had her ancestral dagger. Feravel would’ve never let Orin get her hands on it -not while she lived. How could she have let this happen? They were partners! More than partners. Anger raced through him elevating his pulse. Enver stood and strode across the room unthinking no destination in mind just feeling compelled to move . How could he be idle now?

Then as he came to a halt in front of his bookshelf, her voice came to him from a memory.

“Promise me.” Feravel whispered. “If one of us dies, the other will see this through to fruition. No matter what happens, you will remain focused on our goals.”

Enver did not meet her eyes. He was busy considering her words as he trailed a finger along her jaw. “Of course, my dear.”

“Promise.” Her tone was colder than he could recall it being in some time . For a moment it caused him a flare of concern. “Swear on the Black Hand of your Lord.”

He frowned. “What’s this about?”

“Insurance.”

Enver looked down at her with an arched w was eyebrow. “Insurance against what?”

“You?” A playful grin flitted onto her lips.

“Me?” He laughed.

“Yes, you going soft without me around. Mortals can get so tied up in their feelings after all.” Her tone was only half joking.

Enver furrowed his brow. Feravel sighed and reached up to card her fingers through his hair in a placating manner. He didn’t buy it. There was more to this.

“Just promise me. Should something happen, you will stay focused.”

He sighed and leaned in to kiss her. “I will.”

“Swear.”

Enver frowned, but he knew she wouldn’t let it go unless he conceded.

“I swear. I will carry out our plan with or without you.”

She smiled in a more relaxed manner than before and leaned in to kiss him.

“Good. And should it come to that, don’t futz around trying to bring me back like Ketheric with his daughter. Alright?”

He’d laughed in the moment, but now Enver couldn’t help wondering if Feravel had known things with Orin had been about to come to a head. Nothing had seemed off though before or since that conversation. It had been months ago. Despite being odd, he’d eventually let it go when nothing came of it.

They had spoken about Orin’s ambitions on occasion, but those too Feravel had been dismissive of the issue. She had it in hand, she’d said.

“Orin is a dog. So long as I keep her close I can control her. Allow her to wander and who knows what she’ll get up to.” Feravel paused, thoughtful. “I keep her leash short.”

“Keep your friends close. Keep your enemies closer.” Enver tucked a strand of hair behind her pointed ear.

“Yes. That is the idea. Except in this particular case, I think I’ll make an exception concerning my friends . I’d prefer to keep you closer.” She stifled a giggle. “It would be rather awkward don’t you think.”

Enver choked slightly on his laugh. “Yes, I think I’d prefer it remain just the two of us.”

She nuzzled his cheek. “For these sorts of meetings at least.”

His chest felt tight. He’s seen the signs. Orin was a problem. She had been for a while, but any time he’d tried to broach the topic he’s been rebuffed. It was business within the temple of Bhaal. She did not tell him how to order about his Banites. But would she be here still if he’d neglected to heed her wishes? Her anger might’ve been worth it were she at least alive to be angry. The ‘what if’ felt like a knife in his chest.

Feravel was capable. Whatever had occurred…Orin must’ve been planning longer than they’d known. But Orin didn’t have the capacity for plotting on that sort of scale. Had it come down to chance?

But Feravel was Bhaal’s chosen.

It didn’t make sense.

Unbidden, Enver let out a roar of frustration and hurled a brass bookend across the room. The heavy thwack of it hitting the wood paneling did nothing to quell the storm of emotions building inside him. If anything, he felt compelled to throw something heavier or harder, perhaps even punch the wall. What he really wanted though was to kill Orin.

He’d have to plan it carefully. Even from a practical perspective, she was a liability. Where Feravel was reasonable and thoughtful Orin was simply a bloodthirsty lunatic who’d usurped her. It would not be good for their plans to allow Orin to lead the cult of Bhaal.

He could have his revenge for Feravel and still keep his promise to her. Removing Orin before she caused too much damage would be a necessity. Feravel would agree. And if she would’ve turned her nose up at the idea of him involving himself with Bhaalist temple affairs…well she ought to have handled it herself.

Perhaps once he dealt with Orin and Bauldur’s Gate was securely under his rule…

Then he could find her body. Surely Orin had taken it to the temple if that wasn’t where the murder occurred. The thought made him wrinkle his nose with disgust at the idea of what depraved things Orin might do with Feravel’s body. Well if it wasn’t horribly mutilated then perhaps at that time he could contact a wizard. It wouldn’t be wasting time.

Enver tried to ignore the single tear that rolled down his cheek. Feravel being gone didn’t feel real, but the anger was beginning to wane and he could feel a weight settling on his heart. A heart he’d once thought too damaged to know love, but that had piece by piece begun to love her.

He should mourn her. Let her go. It would be the smart thing to do. He’d always have their memories, but not having her would leave him no weaknesses for an enemy to exploit. Even with that in mind, the thought of never seeing her face -her smile- again was like a physical blow.

And he’d never even told her.

“I love you,” Enver murmured to the empty room.

[elinorbard]

Guilty Pleasure (f!Dark Urge/Enver Gortash)

One bad decision gets Ta'av arrested. Several more get her brought before Enver Gortash and ordered to beg for her freedom. (Rating: Explicit. Word count: 8.4k)

series: sex and violence, one is just the other

The Archduke’s face was creased with irritation and exhaustion, but the heat in his eyes was instantly recognizable. “Perhaps I will make you a collar and keep you beside my throne,” he growled. “Here and then in the Black Keep I will raise. Your insolent tongue can entertain my court.” Ta’av grinned. A small part of her, the wise part, reminded her that she should still be cautious; she still had reason to be afraid. The rest of her, however, whispered that she could have him wrapped around her finger in the same way that he now twisted the fabric of the gag around his metal claw. “You won’t,” she said. “You don’t want to share my insolent tongue.”

[astarionmademewriteit]

Make it Hurt

Enver Gortash x f!Durge (pre-tadpole)

Rating: Explicit

MDNI. 18+ only. Minors and blank bios will be blocked.

Wordcount: 1.7k

Tags: Blood play; Knife kink; Mentions of violence and gore; PIV rough sex; Choking; Spitting (in mouth); Act 3 Spoilers; Gortash being a lil' bit submissive but switch-coded.

Summary: Durge and Enver have another council meeting, but it is quickly revealed that Enver was using it as an excuse to see his favorite assassin. The sexual tension had been building up between them for while and Durge finally acts on it, finding quick but mutual gratification in their shared love for pain and blood.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

I grow weary of this cat and mouse game Gortash and I find ourselves playing at. It was no secret that centuries of bad blood bore between Bhaal and Bane. Their respective chosen settling their differences in order to overtake Baldur's Gate. However, the list of differences between Gortash and I happened to be shorter than previously suggested.

He was brilliant, to be sure. His thirst for blood and pain rivaled my own. But I was a seasoned killer, trained in the art of murder and violence. I did not veil the carnal pleasure that ran through my veins at the sight of spilled blood, nor the ferocity of lust that churned deep within me when I was called to dole out executions on his behalf.

Most others saw my duplicitous nature and turned away in quiet disgust, but Enver openly admired me for it. And now we sit at yet another council meeting, carving out our well-laid plans for the city. 

Enver’s hand is splayed out over a letter from General Thorm detailing his work in the Shadowlands and the army he continues to amass. The contents bore me into bouts of restlessness.

I shove away from the table, and in one fluid motion draw my dagger and bury it into the table, right between his fingers.

His unflinching dark gaze meets mine and a smirk plays on his lips.

“Enough with this drivel, Gortash,” I hiss, “This is the second council meeting in one week. If I cared what Ketheric had to say, I'd visit that dreaded place myself. Why am I here?”

Enver chuckles darkly, pulling the dagger from the table and testing its sharpness. He presses his fingertip into the sharpened point, until blood rushes from his finger. Red rivulets flow freely from his wound, splattering on Thorm's forgotten letter.

“Does world domination carve into too much of your precious time?” His rhetorical question was full of condescension, “Perhaps, I just needed to find another excuse to conspire with my favorite assassin.” He cocks an amused eyebrow in my direction and a smug grin pulls at the corners of his mouth. 

I roll my eyes and yank the dagger from his grasp, hoping it catches against his skin once more so I can watch him bleed so prettily for me.

“There are better excuses than reading letters from that heretic,” I growl with disdain as I gesture towards the letters. Ketheric had his uses, but he never appreciated the finality of death–something I took personally, as his sacrilegious mindset directly conflicted with the tenants of Bhaal.

“Would you rather I prepare some prisoners for torture? Maiming? I understand you are fond of spilling blood,” his gaze never leaving mine, “It's one of the many things I admire about you.”

I circle around to his chair and sit on the edge of the council table beside Enver. I prop my leg over my knee, drawing his attention. He leans back in his chair and watches me closely, his eyes lingering on my form.

“Maiming?” I spit with disgust, “There is art in murder, but maiming is below me,” I grab his wrist and examine his pricked fingertip, “It's about coaxing,” I squeeze the tip of his finger and watch as blood dribbles down his wrist, “It is about taste,” I pull his finger into my mouth unprovoked, sucking and pulling blood from his wound. The coppery taste sends my body into a vibrating thrum of excitement and ecstasy. 

Enver sucks in his breath and something between a sound of approval and a low guttural growl escapes his chest. I slowly let his finger retreat, never breaking our intense gaze. 

“It's about practicality.” I push myself off the table and stand behind him, grabbing a handful of his hair at the crown of his head, pulling him painfully backwards until his eyes are back on me. The sharp edge of my dagger flush against his throat–one swift movement away from nicking his artery.

Gortash’s eyes watched me carefully, but he was neither scared nor nervous. I couldn’t help but feel pleased at this revelation. A look of longing passes between us, and in one fleeting moment I lean down and crush my lips to his. He receives me eagerly despite the steel of my knife threatening to bite into his flesh.

After a moment I bury the dagger into the table and Enver quickly stands and wraps his arms around my waist. I jump off the ground and wrap my legs around his middle, connecting our lips again. Our kiss is messy, filled with teeth, tongue, and lips–molding together with bruising force. His prickly stubble rubs deliciously against my face.

Enver spins and sits me on the edge of the table, hovering over me as his gilded fingers lace through my hair. He sighs deeply into my mouth as our tongues explore one another. I start thumbing the laces of his robes, pulling them open and running my nails through his thick chest hair–not holding back the way my sharp nails bite into his skin.

His golden filigree gloves claw at my scalp and down the back of my neck as he grows more desperate. I bite hard into his bottom lip until I draw blood, smiling against his abrasive kisses. He groans with pleasure as I suck the blood that surfaces from his wound.

