#gortash fluff

[aladaylessecondblog]

a flame in your heart (gortash x tav pt. 17)

Author's Note: More Gortash POV. Struggled a bit with this one but didn't want to delay it any longer. Tooth-rotting fluff.

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I woke up with the worst headache I've ever had in my life. Like someone stuck a sword through my eye, out the back of my skull, and was jiggling it around just to torment me. Too much whiskey, of course, but I wasn't about to swear off drinking when I knew damn well I was probably going to just do it again. Not when the burn of that Rotgut Red is so strong it can keep me awake when I need it to.

On my side, pillows behind me, and a potion on the bedtable for the hangover. I sat up, guzzled it, and looked around for Tav once the throbbing in my skull finally stopped.

She wasn't there.

(Normally, I'm the one to wake first, or at least to get up first. When she sleeps in my bed she thinks I don't notice her pretending to still be asleep. Lazy little thing.)

I didn't remember coming to bed. There was a vague recollection of the cool night again against my skin...an owlbear, for some reason, and one of the Flaming Fists. Then a whore from Sharess's Caress. What in the hells happened?

"Ah, good morning, m'lord." One of the chamber servants entered as I continued to puzzle. "The bath is a bit cool but we can redraw it if need be."

"No. No, that won't be necessary."

I'd bathe, then I would figure out what had happened the night before...and why exactly that whore keeps showing up in Wyrm's Rock. Tav has been known to be open to sharing before, but that was before she was a married woman. Perhaps that woman was here for her, but...no, she has never looked away from me as a source of...excitement.

She enjoys my firm hand too much, and I'm certain no one else could scratch the itch she has to be controlled the way I can.

As for me...

What if she got the idea I was looking outside of the marriage for excitement, without saying anything to her first...the Black Hand is one thing, what happens with him is akin to a mass, a communion. Not the sort of thing that can be easily refused. Whores are another thing entirely.

I can do what I want, when I want. If I wanted to visit Sharess's Caress daily, I would do so. The other ladies of Baldur's Gate would likely tell Tav she should be glad of the relief.

Still...

I shall endeavor to be only what the role requires, Lord Gortash

The idea that Tav could speak those words again, turn that same look in my direction was...unsettling, and I hate the fact. As if a wall had come up between us--resignation, sadness--I still remembered that look, and I didn't want to see it again.

It is obvious now more than ever why Bane discourages love. The feeling makes me weak. Yet at the same time -

Only one of us is wearing a crown right now, my love.

Maybe it had been a slip of the tongue, but when I heard those words, there was a bloom in my chest I'd never felt before. A bloom that's still there when Tav directs her smiles at me.

Gods, I really can't get her off my mind. I don't want to tell her about that whore being in my quarters but she's going to find out anyway. Best to get the disappointment over with.

I let the valet do his job for once while I thought over the situation. Then when he was done helping me dress I asked, "Where is my wife?"

"She is currently...feeding the little Lord Cald, Archduke. From what I can gather she means to take the morning off, Berlina says she didn't sleep well."

Well, it wasn't a mystery as to why she would be worrying about that, I supposed.

Tav smiled at me as I walked in, and the bloom hit me again. Gods, what did I do to get this? Neither of us cared for one another when this started. It was a means to an end, all of it. Cozying up to her, whispering what I thought she wanted to hear, and slowly extending my power over her. Finding she wanted it...enjoyed it. Certainty in an unsteady world.

Focus

"Is he well?"

"Well enough," Tav said quietly, "Cald has another tooth coming in, and he's been quite fussy."

"Baba!" Cald spotted me, and from his spot in Tav's lap raised his arms. "Baba!"

"He wants you...you aren't still drunk, are you?"

"Of course not, I slept that off...though...speaking of which..." I took Cald from her when she offered, and looked down at--my son's dark eyes. My eyes.

And he was smiling. My son was smiling at me.

"You look upset, is he...filling his diaper already?"

Tav's words were a little unsteady, but the smile still hadn't left her face.

"No, it's nothing to do with him," I replied, waving my free hand absently. "It's...about last night."

"Ah...the trip back. I apologize." She shook her head. "You refused to come back on your own, so...I was asked to assist."

"I won't be hearing about it, will I?"

"Possibly...I asked the Flaming Fist who was with us to try and keep anything from getting out, but...I'm not sure how much he can do. You were...you were, ah...naked."

"Naked."

By the black hand, not THIS again.

"You told me you were too hot and...I suppose instead of calling for ice, or getting something cool to eat or drink your addled mind decided stripping was the best idea. I did the best I could, but...well, I imagine you were seen. I though if I carried you back as an owlbear it'd both making carrying you easier and ensure that they'd pay more attention to that than to you...but it remains to be seen whether I'm right. I haven't exactly been able to check."

"I suppose that must have been when I..."

"When you what?" she asked.

Again that look. She really must have known, I'm not the sort of man to stay quiet when I'm...enjoying myself.

"When I ordered that whore into my room."

I waited. I waited for a look of pain, or an expression of anger. But neither ever came, and Tav did something entirely unexpected.

She laughed.

The woman laughed.

Cald, in my arms, followed with a little giggle of his own. Mother happy, son happy. It was almost soothing to watch.

"I fail to see what's so funny about it, I've...we never settled if it was--if you were amenable to--"

Gods, why does speaking to this woman make my tongue malfunction?

"First of all, you could do as you please and dare me to say something about it, but I am...glad, very glad, that you think of discussing these things with me first. I'm not opposed to sharing you, so long as they don't think to take my place and we talk about it first. Our communions with the Black Hand prove that well enough...he doesn't desire to take my place, it's more that he...owns...both of us."

