#enver gortash x tav

[drathe]

stigmata

[sserpente]

The Weight of a Promise - Part II

Synopsis: One month has passed since you reluctantly became Lord Gortash's concubine. You ought to hate him--yet your heart seems to disagree.

A/N: When inspiration strikes…you gotta strike back! Took a bit longer than I expected but here we go! :D

You can read Part I here!

Words: 2523 Warnings: violence, blood, mentions of prostitution, concubine!Reader

“Good morning, dear. I take it you’ve had sweet dreams?”

You stirred, eyes flying open. You were warm, and comfortable. Cosy. Your head was resting on Gortash’s naked chest, his right arm pressing you close against his body. You had gotten so used to his presence and the intimacy between you that you didn’t even flinch away when his fingertips ghosted over your bare shoulder but instead…took relish in it.

“Morning…”

One whole month. You had been keeping an eye on the calendar on Gortash’s desk. You were surprised, to say the least. Part of you had suspected he would grow tired of you after a few days and move on to the next whore he’d be given for free. Perhaps one that would throw herself at him.

Alas, as much as you hated to admit it, you had begun to enjoy his company. Enver Gortash was as insufferable as he was megalomaniacal. But he was charming, too. No wonder the city gladly accepted him as its hero and saviour.

His mask was perfect. You very much doubted he truly did have a heart for the homeless and the poor though. Only yesterday had you overheard him talk about increasing the tax rates for small businesses for more profit to put into his Steel Watch. Now that you spent so much time with him, you would have believed his chivalry too had you not known the truth. A good man did not keep concubines, not like this. A good man did not have rumours spread about him worshipping one of the dead three.

And yet, despite everything, part of you was growing…grateful. He’d kept his promise. Thanks to him, you barely remembered what hunger was now. He had gotten you so many dresses you could never decide what to wear and every night, you shared his bed, warm and comfortable, nestled underneath his soft sheets.

The sex was phenomenal, of course. Just like the very first time he had claimed you, you would be lying if you insisted it wasn’t a pleasurable experience for you. Only it was empty, meaningless. Why else would he keep you around if not for a wet hole to fuck when he was overcome with lust?

The more time you were forced to spend with him, the more you realised that you wanted him to like you for more than your body. To know that you were more than an object for him to play with and entertain himself with and to convince yourself and your stupid feelings that he was not the villain you took him for. To soothe your own conscience.

It could be Stockholm Syndrome, you thought, chewing on your lower lip. But then again, he had told you that you were free to go the very day you arrived, made it seem like it had been your own choice to become a slave to his most carnal desires in exchange for your basic human needs to be met.

The mornings all started the same. You and Gortash had breakfast together, after that he tended to his archduke business and you remained in bed for a while longer, reading the books he owned. He’d call you over at some point, eager for your company—or your body.

As of right now, he was finished with his duties for the day. After a rich lunch, he’d insisted on taking a walk with you by the sea near Wyrm’s Rock to take his mind off things, a Steel Watcher always in close vicinity to protect him.

“You are not focusing at all, are you, dear? Could you at least put in a little bit of effort? Make it a challenge for me!”

You blinked. You’d been staring at the lance board for what must have been several minutes with your knees tucked and your chin resting between them. Gortash had insisted you played with him tonight. Only you had no idea how.

“I don’t know how to play,” you admitted.

Amusement flashed over Gortash’s handsome face. “You don’t know how to play lance board? Truly?”

You shook your head.

He took a deep breath. “Well, in that case…it is rather simple. There are six pieces in the game that—”

“Why did you increase the tax rates?” You couldn’t help it. The question left your lips before you could stop yourself. You were curious.

Gortash paused, momentary surprise marking his features. “And since when exactly, pray tell, do I discuss political matters with my concubine?”

“It’s just a question. I overheard you passing the bill.”

“You mean you were eavesdropping.”

You frowned. “You knew I was right there.”

“Ah, yes.” He chuckled. But then, nothing.

“So?”

“Protection is expensive, my dear. My Steel Watch requires constant maintenance. Maintenance that requires materials. Materials that cost money.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Pardon me?”

“I’ve seen the documents. You have two vaults at the Counting House. Two vaults that are bulging with gold.” You’d caught a glimpse at the numbers, black ink on a fresh roll of parchment one morning while he’d made you keep his cock warm for him at his desk. You swallowed. “If you truly had the city’s best interest at heart you would be reaching into your own pockets to help out. That is true charity.”

Gortash raised an eyebrow. He appeared amused, if anything. “I am giving the citizens of Baldur’s Gate a purpose. By contributing in the form of taxes, they are contributing to keeping the city and themselves safe. And unlike my own fortunes, tax money is in constant circulation.”

You scoffed. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself.”

“I will not have you criticize my rule, my dear. Were you a lady or an adviser of mine, I could have your head for this without anyone batting an eyelash.”

Too far. You swallowed. So much for trying to convince yourself he was not a villain. “I apologise.”

“Good. Now, as I said. There are six types of pieces in the game. The first—”

Gortash was interrupted yet again. This time, however, by an airborne knife knocking the piece he pointed to straight to the ground where it shattered into a dozen pieces.

“Playing with your whore instead of working? You disappoint me, lordling.”

Gortash stiffened visibly. “Orin.”

Your eyes widened when you turned to face the unwanted visitor. She was as pale as the moon itself, with white creamy eyes piercing your soul. And her clothes…where they made of…skin? She staggered closer on bare feet, retrieving her dagger.

“You’ll find I have made much progress with our operation. But unlike you, I am a man of true entertainment. Uninterrupted murder is not up my alley.”

You blinked. Murder? What in the hells was he talking about?

“You are losing your focus, lordling. Do you need a reminder?”

Before you had processed what was happening, Orin grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you flush against her. The smell of rotten meat and blood filled your nostrils, the blade of her dagger pressing into your skin. Her hands were ice-cold.

You gasped for air, paralysed. You willed your legs to kick her, your fingers to scratch her, your head to shatter her chin…but your body did not obey. Fear wrapped its icy claws around you, preventing you from taking action.

One wrong movement…and you would die. Your eyes found Gortash’s, yours pleading, begging. Surely, he would not let her harm you, surely, he would care if you lived after having shared the bed with him so many times…

“Now don’t be ridiculous, Orin. She’s my concubine. The only thing you will accomplish by killing her is making a mess of my office. I can always get a new one at the snap of my fingers.”

Your face fell, heart skipping several beats in a row. Not because of your fear now—but because it broke. Your lips parted. Was that truly how he felt after you’d spread your legs for him, listened to his sorrows, and kept him company? He’d promised to treat you well. Discarding you to the first bloodthirsty killer—whoever this Orin was—would break that promise after all.

“Well…then you won’t mind if I slit her throat? Bathe in her sweet blood and feast on her intestines? Would you still like to fuck her then, lordling?”

For just a second, you believed to catch a glimpse of actual panic glistening in his dark eyes. It was a fleeting moment, quickly replaced by a mask of steel.

“Orin, no, stop it!”

The woman laughed, the stench of stale blood almost making you gag as she pressed the blade even further against your delicate skin until you could feel a slight burn and something warm and sticky running down your throat.

“Orin!” You had not imagined it. There was panic swinging in his voice too now.

With a start, she removed her dagger from your throat and pushed you. You landed on your hands and knees on the hard stone floor, a pained cry escaping your lips due to the impact.

“With Ketheric Thorm dead, you should be on your guard, lordling. Because right now, your little plan is falling apart. And I am so very eager to spill blood in your chambers.”

“Control yourself, Orin. Ketheric’s death is a temporary setback. Once the Netherstone is back in our possession, we have nothing to fear and everything will go according to plan.”

You felt pathetic, cowering on the cold floor and listening to the conversation. You only understood half of what they were saying. Netherstones? What plan? And who was Ketheric Thorm?

“I will gut you if not, Gortash.” She disappeared in a mist of black and red as if her flesh erupted into a million pieces before evaporating.

Only now did you realise how heavily you were breathing. Gortash bent down, one of his hands resting on your shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

“No! No, I’m not alright!” you exclaimed, biting back a sob.

“You would have let her kill me!”

“I would not.”

“Yes! That’s what you said!” Another sob, one you were unable to hold back. You were trembling. You could feel a small trickle of blood running down your cleavage right between your breasts.

Gortash grabbed a hold of your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Showing her I care for you would have been showing her weakness and that I cannot afford. I apologise you were caught between the lines.”

Care.

“How am I supposed to believe that? Am I not a means to an end? You keep acting like I should be grateful you took me in and gave me a roof over my head in exchange for sex and now I almost…” You did not dare finish the thought. Died.

“You stupid girl. Do you truly think I would keep just any woman around my private quarters where I conduct important city business? Do you think I would share my private bed with just any prostitute?”

“I…I…” You hesitated. He was not wrong.

“I am not the kind of man to pursue, my dear. I learned the hard way you simply have to take what you want in life. I liked you. So I had you brought here.”

“Why didn’t you just say so? Why must everything you do be a power trip?”

“A power trip? Exercising dominance is crucial to survive in this world. I want you here, by my side. Is that not enough? What else do you want me to tell you?”

He helped you up, retrieving a cloth from the cupboard next to a wash bowl. The gentleness with which he wiped at your throat and your chest to clean the blood off of you surprised you so much yet another sob escaped you.

“I…I want you to tell me…you care about me? I’m not just a whore you can easily replace?”

“I don’t want any of the other whores. I wanted you. And I still do. I have no reason to lie to you, my dear. And you care about me too. I can see it in your eyes. You like the things we do together. Am I right?”

You nodded, unable to utter words for a moment.

“I hate myself for it.”

“Oh? And why is that, my dear?”

“You’re not a good person, Gortash. I can see that. I can feel it with every fibre of my being.”

“But…?”

“But…”

He threw the cloth away and cupped your face, planting a tender kiss on your lips.

“I wouldn’t have stayed if I didn’t…”

He smirked. He understood.

“I will have some servants fetched to run you a hot bath. I have some business to attend to. Then I will join you.”

“Gortash?”

“No.” He lifted a hand, a thoughtful expression decorating his handsome features for a moment. “I want you to call me by my first name when we’re in private. Enver.”

You frowned, lips parting in shock. The archduke of Baldur’s Gate wanted you to…call him by his first name?

“Enver.” You tasted the name on your tongue. It felt strange and yet…oddly familiar.

“That’s better.”

“Who is Orin? And don’t even think about telling me it doesn’t concern me given she just almost killed me.”

Gortash sighed. “She is…the Chosen of Bhaal, the god of murder and a reluctant ally of mine.”

Your eyes widened, shock rippling through you. Bhaal? The god of murder? One of the dead three?

