#Enver is getting loved on softly!!!!!

[bakuliwrites]

Slowly but surely working on my next Tavtash fic :) It’s been a crazy busy week, but I’m hoping to have more time this weekend to work on this and one of my Arcana fics. Anyway, felt like sharing a bit so here’s a little excerpt! TW: Body Horror (symbolic but it’s still body horror)

And yet she remains painfully soft with him. Soul crushingly gentle. She roots around in the putrid flesh beneath his ribs, fingers searching desperately amongst the ravaged remains of his organs. Tenderly, Orlando unearths a tiny bolus, a leftover morsel of Enver's innocence, his grace. So carefully, she untangles it from the mess of moldering sinew in his chest and cradles it against her breast. For a moment, this piece of Enver seems to glow, a tiny point of light in a shadow-wreathed abyss. A star cupped in her celestial hands. She holds amber in her grasp, and in it is trapped a piece of him that long has been forgotten. Neglected.

[madschiavelique]

I saw your dating headcanons for BG3 guys and I loved it.

I hope it's okay to ask for Enver Gortash dating headcanons for fem s/o please, love that racoon man 🦝💕

omg thank u !! hell yea the racoon man!!!

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ pairing : gortash x fem!reader

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ content warning : none, absolute fluff, fem reader, no use of y/n

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ words : 382

( not proofread, english is not my first language ☆)

dating gortash means that his lap is your throne while he’s sitting on his. He doesn’t have a single shame about it, he wants to display how breathtaking his partner is to the eyes of the entire world, which means he has to have you at all time near him.

once you get your official throne by his sides though, he mourns the feeling of having you sitting on him, of his golden covered fingers combing through your hair as he distantly listens to whatever complaints has been brought forth to him today. But he knows that once you’re both out of the throne room, he’ll get just as much of you as he wishes.

It also means calling the most refined couturiers there are in all kingdoms to dress you. He could spend all day just admiring how each and every colour suits you, how the shapes and forms of the gowns that are made for you makes you look like a painting ready for the museum of his mind.

‘How could one become hotter when putting on more clothes ?’ is the question he keeps pondering as you try yet another gown. Don’t assume he simply fills your wardrobe, no : necklaces, earrings, he buys you the sweetest of sweets, employs the finest of cooks, instals the softest of sheets. It’s like living like a princess.

But when he can’t be by your side for whatever reasons, such as his duties depriving him from you, the world seems a lot duller. He spends a lot of time doing paperwork, endlessly sitting at his desk while somehow managing not to cover his fingers in ink.

He stays up till late at night to just make sure every paper is completed so that he can spend the rest of his time with you.

You come to see him when it’s so late, sitting on his lap again as he works, hugging him warmly and softly from your sleepiness as you mumble in his neck for him to come to bed.

He smiles, murmuring “not yet” as you groan and just remain like this. All tensions that he had from work before vanish from your touch and presence. He finishes writing another boring report before calling it a night and standing up from his desk while holding you to him, sleeping like a koala. He'll lay you on your shared bed, placing a soft kiss on your temple before preparing for the night.

[petit-etoile]

Prompt idea I am Soft™ for: the first time Prince Astarion kissed his knight *is dreamy over that AU*

a  love  that  will  last  forever

pairing: astarion/tav wordcount: 5,422 content warnings: astarion is soft here and unlike his depicition in "everything i see" as he is younger, implied underage drinking ( setting appropriate ), references to tav being raised as a child soldier by gortash,  tav is gender neutral other tags: alternate universe - royalty, character study, porn with plot, pwp, vignette, developing relationship, getting together, love confessions, mi.ssionary style archiveofourown: here. sequel:  everything i see, everything i feel (you are my universe)

tag list: @azrielshadows1nger, @pandimoostuff, @faevi, @microskies, @foreverthemaraudersera, @queenofthespacesquids, @claryvoyantfray, @6doodlaang14, @anne-isnotokay, @itshimbotime, @yeeteth-the-raven, @sessils,@8-opossums, @worryknotdear, @abirdaboxandachippedcup, @ghosts-and-ink, @b4um3pfl4um3, @gunslingerorchid, @hypopxia,  @m0ssytrees, @erysione, @odette-attackattack be added to the taglist here

summary:  4 times Astarion wanted to kiss you, and the one time he did.

i. You would recognize the sound of his laughter anywhere�� —  a bubbling and bouncing symphony down the cobblestone walls of the Lower City. The prince passes by a different unsuspecting guard flanked by Karlach who is also laughing, but unlike him, she wears no disguise. She darts by you first, and then you’re sliding an arm around Astarion’s thin waist and twirling him towards you. He grips your shoulders and yelps from the force. His giggles abruptly stop as his arms wrap tighter around your shoulders. When you meet his gaze, Astarion’s flushes.

‘And who might you be running from, my prince?’ you ask, voice low.

Astarion stares at you with wide, guilty eyes. He’s wearing a disguise to hide himself so that he might parade around the city in peace. Once he recognizes you, the slight panic in his gaze dissipates and he smiles as brightly as he can. He smells like a cluster of aromas. Wines, smoke from the cookshops, and his own personal perfume that’s crafted for him to attract an ardent admirer. A gift from the sickly king. Astarion leans towards you distractingly, snorting carefreely as you support his weight.

‘My favorite knight,’ Astarion says breathlessly.

You contemplate your choices. You could drag him back to the Keep kicking and screaming and sequester him to his bedchambers as you were ordered to do or… Karlach stands away from you, idly shiftinging. She looks sheepish enough. On her back is her broadsword and at her hip is a small axe. You bite the inside of your cheek.

‘Your highness,’ you greet him.

‘Please,’ Astarion whispers vampishly.

You meet his eyes. He is so open, so honest with you in these darkened streets. He leans forward and brushes the tip of his nose against yours. It’s so out of character it catches you off-guard. He weasels out of your grip then with a hideous cackle. He grabs your hands and holds them in his and pleads with you silently, eyes earnest. Please let me pretend to be nothing for one evening … You trust Karlach to keep him safe.

‘Please,’ Astarion insists. ‘For me.’

You free your hands from his and reach for the knife at your hip. You unfasten your belt and slide it around Astarion’s lithe hips instead, buckling it and tightening it so that he’ll have it if he needs it. You ruck up his shirt so that it falls gracelessly to conceal the weapon.

‘Take care, your highness,’ you murmur. Astarion’s grin is nothing but teeth. ‘But do not allow me to catch you again this evening. There’s a Keep in the room calling your name.’

‘And if I want you to hunt me?’ Astarion asks softly. You do not reply.

Astarion backs away from you with reluctance, knocking into Karlach who starts snorting with laughter. You trained with Karlach. You learned the blade and the bow and the lance at her side beneath Enver Gortash’s careful tutelage. She is the only one you trust to keep the prince safe when you are not at his side, so for tonight, you will allow it.

This is a moment of victory for Astarion. Away from the Keep, he is free to be a boy. He wears no crown and bears no royal crest. He simply transforms beneath this freedom. This is something you can understand now that there is no longer a boot crushing your spine. If there is a moment where Astarion could laugh and drink without worry of his father’s council snatching away the fun, you would give it to him again and again.

You watch as Astarion anxiously fists the knife at his side, and for a brief moment, you regret your decision. He looks every part the charlatan he pretends to be as he shifts his weight to play at being a danger, and you hold your hands up playfully, glad that your heavy helm hides your smile.

You remember Lord Gortash’s words. A dog should not be soft. A dog should not know this affection.

‘Thank you,’ Astarion says. ‘I won’t forget this.’

You lean against the stone wall and turn your chin. You try to forget how handsome he looks clothed as an urchin, no longer weighed down by the finery and regalia of the Ancunin name. Your heart aches at how well he fits in with Karlach, at how well their laughter mixes as they begin darting through the streets once more. You wait until you can no longer hear Astarion’s song on the wind before you begin making your way back to the Keep.

Ser Thorm is waiting for you when you arrive. You aren’t sure how long you’re reprimanded for, or how you narrowly manage to avoid worse consequences but it’s worth it, you decide, when you stand watch over an empty room until the early morning. Astarion sneaks back in through a secret passage and opens his door behind you, and you stand still as a statue as he slides his hands around your waist to return your knife. His fingers hesitate, and your heart stutters. ii.

  The castle is packed with lords and ladies, nobility and their children, and so much music that you cannot hear Astarion over a symphony of a hundred voices.

He looks like the perfect prince tonight. His hair has been brushed to perfection, his clothes measured so they fit him snugly, and his crown recently shined yet he dances with the Open Lord’s daughter with the most miserable expression on his face that he can get away with. Astarion had made you practice this waltz with him. Jealousy takes root in your stomach.

His father’s council has thrown a ball to commemorate his seventeenth nameday, and there are still many waiting for their turn to dance with their prince. They stand at the sides of the ballroom and coo as he twirls his partner, and no matter how hard you try to tune them out, their awe rings in your ears. You hatefully remember watching as he filled his dance card with name upon name until he realized it would be hours worth of trotting.

You’ve always prided yourself on how easy it was for you to swallow down your envy. Lord Gortash had done his best to rip it out of you, only allowing certain matters to still bring you a quiet sense of joy. You will never know what it is like to dance the Luskan Waltz with Prince Astarion of Baldur’s Gate.

You were not allowed to dance. It’s not something Enver Gortash ever trained you to do, nor was it something the crownsguard was allowed to participate in. Astarion had asked you desperately all morning between the maids fussing over dress and food, and you had denied him every time. You were meant to watch, to swallow your pride and your feelings. Denying him had made it feel as if your heart had shattered into millions of pieces.

Astarion looks as downtrodden as you feel, but when the Open Lord’s daughter peers at him wistfully, he smiles back at her with such finesse that it would be impossible to not believe that he was happy. The light of his smile never reaches his eyes, but those who dance with him will never understand that.

This malaise and ennui is not new to you. It is good that you wear a helm. No one can see how you press your lips together to keep from pouting.

The swell of the music comes to a decrescendo, and you watch Astarion excuse himself from the dance floor. He pushes past the other nobles clawing at him for a chance to speak with the crown prince, and he’s graceful with the way he denies them the opportunity. He pushes through an ocean of people to make it to you, but you don’t turn your head to acknowledge him as he grabs a fresh drink from the banquet table. Astarion holds the glass of wine out to you first.

‘Drink,’ he commands.

You take the delicate glass from his hand, careful to avoid touching himso that you might not pollute him, and lift your helm so that you might taste his Neverwinter red and wait. After a few heartbeats, you return his cup to him and he drinks his fill from the same place you drank yours. You close your eyes and pray the rush of nervousness goes away.

‘I’m bored,’ Astarion complains. He chokes down the rest of his wine and crinkles his nose in disgust. ‘This is the worst party I’ve ever been to.’

‘This is a celebration of your life, my prince,’ you say carefully. ‘There’s no better party to be had.’

‘Ha!’ Astarion snorts. ‘Haha! If it were you and I and our closest companions at the Blushing Mermaid, I’d be inclined to agree. But everyone here either wants to fuck me or wear my crown or both. I feel like meat.’

Astarion presses closer to you as if seeking your protection. He fusses with the dance card around his wrist, fumbling with it to count the names left. He groans and begins to reach for another wine before stopping himself. He looks at you, mystified, and runs his teeth over his bottom lip.

‘I need fresh air,’ he tells you. ‘Come with me to the balcony.’

‘As you command,’ you say. You allow him to pass.

‘It’s not a command,’ he pouts. ‘You could refuse if you wanted to, you know.’

You don’t know how to respond. You guide him away from the party as requested, and it’s easy to confess that the breath of fresh air is good for you. Astarion is unusually quiet on the balcony. The world is much different away from the music and the crowd, and you can’t help but feel despair as he stares across the distance at the Lower City. He flops onto a bench carelessly and reaches his hands upwards to the stars.

Your throat tightens. You don’t know what to say to make things better. To be truthful, you’re equally as frustrated as he is. What you wouldn’t give to slide off your armor, to match raiment with him, to dance to the violins and cellos as all others have. You sit on the ground next to him and peer between his fingers to watch the shooting star he’s framing with his fingers as it passes through the sky.

‘Make a wish,’ Astarion says, glancing at you. ‘I’ve already made mine.’

‘As you command,’ you repeat. His bottom lip trembles. iii.

  When the Sickness of Spring breaks through into Baldur’s Gate, your first concern is the health of the prince. The crown had ordered the ports closed, yet somehow the mysterious disease had made it into the castle walls. The king remained safe, and yet…

You should have known better.

You are ambitious and resilient  —  yet every inhale of breath is like a thousand razors sliding down the flesh of your lungs, and your coughs are getting harder and harder to conceal. You are simultaneously certain you’re going to burn to death inside of your chain mail and that you are going to freeze to death.

Your skin is nothing but gooseflesh and you haven’t stopped shivering since you woke up. Your head feels as though it’s about to burst. You twist to catch your breath, but the world is spinning all around you through the small vision in your helm and you collapse in the garden instead of managing a tactful retreat. Astarion immediately rises from his game of lanceboard and rushes to your side, scrambling to pull you into hi slap and shove your helm off. His fingers are like open flame against your skin.

‘Help me!’ Astarion snaps at Gale.

It should be funny watching as they struggle to lift your body, but laughing makes the pounding in your head worse. You try to breathe carefully in and out of your nose as they work to carry you. No one steps in to help, too afraid of catching it themselves. You hope they’re taking you to a healer, but the first thing you notice when you’re able to open your eyes is the exalted extravagance of Astarion’s private bedchambers.

‘No,’ you say weakly. ‘Not here.’

‘It will be fine,’ he says, ignoring how you shove at his chest as he climbs beside you. ‘I’m an Ancunin,’ he adds. ‘We don’t get sick.’

That you know of, you want to say. You’re too tired to open your mouth and too feverish to stop him as he slowly strips you of your armor. He lets it clunk against the ground when he removes it then fights to force your limbs beneath his blankets. You want to tell him to go, to seek shelter elsewhere, but the smell of hm is comforting enough that you decide to be selfish.

For the first day of your sickness, you aren’t truly conscious. You occasionally hear Astarion and Gale’s voices through the fog of your stupor. Apparently Shadowheart and her Order have been working on a cure, and now that you’re sick, Astarion is more involved in the process. He struggles to pick up where his father’s council has slacked. He paces your bedside and when the others finally leave, he crawls in alongside you and hardly sleeps himself, torn between pouring over paperwork for potential cures and checking your pulse like Shadowheart taught him.

The second day of your sickness, you are aware of every single hair on your head. It hurts so much you spend most of the morning crying. The only relief for the pain comes when Astarion massages your scalp, rubbing his thumbs in tiny circles until you’re able to enjoy the touch without flinching. While you cough and choke, Astarion is as healthy as he can be. That knowledge helps you relax.

‘You are doing so well, my love,’ Astarion murmurs one night when he thinks you’re asleep. ‘If anyone can beat this, it is you.’

He continues whispering nonsensical things. He tells you about his dreams for the future. None of them involve the kingdom or the happiness of the smallfolk or the truth of the matter. When you try to focus on the sound of his voice, you realize Astarion is mentioning nothing but you in his soliloquy.

He proclaims that you will no longer be just a knight. You will no longer be away from him or barred from finding your own happiness. He says, it will be you and him and happiness until the end of the world. When you cry, you get to pretend it’s because of how heavy your chest is from the moisture in your lungs rather than the overwhelming desire that causes you to feel drunk. Astarion hushes you.

You feel the soft kisses he presses into your unwashed hair, and for the first time since this sickness overcame you, you believe him and his vows. Astarion holds your hands in his and sleeps nose to nose with you, and after two weeks of sickness when you’re finally able to stand, he takes you out to his private balcony so you can experience the fresh air and feeds you honeyed toast until you’re full. iv.

  Years later, when Astarion is eight-and-ten, you come face to face with the man who sold you to the king. ‘Please,’ Lord Enver Gortash says disdainfully. ‘There is no need for your mutt to be here. This is a meeting between men  —  you and I.’

Years of servitude beneath Lord Gortash prevents you from meeting his gaze. You stare at your boots and try not to move a muscle. If you close your eyes for too long, you can hear steel meeting steel in practiced battle over and over and the sound of his voice as he dehumanized you. It makes the pit of your stomach feel bottomless with fear. You’re thankful that Lord Gortash only regards you coldly.

‘Do not presume to tell me where or where not I can take my Shield when I walk around my castle,’ Astarion says with mute irritation. ‘Do not forget who I am, Lord Gortash. I am not some slaver seeking to buy troops. I am your prince.’

‘I would never, your highness,’ Lord Gortash acquiesces. ‘Please, forgive me for speaking out of turn.’

Astarion appraises him. ‘I will consider it.’

You stand beside the door while they talk about the trouble brewing at the border. A rebellion is looming, or so Lord Gortash fears. Those in the Lower City are not pleased with how the Sickness of Spring was handled by the crown. Many had died, yet… Astarion’s father, the king, has not been well enough to see to the council meetings in years and Astarion ia not yet permitted by Lord Thorm to attend them in his stead. He was still a boy, Thorm said.

It’s so political that you feel as though you really shouldn’t be there. You were a mangy mutt who had been presented to the crown prince as hardly more than a child, and now you were delving into a world that you could never possibly understand. You too had been expressly forbidden from attending the meetings, though that order had come from Lord Gortash. He would not allow hounds to roam the halls in his presence.

Astarion hums and nods and listens to the information being presented. His body positioning is rigid, his spine straight, and he responds to everything Lord Gortrash says with a resigned annoyance in his voice. These were not men he approved of. Astarion hates them almost as much as he hates the parties, the lords and ladies that they so desperately wish he would marry so that he would no longer be a problem for his father’s council.

They talk, and they talk, and they talk of other things but you begin to realize why Gortash is really here. He is looking beyond Astarion and at you, and although you do not raise your chin to challenge his gaze, you know that you have repulsed him beyond repair.

Perhaps you were to chime in and offer your praises of Lord Gortash’s goodwill and outstanding, but you know more than anyone the kind of cruelty he has instilled in his gifts. He means to yank your chain and force you to bark, but you resist the only way you know how. You say nothing at all.

You are nothing but a mad dog, he told you once, and you will never learn what it means to be loved. On your knees and do not bark, dog. Your punishment awaits.

With the state of the city nowhere near perfected, Lord Gortash rises from his chair with feigned repentance. He bows his head to Astarion and then brushes past you with not a word spoken. Still, the ghost of his torment causes you to flinch away from him as he passes andyou’re met with the fiery blaze of Astarion’s disgust as he watches Lord Gortash leave. Once he’s stepped from the threshold of the door, Karlach joins his side mournfully and trades you a solemn, disappointed glance. Your collars have both been tightened this day, it seems.

You dare not wave goodbye to her, and she dares not say anything to you nor the prince as she follows behind her lord.

‘I hate that man,’ Astarion says darkly when Lord Gortash has left the hallway of the Flaming Fist. He turns to you, disgust on his face. ‘I should send a catspaw to slit his throat and be done with it.’

‘Lord Gortash has been a friend to the crown,’ you tell him quietly.

‘A friend would give aid to those who need it,’ Astarion says. He grabs your wrist. ‘I know what he has done to you and Karlach. I know of his fighting pits, and yet  —  ’

Astarion squeezes your wrist without thinking. His touch grows sterner and harder with every minute that passes. He is incensed, disgusted. You can tell by the way his hands shake that he cannot express his words well enough, yet he tries his best to reach out to you the only way he knows how. Astarion has never lied to you. You trust him more than anyone.

‘You have not looked at me since he arrived,’ he says mournfully. ‘He has taken your life and filled you with fear, and I cannot bear it any longer. Do you understand?’

You look at him shyly then. His piercing eyes are brimming with tears of frustration and anger, and his lips are twisted. He pulls you closer to him and then hesitates. He struggles, and you struggle too. These are waters you have never waded through before, and you are playing a dangerous game with which you have no experience. You do your best to hold your head above the grey ocean and seek your salvation in a halo of silver.