"But not with a--"

"Enver, let me just stop you before you tie yourself up in any more knots. There was no whore in your room last night."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I was," Tav huffed like she was holding back a laugh. "Twice now you've gotten drunk with me around. And twice now you've mistaken me for that woman from Sharess's Caress."

"I--what?"

The thought had never occurred to me.

"You get drunk and think I'm her, but that's not even the best part." Tav's soft smile deepened. "The best part is that you see me, and tell who you think is her to bugger off because you're a married man. Both times you did that."

I--

"And do you know what else you did last night?" She went on as she stood and moved in my direction, "My dear, faithful husband?"

I had no words. There were no words in my vocabulary to convey the thing I was feeling in that moment. 'Short-circuit' would be the most apt term to describe what happened, I think.

A peck on the cheek.

"You said you loved me."

Heart pounded in chest. Throat. Ears, even. How Cald didn't notice, I don't, but he seemed to quickly be settling in, utterly comfortable where he was.

"Now, I'm fairly certain you didn't mean it, but those three words...ah, they made the entire trip worth it." Tav rested her head against my shoulder then, and reached up to ruffle Cald's hair. "My poor drunk husband, insistent he can't bed me because he's married...and when I asked why that should matter, he says 'because I love her.' Now...if you don't mind, I'm going to call the wet nurse. I have a full afternoon so I need to eat quickly and have that nap."

As she was heading for the door I finally found my words again.

"I did mean it."

Tav stopped in the doorway, just after calling for the wet nurse. "What?"

"I DID mean it," I swallowed. "That I loved you."

Every muscle tensed, pulled taut. I waited with more anxiety than I felt each passing second when Durge and I stole the Crown of Karsus. I could've died back then. But this felt--something more than the fear of death.

Tav seemed to tremble, and didn't say more until the wet nurse came in to take Cald from me.

Then we were alone again. She walked back into my room with me.

"You love me?" she finally asked.

Another pause, a lean against me, a deep breath.

"I never thought to hear those words from you. Or that I would love you in return."

I took in a sharp breath.

"But I do."

[baldursgrave69]

You're No Fun

Summary: Agnes (the Dark Urge) never gives herself a break, Enver Gortash tries to convince her to take a rest.

Pairing: Gortash x fem!durge (named)

Word count: 716

Tags: fluff, fluff without plot

While writing this I was listening to: Gooey by Glass Animals

Agnes had her head lying on the desk in Enver Gortash’s room, her hair had fallen in a curtain around her face. Her hand was wrapped around a mug of ice cold coffee as she waned between asleep and awake, her eyes fluttering open every few minutes.

“Agnes, have you seen my-” Enver entered the room, his eyes trailing over to Agnes slumped over on the desk. He smiled to himself as he made his way over to her, walking to the front of the desk. He held the back of his hand up to the coffee mug, trying to determine how long it had been sitting there. Enver knelt down in front of Agnes, gently pushing the hair from her face. Her eyes fluttered open, a smile crossing her face as she looked at him.

“Mm, hi,” she mumbled, picking her head up sleepily.

“Hi. What are you doing?” he asked, resting a hand on her cheek.

“I was, uh,” she started, her eyes drooping again. Enver looked at her with a concerned expression as she tried staying coherent.

“When was the last time you slept?” he asked, standing.

“Well I was sleeping until you woke me up,” she sighed, leaning back in the chair and crossing her arms.

“I mean properly slept. In a bed,” he said, his tone pointed.

“I slept for a few hours yesterday. Or was it the day before?” Agnes couldn’t remember the last time she took a break to sleep. Or eat. She sighed, rubbing her temples. Her head ached. Her whole body ached.

“Agnes, you can’t keep doing this. You’re going to kill yourself!” Enver scolded, picking up an ashtray that sat on the desk. “And this? You can’t live on tobacco and coffee,” he said with a huff, slamming the ashtray down.

“Fuck off, Enver,” Agnes growled, standing up from the desk. She stood entirely too quickly, her head spinning causing her to stumble forward. Enver caught her, helping her steady herself. “Ugh, I hate you,” she groaned, leaning her forehead on his shoulder. Enver wrapped his arms around Agnes, leaning his chin on the top of her head.

“Oh hush. Let’s get you to bed,” he said, pulling back from her and scooping her up in his arms. Agnes wrapped her arms around his neck, leaning her head on his shoulder as he carried her over to his bed.

Enver set her down, kissing her forehead. He tried pulling away from her, but with a swift yank she pulled him on top of her.

“Don’t go,” she whispered, pressing a kiss to his neck. Enver chuckled, propping himself up on his elbows and hovering his face over hers.

“You need to sleep, pet,” he said, pressing a quick kiss to her lips.

“I’m not tired,” Agnes pouted, wrapping her legs around the tyrant's waist and pulling him closer to her.

“Agnes, I found you asleep on the desk. You really should-,”. Enver felt her lick a stripe up his neck, her lips trailing up to his ear. “You’re such a brat,” he said, pressing his lips to hers. Enver pushed his tongue past her lips, devouring her. Agnes smiled against his lips, clawing at his shirt, trying to pull it up. He pulled away, narrowing his gaze at her.

“You need to sleep,” he repeated, pulling away from her.

“You’re no fun,” she pouted, laying her head back on the pillow.

“Is that so?” He said with a smirk, bringing her arms up over her head and holding her wrists in his hand. Agnes bit her lip, smirking up at Enver. He rolled his eyes, dipping his head down to her neck and lavishing her neck with kisses. Agnes hummed, closing her eyes as he laid kisses to her neck and jaw. Enver could feel her relax beneath him, a sigh escaping her nose. Enver pulled back to look at her, noticing that she had fallen asleep under him. He chuckled to himself, releasing her wrists and pressing a soft kiss to her lips.