“And who is…was…Ketheric Thorm?”

“The Chosen of Myrkul, a general who ruled over the Shadow Cursed Lands. Another reluctant ally.” Myrkul. He too was one of the dead three. The rumours you had heard about Gortash… Could that possibly mean…

“Go-…Enver…what deity do you worship?”

He smiled at you wickedly. “You have a sharp mind indeed, my dear. You might just be able to best me in a game of lance board in time.”

“Tell me what deity you worship.”

“You already know, do you not? You have asked me before, when we first met. And I am indeed, my dear, the Chosen of Bane. I will lead this city to glory.”

You took a step back, shock spreading in your veins like spiked vines. “What is this plan? What are the Netherstones?”

“That’s enough questions for now. Go and rest. The servants will be with you shortly.” He strode off, yet before he wrapped his hands around the doorknob, he turned his head and said, “Let me say it again: You belong by my side now, my dear. You have my protection. You have nothing to fear from me—or Orin, I will make sure of that. You might not agree with my methods but you cannot fight your own heart. You can trust me.”

With that, he was gone. Another promise. One that the growing butterflies in your stomach hoped he would never break. You belong by my side now, my dear.

You could leave, he had said a month ago. You should leave. Instead, you found yourself heading over to the wooden tub get rid of your now bloody dress.

[astarioffsimpmain]

Persuasion

[Screenshots by @laezels]

Enver Gortash x afab!Reader

Warnings: Biting, nudity, cockwarming

Synopsis: You and Gortash have a special kind of alliance, and your companions don't approve

Author's Note: I know I promised Halsin smut and I will deliver! But these images, along with some extra Gortash brainrot sent me into overdrive, so here is exactly 500 words of soft/intimate Gortash. Prompt inspiration by @creativepromptsforwriting !

“We’re so different. I wouldn’t want to bring you down.” It was whispered into the column of his neck as he stroked your damp hair. 

“Oh, come now.” he cooed quietly, pressing a kiss against the top of your head as he pulled you closer. “We are not all that dissimilar. You have cut your way across Faerun where everyone else has failed to do so, and I fought my way to the top when the odds were impossibly stacked against me. You will stop at nothing to preserve the safety of your friends, and I will stop at nothing to preserve the safety of my people; including you.” A deep-set heat spread across your cheeks and although he could not see it, you were certain he could feel it on his skin because the deep rumble of his laughter sent vibrations barreling through your bare body. The sharp edge of his gauntlet scraped a taunting line up the curve of your spine and you shivered against him, your arm curling further around his neck as you pressed closer to his warmth. 

“My companions greatly disapprove of this union.” you murmured, your lips brushing his skin with each pass, and even you struggled to find concern in your words as his hands found your bum and squeezed before hoisting you up higher in his lap. Your fingers curled into his jet black locks on instinct and you mewled as his lips latched around one of your nipples and sucked. He then dragged the flat of his tongue against the hardened peak and you squirmed in his grasp. 

“Your companions will come around.” he whispered before blowing gently against the bud, pulling a whine from your throat. 

“Gods, Gortash.” you moaned, then yelped suddenly as you received a hard bite to the side of your breast. 

“I thought we discussed this, my love.” he growled against you, the claws of his gauntlets piercing your skin as his grip tightened. 

“Apologies, E-Enver.” you stuttered, the wind leaving your lungs as he rewarded your cooperation with a gentle kiss against the place he had bitten. 

“Much better, kitten.” he smiled against your sensitive skin and continued to pepper it with kisses as he ran his hands up and down your curves. 

You groaned lewdly as one of his hands pressed your hip downwards, his other snaking around to line himself up with your abused slit. He slid home with little resistance and you moaned into each other’s mouths, the feeling of being joined again akin to coming home. When he kissed you there was no malice or anger, and you drank in his hazy, lustful need for your lips on his with a need of your own, wrapping yourself around him like your only lifeline. “Come,” he mumbled against your mouth, repositioning himself to lay down on the plush bed with you atop him. “Sleep, my love. We shall discuss bringing your friends around in the morning. Tonight, you belong to me alone.”

fin

[hijackalx]

I need a breeding fic with Gortash. like him putting you in a mating press and just saying nasty shit like "give me a baby boy" or "your ganna have so many of my fucking babies" holy shit I'm ganna faint he's so mmfg

I WANTED TO WRITE THIS FOR U BUT IT TOOK SO LONG IM SORRY 😭😭💗 also i hope u like spit cuz i saw the opportunity and took it SORRYYYY 😹😹

WORD COUNT: 1.6K

UNDER THE CUT: F!reader, breeding kink, spit, mating press position, some degradation and praise, dom!gortash, you’re basically his baby-making machine, he refers to reader as ‘woman’ and ‘girl’

Gortash doesn't do anything without planning first. He's always a step ahead; he knows what the future holds because he decides it.

And sometimes you wonder where you belong in his grand scheme. What does he have in store for you? All of his meddling behind the scenes— he’s a puppet master, playing your unsuspecting figure by the strings of his jeweled fingers.

It would be sensible to ask, but like a true visionary, he isn’t keen on being questioned. He'll blow you off as sweetly as he can, cradling your face and assuring you that you needn’t worry about such things. Despite his facade, you can tell it bothers him; you can see the irritation behind his gaze.

You'll admit, it can be a little intimidating being with someone like him, simply because you never know just how much of your relationship he's manipulated and plotted into fruition. You're stumbling around in the dark, clinging to his wrist for stability while forgetting that he blindfolded you in the first place.

When the next stepping stone of his intricate plan is revealed, you feel it's all too obvious. You realize the crucial part you play, and how integral it was that he didn't scare you off. No doubt you were plucked from a plethora of suitors, carefully considered for your purpose. You think you should feel flattered.

You lay on the silk sheets of his bed, spread open and waiting. Your bare skin is soft and scented, a flame spreading over the surface as you watch him approach. He crawls over top of you, the mattress giving with each movement. You swallow at his looming presence, how he locks you between his strong arms.

Thumb coming up to tease your bottom lip, he leaves a lingering kiss at the corner of your mouth.

"I'm going to make you the most valuable woman in Faerûn." He smiles before rocking back on his knees. Another kiss is left on your ankle as he props your legs against his broad shoulders. "Isn't that right?"

His features are gentle but his eyes are dark— intense. You can tell this is something he's been waiting for, something he's been heavily anticipating. You wonder how you were never able to pick up on his faltering restraint before; he looks like he's wound as tightly as he can be.

His tip plays at your entrance, smearing precum against your heat. You throb, aching for him, but you can tell by his smirk and the slight tilt to his head that he's waiting for a response.

You nod readily. With that, he angles and inserts himself into you. Gasping, your fingers bunch up the fabric beneath you as he stretches you out inch by inch. "Gods..." you mutter at the feeling of his cock slipping past your walls.

You stare at his face while he watches how your pussy strains around him, admiring how his thick, black hair hangs from his forehead, how the corners of his sloped nose crinkle slightly; the concentrated furrow to his brow, and the small parting to his lips. You did get lucky, didn't you?

Out of all the men who'd want you to carry their child, you were picked by him; a powerful man, body and mind, who is certain to pass on his traits through you.

You struggle to take him in further, the width near his base stretching your opening uncomfortably. Without hesitation, he cups his hands under your knees and pushes them to your chest, resting his weight onto you. He manipulates your figure on instinct— as if it's his, as if he owns you.

Your body is forcibly spread deeper, allowing him to sink into you the rest of the way. The new position almost takes the breath out of you, eliciting a surprised whimper from your lips.

He sighs contently as he fills you fully, the warmth of your needy pussy engulfing his cock. He finally starts to move his hips, rocking you on the mattress as your wet cunt squelches around him.

You gaze up at him through your knees, watching his lip curl at how tightly you grip him. "Fuck," he hisses. "You're perfect. Fucking perfect," he almost seems to be muttering to himself, his eyes unable to break away from where you two meet between your thighs.

He picks up the pace, his heavy balls hitting you with every thrust. You leave behind bits of your essence in his hair, the slick coating his ebony strands.

His hand releases one of your legs to snatch you by your jaw. The aggression catches you off guard, and for a moment you wonder if you've upset him. Under lowered brows, he grins.

"You're going to be my personal little broodmare," he laughs breathily before interrupting himself with a grunt. "And you'll give me as many baby boys as I want— won't you, sweet girl?"

His fingertips leave indents in your skin, and he appears too distracted by pleasure to know how rough he's being. Still, you don't mind— men with gentle hands don't sit on thrones. "M-mhm," you do your best to respond under his hold.

He slips his thumb between your lips, pressing down on your tongue. He coerces your mouth open until it's fully extended, staring down at you.

"Yeah? You like the way that sounds?"

His nail digs deeper into your tongue with every second you take to answer, his expression bordering on wicked. Unable to speak, you nod vigorously.

The corner of his mouth pulls upward, his brows lifting briefly. "I thought you might," he says before leaning over you, encasing your body in his shadow. Without warning, a quick wad of spit comes flying out onto your tongue. "Whore."

The warm substance lands and spreads over your tastebuds. Only after he admires how it looks in your mouth does he release you. He stares down at you expectantly, so you hold his gaze and swallow.

As he watches your throat bob, you feel his cock twitch inside you, a low groan vibrating in his chest.

Your body writhes with want beneath him, with need. You feel the way your cunt repeatedly tightens around him, trying to draw out his orgasm.

He can feel it too, and you know he won't last much longer. Soon he'll be filling you full of his cum— again, and again, and again— ensuring that, without a doubt, you'll be pregnant. You'll carry his heirs, securing his rulership with his bloodline.

You never saw yourself as mere breeding stock before. And you most certainly never saw yourself enjoying the thought of it. It sends a surge of heat through your body, a tremble through your limbs. You yearn to be of use to him— to his success.

"P-please," you stutter, gripping his bicep tightly. "Come inside of me. I need you to come, please—" Your words come out quickly and almost incoherent, stumbling over your own burning desire. You need to feel his thick, white seed lacing your walls.

He almost coos at how ready you are for him. "Fuck, I love hearing you talk like that."

His hand slips down the back of your thigh so that his thumb can toy with your clit. His touch isn't the softest, and it makes your sensitive body jolt with every rub. Still, the timing of it has you questioning if he's rewarding you for your begging. You wouldn't put it past him to condition you that way, so that your cunt's always desperate to be filled.

He places his hands on either side of your head, hooking your legs over his elbows. His face is now inches from yours, and you can see the lustful haze over his stare. It's dark, almost wolfish, but it only excites you.

You're so ready for him to finish, just so he can do this all over again.