‘Let us go somewhere more private,’ Astarion says. ‘There is something I must speak to you about.’

‘Of course, my prince,’ you reply.

If only you knew what he had meant when he said those words. Your life, reverent, in his hands changed forevermore. v.

‘Please,’ Astarion says. ‘Tell me if I’m wrong, but I don’t know any other way  —  ’

Astarion kisses you hurriedly, both of his hands on either one of your cheeks, and the touch is so overwhelming that you almost pull away. He takes your breath away and replaces it with something else: devotion and unwavering loyalty. You aren’t sure what possesses you to forsake your vows as you have, but you grab at him just as desperately and cling, a hysterical sob escaping your mouth before you’re stumbling into his bedchambers and the first thing you ask is:

‘Is this real?’

Astarion laughs wildly and grabs at you. He makes short work of your armor in no time.

But it isn’t until you’ve been shoved back onto the bed that you realize this isn't your imagination or some feverish dream. Astarion is crawling over you, and the expression on his face isn’t the typical pride and self-admiration that he normally wears. He is reverant and seeking, and you’ve never seen him look at anyone this way before. He slots his body nicely against yours and leans forward, kissing you again and pressing you further into the mattress until you feel like you’re falling.

‘Thank the gods,’ he whispers hoarsely. He nudges your nose with his. ‘I never thought it would end this way.’

‘My prince?’

‘Say my name,’ Astarion says.

He searches for something in your eyes, and your chest feels as though it’s empty. You watch your hand slide against his cheek and card your fingers through his thick curls and thank the gods that this is your home. You don’t know where you would be without him. You tremble.

Without hesitation, you say, ‘Astarion.’

It is everything your dreams are made of. You pull Astarion towards you for another kiss and wonder if the Lady of Love had heard your wish all those years ago and granted you this happiness. To be with him, to be his, to be allowed to dance and sing with him even if it was only in private.

Astarion smells like bergamot and rosemary, and though you can’t sink any further into his sheets, you’re overwhelmed by it all. You laugh, and Astarion laughs too. It’s all so intoxicating that you say it again over and over. Astarion, Astarion, Astarion . Astarion pulls at your clothes clumsily and you pause only slightly, grabbing onto his wrist nervously.

‘Do you mean it, Astarion?’ you ask softly, and he does hesitate. He looks so innocent about it you feel silly for asking.

‘I’ve never been more sure of anything,’ he says and encourages you to touch him.

You experience a lot of firsts tonight. Astarion teaches you to kiss, his thumb against your chin as he guides your mouth with his, and in truth, it’s a little strange the way he licks into your mouth with such interest your entire body goes warm. Once he’s had his fill of your lips, he finds your tenderest spots. There’s a place alongside your jaw that you almost purr when he pays attention to it, and it goes without saying that him nibbling your ear causes you to melt.

For all his bravado, Astarion’s hands stay relatively polite so you guide his fingers along your chest and waist and hips, stuttering when his fingers trace the inside of your thighs curiously. He chews nervously on his lip to the point where you kiss it to make better, and someone you end up kissing his chin instead of his lips, and he laughs like he’s drunk. His head falls forward onto your shoulder, and you find yourself tangling your fingers into his hair again.

‘You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this moment,’ Astarion says, shaking his head. ‘There’s no one in Faerûn that I want to do this with. I want to protect you, I want to make you forget, I want  —  ’

It isn’t real until you’re naked and he is too, and your body is pressed warm and flush against his. You admire everything that he has to offer. A svelte form with skin that pinkens easily when he flushes and that looks gorgeous when you suck a bruise against his clavicle. Astarion can’t keep his hands away from you either. He’s obsessed with the smoothness that your body has to offer, interested only in hearing soft little noises slip from between your lips.

It’s rather easy for him to do. Everything he’s decided to do with his mouth and hands has made you feel dizzy, from tasting the skin at your neck to sliding all the way down, making patterns against your stomach and hips and then at your very core. It won't do you any good to be shy about it, but it’s something you’ve never experienced before, something you never thought you’d get to experience with him .

‘This,’ Astarion says, rutting desperately against your hip, ‘is what I want. If I have this, I am willing to be a prisoner to my fate. Every day  —  Every night I have yearned for this, and now I have the opportunity to ask you to be mine.’

You feel a shiver run down your spine. Astarion always talks so much about whatever he likes, but it’s different now that his attention is on you rather than some unimportant soirée filled with the lords and ladies who sought to wear a crown. You turn your chin away in embarrassment, but he grabs your jaw and kisses you passionately.

‘I am not a summer’s child,’ he tells you. ‘I know what I want, and what I want is  —  ’

‘Take it,’ you say.

Astarion shakes his head, and you press your warm cheek against his and trail your hands down his spine, only feeling satisfaction when your hand is braced against the small of his back. Inside, you think but he has stolen your words leaving you only with your thoughts. He kisses you again and it tastes like heaven.

‘Give it to me,’ Astarion moans softly, pausing to bite at the pulse in your neck. ‘This isn’t…a prince who was bored so he found the first person he could… No, this is… This is what I want if it’s what you want.’

If you hesitate, you will destroy it. So you do not. You lick into his mouth and reach for his cock, shyly guiding him to that place between your legs. All you have to do is tell him that you’ve dreamt about this too, so you do, closing your eyes to avoid his expression. You’re afraid of what that honesty will bring.

You have a sacred vow, an honored bond, and to destroy that would be to destroy the covenant you have crafted. You are a Shield and a Sword, and he is the Crown Prince.

This is your world.

He is the only thing you have.

But as he sinks into you, inch after inch, you can feel him tremble in your arms. His moan is low and sweet in your ear, and just for you. The thought enchants you, mesmerizes you, fills your head with nothingness and happiness and you gasp only at the end when you and him have become one.

It’s easy to get lost in Astarion. He’s charming, a delight, the prime display of princely charms. But he moans while slowly frotting against you, a sound so sweet and unfamiliar, that you can’t help but cherish it. You toss and turn with him, weeping sweetly as he cradles the back of your hip in his hand to guide you against his cock as he glides into you, and you pull him closer and closer until there’s nowhere else for you to go.

‘Mine,’ he breathes selfishly, sliding his teeth against your jaw. ‘Please, please. Say it.’

‘Yours,’ you agree.

He blasphemes and caves as quickly as he started everything, rolling and pulling until you’re laying against his chest, one leg thrown haphazardly over his hip, while he continues to grind his cock into you lazily. He’s greedy with how often he gropes your skin, obsessed with how it feels to touch your waist and your hip and the curve of your ass. Your forehead presses against his, nose to nose. He kisses you. You watch as his eyes flutter closed and press your fingers against his lips. 

His tongue darts out, and he laps at your fingers. It’s so shocking that you moan sharply, hiccuping against his arm, and chase your release while he murmurs encouragement into your hair. Astarion nibbles the pads of your fingers before jerking away from you, and you get to watch as his stomach flexes and he cries, his cum spilling prettily over his lower belly.

‘Gods,’ he groans.

His mouth is swollen and his cheeks are flushed,  but he looks at you as though you have replaced Sune in the pantheon. Whatever care Astarion might have about the mess is promptly ignored as he kisses you sloppily, hands tenderly cupping your jaw, nose bumping yours. You hide the last of your moans against your palm.

‘You are incredible,’ Astarion tells you.

‘I am  —  ’

‘  —  everything,’ he interrupts, dazed by splendor. ‘You are everything. Perfection.’

You press your tongue against your bottom lip and feel how swollen it is, and swallow the painful knot in your throat.

Astarion smooths his knuckles against your cheek. ‘I know what you must be thinking,’ he rasps, voice hoarse from your endeavors that evening. ‘ I am the Sword of the Crown, the Shield of the Realm, or whatever the bloody thing is. But that’s not all you are, not really. Gortash might regard you as a mongrel but you have never been nothing to me.’

‘I love you,’ you confess.

‘And I love you,’ he says with a half-smile. ‘I have ever since we met and… If this is what you want then I want it to, but I can never go back to pretending you are only a shield. You mean too much to me.’

It’s the first and last thing you’ve wanted to hear. To know that you are Astarion’s weakness, to know that you are Astarion’s strength… It is as terrifying as it is intoxicating.

Being in love with Astarion changes nothing about your job. If anything, it gives you more of a reason to follow as a shadow in the light. You seek him when he rises in the morning, and he seeks you when the moon hangs overhead. You attend his meetings, and slowly with a little uplifting, your fear dissipates.

It takes eight years to overthrow the council that has polluted the crown. It takes eight years to watch Astarion form a coy, playful persona to hide the softness that permeates his heart. It takes eight years for you to ascend as Sword and Shield to become the first Consort that Baldur’s Gate has seen. Astarion becomes King and it is like a veil has lifted, and for the first time since his birth, the people see peace.

That is   —  

Cazador Szarr raises his banner in rebellion in the winter of the year Astarion is crowned King, and the Shield of Dawn cracks beneath the weight of his Woe and Rhapsody.

[pixie-in-a-moonlantern]

F/M Durgetash one-shot I birthed within a single day. Dead Dove: I don't like Gortash (hence the title), but I do find him mysteriously, annoyingly attractive. Couldn't get him out of my head - so I tried, the best way I knew how - by writing a fic xD. I hope you like it, but it's not essential to my wellbeing, I just really needed to get this off my chest. But it's been fun, so hopefully you'll have fun too.

Explicit 18+, F/M, Enver Gortash / The Dark Urge (old name Talas, new name Nara, some half-elf or other, unimportant), rough sex, cunnilingus, p in v, creampie, some emotional trauma, light stabbing/cutting with a dagger, a bit of aftercare in the form of bathing together.

Yes, Gortash bathes in this story. TWICE. He really needs it :P.

I Don't Like You

01 - Brain worms having a field day.

The night is slowly creeping in, but I’m in no state of mind to sleep. I pace and I rake my hair and I groan. My friends are watching me with concern in their eyes. I can’t blame them—I must look like a lunatic, more so than usually.

I feel like I’m going insane and for a whole new set of reasons than before.

What were we?

Gortash got into my head and now he’s refusing to leave. Was he just trying to mess with me? Did he notice the unmasked disdain in my face and decide to make my skin crawl in revenge? He must know I only have red fog in my brain where my past should be. And he looks just like the kind of man who would lie about it to make me nauseated. No way I’ve ever let those grubby hands touch me.

Yet…

I can hardly admit it to myself, but nausea is not the full extent of my reaction. I feel as if my own body knows this man. My memory is still a blank page, but something in me recognizes him. Something primal. Something hungry.

The urges I’ve been having since meeting Gortash have very little to do with Bhaal.

“Honeymuffin, are you still not ready for bed?”

I hear Halsin’s soothing voice and immediately feel myself relaxing. I turn to him, grateful for the distraction. He’s only dressed in his underpants and the sight of his bushy chest hits a dirty note.

I ignore his question and just press into him, kissing his gentle lips with ferociousness he hasn’t experienced from me yet. He’s responsive and gives in for a few seconds, but then chuckles into my mouth and drags me off of him by the shoulders to inspect me.

“What has gotten into you, my love?”

I groan, freeing myself from his grip. I always appreciate how sensitive he is to my moods and thoughts, but right now, I would die of embarrassment if someone actually found out what’s running through my head.

“I’m just irritated,” I lie through my teeth. “Gortash is one annoying son of a bitch. I hate that we have to pretend to work with him. ‘Notice the way he just kept us there under the threat of violence, to witness his sham of an inauguration? After everything he said about wanting to be partners? Ugh, I could just…” My fists close of their own accord, crushing the imaginary windpipe.

Halsin chuckles again and runs a calloused palm softly along my jaw in a comforting gesture.

“I know, Nara, I know,” he grumbles low, pulling me into a hug. “He irked me, as well. He isn’t worth the stress, though. Let’s sleep. We have another long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

But I can’t sleep. Once Halsin goes into his trance, it’s like he’s not here to hold me together anymore. I toss and turn. I grit my teeth. I grunt and pull on my hair. I try to silence my thoughts with a pillow over my head. It’s no use. I know what I have to do to get some peace of mind.

I get up as quietly as I possibly can. I don’t bother changing—I don’t plan to impress anyone. I just take a small dagger and throw a cloak over my shoulders, so I can hide in the shadows more easily, and sneak out of the inn.

I’m going to make him tell me the truth.

02 - Urge! But not to kill.

Getting into the Wyrmrock is laughably easy. I know the guards would just let me pass, but there’s no way in the Nine Hells I would embarrass myself like that. Little ol’ me going to see “Lord” Gortash in my casual clothes in the middle of the night—what a delicious story for the Baldur’s Mouth it would make. So I utilize every last muscle memory from the past I don’t remember, slipping in completely undetected.

He’s in the throne room, but not sitting on the damned thing. The main section is drowning in darkness, but I see a sliver of light coming from behind the door to one of the adjacent rooms. A study, maybe?

I almost trigger one of the traps as I’m sneaking towards him. There are Steel Watch still stationed around the room, but they appear less than attentive this time. Do they have some sort of down time? Or did Gortash put them in do-not-disturb mode?

I’m trying to not get myself executed, so I push down the instinct to grip the dagger I’m hiding under the cloak. If he wanted me dead, he wouldn’t have made such theatrics to gain my cooperation this morning. The question of whether I wanted him dead remains to be answered.

I take a quiet peek into the warmly lit room and suppress a whistle. It’s a study alright, but one Gortash seems to be using as an apartment—a wide, comfortable, richly adorned bed stands next to his desk, draped in red silk. He’s not in it, though—he sits by the desk, bent over a document, clad only in what looks like a bathrobe.

I try to filter myself through the crack in the door, but the stupid hinges creak so loud I gasp and just inelegantly stumble inside.

Gortash jumps off his chair and twirls around, body taut, eyes alert, a quill in his left hand held like a weapon, the other hand ready to shove the metal claws of his fancy gold netherstone-adorned gauntlet into someone’s eye. I grit my teeth and consider pulling out the dagger—but the second his gaze lands on me, he straightens and lets out a half relieved, half amused chortle.

“Sneaking up on me again?” He shakes his shaggy head. “Are Bhaalists simply unable to set up a meeting, like the rest of us?”

I open my mouth, a scathing comeback ready, but as soon as I let the air in the room in, I’m stunned. There’s a distinct fragrance of soap and perfume, a freshness that only comes from thoroughly scrubbing yourself clean, and, among them, the unmistakable scent of him. The musk that speaks directly to the undamaged parts of my brain.

I can’t believe how clean Gortash looks now. He evidently didn’t plan on any public appearances this late at night, so even his hair is not styled into spikes anymore and it’s just messily sticking out in natural directions, still a little damp from the bath. Funny—he didn’t think to wash before his big inauguration, but he washed now, when no one important is scheduled to see him?

He takes my silence as an opportunity to speak more, instead of waiting for an answer. He tilts his head, gaze slowly gliding down my body, and smirks.

“Shouldn’t you be curled on your bed next to the enormous druid, sleeping soundly? Wouldn’t he be oh so hurt if he knew you were seeking another man’s company?”

“What the fuck would you know?” I snap, his tone setting off a charge of anger inside me. “You don’t know him. Hells, you don’t know me! You don’t get to make snarky remarks about my enormous druid.”

Gortash cackles quietly and puts up his hands in a calming gesture.

“Of course I don’t.” His smirk deepens, his eyes studying my face. “But trust me, kitten. No one…” he takes a seductive little step towards me, “knows you like I do.”

“I doubt that,” I rasp barely audibly, a lump forming in my throat. My guts clench, breath shortening in panic. It’s all just an elaborate joke, I’m sure… but it feels so familiar.

“You really don’t remember,” he quips softly, as if to himself, and I can hear a hint of disappointment in his tone.

“What were we, Gortash?” I whisper, voice quivering on the cusp of a mental breakdown.

He stares at me, chewing his cheek, and his answer is a single word: “Enver.”

“What?” I scowl, anger rising again.

“My name,” he reminds me quietly. “You used to call me Enver, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me pet names, Gortash,” I force through my teeth. “Whatever you dreamed was between us, it’s most definitely not there anymore.”

“Alright.” He presses his lips together in annoyance, but steps closer, eyes radiating something close to malice. I gulp, my hand curling into a fist, pressing to the hilt at my hip. “I won’t call you kitten, or love, or sweetheart. Those were all just words I used to tease you with.” Drawling, stretching his words, he hovers above me. “But I have earned the right to call you Talas.”

That makes me pause and I just blink at him blankly for a second. “Who’s that?”

Genuine shock colors his face. He takes a step back, mouth agape. “That you don’t remember my name, I would understand. But how do you not remember your own?”

“Because someone caved my head in, trying to kill me!” I scream, suddenly overflowing with something I haven’t felt for a while: self-pity. I feel tears prickle in my eyes and that just makes me want to yell louder. “Because someone took everything from me. And where the fuck were you when I was bleeding out into the dirt?! If you were such a shitty partner, why in the Hells did I even bother with you?”

Gortash’s features softened, pain and regret gleaming in his eyes.

“I wasn’t your keeper, Talas,” he countered. “You were always an independent force, often off on business I had no say in. But when you didn’t come back one day, I searched for you.” His eyebrows join in a pleading line. “I searched for you with every bit of resources I could spare. Then Orin muscled in on our plot and made me stop under the threat of unraveling the whole thing. I accepted you as a loss… but I mourned for a long time.”

His words eat their way into my chest like acid. I don’t want to believe a single one, but something in me knows it’s the truth.

“Don’t tell me you loved me,” I hiss. “You don’t strike me as a man who allows himself such weaknesses.”

He smirks and I bristle. I knew it. Liar!

“Love is for children,” he chuckles. “We had something much more precious. We made a great team. Your monstrosity and mine were in perfect harmony. No one understood me like you did. No one encouraged my every exploit like you did. You were such a horrible influence on me,” he purrs, his eyes half closed. “Delicious. Deplorable. Delightful.”

I gulp and shiver under the intensity of his gaze. It feels like he’s undressing me with his eyes and I can’t decide how I feel about it. I want to be disgusted, but that knot low in my belly has a different agenda. Without remembering a single minute of knowing him, my body knows it used to crave this man’s attention.

He extends his unclawed hand to me and grazes my skin. It burns and it tickles and it sends powerful signals all over my nervous system. But this is not what I want. It can’t be.

Quick as lightning, I pull my dagger out and press it to his neck in warning.

“Don’t. Touch. Me,” I filter through my teeth.

He catches my wrist quicker than I would’ve given him credit for. Instead of pulling it away, though, he presses the blade closer, almost cutting into himself. I gasp in shock, struggling against his strength. His dead eyes flicker to life, ablaze with desire.

“There she is,” he whispers almost breathlessly, biting his lip. “You seem so different… but I knew my pet monster was somewhere in there.”

“I’m nothing of yours,” I force through my dried throat, my voice failing me.

Suddenly, he moves my hand away from his neck, only to press my white-knuckled fist to his lips in a kiss. My whole body responds, buzzing in approval. “You don’t mean that,” he teases, his hot breath tickling the spot he kissed.

“Don’t do that,” I breathe out, a lump forming in my throat, making my voice sound funny.

He pulls my wrist to his mouth and licks it with a quick flick before his teeth start to nibble on the sensitive skin, sending shockwaves of ecstasy down my arm.

“Stop it,” I beg, the command I meant to utter melting into a pathetic mewl.

I twist and try to get away for a second or two, but he keeps moving lower and lower, licking, sucking, biting, and every last defense I had crumbles into ashes. It doesn’t matter that I’m someone else now. It doesn’t matter that I would never consciously and honestly team up with him again. It doesn’t matter what I think of him or what I believe he deserves.

I never had a chance. My body knows him, my body craves him. He’s like a drug addiction I never quite shook, and at the slightest sweet taste I relapse right back into him.

03 - A master. A slave.

He pulls me in, mouth still hungrily devouring my arm inch by inch, while his free hand frantically unties my cloak, revealing my simple shirt and long skirt underneath.

