#Gortash x f!durge

[astarionmademewriteit]

Make it Hurt

Enver Gortash x f!Durge (pre-tadpole)

Rating: Explicit

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

Wordcount: 1.7k

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

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

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[novarunestone]

"Sooo...ya got a boyfriend?"

[cephydeluxe]

sometimes, I convince myself that my taste in romance in media is """sophisticated""" and """complex""", but then I remember that I am, in fact, a single celled organism and my only real qualifier for a good romance is if they can do the reze kiss

[inkymoonbunny]

A peek into Gortash and Rosary's past relationship and Astarion has a realization.

Read on A03

As they followed the spore trail, Rosary pointed out a patch of timask sprouts to Astarion. 

“They’re used in confusion potions,” Rosary rambled, walking towards the blue stalks. “I’ve never tasted them before.” 

“Nor shall you, darling,” Astarion grabbed her arm before she could reach the mushrooms. “You can eat all the poison you want when you aren’t feeding me.”  

“A taste wouldn’t hurt me,” Rosary insisted. 

“No,” Astarion replied, hauling her to catch up with their party. Halsin had lingered behind with Screech, observing them with a genial smile. 

“You’ve quite the fascination for mushrooms,” Halsin commented to Rosary. 

“They make so many poisons!” Rosary replied excitedly. 

“Have you ever considered becoming a Druid?” Halsin asked. “I believe you would do well as a Circle of Spores Druid.” 

“Stop encouraging her!” Astarion snapped at the tall elf. 

[proffbon]

Fawn and Gortash's relationship to me is just:

Gortash: I can make him worse (accidentally fixes him)

[wood-white-writer]

"We Shall Be Monsters" [One-Shot]

— Enver Gortash x F!Durge!Reader (Baldur's Gate 3)

Pairing: Enver Gortash x F!Durge!Reader

Summary: Long before you became the Savior of Baldur's Gate, you were the Chosen of Bhaal; his unholy offspring. More than that, you were the Chosen of Bane's. There are memories beyond you grasp, forever lost in the oblivion of your mind, but he never forgot, as much as he yearned to.

Warnings: Explicit 18+ | Enver Gortash's POV | F!Durge!Reader (unspecified race or appearance) | Bhaalist-typical acts of violence and gore | Implied loss of virginity | Soft/Dom Gortash | Religious Themes | Bhaal Ideology | Self-flagellation | Gortash is whipped for Durge from the get-go | Gortash is a Freak | Pre-lobotomy Durgetash | Post-lobotomy Durgestarion (brief hint)

Wordcount: 7k

A/N: Guess who spent the last three weeks playing Resist!Durge, only to fall for this raccoon of a man? Apologies for grammatical errors, will correct them later. English is not my first language.

Enver Gortash had a revelation, presenting itself as a dream.

He was surrounded by darkness, wholly alone, when a deep and otherworldly voice spoke from the shadows. Whether it was instinct that compelled him or something else, he knew almost instantaneously that it was his God that spoke.

The Lord of Tyranny granted the mortal soul the title as his Chosen One; an honor beyond the kind the mortal world could ever hope to provide with. At the moment, it was far too grand for the mortal to properly acknowledge – a pinnacle of shame he would come to live with for years to come.

Just before the dream faded and the newly appointed Chosen of Bane returned to the material plane, he recalled his God’s parting words:

“Seek out the One whose path is paved with Corpses. The one who’s Who will build her castle with bones.

Seek out the Chosen of my Sworn Foe; his unholy offspring. Make an ally of her.

Do what is necessary to make the world bow before you, and when the time comes, do what must be done to ensure that my rule remains unchallenged.”

---

As it turned out, he had no need to spend any coin trying to scourge you out.

You sought him out instead.

The first time he laid eyes upon you, he found you almost disappointingly unremarkable.

Not in the sense that you were hideous to look upon. No, quite the opposite.

You looked normal.

Normal in a way that, had he crossed paths with you elsewhere – be it at a gala or across the streets of Baldur’s Gate – he wouldn’t have paid you much notice. Maybe offered you a drink and some pretty words, but little more.

Unsurprisingly, he had his reservations about whether you were truly the one he expected.

A Bhaalspawn– No, The Bhaalspawn.

The God of Murder’s very own Chosen Child – his flesh and unholy blood comprised into one singular being.

He had heard tales of you long before he met you.

He had anticipated to come face to face with a monster sprouting tentacles and rows of razor-sharp teeth, blood leaking from every orifice, and a wicked smile stretched across her lips.

Every bit the beast the stories and cautionary tales circling Baldur’s Gate portrayed your kind as.

Not this �� someone who looked like they had simply wandered into the completely wrong place.

You were no monster - not at first glance, but he didn't quite know what to make of you. Even in the darkness, it was hour to make out your shape, and you didn't provide him anything to go by.

You were as silent as the evening itself.

Enver considered himself a perceptive man, taking every advantage he could reap whenever an opportunity presented itself. Whenever he happened to come across a potential ally or a new associate, his first instinct was always to read them; figure out the kind of person they were.

He could tell a lot from a person based on their initial demeanor. Were they the worrisome kind? The arrogant type? Self-assured in their position, or meek and subservient to those they considered their superiors?

Lickspittles or servants; equals or subordinates.

He believed he had come to know them all.

You, however, were a blank canvas.

There wasn’t a trace of blood on your clothes, not that he could tell. Not a wayward piece of flesh stuck between the white of your teeth, peeking out past your lips.

He couldn't even see something as menial as a smile.

Hardly the stuff of nightmares.

He couldn’t tell if it disappointed him or not.

However, the Archduke-to-be would come to realize his mistake the moment your eyes met, and all he saw gazing back at him was darkness.

Complete and utter blackness. Absence of light; of life.

Not even the depths of the Hells could compare, nor the shadows which made up Shar's domain. A black whole circling the universe.

You possessed the eyes of a killer, angled in a way that reminded him of knives searching for skin to sever, and they were aimed straight at him.

A shiver ran up and down his skin.

Oh, you were the real deal, all right.

He found that the smile that stretched across his lips was a genuine one for once, unlike the kind he typically displayed when first meeting a potential associate.

He clapped his hands together, suddenly eager to proceed with the introductions. “The Chosen of Bhaal, it seems we finally have the pleasure to speak.”

He took a few steps closer, mindful that you could probably mince him without any effort if he got too close. It was only then that he noticed the blade you kept strapped to your hips. Crimson as the blood it had undoubtedly spilled.

Your eyes maintained direct contact with his for a moment longer before they shifted to the window, not a smidgen of interest or … much of anything, really.

He tried to scrutinize you for any thoughts or feelings, desperate for some reprieve in the enigma that was your character. The moon would not permit him any clues, even as a blade of her light diagonally cut your face.

You were a blank slate, cold even from a distance; wholly indecipherable.

Finally, you spoke: “Chosen of Bane, Enver Gortash.”

He could not hope to conceal his intrigue. “Ah, it seems you already know who I am, then?”

You nodded, only once, like the conversation had already lost all appeal.

“And may I have your name in turn?”

“You have my title. It will suffice."

For now.

Ah, quick and precise. A lady after his own heart.

Just as he was about to offer you a glass of wine - for curtesy’s sake, of course – he looked back only to find your piercing gaze suddenly less than inches away from him, the Lash of Bhaal tilted dangerously close to his jugular vein.

It didn’t cut through him, though he could already tell it was a tempting thought on your part. Still, that didn’t keep you from allowing the blade to dance across his skin, cold and hot at the same time.

Sharp indeed.

A dance of death, with only a moment keeping him from Death’s cold embrace.

Enver fleetingly wondered what it would feel like to have his life claimed by Bhaal’s offspring. Would it hurt? Most likely, but it didn’t frighten him even half as much as it should have.

He had heard the reports of what remained of those who were unfortunate enough to find themselves on the receiving end of Bhaal's knives.

He had seen the detailed drawings and read in-depth descriptions Baldur's Mouth publicized, and while he was a skeptic towards the media's reliability, he had no doubt that they had spared no details when it came to your crimes. Children, women, men, it mattered not. Anyone with blood pumping through their veins could become a target, and he was no exception.

What would the headlines be?

"Aspiring Military Advisor found dead in his own chambers - The Cult of Bhaal strikes again!"

He imagined his blood would run warm down his skin, soak the imported fabric of his clothing, forever staining the expensive carpets beneath his feet.

Oh, what a sight it would be, should he be fortunate enough to remain conscious for only a few seconds long to see his execution through.

He instinctively held his breath, but all sense of fear and self-preservation evaded him, as it had done numerous times already. He could feel your breath upon his skin, scorching and acidic, yet he could find no trace of repulsion within himself. Instead, all he could focus on were your eyes.

So deep and hollow, like the expanses of Shar, but tenfold as captivating.

Oh, how the goddess would’ve wept upon being usurped.

Patiently, the Follower of Bane awaited your verdict. Truthfully, he had no interest in dying before this alliance came to fruition, however brief. Perhaps he could make an exception this once, if only to die gazing into those eyes of yours.

They contained a beauty meant only to be beheld by the dead or the dying, he discovered.

You tilted your head to each side as you studied him, like a cat inspecting the prey caught between their claws. The blade followed your as though it possessed sentience of its own, scraping against his neck in a manner he almost mistook for fondness.

Then, a sharp sting reverberated across his skin.

He suppressed the urge to wince.

A drop of his warm blood escaped through the cut you had inflicted on his chin. Not fatal by any means, but it would undoubtedly scar.

A scar worthy of a story.

Your eyes trailed down to the crimson liquid gathering on the collar of his shirt, and he could’ve sworn your pupils expanded to the edges of your irises. You took a deep breath through your nose, and upon releasing it, he found your face changing into something … thoughtful.

“You’re not afraid.”

There was no disappointment laced between your words. A hint of surprise, perhaps, but not disappointment.

Enver tilted his head to get a better view of you, the edge of his lip tugging slightly. “Does that offend you?”

You didn’t answer and withdrew the blade.

He might have said something else, but never got the chance to speak up.

In the blink of an eye, you were gone, like a wraith having returned back to their grave.

All that remained of your presence was the opened window that allowed the evening breeze to ruffle his curtains and the lingering scent of death he had grown intimately acquainted with.

As he drew his fingers over the fresh cut down his chin, feeling the warmth of his own life coat the digits, he could not keep a smile at bay.

---

It wasn’t until weeks later that he saw you again, in your natural habitat – for a lack of better description.

You were kneeling on the ground, covered in blood, viscera, and gore, like a devoted monk in the temple of their deity – begging for recognition.

Barely an inch of your skin was visibly underneath the many layers of blood that coated your flesh.

In a way, it felt like he was intruding.

When your eyes snapped to address him, it was like an animal seeing a potential threat. He couldn’t help but feel something stir in the depth of his chest, lodged between his ribcages like a raven yearning to break free of its chains.

Once more, it was in the confines of his chambers. He had retired for the evening, more or less hoping to catch a glimpse of his enigmatic new associate, when Lord Bane apparently saw fit to grant his loyal Follower the visage of his sworn foe’s daughter – completely naked at that.

You were beautiful.

Covered in blood from head to toe, the individual strands of your previously maintained hair separated by layers upon layers of bodily fluids, your clothing cast aside as if to merge yourself completely with the remnants of your prey.

It was like he was witnessing something he had no right to, but still being granted permission. This might have been sacred on your part, meant to be a private affair.

If you wanted to, you could kill him for this slight – if you considered it as such. You could strip him of his teeth, separate the layers of his skin, pull apart his bones, and place his corpse alongside the one you currently had positioned in front of you.

One of his servants, he realized shortly after. A young lady named Serah Lancastor, daughter of a nouveau riche lord who had entered his services not long ago.  

Whatever blood remained of her corpse had been spent drawing the Symbol of Bhaal. A tribute, perfected in the chambers of the Child of Bhaal’s adversary. It would have been the perfect sacrifice – an insult to Bane and a gift to your Father.

The Banite in him certainly would’ve considered this an insult of the gravest sort, deserving nothing short of a lifetime in Wyrm’s Rock, but Enver himself was more eager to finally get more than a few sentences out of you if he could.

“And here I was under the impression that our respective Lords were at a truce, or have I been misinformed?” He asked as he assessed her, arms crossing over his chest in a way that would’ve come across as self-assured.