“Sleep well, pet,” he whispered, trying to gently get himself off of the bed. Agnes mumbled something, turning away from him and curling up on her side. Enver pulled the covers up over her, leaving her to get some much needed rest

[kawareo]

Your average meeting of the Dead Three

I think I talked too much about just how grossly they kiss but did not make it clear enough. Right in front of Ketheric's salad, too.

[vibingandsimping]

Random sfw + nsfw thoughts/headcanons for randomly assorted characters from BG3! Excuse any grammatical errors or poor phrasing… it is nearly midnight and I got off work.

Send requests or thoughts in my ask box. It will always be open!

Forewarnings/tags: Trying to keep this gender neutral… mentions of sweat/scent, blood-drinking, possession/control, some tooth-rotting fluff, fingering (receiving + giving), oral (receiving), hate-fucking, some ass-play mentions?, nipple-play, dirty talk, degrading, praise, validation.

Characters involved… Astarion, Wyll + Gortash

Astarion,

If you have warm-blood… such as a living creature. He adores that- his fingers trail along the expanse of your skin and if you could see his eyes you’d swear his name made sense. It has been so long since he had his own warm skin. Since Cazador stripped him of his innocence and life. He lives vicariously through your body. He may be dead but you breathe life into him and he swears his cold-heart no longer beat still.

He admires your features. The more unconventional ones. Like the wrinkles in your skin, the uglier scars that line your flesh. Moles, freckles, stretch marks… they all remind him of how uniquely alive and different you are. He’d kiss each one if you’d let him as his tongue singed praises.

He’d craft you a perfume or cologne to your scent. His senses are heightened as a vampire. He’s pressed his nose against the crook of your flesh more times than he could count. He’s smelt your skin and sweat… all of your essence. He has tasted and inhaled the scent of your blood. With that information, he presents you a mixture of herbs and other properties. Once applied to your skin, it illuminates your personality. Truly, as he said, he missed his calling.

As we all know… this man loves to bite. It is a form of dominance as well intimacy. Your vulnerability and his stake of claim as well as acceptance. You do not truly understand the importance behind the act. He never fed on humanoids until you. You were the sweetest he’d ever tasted… and will ever truly taste. The fact you’d give yourself so willingly gives him a feeling of superiority. As well as a lighter, chest tightening feeling of belonging. As much as you belonged to him, he was also yours.

He truly loves to delve into your pleasure. As much as he is fond of using his tongue… to break you apart with simply his mouth. Watch you crumble and cry from betwixt your thighs, there is also an unremarkable excitement in his fingers. Filling you and stretching you with them. Working to angle and prod the most sensitive parts whilst his tongue slides against yours or along your neck. Licking at the wounds from his feedings. To hear you cry so deliciously from just the thickness and persistence of his fingers strokes his ego. He knows he will fuck you dumb unto his cock.

A shorter smut headcanon but I do believe he’d love cumming on your skin. Your face, chest (particularly loves giving you a pearl necklace, he thinks you look dashing), stomach, thighs… any skin that is available, honestly. There is a strange sense of pride for him in it. To see you covered in him. He also loves to cum inside. Either works, honestly, as long as it is you.

Wyll (this guy has no fics about him. Step up y’alls game)

A true gentleman. He grew up as a son of royalty… what do you expect? If you guys ever had a proper date, he’d dress no less to impress the finest. Honestly, it makes you feel so utterly underdressed. He adorns a wonderful cologne. It is reminiscent of leather, warm spices and a sweeter scent like honey. His vest has gold detailing along a beautiful maroon. Still, in his eyes you are the most stunning thing he’s ever seen. No matter how fancy you dressed. He cannot keep his eyes off you, truly.

We all know he loves to dance. It is something he praises in his dialogue. Still, he wishes no more than to dance with you. If you can or cannot dance, it doesn’t matter. He will teach you the rhythm and steps if you have two left feet. Each time you trip or fall, he simply quirks a smile and offers a hand. He does not judge, only finds some amusement in how adorable he finds you. If you know how to dance? How delightful. He will play some faint music to follow along too. His hand rested along the small of your back and his fingers intertwined with yours. Dipping you and guiding you as the music fades away and you’re left with the trance of his loving gaze.

As much as he is a gentleman, I think he’d love harmless pranks. Gentle teasing of your character to see your frustrations and shock. He’d ‘misplace’ an item of yours to see you scour in confusion. Then, when you look at him, he is holding it out with a devious little smirk. He lets out a chuckle when you stomp over and nearly cuss him out. He loves every side of you and you know that it’s lighthearted fun… and god damn is it hard to hold a grudge when he has a smile like that. Curse him, truly.

He is a simple man, honestly. He takes pleasure in what you take pleasure in. Will indulge your desires and kinks as long as they aren’t particularly destructive. Though, he does have a little… interest. He proposes it one day with some nerve, or, you happen to stumble on it yourself. Nonetheless, he enjoys his ass being prodded during oral. You noticed when a fondling hand upon his balls drifted and brushed against his hole. He stiffened and let out a strained noise. You brushed it again before discovering it was one of pleasure. With that information, do as you will. Just know that it makes him release much easier than he intends. He finds it a dirty (although frustratingly pleasurable) trick when you go down on him.

He enjoys toying with your nipples while either betwixt your thighs or wrapped around you. There is a certain look you hold when his thumbs squeeze and roll them. You arch your back a little more and your thighs quiver as the pleasure shoots between them and enhance what he was giving you. It was truly a sight and he didn’t even have to say anything for you to unravel just the way he’d like. Don’t think it’s just hands, either. He’ll glide his tongue along them, sucking and nibbling til he is assured you’re enjoying it.