“You used to wear fancier things.” He side-eyes my clothing, not letting it distract him from my skin too much. “And would get mad when I tore them to shreds. This is perfect.”

My sluggish thoughts haven’t even begun to analyze the meaning in his words when he presses me flush to his chest, moving from nibbling on my shoulder to assaulting my mouth. I gasp for the breath he keeps stealing with every touch, but let him surround me and trap me with his body. I feel his desperate need mirroring my own. His taste is surprisingly sweet, with just a hint of hot spice.

“No,” I manage to mumble through our locked lips, grasping at the last straws of control. My hand is finally free—I try stabbing him in the crook of his neck. He yelps and groans, but my muscles are so useless I’ve barely scratched him. A thin streak of blood trickles out of the cut, marring the delicate fabric of his robe.

“You thought that would stop me?” he purrs, pulling the robe off his body. “Your knives left more than one scar on me. It was our thing.”

I stare at his muscly, hairy chest, mute. I see scars on his torso, criss-crossing his skin like a crude carving. That couldn’t be my doing… But the metallic scent of his blood sends a new sort of excitement through me. I know it’s my Urge, I know it’s not really me, but my will is weakened. My hand raises and cuts him again—just a little, but enough to satisfy the craving.

“Your body remembers,” he whispers into my ear, standing my hair on their ends.

His gloved hand caresses my arm and shoulder and closes around my throat. I gasp in panic, or I think I do, but heat pools in my lower regions in response. He presses a touch harder; his gold ornaments are digging into my skin, claws pinching my nape and my head is starting to swim with lack of oxygen. My fingers wrap around his wrist, but for some reason I don’t pull him away.

“Every time you hurt me, I will hurt you back,” he promises in a sweet, sin-filled voice. “Call it our love language.”

He lets go of my neck, hands roughly gripping my waist instead. He twirls us around and sits me on top of his desk. I fumble to find balance and end up sending his documents, ink and quills all over the floor. Instead of complaining, he eagerly swipes the rest of the items off the surface and pushes me down on my back.

The panic it triggers gives me back a chunk of my reason. Instead of letting him, I fight back, clawing at his bare chest with my nails and my dagger, leaving bloody gashes over his skin.

His head lulls back for a moment, which makes me realize I’m not helping at all. He’s enjoying the pain I give him. He takes fistfuls of my shirt and bends down to bite my shoulder—hard. I yelp, reaching into his hair to pull him away, but he’s already ripping clothes off of my torso, baring my skin, spilling my breasts.

“You are even more magnificent than I remember,” he rasps, grazing my curves with his gaze alone. The reverent look on his face sets my loins on fire.

I’m beginning to understand how I could’ve let him so close to me. A young, confused little thing, raised in worship of the Lord of Murder, would have no idea what love looks like. I’m still learning and stumbling, despite Halsin’s best efforts. A man who could make her feel so beautiful, so wanted among all the blood and death… such a man would have had the key to her rotten little heart.

I’m not that girl anymore. But I know that feeling. Its draw is familiar and powerful. My hands let go of his hair and fall next to my head, letting him run his rough palms across my chest and knead the pliant shape of my breasts.

His teeth close around one of my nipples and press just hard enough to shoot a barbed string of ecstasy directly to my sex. I muffle the moan with my hands. I can’t just let him win like that. I’m not doing this because I’m easy. I’m doing it so I don’t go insane.

“I missed this,” Gortash drawls, his lips and tongue making slow circles on my chest. “I missed you.” He bites into my flesh, gently, teasingly, while his hand slowly moves towards my sex. “In all your glory, Talas.”

“Stop calling me that,” I protest weakly, but he just chuckles and continues lower, and lower.

“You may not remember me,” he breathes on my folds, shamefully wet and wanton, “but I remember everything about you.”

And he dives between my thighs like a man who’s been starving and now can finally eat.

I gasp loudly, my hands instinctively grasping for something to hold onto—his hair. My legs twitch and wrap around him. I’m half worried I’m killing him, but he gives no indication of discomfort. His mouth is making the most intimidatingly dirty noises I’ve ever heard and I’m melting on his face.

All it takes him is a few minutes, stretched impossibly long in my damaged mind. I swallow the urge to scream and just grunt, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. He looks up from my lap, slick and gasping for breath, and smirks smugly. He knows I enjoyed it, no use hiding it.

He picks his robe off the floor and wipes his face, still watching me. My brain is too hazy to worry about the way I’m splayed on his desk, eaten out, undone. He props himself above me and studies my face.

“This is your most beautiful look,” he sighs, taking in the flush of my cheeks, the sweat glistening on my brow and the mess I made of my hair. “Precious little Bhaal-babe.”

I’m still coming down from the high when I feel him slip inside me. I distantly realize I should’ve gathered enough wit to stop him, but it’s too late. I squeeze around him in welcome and let out a long and thoroughly embarrassing moan. He matches me, closing his eyes.

“You still fit me like a glove.”

He’s so right. I live for the delicious stretch of Halsin’s gentle, loving thrusts—it’s the only sex I remember having, but I would kill for more—but this… Gortash feels like he was tailored specifically for me. My body knows his shape, just as it knows his touch. It’s like coming home after a long time and finding your old room exactly as you left it.

“Oh gods, I really do,” I groan as he lazily moves inside, savoring each stroke.

I wrap my legs around his waist and just enjoy the sensation, closing my eyes to ignore his intimate gaze for the sake of my sanity. If he’s trying to make me fall for him again, he’s as out of his mind as I am.

Clearly getting bored of the slow pace, he pulls me up and plops me back down on my belly. I’m too weak and needy to issue a protest, I just whine at the unexpected and unwelcome absence of him. He silences my discontent with a firm thrust that makes me gasp and clutch the edges of the desk so hard my knuckles turn white again.

“I know you love this one,” he purrs and presses my legs together with his own. “Sometimes you like to be in control. Other times you like to be controlled. You were the most fun I’ve ever had with anyone.”

I let out a growl at him mentioning his other partners while balls-deep in me. Perhaps he didn’t really want me back. Maybe he just missed the “fun”.

“You’re also the only one who made me consider settling down, Talas,” he continues as if he understood very well why his words upset me. “I wanted to breed you and watch you teach the little runt how to gut people.”

“Don’t even fucking think about it,” I sputter, miraculously finding enough ire to at least issue a warning, while still being happily pinned under him.

He chuckles. “Your response is still the same. Last time it was Daddy dearest… but you changed your mind about doing his bidding. Is Halsin aware you’re not going to give him a litter of cubs one day as he might hope?”

I don’t know how he even learned all these things about me, but I don’t care much. I grab the dagger left forgotten on the desk next to me and jam the blade into his thigh. Not deep enough to cripple, but definitely causing a lot of pain.

Gortash lets out a strangled scream, which mixes with a moan of pleasure not two seconds later. Fuck. I didn’t mean for him to like it.

What he does next pushes all irrelevant thoughts out of my head: he grabs my hair and yanks hard, pulling my head back, making my little cry sound ever more pathetic. His free hand digs fingers into my hip, holding me steady as he begins pounding into me with force.

I just open my mouth mutely, gasping for air, my eyes filling with tears. My brain turns into mush under the intensity of sensations he’s sending through my tortured body. I can’t see, I can’t speak, I can’t think. I hear a high-pitched whine through the mist around me… and I realize it’s mine. I’m screaming, lost in the sweet place between pain and complete ecstasy.

I spasm around his length so hard I can hear him gasp as well. My whole body shakes and curls into itself, a shaking, sweaty, moaning mess writhing on the cool polished wood of the desk. I can feel him swell within me, hot and ready, and I know he’s coming too—still inside me.

But I don’t care. I want it. Whatever he might hope to gain from it, I know I’m safe.

Instead of going slack like a good boy, he pulls out and flips me on my back again. He holds my legs spread, admiring what he did to me. I feel his seed leak out of me and drip to the floor. He smiles contently, dragging a fingertip across my clit, drawing out every last twitch my muscles are willing to give.

“This could be us every day,” he says softly. “Think about it.”

I don’t have an answer he would like, but he doesn’t wait for one. He picks me up in the most unexpectedly gentle way and carries me to the other side of the room. I thought he was putting me on the bed, either to sleep, cuddle or continue blissfully torturing me, but my breath hitches in surprise when he suddenly dips me into warm water. I slip into a roomy bathtub, blinking in confusion.

My brain needs a minute to restart, so I just watch him get inside with me, sitting me in his lap, cradling me. I don’t have the strength to protest. I just watch the little pinkish streaks, as water begins to wash out his wounds.

04 - This is why we can’t have nice things.

“How did you have this ready? Do you have invisible servants or something?”

Gortash chuckles and I vibrate along on his chest, making frantic little waves on the surface.

“The miracle of technology, Talas. My desk has a few convenient buttons and this tub fills and warms up automatically. I pressed one before we began.”

Well, that is convenient. I’m not sure if I want to be in this bath with him now, but it sure feels good on my exhausted muscles and aching sex. His arms around me feel nice, too, as much as I hate admitting it. I can hate a person and still enjoy their closeness, right? Right?

His hands caress me under the water and I let them.

“Good to know you bathe with your gauntlets on,” I quip, noticing the distinctive feel of metal against my skin.

He pulls his right hand up and turns it from one side to the other, letting the gold reflect the glimmer of flames in the nearby fireplace. The netherstone pulses with its own light, alive and tempting as the power it holds.

“While I’m more than happy to entertain you, I’m not letting my most prized possession just lie around for you to steal,” he smirks and I turn my head to have a better look at him, honestly impressed. “You changed. Your goals inevitably changed, too. I don’t trust you anymore, Talas.” He runs a soft finger along my jaw, dropping to the line of my neck and to my clavicle. I shiver, even submerged in warmth, too tired to correct the name this time. “If you want it for yourself, you’re going to have to kill me.”

I give him an evaluating once-over; then my eyes move to the dagger I left on the desk. His gaze follows mine and his smirk stretches more.

“Just keep in mind that those Steel Watchers outside will only take about ten seconds to join us. And even you, my dear, don’t have the skill to defeat them all naked and unarmed to get out of here alive.” His fingers trace the shape of my lips. “I would hate it if something happened to you before I had the chance to win you over.”

“You’re so full of shit, Gortash,” I sigh, laying my head in the crook of his neck. I feel too lazy to murder anyone right now, anyway. “You sent me to hunt Orin down and told me to not come back without her stone. You expect me to believe you actually give a fuck about me and care what I think about you? I’m here against your explicit orders, your lordship.”

“You came to see me surrounded by your new friends,” he grumbles and I finally hear discontent in his voice. “In the company of your new lover. What did you think I would do, fall on my knees in front of all my esteemed guests and your openly hostile troupe and beg you to come back to me?”

“Hmm, so your excuse is your pride?” I sneer. “I don’t believe a word that comes out of your mouth, no matter how trustworthy you somehow manage to sound. I only agreed to your deal because you didn’t give me any better choice. Karlach was furious. She wants you dead oh so very much. She gets really graphic, describing how she wants to kill you. You’re lucky I didn’t bring her along.”

Gortash groans and pinches the root of his nose.

“The company you keep nowadays,” he chides. “No wonder you changed so much. Every one of those bloody soft-hearted idiots putting their own opinions in your emptied mind.”

“When that’s what you wanted to do.” I nod in mock commiseration.

“I want us to be partners,” he scowls, tone wounded. “Equals. Sharing the power over the whole world. The Lord is only a part for me to play in public, while you reign over your own murderous kingdom from the shadows, unobstructed by law, unhindered by so-called heroes trying to stop you. We can have everything we’ve ever wanted. Together.”

I can’t believe how tempting he sounds right now. I close my eyes, letting my Urge surface just enough to enjoy the pure simplicity of the world he describes. I could let go. I could stop fighting for every sliver of free will. I could bathe in blood and have people worship my god through me. The Urge would be sated—I could feel the sweet rush of ecstasy from killing without worrying I might hurt someone close to me.

I would be lying if I said this vision of the future never crossed my mind. It’s an everyday struggle, trying to stay good, trying to do only good. A struggle I’m inevitably going to lose if my Urge grows in intensity for much longer. Killing Halsin. Or Lae’zel. Or Gale. The death of anyone in my camp—by my hand—would break me.

I care too much. Sometimes I imagine what it would feel like if I didn’t care at all.

“You would never tolerate any of my friends by my side, Gortash,” I say flatly. “If you really do want me, you want me all to yourself. Isolated, depending only on you. Malleable. So that if—gods forbid—I disagree with you, you could push all the right buttons and get me to change my mind, with no one to challenge your influence over me.”

I don’t know how, but I know it’s true. It’s what all people drunk on power do. The more powerless they feel without it, the more they enjoy any sliver of it they get and abuse the shit out of it. It’s why Gortash wants control over others in the first place. Inside, there’s a small, scared, unloved little boy, whose parents sold him to a devil.

I blink, my heartbeat spiking, as I realize I’ve just recalled a bit of my past—our past. Something I couldn’t have learned since the nautiloid. Was it Gortash himself, who confided in me, or did I discover this piece of history by myself? It feels like something he would keep very close and tell no one, so it wouldn’t damage the lofty image he’s trying to maintain.

“You’re just being paranoid, kitten,” he brushes me off, but his expression is no longer sporting his typical airy easiness. “When we were together, I was your confidant and your strength against the increasing demands of your Father. But you weren’t some impressionable child. You were determined and unyielding. Sharp as your blades.”

Sharp blades. Bhaal. His demands.

A sinking dread begins to fill my guts and I lift off Gortash’s chest to put some distance between us. My brain is still fuzzy, but bits of memories are beginning to float to the surface of my consciousness.

“Bhaal’s grand design,” I say in a shaking voice, “is for everyone to die for him. I was supposed to kill you, and then myself, as the last mortal alive. Did you know?”

Gortash’s eyes round in horror.

“Of course not! What kind of crazy design is that? How would he get any more murders with no one left to die?”

He’s right, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t going to try and carry it out, anyway. Just like mad Orin is probably doing now. What a good little Daddy’s lapdog.

“But that wasn’t what you planned for yourself, was it?” I press, my voice steadying with my increasing certainty. “And so I was suddenly in the way. Just what would it take for you to turn on your closest ally? Is her planning your murder enough?”

“What are you trying to say, Talas?” he hisses, but I can see fear in his eyes.

“It was you, wasn’t it?” I growl, sliding away from him, so I can get out of the bathtub without him catching me. “You tried to kill me! Just so I wouldn’t kill you first.”

I jump to my feet, nearly slipping on the smooth wet surface, but holding my balance well enough to scramble out of the water. He tries grabbing my hand, then my leg, but I slip out of his grasp easily. I throw myself towards the desk and retake possession of my only weapon. By the time he’s out of the tub, I’m already pointing it at his throat.

“Listen to me, Talas—” he puts his hands up in a calming gesture, but I’ve had enough of his smooth words for one night.

“You picked up a fucking rock and you beat me and kicked me and tossed me against stone walls!”

I scream and I’m sure my prevalent feelings are pure rage, but out of nowhere I get ambushed by tears and sobs. My memories are still a mess, but the flashes of my body being beaten to a pulp are vivid and terrifying.

“Talas, please—”

“I bled and begged, and you teased and laughed, as if it was the funniest shit you ever got to do! And now that I’m somehow back, you’re trying to get me to believe your sweet lies, just so I won’t remember what you did to me. But I remember! I REMEMBER!”

I know I sound completely unhinged, but my chest is so filled with a mix of the worst feelings I’ve ever experienced, that it threatens to burst.

“IT WASN’T ME!” Gortash’s volume finally matches mine, making me wince and pause just enough for him to get a word in. “I would never hurt you like that! If I really had to kill you, dearest, I would’ve done it quick and clean. Because I love you, you stupid thing!”

His confession feels like a slap to the face. I didn’t see that coming. My first instinct is to pronounce it as another lie, especially in retrospect to the first time he mentioned love tonight, but my mind finally calms enough to actually think.

A man like him wouldn’t say anything like that if he didn’t mean it. It sounded… pathetic. Baring his soul similarly to revealing his most embarrassing childhood memory, knowing his feelings are unrequited. His pride would never allow him to grovel so much. Not anymore, not when he’s got a taste of actually being respected.

“Please, believe me,” he pleads, breath ragged, eyes wide. “I have no reason to hate you. This sounds like someone who had every reason. Who enjoyed your agony and loved seeing you on your knees. I. Would. Never.”

“But you…” I exhale, confused. I’ve almost had it. I’ve almost found the one responsible for my unfortunate fate. “Then who the fuck did this to me?” I whisper and stifle another sob.

“Please put down the dagger, Talas.” Gortash points at the sharp tip still hovering between his clavicles. I reluctantly lower it. I’m honestly pleasantly surprised he let me threaten him for so long without trying to disarm me. It makes me trust him just a smidge more. “And maybe we can figure it out together.”

“Stop calling me that!” I lash out annoyedly. “My name is Nara now. Deal with it.”

“When you stop calling me Gortash,” he smirks in response, his easy charm back.

I groan, rolling my eyes. “Fine. Enver,” I say begrudgingly, but the name feels much better on my tongue than I expected. I must’ve been used to calling him that, just as he said.

I turn to the desk, intent on putting the weapon back, but I freeze mid-step. A mix of stimuli, a flicker of light, a rustle of the fur rug on the floor, perhaps even a smell… and the memory of my attempted murder clears a bit more.

I see a shiny red surface with an opalescent finish. Hear a rustle of a long braid and the pitter-patter of bare feet on stone. I hear laughter again, but this time I’m not just imagining Gortash’s… Enver’s, I clearly recall a woman’s voice having the time of her life.

“Orin.”

The name falls flatly from my lips. I feel cold dread seep into my soul at the image of her. I never quite understood why she had this effect on me—until now. Even though my memory was coming up empty, she was triggering a post-traumatic response all the same, just like when my body yielded to Enver.

“Hm?”

I turn back, dagger still in my hand. I don’t plan on letting go of it any time soon. Enver watches me warily, with a hint of curiosity in his face.

“It was Orin.”

He frowns at first. Opens his mouth, presumably to defend her. Then closes it again, his features smoothing out.

“It makes sense. She took your place, both in the cult and in the Absolute plot. She wanted you gone. And she really seems to hate you, though I wouldn’t expect her to need any solid reason to kick someone to death. She would happily do it just for fun.”

I close my eyes for a second, but I only need a few gulps of breath to make up my mind. I pick up my torn and discarded clothes off the floor and put them back on, securing them in place as well as possible.

“Where are you going?”

Enver reaches for me and grabs my arm. I toss him a warning glare, but don’t move. He’s still naked and wet from head to toe, he poses virtually no danger to me.

“To hunt,” I answer plainly. “I know a mad bitch that needs killing.”

“Don’t be rash,” he shakes his head, some of the slicked back damp hair falling into his eyes. “You can’t know where she is. Or who she is. She could slaughter your whole camp while you sleep and you’d be left alone to face her. Remember, she is the Slayer now.”

“Well, since we’re counting suspects, she could very well be you,” I give him a wry smile. “But I doubt she would keep going this long, having me all to herself like that, so you’re probably safe.” He doesn’t appreciate my joke, scowling like a jack-o-lantern, concern crumpling his features. “I need to go back to my friends and figure out a way to find her before she does any real damage, Enver. I need to go now.”

He slowly lets go of my arm, letting me finish putting the cloak on.

“No need to sneak through the throne room, by the way,” he notes, watching me hide underneath the wide hood. “The Watch was instructed to let you in. If someone could really just sneak past them like that, I could easily expect Orin in your place. Thankfully, the Watch can spot the difference, with you having a tadpole.”

My eyebrows rise. So that’s why he took that bath? Did he think my unsettled hormones would lead me back to Wyrmrock to see him? I clearly never liked grimy men—and he knows it.

“You were waiting for me?”

“I was hopeful,” he confessed, dropping his gaze for a moment. “I couldn’t risk just inviting you. But at least I made sure you would get in without complications. You always did like to have all the facts.”