You did not reply at first. As you got up to your feet, he could not help but notice that your movements were unsteady, like a foal fresh out of the mare’s womb.

“You were not mistaken,” you answered, your voice hoarse, and the Lash of Bhaal clutched tightly in your grip as you marveled at your masterpiece.

“Oh? Then, pray tell, what reason could you have for killing one of my servants – in my chambers, no less?”

You regarded him stoically. “The woman poisoned your wine.”

An assassination attempt? How ambitious. “So, you killed her for my sake? Considerate for a Bhaalist, wouldn’t you say?”

Your eyes narrowed. “Your usefulness would expire upon your premature death, Banite. The servant maintained hers after.”

His gaze flickers between you and the corpse for a few moments, thoughts washing over his head. It would seem that – despite your inherent nature – your urges were not without cause. Not wholly, at least.

This meant, for the time being, you would have no reason to kill him unless you saw any benefit from it. He would live for as long as the alliance between your Gods did.

Did it vex you, knowing you could not satiate your hunger for blood just yet?

Did it intrigue you? Did you sleep at night, dreaming of the day you could finally add his name to the long list of your victims?

So many questions and only one knew the answers. Only one could answer them.

But he was in no hurry to receive them.

“There’s a bath in the back, should you feel the need to use it.”

“Does the blood disturb you?” you asked, almost hopeful.

“No," he admits truthfully. "but I imagine it would be difficult leaving this place like that. The servants would be frightened – as they should be – and the guards would be on your trail in an instant. Why not spare yourself trouble when you can afford it?”

You continued to stare at him like he was a puzzle to be solved, and he granted you all the time you required before you finally reached your verdict. With the flick of your blade, and drops of blood splattering across his floor, you turned around and made your way to the bathroom.

Enver was not a salacious man by nature, despite what the Baldur’s Mouth would imply, but even he had to admit – it was a lovely view.

Alas, there was the matter of explaining the unfortunate fate of poor Serah to the cleaning staff …

---

He didn’t see you again for quite sometime after that, and although he’d never admit it to anyone in person, he’d grown accustomed to the way each of your previous visits had left his adrenaline surging through his veins.

To be without it was proving … tedious.

There were reports of various murders committed in the Lower City, some more grotesque and messy than the rest, but he could already discern yours from anyone else’s.

Your kills were methodical; and pragmatic. You didn’t waste time decorating your victims with their innards or putting them up to become a spectacle for the rest of the poor denizens in Baldur’s Gate to find the following morning.

Whoever was responsible for those murders was… wasteful.

It couldn’t have been you.

While Enver was parading about to the many lickspittles and politicians, his mind always shifted back to whether he would open his chamber doors and be greeted by you standing there in the dark. He could care less if you were covered in blood or not, as long as you were there.

What would you do?

Finally make an attempt on his life?

Kill another one of his servants?

He'd give you ten of them.

He had enough at his disposal, he’d be more than willing to pay the cost if it meant getting another chance to peer into those acute eyes of yours one more time.

But when he retired once more to his chambers that night, he was disappointed to find it vacant. Not even a corpse was there to greet him.

---

He sent a letter.

Not a long one, but one he was sure would reach you, and sure to pique your interest if his mere presence failed at that.

It regarded the House of Wonders – more specifically, what the House itself contained.

He had waltzed through the halls there on several occasions – attended galas and gatherings hosted by the city’s elite, and he’d seen what rested behind their meager display cases.

Remnants of your history: Bones of fellow Bhaalspawn, ancestral instruments that deserved more than to be poised up for show. The people of this city exploited these instruments as a sign of peace. To know that – if one Bhaalspawn could be felled, they all could.

But you were not the kind to fall so easily as your brethren did.

At first, he was doubtful his message would reach you, but when he found you standing in the corner of his room not even two nights later with the messenger’s severed head positioned on top of his work desk and his letter tucked between what remained of the boy’s teeth, he grinned.

You, however, were evidently not in the mood for idle chatter.

The moment he shut the door, your eyes were once more on him. “Speak.”

And so, Enver did.

He had already planned the groundwork: how to get in and out without alerting the guards, and successfully make away with the torture racks using a Scroll of Dimension Door. It was child’s play, really. The House’s security had dwindled in the last couple of years, and for once, it served him well.

As he laid out his plan for you, taking out the House’s blueprints to further emphasize the brilliance of his mind, he maintained your attention long enough for him to deduce that you were interested.

When he was finished, he turned back to you, patiently awaiting your verdict.

Your eyes flickered between him and the blueprints before they finally settled on him with the same sharpness he had grown to appreciate.

“Tomorrow, at 11 o’clock,” you answered, shortly. “Do not keep me waiting.”

At that moment, Enver could’ve wept with joy.

---

The Heist was a success.

Truly, only the damned Devil’s death could’ve surpassed the satisfaction Enver felt the moment they escaped.

Not only had you two been successful in infiltrating the House of Wonders and making away with the instruments unscathed, but he got to watch you doing what you did best from the front rows.

There were guards there, more than a few, but not even five seconds after they made their debut, screams were reverberating through the halls of the House to the point where the Banite could feel the tremors through his very bones.

There were possibly ten or fifteen guards in total, and you killed them all.

Killed them?

No, that’s too undignified of a word to apply to your craft.

You remade them entirely.

There was so much blood, screaming, and bones being pulled apart from the stems, that he didn’t have the capacity to focus on it all at once.

Blood rained wherever you went.

The One whose path is paved with Corpses.

They were dead long before you ever touched them, he knew as much. One after the other, they all fell until all that remained was a pool of blood gathering under the soles of his shoes.

It was like you were dancing.

You were a monster.

Oh, but what a beautiful monster you were.

In the end, there were no more screams. You stood there in the middle of the circle of death you had just made, blade in hand, clothes soaked thoroughly and clutching to your skin. It seemed like you were on another plane of existence entirely, your mind not your own for a moment, no word brushing past your lips.

All he could hear was your shallow breathing in the aftermath of the chaos you had created.

And when you finally glanced over your shoulder to look at him, your face smeared with the liquid life of those around you, eyes lifeless and cold, Enver could deny it no longer.

Not to himself, not to you, not even to Bane.

“You’re beautiful.”

The way in which he said it was unbefitting of an Archduke-to-be, much less a Banite, but damn it if his pride was not worth this moment of admiration.

For just a moment, he detected a glimpse of something different in your eyes when he spoke that confession. Something he had never seen before. For once, it was not hidden underneath layers of indifference or antipathy, not even perverse satisfaction. It was bare and vulnerable like a snake having shed their most recent skin.

You looked… Surprised. Shocked.

Flustered?

You opened your mouth to say something, but then for some reason, you shut it just as quickly. He had never seen this manner of indecisiveness with you before, and it felt like he wasn’t supposed to.

Still, he couldn’t will himself to look away, to be denied the view of you being anything other than Bhaal’s Chosen.

Then, you finally spoke, and it was so hushed that he almost strained to hear it.

“Enver Gortash … You’re something else.”

He caught the glimpse of something tugging on the edge of your lips. Not quite wide enough to qualify as a smile, but the closest thing he had seen thus far on your countenance. He expected it to be of the perverse kind – the smile of a killer, satisfied with their recent excursion in the name of their Father and Lord.

But it wasn’t.

At least, it didn’t seem so.

Whether it truly was the amount of deaths surrounding you or what he’d said, he didn’t have time to deduce before the bells began to ring in the distance, and their heist came to an end.

Even so, he could not shake off the mental picture he took of that moment.

It was scorched into his brain forevermore. He could try to scrub it as much as he wanted, it would never leave.

Nor did he want it to.

The Heist was indeed a success – but not for the reasons he initially believed in.

It signified the night he finally got to see you, if only a brief glimpse of it.

---

It was as if the Heist with the House of Wonders further cemented your respective alliances, for better or for worse.

On one hand, you began to seek him out more, as he oftentimes found you already waiting for him in the dark of his chambers as per usual. The two of you spent the majority of your time discussing how to advance your plot, while simultaneously attempting to avoid the missteps of your predecessors.

After all, you aimed towards a fruitful alliance, and to sully its potential too early would be a waste on both accounts.

Fortunately, it seemed like you had decided to keep the number of deaths in his quarters at a minimum, for the most part. Whether it was for your inconvenience or his own (his servants had begun to grow disturbed by the piling numbers of deceased in his room), he could not tell.

On the other hand, there was the matter of both Ketheric Thorm – the Chosen of Myrkul – and your second-in-command – Orin the Red.

The geriatric and the child, as he mentally preferred to refer to them as.

Ketheric was at least useful to some extent. His obsession with reviving deceased family members was a thorn in Enver’s side, but not without its advantages.

Orin, on the other hand, was a migraine from the moment he was introduced to her. Admittedly, she looked more the part of the Bhaalspawn he had expected to encounter before being introduced to you. Stained in blood, colorless eyes akin to a corpse, giggling and shouting at the turn of a coin while waving around a blade much like a child would their precious toy.

In the name of Bane, he was fortunate it was you he had had the pleasure of meeting instead of her that night. Having Orin as the Leader of the Cult of Bhaal would’ve made eventually cutting this alliance much easier.

You knew how to dance hand-to-hand with your blade.

Orin merely toyed with hers.

---

With how often you frequented his office nowadays, Enver began to suspect that you were neglecting your Cult in your absence. Not that he ever brought it to your attention, he simply pointed it out to himself.

For the most part, you would stay and discuss his plans with him, still never speaking more words than you deemed necessary. If there was something you didn’t agree with, silence would remain your answer until he figured out the source of the problem. You were incredibly smart, he’d be a fool to deny that.

But with more time, he discovered that your brilliance was not the only reason he wanted you to stay.

With every session you partook in together, he swore he could see your face softening ever so slightly. Every gesture became more relaxed, and you ceased to pull away from his proximity. There were times when he could put a hand on your shoulder, even brush a wayward piece of hair away from your face without you threatening to spill his innards.

He took his victories in small measures.

Then one evening, he found you inside his chambers, only that you weren’t making standing now as you usually were when awaiting him.

Instead, you were perched in the alcove of his window. While your blade was clutched tightly in your grip, your eyes were closed, and the manner in which you sat seemed almost … peaceful.

Were you resting?

The second he closed the door, your eyes shot open, and he quickly found your blade pressed against his neck. It likely would’ve killed him had your eyes not fallen onto him in time.

He blinked. “… Good evening?”

You blinked again, recognition falling over your features, and sheathed your weapon.

Unperturbed by the most recent attempt at his life, Enver proceeded over to his desk. “Apologies for disturbing your rest,” he said, and what surprised him was that he meant every word of it.

It sounded like you were struggling to come up with a proper response. “I wasn’t resting.”

“Oh?” He glanced over to where you were previously not-resting, intending to make a subliminal point, when he noticed something.

Your previous seat – the layers in his window alcove – were drenched with blood. He initially suspected you had a corpse stowed away somewhere for him to find, but with a quick glance across his rooms, he found none. You never hid your kills, not from him, and upon turning back to you, that’s when he discovered that it was the back of your clothing that was drenched.

It wasn’t anyone else’s blood.

Just yours.

And no shortage in amount, either. It was dripping from the edge of your coat, staining the expensive carpets he as of five seconds ago couldn’t care less about.

His first instinct compelled him to investigate, all while maintaining the façade of complete composure. You were no mere person. You were a Child of Bhaal, you had no equal on the battlefield as far as he knew. Even the mightiest foes fell victim to your blade, regardless of their race, height, or armor.

The only one who could prove strong enough to even get close and inflict this amount of damage on you would be …

You.

A warmth encompassed him, foreign to his inherent nature. Warmer than the fires of hell, twice as scorching; twisting and clawing under his skin like desperate souls in search of freedom, but not even all the gold in Raphael's vault could tempt him to be rid of it.

“You’re injured,” he concluded.

“I heal fast. My Father’s blood ensures it.”

“An admirable and useful trait, but judging by how much you’ve already lost, I would say you’re still at risk until you’re healed.”

“Of dying?”

“Nothing as dramatic, I doubt. My furniture, however, is at risk of being stained beyond repair at this rate. Do your friend a favor and let me assess the damage, then.”

Your body stiffened.

“Is that what we are? Friends?” you asked, one eye looking over your shoulder to pinpoint his exact location.