You wrap your arms over his muscular shoulders, holding onto him while he fucks you. Your body is at his mercy in your vulnerable position, completely pliant to his every whim. You almost shiver at the thought— not from unease, but arousal. Your eyes flutter shut.

The bed creaks with his tempo, mirroring the needy movement of his hips. His breathing is uneven and wavering by your ear, accompanied by the occasional grunt or moan. The sounds of his pleasure send a wave of excitement through you, and you can tell by the rapid snaps of his pelvis that he's close.

Your voice evolves into whimpers as you feel his orgasm approaching, anticipating being filled with a steady stream of cum. With a hiss through gritted teeth, he slams into you hard, pumping white ropes into your cunt. You rhythmically tighten around him, milking him for every last drop.

The feeling of him filling you up makes your limbs buzz with exhilaration, and the knot in your core finally snaps. You tear and claw at his back while he ungracefully rides out his own orgasm, pushing his seed into you further and further.

After his final sloppy thrusts, his body stills. He rests above you, the arms supporting him tense and slightly weary. His breaths fan your cheek, warm and ragged, indicative of his high. You would almost think he was spent, if it weren’t for the fact that he still hasn’t pulled out of you.

You focus on the way his cum settles inside you, threatening to leak. It’s so much— you find it hard to imagine fitting more. Still, he smiles down at you with an endearing obstinance that says he’ll find a way.

You realize you’re in for a long night.

[bekaroth-reads]

Baldur’s Gate’s 3 Characters x Reader/Tav Misunderstanding

[This is basically the situation of, “As my partner-“ “Wait, we’re partners?!” Might add more characters later. Proof read but quickly. Sorry if there are mistakes]

Astarion- The two of you were planning out a way to get into a tomb that had some sort of artifact that Astarion insisted was important. “Important,” was, in fact, the only thing that he was using to describe it. This was something that was causing the most problems as you didn’t want to go through the danger of it all for something that might have been nothing more than entertainment for him. When you tried to ask him to give you more details, he snidely scolded, “Listen, as your partner-“

“I’m your partner?!” You interrupt before he could say more.

Immediately, he covered his mouth and his cheeks with his hand, embarrassment flooding in after what he had just said as he turned away. While he could usually recover from almost anything, this struck the line of being too intimate for him to handle. In fact, you were both so flustered and embarrassed from the whole thing that you had to push the planning of everything for the excursion at least a week out. It’s hard to plan adventures when you can’t even look the other person in the eye.

Gale- He thought that you were overworking yourself; and, if Gale Dekarios of all people thought someone was overworking, then it was pretty bad. Then again, you were important to him, so he was also inclined to mother-hen over everything you did. When he thought the time was right, he pulled you aside to gently scold, “I know this is very important. But, as your partner, I must insist-“

“We’re partners?!” You exclaim.

He felt awful as he sees this as him trying to force you into a relationship that you might not have wanted. And, given his history with Mystra, it makes him feel like he has taken on her role, and it makes him nauseous. You will need to take some time to get him to understand it was simply a misunderstanding and that you do want to have a relationship with him.

Raphael- He insisted on taking you to find, “better,” clothing. When you got over the initial insult of the indication that your current choice in clothes was bad, you questioned why he was so adamant on doing so.

“Because, I am a public figure. I cannot have my partner-“ He started to explain before you interrupted,

“I’m your partner?!”

This seemed to entertained him to no end. “Why of course, Little Mouse. Hurry along now.” He hummed as he gave you a tap on the nose before ushering your stunned self out the door.

Haarlep- The two of you finally had an evening to yourselves. They were sitting on the end of your bed in a soft nightshirt, reading a book. It wasn’t even that they were expressly interested in the book, but between all of the scheming with Raphael and succubus work, they couldn’t remember the last time that they had the chance to do something so simple as reading. They gave a contented sigh as they lied back, their horns bumping against your legs where you were sitting farther up on the bed. Without much thought, they sighed, “I am so glad that you are mine.”

“Wait! Are we… partners? Actual partners?” You question in surprise.

They put down their book and turned themselves to lie on their stomach so that they could look at you with gleaming eyes, your reaction seemingly tickling them.

“Well, of course! I’m never this relaxed with anyone but you.” They sat up a bit and motioned to what they had on. “I mean- just look at me! I even put clothes on for you! That’s not something that happens everyday, my sweet.”

Gortash- To say things were tense would be an understatement. Enver Gortash and you had tried to kill each other about a month ago, and you were both nearly successful. It had taken you these past three weeks to heal, and the whole time the both of you were sure the other was going to try to sweep in at any moment and finish the job. Or, you were, and it didn’t take too much imagination to see his situation as the same. You were both in a similar state when your respective parties had broken up your fight.

Now you found out that you would have to work with him publicly for a time. It wasn’t something that you were looking forward to, but it was necessary to get answers for certain things and create opportunities for your team. You were in the hall that this party was being held at; it was nothing fancy, no dancing, no meal- just a simple gathering for some of the upper class to speak with each other and perhaps have a few drinks. You were beyond surprised when Gortash connected eyes with you and instead of an angry or begrudging response, he greeted you with one of the brightest smiles you had ever seen on the man.

“There they are now! The person of the hour!” He walked over to you and wrapped an arm around your waist. There were some compliments and coos of how darling you both looked together, and how you must have been a great match. Soon after the group walked away to give you two a few moments of privacy.

“You said that we were a couple?” You whisper-yelled at him.

“Of course. Because we are.” He whispered back as he leaned closer to purr into your ear, “We did almost kill each other after all.” Gortash gave you a peck on the cheek before moving you both to mingle with the other little groups of people around the room.

[cringecannon]

Thought about Gortash having a moment with Tav perhaps after sleeping together or just a long day, and Gortash having to fight the person he's become (A strong, heartless dictator, who feels no one could ever or should ever be his equal) and the long since abandoned want to be loved and cared for without string attached (A desire he probably now sees as childish).

With your head on his bare chest, long since lulled to sleep by the slow rise and fall of his breathing, Gortash finds himself lost in his own head. Something stirs in his chest whenever he looks down at you, and it’s making him sick.

His fingers trace imaginary shapes against your arm as he stares blankly at the wall of his chambers. If he were a lesser man, he’d want to enjoy this moment. Pull you closer, slot his chin against the top of your head until sleep found him as well. He feels that dreadful stirring again and he squashes the thought.

He can’t imagine where this nonsense is coming from. He's never been particularly affectionate, even... before.

He tries to remember what he even wanted before all of this.

In another life, a more pathetic one, maybe you’d have something normal together. Something small. He’d have dedicated himself as an artificer, something where he works with his hands and stays away from politics. He’d come home everyday to you.

His chest aches.

He needs to think of something else. You probably wouldn't even want that. He doesn’t even know what you did before the tadpole. Who you were, your career. He never cared.

He can feel your slow breathing, warm air skimming across his skin. Maybe he should ask. He lets his eyes shut, wrapping his arm tighter around your shoulders. Once the dust settles, and you're both heroes of the city, he'll invite you to dinner. He'll ask you about yourself over some wine, it's just gathering information. Better safe than sorry.

You suddenly shift, nuzzling into the crook of his shoulder. He hopes the rapid thrumming of his pulse doesn't wake you.

[perawuat]

If Gortash found out that Lanor had become a mother he'd be twerking in his grave

+ bonus:

[extraclevermongoose]

You loved him in the evenings, when his eyes were draped in shadow - the wear and tear of masking for endless strings of generals and patriarchs. When you took his hand in yours to loosen the steely gauntlets from his arms, when you pressed soft kisses to the surprisingly calloused pads of his fingers, they smelled of tinny metals, and of oils not meant for human skin. To remove the armor from his hands was an earned privilege, one that you prided yourself in holding - for the gold claws barring his skin from yours were as much his body as his flesh. To unclasp them and delicately slide them from his forearms was to revere his body, to render him vulnerable to the touch of another.

But you loved him most in the nights, when his hair smelled of the papery air of late night schematics in his office. It curled across his face as he slept, and you lost to your resolve to leave him be, lest you wake a chronic insomniac from a rare willingness to rest. But how could you resist feathery brushes to tuck the strands behind his ear? It was in those moments that you could admire him uninterrupted. You longed to trace a finger down the bump of the bridge of his nose, to press kisses to the rounded tip, to drink in the wine-rich taste of his full lips until all you could imagine was the bliss of surrendering your autonomy. Yet, in these nights, he was not Lord Gortash, the strangling hand of desired tyranny, sharp and fatal, any gentility caged away by gold and implication of danger; he was simply Enver. 

Your keeper. Your villain. Your heart.

Your Enver.

(Past midnight. Snippets. Progress to come? Cringe behaviour. I am completely normal about Lord Ratboy Gortash 🙃)

[vibingandsimping]

Wrote this at 5am and I cannot get this thought off my mind… I gave up on proofreading it after the first couple paragraphs, whoops. Enjoy anyways.

Forewarnings: Darker Content

Normal Tav + Gortash

someone on tumblr posted this photo and I literally drooled like a rabid dog

Imagine having tried to escape Gortash. A little while ago, he invited you into his palace, but he caught you in his trap and you've been stuck ever since. He lavishly fed you and provided you with fine silk to wear. If necessary, maids would assist you, and he gave you paints and pen to entertain yourself with. He considered you to be nothing more than a toy. One he could dress up and take care of... you were simply so pretty. One that he could also bend over and take whenever he pleased. You stumbled upon an opening during one of his days. He was occupied and left you with only a few guards. The reason he didn't have his usual number was because security had been on high alert. After a scuffle, per se, happened in the audience hall. You seized the perfect opportunity to escape. You ran, taking rapid breaths, until you hit a dead end. During it all, you managed to hurt yourself trying to avoid being pursued. Although your legs were aching, your chest was the most pressing of your concerns. It hurt to breathe- you were sure you bruised a couple of ribs.

Gortash sought to meet you in his private chambers. He demanded it quite frankly. Had this been under different circumstances, he would have taken care of you by the medical wing. He would make sure to establish himself after you betrayed him directly. To prevent you from trying to escape him again. Perhaps he was too lenient on you and thought him a fool? He approached a shelf and flicked his metallic fingers through while you sat on one of his padded chairs. He landed on a small vial with precision. The contents were a deep and dark red color like coagulated blood. If you were to guess, you would assume it was a concentrated health potion. The way he looked at you was predatory when he turned around and held it between his fingers. He presented it to you with expectation, observing your behavior. It was almost a test of your will - how badly you wished to leave him. A fleeting defiance struck you when you reached out for it. The grave has already been dug, why not step in and enjoy the last moments of freedom? The vial slipped and landed on the ground with a clink. As the glass cracked, the contents spilled onto the marble. For a few seconds, his gaze twisted with fury before steeling itself.