I chuckle and shake my head. I still believe at least half of his words are lies and most of the other half are cleverly picked and arranged bits of truth. But now I’m also pretty sure there’s something genuine in him, too. Hidden very deep, surrounded by enemies—but it’s there.

“Be safe, Talas,” he says quietly. “Nara,” he corrects himself, smiling softly. “You have your work cut out for you.”

“I’ll do my best to not disappoint,” I shrug, sheathing my dagger, stepping away.

“And will you at least consider my proposition?” He calls after me when I’m almost out the door. His voice sounds tentative. “That’s all I ask.”

I let my gaze slide down the length of his naked body, weighing my options. Well, consideration really costs me nothing, does it? It’s very unlikely that I will agree to it. I have much better prospects in my scope now—much healthier ones. But the least I can do for him is give it a thought.

“Sure,” I grace him with a little smile. “I will consider it.”

If you like this story, please show it by giving it some love: give a like, reblog, leave a nice comment.

I would also be very grateful if you take a few seconds out of your day and leave a kudos on the AO3 issue of this story ♥ (You CAN vote as guests.) THANK YOU!

[thedorkurge]

I wish you would write a fic that is purely durgetash being soft with one another- Their constant psychosexual power play and violence is fun, but I would love to see your take on how they would be gentle with one another. Durge comes to Gortash after a long night of killing, Gortash is stressed with the minutia of death cult office politics, and if that Dragonborn has to drag him kicking and screaming to bed so they can both just rest for a minute, then so be it. It’ll be worth it.

I'm definitely up for the challenge! Thank you for asking<3

It will be below the cut, or you can read it on Ao3

Durge wasn’t supposed to be here, not really. But what he was supposed to do had recently been partially replaced with far more dangerous thoughts of what he wanted to do.

And it was all because of Bane’s chosen.

Though they had no meeting tonight, no intention of furthering their plan for their masters, he still found himself crawling through Enver’s window. The sitting room where he would host his more intimate meetings was empty, meaning that he could only be upstairs, burning the midnight oil at his desk. 

Durge crept through the night, silent and unseen, in spite of his bright scales and tall stature. 

As predicted, Enver was still working. He had clearly been at it for a while, his inkpot already replaced once and his desk piled with papers. Their presence was spread fairly thin, covering both Moonrise and Baldur’s Gate, so copious amounts of correspondence was needed to keep their forces in check.

But even a mind as sharp as Enver’s will dull if it isn’t treated with care. And that would be a damn shame. The man was a fine dagger, one that could slice many throats before it wore out.

One that felt right in Durge’s hands.

He allowed himself that thought for tonight. He had butchered his way through the city today, providing his father with ample sacrifice. And Gortash had yet to notice him, so for now any softness on his face would remain his own.

The fact that he’d been sitting on the windowsill without any acknowledgement for a few minutes was more concerning than anything, revealing just how tired the Lord really was. As did the bags under his bloodshot eyes and the ink that stained his hands. Durge had no doubt that every letter was still perfect, carefully planned and put to paper, but while his work never suffered, his body did.

He was only human. A fact that Durge was all too aware of, for both good and bad. On one hand it intrigued him, the softness of his skin, the hair that lined his body, the way his flesh would depress softly under Durge’s touch in a way that scales and corpses didn’t. 

On the other, the man was fragile. He would hate that description, but it was true. Durge knew all too well how easily humans died, how little it took to break them. And sleep deprivation was one of the cruelest methods he knew.

He finally allowed his feet to touch the ground, fully entering the room and announcing his presence.

Gortash looked up, alarmed, if a bit too slow to react. When he saw that there was no threat, he turned back to his work.

Durge was almost a bit offended by that. But part of him didn’t really mind. It was almost refreshing to not be greeted with fear.

“I don’t recall us having a meeting tonight.”

“We don’t.”

When Enver finally looked back up at him with a raised brow, his stern face was ruined by the way his eyes squinted against the light. 

“Then to what do I owe this visit?” He finally placed the pen down carefully, clearly giving up on getting anything done with another distraction added to the pile.

“How long has it been since you slept?”

Enver seemed genuinely taken aback by what should have been an obvious question. “That hardly matters. Politics do not wait for you to sleep. That is simply an opportunity for your detractors to undermine you.”

“Considering that I’ve been killing your detractors, that hardly seems like a valid excuse.”

“I wasn’t aware that I needed an excuse.”

“I suppose you don’t.” The dragonborn circled the table, putting out the oil lamp that illuminated the paperwork. “But you do need sleep.”

Enver’s protests died in his chest as Durge pressed a hand to his cheek in a surprisingly gentle touch. He leaned into it slightly, clearly just realizing how tired his neck muscles were.

Durge’s voice was quiet, dampened to match the calm that had settled over the room. “Don’t torture yourself, Enver. That’s my job.”

The Lord managed a tired laugh, reaching up to hook a heavy hand around Durge’s. It was warm. Enver always was, the human’s temperature running significantly higher than his own. As Enver repositioned his head slightly to push his forehead against the colder hand, Durge realized that he was probably too warm. 

He helped him out of the nice, but uncomfortable, clothes gently, secretly hoping that Enver wouldn’t mistake his actions as sexual advances. If Enver was to initiate something and Durge turned him down, Bhaal wouldn’t approve. Sex and murder were the two things he was never supposed to turn down, even from a banite. Fortunately, Gortash seemed to have other things on his mind, allowing this moment of intimacy without the heavy judgemental gaze of their gods weighing on them.

Before they could lay down, Enver pulled him into a lazy kiss. It was tired, it was sloppy, it wasn’t meant to stoke passions or assert dominance. It was simply because they wanted to.

With that, he pulled the lord into bed, gently folding arms that were meant to kill around fragile human bones. Enver held him close in turn, practically unconscious by the time he hit the bed. With a wave of his hand Durge extinguished the last light, allowing the darkness to hide them from the eyes of the world as he pressed his lips against the top of Enver’s head.

[sorryseraphim]

Each moment spent with her was bliss. Each second that passes leaves them more and more satisfied as their bodies move in rhythm, in the quiet of the morning in his chamber. The soft creaking of the bed, and their moans filling their heads took them to heights unknown.

Both were out of breath when they finally reached their own little heaven. Chest heaving as he lay on top of her, nuzzling her neck. Both of them giggled, Helene biting her lip afterward as she caressed his face; his features soft in the dimness of the room.

“Good morning, lover,” she whispered before kissing him with the softness that only Enver can see, only Enver knows when they’re alone together.

He gave a soft chuckle before kissing her in return, smiling afterward. “Good morning, my love” 

“I must go now for real. The temple needs me, too.” 

He moved his hands to her cheeks, as he kissed her forehead. “One more thing, my love,” he said softly as he looked her in the eye. “Your promise, remember?” He didn’t need to finish his sentence. She knows what he meant.

“I will come back tonight, like every night. I promise.” She said as she got up, smiling as he glanced back at him. Enver laid down still, his body relaxed as he watched Helene get dressed. Tracing her features with his eyes, eyeing the freckles running on her skin. How he loved to kiss every single one on it.

“Every night for the rest of our lives, yes?” He said softly, waiting for her to finish. She looked at him again, smiling; her sign of approval. “I will see you again tonight,” she replied before leaving, Enver in the silence of the room and his anticipation for another night with the woman he cared for deeply in the entire world. 

She never came back that night, and the nights after. Not for many years at least. And when she did, no hint of recognition or even familiarity of that promise she held that last morning they were together was evident in her eyes.

[freesidexjunkie]

stay with me

A follow up to this piece. After a few restless hours of tossing and turning, Gortash tries to reassure Maevris about their plan.

Gortash x f!durge

Word count: 1977

Tags: fluff, angst, post-sex cuddling, feelings, kisses and cuddling but no smut. teeth rottingly sweet, just how I like them 💕

AO3 link

The chill of the night breeze woke him first. Had he left a window open? Enver cursed his forgetfulness; Orin’s assassins could be anywhere. What if they got to – wait, where was Mae? She was here when he fell asleep, he was sure. He felt a jolt of panic hit him. Had she simply slipped away, not willing to face him in the morning? Or worse, had the Bhaalists come to reclaim her?

He shot up, blinking sleep from his eyes as they darted around the room, until they landed on a small figure seated on the edge of the bed. He felt his shoulders relax as he let out a sigh of relief. Maevris was wrapped up in his sheets, facing away from him as she gazed out the window. Even silhouetted in darkness, he couldn't help but be enraptured by her: the way the silk sheets hung off of her delicate form; how the moonlight reflected softly off of her dark hair; the delicate curve of her neck, so inviting when she tilted her head like that, lost in thought.

She felt achingly far away from him across the expanse of this bed. Enver slid across the mattress to sit behind her. Wrapping an arm around her waist, he pulled her back to rest against his chest, slotting his chin into the crook of her neck.

Maevris started slightly; she had been worlds away, staring at the stars as she tried to gather her thoughts. “Shit. Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you, I was just…” She trailed off, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Sorry.”

“Don't be,” he said softly, pressing a kiss to the top of her shoulder. “Are you still having nightmares?”

She gave him a surprised look over his shoulder. How did he know about those? The question was halfway out of her mouth before she realized that these dreams must not be from the tadpole in her head. Mae chuckled ruefully to herself and she leaned her head back against his shoulder. “Always, but I can't make heads or tails of them. You probably know more about them then I do,” she said, staring ahead through the window. After a moment, almost more to herself than to Enver, she muttered, “you probably know more about me than I do, too.”

He hummed a quiet noise of agreement into her shoulder, his breath tickling her skin as he peppered light kisses across it. “Wake me next time.” He reached a hand up, wiping his thumb across her cheek. “I hate to see tears on your lovely face, my dear.”

“No, it’s not…” Mae faltered, her lips contorting as if to form the words that she couldn’t find. She gave a little sigh and reached up to cover his hand with her own. “It’s nothing. Don't worry. I should just get out of your hair.”

She made a move to stand up, but Enver’s arms tightened around her middle, keeping her there. He turned her towards him slightly, wrapping one arm behind her waist and draping the other to rest across her hip. “What makes you think I want you out of my hair?”

“I’ll just keep you up all night,” she replied.

“Then keep me up,” he said, leaning in to touch his forehead to hers, “I don't mind.”

She scooted closer into his arms, placing her hands on his chest as she leaned into the comforting embrace. “Don't you have a full day tomorrow? Important archducal duties to prepare for?” She asked, looking up at him with tired, tear-soaked eyes.

“None more important than you,” he answered. She felt her heart flip in her chest at that as he gently tilted her face to meet his in a slow and tender kiss. Mae melted into the touch, weaving her fingers through his hair as he pulled her flush to his chest; one hand lightly caressing her back, while his arms held her firmly, almost protectively. Could this really be the same man she had first encountered in the Shadowfell, she wondered? Were these gentle hands that cupped her face and held her the same hands that had caused so much harm? His eyes, that she’d seen strike fear into the nobles of the city; were they only soft for her? She deepened the kiss, wrapping her arms around his neck as their tongues met. She wanted to believe that it was true; that she was getting the real version of him, all to herself. That the fearsome and terrible Archduke-to-be was just an act, a disguise; only a means to an end, hiding his true nature just for her. But that didn't stop the sinking feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach.

Reluctantly, Mae pulled away, letting out a small huff as she did. She screwed her eyes shut as she rested her forehead to his, her arms still hanging over his shoulders. She made no move to leave, but Enver’s arms tightened around her nonetheless. “What’s wrong, love?” He asked, cupping her cheek to turn her face towards his. His eyes searched her face, full of concern as he stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Tell me.”

“I…” Tears pooled in her eyes again. She turned into his hand as if she could hide it, make them less real. But the more she tried to bury this feeling, the more it ached inside of her. She opened her eyes and spoke softly. “This can't last long, can it?”

“Why not?” He asked, a bit too brusquely. She looked back at him with pained, sorrowful eyes, and he softened. “We’re closer than we have ever been, my love. When we take back control of the brain, no one can stop us. We will rule this city, together, as only we can. Just as we always planned.” He leaned in, looking her deeply in the eyes as he pulled her closer. “No one will take you again, Mae. I promise.”

“There’s a worm in my head, Enver,” she said, trying not to sound as choked up as she felt. “I can't… I’m never going to be free as long as that brain is…”

“That’s why we’re going to take that last netherstone back,” he said, stroking her hair as he spoke.

“And if that doesn't work?” She asked, tears trickling down her cheeks. “You could still finish the plan, you know. On… on your own, if it came to that.”

“It won't,” he said firmly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I won’t let that happen to you, dearest.”

She leaned her head to rest on his shoulder. “It might not be your choice,” she answered quietly, looping one arm around his neck while the other hand rested over his chest. “The gods won't throw out this whole plan for one person.”

“Then I will,” he said, resolute and firm. He’d lost her once already; he knew how hollow, how empty this plan felt without her. How empty the world felt alone. He wouldn’t be going back to that. “To the hells with them. Bhaal turned his back on you, discarded you like you were nothing. You are everything, Mae.”

“And what of Bane?” She asked. “He won’t let his Chosen go easily. I don’t…”

“Oh, I don't know about that,” he answered, resting his chin on her head as he rubbed gentle circles into her back. “You managed to loose yourself from Bhaal’s leash, after all.”

Mae snorted into his shoulder, nuzzling closer into his neck. “Technically, I didn't come out of that alive, did I? Not quite an example to aspire to.”

“Didn't you?” He asked, running his hands up and down her side, “you seemed very animated this evening, my darling. And…” He made a show of pulling her fully into his lap, sliding his arm under her legs as she laughed, genuine and joyful and oh so beautifully. “You seem very much alive and well to me, loveliest.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she answered, still laughing as she steadied herself with her arms around his neck. “And a fool.”

“Aren't we all fools in love, my dearest?” He answered. He leaned in close, lips only a whisper away from hers. “And I am very much in love with you, Mae. I always have been.”

“I…” Mae felt the butterflies erupt in her stomach, sending her heart flying through her chest. The sincerity of his words, the adoration in his eyes, pure and intimate and real. This was all still so new… yet at the same time, it felt like coming back to a home she had forgotten. She couldn't find the words to express how she felt about this; she wasn't sure if she entirely knew herself. “I… Enver?”

“Yes, my heart?” He said, his lips almost ghosting over her own. “What is it?”

“I don’t… I’m scared,” she answered, her voice small. “I’m scared of dragging you down with me. Of getting you hurt. I just–”

“Don’t,” he interrupted, cupping her face in his hand once again while still holding her close. “You aren't getting rid of me that easily, anyways, love. You’re stuck with me this time.”

He really meant it, she thought. She was a ticking time bomb; her will was not her own, her end certain. She was doomed by her blood, saw no happy ending. And yet, he would stay by her side? He would risk his God's wrath, his own safety… all for her? It was… surely too much. It was almost overwhelming, but she felt she didn't want it to end. Didn't want to lose this.

She tangled her fingers in the back of his hair and kissed him with everything she had, as if it was to be their first and their last kiss, and everything in between. She hoped for a thousand more as she pulled just away, still keeping as close to him as she could manage. “I… I don't have the words for this. I don’t even know how to explain what I…” she stammered it out, hoping the right words might find their way to her as she spoke. “Enver… thank you. I…”

She hesitated, stumbling over her words. Quite adorably, he thought, for such a hardened and powerful killing machine. To be so gentle, so concerned for him, so… He knew what she must be feeling, old feelings warring with new ones in the muddled mess of her mind. He silenced her with a kiss to the tip of her nose. “I know, pet,” he said gently.

She sighed, sounding contented at last, comfortable to simply sit in the silence of her unspoken words. After a moment, she said, barely above a whisper, “can I stay with you?” She pulled back just enough to look at him. “I don't think… I won't get back to sleep, but I just–”

“Always, Mae,” he answered. Enver pulled her back with him as he settled against his pillows. He tucked her gently against his chest, setting her head over his heartbeat as she tangled their legs together. She felt the gentle caresses of his hands, running fingers through her hair, trailing patterns across her back, and his chest rose and fell under her head to the steady beat of his heart. This was very different to the passionate, desperate need she had felt when she came to him this evening. To feel so safe, so cared for; to feel as if she was so important to someone’s world. She began to feel like he could be important to her world, too. She listened as his breathing slowly steadied, and his hands grew still as he drifted back to sleep, still holding her close as if she might slip away. This was right, she decided as she began to fall to sleep. He was right.

[gortash-did-nothing-wrong]

Random Enver Musings 2

Warning: Discussion of overworking children in their studies.

Enver waited a bit later to let his daughter be introduced to society than most noblemen did. Most rushed their daughters forward, having them come to court at fourteen. Enver waited until his oldest daughter was sixteen to let her come. Personally he would have waited another year, but his darling daughter, Ember, was getting quite sick of waiting.

She was much like her mother, beautiful and graceful. And much like him, cunning and intelligent. Within a week of accompanying him to court, she had several friends, and to his utter horror, admirers. Enver nearly struck a boy over the head with his cane when the lad gifted his daughter a shoddily made bracelet that the lad insisted he had made himself. Judging by the harsh hammer marks upon the simple metal band, Enver believed it.

Ember had been very polite to the boy in public, but the second she and Enver were alone she took the bracelet off and giggled, pointing out every flaw in its making. "Daddy, you could do better than this in your sleep!"

Enver huffed, "And I will. I'll craft something lovely for you to wear to the ball next month. Perhaps a set."

His wife teased him that night. "You definitely raised a daddy's girl."

Enver, "Good. She needs to know men can't just do the bare minimum and get applause. With any luck it'll take her until she's in her thirties to find a man half as capable as me."

Enver finished pouring his wife her tea, sprinkling in the dried mint leaves she enjoyed. "Now come, have your evening tea. It's getting cold."

When their oldest son came to court, Enver found he had to supervise him much more. If he didn't, his son would show up in his work clothes from Damon's blacksmith shop, stained in soot, his fingers nearly pitch black. How many times he yanked his son into a water closet, scrubbing away at his fingernails.

"You're sixteen, I shouldn't have to tell you to be clean when you arrive at court!" Enver hissed, scrubbing soap on his son's face to rid him of the smoke stains.

"I worked a long shift, okay?!" His son, Jahson, snapped. "Don't nag me about my clothes!"

"You're lucky you're too old to spank." Enver grumbled, wiping the soap and muck away with a rag.

"You didn't ever spank us?"

"I'm thinking maybe I should start." Enver snapped, though they both knew it was all hot air. "Now go downstairs, get in the carriage, and have our driver take you home. Send him back for me and your sister in about two hours."

Jahson, "Why can't I stay for the rest of court today?"

Enver, "Because look at your clothes! You aren't fit to be seen! Wait until your mother hears about this!"

His wife packed Jahson a change of clothes in his lunch bag from them on, making sure he always had a set of proper clothing to change into after his apprenticeship hours at Damon's Blacksmith Shop.

"I swear, the boy is more skill than sense." Enver grumbled.

His wife chuckled, sipping on her nightly glass of wine as they sat in bed. "He's a boy. I know you were different as a teenager, but teenage boys have this remarkable ability. They can take their brains out of their skulls, put it in a drawer somewhere, and leave it there for weeks at a time."

Enver huffed, "Have I been too easy on him?"

His wife set her wineglass down. "You made him have seven hours of tutoring every week day and six hours of his blacksmith apprenticeship every weekend. The boy has one day a week he isn't learning something, and you usually drag him down into your workshop to help you smelt something. I'd say him forgetting simple things like a change of clothing is a result of you making him do too much. Ease up on our boy, hm? Ease up a little on all of them, actually."

Enver turned over, taking her face in his hands. "The world will not get softer for them. I am their father, not their friend. I need to ensure they survive, even if they hate me for it. Please tell me you understand that?"

"I do." She said softly. "But please tell me you understand the dangers of overworking a child?"

Enver was quiet for a moment or two, looking into his wife's eyes. "Why don't all of us go to our vacation home next week? We can give their tutors and nursemaids the week off, just have our little family together?"