He looked at you in turn. “Do you wish to be?”

You said nothing in return, but there was no sharpness to your gaze. No perceived slight at the casual words he permitted to come out of him. It felt like you didn’t know what to make of this, and he was in no hurry to make his meaning plainer.

Rather than waiting for a verbal response, he gestured to the stool by his bedside and headed to his bathroom to retrieve what little he possessed of healing balms, a washing bin full of water, and bandages. He usually had people for this kind of matter, but he doubted you would feel inclined to accept help from strangers when you scarcely permitted it of him.

He returned to find you seated, your upper clothing already discarded on his bed, with your bare back presented to him.

Enver Gortash had seen his fair share of the grotesque, whether it was from the Hells or in the city. He believed himself numb and desensitized to such; he never had a problem dishing it out himself.

Yet somehow, the sight of your back – borderline skinless with how marred your flesh was, blood already starting to coagulate across the edges of each cavern, made him pause for a moment. Anyone else would’ve died had they suffered the same injuries, but you were not anyone else.

If it were anyone else, he wouldn’t have given it a second thought. Hells, he wouldn’t have allowed them the liberty to sit here, partially naked like a disgraced courtesan, and offered them his assistance. He had seen you naked already, but not like this.

But with you … He’d be willing to make an exception.

He discovered that he would be willing to make a lot of exceptions.

Folding up the hems of his sleeves, he began the process of wiping off the excess blood. He imagined that the salve in the water would sting, possibly hurt, but he warranted no reaction from you. Not a wince, not a moan, not a single sound. Your skin was cold, like the corpses you created, but soft in spite of the state you were in.

The basin soon turned red with the remnants of your life’s essence, and he imagined that – were it true that Bhaal was in your blood – the God of Murder would’ve surely found it affronting to have drops of him wasted in a washing basin.

As he began to dry the jagged edges of your self-inflicted wounds, he couldn’t keep the question that was nagging him at bay.

“Why?” he asked quietly.

“Repentance.”

His eyes furrowed. Why would Bhaal’s favorite child – the one he had personally witnessed commit massacres in the name of her Lord – be required to repent? What could someone as devoted as yourself have to repent for? “For what?”

He received no answer in turn. All he gained was a look over your shoulder, one that quietly requested that he didn’t delve deeper into the matter.

You could’ve demanded his submission with pain.

You could’ve turned around and forced his head into the blood-mixed water, held him down until he was all but begging for the sweet relief of death.

But you didn’t.

So, he didn’t delve deeper.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend,” you murmured.

Enver smiled as he applied the balm to your skin. “Then I would be honored to be your first.”

---

He began to make note of the things you liked.

---

You liked blackberry, he discovered that when he left a bowl of them unattended on his desk - a gift from an associate overseas.

He returned to find the bowl near-empty, and the window open.

After that, he made a public announcement that blackberries were his favorite flavor, and although he received plenty of gifts from admirers and lickspittles alike, he never indulged himself.

The gifts were always gone from his chambers come morning.

———

You preferred the sound of the violin to the piano.

Whenever he hosted gatherings, he would insist on having the violinists perform the longest, if only to catch a glimpse of you hiding somewhere no one could spot you.

———

You never slept - you claimed to have no need for it

But every so often, while he was working on his desk, he would catch you closing your eyes and rest with your back against the wall.

———

“So, what do you think?” He swirled the wine in his glass before taking an appreciative sip. Imported recently from Neverwinter, a batch from 1359. Perfectly aged, and perfect for an evening such as this.

You looked skeptical at the drink in your hand from the opposite side of the table, internally weighing the pros and cons before finally taking a tentative sip. To his delight, you did not look disgusted, which meant that you were pleased.

He knew you would like it.

“Your verdict?”

“It’s sweet.”

“It’s composed of Blackberry syrup, quite popular in the region and a personal favorite of mine. Unfortunately, not many of my associates seem to share my taste for the beverage, so I’m fortunate that you do.”

“Do you wish me to kill them?” you asked, completely serious.

He grinned and rested his cheek atop the knuckles of his free hand. “While I can appreciate the gesture, I’m afraid that I need these particular associates alive for now. When their usefulness eventually expires, I’ll be sure to send word for you.”

You nodded in acquiescence and took another sip of your glass.

The both of you drank for a while longer, and while your conversations felt rather one-sided on his part, you listened and supplemented when you saw fit to it.

At first, the subject varied from different aspects of your plan regarding the Absolute, who to kill, and so forth. Then, when the liquor seemed to loosen both of your tongues, the subjects delved deeper. Deeper than they ought to have, but none of you felt the need to correct this error.

“What is your name?” he finally asked. He had wanted to ask that question for a while now – since the moment you first met – but you had never indulged him.

Maybe now, you finally would?

You tilted your head slightly to the side as you assessed him. “Does my title not suffice?”

“A title is one thing, but a name is another,” he explained, releasing his glass on top of the table to focus completely on you. “There have been other Bhaalspawn before, though never one such as yourself. I believe that requires a designation on your own.”

The way you peered at him, sent a warmth to his cheeks that he could not credit the alcohol for. Those eyes, the very ones who looked so hollow and lifeless, now had a certain glow about them that captivated him like a moth to the moon.

You glanced out the window for a moment, and he could faintly hear you whisper something he doubted was meant for his ears.

(“Forgive me, Father…”)

Then, you gave him your name; ushered it like a secret that was meant for him, and only him.

At that moment, Enver Gortash realized that he was willing to forsake it all.

Forsake Bane.

Forsake his work.

He would gladly toss it all away, if only he could keep your eyes on him at all times, to speak your names as many times as he desired.

At that moment, there was nothing more he desired.

Well, almost nothing more.

There was one thing.

As if all effects of the liquor had abandoned him, he got up to his feet and walked over to your side. The blade you had previously put aside found its way back to your hand with his guidance, and he helped up get up to your feet.

With little care, he buttoned his shirt down, exposing his chest to you; his skin, his flesh, all bare for you to indulge in as you pleased.

There were question marks aligned in your eyes at the gesture.

“Cut me.” His words were soft enough to be perceived as a request, but there was no room for negotiations, not this time. You had displayed painful self-control in his presence, never harming him since you first met.

Now, he was permitting you to do what you had undoubtedly denied yourself all this time.

You could kill him – sever his link to the mortal plane, dig out his heart, and eat it if you wished to. You had his permission, if only you could make him last long enough to see you smile once again.

You had only smiled once in the time he’d known you, and it was because of him.

Maybe his death would bring you a greater joy?

He’d hope you would smile for him one last time.

He felt the blade pierce his skin, but not deep enough for it to leave lethal consequences. A prolonged line from the right side of his abdomen up to his left shoulder. That’s all it left, hardly enough to be considered a tribute to your father’s name, but your pupils grew wide all the same.

With his hand circling your waist and pulling you closer, Enver forced your face into his blood-stained chest. “You have my scent,” he whispered into your ear. “Now have my taste.”

He did not have long to wait before he felt your nails piercing holes through the fabric of his coat, leaving crescent-shaped indents on the skin of his back as you pushed yourself tighter into him. It was near-suffocating, but Hells, if it wasn’t euphoric.

Your teeth on his chest came next, sharp and merciless – predator tearing into the carcass, like you wanted to devour all of him. Your tongue slid across the length of his scar, drinking in every drop of blood he could offer at the moment. It hurt, it stung, and it ached, but whatever blood his body could afford to spare went south on record speed.

It all dawned on him, then, in a moment of euphoric ecstasy

Why you were always covered in fresh wounds of your own making whenever you went to see him.

Why you were always murmuring prayers when you thought he couldn’t hear.

Begging for forgiveness from your Father – For your God.

It was all because of him.

For all the troubles he had unintentionally caused you, it was only fitting that he compensate for it, right?

When you finally pulled back, lips drenched with his blood, you looked absolutely beautiful.

“Tell me,” He clasped his hand to the side of your face, his voice hoarse with pure, unadulterated want. “How do I taste?”

In your dazed state, so content and so nourished by the essence of him, only one word pushed past your lips:

“Sweet.”

He claimed your lips in an instant, tasting himself on your tongue – Harsh and unyielding, and you matched him with equal vigor. To anyone else, the two of you would’ve resembled two animals in the midst of a fight, or a rut.

What others would say if they knew, he cared little for. His God could cast him aside for this wicked sin, and he’d accept it with a self-satisfied smile as he walked backward to the Hells. He wanted to taste every part of you, savor every piece you would grant him, and let you taste him in turn.

You bit and you clawed, shedding his blood, tearing at it skin.

A lesser man would have found it repulsing.

A lesser man would have pushed you away, redressed himself, and left.

But Enver Gortash was not a lesser man, and all you did to him, it only added to his eventual undoing.

Your skin was surprisingly soft against his, for all your scars from years of service to your God. The sounds you made as you came undone, be it by his fingers or his tongue, he could never hope to tire of it. For someone who never spoke much, you sure compensated for that with the unholy moans and snarls he earned.

Just before he entered you, your legs wrapped tightly around his hips, he could detect the faintest flicker of … fear? Hesitation? He did not have an estimated answer to the cause of this, but he did have his suspicions.

Before establishing the foundation of your friendship, he had noticed how you would go out of your way to avoid physical touch unless it was you who initiated it.

Of course, that boundary was cast aside when it came to reaping lives, but it seemed that in this particular instance, it was different.

Had you never known such pleasure?

Never allowed yourself to feed? To indulge?

Did your God only permit you to touch something - someone - as long as it resulted in death?

A gnawing began to tug at his bones.

He did not think you would care much for gentleness, nor did he ask you to clarify, but he was still measured with his intrusion and quickly discovered that you were tight. You left him breathless, and he in turn provided the same.

His suspicions were correct.

What a slight Bhaal would consider this; to know his precious offspring was defiled by no other than the Chosen of his Sworn Foe.

Enver was not a petty character - he was more dignified than that, but just this once, he was willing to spite the God of Murder.

Not that it’s was a point of focus to him.

With some adjustment, he searched your face for hints and signs that he could proceed. Where your voice fell short, your eyes provided. If you had objections, you did not voice them, but he made sure to commit to every act necessary for you to call out to him - not Bhaal, but Enver Gortash.

He learned what place made you sing to him. Made you scream his name.

And you did – several times.

He made sure of it.

And he called out yours.

---

By the time you were done, the bed was a mess, and you both looked like you had just narrowly escaped a chance encounter with death.

In a way, he had.

“Enver,” you called into his chest, your arm wrapped in a bruising hold around his stomach.

“Hmmm?”

“A friendship with you … has its uses.”

He almost laughed and wrapped his arms around you in return. “Care to elaborate?”

“You do not taste foul.”

He could live with that.

In fact, he wanted to live with that.

With you.

You would leave for Moonrise Towers soon, and your plan would come to fruition. Ketheric would fall – Orin could too for all he cared. The world would be at your feet, and you would both reign as Gods over the rest. There was no other he would rather share it with, save for the only one he considered his Equal.

Nor would there ever be anyone else.

This he swore to all the gods that would listen, - to Bhaal, to Bane, to Myrkul.

Enver swore it.

If the world considered you monsters, then you could be monsters together.

---

The next time he sees you, it’s months later, and you’ve changed.

You’re not alone this time, as much as he preferred it so.

A vampire stands beside you, looking awfully grateful and smug about being in your proximity – a hand on your hip for emphasis, unintentional with the spite aimed towards the Archduke. Gortash finds that he wants to squeeze out whatever blood is left in him just for breathing the same air as you.

There’s Duke Ravengaard’s wayward son, looking a little devilish as of late with the addition of two horns glued to his head.

Then there’s Karlach. He makes it a point to ignore her glare.

He has no interest in your companions.

What he does have is an interest in you, even if he can tell the feeling is not mutual. Not anymore. There’s that sharpness in your eyes, the one you always harbored before towards him, then ceased to.

Now it has returned, only it feels tenfold as cold compared to before.

“Shall we be allies?” he asks after making his proposition.

Shall we be friends again?

Silence, once more, remains his only answer.

It seems you were the only one who received the benefit of forgetting.

He never did.

Not once.