I pull back momentarily, panting heavy as I whisper how good he tastes while pulling the last of his laces free. In a flurry of hurried movements, we undress before our lips crush back together, as if our very survival depended on it.

I lay flat on my back in the middle of the council table as he crawls over my body with a predatory gaze. Enver knees my legs open while he trails kisses down my neck. His cock rubbing torturously between my slick folds, teasing my clit and driving me into a lust-filled craze.

Impatience thrums through my body and I quickly grab Enver’s throat with enough force to cut off his airflow. I pull him up to meet my eyes, his dark gaze boring into me with such frantic intensity.

“Fuck me,” I growl, “Before I change my mind and slit your throat. And make it hurt.”

He chuckles darkly. Clearly amused by my threats, “As you wish, my assassin.”

Without a moment lost, he painfully forces himself inside me, threatening to split me in half. I cry out in pleasure, relishing in the way he fills me completely–his hips snapping into me with newfound ferocity. His golden filigree claws dig into the very wood of the council table, leaving deep splintering grooves.

My nails dig into his back, tracing painful welts into his flesh. The pain only motivates him to rut into me harder, pulling out far enough so that the swollen head of his cock forces me open wider, before snapping back into me with unrelenting force.

I wrap my legs around his waist, lifting my hips up off the table so that he is hitting my pleasure points with devastating precision. His name falls from my lips like a haunted hymn, echoing off the vaulted ceilings of the council room.

Enver’s lips meet mine with such brutality that my skull presses painfully into the table underneath. His back is now spattered in bloody scratch marks, dripping down his back artfully.

I groan in pleasure, my ecstasy building into a dizzying crescendo. Enver’s teeth suddenly dig into the flesh of my lips, and the familiar coppery flavor of my blood spills from the wound. He sucks at my blood, groaning with carnal delight while he continues to thrust relentlessly into my dripping cunt.

He pulls back, reveling in the taste of my blood–savoring it on his tongue. “Open up, dear assassin,” he growls. I comply instantly, opening my mouth wide and letting my tongue fall from my lips seductively.

He hovers over my mouth and allows a mixture of my blood and his saliva to fall back into my waiting mouth. I whimper–elated with our own debauchery. His pace becomes more aggressive–abusive, even, as I chase my release. 

My pleasure peaks and I’m falling victim to the white hot flash of ecstasy that rocks through my body, seizing my muscles until I’m coming undone–completely unraveling under his body. My cries ring through the room, Enver’s name the only prayer I care to recite.

Gortash breathes heavily in my ear, chasing his own release. His thrusts become uneven and sloppy. His eyes are glazed over and his pupils are completely blown out as he watches me while I continue to fall apart as he ruins my cunt with his punishing pace.

As my orgasm starts to subside I pull the dagger from the wooden table and press the sharp edge to the soft flesh of his throat once again. His eyes roll into the back of his head, enjoying the cold steel against his neck–the possibility of death lingering close by only motivating him to fuck me harder–deeper.

“Come inside me, Enver,” I hiss, tightening my legs around his waist as he continues to rut into me, desperately. His golden claws dig into the table, further marring the council table–leaving behind evidence of our violent tryst.

“Yes, my assassin,” he relents, shooting ropes of cum deep in my slick cunt, filling me with his seed. Enver whimpers into my neck, biting viciously at the soft flesh of my throat, leaving bruising evidence of his lusty confessions on my skin. His cock spasming uncontrollably inside of me.

His orgasm begins to subside, our sweat mixes with blood and violent ecstasy as he stills inside of me.

I run my fingers through his dark, bedraggled hair, having discarded my dagger momentarily.

“Regain your strength, Gortash,” I command arrogantly, “We are not done yet.”

He laughs breathily as he tries to regain some semblance of composure, “Whatever my favorite assassin commands, I shall happily deliver.”

I felt momentary relief now that we have finally acted on our building sexual tension. The feeling is quickly replaced with a new kind of hunger–one that rivals the murderous fantasies that occupy my mind. We complement one another, like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle coming together to create a beautifully violent masterpiece. 

I knew at that moment that something incredible would have to pull us away from one another. The impossibility of it amused me greatly.

[archduchessgortash]

Replying to a post from @adorablebanite here

I know you prefer dom Gortash, but he's a switch in my fics... my AU redemption Durge (the halfling bard that I call D) is more dominant than he is. And he likes that. A lot.

These shots were too perfect NOT to use in a conversation between them. So ofc I added D.

Gortash: Mercy is for the weak!

D: That's not what you said last night...

Gortash: I was tied up, and you'd already edged me three times. I nearly passed out!

D: So... you're saying I should have gagged you, too?

Gortash: Yes, dear.

[baldursgrave69]

Hands

Listen folks, I have been trying to write this fic for two months and it's finally done.

Rating: NSFW - MATURE, MDNI

Pairing: Enver Gortash x fem!durge (named)

Word count: 2.1K

Tags: MDNI, afab!durge, unprotected sex, piv, vaginal fingering, feelings, oral sex,

While writing this I was listening to: Pork Soda by Glass Animals

Agnes sat with her hands folded in her lap, leaning back in her chair as Ketheric Thorm droned on about his plans to build an army for the Absolute. Enver Gortash sat across from her a quill in his hand as he jotted down notes on parchment. Every time Ketheric opened his mouth Agnes would immediately tune out, she couldn’t stand his tendency for verbosity when it wasn’t necessary, and the way he could go on a tangent for 30 minutes about a painfully specific frontline strategy.

Agnes looked around the room trying to find anything to distract her from the general’s droning. Her eyes landed on Enver’s hands, the golden gauntlet he often wore tapping against the table as his other hand continued to scribble on parchment. She always told him how much she hated the unnecessary, gaudy accessory he insisted on wearing. And she did. He always insisted on embellishments and accents on his clothing that Agnes didn’t feel were necessary. She did perfectly fine flashing a blade to get her way. But he insisted that sometimes it was better to simply “talk” to people rather than threatening them. And apparently appearance meant everything when “talking” was involved.

As Agnes eyed the man’s hands, she couldn’t help but think about what the cool metal of his gauntlet might feel like on her body, the sting of the metal against her bare skin would feel so delicious. She wondered how it might feel for him to wrap his hands around her throat, the tips of his gauntlets digging into her flesh as he squeezed.

Agnes felt heat rip through her, desire burning inside as she fantasized about what Enver might do if he knew she was having these thoughts about him. She could feel her pulse flutter, her face felt flushed and her body felt warm. Agnes bit her lip as she extended her foot, grazing it up Enver’s pant leg across from her. She watched his face, his even expression wavering ever so slightly as she ran her foot up his leg. She felt him rub his leg against hers as he asked Ketheric a question, his hand continuing to drum on the table.

Agnes watched his fingers tap the table, the voices of Enver and Ketheric a drone in the background as she imagined Enver Gortash pounding into her, his hand wrapped around her throat.

Agnes felt a kick under the table, her eyes shooting up to meet Enver’s who widened his gaze at her, subtly tilting his head in Ketheric’s direction.

“What?” She said without thinking, straightening up to look at the general. Ketheric pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, taking a deep breath before addressing Agnes.

“I was asking your thoughts. On all of this,” Ketheric said with a sigh, knowing very well Agnes had no idea what they had been talking about.

“Oh, right. I’d rather hear Gortash’s thoughts,” she redirected, looking in the Baneite’s direction.

“If you’d been listening, my dearest, you would have already heard my thoughts on the matter,” he said with a confident smile, nudging her foot with his. Agnes huffed, kicking his shin and standing from the table.

“I trust you will make the right decision, then. Are we done here?” Agnes grumbled, looking in Ketheric’s direction.

“Just be here tomorrow for our meeting,” Ketheric sighed, waving his hand at her to dismiss her. Agnes spun on her heel, exiting the room and heading for her office.

As Agnes made her way towards her office, she could hear the all too familiar click of Enver’s boots following her down the hall. She kept her pace steady and her head down, entering their shared work space and heading towards her desk. She heard the office door close and lock behind her, a smile crossing her face. Agnes braced her hands on her desk as he came up behind her. Her breath hitched as she felt Enver’s hand wrap around the column of her neck, the metal gauntlet digging into her flesh.

“You little brat, distracting me during our meeting” He growled, his tongue tracing the tip of her ear. Agnes leaned back against him, she could feel that he was already hard, his erection pressing against her ass. She let out a low chuckle, grinding against his crotch. Agnes felt him tighten his grip on her throat, his other hand sliding down her front and dipping into her pants. He pressed his fingers to her cunt, groaning at how wet she was.

“So wet already,” he hissed, biting down on her shoulder as he teased her entrance with his fingers.

“You can’t even make it through a meeting without wanting me to fuck you, can you?” He said, continuing his teasing causing Agnes to moan loudly.

“I just can’t stand listening to Ketheric. I had to keep my mind occupied somehow,” she breathed, his hand still wrapped around her throat.

“Don’t lie,” he growled, shoving two fingers inside her. Agnes yelped at the sudden sting of his fingers in her cunt, breathing heavily as he pistoned in and out of her.

“Is this what you wanted?” he whispered in her ear, his thumb rubbing her clit as he continued to fuck her with his fingers.

“Gods, yes,” she moaned, his fingers hitting that sweet spot inside of her that made her tremble. Enver squeezed her throat as he quickly pulled his fingers from inside her. Agnes groaned at the emptiness, needily grinding against him. Enver spun her around to face him, walking towards her and backing her up against her desk. He pried her mouth open, shoving his fingers inside.

“I want you to taste just how needy you are,” he growled as she swirled her tongue around his fingers, spit dribbling down her chin. With his other hand he dragged his fingers down her neck and chest, the cool metal scratching her skin.

Agnes took a deep breath as he removed his fingers from her mouth, the feeling of his hands touching her body was exhilarating, she craved his touch. She couldn’t help the smile on her face, she knew exactly what she was doing.

“You make it so easy for me to get what I want, Enver,” Agnes purred, hopping up onto the desk and wrapping her legs around his waist. She placed her arms around his neck, tangling her hands in his hair.

“You’re insufferable,” he huffed, pressing his lips to hers. Agnes pulled him closer with her legs as she kissed him, pushing her tongue into his mouth.

Enver dug his fingers into her, the sharp claws on his gauntlet ripping into her clothing. She moaned into his mouth at the sting of the metal against her skin. She could feel him break skin as he clawed at her, his teeth clacking against hers as he kissed her roughly.

“Clothes off, now,” he hissed as he pulled away, pointing at her with his gauntleted hand.

“Hah. Or what?” Agnes smirked, crossing her legs.

Enver wrapped his hand around Agnes’ neck, squeezing so that the metal claws dug into her skin. Her breath hitched as he pulled her closer, hovering his lips over hers.