Now, this could go one of two ways.

He grabs you by the hair and guides you to look at him. His dark gaze made you instinctively swallow. It’s clear that was a mistake. You’re sure you’ll be punished for later. He speaks with a venom, his every word enunciated. “Dirty pet,” he spat. “I won’t be putting any of that to waste.” Then, a smirk fills his face and he pushes you onto your knees before him. He lets go of your hair and strokes it once. “Lick it up.” He speaks simply as if it were casual conversation. You knew it wasn’t. The tone he held was too commanding.

Or,

He watches with an unreadable expression. As the liquid trickles to his feet, he hums and turns back around. He fetches another vial- but different. The color was too dark to tell which without inspection. His golden claws dug into the skin on your chin. “No worries. I can always help.” The last word is punctuated by him applying pressure to your cheeks. It made you wince as he forced your lips apart. The cap made a popping sound as it flicked off. Tilting your head back, you’re made to helplessly consume the potion as he made his dominance clear. “Good, now swallow and maybe we can talk a lesser sentence.”

[avocado-writing]

notes: i did this instead of anything in my inbox. sorry but it overtook me and became much longer than I thought. also I wrote raphael as the little sub he is teehee.

relationships: raphael x reader; enver gortash & reader (platonic, parent & child); eventual enver gortash x tav

words: 4k

rating: E

summary: a warlock of Raphael's, you visit the House of Hope one day and find a child. he cannot remain there.

Your life, really, is fine. Maybe a bit empty. But fine.

You’ve had Raphael as your Warlock patron for a while now. It’s fine too, he’s fine, there are definitely worse devils to be indebted to - the fact he’s attractive isn’t so bad either. You started fucking a few years ago and he’s basically wrapped around your little finger at this point. He’s still annoying as all hells but he bottoms well enough and the two of you enjoy being on each other’s good side, so it works out. Mostly what he has you do is track down and kill people who’ve pissed him off - and a lot of people have pissed him off, he’s very piss off-able to be fair, so there’s always plenty of jobs and you come to the House of Hope often, in between the mercenary work you do to survive.

This time you just finished hunting down someone who tried to weasel out of their contract. Raphael had you bring him the man’s head as proof of your work, and then you made him give you head after. Par for the course nowadays.

You peel yourself out of Raphael’s embrace as he bathes in the afterglow of getting spoiled in bed by you. You throw on your pants, and go to grab a bite to eat. Your patron always has a feast ready. It’s something to keep his servants distracted with, the constant cooking and replacing of dishes, and it’s nice to never be hungry when you’re here. You saunter into the banquet room and go to pick up a fistful of grapes…

… pausing when you see something utterly fucking shocking.

A little boy. Making himself as small as possible, dark messy hair and darker sunken eyes, all curled up by the fire. He looks at you with terror and you yelp in surprise, grabbing a spare tablecloth to quickly cover yourself with.

“What the fuck?!” you manage, looking around for answers to the unasked question. Nobody is here to give you any. Fucking lost souls, never here when you need them. You turn back to the boy who looks utterly terrified. “Are you meant to be here?”

He visibly swallows, nervous, and nods. Okay, right, great. Kid in the middle of hell. Of course. You're about to find Raphael and give him a grilling, when you hear a little stomach rumble.

You freeze, raise an eyebrow. Almost impossibly he shrinks further into himself.

“Have you eaten, kiddo?”

He shakes his head, unable to meet your eyes. Oh, well, that won’t do.

You grab a plate and begin to load it up with food for him. He looks hopeful though he tries not to show it too much, as if you’ll punish him for the very idea of it. Gods it must have been torture for the child, sitting in front of a banquet with no invitation to gorge. 

When the plate is so full that it threatens to spill over, you squat down and put it in front of him. The boy stares at it for a long moment before looking up at you.

“Go on. Dig in.”

It’s all the permission he needs. He tears into the food you’ve presented as if he’s never eaten before. As if it is ambrosia. You watch him wolf down chicken thighs so fast that he threatens to choke on them, and you feel your heart ache at the wretched sight.

“This really isn’t a place for kids. What’s your name, lad?” you ask, absent-mindedly swiping some greasy hair out of his eyes. You wonder when was the last time he washed, poor kid. He flinches at your touch a little but doesn’t stop eating, somewhat aware you’re probably the first person he’s met here who doesn’t mean him harm. 

“Enver,” he says through mouthfuls of bread. You tell him your name in return, though you aren’t sure if he really listens.

“I didn’t say he could eat.”

Raphael’s voice cuts through the moment, severe, and the boy freezes mid-bite. Terror floods him. He begins to visibly shake.

Oh, no. No. You won’t be having that.

You speak aloud, voice firm.

“Well, I said he could. Ignore him, kiddo.” 

You stand and put yourself between your patron and the child. This little boy has no idea who you are, but he can sense that you have some sort of power over the demon who’s walked into the room. Timidly he continues his meal. When you’re satisfied you turn to your devil, thunderous.

“Raphael? A word.”

Your tone leaves no wiggle room. He harrumphs and follows you far out of the boy’s earshot, where you unleash your fury. 

“Why is there a fucking child here, Raphael?!” He rolls his eyes.

“Oh, his parents sold him to me. Well, to one of my other warlocks, actually, so through the upline he’s mine.”

He speaks as if reading from the paper, not discussing a child’s life. Your blood boils. You want to slap him, but he’d just enjoy it.

“This is no place for… well, fucking anyone, let alone a literal kid. What were you thinking?!”

He shrugs. For a devil meant to be full of cunning, Raphael rarely actually thinks through his short-term impulses into long-term plans. 

“Torture him, I suppose.”

“Don’t you fucking think about it,” you say, hand instinctively summoning your blade. Raphael narrows his eyes. 

“Be careful when you reach for your sword, warlock, lest you forget the person who gifted it to you.”

Fuck. Shit. What an arseache. Okay, you can’t go about this by violence, he’s right. You need to be cunning. You let yourself soften and approach him, laying your hands on his chest. He raises an eyebrow but allows you to caress him. 

“Raphael, come on. You really want a child hanging around here? He’s going to ruin all our fun. I was going to have you on the banquet table later. You don’t want me to ride you while feeding you slices of apple? You enjoyed it last time…”

Your devil huffs but softens under your touch. Gods he really is easy to manipulate when you know which buttons to press. 

“You’re really up in arms about him, aren’t you? Look, they gave him away for a reason. He’s not some sweet innocent. He’s a little bastard, as far as I’ve been told.”

“Please don’t do anything too harsh to him? For me? For your favourite warlock?” you ask, pouting, sliding down Raphael’s body to your knees, ready to nuzzle into his cock in exchange for his agreement. 

He sags, weak for you. Got him.

“Ugh. Fine, you win, kitten. Spoilsport,” he mutters, and you slip him out of his underwear.

The next time you see Enver, it’s been a couple of weeks. You’ve just finished up a hunt and are reporting in - but he’s the first thing you check on. You find him sweeping one of the hallways, eyeing a wailing lost soul warily. 

“Hey, kiddo. How are you doing?”

He jumps a little, however he looks genuinely pleased to see you. Not enough for him to smile but at least some of the tension leaves him. 

“I’m alright,” he says quietly. He still looks sort of greasy. You’ll have to tell Raphael to let him bathe. 

“The boss been treating you okay?”

Enver nods. 

“Doesn’t really talk to me. Just tells me to do chores.”

Well that’s better than torture, you think. You reach into your pocket, root around for a bit, and hand something to him. His eyes go wide and then narrow in suspicion, and you have to reassure him that it’s not some sort of trick.

“Do you know what that is?”

“A sending stone,” he says, confidently, weighing the blue rock in his hand. You grin.

“Look at you! Clever kid. Yeah, that’s exactly what it is. So I take it you know how they work?”

“Each holder can send a message of twenty-five words a day, and the other can reply with twenty-five. Total of fifty each.”

“Precisely! I’m giving this to you for if there’s an emergency, okay? If you’re in trouble, I want you to give me a message and I’ll get here as quickly as I can.”

He eyes the stone. It’s as if he can’t quite bring himself to believe that someone genuinely cares about his wellbeing.

“Why?” he asks, after a while. 

“Because you shouldn’t be down here, and Raphael can be an arsehole. But don’t worry, I can sort him out,” you say with a grin, and for the first time, Enver chuckles. You hear the sound of Raphael calling your name from down the corridor and you roll your eyes.

“Speak of the devil. Take care, Enver, alright? And remember, let me know if there’s a problem.”

He nods, tucking the stone into his pocket before you head off to tie your patron up.

You don’t hear from Enver for a week or so, but one day, when you’re on the road, you get a message coming through.

“Hello. It’s Enver. Are you having a good day?”

You look confused and reply, “Yeah, kiddo, I’m fine. Is there something the matter? Nobody’s hurting you, are they?”

Then, because it is the nature of the stone, you add: “If they are then you just say, I’ll come and set them straight.”

There’s a beat. You can imagine Enver considering his response.

“I’m fine. I just wanted to say hello.”

That’s as much communication as the day will allow but it hits you hard. Oh. He’s lonely.

And from that day on, you have a sort of penpal.

Enver messages you everyday without fail, always excited to see how you’ve been doing. He has very little to report, which you’re thankful for, because you live in fear that he will need to use the stone for its intended purpose. Occasionally he lets you know that Raphael has said something cruel or Haarlep is teasing him, and then it’s just a matter of heading to the hells and setting them straight. Haarlep is like a cat, difficult to make to do anything, but to be honest he’s your friend and will usually acquiesce after some teasing. Raphael is always a bit more difficult to persuade. He still sees the boy as his property, his thing to treat as he’d like, so you have to pull out all of your best tricks in order to convince him.

You always end up coming out on top, though. Funny that.

Your visits to the House of Hope get more regular. Enver greets you with smiles and then with laughs and then with hugs, and you find you’re growing fond of the kid. Every now and then you see a bit of the little bastard Raphael warned you of - you’ll catch him tormenting one of the damned souls down here, or attempting to trap and harass some sort of insect who accidentally crawled through one of the portals. But a soft but firm hand to turn him in the right direction is enough. He’s a boy with a bright future… if he’s nurtured.

And this place has no time for that.

You make the pitch to Raphael one night at the end of a long weekend in hell. You’ve been doing everything he’s asked of you, indulging his every whim, being ever so sweet and obedient for your master - and fucking him within an inch of his life. You relax in his bed, cuddled up to his chest, walking your fingers along the expanse of his pectorals.

“Raphael…” you say, dreamily, and he hums.