[forgotten-realm5]

That's all I needed to hear

(image from sorryseraphim)

Gortash x Dark Urge/f!Reader

Warnings & summary: MDNI, 18+, pre-tadpole, After a successful crown heist you realise you have feelings for Gortash, but not wanting to be just like every other conquest you make him work for it. (i suck at summaries), dominant!durge, magical restraint, masturbation (f), sorcerer durge, unprotected sex, p in v, biting, blood, choking, name calling.

Words: around 2K

Notes: This is my first attempt at writing smut ahhhh! i just wanted to try and contribute to this amazing community of BG3 fans, your artwork and writings have given me life. Gortash has taken up residence in my mind and won't leave so enjoy my brainrot ! Even if just one person enjoys this I will die happy.

The crown heist was a success. A feeling of pride and power courses through your body as you consider your partnership with Lord Enver Gortash and the full extent of what can be achieved when you work together as equals. Equals… a term that has never been used to describe you. As a child of Bhaal, you were constantly reminded by your father of your mortality compared to his omnipotence. Your mind ponders at the Chosen of Bane’s use of the word to describe your newly affirmed partnership, as he sits across you with a triumphant smirk on his face. You realise that he may be the first person to actually see you and your true worth, not just a mere slave to your father’s wishes. Never in your life have you felt a connection like the one between Gortash and yourself, the way you seem to complement each other and how he does not shy away from the darkest parts of your soul but instead welcomes it. You realise you are falling for him and feel frightened for the first time in your life, unsure of what to do, unsure whether he feels it too.

You come back to reality and realise Gortash is watching you expectantly waiting for a response to his question. When you don’t answer his face morphs into one of concern. You push your internal thoughts of love and lust to the back of your mind and focus on the object of your desire.

“Are you feeling alright my dear?”

“Just tired, what were you saying? you answer as your cheeks start to flush at being caught out.

“I was just raising a glass to us and the fine job we did in acquiring the Crown of Karsus. We are now one step closer to seeing our plan complete” Gortash explains while pouring a glass of wine and sliding it towards your side of the table.

You take the goblet of wine and raise it “To us and the future of our partnership”.

Gortash chuckles his eyes darkening slightly as he responds “Yes the future of our partnership indeed”.

You noticed his eyes roam over your body and then settle of your lips. You were concerned with your own feelings tonight but didn’t stop to examine his. Now that you think about it he may be trying to seduce you, as it was his idea to have a private celebratory dinner in his room.

Gortash sets down his goblet and walks around the table to come to a stop in front of you. He reaches down and offers his hand to pull you to your feet. You let your eyes roam his body. He is wearing his usual dark attire, but without his formal jacket you can see the lines of his strong chest and muscular arms. Your eyes settle the longest on the front of his shirt where it is has been opened to reveal chest hair you always longed to brush your hands through. Your eyes then focus on his mouth and his full lips, and you imagine taking them between your teeth. You bite your own lips with longing and reach forward to take his offered hand while you stand from your chair. You finally raise your eyes to his, and notice him watching you intensely. You can read him well after all these years, but tonight you see a slight apprehension to him that is unusual.

“Come stand by the window with me” Gortash guides you to the main window in the room, overlooking all of Baldur’s Gate and the lands beyond. It was a clear night, the moon shining bright illuminating the streets and people below. Gortash takes your hand in his and gestures with his other to the city below.

“Very soon all of this will be ours to rule together” He pauses and locks eyes with you.

“You look very beautiful in the moonlight”.

Gortash waits for you to respond with lust filling his own eyes. You know he is used to getting what he wants, taking on a dominate persona in all things. You knew this encounter was a long time coming as he had been nothing but a flirt since the first time you met. Looking at him in the candlelight, you decide you don’t want to be just another easy conquest, you want to be the one to make him beg.

Stepping closer to him you soften your voice to a sultry tone. 

“And you’re looking just as delicious” while your hand reaches up to caress his exposed chest through his shirt. It’s just as you always imagined, soft and warm. Gortash chuckles and then smirks at you and slowly, seductively he grabs the hand on his chest and brings it up to his mouth to kiss at the pulse point on your wrist, all the while not taking his eyes off you.

Your eyes shine with approval and he takes that as encouragement to lean forward and capture your lips. The kiss is an explosion of past longing coming to a head. You feel his stubble against your skin as you grab his face to deepen the kiss, his hands move to grip your hips. His mouth tastes of red wine and you inhale his lingering scent of incense and soap. Just as you are both about to pull apart to breathe again, you grab his bottom lip between your teeth and bite hard enough it breaks the skin causing Gortash to moan with approval. You lick the blood off his lips and move away from his embrace.

Gortash looks at you, his face flush with arousal.

“Gods you’re perfect, I can’t wait to hear how you moan my name”.

“All in good time, but first I want to hear you beg for me ” you smirk at the surprise on Gortash’s face, he narrows his eyes but answers with a hint of amusement.

"I don’t beg."

“We’ll see about that”. You motion for him to follow you back to the dining room and forcefully push him into a chair. He is watching you with enjoyment, his eyes following your every move. You stand in front of him close enough that your knees are touching and look down at the noticeable bludge in his pants, you smirk to yourself thinking this will be easier than you thought.

“Looks like someone enjoys a bit of pain” you tease him.

“Only if you’re the one delivering it” Gortash counters.

“Is that so?” you draw out. “You don’t have to hide it, I know you’re a kinky fuck”.

Before he has time to respond you grab his throat and crash your mouth to his. He moans loudly and you can feel yourself becoming increasingly wet listening to his responses. Gortash tries to grab at you to pull you on to his lap but you pull away, and take a step backwards, enjoying teasing him. You quickly cast hold person so he can’t move his body. Gortash chuckles at your use of a restraint and has an amused and hungry look on his face while you start to take off your clothes in front of him. Now standing in front of him completely nude his eyes roam the curves of your body, his face in awe of your physique.

“Come here so I can touch you." You note a slight hint of neediness in his voice that only spurs you on.

“That doesn’t sound like begging to me."

You note his slight annoyed expression and laugh. You then start to move your hands slowly down your body taking time to cup your breasts and play with your pointed nipples. His eyes are glued on your hands.

“Let’s see how long the Chosen of Bane can hold out for” you tease.

His mouth drops open slightly as your hand travels to your pelvic region. You lock eyes with Gortash while you slip one finger into your folds and let out a small moan. You bring the finger back out, now glistening with your arousal which causes a small noise that sounds like a whimper to come out of Gortash's mouth. You smile at him, eyes challenging him to break. He tries to shift in his seat against the restrains of the spell, his arousal threatening to burst through his pants.

“You cruel torturous woman, when I get my hands on you” he mutters, with a violent look in his eye. There is however also a slight note of defeat in his voice which makes you realise he is almost at breaking point.

You continue and pump two fingers in and out of yourself, moaning louder than needed to further torture him. You then bring your fingers up to your mouth and lick them clean slowly, exaggerating your tongue movements to demonstrate what he is missing out on. Gortash is captivated by your show, pupils blown wide with hunger. You then walk up to him and a plop yourself on his lap straddling his waist with your nipples at his eye level. You continuing to touch yourself in his lap, every so often brushing up against his achingly hard, still clothed member. Gortash moans loudly at the display looking about ready to explode.

“Alright! alright! you win” you grin at the victory and at the bitter tone in his voice. You stop your show to listen to the rest of his sentence.

Gortash pauses looking away from you

“Well, I’m waiting” you respond sharply.

“Please” you hear in a quiet voice.

“What was that, couldn’t quite hear you” you reply in amusement.

“Please!” Gortash almost shouts with an irritated look in his eyes. His voice then returns to his usual level.

“Please just let me touch you, let me fuck you, you cruel wicked thing” you hear the arousal in his voice, breathy and needy.

“That’s all I needed to hear” you respond as you break your concentration on the spell.

In an instant his arms are around you, picking you up and almost running towards the bed. He throws you on the bed and gets on top of you.

“You little harlot” you hear his light-hearted tone.

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy my show, I know you did." You smirk and grab between his legs to emphasises his arousal still tightly pushing against his breaches.

He gives you a look of hunger and hurries to remove his shirt only just realising he is still fully clothed. His body is how you imagined it, muscular yet soft with dark hair coating his body in just the right places. You can feel your desire burning inside you as you eye the patch of hair that trails down his stomach. You reach forward to undo his pants and push his undergarments off eager to see all of him. His member bounces free of its confines already slick. Your eyes widen at the thickness of it, already anticipating the burn. Gortash notices your line of vision and chuckles with pride as he grabs your chin and pulls you in for another heated kiss. He hungrily kisses every part of your body that he was denied while kneading your breasts with his hands. He moves from your mouth to your neck where he bites and sucks at you, you let out a whimper knowing it will leave a bruise. He then grazes his teeth over your nipple, licking, sucking and then finally biting causing you to cry out at the feeling. You feel his self-satisfied smirk against your skin as he continues his path downwards. His tongue enters your folds without warning causing you to grab a hand full of his hair and cry out his name. You can feel yourself about to come undone quicker than you expected .

“Fuck Enver, I need you inside me now."

“That’s all I needed to hear”, his smartass response mocking your words from before.

You let it slide for now as your need is too great, but you make a mental note to make him pay for it next time.

He lines up with your entrance and buries himself inside you in one smooth motion. You both moan loudly at the feeling of connection. You feel a sharp tinge of pain mixed with intense pleasure as you get used to his width. He starts to pump in and out of you at a quickened pace knowing it won’t take long for either of you to cum. You grab on to his body and rake your nails down his back hard enough to draw blood. Gortash hisses in pain and pleasure and bites at your neck in response. Gortash comes first moaning your name loudly, causing you to follow closely, both your bodies withering in ecstasy as you ride out the climax. Breathing heavily Gortash rolls off you and you both lie together in silence for a few seconds recovering. You move to get up off the bed but he stops you with his arm.

“Just where do you think you’re going?”

“Back to my room?” as though it was obvious.

He pauses, looking unsure of himself.

“I want you to stay, tonight and every night after that. You’re mine now”, his serious expression softens slightly.

“If you want to be?”

As you look into his eyes you are surprised see a vulnerability that you have never seen before. You realised that this night means as much to him as it does to you, and with that thought you agree to stay, content to lie in his arms dreaming of your future together.

[ym523]

In progress ⌛

If anyone is curious, this is what I am working through at the moment:

Halstarion (Halsin x Astarion) - 21.9% ✅🔞

Bloodweave (Astarion x Gale) - 20.9% ✅

Oakbloodweave - 18.7% ✅🔞

Tav/Durge x Origin Character (F/M with any origin character) - 6.5% ✅

Raphstarion (Raphael x Astarion) - 5.6% (tie)🩸

Wyllstarion (Wyll x Astarion) - 5.6% (tie) ✅

Shadowstar (Shadowheart x Astarion) - 3.6% ✅

Shadowzel (Shadowheart x Lae'zel) - 3.8%

Gortstarion (Gortash x Astarion) - 2.8%

Hellspawn (Karlach x Astarion) - 5.4% done but can't show yet

Wyllach (Wyll x Karlach) - 3.3%

Shadowlach (Shadowheart x Karlach) - 1.9%

Based on this poll - I update this as I do them.

[alpaca-clouds]

Something I find super interesting when it comes to the way Durgetash is depicted in fanwork, is how differently it gets depicted in terms of power dynamics depending on whether it is a male Durge or a female Durge.

Most people do seem to very much agree that Durgetash is an inherently toxic ship - where the fun of the ship is that it is toxic. I very much agree with that.

However, the thing I find very interesting, is the fact that Gortash x female Durge tends to have a dominant, sadistic Gortash with a more submissive Durge, while Gortash with a male or even non-binary Durge (though I have only seen like two or three of the latter kind) tends to end up with a submissive Gortash and a dominant Durge. And that is... very fascinating to see.

Fascinating, because it kinda does fit into the entire Dark Romance theme there, and into societal expectation, that women have to be submissive to men, and also cannot want sex and stuff. (It is a whole big research area apparently for sociologists.)

And now, judging by anything but the main tags on Ao3 is not perfect. Because a lot of people do not properly tag the kinks and stuff in their fics. (And just to note this down here: Please tag your kinks when you write smut. For one, it helps people with those kinks to find them, but also it helps those for whom these are squicks to avoid them. Just please.)