“You distract me in an important meeting and then act like this? Who do you think you are?” He hissed, squeezing harder as he bit her lip. Agnes could feel blood drip from her mouth as Enver bit down harder.

Agnes let out a laugh, pulling away to press her fingers to her lips, feeling the blood begin to drip down her chin. She swiftly kneed Enver in the groin, causing him to fall to his knees before the bhaalspawn. She pulled a dagger out from behind her, toying with the dull edge of it.

“You forget who you’re messing with, Baneite,” she said as she tangled her free hand through the man’s dark, messy hair. Agnes pulled Enver’s head back so that he was looking up at her, pressing the dull edge of the dagger against the man’s neck.

“Now, be a good boy and I may give you what you want,” she said with a smile, leaning down and softly pressing her lips to his. Enver let out a huff, giving in and leaning into her kiss. Agnes threaded her hands into his hair, pulling him up onto his feet towards her. She hopped up on the desk, beckoning him towards her with her finger.

“You want my clothes off? Do it yourself,” she smirked, spreading her legs slightly and leaning back on her hands. Enver narrowed his gaze as he approached her, quickly tugging her shirt up and over her head. His eyes trailed her chest as he unhooked her bralette, allowing it to slide off of her shoulders. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers as he cupped her breast, his thumb rolling over her nipple. Agnes felt his thumbs hook into the band of her trousers and small clothes, yanking them down in a swift motion. He pulled away, sliding his hand down her leg and gently removing her pants and boots one leg at a time.

“Very good,” Agnes purred, watching Enver’s gaze darken as he looked her over. He rolled his eyes, closing the gap between them and leaning in to press his lips to hers.

“Ah ah,” she said with a tut, pushing him away from her. “Your turn,” Agnes smirked at Enver, gesturing for him to remove his clothing. He huffed at her, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You think you can just order me around like some dog?” His body betrayed his words as Agnes watched his erection strain against his trousers, his breathing heavy and gaze darkened.

“Yes,” she said, cocking her head to the side as she dragged her fingers through her folds, a moan escaping her lips. Enver watched as she traced circles on her clit, her head falling back as she pleasured herself.

“Hells below,” he breathed, a hand palming his hard cock through his pants. Agnes looked up at Enver, locking eyes with him as she pushed two fingers inside of her cunt, her breath hitching as she languidly fingered herself.

“Fuck it,” Enver hissed, hurriedly pulling his shirt up over his head and tossing it to the side. Agnes watched, continuing to piston her fingers in and out of her cunt as Enver quickly undressed, his length springing free from his pants. He kicked his trousers to the side, one hand pumping his impossibly hard cock as he walked towards her. Agnes groaned as she watched him spit into his hand, lubricating his length, resting his free hand on the desk.

“Let me fuck you,” Enver breathed, pressing his forehead to hears as he watched her fingers trace circles over her clit. “Please,” he added, bringing the head of his cock to her entrance, teasing her with the tip. Agnes bit her lip, nodding as she felt him nudge the head of his cock inside her. Enver slowly pushed himself inside of her, bring his gauntleted hand up to cup her face.

“You drive me mad,” he groaned, burying himself inside her. He could feel her tighten around him as he languidly fucked into her, grunts escaping from his lips.

“Gods,” Agnes moaned, her mouth hanging slightly open as he increased his pace, pulling her as close as he could with his free hand. Agnes brought her hands up to his neck, wrapping her arms around him as he fucked her. Enver brought his hand to her throat, wrapping around it and squeezing.

“Yes, please don’t stop,” Agnes breathed, his hips pounding against her. Agnes felt the air being punched from her lungs, growing dizzy from the bruising pace and his hand wrapped around her throat. She could feel waves of pleasure ripping through her as her orgasm rapidly approached with his cock pounding into her.

“Come for me Agnes, I know you can,” Enver growled, loosening the grip on her throat as he pressed his lips to hers. He pushed his tongue into her mouth, his thrust becoming more erratic as his own climax began to build. Agnes pulled away from the kiss, burying her head in the crook of his neck as she came, obscenities falling from her lips. Enver held her close, fucking her through her orgasm, his thrusts becoming more erratic as he chased his own.

“Gods I- I’m,” Enver grunted, biting down on her shoulder as he spilled into her. Agnes could feel him throb inside of her, his teeth still buried in her neck. Enver pulled out of her, breathing heavily as he rested his hands on either side of her on the surface of the desk. Agnes smiled at him, caressing his cheek as she caught her breath.

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Enver huffed, still trying to catch his breath.

“I hope so, my dear tyrant,” Agnes whispered against his lips.

[thrawnslawyer]

Chapter 9 of my durgetash fic is up:)

[teethinmymilk]

“Notos?” A deep, rich, calming voice rang out from the alley behind him.

Oh, fortune had smiled upon the son of Bhaal tonight. Just the man he’d wanted to see.

“Lord Gortash!” He exclaimed, brushing hair from his eyes, careless of the blood he smeared through it as he did. “Are you following me?”

(sorry your dad turned you into even more of a monster… that sucks, sorry about that. anyways, afterwards notos blows off some steam (gets murder drunk on the streets of baldurs gate) and who should happen upon him? we all know who!!)

murder and cannibalism but make it sooooo horny. they’re the couple at the party dry humping each other on the couch even though there are 3 other people on the couch with them.

[fkitwebhaal]

Ship: Past Durge/Gortash, Current Durge/Astarion but not the focus

Fandom: BG3

Warnings: A wide assortment including but not limited to implied/referenced suicidal ideation, toxic relationships, manipulation, just all the stuff to expect from Durgetash

Rating: M

AO3

Summary: 

“You grant the semblance of life and intelligence to a corpse of your choice within range, allowing it to answer up to 5 questions you pose. Answers are usually brief, cryptic, or repetitive. “ You are as likely to open wounds as you are to close them. The night after the assassination of Evner Gortash, the Dark Urge takes to Wyrm's rock with five questions. This story is about what they ask. This story is about what Gortash's corpse answered. And this story is about the five memories behind those answers that the corpse of Enver Gortash cannot speak to.

Notes: Yep this is the Durgetash fic. 3 chapters are up and I'll post each chapter here by itself as well for the Tumblr version later.

[norestfortheurge]

Every ship deserves a weird soulmate AU and I’m here to deliver the Durgetash one.

Soulmates were forced together by having the first and the last words they said to each other painted on their wrists. A simple concept, much enjoyed by romance writers who penned story after story that followed the same clichéd schema. The first words were, more often than not, a variation of “Hello.” Some were a little more elaborate, like “Apologies, I didn’t mean to bump into you,” “Thank you, it would have been terrible if I’d lost it,” or, as in Gortash’s case, “I would rip out your beating heart and feast on it before I’d ever work with you.”

[durgetrashbrainrot]

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Baldur's Gate (Video Games) Rating: Not Rated Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: The Dark Urge/Enver Gortash Characters: The Dark Urge (Baldur's Gate), Enver Gortash Additional Tags: Named Dark Urge (Baldur's Gate), Tiefling Dark Urge (Baldur's Gate), Male Dark Urge (Baldur's Gate), Mentioned Ketheric Thorm, Ficlet, Pre-Canon Series: Part 3 of I Write Scenes Not Tragedies Summary:

Igarak knows he can't kill Ketheric, so he complains about him to the only person he can.

[los-gatitos-luciran-muy-lindos]

ೃ⁀➷ * Ship Song Association * ੈ *Characters : Durge/Enver Gortash * /♡˳ BG3 ♡˳/

⋅ʚRondo Across Countless Kalpasɞ⋅⋅ʚ

♡Imagine Setup♡ɞ⋅ ༘⋆"We dance an agonizing tango one in where all you think of is power while hunger tears at my flesh. My desire for you is one of a mad dog, an animal lost to it's bloodlust. Passion and lust as pure as it can be found. The carnial desire to make you all but a comforting wound a piece of art to hang above Bhaal's statue. You play a foolish game Enver, endulging in a bhaalspawns lust shall be your ruin. I shall be your ruin.".·:¨༺

︵‿︵︵︵‿︵‿୨ ˚🗡˚୧‿︵‿︵︵︵︵‿

[vermilionskiinmorning]

Abandoned || Enver Gortash x F! Resist Urge-Durge

Quick note edited 12/04/24: Changed a few details of this story. Removed reference to Gortash kissing durge during the coronation scene & tweaked context of the memory flash she gets during this.

Summary: The Dark Urge meets with Gortash in his private rooms the evening after the coronation.

Words: 3989

-----

“Come to me, tonight. We have so much to discuss. None will hinder you.”

She’d just stepped out of the fortress when the words were beamed into her mind in Gortash’s voice. A send message spell clearly.

______

Feravel stood at the foot of Wyrm’s rock looking up at a balcony high above. Its doors were open and light spilled out into the night. She didn’t have to investigate to know he was up there waiting for her. For nearly half an hour, Feravel sat on her boulder contemplating everything she could remember -which was admittedly very little- and comparing it with the information Gortash had shared. The most frustrating part was that she could detect no lie. He had been so infuriatingly open about the whole thing, earnest even in his proposition for an alliance. Furthermore, she supposed the Emperor was right when he suggested she could accept the alliance and not honor it. Feravel was set on destroying the brain. In no realm of existence would she use it to subjugate and that decision was only further cemented with this revelation that the whole mess…was her own doing.

She sighed. A tear forming in her eye as she remembered Gale’s harsh words.

“So this all is your doing?! Not just a Bhaalspwan-" He scoffed. "But the chosen of Bhaal? I need to be alone. I need to think.”

Astarion had tried to rest a hand on her shoulder, but she’d shrugged it off and not gone back to the Elf Song since. Instead she’d taken to meandering through the bustling streets of the Gate trying to remember her life, but gods all she could remember was blood and that unruly black haired man which she now knew had to be Enver Gortash. Even before meeting him at the coronation, she’d felt a sense of familiarity toward him -warmth- looking at his face plastered on posters around the Gate.

She turned her mind back to Gale. Gale who was so kind and genuinely good even when she was moody or difficult. Who saw the best in her always. The one she loved, but if Gale wanted space, she needed to give it to him. She couldn’t be emotional about it and then face Gortash. The man had keen eyes, he would certainly notice, so she took a moment to school herself. There was also the disadvantage that he clearly knew her and well.

Perhaps it would be easier to deal with him alone like this, though, instead of with the pressure of an audience. There were only two ways this discussion would end after all; an alliance or his death -damn what her buried self felt about it. After a deep calming breath, Feravel looked up at the balcony again and misty stepped directly onto the rail. Hopping from the rail to the stone floor with a dull thud as her manner of announcing her presence.