“Why do I get the feeling you’re about to push your luck?” he chuckles. You rearrange yourself to look up at him, eyes wide and wanting.

“Me? Push my luck? Never…” you run your tongue over his nipple and he groans.

“Spit it out then, kitten.”

“It’s the boy, Raphael. Can I have him? Please?”

He huffs.

“Why?”

“Why not? What does he do around here apart from take up space and eat your food? Surely you don’t really want him hanging around, do you? I’d like to be able to ride you and scream your name without the fear we’ll be overheard.”

Raphael considers this for a long time, and for a moment, you think he won’t take the bait.

“You’ll extend your pact with me. I want your soul. Forever,” he decides. 

Ah. That’s quite the price. You consider it for a moment.

“...You never get to interfere with Enver’s life again,” you reply, because this is how you deal with devils. Your bargain to gain their respect. He laughs.

“Fine. The boy is off the hook.”

“Done. And I get to take him out of here and do what I want with him, no questions asked. He’s free. And I’ll do that thing you like, right now.”

His eyes sparkle.

“Deal.”

The next morning, body aching, you read through your new contract. You make some amendments in blood but sign it. The rest of your existence signed over to this damned devil. Raphael kisses you on the lips, long and languid - and when you walk out of the House of Hope it’s with Enver’s hand in yours.

“Where are we going?” he asks, quietly. He’s scared. You squeeze his fingers in reassurance.

“Well, I’m on the road a lot. We’ll be travelling. Is that okay with you, kiddo?”

He nods, excited, and you can’t help but notice how much he’s grown since you first met. He’s more than a head taller - gods, how long has he been down here? It’s not worth thinking about. He’s still pretty skinny, but you’ll fix that. Now you’re in charge of feeding him, you'll make sure he gets a good meal every night. Make sure he walks with his back straight and chin up.

Make sure he never has to feel small again.

It isn’t a perfect life, but it’s a damn sight better than what he had to put up with in the Hells. He smiles now, every day. Isn’t scared of people. Slowly grows confidence in himself because he knows that you’re in his corner, come hell or high water (literally). One day you see him drawing in a little notebook you got him, some sort of diagram far more complicated than you can understand - he explains the intricacies of the machine, so you get him some spare parts to start tinkering with. Gods the kid is a natural. So intelligent. Far smarter than you, and you’re worried you’re letting him down because you can’t keep up - but every time he shows you a new invention he seems so pleased when you compliment him.

“Look at you, kiddo! You’re amazing! I bet there’s nothing that you can’t do.”

And he looks like for the first time in his life that he believes what you’re saying.

Life isn’t easy, but it is worth living. You’re on the road more often than not. You don’t have a home to call your own, but you make sure your mercenary work is well-paid enough that you can put the two of you up in inns overnight, keep you both fed and entertained. Enver seems happy and that’s what matters.

You go back to the House of Hope as little as you can, now, reporting in when you do a job and fucking Raphael into submission. He asks you about the boy every once in a while and you palm him off with a laugh, acting as if you barely care about Enver rather than the truth: you’ve been actively putting money away towards a fund for his future.

You come back from one of your meetings late one night. You’re exhausted from what your patron has put you through and are looking forward to sleep. The portal opens into the inn you’ve booked for the night. You expect Enver to be dead to the world, but instead he’s wide awake, sitting cross-legged on his bed.

“Hey, kiddo, what are you doing up so late? Is everything okay?” you ask, surprised. Enver fidgets with his fingers.

“Does Raphael hurt you?” he blurts out. You’re shocked.

“What?”

“Do you want to be in a contract with him? Because if you don’t, I promise I’ll find a way to free you, like you freed me! I’ll get strong, really strong, and I’ll kill him for you.” His hands are balled into fists, jaw gritted. His eyes are dark in a way that’s troubling and he drops his gaze to his lap.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Where’s all this coming from? Kiddo, nothing is wrong. Everything between me and Raphael is fine. I’m not unhappy or being forced into anything, I promise. What’s the matter, Enver, eh?”

When he looks up at you, there are tears pooling. He launches himself into your arms, holding you so tightly it’s as if you’re his anchor to this plane.

“I don’t want anyone to hurt you. I love you…” and then there it is. He calls you ‘mum’, or ‘dad’, or some other word that settles what you already knew: he’s come to think of you as his parent now. He freezes when he hears himself say it and you think back to when he was that scared little boy, longing for a bit of food by the fireplace.

You hold him back.

“I love you too, son,” you tell him, and the two of you stay like that for a long while.

He asks if his last name can become yours. You introduce him as your child. You are a family. 

You’re right. He’s far smarter than you are, and you can’t keep up with him. It becomes more and more obvious as he gets older. He goes from brilliant teenager to incredible young man, and you’re glad that you have the funds to be able to send him to a good college and nurture his spark. You’re aware that you’re beginning to slow down a bit now. Your joints aren’t quite what they used to be, and though Raphael still covets you, he’s not oblivious to the fact that you’re getting on. His contracts for you become less vigorous. He likes to have you in his bed more than on the field. You don’t mind it, being pampered by your patron. It isn’t a bad life.

Enver doesn’t need to become Gortash. And what use has Bane for this man, this good man, this man who has made something of himself despite all of the odds stacked against him? None whatsoever. He never becomes the chosen of Tyranny. He is safe from the person he might have been.

The day he graduates at the top of his class is the proudest day of your life. You clap and cheer for him until you are hoarse, and he pretends to be embarrassed as you give him a big hug and a kiss on the cheek in front of all of his friends, every inch the glowing parent.

He becomes chancellor because of his own merits, not due to any underhanded trickery. He is a master when it comes to machines. He never invents the Steel Watch because he does not have the warped mind to create them. Instead he focuses on technology to help the city of Baldur’s Gate: cleaning machines, security automatons, things which help with the admin of running to place so those in government can focus on supporting Baldurites. 

He buys you a house in the upper city. You settle down there as you grow older, make friends, get plenty of visits from your son. Everyone knows how loved you are. He eventually hires a young woman named Karlach as a bodyguard who you grow fond of: she makes up in brawn what he lacks, and she always puts a smile on your face when you have the two of them around for tea.

The Absolute comes. Raphael is poking around because of course he is. He’s got some new toys by now but you’re still one of his old favourites, and a couple of his most loved tricks with your tongue mostly keep him out of the way. Plus he promised not to interfere in Enver’s life, and he’s bound by that, the tricky bastard.

Some other person is Bane’s chosen, but it is not your Enver. Instead he fights for the side of good against the Dead Three and the mindflayer invasion, an ally to this Tav, the hero of Baldur’s Gate. Through their trials the two of them end up falling in love and it’s all you could ever want for your son. When the city fights against the Elder Brain you pick up your pact weapon for the last time despite his pleas not to: you’re a Warlock, damn it, and you’re going to defend your home until your last breath.

You don’t die, which is a nice bonus.

Enver and Tav help rebuild the city once the invasion has been stopped. Not too long in the future you have grandchildren, and they are the light of your life, always silly and giggling and joyous to hear the remarkable stories from your mercenary years.

You help out where you can but your age is weighing on you. One day, you take a tumble, and suddenly you’re bedbound; Enver and your family are visiting you every day as you get weaker, and you know that your final days can’t be far off.

He sits at your bedside, your hand clamped in his. Ah, a workman’s hand. The hand of a man who is constantly inventing and working and making himself useful. The hand of a good and decent man.

“The little ones go back to school tomorrow,” he says, fondly, “Tav is relieved. They’ve been rushed off their feet during the holidays– so many years since that Absolute business, yet the legislation is still going. They need a break, really.”

“It’s exhausting being a parent, isn’t it?” you ask with a grin, before being interrupted by a rattling cough which you can’t seem to shake. Enver lifts a glass of water to your lips and you drink, thankful. “Eurgh. Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for. I’ll call the doctor again in the morning, see if she can get you any more of that tincture. Or maybe Halsin might have some ideas…”

“Oh, Enver, don’t go through all that fuss for me. Just sit here with me, kiddo.”

When you call him that, he knows he has no choice. You are still his parent, after all. He shifts to make himself more comfortable in his bedside chair, never letting go of your hand.

“I want you to know,” you say, voice soft, “everything has been worth it, Enver. My whole life was made better because you were my son. You’re the thing that I’m most proud of.”

His eyes go wide and glass over with tears, jaw grits.

“I… don’t say things like that, please,” he says, because he’s scared of what will come after.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay, kiddo. I’m right here.”

He rests his head on the side of the bed, and you can see his shoulder heave as he cries. You bury your hand in his hair, smiling when it’s still a little greasy, and then you close your eyes.

When you open them again you’re in the House of Hope.

Your body feels lighter than it has in decades. You look down to see the wrinkles and liver spots in your hands are gone. You’re wearing what can generously be called an outfit, though it’s more straps of leather criss-crossed over your body.

“Well, did you have fun? Was your deal worth it in the end?” Raphael asks. He’s leaning against the doorframe, swirling wine around in a glass in his hand, another held out to you. You take it and frown.

“Were you… were you just standing here, waiting for me to bloody die?” you ask. He harrumphs.

“You didn’t answer my question, kitten.”

You take the wine, quaff it, then pull him into a kiss. He moans into your mouth in surprise and rapture.

“Yes,” you answer, honestly, because it was worth it. You’d never have made a different choice, “now, are we going to bed, or are you just going to stand here being smug for the rest of eternity?”

Raphael grins and pulls you to the bedroom.

taglist: @ghosti02art @sadandanxiouswtf @yeethaw13 @trappedinlimbo15 @infinitely-kate @dhampling @wereallbrokenangels @tilldeathdonugget

[fandom-go-round]

May I request Enver Gortash "Realizing They're in Love: Reader x BG3" edition? For reasons. 👉🏻👈🏻 Thank you in advance, @careful---ibite 🖤

Tagging you again @careful---ibite just in case the ask doesn't tag you.

            It’s the first time you cover for him. The two of you are at some party, he doesn’t remember too many of the details but you’re chatting with a noble in the corner as he does his rounds. He half hears the person call him out, something about being on the wrong side of town. You elegantly step in, talking about how you love going to the beach and Enver took you last weekend, at the same time this noble supposably saw him. It’s a smooth derailment with no ruffled feathers and Gortash can’t help but feel fonder of you. When he walks over to take your arm you give him a subtle wink, leaning into his side. The perfect picture of a happy couple. Later, he’ll call this moment the first time he knew he loved you. For now, it cements you a place at his side and the beginning of something more.

[dandelion-bride]

Sorry you didn't get Gortash kisses. Could I interest you in some amazing fanfiction?

Like Gortash suffering in the House of Hope. We're never gonna get the HoH backstory details, so time to make it ourselves!