Generally there are about 1700 Durgetash fics on Ao3. Of those about 830 are E-Rated. (Not a big surprise.) Generally speaking most Ao3 Durgetash fics are M/M (probably because canon Durge is male), though generally speaking F/M is not that far behind - even though of course the statistic can be a bit messy due to some fics having multiple categories attached. If you just look at the E-Rated fics the Categories look like the right image.

Now, as I said, a lot of folks don't properly tag all the kinks and stuff in their fics. Just for general reference: The ten most common tags in those E-Rated Durgetash fics are like this:

All kinda makes sense in the context of the fandom. Duh.

Now, the interesting thing happens, when I go "Sub Enver Gortash".

Suddenly there is only 20 fics left (again, I do assume if people actually tagged this stuff there would be more), but the statistic looks like this:

While before M/M and F/M with the ship were kinda comparable, now... Well, now it isn't.

Meanwhile, when I use the tag "Dom Enver Gortash" instead, I end up with 51 fics and this line up:

And as I said... It is fascinating. I do not meant that in any judgemental way, but it is a really interesting ship to see this phenomenon on.

Because it really fits well with some theories put out by social scientists on patriarchy, gender dynamics and how it interacts with smutty literature.

[ghost-of-a-dream-girl]

slutty durgetash one shot sneaky snippet

Coming very, very soon. F!Durge x Gortash smut feat them being their absolute worst selves --------- Nightal 20th, 1489 DR

Delilah,

After we last saw one another I refused to allow the maid to wash the bedsheets for an entire tenday just to keep the scent of you within them. 

I have somehow allowed you to drive me to the very edge of madness and I find myself opening up the door to it and gladly ushering it in. You have bled with all of your magic into my thoughts, and drip by drip you have seeped through the cracks of my mind such that even my dreams are permeated with you. It is utterly terrible, isn’t it, darling? 

I will tolerate this feigned indifference of yours for no longer. You ignored my last two letters, you allowed a member of your temple to dispatch the messenger I sent to you (you are mistaken if you believe I care), and spurned the gifts I had held for you at Facemaker’s. None of it has put me off my goal of making you mine. I will hunt you down like a starved dog if I must and if you run from me then I shall only chase faster. 

We will see one another again, and soon at that. 

Yours,  Enver -------

[astarionmademewriteit]

Ch. 2: My Forbidden Lover

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

Enver Gortash x f!Durge (pre-tadpole)

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 3.4k

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

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

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

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

Ch. 1 | AO3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[novarunestone]

Just shy of 4,000 words into a self-indulgent rewrite of Gortash reuniting with my Durge who is deep into a romance with Astarion.

Difference being, my girl had a very deep back story hinging on Bane before full release happened and I knew about the complications of the Durge. So I have rewritten it to suit her back story and I honestly love it.

So. Much. Drama.

I still have more to write and revisions to do, but I can't friggan wait to post this.

UPDATING TO ADD I POSTED THE FIRST CHAPTER! AO3 link is pinned to the top of my blog.

[al9ayf]

ᥫ᭡ 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝 | halsin x f!druid resist durge

｡˚ summary: resist durge is having difficulty accepting her true self and halsin seeks to help her.

｡˚ word count: 3.59k

｡˚ a/n: stop cause i have an obsession with this song and this is THE ONLY THING i can think of. i love halsin so much omg <3

“i love you,”

the grass blows and the trees shake. some children laugh as they chase after bugs while other children chase down copies of the baldur’s gate gazette they were trying to sell. men lose their hats as women try to hold their skirts down. the wind blows through them all. it comes and goes, and yet you find yourself standing amidst it all, unmoving. only the whispers of your hair blow in it and parts of your clothing, but unlike everybody else, you do not move. how can it be? when this life around you is all you have known and now it is stripped from you so fast. so harsh.

a child, busy chasing after a butterfly, does not realize that you are in his way. he bumps into you, crashing into your stained garments and taking you out of your trance. you grab him subconsciously, squeezing his shoulders tight as he stares up into your eyes, frightened. for a moment they turn red. the world around you stops and the wind seems to die down. the boy’s chest heaves faster than yours, and his eyes, once filled with wonder and awe now have filled with fear. pupils smaller than that of a cat stare back into your dilated ones. never have you seen so much fear. never have you experienced it. when this boy looks at you does he see murder incarnate? the child of the murder lord? the slayer? or a woman wanting to stop this war before she sees his body lying on the ground. fearful eyes shut forever and put to rest.

you let go of him, your gloved hands finally breaking free of his shoulders before you could break them. he runs off, crying to his parents who were farther than the eye could see. yet you still find yourself standing in that same spot, examining the footprints he had left behind in the mud. footprints of a child’s shoes. footprints that maybe you had once left behind in that very spot before you had succumbed to your urges as a child. before your life was stripped from you and all the love had gone away. you tear your eyes from the ground and look ahead of you. your companions have long gone. some headed back to camp to prepare for the night while others went off searching for supplies or other things that may have interested them. it was only to be night one in rivington yet this day has proven to be the start of a dreadful journey back to a family you do not remember. a family you do not want to call family. a bhaalspawn finally returning home.

“so i turn to the scion of bhaal. you are his dear princess—he created you to rule,” gortash’s words sting you multiple times like an ant during the night. it burns you and you itch and itch to get it off. it’s all red and finally, it bleeds but it hurts more. you were only created to rule. your father does not love you as his child but as his greatest weapon. the only one, the only bhaalspawn, to be able to command the army of the absolute. but you do not want it. “your presence here means your lord sees a purpose for you yet.”

you do not want to be his servant. you want to be your own person. you want to start living a life for yourself, and not for a father who has never been present. a father who does not care for his child. you want to win this battle, but that urge, the deplorably brutal urge, twists within. you fall to your knees, holding your head that pulses excruciating pain, and squeeze your eyes shut. that sick feeling within you—you want to rule this world. you want to obtain all three netherstones for yourself, and when you level the world over, that dead world will be yours alone. a gift to your sick father from his sickly child.

the wind comes again and blows you over. you grip the muddy ground with your gloves, trying to hold yourself steady. no, you will not succumb to your father. not when you have come so far already.

“durge!”

and all pain suddenly goes away. you open your eyes at the sound of footsteps running to you. you sit up on your knees and turn to see halsin running to you. you do not know where he came from. he has remained at camp ever since you arrived at baldur’s gate mostly because of the difficulty staying in touch with the city. druids find it hard to stay in touch with anything but nature, and you should know this, for when you woke up on the nautiloid you had druid garments on but no knowledge of ever being in a grove. only fragmented memories of an early childhood terrorizing other children and playing surgeon with the butler on a dead body. but ever since meeting halsin, he has taught you the ways again and has even offered to take you back to emerald grove when, and not if, the threat of the absolute has been eradicated. but you have found yourself attached to halsin more than that grove. and having to deal with kagha again made goosebumps appear on your arms.

he helps you up to your feet, grabbing you just in case you fall again. and you appreciate his actions, but admittedly do not want to be in the presence of others at the moment. shame was all you felt. shame for killing thousands of innocents. shame for having the urge to kill. shame for creating a cult and wanting to rule as a god. shame for being born. you step away from him as soon as you can stand properly, and make it a good two paces so. you are afraid to hurt him again.

“what are you doing here?” you ask. your voice is cold and stern.

halsin understands why you are distant and cold. you have been ever since that night back in the shadowlands. in the dead of night when you wanted to retire to bed and instead felt that urge again. when your vision turned red and your head felt as if it was about to explode. when you found yourself standing over halsin’s sleeping body with a dagger as sharp as laezel’s sword in your hand, and the butler urging you to do it. the urge to kill. the urge to murder in bhaal’s name and yet you managed to drop that knife beside his head and shake that mountain awake.

he will never forget that look in your puffy eyes. all the light had gone out in your life. they were two empty holes, blackened as ash. tears rushing down cheeks that had no color in them. fingers twitching to reach for the knife again, and yet you found the voice to beg him to stop you. to not let you succumb, and to tie you up. and when he did, you had thrashed and thrashed to get at him. to pluck his eyes from his head and eat it. to drink his blood in a gold goblet, and feast on his innards. a sacrifice worthy for your father, you yelled. a loving sacrifice. you were animalistic. eyes that were blackened to ash burned with rivers of blood and fire as hot as the hells. your pupils were shrunken like a cat and as sharp as the dagger you had once held in your hands.

despite it all, he saw you. he comforted you although you yelled such horrible things. and although you do not remember it, you only remember how he held you afterward. how he promised the both of you would get through it together. his arms held you tightly, and it was the first time halsin had ever shown you how much he cared for you. you told him to hold you strongly that night because you were afraid you would try to kill him again. thankfully, as the night ended and you were all up again, he was still alive. but since then, he has not expressed any other feelings towards you. you understand it is because he was focused on the shadowlands and thaniel, but now days have passed since then and you longed to hold him again. after today’s news, you fear you never would.

“what do you mean? it has been hours since the others returned to camp. i came looking for you,” his thick honeyed voice drips with concern.

you shake your head. “nonsense, we just finished talking with gortash only an hour ago.”

“oak father preserve you, child, but have you no clue of how much time has passed? the sun will be setting soon.”

you look away from him and at the western sky. the sun has not yet touched the horizon, and it will be an hour and a half before then. it is the usual hour to start heading back and preparing for the night so everybody can set out bright and early. but you had talked to gortash in the early afternoon. how could it be so late already? you look at the ground and see that the footprints of the child in the mud are not there anymore. it has been covered with tracks of other people. you do not know how much time passes when the urge gets control of you. you do not know much when it creeps into your brain and controls you like a puppet and it as the master. your father will not have you.

“apologies, halsin…” you murmur. you do not know if you are sorry for yourself or if you are apologizing to him. your words slip out like a rehearsed script, and without thinking much, turn and walk back to where the camp was. halsin watches you walk away. the falter in your step when you had turned to leave him, and the picking at your clothed fingers is more than enough to know you were struggling eternally. you had to stay strong for your friends. they relied on you as their leader for everything. but halsin sees through you. he sees the druid in you. you have lost everything. you have lost yourself. and if he can help you reconnect with a part of it again, he will do it a thousand times over. he will not let you go so easily.

halsin catches up to your slow pace. you do not seem surprised when he is at your side, his arm touching yours. he is close to you, just as you like him to be, but now afraid that he may be too close. you go to create a further distance between you, but he catches your hand with his larger one. you look at him, scared and confused. but it is only for a moment before that stern look falls over you again.

“halsin—“

“let me take you somewhere away from here. the city does nothing but bring up bad memories for you. and our journey so far has been nothing short of that.”

he leads you west rather than south. you hold onto his hand tightly. “who told you?” you ask concerned. that was for you to tell the others who remained at camp who you were. it is your story, the only thing you could claim. your brows furrow and your nose scrunches, and you try to hide your anger but it is proving extremely difficult to do so. halsin noticed the shift in the air immediately.

“you have managed to control your impulses now. do not let your father get to you, child,” he stops in his tracks and grabs your shoulders. when he looks at you, all anger fades away. it is just the two of you and the wind. the colors of the city have faded away and you realize you have now stepped into nature’s territory. the grass beneath your feet and the trees looming over you calm you. “the one who told me should not concern you. that story is not yours, it is bhaal’s. and when the day comes, you will be your own person. whether it be today or another, you will have your own story to tell.” and he was right.

he lets go of your shoulders and beckons you to follow him into the forest. it is not deep, but it is enough for you. as your fingers dance across tree bark and interact with what the oak father has given life to, you feel all anger and impulses of murder wash away as if it was never there. yet your mind lurks with the thought of revenge. you take your dirty gloves off and put them away the further you follow halsin into this green forest. you catch glimpses of his scarred face as he checks behind him to make sure you are following. and each time you manage a smile on your usually frowned lips. he is like the oak father himself. but it does not stay for long when he suddenly stops in a clearing and sees a bear and its cub sleeping peacefully meters away.

you stand beside him, watching the animals sleep peacefully. then you look up at halsin who has a small grin on his lips. he understands them better than you ever will. and although you try to keep your mind focused on all the beautiful things around you, you cannot. all you see is her face. your sister’s face laughing at you as she plunges a knife deep into your skull.

“and who am i until then?” you ask quietly to not wake the bears. “a fragment of bhaal? a motherless child? the heir to the absolute? or just an ignorant savage?”