“You always have liked to keep me waiting.” Said Gortash, promptly and with a distinct note of fondness.

His back was to her and he was seated at his desk, but there was a meal laid out on the nearby table.

“Help yourself. I’m sure you haven’t eaten what with wandering around the city all day. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

Hesitant, Feravel stood just outside on the balcony watching him. He was at ease here not troubled at all by her unconventional manner of arrival -had expected it even. Gone was his overcoat, gilded bracers, and gloves, leaving him looking oddly exposed before a possible enemy; he was dressed in only his fine black shirt, trousers and leather boots. Was it a display of confidence? Or did he genuinely believe himself safe in her presence? Either left Feravel feeling off kilter which she supposed was his aim.

“The food isn’t poison if that’s what you’re thinking.” Enver added when he didn’t hear her enter the room.

She stepped inside, but didn’t close the door behind her as she strode over to the table. Leaving herself a quick escape should she need it. Despite the fact she was hungry, Feravel ignored it in favor of asking the obvious instead.

“You’ve been spying on me?”

Enver put down his quill and turned to face her. “Spying sounds so…invasive. I’ve simply kept tabs on your little traveling group. Ever since I saw you in the eye at the goblins camp, before you destroyed it that is, I’ve kept an ear out so to speak. Nothing so organized as spying.”

Feravel wrinkled her nose. Whatever he said, it sounded very much like spying and she didn’t much appreciate it.

“Whatever.”

She plucked an orange from the fruit bowl and rolled it between her fingers. It was firm, but not hard. Fresh, he’d brought out the good stuff in anticipation of her arrival. A brief thought of the joy she’d felt when Gale had gifted her one he managed to find during their travels. Enver knew her fondness for oranges as well it seemed. How was that supposed to make her feel? Whatever his intent, it only made her more wary of him.

She considered the orange a moment longer before deciding he must be telling the truth and pulling out a paring knife to slice the fruit. Why waste good food to poison her? He certainly didn’t seem to want her dead. Nor, had she thus far detected any hint of deception from him.

Popping a slice into her mouth, Feravel turned her attention back to him. He was watching her with just the hint of a smile. She got the feeling he was remembering something she couldn’t. It made her frown. That memory she’d seen in his mind… She resisted the urge to covertly cast detect thoughts on him again -after all she’d gotten much more than she bargained for before.

“So what’s the play here?” She asked finally when she couldn’t take the weight of his gaze any longer.

Amusement flared in his eyes. “Play?”

Feravel furrowed her brow. “The late night meeting-“

“It is only late by your own choice. You could have come hours ago.”

“The food. This-“ She huffed, gesturing vaguely to him causing Enver to raise one eyebrow at her. “As if you’re meeting a friend…not a potential assassin.”

He chuckled. “Are you here to kill me?”

Feravel clenched her jaw. It grated her how blatantly he was enjoying himself. The urge sang with excitement at her irritation: kill him, it will please your little friends, make them a gift of him innards. It will please father. Destroy the Banite. Flay his skin, carve the smirk from his foul lips-

She abruptly shut the thoughts down.

“I could be. You did say I was your favorite assassin.”

Enver spread his arms as if in another context he might be offering a hug. “Then by all means, my dear. I am all yours.”

A muscle in her face twitched. Did he think himself funny? How foolish was he to temp her urge like this? Tense moments passed. She wondered if from his spying he’d determined she wouldn’t just kill him outright or if he was playing with her. The notion brought forth a wave of bloodlust that she had to focus to master. Consequentially causing her to miss the knowing way Enver was appraising her.

“No?” He finally asked once he deemed the moment had passed. Getting to his feet, he strode over to her, reaching out to stroke her cheek with the back of his hand, but Feravel swiftly stepped back. Enver hummed apparently in consternation. “Well I suppose after all you’ve endured it would be difficult to expect us to pick up where we left off.”

Her mouth went dry. Even with the space she’d asserted between them, he was close. If he’d wanted to, Enver could still reach out and touch her. The thought made her heart race and heat rise up her neck. Her eyes flicked over his partially exposed chest and she inhaled sharply unwittingly taking in a fine scented perfume she recognized. Dark rosewood and vanilla bourbon, Feravel found herself breathing more slowly to savor the scent.

“I had hoped coming of your own will to be a good sign. That you remembered more than you were letting on infront of your companions.” He looked a touch disappointed. “But it does seem Orin did quite the number on you.”

She hummed condescendingly pushing away the fog his scent had momentarily clouded her mind with.

“Yes, well from where I’m standing it seems my nearest and dearest ally did nothing to prevent that. Perhaps I could be forgiven for not being quick to pick up where we supposedly left off.”

“But you’d trust a group of misfit strangers?”

“A parasite shared is a parasite halved…so I’ve heard.” Feravel said with a shrug.

“Well you should know. I did not let her kill you. We weren’t to meddle in eachother’s affairs. You were very clear on that. All I could do was warn you of her ambitions which I did -duly- to which you explicitly told me you intended to handle it. I wasn’t to know the inner workings of your father’s temple.”

The words sparked a feeling of recognition in her gut. A conversation long forgotten, now just whispers. She couldn’t prove or disprove his claim either way so she said nothing.

“You were gone. I have tolerated Orin for the sake of our plan, but I’ve always liked you.”

She sensed something off about the way he said liked. Slightly strained tone as if he’d almost used another word instead.

“Yes well, I hardly remember you and I know nothing of this plan as you’ve dictated it. Frankly I have no interest in either. Orin is Bhaal’s chosen and I am changed. I want only to be free of this threat of becoming a mindflayer and to go my own way.”

Enver pressed his lips into a thin line. She’d hit a nerve. Good, she thought.

“With things as they are, there is an imminent threat to all the infected, but furthermore the entire Sword Coast. Orin is becoming increasingly bold. As I told you earlier, she’s out for blood: yours and mine. She’d kill us both and take the stones for herself. You may have no interest in this plot, her, or the temple of Bhaal, but she will never stop hunting you until one of you is dead. That is a fact. One way or another you will have to deal with Orin. It is only a question of what you’ll do after that.”

She couldn’t help the small nod of agreement. It was in essence, the same conclusion she’d come to. With Orin after her, the issue would shortly come to a head and especially with the spy Enver previously revealed to be at her camp.

“I do intend to deal with Orin. On my own terms.” She said diplomatically .

“I’m sure you’ll make the right choice. An alliance benefits us both. You saw that before. ” He said. “In the mean time, it would be a horrible shame to let a good meal go to waste?”

Feravel expected more pressure from him to outright agree to working with him, but it seemed he felt little concern for it. As if he considered their alliance a foregone conclusion. It irritated her.

She glanced at the table. Her forgotten orange lay on a plate before her. Glancing at Enver, she sighed and went to take a seat. Plots, backstabbing, and alliances aside, she was hungry. Perhaps she could just ignore him while she ate and then disappear.

It was blessedly quiet between them for a time, but Feravel was not blind to the way Enver observed her mannerisms. He was searching for the person he knew in her. She could feel it, but not until she had just finished eating did he decided to speak.

“You are not quite so changed as you think. I very much doubt, you would have made it this far if you were nothing of what you once were.”

Enver did not meet her eyes as he said it, but he was watching her from behind his chalice of wine which he raised to his lips promptly after uttering the words. It was bait. Clearly, but she couldn’t help herself from taking it.

“And what was I before? A bloodthirsty murderer? Simply more controlled than Orin? Easier to steer? A weapon in the Black Hand of Bane?”

“Self assured, shrewd, and cunning.” Enver answered readily. His lips quirked up just slightly at her scornful words. “If a tad short fused…but passionate.”

“Such pretty flattery. One might almost think you earned that silver tongue from a devil.”

“Little surprise, as I did learn from one.” A proper smirk formed on Enver’s lips. “I do not know what you do remember, but I know that you heard my thoughts; or perhaps saw my memory rather, in the hall.”

The blood drained slightly from her face at being caught in her snooping. He’d made no indication at the time he was aware of her presence in his thoughts. Thinking on her feet, Feravel responded dismissively. “An illusion.”

Enver scoffed, his nose wrinkling in distain. “Unlike your little wizard plaything, illusions are not part of my repertoire.”

“A fantasy then.” Feravel snapped.

Enver let out a mirthless laugh. “I’ve never known you to delude yourself like this. Perhaps you are gone.”

“All I remember is death. Bloody, horrible death. This urge to perpetrate it that’s only barely within my control.” Gale’s concerned face as she came back to herself the night she’d almost killed him. Her own crushing guilt at the foul things she’d said. She could almost feel the burn of the ropes on her wrists. “A stain on my soul I will never wash away.”

Enver’s expression was unreadable and he seemed to have no inclination to speak. Pressure through silence, it seemed, but she did not give in at least not at first. As it dragged on, Feravel began to wonder if he was attempting to peer into her thoughts. She didn’t know if he knew such spells, but

“I didn’t know who you were until we reached the city… I saw the posters. Your face. It was familiar.”

She swallowed hard.

“I’d had dreams of a black haired man, but I never saw his face. I saw you and it just…fit? Like a shadow stepping into the light.”

“And these dreams were of what?” His shoulders were tense.

“What were we?”

“What were your dreams?”

They stared unflinchingly across the table at each other. Feravel wondered if it weren’t for the table between them if he’d reach for her again. Did she want him to? Uncertainty coursed through her. She gripped the edge of the table tightly.

“At first, I thought it was Gale I was dreaming of. We’d only just met, but I liked him. I quickly realized though, it couldn’t be him…”

Enver scowled at that. “Your pet wizard? Yes, I’ve heard of him, Mystra’s former chosen. He reached for something greater and failed. She was right to discard him. He’s not worthy of you.”

“It’s not your place to determine who’s worthy of me!”

“You are Bhaal’s chosen! A softhearted fool like that could never accept you.”

Feravel stood so quickly her chair was knocked to the floor.

“I am no one’s chosen and I am more than I was made to be!” She heaved a few deep breaths. Then she spoke again, far more calmly, staring intently at him. “I am my own person.”

“You were mine.”

Heatedly, Enver got to his feet, pushed back his chair and stalked toward her, but she could barely register his movements for his words held her rapt attention.

“I was yours.”

He cradled her cheek with a softness she would not have expected had she not experienced it before. Before? A forgotten memory triggered by his words began to unravel in her mind. It was incomplete and muddled, but the feelings it held were clear.

A calloused palm against her cheek. She leaned into it. Lips lightly brushed over her own, reverent. This was peace. Her place of rest. So long as she did father's will she could keep this -him. Even if one day, her father's will would lead her to murder Enver. A thing she once would've relished. Now seemed so impossible to execute. That was a problem for later though. For now, father knew Enver was useful. So long as she could continue to make use of him toward her father's aims, Enver was safe. Enver was hers.