Gortash (I’m a dirty Gortash lover… sue me. Durge will get some content later, I swear)

Starting off with the normal Tav… If you manage to ‘fix’ him in a sense, he admires your persistence and patience with him. He had a troubled past that he overlooked and developed some… issues from. Yet, it was your kindness and guidance that led him to stopping the Absolute and creating a better city. He is not perfect, by far. Enver is still a controlling man. He needs some sort of power and dominance to soothe his mind. Though, he does not use fear to control his citizens anymore. He’s truly impressed by the way you swayed him. You can see it in the way he gazes at you sometimes. There is certain softness as his hand grasps yours and he looks to you for reassurance in a moment of vulnerability. He needs you to keep him in reigns.

He loves holding you from behind and to bury his face into your neck. The crook between your head and shoulder holds such warmth and a smell that is yours. It reminds him of the path he has chosen… and the person he gets to cherish for it. He places his hands onto your stomach and allows his sharp, metal nails to tease the skin. To remind you of the still powerful man whose giving up such command and control to you. Someone who grounds him. He might even hum into your skin in content if you do not push him away. Honestly, you will eventually. He could cling onto you like a koala of you did not stop him. He murmurs into your skin about how you two rule this kingdom… and one day you’ll be officially betrothed to him. The thought of him proposing and taking your hand in marriage makes your heart flutter.

Although he is so soft with you, he fucks you like he hates you. His cock battering your walls and filling you up so painfully full. He is thick- and makes your mind melt as he stretches you unlike you’ve known. He may not be particularly the longest but he does not lack length. Sadly, foreplay isn’t the best thing he’s at. You can blame it for his inflated ego and quick beds over the years. If you ruined his initial plans and had him submit the Absolute, he seethes in your ear about it. As much as he is a changing man, there is a part deep down that will resent that fact for awhile. He could’ve had everything he’d ever wanted as a boy. “Look at you, such a dirty thing. Soiling my plans, stomping into my heart… and now you’re sprawled on my sheets pathetically.”

When you finally convince or wrangle him into going down on you, it’s a sight. A mess of black hair and hands wrapping around your thighs. His tongue works rapidly, lavishing you in slightly inexperienced licks. Sucking at your sensitive parts before returning to ravishing you with his tongue. It is not that he hasn’t gone down before in all his years… it’s that his ego was so inflamed that he never truly thought or cared for it before you. He’s willing to try and work on better things just for you. As such, this is a way of showing his commitment to you. Not only to indulge in his pleasures but to show he cares about yours.

[hijackalx]

Headcanons for Gale, Astarion, and Gortash: What are nicknames/petnames you can see them giving their lover and what would their lover call them in return?

ASTARION

GIVING: omgggg this dude will call you every petname in existence. he loves the sweet ones because he thinks you’re so STINKIN CUTE !!!!!! 👹 (yes he gets cute aggression). i think his all time favorite is ‘darling’ obvs, but he likes to switch it up for sure. like i can see him calling you ‘pumpkin’ or ‘sweet thing’. shit just throw ‘pookie’ in there too LMFAOO. he also likes to put ‘my’ or ‘little’ in front of them. or both. absolutely coos over you

RECEIVING: unfortunately he would throw up in his mouth if you called him the sickly sweet petnames he calls you LMAO i honestly feel like he’s the type to cringe if he’s called ANY petname 😹😹😹 but i do think he tolerates stuff like ‘dear’ or ‘honey’. also shortening his name to ‘star’ occasionally is alright with him. regardless of what you call him he appreciates the thought and thinks it’s kinda sweet, even if it does make him gag 😹💗

GALE

GIVING: he’s a sucker for the classier, more dignified petnames (picture him looking at astarion in horror after he calls you some shit like ‘snookums’). he prefers stuff like ‘beautiful’/‘handsome’— ‘my love’ or ‘my muse’ are good ones too. he has you on such a high pedestal and thinks you only deserve the most tasteful petnames. i feel like he can get kind of corny with it too though 💀 just more poetically. if he’s feeling creative he’ll probably call you something like ‘my light in the darkest night’ HELPPP 😭😭 he’s so sweet though give him a break 😹😹😹

RECEIVING: ‘handsome’ hands down. i don’t know what it is but i just know this is his favorite. maybe it has something to do with you reassuring him of how handsome he is lol. it also flusters him a little bit when you say it, he gets all bashful and goes “oh, stop it” while trying to hide his smile 😹💗 i think he also likes ‘babe’ too, it’s cute and casual but not goofy

GORTASH

GIVING: i feel like his favorite time to use petnames for you is when you’re in public or around other people. like to him it’s almost a means of showing ownership LMAO. of course ‘dear’ is one he really likes generally. he also lovessss to use ‘little’ or ‘my’ in front of them as a display of possessiveness or power; ‘my little dove’, ‘my dear girl/boy/one’. i don’t really see him having a huge roster of petnames honestly? he’s more of a physical touch or gift giving kind of guy 😹😹

RECEIVING: daddy I’M KIDDINGGG (no i’m not. yes i am. no i’m not) i don’t know if he really cares what you call him. he’s pretty chill with any nickname or petname. he doesn’t take it too seriously or just considers it as you being silly. ALTHOUGH i think if you call him something often enough he’ll grow fond of it— i know a lot of people like to call him ‘gorty’ and i think he would grow to really love that honestly ? 😹😹💗 it becomes special to him because that’s what you call him, not really because of the petname/nickname itself

[sorcerous-caress]

Putting makeup on them

[ Bg3, fluff, several characters ] [inspired by this ]

Minthara

You straddled her waist as you held the makeup brush. Minthara's laying figure below you remained stoic even as she closed her eyes delicately when you started applying the eyeshadow.