His wife's eyes glistened. "That sounds lovely. I'll have the servants pack lots of goodies and picnic foods. We can sit outside at night and watch the stars."

Enver kissed her gently, "And I can leave some of my employees in charge here for a week. It'll do well for them to learn self sufficiency."

They fell asleep talking about their vacation, whispering about activities and meals they'd plan.

[gatewarden108]

The Tyrant

Find me on AO3, username: GateWarden *** The office above Wyrm’s Rock was silent, save for the heavy breathing of the four adventurers trying to catch their breath. The once elegant study now lay in ruins, with debris and ash swirling like snowflakes in the air before settling on the wooden floor. Busts of noble rulers and symbols of the strong lineages of Baldur’s Gate lay shattered on the ground, their proud visages now marred by destruction. Shards of stone glimmered amidst the wreckage, and a faint fog hung in the air, casting a somber atmosphere over the room.

Tav leaned against the corner, her leather armor sliced open, a wound between her ribs courtesy of one of the Banite bodyguards. The Banite lay lifeless beside her. Her gaze shifted to the dark-haired man on the ground, Enver Gortash, his body growing cold as his breaths grew shallow. His chest slowly rose and fell as he turned his head towards her. In his final moments, their eyes met, and she thought she saw a fleeting smile before his last breath faded into deathly silence.

Beside him, her friend and confidant, Karlach, knelt, her whole-body trembling as she sobbed. Tav pushed through her own pain and rose to comfort her friend, dragging herself over and wrapping an arm around Karlach’s shoulders.  

“Karlach,” Tav murmured softly. “I’m here.”

Shuffling behind them signaled the arrival of Gale and Wyll, their companions who had joined them in the fight. Wyll settled beside Karlach, holding her tightly. Over the months of their journey, the human-turned-devil had fallen deeply in love with the tiefling, their bond radiating warmth even in this moment of sorrow.

A comforting hand rested on Tav’s shoulder as Gale approached from behind, offering silent support.

“He’s gone,” Karlach whispered, her eyes fixed on the lifeless body before her. “It’s not fair.”

Tav bowed her head, feeling the weight of her friend’s anguish. “Karlach,” she whispered back.

"Gortash is nothing more than a pile of flesh, same as the rest of us," Karlach sniffled. The man lying dead in front of them had once been someone the tiefling had idolized, looked up to. He had sold her to the cruel archdevil Zariel where she was ripped apart, her heart removed and replaced with an engine. Even the fight that had just transpired took a toll on her, the flaming engine in her chest, threatening to consume her. "I feel like there should be a sunset for me to ride off into. Or an orchestral swell or... something."

Karlach dropped her battle axe to the ground and clenched her fists at her sides. Tav and Wyll moved closer, their hands resting on her shoulders in an attempt to offer solace. "But there's nothing is there?" Karlach’s voice quaked with a mix or sorrow and resentment. "I killed the bastard that ruined my life, and my prize is that I get to crawl into a corner and die."

Tav winced inwardly. She, once was Bhaal’s chosen, had felt the weight of her own destiny pressing upon her. The deaths and atrocities she had committed in her father’s name. But, here stood Karlach, a woman who wore her heart on her sleeve, undeserving of such a fate.  

"Am I fucking missing something?" Karlach’s cry echoed through the room as she collapsed into Wyll’s embrace. "I can't do it anymore. Ten years. It's enough. He's dead and he's no fucking sorrier than he was before. What's the point? I'm still dying. I'm dying. I'm going to die!" Her sobs wracked her body as Wyll held her close, offering what little comfort he could. With a gentle nod to Tav and Gale, he guided Karlach out of the study, disappearing with her through the door.

"Poor Karlach," Gale muttered, reaching for a fallen book and flipping through the pages.

Tav could only nod in agreement. What words could she offer? Karlach didn’t deserve this fate. Enver Gortash had betrayed every ounce of trust Karlach had placed in him. His pleading eyes in his final moments, as if seeking something from Tav, meant nothing. He deserved every strike of Karlach’s axe that cleaved into his chest. Kneeling beside his lifeless form, Tav brushed his hair back with a sigh. Perhaps, he had been handsome once, before Bane’s corruption took hold. What had he said to her just a month prior at his coronation?

"I tolerated Orin, but I liked you."

His smile, his familiarity, now felt like a cruel joke. There was nothing left of the man who once seemed to understand her. Tav rummaged through his pockets, retrieving keys that unlocked the chests scattered through the room.

"Tav," Gale’s voice broke the silence as she approached the chests. "What are you doing?"

"Treasure,” Tav replied, her tone distant as she nursed her own wounds. She reached for a healing potion from her pack, easing the pain that throbbed beneath her armor. With a practiced hand, she unlocked Gortash’s chest, revealing a stack of letters and a parcel wrapped in brown paper, along with a glint of gold.

She opened the first letter, dated two years prior.

My Partner, My Equal,

How my heart aches in your absence.

Though you left Moonrise to attend to your followers, my thoughts linger on the memory of your lips upon mine, the taste of your mouth. I never anticipated falling into your embrace, yet with you, I feel truly alive. How does someone like me, so long convinced of my own numbness, find myself drawn to someone like you? You have brought back to me something I had long forgotten. Our relationship is undeniably complex, yet I find myself needing you more than I would ever be willing to admit.

Yours,

Tav

Tav blinked as she read her own words, her handwriting staring back at her from the page. Other letters, discovered in carious places connected to Gortash, hinted at a deeper connection between them, though the extent remained a mystery. She let the letter slip from between her fingers and to the floor as she reached for the next one, dated shortly after the first.

Dearest Tav,

Your sister and Ketheric have been spending much time alone. I fear that despite our gods being allies, that Ketheric does not have the same intentions.

Orin taunts me with your form, day and night. She knows my heart lies with you. I would have her disposed of if you did not trust her so much.

Enver

Her heart quickened as she looked over her shoulder at the lifeless body of the man behind her, her fingers trembling as she sifted through the stack of letters. One dated around the time of her supposed demise in Moonrise Towers caught her attention. Vague thoughts of Balthazar and Kressa Bonedaughter playing with her body sent shivers down her spine, though she was grateful for the amnesia that spared her recollection, leaving only her bodily scars as the reminder.

My Dearest,

Orin claims you are dead, boasting of your demise at her hands while in my likeness.

She has usurped Bhaal’s church and your position. I am forced to work with her. I will play along with her for now, to ensure our plans proceed smoothly, but rest assured, the moment this charade ends, she’ll be naught but ash at my feet. I’ll ensure your legacy endures, my love, granting you the honor you deserve.

Yours, even in death,

Enver

Tav felt the sting of tears gathering in her eyes as her thumb traced the words of the letter. There was an ache of sorrow behind each line, a pain she could not shake. If she closed her eyes, she could almost grasp the memory of the man who penned these words—his touch, his scent, nights lost in each other—but it felt like reaching for a fleeting dream, slipping away before she could hold onto it. It was distant, intangible.

Stuffing the letters into her pack, she tore in the parcel nestled in the back of the chest. Her heart sank as she looked upon the painting behind the paper. It depicted her, seated in a chair, with Gortash standing behind her. She pushed the painting away and closed the case, hastily gathering the letters and stuffing them into her pack. Standing amidst the aftermath of her discoveries, she felt arms encircle her waist, careful of the healing wound on her side. Gale’s kiss brushed her cheek as he held her close.

"Find anything worthwhile, my love?" he inquired, his chin resting on her shoulder.

"Nothing of consequence,” she replied softly. "Just some gold."

Turning to face him, she cupped his face in her hand and pressed a tender kiss to his lips. Though her fingers trembled slightly, the warmth of his embrace steadied her. “Let’s leave,” she murmured, pulling back to meet his gaze. “There’s nothing more for us here.”

Gale grasped her hand, and together they made their way out of the office. Tav cast one last glance at the man on the floor, a mixture of emotions swirled inside of her. It felt like relief—a release from the grip of the Tyrant who had held Baldur’s Gate in his sway, a liberation from the shackles of her own past. And above all, relief that she had Gale by her side, his love a beacon in the darkness that had threatened to engulf her.

As they stepped out of the study, Tav urged Gale to continue ahead. “I forgot something. I’ll catch up,” she told him.

He nodded, pressing a final kiss to her lips before departing. Tav returned to the study, retrieving the letters from her pack and tucking them beneath the Tyrant’s arm—a small gesture of sympathy for the man she once loved. With a heavy heart but a sense of closure, she left who she was—and the Tyrant—behind her.

[whatacaitastrophe]

Kirnha x Gortash - For EdiSlendering

Song Inspo: “You Only Live Once” - The Strokes

A one-shot I did for EdiSlendering (it won't let me tag you!) <3 Thanks for requesting this! I had a great time writing it, and thank you for your donation to my Ko-fi!

Would you like me to write a BG3 one shot for you? Check out this post and send me a message <3

TW: mentions of murder, torture

“I do not understand why you insist on inviting the entirety of high society to our home once every fortnight. Is it truly necessary?” Kirnha complained as he stood in front of a mirror in their bathroom, buttoning the doublet that Gortash picked out for him. He would give his partner this: the man had taste. The blood red and silver were striking against Kirnha’s skin, the red was especially appreciated by the tiefling– an ode to what he was and who he served. Though as nice as he looked, that didn’t mean he wanted to dress up, or entertain the masses. 

“You already know the answer to that question, dearest,” Gortash hummed with amusement as he preened next to Kirnha, the double vanity and wide mirror an absolute blessing on evenings like this. “There are appearances to keep, people to remind who they serve, the usual.”

“We can’t do that in private meetings?” Kirnha argued. 

“Not if we want to remind the rest of the realm to stay in line,” Gortash turned to look at Kirnha. He grabbed the tiefling’s arm firmly, turning Kirnha so he was looking at Gortash. A devilish smirk appeared on Gortash’s face as he swatted Kirnha’s hand away so he could finish buttoning the doublet himself. “Besides, keeping up appearances means seeing you in this delicious ensemble, and that I get to take it off later.” 

A forced smile spread across Kirnha’s lips and he placed his hands over top of Gortash’s on his chest, tilting his head to the side as he spoke. “So cancel the party and take it off of me now.” 

“Now, now, my little assassin, don’t be petulant.” His lover scolded, and immediately Kirnha’s resolve to get out of attending the party melted away. Damn him, damn Enver Gortash for knowing exactly what to say to make Kirnha putty in his hands. Kirnha could honestly kill him for it. When Kirnha came up with their little plan to take over Baldur’s Gate, he hadn’t intended to develop feelings for Gortash in the process, but here they were. Initially, Kirnha’s plan had been to kill Gortash and Thorm at the earliest convenient moment. Kirnha had planned to play nice with the half-dead chosen of Myrkul and the smarmy, charming chosen of Bane because he needed them for the plan to succeed, but the moment those foolhearted adventurers defeated Ketheric Thorm, everything shifted. 

Gortash shifted, and boy, was it easy for the man to get Kirnha to agree to something when his mouth was wrapped around Kirnha’s cock. Despite himself, despite all his plans and visions of the future, Kirnha realized that ruling Baldur’s Gate alongside Enver Gortash would be more beneficial in the long run than doing it alone. Despite himself, he fell in love– rather, whatever feelings Kirnha had for Gortash that felt like what he assumed was love. 

“You love it when I’m petulant, though.” Kirnha countered with a smirk, and he leaned forward to capture Enver’s mouth in a conquering kiss, not bothering to be gentle as he bit down on his lover’s bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. Gortash moaned softly as Kirnha licked the blood from his mouth, but he pushed Kirnha away all the same. 

“Our guests are waiting.” Gortash reminded him as he turned to look at his reflection in the mirror one last time before exiting the room. Kirnha sighed, and silently prayed to Bhaal that this evening would go by swiftly. 

An hour later, Kirnha was sitting on his throne in the banquet hall swirling wine in his goblet as he watched his partner dance with another aristocrat with a scowl on his face. “You play the part of an unapproachable bastard very well, friend.” Minthara observed as she sat on the arm of his chair, an amused look on her face as Kirnha offered her a smirk. If anyone else attempted to sit where Minthara currently sat, Kirnha would have slit their throat. Luckily for the drow female, she could claim to be one of the only people in this godforsaken world that Kirnha actually tolerated, so he allowed it, glaring at anyone who looked their way, silently daring them to be as bold as Minthara.

“I’m just playing my part,” He replied drily. “They’re not here to talk to me anyway– I’m the scary one.” 

“Yes, you do have that frightening look of power about you, so I can see why you might think weaker beings would think so.” Minthara mused, sipping from her own goblet of wine. 

“Oh, I’m not assuming– I literally overheard someone call me ‘the scary one’ once,” The smirk on his face spread into a devious smile as he said the words, very pleased with the reputation he’d cultivated for himself. “Needless to say I took it upon myself to prove them correct.” Kirnha could still hear the glorious screams of the half-elf as Kirnha flayed him within an inch of his life deep in the dungeons of Wyrm’s Rock. No, he did not mind being “the scary one” at all. Especially if it meant people avoided him at parties he didn’t particularly want to be at anyway. Kirnha had always been the observer of the two of them: the brawn to Gortash's brains, if you will. This was not to say Kirnha was unintelligent; he was just more physically adept than his lover, just as Gortash could claim to be better at manipulating people with words. 

As the song ended, Kirnha finished the contents of his goblet. He watched as another aristocrat approached Gortash, vying for a dance. Little did they know they were not going to get their wish. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, Minthara.” Kirnha offered as he stood to depart with a predatory look on his face. Minthara smirked. “You as well, Infamy.” 

Infamy. The name Kirnha had gone by to the public for many years now, rather appropriate given the rumors that swirled regarding who his father was, what god he served. The first person who’d ever snorted with laughter after Kirnha introduced himself using the nom de plume was no longer among the living, thus sealing the (no pun intended) infamy surrounding it altogether. Minthara was one of the few who Kirnha allowed to address him by his birthname, but the drow paladin was smart enough not to do so in public, knowing it was not worth it to risk Kirnha’s ire. 

As he strode towards Gortash, the aristocrat occupying his attention went wide-eyed, failing to keep their face neutral. The “scary one” indeed, Kirnha thought to himself as he approached, a wicked grin on his face behind Gortash’s back. When he reached them, Kirnha wrapped his arms around Gortash’s middle and kissed his neck before obscenely licking a stripe up the column of his lover’s neck to his ear. “There you are, I’ve been looking for you.” He declared in a low voice.

The aristocrat quickly bid them goodbye after that, and Kirnha smirked. Gortash turned around in Kirnha’s embrace and gave him a wry look. “Oh please, you were watching me from your seat, you knew exactly where I was.” Gortash gripped Kirnha’s jaw with his thumb and forefinger and pulled the tiefling towards him for a kiss that could honestly only be described as “lewd.” They were always like this in public: overly affectionate, not particularly bothered by who saw their displays of affection. For Kirnha, it was almost a challenge, to see how much he could get away with before onlookers could no longer hide their disapproval. Not that anyone ever said anything to the pair. They knew better. The next song began and Kirnha started moving to the rhythm of the waltz, keeping Gortash in his arms. 

“How much longer do we need to remain at this godforsaken party?” Kirnha muttered against his lover’s lips, nipping the spot he’d made bleed earlier with his teeth. 

“It’s our party.” Gortash chuckled, raking his hands over Kirnha’s chest, teasing him by the buttons on Kirnha’s doublet that he’d promised to undo later. 

Kirnha nudged Gortash’s head with his horn to tilt it to the side and kissed his lover’s neck again. “Who cares? We’ve been seen. They know where the door is to find their way out.” He bit down on the skin of Gortash’s neck, hard enough that it would bruise, but not enough to break his flesh. No, that was reserved for later.

“What if I just took you right here? With everyone watching?” Kirnha murmured against Gortash’s skin. Gortash moaned softly. “Or what if I took you over to that weapon supply room over there, and bent you over against the wall? Would I have to cover your mouth since we both know you can’t keep quiet?”

Gortash shifted against Kirnha’s touch, and he could feel his lover’s cock twitch with interest at the idea. “You are truly testing my patience today, you devil.” Gortash cooed disapprovingly, and Kirnha couldn’t help but be pleased by the fact that he knew he was winning, if not simply for any other reason than his partner could do nothing other than dance with him, because if Gortash walked away, the whole room would see the evidence of his arousal. 

“And you began testing mine the moment you informed me that my attendance today was required,” Kirnha cooed back as he pulled away from Gortash’s neck to give him a wicked look. “Seems only fitting I get to spend the rest of it telling you all the things I’d prefer to be doing.” 

He was goading his lover, Kirnha knew that. There wasn’t much that brought him greater joy than teasing Gortash and pushing him to his limit in public. Moreover, by the way the light shifted in Gortash’s eyes, it was working. Kirnha would get his way sooner rather than later. Gortash raised an eyebrow. “And who is to say there aren’t things I’d rather be doing? Just because I enjoy these events does not mean I wouldn’t rather be upstairs, tying you to our bed and punishing you for being so disagreeable today.” 

A thrill shot through Kirnha’s body and he offered Bane’s chosen a smug look. Yes, the goading was definitely working. Their dynamic in the bedroom was a constant power struggle. Sometimes Kirnha was in control, holding all of the cards as Gortash writhed beneath him. Other times, Gortash had Kirnha begging and threatening him with bodily harm if Gortash didn’t stop teasing and just fucking touch him. It was too soon to tell what kind of night that tonight would be, but Kirnha didn’t particularly care, so long as their night began (and this party ended) soon. 

“I’d love to see you try.” Kirnha dared, kissing Gortash again and his hands slid from the man’s waist to his backside, gripping it possessively. The sound Gortash made was somewhere between a moan and a growl and he pulled back to press his forehead against Kirnha’s. “I’m sure you would.” 

The next song ended, and without warning, Gortash released himself from Kirnha’s embrace with a sly grin. Kirnha glared at him. “I have a few more rounds to do, so you’re going to need to be a good boy and be patient.” 

Image be damned, Kirnha no longer wished to be at this party any longer, and if Gortash was so determined to drag this out, then Kirnha would absolutely make it more difficult on him. “Fine. I’m going upstairs. Perhaps I’ll start without you,” He suggested with a head tilt as he looked at his lover thoughtfully. “Enjoy your rounds.”

With that, Kirnha turned on his heel and headed for the door that led back to their private quarters. On the way, he made eye contact with Minthara, who smirked at him and shook her head with amusement as he disappeared through the door. 

Once back in their bedroom, Kirnha did not change out of his finery right away. Instead, he went to their bed and sat down, leaning against the headboard with his hands behind his head expectantly. Five minutes later, Gortash burst through the door with a wild look in his eyes as he took in the sight of Kirnha laying on their bed, still dressed. “I thought you were starting without me?” 

Kirnha offered him a wicked grin. “Where’s the fun in that?”

[celemee]

Fandom: Baldur’s Gate 3 Pairing: Male Dark Urge x Enver Gortash Rating: Mature Tags: Fluff, pre-canon, possessive behaviour, jealousy Warnings: Normalised murder, spoilers for The Dark Urge, total disregard for other people's lives and welfare, blood and gore, toxic relationship [read on aoe instead?]

Prompt 30: "Are you with me?"

It's been a long day and Enver dreams of nothing more than a peaceful bath before going over some correspondence. The patriars were especially relentless today — impossible to please and hard to get to know. He prods, keeps his eyes and ears open, but the fact is many are still an enigma to him and his spies. 

All this will get easier when he learns what makes each of them tick. Bane willing, he'd prefer that be sooner rather than later. The late nights are taking a toll. 

Frowning at his thoughts, Enver enters his bedroom only to stop dead at the doorway.

There's a severed head propped on his writing desk. Blood and brain matter slowly pooling around it.

And in his peripheral vision, something moves.

A dagger hops into the air, soon landing in Ravendras's waiting hand. The drow juggles his favourite toy in the shadows, face hidden by the dark hood he rarely goes without.

"Hey, honey," comes Ravendras's voice, all too casual for the circumstances. "How was your day?"