It had not been long before her death. She could tell that much. And she suspected this moment to have been when her old self had realized she loved Enver.

“It was because of you.” Feravel concluded aloud.

Enver furrowed his brow. “What?”

“I wouldn’t have sacrificed you to Bhaal, had he asked it of me.” Feravel simply. “I doubt he planned to, but it seems knowing that I was unwilling to do so was enough.”

She let out a breathy laugh.

Then Enver was kissing her like a man dying of thirst and she was a spring in a desert. She was carried away by the intensity and familiarity of it so easily. Her fingers brushed tentatively along his jaw as she raised a hand to thread her fingers in his hair. It was just as fine and soft as in her dreams -except this was real. Enver was not a faceless shadow.

He let out a breath he must’ve been holding and drew her more firmly to him wrapping her tightly in his embrace. The way their lips moved and felt together was as natural as breathing. Her body yearned to surrender to him. There was no denying, Enver was telling the truth. This could not be manufactured, imitated or faked. The feelings his embrace elicited within her were not unlike how she felt for Gale. That worried her.

How easy would it be to stay here? Enver seemed to hold the key to so many of her lost memories. Just days ago she had been desperate still to know some semblance of who she was. Now, it was difficult to sort through what she wanted.

What a difference a day can make.

She was starting to feel choked up like she couldn’t breathe and her fingers slipped from Enver’s hair, running down his neck, over his shoulders to rest on his chest. Suddenly Feravel pulled back, but Enver didn’t allow her to go far -tightening his grip on her waist. Enver leaned his head against her’s as they caught their breath.

It took him a moment to realize there were tears running down her cheeks. So strange, he once thought he may never see her cry. Cautiously he wiped one away.

“Fera?” He said barely above a whisper.

With effort, she swallowed any further tears and looked up into his dark brown eyes which were so unlike Gale’s honey brown.

“I should thank you, I suppose.”

Enver furrowed his brow.

“Whatever we had, ultimately made me my own person. It was enough for Bhaal to abandon me.”

She wasn’t free by any means, but perhaps she could be. Killing Orin might be the key to free herself of father and the urge. Whether that meant her death or a life without the evil hiss in her ear, the devil on her shoulder, she didn’t know.

Enver leaned in again and brushed his lips against hers. It was just the faintest touch, but warmth spread through her from it. She could sense he was being cautious and deliberate now.

“I never told you.” He murmured lowly against her lips. Feravel kept still with anticipation. Her eyes closed, breathing steady, committing this moment to her memory. “There wasn’t a right moment, you understand? But I have to now.”

Love. He didn’t have to say it. Despite the broken thing she now was, he still loved her. Whatever he’d been searching for in his observations he’d examined her and had not found her wanting. To him, she was still somehow the same. An overwhelming prospect.

Feravel felt her heart in her throat. Just that morning, Gale had turned to her at the breakfast table and told her he loved her -just because as he often did. Then Astarion had to ruin the moment with an eye roll and a comment about toothaches which earned him a slug in the shoulder from Karlach. There was no one here to interrupt with banter, to ruin this moment though, only them.

She opened her eyes to find his face mere centimeters away.

“I…I can’t.”

Feravel tried to extricate herself from him, but he held her in place. His grip firm, but gentle he stroked her cheek with his thumb, staring deeply into her eyes. For a second, she almost wanted to lean back in, to erase her words.

“Why did you come?”

She furrowed her brow at him. What sort of question was that? He’d summoned her. But he didn’t give her time to answer before continuing.

“You should’ve known I wouldn’t have pursued or forced you here. Our matters are better left private. Causing a scene by dragging you before me would’ve brought scrutiny.“

“How pragmatic.” She said shortly.

He waved the comment away. “I would’ve been upset to be sure, but as I said before somethings are best handled discreetly. So why did you come?”

Silence hung thick between them. Feravel unwilling to utter a response and Enver unwilling to allow the question to pass. Their stalemate went on until Enver tired of her obstinance.

“You wandered the city all day instead of returning to your companions. Then you came to me. Could it be then that you feared their judgement? Or the judgement of one in particular.”

“What do you want from me?” She snapped.

“Are you so blind?” He released her, but didn’t withdraw. There was a tone of weariness in his voice. His guard was coming back up. “I do not take to heart this distraction you’ve taken in the wizard, but now you’re returned to me. You do not need to be burdened by the opinions of sheep.” He paused, then in a more business like tone. “I will provide for you anything you require to retake the cult of Bhaal or destroy it -whichever you choose.”

Feravel stared at him. Men of exceptional ambition. Was this her type? Two different lives she’d lived and yet. Despite their vast differences, she’d fallen for men who were not so terribly unalike as they first appeared.

“I-I have to go.”

Without giving him a chance to pull her back, Feravel nimbly twisted away, misty stepped to the rail and jumped -opening a dimension door below her as she fell. She didn’t see Enver race for the balcony to peer over the edge and only just catch a glimpse of her portal before it popped out of existence.

Frustration boiled in him at her disappearance, leaving him feeling exposed in a way he would never usually allow. He slammed his fist on the table to release some of the pent up emotion. She would be back he told himself. After disposing of Orin, she would return to him one way or another.

However, he’d known this was a possibility. He’d gambled with how much she could remember -allowing his emotions to take too much of the lead. It had been unlikely for her to agree to anything right away. She’d always had a will of her own and did still. Besides, he mused, it would’ve been unpalatably weak had she just crumpled, immediately abandoning her newfound compatriots. The lord Bane would not have been pleased with such an ally or companion for his chosen.

[elinorbard]

Guilty Pleasure (f!Dark Urge/Enver Gortash)

One bad decision gets Ta'av arrested. Several more get her brought before Enver Gortash and ordered to beg for her freedom. (Rating: Explicit. Word count: 8.4k)

series: sex and violence, one is just the other

“You behave like a common criminal, so you will beg like one,” he declared. He let go of her chin and wrenched the gag down to her neck. “You cannot be serious,” Ta’av burst out as soon as her mouth was freed. “Oh, but I am.” His hand lingered on the gag, and he hooked one finger underneath the rough fabric to pull it forward. “Your foolishness has interrupted my work to keep this city functioning even while the brain revolts – an issue that is well within your ability to resolve, I will add, as you agreed to retrieve the final Netherstone. Accordingly, you will explain why you deserve my mercy.” His words were clipped and precise, spoken through a clenched jaw. He studied her for a moment longer before turning away and striding towards the throne. Ta’av stared him in disbelief and outrage. “Enver!”

[astarionmademewriteit]

Ch. 2: My Forbidden Lover

MDNI. 18+ ONLY. Blank bios will be blocked.

Enver Gortash x f!Durge (pre-tadpole)

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 3.4k

Tags: Pure smut; Oral (female receiving); Face fucking; Dom/sub dynamic; Bondage; PIV rough sex; Blood kink; Cum Play; Praise and degradation kink; Bodily harm (in a sexual context); Orgasm denial (kinda? But not exactly); Choking; Biting; Durgetash is switch-coded; Subby Gortash; Minor jealousy; Brief mention of Astarion's background with non-consentual sex; Really graphic depictions of sex.

Summary: After having come to an agreement with Astarion and plotting to kill Cazador, the dark urge goes home with her lover Gortash where they engage in filthy sex.

A/N: Please refer to the first chapter to set the scene. This is pre-tadpole days where the Dark Urge has an established relationship with Gortash and befriends Astarion while he is still in the clutches of Cazador. The story will follow her eventual amnesia and Illithid kidnapping where she will fall for Astarion, who doesn't reveal the fact that he knew her from before the Nautiloid crash.

I meant for this chapter to spill over into the next day when Durge meets up with Astarion, but I'm a simp for Durgetash and it just got away from me. Please enjoy!

Ch. 1 | AO3

‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵୨˚̣̣̣͙୧ - - ୨˚̣̣̣͙୧‿︵

We walk through the brisk night air, the stars spatter the sky–holding their ancient secrets close. I hook my arm through Gortash’s as we stroll through the streets. We are sporadically approached by admirers of Enver, offering their gratitude for all he has done for the city.

“I assume our new friend was receptive to your requests?” Enver murmurs once we catch a moment alone.

“He’ll warm to the idea. He is understandably terrified of Cazador,” I stroke his broad arms, contemplating my conversation with Astarion, “I sweetened the deal. In return for information, I promised to provide him with blood and a victim for Cazador. I assume that won’t be a difficult request to fulfill.”

Enver nods, “We can supply him with a thrall. They should comply willingly,” He stops and moves to face me, “As for the blood, dear assassin?” His question does little to hide the concern underpinning his tone.

“Enver, you wound me,” I close the little distance between us, pressing my body flush against his, “I have access to plenty of blood. Why are you concerned?” I cock an eyebrow, waiting for him to confess.

He chuckles darkly, recognizing my playful banter, “I do not relish the idea of sharing you. Especially your delectable blood,” he lines the column of my throat with gentle nips at my flesh, “I would hope that was just reserved for me,” he growls.

I run my fingers through his dark hair, pulling away to look into his eyes, “You have the exclusive privilege of spilling my blood, Enver,” I place a small kiss on the corner of his mouth, “In any case, Astarion and I are kindred spirits. I recognize myself in him,” I contemplated the thinly-veiled terror that he had tried hard to mask, but I recognized it for what it was immediately. His volatile environment wrangled him into submission, and he was forced to do things that I believe he was unwilling to do–completely severed from his own autonomy.

It was similar to my condition, although I still had the freedom to make choices–choices that Astarion was completely robbed of. It was my hope that our new agreement would help him regain some of his autonomy, no matter how little–even if it was to my advantage, at least for now. I felt a small pang of guilt, wondering if he felt used in other ways instead. I would have to ask him tomorrow.

“Indeed,” Enver agrees after a moment, “But, do not lose sight of the grand design, my love. We are no heroes”

A smile plays on my lips, “If I didn’t know better Enver, I would think you were jealous,” I hook my arm through his once again and we begin our tread back to his waiting palace.

Once we are safely inside the confines of his home I rest on the edge of Enver’s desk while he writes correspondence and runs through the list of powerful targets that threaten our plans. Next on our list was the beloved Duke Ravenguard–he could be a powerful asset should we enthrall him with an Illithid tadpole. I offer to send Orin, my bloodkin, to complete the task so that we may focus on other things.

“That’s enough work for tonight, my dear,” I caress his cheek with the back of my knuckles and he watches me with a darkened expression. I lift myself from his ornate mahogany desk and move towards Enver who still sits in his chair. I turn and sit on his lap, peering over my shoulder and watching him expectantly.