“none,” halsin says back in the same tone. he tears his eyes away from the family and down at you. you do not have the heart to face him. “you are who you will be, and who you once were. orin may have taken all your memories away, and bhaal has been your lord for years, but inside there is still a child yearning to break free. your story started when you were born, but it was not coming from the child inside but from the god of murder.”

his words are sweet like honey. he is wise beyond his years and strong like the bear in front of him. halsin has always been straightforward with you in many ways. with his feelings and his teachings. yet his words do not make you feel at ease just yet. you turn away from him and hold your arms close to your chest. it is more difficult than that, you want to tell him. it is more than just a story and a being. it is your life. it is what you have done and the sacrifices you have made. you are in this mess because you started it. you placed that crown upon an elder brain and heeled it to your command. this is more than just a story or history. this is the past, the present, and the future. this is a tyranny you created.

for all your life you have thought you owned whatever land you land on. that the earth was all for you to claim, whether it was dead to begin with or alive to rule first. but ever since meeting halsin and opening your eyes for the first time as a druid, you realized that it was more than those urges. every rock, tree, and creature has a life, a spirit, and a name. he taught you the teachings of the oak father after the tiefling party way back then in the east. the animals were just like you, a being you never thought you would understand. but transforming into one of them for the first time allowed you to learn things you never knew. halsin was there the first time you saw a wolf cry to the full moon, see a bobcat walk a trail near the one you were on, and embrace whatever nature threw at you. he was there.

he walks back to you again and places his large hand on the small of your back. as tree leaves fall around you, you finally muster up the heart to look at him. his eyes glimmer in the sunlight, and your heart skips a beat. you can feel the calming energy he gives off, and it soothes you. he is warm and familiar, and he is a home that is not filled with blood or murder. halsin leads you up a cliff where the tree line gets thinner with each passing, and it is difficult to pry your eyes off him. he is the sun himself if it did not hurt to gaze upon such a beautiful thing.

but once the warm contact of the star hits your skin, you look away from him immediately. you stand atop the cliff, rocks falling on the sides and grass thinning out closer to the edge. the entire city of baldur’s gate is visible to you, along with the sword cost and vast ocean. forests litter the mountains surrounding the gate, and you are in complete awe. it takes your breath away, and halsin watches finally as you embrace what the oak father has blessed this earth with. you stand quietly at the edge by yourself, looking out at the horizon with stars in your eyes.

“it’s beautiful, is it not?” halsin’s voice breaks the silence.

“yes,” you whisper. you turn your head to look at him, getting a chill as you lock eyes with the elf. “i think i finally feel at ease.”

“that’s good.”

“i do not think of myself as a savage. i cannot see it anymore… how can there be so much that i don’t know?” you tear up as you look back out at the view. “to think that i have never run through those forests and tasted their sweet berries. i don’t think i have ever rolled around in the grass and never wondered who my next victim would be.” you watch the sun creep down towards the horizon. “or what about the rainstorm and the river? have i ever treated them right? have i always been soaked in blood when i greet them? and the poor animals around such beauty… did i kill them like the squirrel back at that grove? will my actions come back to me?”

halsin opens his mouth to speak but you stop him. “only the oak father can say…” you mutter. “just like you taught me.”

“then maybe i have taught you all that you needed to know.” he says, stepping back. “come now, let’s head back before they think we have gotten ourselves into trouble.”

you do not move though. again, you are stuck in a trance. but it is different this time though. you are not thinking of impending doom, but a new and bright future. an array of lives that could be spared, and a new beginning. you extend your arms and shut your eyes as the wind rushes through you again. halsin understands that you do not want to leave, so he steps forward again and keeps walking until he is close behind you. colors of different tree leaves dance around the both of you. red, green, blue, yellow—it forms a crown around your head momentarily before falling off the cliff. halsin smiles at it knowing that he will remember it for the rest of his days.

you open your eyes to watch the sun touch the horizon. the sky is a spectrum of colors. it stretches out to you and halsin on this cliff. and it is only you two that matter in this moment now. your arms fall to your side, and with a deep inhale and without looking back, you open your lips and utter a confession.

“i love you,” the wind whispers.

you are soft-spoken. it takes halsin a second or two to process what you said. he does not respond immediately as shock settles within him. you finally turn around. the glow of the sun creates a halo around you, and it is almost hard to make out the colors of your garment and face. but halsin still sees the beauty and the free spirit within you. the wind blows harder and your hair goes along with it. he cannot contain himself any longer. he grabs your hips and presses himself up against you, capturing your lips with his in a moment of fervent passion. you have found a new family within him.

halsin pulls away to look at your face. you are crying silently. “you have given me another chance at life. thank you…” you murmur almost against his lips.

“i only gave you a push in the right direction, and i will be here until you no longer want me to push you anymore.”

you rest your head against his chest and hug him tightly. he does move his hands from your hips, but the position becomes comfortable enough for the both of you. you look back out to the sun that is already dipping below the horizon. the wind comes by again and blows the both of you slightly. and finally you can see all the colors of the wind go by, and not just red.

[vermilionskiinmorning]

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

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

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

Words: 3989

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

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

______

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’ve been spying on me?”

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

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

“Whatever.”

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

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

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

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

Amusement flared in his eyes. “Play?”

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

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

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

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

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

She abruptly shut the thoughts down.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A fantasy then.” Feravel snapped.

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

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

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

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

She swallowed hard.

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

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

“What were we?”

“What were your dreams?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You were mine.”

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

“I was yours.”

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

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

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

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

Enver furrowed his brow. “What?”

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

She let out a breathy laugh.

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

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

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

What a difference a day can make.

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

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

“Fera?” He said barely above a whisper.

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

“I should thank you, I suppose.”

Enver furrowed his brow.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I…I can’t.”

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

“Why did you come?”

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

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

“How pragmatic.” She said shortly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I-I have to go.”

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

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

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

[inkymoonbunny]

Karlach joins the party and recognizes Rosary.

Contents: smut, dry humping, fingering, blood drinking, canon-typical violence, allusions to necrophilia

Read full story on AO3

“What the hells is she doing here?” Karlach growled at Rosary. The barbarian tiefling began to stomp towards Rosary at the bonfire. Rosary stood and looked over the angry woman, trying to search her memory for anything. 

“You know me,” Rosary said eagerly. Astarion set a hand on her arm, as if to pull her back and Tav went to Karlach, holding out her hands. 

“She’s the same as us, tadpoled,” Tav said. 

“Gortash’s whore is nothing like us,” Karlach snapped. The memory roared through all their tadpoles: Gortash’s betrayal burning out Karlach from her bones as he sold her to devils, everything tinged with horror and disgust. Infernal chains had bound her and pulled her back, while her friend that had accompanied her to see Gortash was yanked back by his horns by Rosary. The Rosary in the vision wore a deep burgundy gown with metallic black arm cuffs. She kicked the back of the tiefling’s knees and forced him to kneel. 

“You promised one for me,” Rosary looked up to Gortash who nodded. 

“I’d never deny my lady her pleasures,” he smiled at her admiringly. Rosary giggled and before Karlach or her friend could cry out, Rosary had sliced his neck neatly with a dagger. She held his head up and kissed his cheek, letting his lifeblood spill down her front. She pushed him to the ground, straddling him and moaning into his mouth. She undulated on top of the body, letting her tongue dive into his mouth like a lover. As the chains pulled Karlach away, she saw Gortash yank Rosary’s head up by her hair, the horrible woman’s face covered in blood and smiling drunkenly. Gortash shoved his thumb into her mouth and she sucked it lewdly. 

The memory dissipated but resounding disgust and shock radiated from the tadpoles around Rosary. She wanted to turn the memory over in her mind, see if she could relive it from herself instead of through Karlach’s eye. That would have to wait, for now she needed to leave before the party killed her. Tav and Astarion might defend her, but she felt disgust even from them. Tav wouldn’t want her to kill their companions either so Rosary decided to run. She turned on her heel and Misty Stepped as far as she could see. She cast Darkness on the camp as battle cries erupted and then Misty Stepped again until she was running blindly in the forest as fast as she could. 

The grove wouldn’t be a good option, the druids would be suspicious of Rosary abandoning her party. The goblin camp wasn’t too far, though she’d likely not have a quiet space to herself there. She slowed a moment to orient herself in the growing dusk. Of course she didn’t hear Astarion. He caught her and pinned her against a tree, Rosary too startled to react. The previous connection from the tadpoles hadn’t disengaged yet and his mind seemed to be roaring into hers: mine, mine, not for stupid lordings or Cazador, mine!

Astarion had just had the best 24 hours in over two centuries of unlife, like hells was he letting Rosary run off. Her blood sang to him now even though he had satisfied his hunger for the first time just last night, and the way she submitted to him so willingly had been divine. Finally he had power over someone, he could be the one to inflict pain, and she had given him such grotesque inspiration for killing Cazador! He heaved a shuddering breath, finally feeling the tadpole squirming in his skull and broadcasting some of his thoughts to Rosary. Astarion tried to sense her mind, if there was any apprehension in reaction to him, but Rosary only seemed surprised. 

“Is anyone else chasing me?” Rosary asked, pushing Astarion’s mind from her own. He seemed to come back to himself, pulling back from her slightly but not releasing his hold. She felt him sever the tadpole’s connection entirely and saw him mask his expression with his usual charming smirk. 

“Tav’s trying to calm them down,” he said. Seeming to understand Rosary wouldn’t take flight again, he released her, but stayed crowded in her space so she leaned against the tree. “We might want to have our own camp for tonight though. We’ll see about rejoining in the morning. At the very least I don’t think Tav would object to me retrieving my pack if the others are hell bent on being…unpleasant to you.” 

“Okay,” Rosary agreed. “We can probably find a small place in the abandoned village for the night.” 

She let Astarion take the lead as he had far better vision in the dark than her human eyes. They found a house mostly intact and scavenged blankets to settle by the hearth. Rosary stared into the fire as she tried to recall the memory Karlach had shared. 

The tiefling had been perfect, hot blood spilling down her gown as he gurgled his last breath. She couldn’t help the arousal surging through her at the gushing warmth. Her lover spoiled her with gifts like the tiefling, perhaps the only reason she didn’t take his life. He was too careful around her anyway, always sure to make her subservient when he took her. Enver pulled his thumb from her mouth and circled behind her, giving her a kick to lean back over the corpse. She kissed the tiefling while she bent her ass up to Enver, hoping he’d fuck her into the viscera. 

Cold arms wrapped around Rosary and pulled her back into her body, seated before the fire. Astarion leaned his head against her shoulder and spoke softly, “I fear you are going to tip yourself into the flames if you keep watching them like that. What are you thinking of?” 

“I remembered a bit of what Karlach shared,” Rosary confessed with a frown. She felt Astarion tense behind her before he resumed nuzzling against her neck. Her lust from the memory lingered and his caressing only stirred it further. Rosary tried to push it away, surprised Astarion released her as she pulled away to sit beside him. “I keep trying to remember something more, anything else but it’s gone. The tadpole doesn’t seem to have taken any of the others’ memories.” 

“That’s because it didn’t,” Astarion sighed and leaned his arm on his knee. “Whenever we connect with the tadpoles, it goes both ways. Haven’t you noticed that?” 

“A bit,” Rosary said, “so, what do you see when ours connect?” 

“An endless void,” Astarion explained, “some corpses, but it’s mostly a feeling of hollowness. I suspect you ran into trouble before our little friends spirited you away.” Rosary thought on his words, trying to dig into the emptiness of her memories. Instead a migraine creeped along her skull and she shut her eyes against the firelight. She smothered the growl of frustration and opened her eyes again, glancing at Astarion. 

“Did you need to eat before we sleep?” Rosary asked. He seemed to look over her closely, probably wondering whether she’d survive feeding him. 

“I’ll only take a sip,” Astarion finally said. “Nothing so drastic as last night.” He pushed her hair away from her neck, shifting closer to her. Rosary bent her neck and braced for the sharp pain of his fangs, but he kissed her lightly. She took a quick breath in, trying to reign in her excitement. 

“Are you going to bite me?” Rosary prompted. She twisted her hands in her lap. 

“Patience, darling,” Astarion whispered. “I’m enjoying how your pulse flutters, so eager for me.” He kissed her neck again, sucking on the delicate flesh to bruise, and grabbed her hair to tilt her head. A needy whine escaped Rosary, the lust from before washing over her much fiercer. “I think it’s best that tomorrow our companions see you’re mine. Safer for you if they see you as tamed. And you want that, don't you, to belong to me?” 