Or maybe you wished we could have found a letter, folded and forgotten in a desk in Wyrm's Rock, without address or signature?

Perhaps you just want Durge to kill someone while Gortash watches. Always a fun time.

And if you liked any of that, and want something more hefty, consider enjoying the most unconventional and subverted Gortash Redemption story wrapped in hot smut on the market. Go on. It's camp and crack treated sincerely. It's got a genderfluid halfling protagonist. Have a taste. Be a little wicked.

(writer can also be found at Baldur's Taint, best Discord this side of the Chionthar)

[sserpente]

The Weight of a Promise

“I want her.” Your heart sank when Gortash pointed at you with his chin. He leaned back, a waitress hurrying toward his table to clear the dirty plates because you were frozen in place, paralysed as if bitten by a Spectator. Hot needles pierced your stomach.

“M-me? But I’m not…I’m not a…”

“Then you shall have her. I’ll have her sent up to you shortly, Lord Gortash. Make yourself comfortable.”

A/N: Just hear me out, okay!

Words: 3721 Warnings: smut, dub-con, prostitute!Reader

Additional NSFW Warnings: CMNF, loss of virginity

“I want her.” Your heart sank when Gortash pointed at you with his chin. He leaned back, a waitress hurrying toward his table to clear the dirty plates because you were frozen in place, paralysed as if bitten by a Spectator. Hot needles pierced your stomach.

“M-me? But I’m not…I’m not a…”

“Then you shall have her. I’ll have her sent up to you shortly, Lord Gortash. Make yourself comfortable.”

“Excuse me?” Your voice was shrill, panicked. You turned to face Mamzell Amira glaring at you. It was a warning look, one she was daring you to defy.

“No!”

Gortash raised an eyebrow, amusement dancing on his handsome features. It resulted in Mamzell Amira huffing an awkward laugh, grabbing your arm and pulling you into the kitchen. The chef protested but she paid him no mind.

“Do not embarrass me in front of the Archduke! Have you got any idea how important it is for us to have his support for our establishment?”

“I am not a prostitute. When you hired me, I insisted it would be to serve food and drinks only, not to spread my legs for your customers. My contract doesn’t say—”

You admired the courage and the sensuality of your colleagues around here. Their life sounded like a never-ending adventure but it was one you were less eager to become a part of. Mamzell Amira was the only one who’d given you a chance. In exchange for your work, you were allowed to take shelter in one of the smaller rooms upstairs and receive three meals a day. You’d signed a contract for it, even.

Waitress, it had said. Not waitress and sex worker.

“I know what your contract says, girl. But this is Lord Enver Gortash out there.”

“Just tell him to pick someone else! You won’t make him pay anyway!”

“He doesn’t want someone else. He wants you.”

“Then tell him I’m not available!” You clenched your fists, anger and panic boiling up inside you.

“I will do no such thing! You either go up there now and make the archduke happy or I’ll kick you out and you’re back out on the streets before you can say ‘sex’!”

“You bitch.”

“Call me what you will. But I will not have you jeopardise my relationship with the very ruler of Baldur’s Gate.”

When he first entered the establishment with a Fist and a Steel Watcher in tow, the whole room went silent. Excitement rippled through your colleagues like electricity, you could tell. They went rigid, giddy, wide smiles spreading on their lips.

Others merely widened their eyes. Lord Enver Gortash at Sharess’ Caress? Unlikely. Outrageous! But then again even archdukes needed some release and fun every now and then, no? Well, you didn’t buy it, scoffing as you collected some empty glasses to bring to the kitchen.

Something was off with this man. His Steel Watch came out of nowhere and the way he made himself out to be the saviour of Baldur’s Gate…it didn’t sit right with you. This man was no selfless hero, one look into his eyes was enough to determine that. Funnily enough, however, no one else seemed to notice. Or perhaps they didn’t want to notice so as long as he protected them from this Absolute cult threatening the city. Either way, it was ridiculous. There were rumours spread by sceptics, even. Dark rumours that he worshipped Bane, the god of tyranny.

So here you were now, in a pickle. Sleep with the man who painted himself as a saint without payment or lose the roof over your head and starve out in the streets. You cursed, storming past Mamzell Amira and fighting the gag forcing its way up your throat when you realised what you were about to do.

“First room to the right. Do not disappoint him!”

It was a fucking walk of shame, it felt like every single person you walked past knew exactly what you were about to do. Some probably envied you. Others must have been relieved they were not in your situation.

Gortash had already made himself comfortable on the large king-size bed when you slipped into the room and locked the door behind you.

“I don’t like to be kept waiting,” he announced.

“Sorry, my lord. There were some…discrepancies.”

He chuckled. “Do you often contradict your employers? I would have expected more eagerness from a pretty thing like you.”

You gnashed your teeth, swallowing down the snarky remark dancing on your tongue. He waited. And waited. And waited.

“I’m not really, um…sure what to do.” Blood bit at your cheeks, embarrassment creeping up your spine. Gods, this was so absurd. Was it really worth it?

Gortash tilted his head. “You have done this before, have you not? Don’t lie to me,” he added.

You sighed. Well, fuck you, Amira.

“No. I haven’t. I’m not a prostitute. Mamzell Amira sold me to you despite her promise I’d only be working here as a waitress.”

“I see.”

Your eyes darted up, seeking compassion in his dark eyes. Perhaps he’d understand, perhaps he’d pick someone else after all and chide the brothel owner for breaching the contract she’d made you sign…but there was none. Only hunger.

“Come here.”

“Did you…did you not hear me?”

“I did. My ears work very well, dear.”

So he didn’t care. And if you refused him now…you could imagine more comfortable things than facing the wrath of a man who built an army of automatons seemingly overnight.

“Take off your dress. Let me see you.”

You obeyed—you didn’t have much choice, after all. It could have been worse, no? Gortash was handsome at least. Duke Ravenguard, as self-righteous as he was, would have been a less appealing option with how old he was compared to Gortash.

You weren’t exactly graceful when you stepped out of your dress, undergarments following quickly. Gortash made no move to undress himself in the meantime, instead watched every single one of your movements like a hawk, amused and greedy, even more so when you pushed yourself to climb on the bed.

Come to think of it…there was not a single man who had ever seen you naked, except for your father maybe when you were still an infant and needed a nappy change. This was new. Different, terrifying considering the circumstances and…exciting?

Fuck, you shouldn’t find this exciting! You didn’t want to do this, you only meant to survive, to…

You couldn’t finish the thought. Gortash leaned forward, pulling you against him. The cool metal of the demonic faces on his armour against your palm was only a small comfort as he rolled you both over and then towered above you with a smirk.

And against all reason, when he leaned down to kiss your lips, your eyes fell shut. Fuck, no!

“You can’t…” You didn’t know much about prostitution but if there was one thing you did know, it was that kissing was usually off-limits.

“Of course I can.” Gortash grabbed your chin, deepening the kiss. It felt…good. Intimate. Almost like he meant it. His tongue slipped into your mouth, battling yours for dominance you gave up far too quickly for your own liking.

You shivered when he pressed himself even closer to you, forcing your legs apart. The metal and the leather dug into your bare skin, your hands wandering, exploring his chest in a frenzy. Your body was…reacting to him in the most delicious ways.

You realised the very moment he freed his hardening length from his leather trousers that you were getting wet. The heat between your legs had you breathing heavily, even more so when you laid eyes on his arousal. Soft black hair framed the base of his erection, his tip red and eager and leaking precum. You were worried for a moment how it would fit with how inexperienced you were. If you tensed up out of nervousness…surely it would hurt.

Gortash released your lips with a deep breath, adjusting himself between your legs. With one hand, he guided himself to your weeping entrance, with the other he stroked your cheek before focusing on your left breast, his thumb teasing your nipple.

“Relax, dear. This is supposed to be pleasurable for us both.” Was it? You very much doubted the archduke cared if you…well, finished. Yet, with how breath-taking being with him felt in this very moment, perhaps he truly did mean his words.

Inch by antagonising inch, he spread you wide open, pushing inside. He went slow, savouring every last moment. His expression was calm, blissful, almost…beautiful.

He stretched you further and further, a light burn spreading between your legs and then…it was over, leaving nothing but pleasure behind. Gortash filled you to the brim, bathing in the sensation and perhaps, letting you get used to his size before he started moving. He withdrew slowly, propped himself up on one elbow and kept kneading your breasts with his free hand, before he plunged himself back in, fucking you in a slow and steady rhythm that had your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Gortash took his sweet time, savouring every single second. Grinding against you, he buried himself inside you as deep as he could, pounding you into the mattress. He was eager for his release, yet when he reached down to where your bodies met to find your clit with an easiness that made you flinch, you couldn’t help but allow a moan to escape your lips.

He chuckled in response, his thrusts getting harder, more uncontrolled. Fuck, you didn’t want him to stop. It felt good. He felt good. His thumb was massaging that sensitive bundle of nerves between your legs even better than when you did it, hidden under your blanket at night. And whenever you did it, there was no one watching your every reaction like you were the most desirable woman in Faerûn.

There was amusement too though. It was clear by now he wanted you to come. Not for your sake—but for his. Whether it was to satisfy his ego, to confirm he knew what he was doing in bed or simply because you could only imagine how pleasurable it must have felt for him for your cunt to clench around him, to milk him for all he was worth.

Gortash left you no choice. You climbed higher and higher, unable to escape the bliss he bestowed upon you even if you wanted to. Part of you longed to deny him your pleasure, to not let him win this wicked game of his. But it was no use.

You were coming before a curse could leave your lips. You fell apart beneath him, pleasure coursing through you like a lightning bolt. Your toes curled, your muscles tensed, endorphins clouded your senses. Your moans made him smirk, your contracting pussy made him groan.

He seemed to grow even harder then, his sinful grunts the sexiest sound you had ever heard. He moved slightly, digging his fingers deep into your flesh as he grabbed your hips, surely leaving angry marks that would remind you of this encounter for days to come.

For a moment, he was no longer the fearsome archduke or the self-proclaimed hero of Baldur’s Gate. He was a man enslaved to lust and carnal desire—just as you were a woman of the same affliction. You moaned as he pumped his seed into you, his hard cock twitching and jerking against your walls until eventually…he collapsed on top of you with a satisfied sigh, leaving you both to process the aftermath in silence.

You swallowed as soon as the last waves of pleasure had ebbed away, realisation of what you had just done hitting you square in the face like a painful blow. You rose, shifting forward quickly in an attempt to climb out of bed and retrieve your clothes—to forget this ever happened before it could plant its roots into your mind even though part of you longed to do this again. Not with just anyone—with him.