He sweeps my hair to one shoulder and slowly begins to pull the zipper down the back of the evening gown I wore to Cazador’s ball–taking great care to ensure the delicate fabric does not catch in the zipper.

I stand and let the soft fabric slip from my shoulders until the garment pools at my feet. His eyes rake over my exposed body, drinking in my frame with hungry eyes. I drive the heel of one of my shoes into his chest, waiting patiently as he nimbly unbuckles the straps around my ankle. He places small kisses up the calf of my leg, nipping at my flesh–hungry to taste me.

I kick off my heel and repeat the same gesture with my other foot. He glides his hand up my calf to my inner thigh, digging the claws of his gold filigree gloves into my flesh. His hard grasp dimples my flesh until he draws blood and a sigh escapes my lips. He places small kisses along my inner thigh as he works to unbuckle my shoe.

Once I have discarded my shoe, I watch him with eager eyes as he works his way towards my upper thigh, savoring the way his lips feel as they bite and suck at my flesh–tasting my blood. I intertwine my fingers through his dark hair, willing him to focus his attention at the apex of my thighs.

His agonizing slow pace up my inner thigh has me growing impatient, “Enver,” I growl in warning, tightening my grip on his hair until a satisfied groan falls from his lips.

“Far be it from me to keep my favorite assassin waiting,” he murmurs before swiping his tongue up the seam of my dripping cunt. I instinctively pull at his hair more aggressively as he tongues and sucks at my sensitive clit. My legs immediately begin to shake as pleasure undulates through my body.

Enver repositions my leg until it is resting on his shoulder, providing him with a new devastating angle that practically sends me into a frenzy. I hold his head against my aching cunt and throw my head back as I hear his stifled breathing. “Be a good boy for me, Enver,” I growl, “You may only draw breath once I’ve been satisfied, or you can suffocate. Whichever comes first.”

He moans as he slips his tongue into my slick entrance, nosing my clit in the process. His warm tongue fucking me expertly until I’m panting uncontrollably. He hums into my pussy, sending tantalizing vibrations straight to my core.

He hooks his arm around my thigh, pulling me closer as he hungrily services me–his golden filigree claws drawing more blood as they dig deliciously into my flesh. The pain brings me such pleasure that I can feel myself building to a dizzying crescendo.

Enver continues to drag his tongue in slow concentric circles around my clit, sucking and nipping at it until I’m losing myself–spiraling into an intense climax that has me writhing underneath his tongue. I grind myself against his face–his stubble adding another layer of overwhelming sensations that has me coming undone just for him. He growls against me as I drag my sensitive cunt against his face, relishing the way I use him for my pleasure.

Once I’ve come down from my orgasm, Enver pulls away–his face gleaming with my slick. I pull him up by the collar of his robe, and we collide into a feral kiss. The taste of my arousal and the coppery aftertaste of blood fills my mouth as our tongues slide against one another.

I finger at his robes, clumsily unlacing the clothes that separate me from his flesh. He assists me in removing his clothes, our lips crashing back together with a ferocity that could buckle my knees. I push him hard until he is falling on the bed behind him, my eyes scanning his exposed flesh, devouring him completely. I circle the bed before grabbing his wrist and binding them to the bedpost with barbed wire that cuts deeply into the exposed flesh beneath his golden lattice gloves. I repeat the gesture with his other wrist, and watch as blood flows freely from his wrists–dripping down his arms in crimson rivulets. I drag my tongue up his arm, drinking in the taste of his life-essence, and ecstasy thrums through my body at his flavor.

“You taste so good, my love,” I murmur before making my way to the foot of the bed and crawling up his body until I’m straddling his waist.

“It’s all for you, my assassin,” he croaks, his voice gravelly and thick with lust.

I drag my nose up his throat, sucking and kissing at his salty skin. I sink my teeth into the soft flesh where his neck meets his broad shoulders, and Enver cries out in pleasure as blood rushes to the surface. I can practically hear his heart beating against his ribcage as blood fills my mouth–his wrists pulled taut against his restraints, causing more blood to flow freely from his veins.

“I love when you bleed for me, Enver,” I growl into his ear. His heavy panting rings like music through the bedroom, and I savor the way his body writhes impatiently beneath me, “You’re doing so well,” I praise, which only spurs his need to be inside me.

“Please,” he whispers, begging to feel my cunt wrapped around his leaking cock.

“Oh, Enver,” I whisper seductively, cupping his face with my hand, “How I love to watch you squirm.” I line myself up with his throbbing cock, already leaking with pre-cum.

His swollen head immediately stretches me wide open, and I cannot stop the moan that falls from my lips as he fills me completely. Enver whimpers beneath me as my pussy slides down his length at an agonizingly slow pace until I am sitting flush against him. I clench around him instinctively, forcing another moan to escape his lips.

I lean over and crush my lips to his as I begin to rock my hips seductively against him. I bite hard into his lip, drawing more of his sensational blood–relishing the coppery taste as it fills my senses completely. My nails dig into his hairy chest and welts immediately begin to form, marking him as mine.

I lift myself up and begin riding him slowly, savoring the way his cock spears into me–threatening to split me in two. I clench my pussy around his length every time his cock withdraws from me, effectively massaging his swollen head.

“Gods below,” he moans underneath me, “You’re so perfect, my dear assassin.” He instinctively bucks his hips, brushing against my cervix and causing me to cry out in shock. He drags his cock slowly out of me before forcefully thrusting back inside, hitting my sweet spot with agonizing precision. The barbed wire confining his wrists continues to pull blood from his flesh, painting him like a beautiful masterpiece.

I lean back, propping myself on his thighs as I continue to ride him relentlessly–allowing him to watch as he pierces me with his throbbing member. My arousal rings like a symphony throughout the room, only spurring me to ride him harder. My nails dig into his thighs, bringing more blood to the surface. I watch as his body slowly trickles with blood and images of our own demise flit through my mind.

I knew I wanted to keep him until fate intervened and I was forced to kill him and myself in Bhaal’s name. It would be incredibly beautiful, slicing his flesh open until he had been drained of blood completely. I would die a beautiful death next to my lover–and I would be free of the carnage I was meant to exact on this world. And it would all be by his side.

As the images flit through my mind, my desperation becomes more prominent. I can feel myself nearing the edge of no return. My body begins to quiver as he continues to meet me thrust for thrust until I am exploding into a tantalizing climax–falling over the edge into a depth of pleasure that I could only ever experience with Enver.

His name falls from my lips and echoes throughout the room like a haunted hymn as he coaxes the pleasure from my body. Enver’s breathing becomes ragged and I can tell he is chasing his own release. I cannot help the sadistic tendencies that wash through my body in moments like these.

I wrap a shaky hand around his throat as I continue to ride him with newfound ferocity born from my own ecstasy. He watches me with a dark expression as he nears his own climax, biting at his bruised bottom lip as I apply pressure to his throat, cutting off his blood flow momentarily.

His eyes roll into the back of his head and a dangerous smirk plays on my lips when I think about how desperate he sounds. Just when he is on the verge of climax, I pull myself off him completely and watch as thick ropes of cum spill from him and onto his stomach. He bucks his hips desperately searching for any kind of friction that will ride him through his climax–to no avail.

I release my grip from his neck and he eyes me with unfiltered frustration when he realizes the game I’m playing. His wrists are pulled taut against the barbed wire–the metal digging into his flesh as he struggles against them, desperate for some satisfaction as his hollow orgasm washes through him.

He lets out an animalistic growl as I remove myself from the bed, a dark grin gracing my features as I watch him struggle. “Oh, Enver,” I chuckle sadistically, “You never learn, do you?” I inch towards a bar cart and pick up an expensive decanter, leisurely pouring myself a glass of rich dark liquor. I seat myself in his chair, and watch as he grows more desperate by the minute.

“Please, my love,” he eyes me with wild anguish, pulling against his restraints harder than before–ignoring the stinging pain that travels through his arms. I cross my legs and lean back, taking another sip of the strong liquor. It burns my throat as it goes down, and the satisfaction I feel as I watch him squirm is delectable. My body welcomes the warmth of a roaring fire nearby and I sit and watch as he fights against his restraints–admiring the way his crimson blood paints his flesh.

“Gods, you look so pathetic, Enver,” I chuckle, “It’s utterly adorable.” I throw back the rest of the liquor–it’s rich burn soothing my throat and it’s warmth washing through my body completely.

Enver has settled down slightly, but I can tell he has found no satisfaction in his climax–just as I had hoped. “My beloved assassin, this hardly seems fair,” he grumbles–his voice perfectly diplomatic.

“When have you known me to play fair, my love,” I shoot back playfully, gripping the arms of the chair, “Besides, I’ve decided that you haven’t begged nearly enough for my liking.”

He glares at me from the bed, and a satisfied smile pulls at my lips as I wait patiently for him to convince me that he deserves his own fulfillment. Plea after plea begins to spill from his lips, his body continuing to fight against his restraints as he grows more and more desperate. I tap my foot impatiently as he continues to beg.

It isn’t until a tear of frustration falls from his eye do I stand, effectively quieting his supplications as he watches me closely. I move to the foot of the bed and crawl over him once again, and I can hear as his breath catches in the back of his throat. I drag my tongue across his stomach, licking up his spent–savoring its unique taste. I smack my lips when I’m done and note that Enver is hard once again as he watches me clean up the mess he made.

I pull away from the bed and move to release him from his restraints–kissing his wrists and sucking the blood that paints his skin in a rich crimson. I repeat the gesture once again with his other wrist. As soon as he is free from his constraints, he charges forward, pouncing on me like a wild, untamed animal.

“My turn,” Enver growls in my ear as he tangles his rough fingers into my hair and pulls back hard until I’m looking up at his looming form. He forces me across the room and throws me into the edge of his desk, the hard wood digging into my hips deliciously.

I whimper under his hardened touch as he bends me over his desk and presses my face into the desk with aggressive strength. He forces himself inside me without a moment to lose, desperate to feel my wet cunt wrap around his cock once again.

He begins a punishing pace, rutting his hips into me with unrelenting force that causes uncontrolled moans to fall from my lips. He places a large, rough hand on my waist and forces me down, causing me to arch my back until he is hitting my sensitive spot over and over again.

The force with which he fucks me into his desk causes papers to fall from the table top–teetering to the floor. Ink splatters across his desk as it tips over with every thrust. My cries rip through the air as he spears himself into me, allowing his frustrations to spill over into his movements.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” he growls as he slams into me–the desk digging painfully into my flesh with every cant of his hips. I dig my nails into the desk, trying to steady myself, but it is useless as he continues to abuse my dripping pussy.