A peaceful silence fell between the two of you. Time fading with each gentle stroke against her skin. Her stressful life and age showed in the subtle wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, you paid no mind to conceal them.

Instead, you focused on her eyes and thin lips. Picking the right colours to complement her violet skintone and grey hair.

When you finished, she made no move to remove you from on top of her, nor did she offer the mirror you handed her more than a mere glance before focusing back on you.

"You did well." Her freshly painted lips said, gloss still shining on them.

Gale

Deep brown eyes looked up at you from where his head laid on your lap, puppylike and lovestruck as he smiled.

"I can't say I had personal experience in this field, but you'd be pleased to find me a most pleasant student." His smile slowly grew into a huge grin as you applied a cream to his face with your fingers, rubbing it into his skin with care.

"Is that what your professors told you? A pleasure to have in class?" You replied, picking up the brush and applying the perfect blue to compliment his eyes, "close your eyes for me."

"Well, no." He closed them, "in the most generous of cases, I was and as they described, a menace."

You chuckled as you tried to keep your hand study with all of his squirming, "I'm starting to agree with them." Maybe he found the sensation ticklish.

Dammon

You cupped his jaw in your hand, tilting his chin up as you leaned in closer. His throat moved as he swallowed, hands fidgeting with the hem of his appron.

"We're almost done, I'm just adding the final touches." You said as you readjusted the brush between your fingers.

He attempted to nod before hesitating and deciding against it to not mess up your work.

The most lovely of blushes adorned his sharp cheekbones as you finished applying it, leaning back and admiring your work.

Dammon seemed more at ease now, as he saw the pride in your eyes at your effort, something he was very familiar with.

Picking up your hand that did all the work, He held it gently in his own as he gave it a small kiss.

The Emperor

You weren't sure where to begin, or even if makeup is safe for mindflayer skin. Tentacles floated and twisted in the air around your form, as if ready to envelope you. Their tips would occasionally brush and trail along your figure, although The Emperor made no effort to acknowledge them.

"I'm waiting." His voice echoed in your mind.

You decide to go with a kid safe makeup kit. If it's safe enough for kids to eat, then it's safe enough for mindflayers... you hoped.

In a strange way, he did make the edible glittery highlights work for him. You thought as you admired your work.

Only when you went to grab the small mirror from your pouch, did you notice that the tentacles have successfully entangled themselves around you while you were too focused to notice.

The Emperor kept pretending that nothing unusual was happening.

You handed him the mirror, and he picked the small thing with his hand as he took a look.

"Now that I've indulged you more than enough, I need you to focus on your mission." Was the last mental message you got before you were unceremoniously kicked out of the Asteral plane.

Gortash

Servants scuttered around the ceremonial hall, carrying food trays and putting the last touches on the decorations.

Gortash sat on his throne in the middle of the commotion, fully dresses in his best of robes, with each silver line and accessory shined just enough to almost resemble a mirror.

You stood in front of him, between his knees, parted to give you the space to get closer. Brush in one hand and your makeup pallet on the other.

If you recall correctly, you did finish helping him with the makeup an hour ago. But apparently, some incident happened that caused him to require your assistance again, and immediately, as the servant who came to fetsh you claimed.

Gortash looked up at you with half lidded eyes, a grin on his lips as you took in his perfect face of makeup.

There wasn't much for you to do, really, the makeup was the same as when you finished an hour ago. So you just stood there while pretending to do something as you brushed away at his skin with an empty brush, occasionally adding the most subtle of powders.

Eventually, it had to end when a servant informed both of you that the guests should be arriving soon.

"Be a dear for me and stay close during the coronation. Who knows when I might just need your expertise again."

Mayrina

"It's been so long, I haven't done this since..." her words trailed off as her lips quivered, "Connor's funeral."

You gently wiped the tear stained black makeup from around her eyes. She held on to your shoulders as you cleaned her face.

Her eyelashes fluttered when you applied mascara to them, her fingers holding onto you as if to anchor herself.

"You shouldn't have...I might just cry and ruin it." She looked away from you with shame brewing in her throat.

"Then I'll just wipe it, and we will start over again," you reassured her, "as many times as you need."

Tears threatened to spill from her glossy eyes as she gave a small smile, carefully wiping away the tears she took a deep breath as she faced you again.

"No, no, I won't. I can be strong, like you." She gave your shoulders a squeeze.

Cazador

Candlelight illuminated the room to make up for the tightly closed curtains. You wondered how anyone is able to tell night from day in this palace.

Your fingers were shaking, you took a deep breath to steady them.

Blood red eyes followed your every movement.

Clearing your throat, you presented the pallet of colours to him. "Which one would you prefer?...Sir."

His lips curled in a mock smile, fangs just peaking through for a split second.

"Black."

He always chose black, yet you always asked.

You worked quickly and efficiently. Your purpose was to give some life to his undead skin and conceal anything that might cause suspicion.

Maybe he was waiting for you to slip, you thought as you applied the subtle black liner. Maybe he's waiting for the day you forget to ask beforehand.

You almost shudder at the thought of what he might do that day.

Karlach

She is trying to kill you, you thought, she definitely is doing it on purpose.

"I said I'm sorry, come on," her arms wrapped around you, attempting to soften you up with a hug, "please?"

You weren't buying it at all.

Each single time you'd finish applying her lipstick, she'd lean forward and drown you in kisses. All over your face, your neck and hell even your ears.

The first time was endearing, and the second time was a bit much, but 5 times in a row? You'd be a fool if you fell for that obvious trap again.