Gortash chuckled and wrapped his arm around your waist, preventing you from leaving. “Are you in a hurry?”

“N-no.”

“Good. Then you won’t mind staying for a while longer.” His fingertips ghosted over your shoulder blade, leaving goose bumps behind in the process.

You should have resisted. Should have wailed, screamed, lashed out. You didn’t. Instead, you let your body relax and…enjoy the intimacy between you.

“Are the rumours true?” You asked before you could stop yourself.

“Are what rumours true?”

“Are you…a Bane worshipper?”

Silence. Long enough for you to regret your question.

“Bane is a god like any other, dear. And he can lead you to great power. He knows that power demands sacrifice—sacrifices not everyone is willing to make.”

It wasn’t an answer and yet it was. You refrained from another comment. After all, you intended to keep your head after losing your virginity.

He made you talk about yourself after this. Tell him your name, where you were from, where your family was. Light small talk you would have brushed off as mere politeness if it wasn’t Lord Enver Gortash you were conversing with.

You remained careful not to reveal too much about yourself. Trust came a long way and just because he had fucked you into the next year and proved that he was surprisingly good in bed that did not mean you would throw all caution out of the window.

After you’d gotten dressed again, you accompanied him downstairs where he was met by a smiling Mamzell Amira behind the counter by the entrance.

“I hope you had a good time, Lord Gortash?”

“A very good time indeed. Now…how much do I owe you for the time of this lovely flower of yours?”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes even though part of you rejoiced. It was ridiculous just how much you enjoyed his attention and affection despite your suspicion and your fucked-up situation. Besides, his wordplay regarding your virginity did not go amiss. Mamzell Amira perchance hadn’t even been aware of your inexperience.

“Lord Gortash, please…you owe nothing at all. We are glad that you enjoyed your time here—and I hope we will see you again very soon.”

Your face fell. You had expected something like this. It hurt nonetheless. You had given your virginity to this man…and it wasn’t even worth a single gold piece.

Gortash smirked. “We shall see. I am a busy man.”

“Oh, busy men especially should take a rest every now and then. Enjoy your evening, Lord Gortash.”

The archduke nodded, shooting a final glance in your direction before he strutted off like he owned the place. Mamzell Amira’s eyes found yours.

“Thank you,” she said.

You walked away from her without a response.

Dunk the plate, wash it, dry it, stack it. Everything went back to normal in the following weeks. Except it didn’t. Nothing was back to normal. You’d lost your trust in Mamzell Amira, in your colleagues…and you’d lost what you’d been meaning to keep for someone special.

Gortash was special, there was no denying that. But the love of your life? Hardly. Amira didn’t mention again what you had done for her but she also didn’t ask you to do it again with another customer. After a few days, it almost felt like it never happened. Like it was all a dream. A nightmare—or a very twisted and yet exciting sex dream. Perhaps until today.

“Mamzell Amira wishes to speak to you.” It was one of the drow who stuck their head through the gap in the door with a sweet smile. You sighed, dried your hands quickly and abandoned the dirty plates in the sink.

The shit-eating grin on her face when you approached the counter was unsettling, to say the least.

“You will not believe the news I have.”

Your heart sank. Was Gortash coming back? Did he want…you…again?

“I’m shivering with anticipation,” you said, sarcasm dripping from your voice like venom.

“Watch your tongue, girl. Now. Lord Gortash has requested you to join him in Wyrm’s Rock. I can hardly blame him. The man is busy—that way, it won’t be necessary for him to make the journey.”

“What in the hells is that supposed to mean?”

Mamzell Amira rolled her eyes. “It means you are to pack your things. You will be staying with the archduke from today on.”

“You…you have no right to do that. I am not your slave. I am a contracted waitress!”

“I may not. But Lord Gortash certainly does. Now pack your things. There is a Steel Watcher outside waiting to escort you.”

You clenched your fists. “And if I refuse?”

Mamzell Amira narrowed her eyes. “Refuse and I will not take you back. I can only imagine the consequences you will face if you tell Lord Gortash you are not interested in his generous offer.”

“Generous?” You shrieked.

“Lord Gortash is requesting your presence at Wyrm’s Rock.” The Steel Watcher spoke your name, repeating the order over and over again. It didn’t quite fit through the door but its robotic voice could be heard a little too well regardless.

Fuck. Mamzell Amira had a point, of course. You would lose regardless of what option you chose. And if Lord Gortash truly did worship Bane as you suspected…you bit your lower lip. Starvation, hypothermia or death by the archduke, one that would never see the light of day…none of these options sounded very appealing to you.

And against all reason…you had enjoyed his company. His touch, his lips, his skilled fingers…his cock…

“Fine. I’ll go get my things.”

Mamzell Amira nodded.

“Lord Gortash is requesting your presence at Wyrm’s Rock” was the last thing you heard as you made your way upstairs and grabbed the other dress you owned, along with a small leather bag containing three gold pieces.

There were no goodbyes, no hugs, no “take care and good luck”. Most of the sex workers were busy with customers and Mamzell Amira, quite apparently, couldn’t give less of a fuck whether she’d just condemned you to the hells.

You followed the Steel Watcher feeling like you were being escorted to your execution, across the massive bridge, past stone walls, curious Fists and citizens and eventually, up a narrow set of stairs leading to Gortash’s office and private chambers.

The Steel Watcher closed the door behind you—heavy wooden doors you knew without trying you’d be unable to open all by yourself.

There he was, smirking at you from his luscious armchair. Your name rolled off his tongue almost pleasantly as he greeted you. You were supposed to bow so you knew, yet your limbs and spine refused to move even an inch. You clutched your bag tighter.

“Was I being unclear? I asked you to take all of your belongings with you. I have no intention of sending you back anytime soon.”

“That’s, um…” You cleared your throat, cursing your embarrassment. “…that’s all I own. My lord.”

“That? Is all you own?” He eyed the bundled-up garments in your hand. Surely you looked as pathetic as you felt.

“Are you telling me you own only two dresses?”

It was a hand-me-down from one of the prostitutes who no longer fit in it. Hence, it was a lot more revealing than you would have liked. The one you wore was plain, the fabric stained and worn-out toward the bottom.

“Yes.”

“Hmm…we shall rectify that. I’ll have someone sent to Figaro to retrieve some. As my concubine, you should look the part.”

You blinked. “What did you say?”

Gortash’s eyes met yours, amusement glistening in his.

“C-Concubine?”

“Why else did you think I’d send for you? To discuss political matters?” He chuckled. You weren’t quite sure why but it had you seethe.

“Mamzell Amira made quite a generous offer,” he explained.

“Which is?”

“You. In exchange for a lowered tax rate for the brothel.”

“T-that’s it? She…she didn’t even ask for payment for me?”

Gortash tilted his head and chuckled yet again. “Did you think you’d fetch a hefty sum? She did tell me she picked you up from the streets. Clearly, she must have thought your loss wouldn’t affect her business much.”

He might as well have reached for a dagger and plunged it deep into your heart. Tears pricked at your eyes, worsening your sight. You blinked them away frantically, unwilling to show weakness in front of him.

“Now, now…surely Mamzell Amira had only your best interests in mind when she sold you off. After all, I live a very wealthy life here in Wyrm’s Rock. First, we can get you some nice jewellery to wear.”

“I don’t care about jewellery.”

“Then what do you care about?”

“Bodily autonomy,” you murmured.

“What was that?” When you didn’t repeat yourself, he continued. “You are free to go if that is what you’re implying. But I think we both know what your alternative is.”

“That’s not fair.”

“It’s not? A shame.” Only he did not sound regretful at all.

“You expect me to let you fuck me whenever you please but you won’t pay me because I was a gift from the brothel! Are you even listening to yourself?”

“You are getting paid. You’ll have a bed, warm meals, clean garments…and my protection on top of that.”

“So I am nothing more than a slave in a golden cage.”

“If that is what you would like to call it, then by all means. I have business to tend to now. When I return, I expect you to have bathed. And—do throw away those hideous dresses.”

He moved toward the door but before he left, he turned around again.

“I will treat you well, dear. I can promise you that.”

“How much weight does a promise hold these days? The previous one got me into this situation in the first place.”

“I am a man of my word. I have no reason to lie to you. All I ask in return is that you behave. You can do that, hmm?”

He smirked, his expression playful. He left before you could utter another word.

Fine. You’d play his game. And may the gods help you, you will win.

Part II

[teenypeony]

A Little Distraction

TW: 18+ content !! MDNI

WC: 1.5K

Tav’s had enough of the abundance of planning Enver has committed himself to. She decides to take matters into her own hands to draw his attention to something more… entertaining.

AO3 Link Here

Just a little something to hold myself over until I finish the final chapter of The Night Shift 🙈

Tav watched from a stained glass window as the sun started to set below the city’s skyline. The colorful panes reflected a few rays of the day's last light onto the floor below, hues of red and yellow sparkled against the wooden boards. It was another late night with Lord Gortash, his office had become like a second home by now, much warmer than the temple. Gortash remained at his desk most of the day, enjoying her silent company. He occasionally asked for her thoughts during his meticulous planning, answered in usually a couple of short words before she returned to her voided stare across the city. Only until the sun disappeared beyond the horizon did he finally leave his desk to give her proper attention. The pair had reached the final hour of their invasion, most days spent fine tuning their strategy, some less productive night spent in bed together. Tav knew her sister was becoming more volatile by the day, it would be foolish to assume she wasn’t plotting to usurp her position as the Chosen of Bhaal. However cowardly it was to hole herself up within Lord Gortash’s office, she didn’t mind. A fight would be imminent, necessary in fact, in order to secure her birthright. For now she waits to anticipate Orin’s next move, keeping a cautious eye on her movements within The Gate. 

It had become a bit of a bore though, wordlessly sitting by his window each day as he scribbled on parchment behind her. Jumping down from her perch, Tav made her way behind the lordling in his chair. She snaked her arms around Enver’s neck, laying her head against his as she looked over the maps scattered across his desk. 

“Let’s take a break, shall we?” She said in a seductively low voice next to his ear. Gortash frowned and continued with his work, “You’ve hardly contributed today.” He scoffed. 

“There’s nothing left to do! We’ve accounted for every possible deviation from the strategy, you’ll start to go mad spending another night staring over these maps.” She said with a whine. Gortash brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose, pinching the bridge in frustration. 

“Another hour. Then you’ll have my attention.” He said shortly, laying a hand on her arm before returning his gaze to the desk. A worthless compromise, Tav was sure her own mind would rot if she had to wait for another hour. It was common for Gortash to be the last to quit for the day, working until his hands grew numb from gripping his quill, ink pots cluttering his space. If it was truly so difficult to tear him away from his desk, perhaps she should do it herself. 