The force of his hips slamming into me sends me over the edge once again and I cry out with unfiltered ecstasy as I fall from grace–my orgasm rocking through my body causing my cunt to spasm wildly around his length.

“There you go, my dear assassin,” He growls, “Just like that, baby.” He talks me through my climax, and the rush of adrenaline courses through my body as his claws dig into my flesh, bringing blood to the surface.

I whine underneath him as he uses me for his own pleasure–our roles effectively reversed in a matter of minutes. His breath grows ragged as he watches his arousal spear into me over and over again with such force that I fear the desk will tip over.

Once I’ve recovered from my orgasm, I feel his thrusts becoming sloppier as he chases his own, deserved release. “Cum for me, Enver,” I beg as his breath grows heavy with ecstasy. He thrusts into me violently a few more times before he is spilling into me–his cock spasming wildly inside me as he cries out my name. He whimpers out a string of expletives as he is awarded with his own pleasure.

He leans over me, his body flush against mine as he continues to fuck through his orgasm–savoring the feeling he was so cruelly denied just minutes earlier. I moan loudly, his name falling from my lips like a prayer of devotion until he finally stills inside me.

We catch our breath, neither of us daring to move until we have regained our strength. Enver chuckles darkly above me before pulling out of me completely. I whine at his sudden absence but gather myself as much as possible. I will my shaky legs to move back to the bar cart and pour us both a drink while Enver rests in his chair, sweat dripping down his dark features.

I offer him a glass before curling into his lap and nuzzling into his shoulder, noting the dried blood streaks that mar his body. I bite back a satisfied smile as I replay the events of tonight in my mind.

After a moment, Enver sighs, “We have made a mess of things, my dear,” he ruffles my hair with a rough hand before chuckling under his breath. “I think a warm bath is in order.” I nod my head in agreement, suddenly too tired to speak. “We have a great many things to accomplish tomorrow, my lovely assassin.” He throws back his drink and polishes off his glass in a few large gulps.

I wrap an arm around his waist as I continue to nurse my drink–memorizing the way his body feels against mine. I laugh to myself, realizing that I could never forget how his body feels against mine. I turn my thoughts to what lies ahead, already calculating more plans for the grand design.

I couldn't imagine doing this without him–My forbidden lover.

[archduchessgortash]

Gortash week day 7: Suffer

This is a preview of part 2 of Love Is A Tyrant, my AU Durgetash Gortash redemption arc fic.

This scene is the Gortash & Orin confrontation after she attacks Durge, plus some after the changeling sods off.

The 3rd of Nightal, 1491 DR

Enver Gortash was in the Steel Watch Foundry, sitting in an office, pondering what he should have for lunch as he checked reports on Watcher performance, determining where to best allocate the massive funds that had been approved to aid construction of his army of automatons, when a red-haired gnome rapped on the half open door.

'What is it?’ He said in his gruff, authoritative voice.

‘A visitor, Director Gortash, sir,’ the gnome said nervously. ‘She's calling herself the… Chosen of Bhaal?’

‘Oh!’ He replied more cheerily, ‘Send her in… please.’ Then he pondered quietly to himself, ‘Why not just give her name?’

‘Through there,’ the gnome said meekly, then scampered away, terrified. The newly appointed lord frowned at the tone in his employee's voice.

Without looking up, Gortash asked, hearing slightly odd-sounding footsteps behind him, ‘Happy as I am that you're home early, D, why did you come to the Foundry? Did you miss me that much?’ His flirtatious grin vanished as he looked over his shoulder and saw Orin standing there, both hands behind her back, silent as the grave, smiling at him like a mad parody of a harlequin.

Standing bolt upright and turning to face her, he demanded, ‘Orin?! What the Hells are you doing here? And why are you calling yourself the Chosen? Where's D?’

Still silent, her black lips curled in a devious grin, she took her right hand from behind her back, showing him the red dagger, its stone glowing faintly. ‘Because I am the Chosen. The mantle has passed,’ she declared, still grinning.

‘Where is she?!’ He roared, taking an angry step toward her, fists clenched hard enough that the clawed fingertips of his gauntlet and rings pierced the skin of his palms.

Unthreatened, Orin raised her brows in mock sympathy and asked, ‘Did the toy get attached to his little mommy? How deliciously tragic!’ What had she done?!

She continued, holding the blade in front of her, ‘The pact between our gods stands. I'll be replacing my unworthy bloodkin,’ she announced, then wrinkled her nose as she looked him up and down, adding, ‘though not in every way. I shall be the pure, almighty voice of Bhaal in your ears now, and I require no trinkets.’ 

Taking her other hand from behind her back, she then opened it, a heart-shaped locket dangling from her fingers. He immediately snatched it from her hand, eyes wide with fury, less than an arm's length between them. Her dagger was instantly under his chin, its point a hair's breadth from his throat.

Gortash didn't blink as he vowed, ‘Tell me where she is RIGHT NOW! Or pact or no pact, I will kill you where you stand.’ He tapped her hip with what he held in his left hand at the same time as he put the piece of jewelry into his pocket to free up the other hand. Her eyes darted down for a second, growing a bit wider as she saw the small but very powerful explosive he held in a hand that slowly dripped blood onto the stone floor with a faint slapping noise. 

‘You wouldn't,’ she dared, fighting the urge to murder that flooded her at the scent of his blood, ‘you'll kill us both with that thing.’

‘Maybe…’ he said, his dark eyes unreadable to the changeling. ‘You'll be just as dead.’ Orin backed down, taking the point of the blade away from his neck. 

Gortash didn't move. In a lower, more threatening tone than Orin had ever heard from him, he said, ‘Answer or die. Your choice.’ As she attempted to step back, he grabbed her by the throat, the claws of the gauntlet requiring only the slightest bit more pressure to open her veins. Her dagger was back in its former position, lighting quick, her other hand on his wrist, fighting against the one at her throat, but she couldn't move it. 

‘Last chance, Orin,’ he said as he scratched the metal casing of the bomb with the fingertip ring on his third finger, creating a spark that lit the fuse. It was lined with flint for that specific purpose.

‘I don't know,’ she admitted through clenched teeth as the fuse sizzled. ‘I humiliated her… she was alive when I left her and gone when I returned.’ Gortash shoved her away from him and twisted the fuse off the bomb as he scrambled to organize his thoughts amid the panic that threatened to rise.

Rubbing her throat as she stumbled backward, Orin said, ‘She probably ran off with her tail between her legs. A disgraced scion has no place among loyal Bhaalists. You've more backbone than I thought, toy. Try that again, and I'll flense the flesh from your bones… without killing you.’

‘Get out!’ He bellowed as he pointed to the exit, splattering a line of blood onto the floor.

Orin narrowed her eyes at him, then sauntered out of the office, slamming the door on the way out.

Once she was gone, Gortash turned, screamed in rage, and punched a hole in a wooden crate near the door. Breathing heavily, he stumbled backward, letting the fuse-less bomb drop to the floor as his back hit the wall. He took out the locket and held it in his bloody hands, noting the broken clasp. He opened it, holding his breath, then he looked inside, winced, and closed it. He banged the back of his head against the wall and slid down it until he was sitting on the floor. 

As he held the locket to his chest, he said, ‘Where are you?’ A few tears squeezed out of the corners of his eyes. 

After a few moments, he got up, straightened his vest, careful not to get blood on it, and walked to a water barrel, pried the top off, and filled a bucket. His every movement was deliberate, narrowing his perception down to only the thought of the next action in the sequence. No deviation, no branching ideas. Every step was the only thing happening. Nothing else was real. He couldn't let his mind wander.

He placed the bucket on a crate and dipped his hands and the locket into it, gently rubbing his blood away from the intricate designs he'd spent weeks crafting. Surrounding the gemstone, non-flowering wisteria vines climbed from the bottom, shaped from strings of gold he had smelted, twisted, and tapped into leaves. The vines flowered at the sides of the heart, their blooms the most technically difficult part of the locket's construction, because they were so tiny. Carved flames licked the tops of each side of the heart. He made sure every detail was clean.

Wisteria couldn't flower without enough light, but it was strong and hardy; it could survive the dark and the dead of winter. In the light, it became one of the most beautiful flowers he'd ever seen. She wasn't dead. Whatever Orin had done, she wasn't dead… was she?

Gortash shook his head, pushing the thought away. He found a cloth on a small cabinet, dried his hands with it, and carefully blotted the locket. Then he tucked away his lover's keepsake in a pouch on his hip. 

He wiped his face with the cleanest part of the cloth, and walked slowly to a liquor cabinet next to the desk. He poured a glass of whiskey and drank it. Then another. And another. Then he drank straight from the bottle, until it was empty. It had started out half-full. Right before he left the office, he stopped short as he remembered. He went back to the cabinet, poured a glass of water and drank it. For her. 

As he exited the Foundry, Gortash huddled into his coat, grateful he'd brought a scarf that morning. It was nearly Highsun, the light a blinding winter bright, yet it was still cold enough that he could see his breath. He waited anxiously for the Flaming Fist mercenary that patrolled outside to see him. The merc had short brown hair and a long scar on his left cheek. He approached, glancing about, and said gruffly, ‘Afternoon, sir. Can I help with something?’

‘You can indeed,’ Gortash replied, his false cheerful tone working on the merc, who smiled. ‘You Fist mercs gather somewhere and relax, drink, and make merry so to speak, don't you?’

‘We do,’ the merc agreed skeptically, rubbing his cold hands together.

‘Not everyone in these circles is part of the Fist, are they?’ he ventured, though he knew the answer already, having bribed dozens of them over the years.

‘That's right,’ the Fist replied, then breathed on his hands to warm them before rubbing them together again.

‘I need someone found,’ the inventor said. ‘I'm looking to hire someone smart, brave, resilient, and discreet for this task. They will need to travel outside Baldur's Gate.’ He pulled a small leather notebook and a pencil from the inside pocket of his coat. Careful to keep his palms from being seen or touching the paper, as they still oozed blood, he wrote in very precise script, then carefully tore the paper from the notebook and offered it to the merc, saying, ‘Send anyone capable to this address.’ 

Once the merc took it, Gortash held up a pouch that clinked with coins. ‘This is for spreading the word. You'll get another just like it once I hire someone for the job. What's your name?’

‘Kurtz, sir,’ he replied, taking the gold.

‘Should they be successful, you'll get ten times that,’ he assured, emphasizing the increase with a hand gesture.

‘What’ll they get?’ Kurtz asked, raising an eyebrow.

‘They will be very well compensated,’ he answered, folding his hands together in front of his body.

‘I'd like to be very well compensated,’ the merc said with a smile. ‘Why not hire me for the job?’