"Can you blame you? How could I possibly resist." She whined as she buried her face in your neck, "You're just so focused when you do it, and I get this urge..."

She continues, "you know, sometimes I just can't believe it, the fact I can touch you and kiss you and hug you, I haven't even felt a single touch in so long and suddenly I'm free from that damn engine to do everything I've longed for and more."

...

God dammit karlach.

With a sigh, you tell her fine, you'll do it again.

Maybe you really are a fool, but who wouldn't be after seeing that genuine smile of happiness on her face. You'd be the biggest fool in all of faerun if it meant keeping her happy.

Shadowheart

"What, like a doll? Are you sure you won't ask to dress me up next?" She gives a teasing smile as she sits next to you on the couch, looking over your side of makeup equipments and scattered brushes.

"You say that like you don't like the idea." You tease back as you get closer to her, one leg resting on her lap.

"Hmm, maybe I do. What are you going to do about it?" She lets you brush her hair behind her ears, using clips to keep it in place as you get a clear view of her full face.

"I'll let you pick mine if i get to pick yours."

That catches her interest, "You'll just hand me the power of putting you in anything I want... you do know how to persuade someone."

As you start applying her makeup, you feel her relax with your touches. Her skin is very soft against your fingers.

You take your time, making sure to pick something that suits her personal style. As enticing as the thought of going on with a full hot pink on her, you know there will be consequences later. She doesn't forgive nor forget.

After painting her lips, you hand her a mirror. She observes her reflection with a surprised expression.

"I knew you were good at this, I just didn't expect...wow" her eyes are mostly focused on the reflection of her lips.

With a smug experience, you ask if it her highness the princess has any complaints.

"Yeah....just one thought." She puts the mirror down as she leans closer, holding your thigh on her lap so you don't move away.

Pressing her lips onto yours, she kisses you with passion, making you chase after her as she pulls away.

"This colour looks much better on you."

[astarioffsimpmain]

Fanfiction

Astarion:

Consternation (angst)

Submerged in Devotion (smut)

Won't Lose You (whump/comfort)

Touch Me with Love (smut)

Gale:

Halloween in Waterdeep (fluff)

Furthest from the Truth (angst)

Share with Me (fluff)

Halsin:

Unsolicited Affections:

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Halloween with Halsin (fluff)

Gortash:

Persuasion (fluff/spice)

Poly or Multiple Companions/NPCs:

Cushioned Affections - Astarion/Gale/Tav (fluff)

Follow Me to Pleasure - Astarion/Gale/Tav (smut)

[bloodlust-1]

I want Tav and Gortash to be them 🥺

Just random thoughts ~<3

“I would die for her. I would kill for her. Either way, what bliss.”

[meowyn]

This method acting might pay our bills

1.7k words, enver gortash x the dark urge.

no smut! lots of kisses, fluffy kinda idk, durge constantly having inner monologues lol, heavily implied first kiss for durge.

It was often difficult for you to forget who you were, what you were. A wretched blade, stained with the blood of countless men, the strength of your faith so mighty that you could never be dulled no matter how many you slayed in the name of your God.

Only tonight, you were forgetting. Tonight, thoughts plagued your mind like flies around a rotting corpse. Thoughts of whom, you could never admit out loud.

Enver Gortash; the bane of your existence.

The Chosen of Bane being the source of your recent troubles was something you would have never predicted, the absurdity of the situation you now found yourself in was enough to make you want to claw out your eyes. Your hands twitched eargerly at the thought.

You found it hard to pinpoint exactly when this had started, perhaps when you met? Long nights spent creating ploys, yearning, drinking, and coming to understand one another better than anyone else blurred the lines. Before you knew it, you wanted less and less to see what grand artwork he would become in the name Bhaal and moreso the kind of faces he'd make fast asleep and safe in slumber. It didn't help that you found him sickeningly attractive.

Denying your affection for the man proved tedious. You had never bothered to learn how to act, let alone deny yourself of anything you wanted for this long, now painfully aware that you aren't even remotely talented at it. It was about time that you admitted to yourself that you felt more for him than petty admiration. However, to do so, you'd be committing your first sin against Father. Unbeknownst to you, the first sin of many. There would be no coming back after that.

"There you are, I've been looking for you." Spoke the devil himself, interrupting your train of thought as he sat down next to you.

You didn't bother answering him, choosing to continue staring out at the sea, which seemed to be further away now compared to when you were lost in your mind.

"What are you doing? I didn't have you pegged as the brooding type." Upon realizing you were in a fairly calm mood, he sat a little closer to you. If he noticed the way you tensed, he didn't comment on it.

"I'm not.." The words died in your throat, making you frown. When you spoke again, you found your tone had adopted a softness wholly foreign to you, "I'm people watching, as they call it."

He studied your face for a moment, before following your gaze down to the shoreline. He hummed in amusement when he saw what you were looking at, civilians of all kinds simply going about their daily lives. For a moment, he wondered wether you envied them, then remembered who you were. You noticed this seemed to surprise him with the way he looked back at you, the slight upturn of his lips indicated that he was considering teasing you about it, but he never did. It both pleased and frustrated you immensely, knowing how he'd take your feelings into consideration before he acted, despite never thinking you had any yourself. You silently hoped this was some scheme of his, that he was manipulating you like he had so many others, so that you could have a reason to want to kill him.

"..Why?" Your hopes were quickly snuffed out at his curiosity and the gentleness of which he spoke, making your chest tighten.

"All of them are so small, so insignificant, and yet.." You don't continue that thought, your tone betraying your melancholy, "They look happy enough, don't they?"