"Better than Saer Brandon's, I dare say. " Enver turns to inspect the head, tilting his own. Ravendras won't strike; he already would have, if that's what he wanted. 

"In fact, much better now that you're here," he adds in a placating tone. 

His beastly lover delivers death in droves, but it's never randomly distributed. There's method to his madness. Standards, even. 

But what Saer Brandon has suffered is unusual; the multiple stab marks leave him nigh unrecognisable, and Enver shudders to think how the rest of him fares. 

"I see you've been busy," he says, taking a careful step towards the drow still flipping his weapon on his bed.

Ravendras finally looks up at him, his eyes so full of hate and anger that for a horrible moment Enver worries there's no space for love there anymore. 

The drow stops the dagger acrobatics, however, and something in him softens as they stare at one another. Enver's heart skips a beat; he's captivated by the slight change. Hushed silent by the sight of his hurting lover. Every element of horror is there; he's a drow with unnatural hair. Demonic black-blue eyes. 

Bhaal must've had no idea his son would grow up into such a beauty.

The drow's face is spattered, his skin too good to be stained by the smarmy patriar's blood. Enver wants to reach out, wipe it off and nibble on the plump lips, but Ravendras's dagger hand still twitches. Even if the weapon itself now points harmlessly to the side. 

It hits him out of the blue �� he knows what this is! 

"You know I would never touch another, don't you?" he soothes, takes a few steps closer. Heart pounding in his chest… thrilled at being so loved. "It's all theatre with the patriars. Persuasion before I strike fear into them. You know this."

There's a stretch of silence; they're both still as Ravendras thinks. Enver restrains himself as he so often does, even as he craves to touch. 

"I know, but I don't like it," Ravendras says at last, voice cold but the rage in his eyes dilutes as he speaks. 

Enver takes a chance, slowly approaching his beast of a lover. Settling between his open thighs. Running his hands up and down the smooth, leather-clad legs. 

"You're the only one for me," he says softly. "Yesterday, today, tomorrow, and every day after that."

It's funny. A whole day spent spinning lies and starting rumours, but this he actually means. 

Just when he thinks the man is placated, Ravendras’s lips turn upwards in a mockery of a smile. A cruel, angry smirk that doesn't reach his eyes. 

"Then stop flirting with other people," the drow hisses, but his hand lets go of the dagger, travelling to Enver's side. Squeezing with the tenderness he's had to learn. 

The last hiss of a cat before it succumbs to be petted, Enver realises. 

Bringing both hands to Ravendras's cheeks, Enver smiles at him. Gives the bloodstained skin a brush of his thumbs. 

"I won't make promises I can't keep." He leans in to press a kiss to the peak of Ravendras's nose. "But I promise I'll be true to you. Are you with me?" 

Ravendras closes his eyes and nods, his sigh expelling the tension out of him. His legs curl around Enver, pulling him closer. "I'm so shit at this, aren't I?" 

Enver can't help a fond chuckle. "Maybe you've got a few more things to learn. Not that I don't appreciate your passion."

Ravendras looks up at him, the corner of his lip quirking into a smile. Too tempting to resist — and Enver sees no reason for restraint. 

Kissing Ravendras never gets old, but there's only so long a human can go without breathing. Enver begins to unbutton his lover's jacket when a thought from earlier returns. 

"Care for a bath?" His lips twist into a crooked smile. "I'll make it worth your while."

"I suppose I could use one." Ravendras smiles again, dimples denting his cheeks. 

As they make their way to the bathroom, Enver pauses to lift the severed head by its hair and chucks it into the bin. The first casualty of their affair, but certainly not the last. 

He shrugs inwardly; it's but a small price to pay. 

[read more about Raven and Gortash?]

[little-tyrant-gortash]

Oathbreaker

Pairing: fem!Tav x Enver Gortash, fem!Tav/Astarion

Tags: Emotional Manipulation, Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Paladin Tav (Baldur's Gate), Vaginal Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Drunk Sex, Unrequited Love, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Scars, Blood and Injury, Injury, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Miscarriage, Torture, Psychological Torture, Implied/Referenced Torture

Word count: 2,399

Ao3 here.

Chapter 1.

Chapter 2.

Chapter 3.

Chapter 4.

Chapter 5.

Chapter 6.

Chapter 7.

Chapter 8.

Chapter 9.

Chapter 10.

Chapter 11.

Chapter 12.

Chapter 13.

Chapter 14.

Chapter 15.

Chapter 16.

Chapter 17.

Chapter 18.

Chapter 19.

Chapter 20.

Chapter 21.

Chapter 22.

Chapter 23.

Chapter 24.

Chapter 25.

Chapter 26.

Chapter 27.

Chapter 28. ⬇

Chapter 29.

Chapter 28: My Nearest and Dearest

"Orin said you were pretty. She was right."

She felt fingers in her hair, nails stroking her scalp. With a mumble, she tried to focus. She felt an odd taste on her lips.

"All this time, I've been down in her chambers, waiting... and waiting... no rescue. Perhaps if I take you, that'll be enough... for him... for her... for Father..."

The words came out rushed, but somehow, they seemed to get lost in a thought process even the speaker couldn't follow. The nails ran down to her back. Tav's eyes cracked open when she felt that she was half naked. Her hands were handcuffed and secured to the wall in front of her, high enough that she had to stand almost on her tiptoes. The sharp talons of the dragonborn dug deep in her skin, and she gasped for air as the pain seared down her back. He slowly dragged three of his nails down, down from her shoulder, down on her ribs, painfully ripping her skin open, making her bleed. She didn't scream.

"Such a pretty skin. Untainted. Pale. I'll leave my mark on it before..." A heartbeat. "Your scent is so, so intoxicating. I can almost... taste your fear."

"I'm not afraid of you", she whispered, and despite her words, her voice was shaking.

She wasn't afraid for her life, but rather, for the life growing within her.

"Aren't you?" He laughed in her ear, then leaned down and softly lapped at her new wounds. His tongue felt rough against her soft skin, against the fresh, aching wound. Tav shut her eyes and grimaced, trying to think calm thoughts. "Mmmn, how many times he'd tasted this skin? Had his fun while I've been tortured... maimed... brought back, then tortured again... and again... and again... until I escaped… and ran-"

Be brave, be strong, Tav told herself, and somehow, she remembered Abdirak's test at the Goblin camp. How she pleased Loviatar when she could withstand her servant's strikes. How much it hurt to be torn open by a mace; all the while she heard Astarion's words and Shadowheart's quips, about her needing a little penance.

She will withstand this. She was stronger than the pain. And this time, her friends wouldn't mock her – they'd come to rescue her.

"Scream", he purred in her ear, his other hand grabbing her waist so hard she was sure it'd bruise.

"Never", she shut her eyes and braced herself.

"Is that Banite pride I hear?" His bloodied hand was stroking her head again before his fingers clenched and he grabbed her hair, yanking her head back to reveal her neck. Her mouth hang open, her muscles silently screamed. But she made no noise. "Serves me well, one would think... Father never approved anyway... so why do I feel all this... anger... Orin tried to fix my mind, make me obey her, but all she could do was... making me worse... this pounding… in my head…"

His jaw opened, and she could feel his cool breath on her shoulder before those sharp, pointy teeth gently closed around her flesh. Tav realised within a split second that he wanted to bite her. Her eyes widened, staring at the ceiling, her mouth still open in a silent scream.

His jaw snapped closed and she trembled in his hold, the pain so great that all she saw was white, hot flashes. It burned, it burned, it hurt! Her hands shook with the effort to keep herself back from screaming out for help, the chains rattled in the silence, and he bit harder and harder and harder until his teeth pierced skin, muscle and bone.

Her eyes rolled up in her skull, but she did not faint. She cursed herself for being so tough.

Pain without a purpose is a waste, she recalled, so give it a purpose. Endure it, for it is the price of the alliance with the Chosen of Bane-

She saw a flash of a memory behind her closed eyes as the agony peaked. The endless greens and hills, a monastery, sitting on top of a mountain. The early morning sun, kissing her forehead. For a brief moment, calmness washed over her.

"Nothing?" She realised he let her shoulder go. Something hot was rolling down on her breast, on her back. The smell of her own blood made her feel dizzy. "Perhaps when I bite through your belly and pull out your intestines to hang you up with them, you'll find your voice."

"Never", Tav whispered again, her voice sounding detached.

"Why endure? To whom are you trying to prove yourself? Gortash doesn't care about you; he didn't care about me, either." His words were met with silence. "We've worked together... for so long... the heists, the murders, the plans! My righteous place, on his side. Stolen. Taken. By Orin. By you."

He stepped away from her, and she focused on the numbing pain in her shoulder. Endure it. Endure it. Don't give him the satisfaction.

"I told myself I would enjoy spending time with you. So... intimately. My successor." Now, he focused his touches on her other side on her back. Her muscles strained at the thought he'd mark her there, too. "I will kill you in Bhaal's name, of course. I will kill everyone you ever knew and loved. The temple below... crawls with so many initiates... all hungry for your blood…"

Tav turned her head to look him in his glowing, crimson, eyes. She mustered her energy and cast detect thoughts, seeking for the answer where the temple was. His mind was chaotic; fractured glimpses of the past, erratic images flashed behind his eyes, and she saw them all.

Planning with Gortash. Killing for him. Serving him. My favourite assassin. The heists. Orin's hatred, her fury at his alliance with the tyrant. Bhaal's Chosen mustn't be a bootlicker to a Banite! My nearest and dearest.

Orin, putting him through the hells while he's paralyzed, slashing and stabbing over and over and over again until he fades, only to be resurrected and suffer through it all over again.

My nearest and dearest.

A piece of thin metal, digging in his skull. His brain. Holes in his brain.

IT HURTS IT HURTS IT HURTS

Help me, Gortash, help me, help me!

Dark tunnels, bodies-

HELP ME!

Stairs and darkness. The skull made of stone-

HELP ME!

Blood leaking from it's eyes. An altar.

HELP ME!

Hidden beneath the city, the way leading back to the surface-

HELP ME!

The key to get inside, hidden in his fractured mind-

ENVER, HELP ME!

Hanging around his neck.

Help never comes.

Sharp pain dragged her out of the visions. He dragged his nails down her defenseless back again, making her gasp and pant and rattle her chains again. Her concentration broke, her mind detached from his.

"I wish he were here to see you now", he whispered in her ear from the other side, now, "to see you bleed and fight the urge to scream. You're so brave, I'll give you that. He must like this in you, too. Rare in a world that's condemned to be destroyed."

Destroyed.

I want to lead this city to glory, not scorch its earth.

"That's enough."

The sound of Gortash's voice behind them caused her to sob in relief. The dragonborn's nails dug deeper in her back before he pulled away from her and she could relax. Gortash stood at the entrance, dagger in hand; prepared to use it, if it was needed.

"You've found me", the dragonborn noted, then huffed. "Interesting. You didn't seem to try when I went missing."

"I did", Gortash's voice was confident and sharp; he was telling the truth. "I was sending Fists, spies, Banites to find the Temple of Bhaal. None of them returned."

"Lies", the dragonborn hissed and reached up to grab Tav's hair again.

"Release her", Gortash snapped, "this is between you and me."

"But she belongs to you, isn't that right? I saw her ring. So eager to put the past behind yourself, aren't you? You've moved on. Without me."

"It's been years. I thought you died."

"Orin told you? Heh. She took my place, didn't she. Hoping I'd never return to claim what is mine. But now, I'll make things right. Father and Orin were both right all along; I shouldn't've trusted you."

Gortash had been concentrating on trying to find an answer to what happened to his ally. And he was met with the same fractured memories, the piece of metal in his skull and brain, and so, so much pain.

Orin broke him. Orin unmade him. This wasn't the person he worked with in the past. No sign of the old personality, just a husk that was fuelled by hatred and nothing else.

He still wanted to try. Because while his mind knew, his heart hoped against reason.

"We're here, now. We can work together again. We can make all of our old plans come true."

"There's only one plan that comes true of my old plans tonight", the dragonborn whispered, gripping her hair tighter. "I'll kill you. But first, I'll kill her. Perhaps if I see what she means to you would give me some peace of mind. To watch you as you lose something precious, as I've lost my past and future; ripped away, in a bright flash of a blade-"

The dragonborn moved fast, but Gortash was faster. His dagger cut through the air, thrown with absolute precision. He never missed his mark.

The dagger entered the dragonborn's temple, making him freeze on the spot. The blade in his own hand never reached her neck; it froze with the rest of him, mid-air. His fingers twitching in her hair as she looked over her shoulder to meet his shocked gaze; heavy with betrayal and a world of pain.

"We would've been great together", Gortash said quietly as he walked over to the dragonborn and gently took the blade from his hand to toss it on the ground. Then, the tyrant moved him to sit, just beside Tav, on the ground. The dragonborn's crimson eyes were still wide open, and he heard every word. "You were my nearest and dearest. I cherish the memories we've made. But you died when you vanished, and it's on Orin's hands. I'll never forgive it to her, and she will be destroyed for it. You have my word."

The dragonborn breathed out one last time, then closed his eyes and went still.

Gortash closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the Bhaalspawn's.

Tav said nothing; even as she was still bleeding, even if standing almost on her toes set her muscles on fire. She didn't want to break the silence. But Gortash did not need much time. A few seconds, and he searched the dragonborn's pockets, found a key and he was back on his feet, pulling closer to her to open her handcuffs.

"We need to find Shadowheart", he murmured quietly, glancing at the bite mark on her left shoulder. "We should clean your wounds before healing them, just in case."

"How did you find me?"

Gortash looked back in her eyes before he removed his black shirt. He had a white tank top underneath, his toned body barely hidden by the material; of course, the golden arm pieces remained, as well as his gauntlet with the stone in it.

In this moment, Tav could really understand what Gale was talking about when they've entered the Shadow-Cursed Lands, months ago.

"I was lucky", he left it at that, then placed his shirt over her chest to cover her breasts. "You shouldn't put it on, it'd get stuck in your wounds, but we should still protect your modesty, right?"

She smiled a little at that, and hugged the shirt to herself. It felt warm against her skin, her body welcoming his heat the shirt still radiated. He looked her over, his eyes stopping at the bruises the dragonborn had left on her waist.

"Enver", she murmured, and he reluctantly glanced back up in her eyes. "I'm fine."

He blinked at her, then furrowed his brows.

"I didn't know he was still alive. I thought he was dead."

His whispered words made her tilt her head. His lips moved, as if he had been chewing on something, and she knew he couldn't find the words.

"You loved him", she murmured, and he averted his gaze. He looked anywhere but at her. "It wasn't your fault."

Gortash battled with his emotions. There were so much he felt at the same time, and he couldn't unpack everything now. He needed… he needed to get out of there.

"Astarion joined in the search for you", he said instead, focusing on the present moment, as always. Looking forward, never back. Eyes on the horizon. "He said that if he got to you first, he'd claim you."

"Claim me?" Tav echoed as she glanced down at her shoulder to check her injuries.

"He also said he'd make you his spawn", he added, focusing on driving her further away from her previous partner, one step at a time.

"He can dream. It'll never happen", she huffed, then half turned to glance down at the dragonborn.

"What is it?" Gortash turned after her, following her gaze.

"I looked in his mind", she admitted quietly, "and I finally know where the Temple of Bhaal is", she whispered, examining the face of the dragonborn. He looked so peaceful; as if he had been asleep, except, he had a dagger buried in his temple. She shuddered. "He's wearing an amulet. I need it to get in." She glanced at him, clearly asking for permission. "May I?"

He needed a moment to absorb that she was asking him if she was allowed to touch him. He couldn't reply, his voice was stuck in his throat, so he just nodded. Tav kept the shirt against her chest with her left arm as she knelt beside the dragonborn, and reached for his neck to ever so gently grab the necklace and pull it free from under his shirt.

I am an Oathbreaker, Tav thought as she moved the necklace over her head to wear it. The metal was cold against her heart on her chest as she glanced at the Bhaalspawn's peaceful face. But I will avenge you. I promise.

[bakuliwrites]

Ooh I'd love to hear about Dark Star! 👀

I would be delighted to talk about it! Thank you so much for asking!

WIP Ask Game here

So, Dark Star is my BG3 fanfic about my Sorlock Tav, Orlando. More detailed info about her here and Chapter One here. She is a Deep Sea Tiefling who grew up in a family of Warlocks who all worshipped a Fathomless being they simply call The Deep Abyss. Orlando managed to escape her family with her mother and brother, but through a series of events, wound up trapped in the House of Hope as a child, where she met a young Enver Gortash. Some things I'm exploring in Dark Star:

Gortash's backstory and his time in the House of Hope. It is here that Orlando and Gortash begin their romance, which started as a childhood crush and bloomed into more as they aged. I wanted to write a story for a Tav with a history with Gortash, rather than a Durge story (though I do enjoy Durgetash).

I don't have any intention of doing a redemption arc for Gortash, but I do want to show his internal conflict when it comes to pleasing Orlando (she wants him to do the right thing) and providing a stable future for the both of them (which, for Gortash, means making questionable if not morally reprehensible decisions). Their relationship has, over the years, become more toxic, but there is a lot of deep love there, still. (If you're curious, I have a little standalone story about them in their younger years here and some letters exchanged between them here)

Lots of eldritch themes in this. Orlando has her own patron that I came up with (a baby Fathomless she rescued!), but her family has the Deep Abyss. She wants to sever her ties from this particular Fathomless, but is struggling to do so. Similar to Raphael, Orlando has an Ascended form, but it is directly related to the Deep Abyss (I'm going to draw up a design for this at some point haha).

Orlando has her own questline, so depending on which ending you get, she'll end up with Gortash, ruling over Faerûn together. Or she will end up with Astarion and Karlach :) I like poly romances and wish you could romance them both in game! I plan to have a ton of wholesome moments between them throughout each chapter.

And finally, here's a little excerpt that I haven't yet posted :) This fic has WAY more Gortash content than I initially intended. My obsession with that man hit me like a train haha. This occurs right in the beginning of act 3, during Gortash’s coronation. Orlando and Enver haven’t seen each other in a few years, but have been corresponding via letters to one another.

Orlando glides up to the dais, the hem of her white dress like silken snow pooling around her feet. She lays her hand softly over Enver’s, a touch so deeply familiar, it could knock him off his feet. For a moment, the throne room in Wyrm’s Rock is still, as if the very building itself is holding its breath. Enver has half a mind to scoop Orlando into his arms, to lay kiss after long awaited kiss to her lips, to make up for the years they’ve been apart. But in the company of others, tadpoled or otherwise, he opts to merely intertwine their fingers, giving her hand an affectionate squeeze. 

Enver is grateful for her discretion. A grand display of adoration would hardly be appropriate for his coronation ceremony. And he does not yet know where Orlando’s allegiance lies. Will she remain faithful to him? To the plan? Or will she deliberately work against him? With the killing of Ketheric Thorm, he cannot be sure anymore. Orlando is more lethal than she realizes, but that is not why Enver is interested in allying with her. No, it is her determination, her softness that will win the hearts of those in Baldur’s Gate. Enver Gortash, the iron fist of Bane, and Orlando, his gentle wife.

“I thought you dead,” he murmurs to his beloved, allowing himself a moment to rest his forehead against hers, to let his eyes flutter shut while he basks in her calm aura. How long has it been since he has felt this at peace? Her thoughts gently nudge his. 

“Your mind is open to me, Enver,” Orlando whispers in his head, a tender voice in the cacophonous din, “You are fraught with worry. What troubles you?” 

He lets her in, lets her wade past the wrathful, shadowy thoughts that have eclipsed his mind. He is controlled, calculated, and pulled together in front of this gathering of nobles and smarmy politicians. But there is a tiny corner of Enver’s psyche that is reeling, chaotic. Orlando is a reminder of softer days, hours spent idling with one another in the dark corners of the House of Hope. Secret meetings, stolen kisses, furtive glances. 