Circling his desk, Tav dipped down below the table top and sat in between his knees. Enver paid her no mind as she ran her hands along his thighs, her clawed nails sending shivers down the lordling’s spine. Only until she began fumbling to unclasp his belt did he cock an eyebrow at her, his gaze unreturned as she focused on freeing him from his trousers. Tav looked up to watch for his reaction as she reached into his pants through his underwear, massaging at his growing cock with a gentle hand. Gortash let out a short breath as she worked her hand along his shaft, bringing it up to press a soft thumb against his tip. She felt him hardened in her hand as she stroked his shaft and teased his head with her fingertips. Even as his heart began to race at the slow, languid movements, Gortash clenched his jaw and let out a short curse before returning to his work. His attempt to ignore her only spurred her on as she freed him from his trousers, the considerable length springing out and slapping against his stomach. With a hum of amusement, Tav brought her mouth around the head, swirling her tongue over beads of pre cum before swallowing him entirely. She relished in his taste, letting out another satisfied hum as she bobbed up and down his length. Enver let out a deep groan as he was engulfed in the wet heat of her throat. His hand moved to a tight grip on the chair’s arm, his nails making shallow grooves into the wood in an effort to hold himself back, hiding his desperation. Tav picked up her pace, pumping her fist along what she couldn’t fit in her mouth. 

“Couldn’t wait another hour?” Gortash gritted through his teeth as he raked a hand through her hair, gripping onto the base of her curved horn. Tav gave a gentle shake of her head to indicate, no, she absolutely couldn’t wait. Enver let out a chuckle at her impatience, succeeded by a sharp inhale as her teeth grazed against his skin. The mix of pleasure and pain sent a roaring wave of arousal through his body, his mind screamed for more of her mouth, her touch, her taste. Tav could hear his frustration through the reserved groans he let out, the room filling with lewd sounds as she sloppily fucked him with her fist. Enver glanced down underneath the desk and she returned his gaze through half lidded eyes as she devoured him, the dizzying sensation causing Enver to thrust his hips against her mouth. Tav started to choke as she felt the tip press against the back of her throat, looking up at Enver in a plea for him to be gentle. Instead she was met with a devilish smirk as his eyes darkened at the scene in front of him, clouded by a thick aura of desire.

“Gods, your mouth feels divine.” He let out breathlessly, looking down at her with a sinful expression. Enver took advantage of her willing submission, wrapping his hands around the dark horns on her head, pushing her to take him further, deeper into her mouth. Gortash let out a guttural moan as he slammed her mouth down onto his cock. Using her horns for leverage, his hands moved in a rhythmic motion to drive himself deeper with every pump. Enver’s show of dominance only spurred Tav on as she moaned around his length, the vibrations sending shivers up his spine. She surrendered to his bruising pace and hollowed out her cheeks as she sucked and swallowed his length, running her tongue along the ridges of his soft skin. 

“That’s it. You take me so well, my dear.” 

Tav whimpered as he stuffed her mouth with his thick cock, feeling her own heat shudder for attention at his soft praise. Enver’s composure started to slip as he watched her hand disappear between her thighs, her moans around his cock growing louder as she worked her delicate fingers around her clit. An intense pressure began to rise in the pools of Enver’s stomach, threatening to spill over if Tav continued her feverish pace. 

She couldn’t resist the urge to make him finish in her mouth, to suck and stroke him dry until he’s nothing but a mumbling fool under her touch. She’d give anything to watch him completely unravel. Once, twice, however many times he’d allow. The thought of it drove her wild, her fingers began to move faster against her clit as she drew herself closer to her peak. Tav started to gently suck on the tip, knowing this would push him over the edge. She stroked what she didn’t swallow, the combination having a dizzying effect on the Archduke. Enver shakily grabbed at a clump of her hair as a string of curses tumbled out of his mouth in a husky growl. 

“Good girl.” He struggled to spit out, “Don’t stop.” 

She didn’t intend to. His eyes were now fixed onto her, her soft hand gliding along his cock, her swollen lips tenderly working the pleasure out of him. Tav’s fingers started to move sloppily against her folds, the sensations becoming too much for her to suppress any longer. He could hear the wet sounds of his wicked little assassin pleasuring herself, how her legs began to tremble underneath her fingers, her thighs tensing at the building pressure. He was intoxicated by the sound of her gagging against his girth, her unrelenting strokes pulling him closer, closer to the edge. As Tav reached her climax. she let out a guttural moan and Enver pushed his cock further into her mouth to muffle the sounds. Tav choked around his length as she rode out her orgasm, intense waves of pleasure rolling through her as the obscene sounds around her turned to white noise. As he felt his own release approaching Enver couldn’t help but let out a primal groan, his hips involuntarily bucking against her throat at a shattered speed. His moans grew louder and more vulgar with every stroke, shouting her name as he filled her throat with his warm seed. The excess spilled out of the sides of her mouth before she pulled off with a sickening pop, happily swallowing everything he emptied inside of her. 

“You wicked thing.” He said to her in a low voice, collecting the remaining spit lining her mouth with his thumb, bringing his fingers to his mouth to taste them both. Tav gave him a weak smile and mustered up what little strength she had to rise to her feet before immediately dropping into Enver’s lap. The Archduke let out a soft chuckle and brushed her hair out of her face, wrapping his hands around her waist to hold her tighter against him. Tav nestled her face into his neck, leaving soft kisses along the flesh, nipping at his skin with her teeth. Enver didn’t mind and he scooted the chair closer towards the desk, picking up the dried quill and dipping it back into the ink pot. It didn’t need to be said that this was only a preamble for the night to come, but for now Tav listened as he scribbled on parchment and flipped through the pages of a dusty journal. 

[hijackalx]

GORTASH NSFW ALPHABET

A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

hmm honestly feel like it depends on if hes feeling u or not. if he was just trying to catch a nut hes rude af. like before he leaves he'll throw a wet rag at u. and he used cold water to get it wet 🥲 BUTTTT if he really does like u i think he'll prolly run a bath for u both or something. i can see him washing ur hair/body for u 🥺

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's)

his chest duhhh lol thats why he walks around with his titties out. i think hes got a really good upper body in general. like shoulders/arms/chest. and i feel like hes an ass man. yes that means all booties ALL. he likes to spank, bite, and leave marks all over it. omggg the type to smack or pinch ur ass in public LMAO

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

yall already know im a firm believer that this man cums bucketfuls. he'll have u sitting there like "damn why is it still going" LMFAO almost exclusively wants to cum inside. to the point to where its hard to convince him not to. he wants to breed u sooo bad 😭😭

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

*NONCON MENTION* it gets him concerningly hard when u tell him no but let him do it anyway. like i dont think he would ever AGGRESSIVELY force u to do anything hence the "let him", but something about being able to change ur mind/overpower u does something to him *NONCON MENTION OVER*

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

well. i think hes an expert when it comes to pleasing himself (which is typically thru penetration, so for my AFABs if yall can finish vaginally just know he do be laying pipe 🤤) but he didnt really grow up caring about his sexual partners much lol. i do think he wants to please you though, like badly. thats the only reason hes willing to let u offer some guidance when it comes to giving oral/fingering u.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

mating press yall. like when he hooks ur legs over his shoulders and basically folds u like a lawn chair lol. also likes doggy though so he can pull ur hair and leave welts on ur ass lol.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

hes wayyyy too intense to be goofy at any moment while u guys are fuckin LMAO. like this man loves sex and gives his ALL. he puts his mf game face on and locks IN baby 😹😹

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

YESSSSSS !!!!! YES !!!!! this man is SO hairy EVERYWHERE !!!! the same texture as the hair on his head. im about to faint yall catch me

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

uhh. i can see him being kind of romantic on special occasions. but like i said hes pretty intense usually and to me that doesnt leave much room for romance lol. especially since he can be so mean too

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

yeah. like all the time. hes a hornball so if ur not around as an alternative he WILL be jizzing into his hand. omfg if yall are like, ever distanced from each other he will want to send nasty ass letters back and forth to keep him satisfied until u get back LMAO god forbid they ever end up at the wrong place

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

his office. will fuck on every surface and up against every wall. everyone else is afraid to touch anything in there 😭

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

he likes when u seem weaker than him, either in the sense that he has a physical or mental advantage over u. dont let anyone else treat u like that tho or he'll think ur a pussy lol

N = No (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

^^ as i mentioned letting other ppl have the same power over u as he does is a turn off. so if ur like me u got to grow a backbone or get the boot 🥾🤾‍♀️ 😭😭  anyway. i dont think he'll be willing to do anything that makes him feel "lesser" or more submissive. i mean u could probably trick him into doing it if u make him think its his idea or something LMAO

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

i genuinely think he eventually gains an affinity for giving ??? he likes the sounds u make and the way u pull his hair. so yeah, gives lots of kisses and will mutter a lot of praises while down there too. dont get me wrong though u better be giving back too 😹😹

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

rough as fuckkkk bro. doesnt ever like to be gentle. sex just brings out a lot of aggression in him. u will be sore and bruised after. if u convince him to chill out he'll be a pouty baby about it

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

anywhere and everywhere possible. i dont think its a goal of his to be seen by others while doing it but i also dont think he cares so that doesnt really stop him

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

he'll try to get u to do all kinds of fucked up shit. including shit that is probably lowkey dangerous 😹😹 hes pretty sadistic so get ready gurl

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

15-20 mins max shawty lmao sorry 😹😹 and since he wants to act like a wild ape ur prolly not getting a round 2 since he wore himself out. but if u didnt get off in time he'll use his hand to help u finish even if hes sleepy 😴

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

will tease u at random times throughout the day by saying some absolutely horrendous shit in ur ear while ur in public and then acting like nothing happened. but usually doesnt want to waste much time before the act, so he might tease just enough to get u ready. nothing more though

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

heavy grunter and breather. will only moan occasionally if its really hitting right 😹😹 if u do get him to moan i can see it being decently loud. its like a reward

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

very high libido man........ prepare ur hole 🪦

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

sometimes he can stay awake long enough for aftercare but other times itll have to come after a power nap 😭 youll be like "bae how was it" and turn around to see him completely unconscious. snoring and everythang

[astarionslittletreat]

Enver Gortash Masterlist

Eat You Alive - Enver Gortash x female!Durge, Explicit, 1k Words: She's returned to him, his Bhaalspawn. After vanishing from him without a trace, he's got her exactly where he wants her. Tied up and waiting for him with murderous lust. (Read on AO3)

Mouthful - Enver Gortash x female!Durge/Tav, Explicit, 470 Words: Face-fucking drabble. There's no plot to this.

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