“Yes,” Rosary breathed. She kept still under his bruising kisses, her breath hitching at every grace of his fangs that still didn’t pierce her. “Astarion, please…” 

“Please what, my sweet?” Astarion teased. 

“Bite me,” Rosary demanded. He shoved her into the blankets, straddling her. Her hands fell to her sides in an attempt to regain her balance but Astarion used his knee to pin one and grabbed the other. She didn’t try to struggle against him, baring her throat for him instead. “Bite me, please…” 

“Well, when you beg so prettily,” Astarion finally leaned down and buried his fangs into her neck. Just as the first time, the pain jolted straight to her core and she bucked her hips up. Rosary moaned as Astarion sucked, pulling on her blood. She kept writhing against him, desperate for relief, but he wouldn’t release her hands. 

“Fuck! Astarion, please--I need more,” Rosary begged. He gulped down her blood noisily, moaning right in her ear. He ground himself into her center, both of them still terribly clothed. She pulled her arms against him, but he kept her held fast. “Let me touch myself, please!” 

“No,” Astarion mumbled against her, licking up along the column of her throat. “You want to be good for me, don’t you? Then be patient.” Rosary instantly stopped trying to break free, but she couldn’t keep her hips from thrusting up, trying to feel more friction. He kept licking and kissing her throat until she had stopped bleeding and then started kissing down her body. He pulled her tunic lower so he could reach the bare flesh of her breast and gave her a delightfully bruising kiss on the top. The blossoming purple would show with her ample cleavage the following day. He let her up so he could pull the tunic off her. She had been getting ready to sleep earlier and so thankfully had only her small clothes left. 

Rosary ran her now freed arms over Astarion’s chest, tugging his shirt free from his trousers, but he pushed her back down before she could finish, cupping her breasts that overfilled his hands and squeezing enough to make her give out a pained moan. He leaned down and nipped at her on the side of the neck that didn’t bare his fangs’ scar. “If I give you more, will you give me more too?” he asked her softly. “Just one more sip, right as I make you cum for me.” 

“Yes!” Rosary gasped. “You can kill me again, I don't care--just don’t stop touching me!” Astarion buried a pleased laugh into her neck and finally reached his hand to her center, shoving aside the soaked cloth. He sank two fingers into her easily, curling them and making her shudder. He barely grazed her clit with his thumb. Rosary felt she would combust from just a few more flicks and could hear herself begging him incoherently. He heeded her cries and took up a faster pace so she was trembling and crying in no time at all. 

Rosary crashed over the edge and Astarion seemed to tell instantly, biting into her again and gorging on her blood while he kept thrusting his fingers. He didn’t drink nearly as long, as promised, and was licking up the wound by the time Rosary tumbled back into her body, spent and breathless. When he had finished, he sat up and sucked her from his fingers. Had Rosary enough blood to flush she was sure she would have. She tried sitting up, but felt too dizzy and let herself remain on the ground. 

“Aren’t you just a perfect mess,” Astarion smirked. “I’ll find some water and food for you.” He stood up and Rosary noticed he was still hard under his trousers. 

“Wait, what about you?” she asked, trying to sit up again. 

“Very sweet of you to be concerned,” he said, “but you’ve already given me enough. I’ll be back soon.” Rosary felt too weak to move and so let herself fall back into the heap of blankets. 

Astarion closed the door and leaned against it, fighting with himself to not bang his head against the wood. His fixation with Rosary had worsened over the day instead of lessening as he had hoped. He had even gotten protective of the human, almost striking Karlach before Tav had commanded him to leave the camp with Rosary. Possessiveness he could tolerate, he’d always been selfish, but protective? Stupid. He was free of Cazador for now but he had no mastery of his body, still terribly hard. Astarion wanted to bury himself in Rosary until she forgot Gortash again. Was this what his targets felt, the need to fuck and then--

A dry heave had Astarion bent forward clasping his hands over his mouth. He forced himself to swallow, refusing to lose any of the precious blood Rosary had fed him. Astarion dashed into the midnight forest to kill something. Maybe a goblin would stumble across Rosary weakened from blood loss and slit her throat before the tadpole stopped it and put Astarion out of his misery with the girl. If he had any damn sense it would be what he hoped for but instead the thought just made him rush to find something quick to eat. 

Astarion found a badger burrow and managed to snatch up the angry beast dwelling within, pinning it against his chest and sinking his fangs into it. As the blood (better than rats but hardly palatable after Rosary) flowed into his stomach, he decided he needed to think of Rosary as a tool. His little vicious treat to be snacked on and directed to kill Cazador. A means of pleading his case to Tav since the bard was strangely taken with the girl. 

It’s just the blood of a thinking creature, Astarion thought, I’m not used to it yet. Once he adjusted he felt sure his body would stop reacting with arousal and he could simply feast in peace. He wouldn’t think about what Rosary would like to eat or how glorious she looked covered in blood. He wouldn’t think of her smile or her brown eyes glazed in pleasure. He wouldn’t think of how her lush breasts were perfect for setting his head upon to listen to her heartbeat and drift into trance. All of that would stop--he needed it to go away. 

Astarion reluctantly left the badger corpse on the forest floor. He didn’t know how to skin or butcher it and Rosary would be too tired for the task even if she wanted the meat. He had spotted a beehive when he entered the forest, he’d bring her honeycomb and whatever he could find in the village on the way back. 

Rosary had drifted into a light sleep when Astarion returned with a waterskin, some apples, and a piece of honeycomb. He woke her and insisted she finish the water and honeycomb before sleep fully took her. Rosary obeyed, delighting in the sweet honey. She set aside the apples for her breakfast and pulled her tunic back on, snuggling into her makeshift bed. She heard Astarion shift some of the blankets around for himself, and she fell quickly into a dreamless sleep. 

[freesidexjunkie]

to have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you

Durgetash smut. My first attempt at writing actual honest to goodness smut instead of just implied smut. Pls bc nice im posting this at work and turning tomato red trying to figure out what tags to include. (I actually wrote this a couple weeks back and was too shy to post it 🙈)

Gortash x f!Durge

Summary: Maevris is now fully residing at Wyrm's Rock. She's wandering the fortress in the middle of the night, struggling to come to terms with her feelings for Enver. Wait. Are those feelings? Shit, yeah they are. Guess she's gonna have to do something about those.

Word count: 4,137

Tags: smut, explicit sexual content, feelings, idk full tag list is on AO3

Read on AO3 here

It wasn't that she had planned to end up here. She simply couldn't sleep, she told herself. Needed a breath of fresh air, to move her legs, tire herself out. She hadn't even paid attention to the path she took through the fortress; that she had ended up here, outside of Enver's door, was just a coincidence. The fact that she was still here, almost glued to the spot, debating with herself as she stared at the door... That was harder for her to reason away. She took a loud breath and walked away; turned back on her heel and raised her knuckles to the door, but stopped herself; cursed quietly as she shut her eyes and tried to rationalize this.

"Are you going to come in at any point, dear? Or are you just keeping watch?" Came a voice from inside the room. Dammit.

Maevris steeled herself and opened the door. "I was just out for a walk. Didn't mean to disturb you. I can go back to my room."

Gortash was sitting at a desk, hard at work over something or other. A few bits and bobs of machinery sat in front of him, laying on top of a set of blueprints. A glass of wine sat untouched beside him, and his normally well coiffed hair was in disarray, as if he'd been running his hands through it. The elegant robes lay forgotten to the side, his shirt fully unlaced. Was this his idea of relaxing? Stressing himself over a project? She noticed he was staring at her with that same look, that familiar and unsettling gaze she couldn't quite figure out. Was it a sly smirk and hooded eyes, to try and put her off her guard? Or was there sincerity in that smile, care in those tired eyes?

"You've been taking a walk in the same spot for a few minutes now, judging by the footsteps I've been hearing," he said, almost sounding... fondly couldn't be the right word, surely. Could it? "What's on your mind, my darling?"

Shit. She rolled her eyes at him, crossing her arms to avoid answering. She didn't want these butterflies when he looked at her like that, spoke to her like that. The involuntary fluttering of her heart sank like dread to the pit of her stomach, every time. He was lying, using, manipulating. He had to be. He was taking advantage of her lack of memories, painting himself as a grand figure in her past. He had to be... and yet, the mounting evidence to the contrary, the feelings in her chest that refused to be ignored, buried, beaten down. He was a monster. He was the reason she was in this. He... shouldn't have this kind of sway over her. If she didn't feel something, deep within herself, like the fleeting ghost of a feeling; like the worst, most torturous form of deja vu. Her current resolve warring with whatever past feelings she may have had. But if she believed him…

"Well?" He asked, still staring at her face as he leaned back in his chair and rested his chin on his hand.

She scoffed. She hated this feeling he brought about in her. So why was she seeking it out so much? Why was she still here to begin with? "I... I don't know. I just couldn't sleep. I didn't – it's not like I came here on purpose."

"Of course not, dearest," he said. He rose with a grin still on his lips as he walked to meet her. When had she walked so far in the room? Had she not noticed herself being pulled towards him? He reached a hand up to her face, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear and lingering as his knuckles grazed her cheek. "And what can I do to help you sleep better?"

She melted beneath his hand, his eyes, his low voice. He had to be toying with her. He was simply well practiced in making his flattery sound so sincere. But that didn't stop her from leaning into his hand as her eyes fluttered shut. "I... don't know."

When she opened her eyes, he was fully smiling down at her now. The hand on her cheek moved to the back of her head, fingers twining through her hair, as his other arm snaked around her waist to pull her into his embrace. She didn't resist, didn't stop her own arms from coming to rest on his chest as she stared back up at him, unable to tear her eyes from his. He leaned down just a bit, hovering inches away from her face. "Would you like to stay, then?"

Her breath caught in her chest as her heart beat wildly against her ribs, fighting to escape her completely. She remembered nothing; no faces, names, not even her own actions. But this felt... comforting. Safe. Like an anchor against the world. She tried to find answers in his eyes, but saw nothing but his own apparent adoration. Impossible to glean if it was real, or a show put on for her. But she wanted to believe, if only for a moment... "I... I don't know, Enver. I just–" She huffed a quick breath, burying her face in the side of his neck. Just for a moment. Just to see if it's right. "I just... want it to make sense," she said in a small voice.

His arms gently tightened around her, fingers playing with her hair as he pressed a gentle kiss to the side of her forehead. "I know, love," he said, leaning his head on hers. "I do, too. I want you to remember, to know. I'm trying to find something, my love. Just a little more research."

She allowed herself to relax into him a bit more. This felt right. "I don't know if I do want to remember," she said. "If I did all those things, if I was really... I don't think I can handle that."

His free hand drew soothing circles into her back, as if he could take the pain away from her. "And so you'd forget me, as well?" He asked quietly against her hair. "Our time together, what we had. What we were to each other. Would you leave it all forgotten, Mae?"

She took a moment before answering. He sounded almost vulnerable. Afraid of her answer. Would she forget it all? Did that mean she had to leave it behind? "I..." she sighed, nuzzling into him further before answering, lips moving against his skin in a whisper. "You're still here now, aren't you?"

She felt a breath leave his chest at that. A sigh of relief? He held her tighter, as if he thought she might slip away given half a chance. "I am. I'm just wondering if you'll still be here when I look away."

This felt nice. Good. Was this what she wanted? Mae stood back a little, just enough to look into his face. The softness of his eyes as he took her in, the warmth of his smile. Was this all for her, if she wanted it? She reached one hand up to his cheek, slowly, as if testing it. But he did not shrink away, leaning into her palm as she stroked his cheek. His look was full of love, adoration, want. She could feel the same in her own eyes as she leaned in, carefully, grazing his lips with her own ever so lightly. Slow, unsure, with her heart pounding in her ears as she kissed him, just once. She pulled barely away, eyes still sealed shut, unwilling to open them and face the moment, lest it have to end. "Enver... I –"

Her words were swallowed up as he covered her lips with his own, only a small sound of surprise as realization dawned on her. His hands grabbed at her clothes needily, snaking under her shirt to feel her skin beneath his fingertips. She draped her arms around his neck, fingers finding their way into his hair to pull him closer. And closer he was, clinging tightly to every inch of her that he could reach. His shirt, already unlaced, was easily dispensed with; he made short work of her clothes as she pulled him to the four poster bed. "Mae," he said as he stopped at the edge of the mattress, voice low and husky, "are you...?"