Yet, she is also a reminder of sorrowful, difficult days. Days of punishment for Enver’s insolence. His disobedience. Days of separation, because a note exchanged between the two of them was discovered, and they were no longer allowed to be alone with one another. Notes that contained plans of escape. Plans for a life lived beyond the confines of the House of Hope. Dreams crushed to dust by the cruelty of a world built on lies and false hope.

“Meet me in my office after the ceremony,” Enver breathes, before pulling away and cloaking himself in bravado once more.

[rinwellisathing]

You're Awful, I Love You: Part 48

Cannibalism content warning again, as well as some blood play, but in this fandom, I guess drinking blood isn't really content warning material? Still, it is there. Enver Gortash/ Trans Male Tiefling Durge

Despite Enver's protests that Sentry ought to stay in a proper home and rest for the final month or so, that nagging loyalty to father still wore on him, and Sentry returned home after only a few days. He had a painting to complete after all, and he wanted to do it while the fond memory of the last night he'd spent in Enver's home was fresh in his mind. His love had laid blindfolded and gagged on the banquet table in the dining hall, the servants dismissed for the evening. He was stripped fully naked, wrists bound above his head, legs bound as well. Sentry stroked his hair gently, kissing his forehead softly, eyes dancing over the various implements laid out. “It's not our time yet, so my greatest desire will have to wait...but that doesn't mean it can't be represented symbolically...I'm an artist, after all...” The tiefling murmured, reaching down to slowly pick up an extremely sharp knife, the kind one might use to filet a fish. He gazed at the knife and then turned his eyes fondly to Enver's soft, quivering flesh. “Don't worry, my love, I'll heal any damage.” The knife sank into his thigh, cleanly extricating a sizeable chunk of flesh. Sentry marveled at the wound, heartbeat quickening, pupils dilating. His soft tongue ran over the bleeding hole like a cat cleaning its kitten, his body shuddering with pleasure at every squirm and muffled whimper. He laid the meat on a plate, blood staining the white porcelain, and set the knife down, slowly pressing his hands to the wound, radiant light pulsing through them, warmth spreading through the gaping injury as the flesh knit itself back into place, veins reconnecting, blood replenishing.

“A well earned rest, just for a moment.” Sentry grinned as he sat down in front of the blood splattered plate and began to delicately cut the raw, red meat into pieces, savoring them little by little, a small moan escaping his lips as blood trickled down his chin. “You taste exquisite, by the way...I mean, I knew you would...but everything I'd tasted so far was just a sample...” The Bhaalspawn finished his meal and slowly rose to his feet, walking around to stand near his lover's head, slowly reaching down to remove the gag, which was soaked in saliva by now. He pulled it away and pressed a kiss to his lover's lips, tongue sliding into his mouth. “Your healing work is flawless, my dear Executioner.” Enver panted against Sentry's lips as the tiefling pulled away. “You're safe with me, you can always be assured of that.” Sentry replied. “And of course, as we're equals in all things, it's only fair you taste me as well...” He took a smaller knife and ran it across the palm of his hand, blood blossoming under the blade. He held it to his lover's lips, allowing the red liquid to drip into his open mouth. Enver gently lapped at Sentry's wounded hand, blood staining his mouth and dribbling down his chin in red rivulets as Sentry reached up with his free hand to untie the Tyrant's wrists.

The memory filled Sentry with warmth and sent a wave of pleasure through him as he slowly made his way to the temple. He was greeted, as always, by the gnolls, who nuzzled against him and licked at his face and neck, welcoming the leader of their pack home. Fel hurried to his side, bowing and scraping. “My bloodied master, have you seen the papers? It seems the reviews are in and we are the talk of the town! Well, so to speak...this 'Absolute' technically is, but even so, it is our performance that's got them talking! Murders most foul, such delicious mutilations!” Fel held up a copy of the most recent Baldur's Mouth Gazette. “It's true, Fel. I'm pretty proud of everyone. In fact, let's have a good old fashioned family meeting, get all the siblings in here.” Sentry grinned as he crossed to the sitting area, reclining on an old chair and leaning back. “At once, your grotesque grace!” Fel nodded, hurrying off to find the others.

In a short while, Tomi entered dressed in a simple flowing white dress splattered in crimson, her hair loose and cascading to the middle of her back in a waterfall of shadow. She sat on a simple bench in front of her cracked mirror as always. Jackal was next to arrive, the scars and stitching from his impromptu resurrection all visible as he wore only a simple pair of green breeches and hunting boots, sitting down on a shredded chaise and folding his arms across his chest. Gabraela entered silently as a shadow in her usual dark armor, standing in the corner and regarding the others with a quiet malevolence. Her head was lowered, her eyes cast downward, her tail occasionally flicking back and forth. Orin was the last to arrive, dressed in simple Bhaalist robes, her long braid swaying as she walked. She sat cross legged on the floor, arms resting on her knees as she looked up at Sentry, her expression was an odd one, one the tiefling didn't catch. “Siblings,” Sentry began, rising to his feet with effort. “I cannot begin to tell you how proud I am of the work we have done in Father's name, we've been...oh, what's the word? Pivotal! Yeah, that's the one. Pivotal! In this little collaboration. Where would the Banites be without the chaos we're causing? I mean, it would be pretty hard to get these city folk to bend the knee if they weren't pissing themselves with fear and jumping at shadows, yeah?” He chuckled. “And these Myrkulites, they'd be pretty strapped for corpses if we weren't in the business of making them, wouldn't they? And might I just add that business is booming.” He clapped his hands together with enthusiasm. Tomi clapped her hands politely and Gabraela nodded her head. Jackal simply sighed and rolled his eyes. Orin watched intently, like a hawk observing a field mouse.

“Also, credit where credit is due...” Sentry crossed the room to Orin. “Littlest sister, you've really taken our constructive criticism to heart.” Sentry grinned, reaching down to pat her shoulder. “Listen, from one artist to another, I know how it feels to have your work called to question, I do.” He gave her a look of almost exaggerated sympathy. “But I think you see now that what was said has only benefited you, only encouraged you to grow. Your murders have come such a long way in just a few months and you know that your big brother rewards effort.” Orin looked up at him, perplexed, eyes narrowed. “You speak in spinning circles, slaughter-kin. What are you saying?” She asked. But deep inside, there was a small spark of hope, of the brother she remembered painting with. Her hands moved slowly to the stilettos she had never fully discarded. “What I'm saying, baby blood-kin, is I want you at my side when we go to fully put this plan into action. It's going to be you and me at Moonrise in just a few months time, representing Father and his interests. You are talented, Orin. You just needed a little help along the way.” Sentry grinned.

Orin tensed slightly. Father's voice said brother Sentry was compromised, had polluted the bloodline. Grandfather said sister Vereena was an upjumped breeder masquerading as Chosen. But brother Sentry was standing here, recognizing Orin's efforts. Yes, he had been harsh, yes Orin still felt anger at what he had said to her, but now...now she could stand by his side, it could be the way it was. Maybe that Banite truly couldn't come between family...Confusion wracked her mind and for once, she was silent. Simply nodding softly.

[bloodlessbhaalbabe]

The Gorsimp Chronicles – Chapter 10

Gortash x Tav | Explicit

Read on AO3 | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Fic is written in turns by @bearhugsandshrugs and me! Dividers indicate POV changes.

Enver rubbed at his eyes and hunched over, looking down at the floor, feeling deflated. “When we met up again, I lied to you. That got us off on the wrong foot and it only escalated from there.” 

He stood up and walked over to Tav and sat in front of her with his legs crossed. 

“I am an asshole, but frankly, my dear, so are you,” he said fondly, with a small smile, but then bit his lip. “I see you as you are and I… I love everything about you, but you’re right. There’s a lot we don’t know about each other. I can’t see myself being challenged and arguing with anyone else in my life. I want… you. I’ve been told relationships take work.” 

Enver cupped Tav’s cheek and wiped away her stray tears. “I think this is one of those moments.” 

“I am sorry for making fun of you and hurting your feelings. The last thing I want is to upset you and make you cry,” he said softly, “Can we start over? We could even meet at the brothel upstairs and I can reintroduce myself as Enver.” He joked, but wouldn’t be opposed to it if that is what she wanted to do. 

Tav held his hand to her face, leaning into his touch and closing her eyes for a moment before looking back at him with a small smile. 

“I’m sorry for pushing you so much”, she said. “And I’m sorry for being… annoying.” She rolled her eyes at that, but chuckled. “I am. Really.”

She dropped his hand to her lap, interlacing her fingers with his. “Okay. Let’s start over.” A tease sparkled in her eyes. “But you’re pretty confident to think you’d be able to pick me up in an entire bar full of professionals. I mean. You’re good. But if I remember correctly, I actually made the first move. Which, and I’m sorry to Horatio for saying this, I only did because I really missed you.”

Enver chuckled softly, rubbing his thumb against the soft skin on top of her hand. He looked up thoughtfully and then met her gaze. “I think that if I wasn’t pretending to be my virginal brother, hiding in the corner and observing the crowd, I would have spotted you immediately and laid on my charms so heavily you couldn’t think of anything else besides laying with me. Let us not forget that despite you coming up to me first, I made you so wet you had to have my face between your legs before we could have made it to either one of our lovely homes.” 

He kissed Tav’s knuckles and looked at her through his eyelashes while a small smirk bloomed on the side of his lips. 

“And I could do it again. If you’re challenging me to try and seduce you better than any of the best whores in Neverwinter?” Enver was excited for this opportunity. Not only was it a fresh start, it was a fun game without a true chance of losing. Whether or not he won Tav over, she’d still come home with him, or he’d watch her get fucked by someone and see her enveloped in pleasure. Sounds like a win/win to him. 

He was so full of himself. Tav loved it. 

“It’s on”, she giggled. “But I don’t think I brought neither enough nor the right clothes for our stay, so I should probably go shopping.”

Enver simply agreed with a short “Anything you want”, and that was that. They spent the rest of the day in the city, visiting different tailors and boutiques – most of them separately to keep the surprise –, only stopping for a cozy lunch in a restaurant tucked away in a quiet side street of the busy center.

When they were done, Tav asked him for some privacy so she could get ready, and he rented an additional room for himself to spend time preparing for their evening. Meanwhile Tav rang the bell to request help with her hair and makeup. Two women accentuated her features, adding some last minute tweaks on her outfit, too. 

And then it was already time: Tav checked herself in the mirror a few times before she took the portal to the brothel, which was a tasteful and expensive festhall with several side rooms with space for various activities. She felt nervous and excited, awkwardly shuffling as her heels clicked on the floor while she walked in. Her dress was made out of a thinly woven fabric that was half see-through, and anyone who stood closer than an arm’s length away from her could make out her breasts in detail. For that reason only she’d added some very flimsy underwear, mostly to pretend she had any decency left. 

The women had worked on her hair for an hour to get some sort of waves into it, and it flowed freely down her shoulders as she made her way to the counter to order herself a drink for her nerves. Once she received her glass of goodberry gin on ice she took a seat, letting her gaze fall over the room to orient herself. Enver was nowhere to be seen yet – probably some sort of ridiculous plan – and she busied herself with her drink and watching other guests. 

The doors to the festhall flew open with Enver’s arrival almost as though there was a silent announcement that someone important had just walked into the room. Enver stepped into the lavish entry way and handed his jacket to the coatsman waiting near the door. He then scanned his eyes around the room subtly, trying to find his prize, before spotting her sitting half-way hidden in the corner. He didn’t linger long, but made sure to give Tav a full body check, before moving on toward the bar. Enver unbuttoned the cuffs on his black, see-through, mesh button down and rolled his sleeves to further expose his forearms. Underneath the shirt, you could clearly see a tight harness pressed against his skin – around his chest and across his torso. His shirt was neatly tucked into his tight, black leather trousers that framed his gold and black suede loafers. 

With one hand in his pocket, he called over to the bartender and ordered his drink of choice, two fingers of Mermaid Whisky, a large cube of ice, and an orange peel. As he waited for it to be made, he leaned against the counter and ran his fingers through his slick back hair, the same way it had been styled on the night they saw each other again. 

He could feel Tav’s eyes on him now, but he didn’t dare look over as one of the beautiful ladies of the establishment came up to him. She was only wearing just enough to cover her most expensive assets. 

“Enver Gortash,” the woman crooned. “Or should I say Lord Enver Gortash. I thought you were dead.” 

Enver smirked and looked down at his hands with a chuckle. “You know me, I’m full of surprises.” 

“Hmm, you sure are,” she bit her lip and let her fingers trail down his arm, lingering on his bicep. “What brings you back up to Neverwinter?” 

“My nearest and dearest. We decided we needed to take a trip.” 

“Oh? The Lord is off the market?” She hummed appreciatively. “And who, might I ask, could you have let tie you down?” 

“Take a look at her when you leave so she’s not suspicious, Calpernia,” he replied. “The wonderful, stunning Hero of Baldur’s Gate.” 

She gasped in surprise and smiled before shoving his shoulder. “Enver, you sly dog you. And you’ve brought her to a whorehouse?” 

“She’s a woman of fine taste unlike the lot of you,” he chuckled and turned to grab his drink that the bartender brought over. A quick glance at Tav showed curiosity, but not anger or jealousy. Good. As if any of the women or men here could compare. He thought before turning back to the scantily clad woman.

“Mmm, you were always such a charmer,” she said with an eye roll, “well, I’ll let you get back to it. It was good seeing you, Enver. Glad you’re not dead. Let me know if you want me to come to your room tonight. I’ll consider it free of charge.” 

“That’s terrible business practice, Calpernia. You know I’ll always support your finer arts, but before you go, I have a request. Could you help me with something?” 

Calpernia raised her eyebrows as Enver leaned into her and whispered something in her ear. She nodded with a smirk and quickly departed. Enver took a seat across the room and waited for his opportunity. 

A short while later, a very sweaty, red-faced man stumbled into the room. He pulled up his pants as he walked in and belched loudly. A small silence spread over the room before murmurs of behavior scattered about between the clients and whores. The man slammed himself against the counter and slurred, “Get me an ale. Largest one you got!” 

Enver, playing his role, grimaced at the sight of the buffoon and took a sip of his drink. The glass clinked with the ice hitting the sides. He leaned back in his chair and pinched his eyebrows together, observing him for a moment before turning his eyes to the group next to him – eavesdropping on their conversation. 

The man slapped down a couple coppers and snorted, swallowing his spit before downing his entire pint in one go. Another belch bubbled up out of him forcing a few ladies to leave the room in disgust. 

Enver glanced over at the man, who was now looking directly at him, which made him glance back over to where Tav sat. 

She was gone. 

Gods Damn It. 

Tav spotted Enver across the room as he ordered a drink. A stunning woman walked up to him, looking for a client it seemed, and they exchanged some banter while Enver pretended very hard not to care about Tav. His eyes betrayed him, subconsciously darting over to her again and again, and Tav chuckled into her drink.

But then, he didn’t come over. Instead, a man, obviously wasted, barged into the hall and ruined the mood, his sounds rumbling through the room. Tav watched the scene unfold with skepticism, but a deep voice pulled her out of her thoughts. A man had stepped up to her table from the side, and he was leaning forward while he spoke.

“You look bored. Allow me to provide some entertainment?”

He was about her age and looked well-off, his handsome face looking at her with a challenge.

Tav waved him off. “I might look like a whore but I’m here for pleasure, not work.”

“It would be my absolute pleasure to take you to a scenery deserving of your beauty”, the man smirked with a quick glance towards the drunk, “And I’ll give it my best to make it yours, too.”

Tav’s mouth fell open. “Are you always this forward?”

“Forward? I only want to buy you a drink in one of the lounges outside. The view is stunning.”

It was obvious that he wasn’t talking about the view of the city or the sea, and Tav chuckled. She looked over to Enver, but he wasn’t even looking in her direction anymore. 

Fine, she thought. Have it your way.

“Sounds like a plan”, Tav smiled and got up, taking the arm the stranger offered her. She didn’t ask for his name, it was irrelevant – there was no one she would leave with but Enver anyway. But Enver had wanted to play, and he was making bad moves. Not her problem.

Looking back at him while the stranger led her outside, she wetted her lips at the sight of Enver’s exposed forearms. She missed him. But she couldn’t wait to see his face when he would eventually find her.

Enver stood from the table, groaned and walked past the disgusting man, shoulder checking him as he exited the room. Where would she have gone? He quickly peeked into the rooms along the corridor and took a glance around the larger festhall area where the music was livelier and people were dancing. He knew Tav wouldn’t have made it this difficult for him to find her. 

He cursed under his breath and finally walked out to the terrace starting to get a little panicked. His heart raced in his chest until he spotted her with… another man? He stood there for a moment trying to ascertain what in the hells had happened. 

Tav smiled politely at him as the man talked at her standing a little too close for comfort. The man seemed cocky, as if he had already managed to convince her to get into bed with him just because she agreed to follow him onto the terrace. Tav looked away to the horizon for a moment when he saw the man sprinkle something into her drink before she turned back to look at him. 

Enver immediately walked right up to them and shoved him over the ledge, watching him fall down screaming until he disappeared into the safety barrier below. 

“Hmm, that man was not respecting the rules of a whorehouse. Don’t be cheap and try to take something for free,” he said to Tav and grabbed her drink from her hands. “He tried to drug you.” 

Enver tossed the liquid off of the side and called over a waiter who was circling around with a tray. 

“Mermaid Whisky, two fingers, one large piece of ice with an orange peel, and for the lady,” he paused to smell the inside of the glass. “Goodberry gin with ice.” 

The water nodded and bowed silently before leaving. Enver turned back to Tav to see her horrified expression. 

“Oh don’t worry he’s not dead. He was simply teleported back into the lobby likely to be escorted out for jumping off of the ledge in the first place,” Tav’s face softened and Enver bowed to her and took her hand in his before kissing the top of her knuckles. 

“Lord Enver Gortash, at your service. And you are?” he said standing up straight, but not removing his hand from hers. He looked at her with fond eyes and a soft smile – struggling with hiding his deep affection for her despite their little act. 

Tav nearly dropped the act they so carefully planned when Enver pushed the stranger off the terrace. He wasn’t usually one for displays like that one, outbursts of such violence, but when he mentioned the man spiking her drink it made sense.

She heard him introduce himself to her, pretending they never met, and she found herself smiling already, lured in by his charm. 

“You may call me Tav”, she replied, knowing she would never give a stranger her full name in a brothel. Her gaze fell across Enver’s body and his outfit, wetting her lips at the sight. She pulled her hand out of his – this was more than enough body contact with a stranger – and smirked, focused on their game once more.

“I didn’t know the Moonstone employed nobility”, she added with a tease.

Enver chuckled and leaned against the stone ledge of the surrounding wall wrapped around the floating island. “Ah, while I am a frequent guest here, they've not called on me for employment, at least not yet.” He joked with a wink. “No, my dear, our meeting tonight is due to being at the right place at the right time. Some may call that fate.” 

Enver glanced over at the waiter coming back around with their drinks on a silver platter. He grabbed Tav's drink first. 

“If you don't mind, I'd like to take the first sip of your drink to make sure we can trust the kitchen staff. After all, they let in someone and their wards didn't detect any substances,” Tav gave him a nod allowing Enver to take the first drink. Enver tasted her drink and looked at her with wide eyes, beginning to choke as if his throat was closing up before laughing and handing her the drink. “I'm sorry. You're good. It's not poisoned.”

He couldn't help himself. Tav had made the joke yesterday about him being the tester of the food to make sure it wasn't poisonous and that was a hilarious thought. A noble man caring so much for his lady that he insisted on making sure he died first before anyone could kill her. A hilarious thought but as he handed her the drink and she grinned at him, he could start to see the reason behind it. 

Enver grabbed his drink and tapped his glass against hers, clinking their glasses together, before taking a swig from the liquid.

“Tav,” he said with a smile. “A beautiful name fitting for such a stunning woman. Pleased to make your acquaintance. I hope to see you around. I am sure you are waiting on company.” 

He bowed and turned to leave, but just as he took a few steps away he paused. “Unless, you'd care for a dance?”