Your anemoia didn't go unnoticed by him, but the sense of finality to your last sentence indicated you didn't want to talk about it further, so he left it alone. Gods forbid he invoke your wrath here, where he had finally got you all to himself to talk to you as he wished.

You watch out the corner of your eye as he unwraps a small package he had taken from his pocket, revealing an assortment of sliced fruits. When he notices your gaze, he offers you some. Then he chuckles when your nose wrinkles and you shake your head.

"You don't like them? I thought you did, you ate all the fruit at the table during our last meeting."

"They're sour, I don't like those ones."

"Ah." He nods quietly, wrapping them back up and putting them in his pocket, "Apologies, I'll keep that in mind."

If you looked, which you do, you'd notice how his hair looked a little messier than usual and that he appeared to have just come from the baths based on the slight flush of colour on his cheeks. From here, you could feel how warm he was and the subtle scent of soap invaded your senses. You figured it couldn't hurt, so you moved closer so that your shoulders brushed together, all while staring back out to the sea intently.

"Why were you looking for me?" You ask after a short while.

"I wanted to see you." He says, as though it was obvious. Open with his affection while simultaneously keeping his cards close to his chest, which was so typical of him.

"What for? A cuddle?" You respond with sarcasm, grinning at him as though the idea was foolish. A warning, really. You could slit his throat right here and he wouldn't be able to do much about it. You then frowned, closing your eyes temporarily as the urge took delight in that thought.

"Tempting.." He mutters, taking your hand slowly. You take a measured breath and when you open your eyes again, he's smiling at you fondly.

You hum quietly in agreement, curling in on yourself in shame. You'd apologize to Father properly later, but right now you needed to let him know how you felt, even through an action so small. The guilt would surely eat you alive, it was already starting to, settling uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach whilst a repulsive warmth crept up your spine, seeping into the cracks of your blackened heart with unadulterated vengeance. The only thing keeping you from baring your teeth, from tearing skin from bone, from giving in to your vicious indulgence as a pathetic attempt to escape the confusing feelings swarming your brain and suffocating you was something as mundane as him squeezing your hand.

How cruel, you thought, to have to live alongside Enver Gortash and not be allowed to love him freely.

All it took was one last look into his eyes, and that delicate thread that held you both in your respective places snapped. With newfound vigor, he surged forward and kissed you, determined and desperate to take from you whatever you'd allow. After half a minute or so, as if remembering himself, he eased back to take in your expression, preparing himself to face your fury and be annihilated.

However, the sight before him now made his knees weak, yet not with fear. You were a beauty. Glossy lips parted as you caught your breath, eyes wide and dazed, and the most charming tinge of pink across your face. So incredibly precious, he couldn't withhold the satisfied chuckle that escaped him.

"What?" You frowned, trying to decipher what was so amusing to him, though that only served to make him laugh more, the sound coming from deep within his chest.

"Oh, my dear assassin.." His laughter died down, but the mirth in his eyes did not, "You will surely be the cause of my ruin."

"Don't be foolish." You hissed, fingers snaking into the hair at his nape and pulling him to you to kiss him once more, this urge more ravenous than the one that calls you to slaughter. All lips and teeth colliding, you greedily grab at his hair and tug, urging him to give you more of whatever this was.

"Easy.." He murmured, nudging your noses together as his arm curled around you and brought you closer to him, "Not so harsh."

You felt his hand cup your jaw, thumb swiping across your cheek, the action calming you as you loosened your grip on him. All you knew was harsh. You were bred to make the world bleed. This was new, this was frightening, a tenderness so unknown to you that it shattered every perception of mortal relationships you had spent your entire life building.

He kissed you once softly, then twice as though he could sense your unease.

"It's alright, you know," He said as his palm smoothed circles into your back, "That you don't know what you're doing."

You opened your mouth immediately to protest, then scowled upon realizing it would be pointless, he was right. Your method acting thus far had been excellent, flawless even, so much so that it was to the point where when it came to anything else, you were at a loss.

"Do you truly believe I'm capable of more?" You ask, your voice a little less than a whisper.

"I do. Do you?"

He replied, without missing a beat.

You didn't know. Being more than an executioner was never something you had thought about. You didn't even think yourself capable of such thoughts until he came along, with all of his wonderful ideas and genius inventions, sparking new inspiration in your mind. Father would not approve. Gortash brought forth temptation, guilt and a new feeling that bubbled away, warm and dizzying in your veins, making it hard to care about anything else.

You didn't wish to think on it anymore, so you shut your eyes and took the liberty of tucking your head under his chin, both of you sitting there in silence for a while longer. For once, your mind was quiet.

"How did you manage to get up here?" Your question almost breaks the peaceful atmosphere, but you continue on, "I hadn't thought you were all that athletic."

"Not to worry, I'll be sure to change your persuasion in time." You could hear the amusement plain in his tone, he was teasing you. As soon as your head snapped toward him, giving him an incredulous look, he could only start laughing.

[simp-ly-writes]

The City (original)

Pairing: Enver Gortash x afab!Reader, Wyll Ravengard x afab!Reader

Summary: You and Enver had grown up together, houses just down the road. Everything was a competition between you both before realizing it was easier to fight alongside one another. Yet as you both age, Gortash forces you away and you find yourself falling into the arms of another.

Warnings: 4200 words, spoilers for bg3 story. Mentions of underage drinking and marriage. Depictions of kissing and children facing blood, gore, abuse, bullying, and anxiety. Overall Angst with moments of Fluff!

A/N: I know Gortash is not a good man, but this is a work of fiction. Hope you all enjoy! :)

Masterlist | Taglist Request | un-edited. | Re-Write

Mere children when you and Gortash first met. Living above the bookstore your family owned just down the street- taking in used books and (often stolen) trinkets you would pickpocket in the bustling lower city streets.