"Yes," she answered quickly, nodding up at him before rejoining their lips. Her hands found their way to his belt, cursing every moment it took to loosen the damn thing. Every moment she had to waste on this buckle was a moment spent without her body flush to his, her hands roaming over him, pulling him into her. She let out a tiny whine of frustration and felt him chuckle into her lips before undoing the clasp himself. He kicked off his trousers as he pulled her into the bed with him, trying to remove them both from their small clothes as he went. Enver pulled her onto his lap, straddling his thighs without breaking the kiss. His arms and hands explored her body, every inch that was finally, finally laid bare for him again. Her legs, her waist, her hips. All for him, and he hungered for it. She tangled handfuls of his hair between her fingers, eliciting a deep groan from his throat as she gently tugged it to pull him closer. He could feel her getting wet in his lap, and was sure she could feel him growing harder as she squirmed and moved over him.

He tangled his own fingers through her hair and pulled her head back just barely, only enough to look into her eyes as he silently asked permission to enter her. She nodded, eyes hooded and breaths heavy. Gods, was she the most beautiful creature on this earth. In all the planes, he was sure, as he pulled her back into the kiss. One hand still tangled in her hair as he used the other to gently open her folds and slowly guide himself in. She let out a moan against his lips as she settled over him, the sound enough to send him feral. He pressed his tongue further into her mouth as she set a pace, almost tantalizingly slow. For her, this was akin to their first time together; she was testing, exploring, finding the perfect movements all over again. He felt eager to show Maevris just how well he remembered her, how in tune they were with each others bodies when they hit their stride. But for now, he was content to savor this moment, to let her take her time. He would lavish her later, show her how she deserved to be worshipped in his arms. As she went, she grew bolder, bit by bit. Still achingly slow, but more incessant, more needy with every thrust of her hips. He responded in kind, matching her rhythm and intensity. He grabbed her thighs as her moved his mouth from her lips to her jaw, slowly trailing down her next and over her chest, staking a new claim on every inch with deliberate and passionate kisses, hot and wet over every inch of her that he reclaimed. Her head fell back as another moan left her lips, and he moved an arm behind her neck to steady her in his lap. She was close, he could tell; losing her focus as he kissed and sucked her most sensitive spots, missing the steps of their little dance as she began to come undone. He grabbed her hips and guided her to their rhythm, to the final steps and over the edge as he sucked fiercely at her collar. And the sounds she made as she finally came for him, as she shook against his chest and moaned his name into his neck... gods, he had missed having her like this. That carried him to his own end, pulling her into his chest as he groaned into her shoulder.

She shook against him, sticky with sweat and blissfully resting in his arms. His ragged breaths tickled her shoulder as he continued pressing kisses to her skin, arms gripping her to him as she pulled herself further into his lap. Any bare skin, any inch that could be touching him but wasn't, felt like a tragedy begging to be remedied. As his breathing steadied, he trailed his lips slowly up her neck to nibble on her earlobe. "I love you," he whispered between gentle bites, "and gods, have I missed you, Mae."

She laughed warmly, her head tilting back to give him access. "I've been here for weeks, Enver."

"Not like this," he murmurered into her neck, "not in my bed, laid out for me like such a pretty present."

Her heart skipped a beat like in her chest at his words, his sincerity, at the muddled way her mind still felt as she drifted back to reality. "I'm not laid out, though, am I?" She teased, eyes fluttering open to look at him again.

He replied with a tauntingly wicked grin as he leaned in to her lips. "That can be fixed," he muttered against them before moving his arms around her to swiftly flip them onto the bed, positioning them so that she was lying under him. "There," he said as he caressed her face, running the other hand down her side to bring her leg up against him. "Much better."

She giggled at the act; an actual, honest giggle, lighter than she had thought herself capable of. Is this love, she asked herself? To feel so freed with someone? "And now that you have me here?" She asked him, wrapping an arm around his waist, mischief glinting in her eyes as he caressed her bare skin.

He let his eyes wander over her, all of her perfection and beauty in front of him. "Oh, I have many ideas, pet. Trust me." He claimed her lips in a kiss again, pressing deeply into her mouth, eager to have her, yet not rough: firm, but gentle; impatient, but drawing his attentions out nonetheless. He ghosted his lips over her ear, hands wandering between her legs, teasing her. "Do you trust me, love?"

She groaned underneath of him, deep in her chest as he teased her swollen bud and slick folds. A strained "mhmm" was all she could manage, her eyes fluttering shut again as he taunted her.

"Good," he said with a sultry grin.

He seemed to know every spot on her body, every reaction it would elicit, better than she did, and she was more than happy to let him lead her. His lips worked their way down her neck, playful nips and deep kisses as he continued to tease between her legs. She could feel his kisses deepen as he paused at the base of her neck, right above her clavicle. There would be marks all over her neck tomorrow, she was certain, but she didn't care. It was worth it. Let him mark her body wherever he wanted; he could have it, all of it. She squirmed under him as he moved lower, wet kisses trailing over her chest, over her breasts, across the delicate skin of her ribs. His fingers still danced around her opening, teasing little sighs and whimpers from her throat as he kept them just on the edge, never quite entering her. The longer her toyed with her, the more urgently she needed him; the more she whined and groaned and bucked against his hand as his lips trailed down her stomach.

"Tsk. So impatient," he said, stopping over her lower abdomen to look up at her. "So eager. So needy," he said as he pressed a kiss to the lowest part of her belly.

"Enver," she whined out, gripping the sheets in her fists beside her, "you're doing this on purpose."

"Doing what, my dearest?" He asked as he grabbed her, lazily massaging circles into her inner hips. He kissed her belly again before resting his chin on it to look up at her, her thighs on either side of his face.

"Stop... playing with me and – fuck." She exclaimed breathlessly and he dipped one finger into her before drawing it out again.

"Oh, in good time, my heart," he promised, words lilting as he eyed her wickedly. "Good things come to those who wait. It'll be all the sweeter for it, you'll see," he said as he pressed an insistent kiss to her inner thigh.

She laughed, a small pant of amusement as she tried to steel herself against his tricks. He wanted her to beg for it, she thought, but she wouldn't give him the pleasure. She answered him playfully. "Of course you'd say that, you bast– ah!” He cut her off with two fingers this time, slower than before, deeper, as his thumb circled her bud.

"Name calling doesn't suit you, lovely," he teased, his breath tickling her stomach as he hovered over her. "Try asking nicely."

She scoffed at him again, but found herself unable to resist with his fingers working inside of her. "I... shit." She swallowed hard, words difficult to form as her thoughts grew hazy. "Please, Enver," she relented, struggling to speak the words between her ragged breaths. "Fuck, please."

"My, my." He smiled lazily as he pressed kisses to the inside of her thigh, drawing his fingers out of her. "Please what, my love?"

"You are..." she paused, feeling the hot wetness of his mouth drawing closer to her. "Just... please, don't... don't stop."

She felt him smirk against her skin, right where her leg met her hip, right beside where she needed him most. "Of course, Maevris. Anything for you." He positioned himself directly over her middle, eyes gleaming up at her, basking in the neediness of her gaze as she stared down at him, waiting. He kissed her stomach, featherlight, trailing lower until he was right over her swollen little bud. He kissed deeper, sucking just a little, arms snaking under and hands grabbing her legs and ass on either side as she moaned and bucked under him. He caressed it with his tongue, pulling forth whatever lovely sounds his skills could earn him before moving lower. He flicked his tongue into her, tasting her, lips caressing her as he pushed his tongue deeper.

She couldn't breath, couldn't think, couldn't do anything but buck her hips into him. The waiting had made it sweeter, she thought; but she would never admit that to him. He was like a master at his instrument, strumming and plucking and hitting all the right spots to make sweet music flow from her lips. She understood why some called it a "little death;" she died and felt reborn under his touch. She saw stars, she saw nothing, felt herself floating further and further away as he pushed her hips back down. It was eternity, it was bliss. She cried out his name as he led her back over the edge, and she jumped happily into it as the world faded around her.

She was lost, unaware of the world around them. She could feel him crawling back over her, his hands holding the sides of her face while she trembled beneath him. Her eyes stayed firmly shut, working through the last perfect drops of her orgasm. "How do you feel, dearest?" He asked quietly, pressing a kiss to her forehead as he lowered himself on top of her.

"I... I don't believe I can think right now," she replied, smiling back at him as she opened her eyes. "Ask me again later."

He chuckled into her hair, planting another kiss to it. "I'll take that as a good thing," he said. "Are you going to stay here tonight, then?"

"Mhmm," she murmured, nodding lazily. "You don't expect me to walk back to my bed after that, do you?" He pulled his lips back from her hair and saw her flashing wide, innocent eyes at him, pleading silently. As if he would let her up regardless, he thought.

He rolled off of her and onto his back. Mae let out a petulant little whine, before he wrapped her in his arms and pulled her onto his chest, tucking her head under his chin. She settled in over his heartbeat as he traced his fingertips over her back. Did she know what she was doing, he wondered? That need to feel him under her, hear his heartbeat, be wrapped up in him, just as she had before; was that a subconscious habit, or, as he allowed himself to foolishly hope, was it an old memory coming back to light? She pulled closer to him, wrapping one arm up over his shoulder. Touch starved little thing. They both were, he thought, as he pulled her tighter to himself. No amount of contact was ever enough, it seemed.

"Enver?" She whispered into his chest, barely loud enough to hear.

"Hmm?" He answered, eyes shut as he rested against her head, "what is it, pet?"

"Were we..." she shifted a bit to look at him, trying to put the words together. "Were you... always so gentle with me?"

He smiled down at her, stroking her cheek. Gods, don't take her away again. "Surprised?" He asked. "My love, I can be very gentle, when the moment calls for it. And after all you've been through..." He looked down at her, sadness seeming to flit through his eyes as he leaned to press a kiss to her forehead again. "You deserve gentleness, my darling. And I am happy to give you whatever you need."

Mae looked back up at him, perplexed, almost disbelieving. He worried he had gone too far, that she would get up and leave him now, in this cold and empty and too large bed. Instead, her brow relaxed and she placed her hand over his, twining their fingers as she pulled it back to kiss his palm. Mae looked back at him for a moment before laying her head back over his heart, and pulling his hand to keep it over her cheek. She fidgeted for a minute, before adding, almost too quiet for him to hear, "and what do you need?"

Enver looked down at her, convinced he must have misheard. What did he need? What a silly question. But she didn't look up at him, instead burying her face into his chest as her heart started to beat faster against him. She was truly asking, then. She was offering. And she was nervous. It was enough to make his heart skip a beat, to make him melt away.

"I... oh, my love," he answered, pulling her tighter as he pressed kiss after kiss to her head. "I have all I need. I have you, returned to my arms. We have this city to rule together, side by side, like we were meant to. What else could I need?"

She was silent for a moment, considering his words. She looked up at him again, a questioning look in her eyes. "Do you really love me, then?" She asked.

He pulled her face to his and answered her question with a kiss, deep and full of longing. He kissed her as is he could make up for the weeks apart, for failing to keep her safe, for ever letting her slip away in the first place. As he pulled back, her lips chased sleepily after his, just out of reach. Her eyes stayed shut for a moment, as if she hadn't quite registered that the kiss was over yet. "More than you could know," was all he said, leaning against her forehead.

"Hmm," she answered, settling back against his chest with their hands intertwined. He laughed against her, holding her as she drifted between sleep and wakefulness. He wasn't put off by her lack of reply; this was all very new to her still. If he could bring her memories back... but even without them, she was still here. She was still in his arms, chest slowly rising and falling as she fell asleep on him. He would prove to her all over again that she could trust her, that he loved her, that all of his dreams in life meant nothing if she wasn't there to partake in them. He couldn't fail her again, couldn't survive the heartbreak of letting her get hurt by his neglectfulness as second time. He would prove it to her. In time, she would–

"Goodnight, love," she mumbled into his chest as she placed a small, sleepy kiss to his skin. She was barely awake, if at all. He had all he wanted, right here.