‘Because you let the second most prolific murderer in the city into my Foundry without noticing a single thing amiss,’ Gortash replied flatly with a humorless smile, as Kurtz's eyes widened in alarm, ‘You're not observant enough for this job. Send me someone who is, and you'll be well paid for minimal effort. It's what you Fist do best, isn't it?’

Kurtz narrowed his eyes at the insult.

‘Come now, you are what you are, and you have your uses,’ Gortash said patronizingly, tilting his head to one side. ‘Pretending to be otherwise is unseemly… and unnecessary. Do as I've asked or return the gold. Simple enough.’

‘I could keep the gold and do nothing. For the disrespect,’ he smirked as he said it, his hand near his sword.

‘You could indeed. You can't swim, can you, Kurtz?’ Gortash asked, meeting the merc's eyes. His smirk wilted. ‘You stay further from the water than any other Fist who patrols down here, and you gave it a nervous glance as you approached me. The water is quite deep below this section of the pier. Scale armor makes for wonderful protection… but it is terribly heavy, isn't it?’ 

He took a step toward Kurtz, who swallowed hard but held his ground. ‘I don't care about one hundred gold, but I do care about respect. Respect is earned by one's actions. It is not given freely because a person has a title given to any idiot who can hold a sword properly. If the Flaming Fist truly lived up to what Ulder Ravengard thinks they do, speaking the truth to one of their number would never be considered disrespectful. Either you can rescind your erroneous comments about disrespect, or you are calling a War Counselor a liar to his face. Choose wisely.’

‘Apologies, s-sir,’ he stammered. ‘R-rescinded. What is… your n-name?’

‘Lord Enver Gortash.’

‘Gods!’ the merc exclaimed, his eyes wide. His whole demeanor changed. ‘Why didn't you say that straightaway? It's done, sir. I know at least three who could manage it. I'll ask them to come round tomorrow?’

‘The sooner, the better.’

‘Tonight then, sir?’ The sudden desperation to please him in the merc's tone was a change he might have relished once. Today, it inspired mild disgust.

‘Perfect,’ Gortash said with all the false pleasure the irrelevants expected from him. ‘You should learn to swim, Kurtz, as soon as possible,’ he advised. Then he glanced over the merc’s shoulder and added, ‘Come along, Silence.’

A shorter than usual Steel Watcher painted solid black, with none of the ornate details of the ones being manufactured suddenly became visible behind Kurtz. Instead of the usual weapons, the automaton had very long, sharp claws, five on the hands of its longest set of arms, though it had six arms in total. Among its other unique qualities, the construct had some semblance of a face, though metal and lacking any expression. Its sudden appearance so startled the merc that he lost his balance and teetered near the edge of the boardwalk. 

Gortash caught him by his collar and pulled him back from the edge. ‘I’m serious,’ he reiterated, ‘learn to swim.’

Kurtz nodded vigorously, backing away from the edge, a smear of the lord's blood on his armor.

As Gortash walked away from the Foundry, he said, ‘I may need you to shadow me indefinitely, my friend.’

‘Yes, sir. D is usually at your side, isn't she?’ they asked.

‘She is… unavoidably… delayed.’ He tried and failed to keep the emotion from coming through in his voice.

‘Understood,’ Silence stated, then commented, ‘Your hands are bleeding, sir.’ 

‘I know,’ he replied, and kept walking, only an occasional drop of blood falling to the wooden planks of the boardwalk. It was slowing. 

‘May I suggest you imbibe a healing potion?’ they asked, following as noiselessly as their name indicated.

‘Not until it stops hurting,’ he replied quietly.

‘Will the potion not accomplish that?’ the automaton asked.

‘It will.’

‘Ah,’ Silence paused, then inquired, ‘Shall I re-engage stealth?’

Gortash nodded. The agile, spider-like Steel Watcher vanished.

‘Shall we communicate non-verbally, sir?’ Silence asked.

‘If you like.’

‘Has Rusty reported back?’ they inquired.

‘No. Either she's still out of range, or… If Orin got to D… I can't think about… either of them. I have to plan.’

Silence wondered whether or not their master knew that when he used D's name telepathically, it came to them as a ragged, howling scream, a blissful whisper, and an almost incoherent sob all at once.

[baldursgrave69]

Bite

Rating: NSFW - MATURE, MDNI

Pairing: Enver Gortash x fem!durge (named)

Word count: 1.2k

Tags: MDNI, afab!durge, unprotected sex, piv, vaginal fingering, fingering, biting, mentions of blood

While writing this I was listening to: Sugar by Sleep Token

Enver turned the corner into the throne room, his eyes falling on Agnes, stark naked on Ketheric’s throne, a sly smile on her face.

“Hello, Enver,” Agnes purred, spreading her legs so that Enver could see how wet she was. She brought a hand up to cup her breast, her eyes trained on his as she rolled her nipple in between her thumb and forefinger. Enver smirked, walking towards her in the throne room as he watched her head loll back, her free hand trailing down her body towards her clit. Enver watched her slender fingers tease at her entrance, his mouth hanging slightly open as he began to stroke himself through his trousers.

“Did I say you could touch yourself?” Agnes growled, pulling her hand away and snapping her legs shut. Enver let out a huff, his hand coming back to his side. He walked over to her, placing his hands on the armrests of Ketheric’s throne, leaning his face towards her.

“I am so very tired of these games you keep playing, bhaalspawn,” Gortash murmured against her lips, leaning forward to kiss her. Agnes placed her hand on his chest, keeping their lips from connecting.

“You’re a terrible liar, Enver,” Agnes teased, her hand sliding up to his throat. She could feel his erection pressing against her core as she tightened her grip around his throat. “You were hard before you even walked into the room, my dear tyrant,”

Enver tried to hide the smile on his face as Agnes slightly loosened the grip she had on his throat, her thumb tracing circles on the side of his neck. He leaned into her touch, leaning his head towards her.

“Now, kiss me sweet,” she whispered, hovering her lips over his. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to hers gently. Agnes sighed against him, sliding her hand to the back of his neck. Her eyes trailed from his down to the ground, raising an eyebrow at him.

Enver rolled his eyes, leaning down and scooting himself between her knees, his hands wandering across her naked body. He pulled back, eyes trailing from her face down to her breasts. Enver leaned forward, his tongue darting out to swirl around her nipple, his other hand sliding up her thigh to her hip. Agnes let out a moan, her fingers threading into his hair. Enver closed his lips around her nipple, his other hand pushing Agnes’ legs apart as he sucked.

“Enver,” Agnes breathed, spreading her legs for him. He pulled his head back, eyes trailing down to see her folds glistening. He smiled, bringing his fingers up to wet his fingers with her need.

“You’re so wet for me,” he groaned, slowly slipping a finger inside her. Agnes huffed as he languidly pumped his finger into her, smirking up at her as she whimpered. He added a second finger, picking up the pace as he leaned forward and begin pressing kisses to her stomach. He trailed his lips down her abdomen, nipping at her sides.

“Fuck, Enver please,” Agnes murmured, chasing his lips with her body as he pulled away from her.

“What is it, pet?” He asked as she writhed against him. He knew what she wanted. She wanted his teeth. But he wanted to hear her say it.

“Bite me,” she whispered, looking down at him as he continued to fuck her with his fingers.

“Mmm,” he hummed grazing his teeth across her thigh. Agnes shuddered under his touch, his fingers repeatedly hitting the sweet spot inside that made her tremble. Enver pressed a gentle kiss to her thigh before sinking his teeth into the flesh. Agnes moaned loudly, tightening her grip on his hair as he pistoned his fingers in and out of her, her wetness dripping down his wrist.

“Oh gods,” she cried, the feeling of his teeth piercing her skin sending pain and pleasure through her body. Enver could taste the sweet iron of her blood on his tongue as he pulled back, lapping at the beads of red dripping out of the wound. “You’re delicious,” he purred, feeling how close she was to coming on his fingers. Agnes groaned as he removed his fingers from her, bringing them up to his mouth to lick her need off of them.

“If you want to come, it’s going to be on my cock, pet,” Enver grinned, standing to remove his trousers. Agnes leaned back in Ketheric’s throne, watching as Enver pulled his trousers down, his erection straining against his small clothes. Agnes was breathing heavily, eyes half lidded as she watched him pull off his underwear, his cock impossibly hard, the tip pink and wet with pre-spend.

Agnes propped herself up, her legs spread and ready for him.

“Ah ah, turn around,” Enver smirked, gesturing for her to turn away from him. Agnes narrowed her gaze, contemplating whether or not she was willing to delay her own pleasure to deny him his. She huffed, slowly standing and turning to face the back of the throne, placing her hands on the back rest. She spread her legs slightly, swaying her hips as she looked over her shoulder at Enver.

“Hells,” He hissed, walking towards her and bringing a hand forward to grab her ass. He dug his fingers into her flesh, groaning as she leaned into him. He pressed the head of his cock to her entrance, collecting her need with his fingers and wetting his length. Agnes whimpered as he slowly pushed his tip into her, her walls stretching around him.

Enver began to thrust into her, one hand gripping her hip as the other braced himself against the throne’s arm rest. He leaned against her, pulling her back onto his cock. Agnes rested her head on her arms, gripping the head rest of the throne as Enver thrust into her.

“Gods, you’re so tight,” Enver moaned, resting his head against her back, his fingers digging in to her flesh. He kissed her between her shoulder blades as he fucked her, bringing his hand around to circle her clit.

Agnes could feel her climax approaching, Enver’s thrusts and his fingers circling her clit bringing a wave of pleasure over her. He could tell she was close, leaning forward so that his lips trailed along her shoulder.

“You can come for me, can’t you Agnes?” He whispered, teasing her skin with his teeth. Agnes was beyond words, moans and grunts falling from her mouth as he begin to nip at her shoulder. Agnes’ orgasm rushed over her as Enver sank his teeth into her shoulder, both of his hands moving to her hips. He stilled his thrusts, his teeth buried in her flesh as she came on his cock, her walls clenching around him. Enver felt his own climax rushing over him as he was buried inside her. He came with a grunt, biting down harder on Agnes as he spilled into her.

Enver pulled out of her, taking a step back to allow Agnes to steady herself.

“Ketheric is going to be so pissed,” Agnes smirked, turning to face Enver. He had a drop of her blood trailing down his chin as he looked at her, breathing still ragged. His tongue darted out of his mouth to lap up the blood, causing Agnes to let out a groan. Enver raised an eyebrow at her, watching her mouth hang open as she zeroed in on his lips.

“Seriously?” He asked, still trying to catch his breath, his hands resting on his hips.

Agnes smiled at him, her lip tucked between her teeth as she slowly nodded.