Tav grinned and rolled her eyes when he turned around. He was so dramatic. It was endearing. 

When he mentioned dancing she had to bite her tongue not to blurt out a yes immediately. She knew that as soon as he’d take her to the dimly lit area where people slow danced under the moonlight, that he had won. Whatever winning even meant.

But she also considered what she would have done if she didn’t know him already. Dancing was hardly high on the list.

She slowly crossed the short distance between them, and Enver quickly offered her his arm, ready to lead her through the crowd. When she didn’t take it, he slowly dropped it to the side, eyeing her with curiosity.

“A gentleman and an offer to dance.” She looked around, taking in the people that were all shamelessly flirting, making out, and generally all over each other. “Here.” She smirked, pausing for effect. “Say, Lord Gortash. Or, if I may… Enver? Are you looking for the right thing?”

She didn’t want to add “love” to the sentence, but it was clear what she meant. Tav brushed an invisible piece of dust off his chest, letting her hand linger longer than necessary before pulling it away again.

Enver took Tav’s hand in his and spun her around. He admired her dress in the way it hid practically nothing underneath and how her beautifully curled hair bounced with the movement. He pulled Tav close to him. “No expectations. Just a dance. I know you’re not a lady of the night, my dear. You don’t have a Moonstone Mask.” 

His fingers brushed up against her cheek as he pointed out the mask, his eyes scanned her face. “I know I have found exactly what I am looking for.” 

He offered his arm once more with raised eyebrows and a sweet smile. “If you would do me the honor?” 

“I would”, Tav smiled and took his arm, nervous as if they were meeting for the first time. He’d made her blush already, her cheeks were warm and pink, but he gracefully hadn’t commented on that.

Enver walked her over to the area where several people were already dancing, burning candles floating above them, emitting a soft and romantic light. The music was slow and beautiful, and the sun was just about to set. 

Two attendants had seemingly waited for them to arrive, because they hurried and sealed off a part of the dance floor as soon as they saw them walk up. Enver nodded politely at them, pulling Tav into their own little secluded spot where they wouldn’t have to worry about being bumped into by others, and with the best view on the terrace.

Enver spun Tav around once more before rolling her into his chest, Her back pressed up against his chest as they swayed for a moment. He then spun her out, spreading their arms, and stepped close to place his hands on her waist, with her arms gracefully wrapping around his neck. He hummed along with the music as they slowly stepped and swayed to the beat. 

“So, what is a lady of your caliber doing all by herself in this fine establishment?” Enver asked. 

“Oh, you know, the usual: Just trying to find someone to keep me company for the night”, Tav replied, looking deeply into his eyes. They were so dark, and intense, and every time she focused on them she felt like she was drowning. In a good way. A very good way. 

“You said you had already found what you were looking for”, she added after a short pause, and Enver nodded. “Might I ask what that was?”

Enver smiled, “That’s very admirable. To come to the most expensive brothel in all of Faerun so that your selection is of higher class and you likely don’t even have to pay for anyone’s attention. You are a very clever woman. I respect your tenacity.” 

He noticed the way Tav blushed at his words and giggled at his act. He was really going all out for this character. It was him, if he had the opportunity to be this person instead of having all of the hang ups. Someone who was charming and sweet and dedicated. The other side of him, the ambition, the ferocity, and his ingenuity blinded him with success; he had almost forgotten what it was like to be looked at in the way Tav was looking at him. It wasn’t like the noble ladies who saw him and wanted him for what he could offer them. Tav saw him as he was. 

“You. I was looking for someone like you. You have a magnetic energy about you, Tav. The moment I set my eyes on you something compelled me to talk to you. I happened to notice that the previous gentleman tried to gain your attention by taking the easy route. But in my experience, the best things in life never come easily.” 

“Hmm, I don’t think that’s true”, Tav chuckled, “because you came rather easily into my life just now, wouldn’t you say?” 

Enver leaned over and bent Tav low to the floor in a dip as the song ended and moved onto the next. Tav let out a small gasp of surprise before he pulled her back up. 

“I am a man of honor. I would never argue with a beautiful woman, especially when they are right,” Enver teased knowing what he said contradicts their morning, but it painted him in the wrong and it made Tav laugh and shake her head, so it was worth it. 

He was impossible. Tav laughed and pulled him off to the sides, out of view from the crowd, and batted her eyelashes. “But what if I like arguing?” She asked, giggling. “Besides, if you’re a man of honor, I hardly think you’d treat me the way I’d like you to treat me, later, once we’re away from all of… this.” She gestured around, smirking.

 

Enver allowed himself to be pulled off of the side as they hid in the corner of the room behind thick velvet curtains. Tav pressed herself up against the wall and Enver stepped up to her, cupping her cheek and jaw with his hand, his eyes glanced down at her lips. 

“I’d do anything you asked. I’ll argue. I’ll be unhonorable,” he whispered just loud enough so that she could hear. His other hand trailed up her thigh, pulling up the fabric just slightly. “Who says we have to wait that long? We could recreate a vision I just had. The two of us, alone in an alleyway, with my face between your legs, and hearing you moan my name for the first time?” 

He recalled their first night together and the moment just before she shoved him to the ground. He brushed their noses together and smiled, waiting for her response before he went for it. 

Tav’s heart was beating so loud she was sure he heard, but she didn’t care. When he brushed his nose against hers she sighed, then leaned forward to seek his lips with hers. Enver chuckled into her mouth before kissing her back, half-surprised by her response, but it wasn’t as if he minded. 

Her hands found the back of his head, pulling him even closer, as their tongues danced around each other as they had just moments before. She wasn’t sure why he had this effect on her after all this time, but her stomach twisted into knots as she kissed him, so nervous – no, even more nervous than making out with him for the first time. 

Tav dragged her hands down his chest, pulling at the harness underneath his shirt before moving further down to hook her fingers into the waistband of his pants. She wanted him so badly. It didn’t matter if it was here, or in their room, or in the middle of the dancefloor: all she cared about was Enver and the way he tasted of whiskey with a light aftertaste of orange, and how warm his hands were on her body, and how hard his teeth pulled at her lower lip. 

Enver pulled away from the kiss, looking down at her fingers in his waistband. He quickly stepped back and unbuttoned his shirt, pulling it from  his trousers and tossed it to the side. He then crouched down and pulled down Tav’s panties in one quick motion. She smirked and stepped out of them before he tossed them onto his shirt. Enver looked up and grinned. 

“I wore this so you had something to hang onto. Hold on tight, love,” he said and Tav grabbed the back of the harness. Enver, thinking quickly, pulled his hardened cock out of his pants before wrapping his arms around the back of Tav’s legs and lifting her up until she was pressed, with her feet off the ground and hooked over his elbows, against the wall and Enver. Enver placed one of her legs over his shoulder and used his free hand to guide his cock to Tav’s entrance. He teased her by rubbing his sensitive head against her folds before pressing himself inside. 

Enver moved his hand back to better support Tav in his position before allowing her to sink all the way down onto him. 

Tav’s head fell forward and she bit into his shoulder to stifle a moan as he buried himself inside of her. Enver, ever the tease, pulled back out slowly only to plunge back into her with more force, and Tav clenched her fists tightly around the leather straps on his back. 

“Gods”, she groaned softly against his skin, still trying not to make too much noise, considering that only a curtain separated them from the guests. “If I moaned your name the way I wanted to, the whole festhall would be privy to our activities.” Her words were interrupted by pants and bites, with Tav struggling to whisper at all despite him rolling his hips into her. 

Enver chuckled at that and said something, but she didn’t hear as her throat made a sobbing sound she tried to suppress by burying her face into his neck – as if a new part of his body would stifle her sounds any better than the other. 

His teeth bit into the soft skin of her neck, and Tav couldn’t help but let him do whatever he wanted, not exactly having a lot of room to move or complain. Not that she had anything to complain about, aside from the fact that she felt her body tensing for release, her hips jerking into him involuntarily, trying to find more friction, more movement, more… him. 

“Don't stifle those pretty moans, Tav. The music is loud enough and I want to hear you,” he said against her ear so that she could hear. He thrust deep inside of her, moving his mouth away a moment to pant and grunt from the pleasure pulsing through his body. He won't last long like this. “Fuck, Tav. You feel so good.” 

He was grateful that he could feel the way Tav tightened around him as he slid up against the backside of her clitoris with his cock. His stomach pushing back down onto her mons, trapping Tav in an overstimulating cage of pleasure. Her little whimpered moans falling out of her mouth uncontrollably with each wet slap of their groins colliding. 

“That's it, Tav,” Enver moaned. “That's my girl.”

This time, Tav heard him and let herself go. She trusted him, trusted that it would be okay even if the whole hall heard. Her mouth fell open as her eyes rolled back, and her throat and chest were finally able to make the volume of sounds her body was aching to let out.

Enver moaned in response, tightening his grip around her even more, and the way he wanted her – needed her – was enough to tip Tav over the edge. She came, crying out his name mixed with a number of curses, digging her nails into his back. Enver followed almost immediately, the way her walls tightened around his cock and her loudly audible pleasure making him come with deep, almost guttural groans.

They were both panting from the stimulation and release, and when Enver sat her down again Tav’s legs were so shaky she stumbled for a second, having to lean back against the wall to steady herself. 

Enver held Tav up by her waist and pressed his forehead against the wall behind her, trying to catch his breath. He huffed out a breathy laugh and moved to tilt Tav’s head up to press a kiss against her lips with a smile. His fingers laced through her hair as he cupped the back of her head. 

“You’re… Gods, you’re amazing,” he said, trying his hand at being honest and vulnerable when they’re not in the middle of heated and passionate sex.

Enver felt like a teenager swooning over the prettiest girl in his class. Like he finally got her attention and nothing else mattered in the world. He pushed down the urge to pick her up and spin her around mostly because his arms felt like rubber from holding her up in their previous position for so long. 

Once his heart rate slowed down he took a step back from Tav, making sure she was steady, and grabbed her underwear. He crouched down and she stepped back into them before he pulled them back up and secured them around her, pulling her dress back into position. 

Tav snorted, “Such a gentleman,” she teased.

Enver ignored her comment and indulged himself by wrapping his arms around her legs and pressed his head onto her stomach. Tav’s fingers ran through his hair curiously and scratched at his scalp. Enver sucked in a deep inhale and then exhaled before standing up and grabbing his shirt. 

“I’m buying you dinner,” he announced and offered his hand to her. 

Tav wasn’t sure what was happening. She was happy. More than that. 

Enver had been laying the world at her feet, not only tonight, but ever since she had left the bath so he could fix his attitude. He was funny, and sweet, and making her happy seemed to make him happy. 

Every time he looked at her, her stomach twisted into knots. Every time he kissed her, she forgot the world around her. In her mind, she was already decorating rooms for them to live in.

When he offered her his hand to take her to dinner, she took it and pulled him back into her.

“One moment”, she sighed, “I want you all to myself for a little while longer.” 

Tav cupped his face with both of her hands and leaned up to kiss him. It was different: Tender, and soft, and so slow that she made note of every piece of stubble under her thumbs, every flick of tongue against hers, and every single breath he took in and exhaled against her. 

Enver melted into her, bringing his hands to her back to hug her tightly against him. When they pulled apart, they both smiled. 

“Okay”, Tav chuckled. “Now we can go.”

[bhaalbabebardlock]

Chapter 22- Blood Sister

AO3 Link

Masterpost

Summary: Ilara returns home and to receive punishment, and runs into Orin.

CW as always for violence.

Notes: While Ilara sleeps peacefully remembering everything that happened, we're going to be in slow burn falling in love with Gortash land. I'm a sucker for two people who don't know how to trust anyone, we'll get back to there with Astarion eventually 🤐

The warm sunlight spilling through the window was a comfort as it slid over her, her eyes slowly opening. It took her a moment to realize where she was, her heart racing as she registered the feeling of Enver's warm body pressed against hers, his arms wrapped tightly around her torso. She basked in that feeling for a moment, the hardness of his chest against her back, the feeling of his fingers pressed softly into her bare thighs, almost forgetting. Her eyes snapped open, and she quickly squirmed out of his grasp, sitting up and looking around with wild, wide eyes. She quickly turned her head back to him as she saw his hand lift, rub his own eyes, and finally stare back at her. Her heart almost cracked, looking at the vulnerability there. A peace he did not have once he was fully awake.

"I have to go, I'm already in enough trouble as it is." She broke their silence with her declaration, watching that now familiar longing and sadness pass through his eyes, the same way it always did when she announced she had to leave for the night. Except this time, she had stayed all night. She stood gracefully from the bed, in that strange fluid way she always moved where she was in one place and then another. She took a hesitant step back towards him, her fingers reaching out to stretch across the sheets, ghosting his face to lightly brush the hair off his forehead. She felt him go stiff under her touch and she snapped her hand back, annoyed at her own desire for tenderness. That moment was over. She would be better off pretending it hadn't happened. Maybe then the punishment wouldn't be as severe.

A startled sound fell from her mouth when his own hand came up, catching her wrist between his fingers, stopping her from pulling away. They stared at each other for a moment before she gently pulled on her wrist, a silent ask for him to let go. He didn't. She didn't know what to do with the intensity in his burning eyes.

"Stay a little bit longer, won't you?" All of this was so new to her. The gift, the bath, the tender caresses as she had fallen asleep. She felt confusion curling in her stomach. He wanted her, she could tell. But for some reason, he hadn't made that move and neither had she- too absorbed by their fascination with one another outside the calls of their gods, too intrigued by these moments of softness they had both always been denied. She wondered how he knew to do that. To treat her that way. She wished she didn't crave more of it. More of him.

She knew she shouldn't. She knew she should leave, go back home. She knew that when she returned from being gone all night, and with no body to show, that her penance would not be swift. It would be slow, it would be agonizing. It would be worth it. She stepped forward again, sitting herself tentatively on the edge of the bed and looking back at him.

"No. Like you were when you were asleep. Come here." He held out a hand to her, and the desire to reach out and take it was so strong that she had to bite her tongue. Her heart hammered in her chest as she looked back at him, her palms slick with sweat. She couldn't take the way he was looking at her. She didn't know what that was. She stood quickly, shaking her head, flinching at how the vulnerability and that unidentifiable emotion in his face washed away as he dropped his hand.

"I have to go. I'm sorry." She was sorry. Sorry to her father, because she wanted to stay here in this bed, the caress of his fingers and sunlight making warmth blossom in places she didn't know it could. Sorry to him, because that was something she would never be able to do without bringing danger and death to his bed. She shook her head again, grabbing her discarded clothes from where they laid on the floor.

"I'm... I'm sorry." And she left.

***

She had managed to pull her pants on before she rushed out of Wyrm's Rock, the misty step cantrip falling from her mouth as she stumbled back into the familiar, cold temple. She clutched her own bloody shirt in her hands, looking down and remembering that she was still wearing his shirt. Shit. She lifted the collar of the shirt to her nose, softly inhaling that warm, soapy scent that always seemed to surround him. She would hide the shirt in her room somewhere, quickly. Nobody needed to know. Maybe nobody would see her. She just had to make it to her room and-

"Sweet sister. Where have you been?" Irritation crawled it's way up her spine at Orin's acid sweetness, her voice dripping with the disdain she felt for her. Orin was her second, the only one who could nearly match her in skill but not quite. And she was desperate for their father's affections, his approval. Affection Ilara wished she did not have, continuously doing things to earn his disapproval. It does not matter though, he had said. She would be his perfect vessel. She would submit. For although they were both children of their god, it was Ilara who was born from his own flesh. Orin was Sarevoks granddaughter, the divinity diluted between generations. Her impurity left their god scoffing at her, remarking that should Ilara perish only then would he take Orin as his chosen. The forced seeds of jealousy and disdain had left the two with a less than desirable relationship, a strained mockery of comraderie between one who wanted to obey and one who wanted to run.

"Go away, Orin." She didn't bother to turn around to look at her, unamused by having been noticed at all. She didn't have to turn around though, as Orin peeked her head over her shoulder. Orin had no qualms about personal space, never having understood the matter. It was always an argument between them as she slithered into Ilara's chamber, bothering her as she poked and prodded and pushed things over in her boredom. She laid her chin there, taking a deep breath.

"You smell like... Desperation. It's disgusting. Where have you been?" Ilara scowled, shaking Orin off her shoulder and finally turning to face her.

"That isn't your business, Orin. Despite what you'd believe, you aren't in charge here and I don't answer to you." Orin tutted, her slow smile spreading across her face.

"Oh my sweet bloodlusted sibling. I'll just tell on you. Father will make you talk, while he spills your pretty red on his altar." She tilted her head, smelling the air again. Her grin cracked open Ilara's chest, Orin's fingers twirling in the stale air.

"That isn't your shirt." Ilara's heart froze as Orin leaned forward, pinching the fabric between her pale fingers. Ilara scowled, reaching up and slapping the hand away, taking a step back from her sister as she pressed her mouth into a thin line.

"Yes well, as you can see mine was dirty." She gestured to the soiled tunic in her hand, offering no further clarification. Orin's eyes narrowed, that unsettling smirk disappearing from her face.

"You reek of weakness. I can smell that rotten Banite all over you. The way you desperately cling to that little lordling is repulsive. Why, sister? Why do you not paint wyrm's rock in his entrails, spray his crimson all over the halls?" She prickled at the suggestion, her stomach twisting into hot knots of pain at the thought of killing him. She didn't like that. She had never cared like that before. Her mind spun as she tried to formulate an answer, something between a lie and a truth that she wasn't even sure she knew herself.

"I've already told Father this- there is a plan. It will bring us power, the world will heel to him. That's all you need to know. Now leave me." She felt her irritation bubble as amusement once again flickered across Orin's face.

"What if I killed the lordling? Dragged my blade through his pretty little belly, danced through his blood weeping onto the floor? Father would be so happy." There was no thought as Ilara moved with that uncanny, deadly grace. Her dagger was in her hands and against Orin's stomach before she had finished her sentence, the quiet descending upon them as they both stood there, breathing softly.

"Temper, temper, temper my sweet slaughter-sibling. Did I strike a nerve?" She clutched the knife so tightly in her hands that it felt like it was bruising her fingers.

"I will gut you if you lay even one of your vile little fingers on him. Do you understand me, sister?" She spat the word with disdain, barely holding back her rage. She didn't know why it had made her so angry, the thought of Orin taking him. Taking him from her.

"He is mine to deal with Orin, is that clear?" Mine. She felt those words sink into her bones. She had never had anything, anyone that was hers. Until now. She desperately wanted to protect him, if even for only a little longer.

"He will lay upon the stones of this temple, Ilara. Father will not be denied." Orin's words rung out through the air, suffocating the cold heart inside Ilara's chest. She stepped back, pointing her dagger at Orin.

"Remember what I said. Do not touch him. Or else." She turned on her heel, heading back to her room to hide away his shirt, to return to the main floor of the temple where she would receive her penance for having been gone the entire night.

"He makes you weak. It will ruin you." She did not respond to Orin, continuing to walk away, refusing to be bothered by her taunting words. Or at least, refuse to show that she was bothered. He did make her weak. That was a problem.

***

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad this time. She closed her eyes, bowing her body down against the cold stone, pressing her bare torso against it to ease the heat running through her. Her mind drifted to the evening before, to Enver's fingers dipping across her back as he washed her, the way they had tenderly rubbed onto her scalp. She winced as the lash of pain brought her back to reality, to where she was now, on the cold stones being punished for that softness.

"Count." She closed her eyes again, letting her thoughts drift off to sweeter things. She'd never had that before. To the way his bare arms had looked covered to the elbow in soap, glinting in the soft candlelight. The way he had gasped softly before he held her in his bed, their bodies pressed against each other, seeking nothing but that moment of understanding, that need to be seen. She counted as she always did, as she was told, her cries less strained than usual at the biting pain, wounds that had not closed being split back open. When it was done, she returned to her room, crawling into her bed and pulling her knees up to her chest, tucking her arms around herself. She had been right. It was worth it.

***