When your small hands were not fiddling through other's pockets or handbags you were found in the stores bay-window, reading with your head leaning against the glass. Your mother shouting at you for smudging the storefront windows once again as she shooed you away and back up the stairs that creaked and groaned with each step you took.

Yet, when the next morning arose, the sun kissed your face through the cracks in the roof-work. You were forced with a bag on your back, what little food your parents could scrape together from last night's dinner for lunch and a heavy weight of books that never got sold as you were pushed to follow a line of other children making their way up to the school placed on the grounds of the church.

The sun was beating down on your neck, your hair a frazzled mess. Huffing through your next steps and almost slipping back down at a loose stone, you fell backwards, eyes closed in a brace for the tumble to come yet it never came. Instead you found you and a few other of your future classmates in a pile, the line snapped before the others walked around you all.

A girl with flowing red hair blushed whipped her head over to you, her hair swatting you in the face- her gaze settling your bone into stone then ash. Standing back up she kicked a piece of that loose stone into your face, you instantly felt the stinging, a train of blood escaping down your cheek to your chin and onto your shirt.

You watched as she walked away, tears fresh in your eyes, palms burning from the fall as small pebbles make imprints on your hands. You picked up a stone, hands shaking in revenge before a book was dropped in your lap. Looking up, a boy with deep set eyes, full cheeks, and a head covered in black hair stared down at you, nose turned upwards as he took in your state.

"Pick yourself up now, you will get the whole class in trouble if you start things," he said, hands placed behind his back- grasping another book of yours. Turning on his heel he ran back up to join the line as you brushed off your pants and resituated your bag on your shoulders. She started it, you replied in your head, knowing that all your peers were out of ear-shot.

--

You would later realize you were missing a book as you made your way home after your first few days of school. You had vocalized to your parents how much you detested the building that almost killed a child when the door sealed shut to the cellar underneath- filled to the brim with rats carrying disease. Or how that red-haired girl would not stop tormenting you and most of all, from all your readings- the school had refused to allow you to move up grades as you were stuck repeating what you had already known.

Yet your parents had none of it. "You are most fortunate to be given a formal education, I was never given such opportunities at your age," your mother reprimanded you. Your father is swatting the back of your head, hoping to rearrange your thoughts.

Hands shaking and no dinner to be served that night, you made your way out onto the streets- hoping to steal a fortune. Or in reality, a slice of bread to keep yourself for the night. Your bag feeling light as you snuck through the dim alleyways as the red sky painted the wet cobblestone's beneath your feet.

Shivering as a gust comes from underneath a vent you wait atop of to strike on a travelling couple in the towns-square, you keep your other eye trained on the flaming fists marching around to clear the streets for the evening. Their demands ringing in your ears, your eyes trained and hands readied, you are almost un-noticing that a smaller set of hands reach once more into your bag, exchanging the book earlier for the newest stock in your bag.

Sending a kick backwards, you hear a hiss as the body falls to the floor, the metal cover of the vent coming undone as officers come dashing at the sound. You glare down through the emerging darkness, eyes catching a familiar pair of brown that level your look. His eyes snap over your shoulder as he is quick to stand. The hurried footsteps near as you freeze in panic, knees gone straight before you are flung forwards as his hand intertwines with your own.

He runs as you follow, through the alleyways, down by the sea and up towards your houses. You both pant, climbing over the fence, you offer him a hand as the clanging of metal armour haunts your face, eyes widened in fear as he takes your help, you both falling over into the bushes below.

The thorns prickle at your features, cut through the skin on your arms and by your ankles as the laboured breaths and heavy footsteps carry past the garden. Looking over to your side, you find your classmate already looking at you, his hand covers over his mouth as you move to do the same. Eyes crinkling in relief, in a laugh that never comes to be before your parents are shouting your name from inside the house.

You both pick yourselves up, your hand open as he helps himself up. Yet you wiggle your fingers still, head tilted in a silent demand as he rolls his eyes with a huff, throwing both books into your arms before turning his shoulder to you. "Thank you," you tease out lighting, holding out a smile as adrenaline still pumps through your ears like a drum-beat.

"I will get them back," he states, refusing to look you in the eyes. His shoulders stiff as if to reassure his iron will. "Mhm," you hum out, bumping his shoulder with your own before darting off inside. He watches you run away, climbing up the veins and to the second story before hoping back over the fence and down the street.

A voice tickles his ears, a whisper to get those books back, to show you not to tease him. They end as the door rings, singling his return to a silent home- his parents dead asleep as he locks the cobblers door behind him and retreats to his covers for the night.

--

The next day, you pack an extra book in your bag from your stack underneath your bed. Your parents come to apologize for the prior night, money and sustenance toying with their minds and actions they state as you think nothing of it and accept it without another thought. Mind already focused on getting to the school as your parents wonder where this new desire to go came from.

You are careful to step around the loose rocks of the path. Legs sore from the uphill climb as the church bell rings for the new hour. You pick up your pace, the teacher already yelling at a student as they are forced to the back blackboard, a series of lines already being written as you keep your head down and find a seat near the back.

--

By the time lunch break signals as you are without food for the afternoon. The extra time has you realizing the lack of a certain raven-haired boy you ran through the alleyways with, your clothes still stinking of the sewer gasses as you wince at how close you both were to getting caught. Your bag is still heavy with the books... you check to make sure, a surprise you find when rocks and a torn page from one of the books greets you. Scratched into the sheet with a piece of charcoal smudged against its surface is the following note, I would get them back - E. G.

His words tease you, remind you, just like you did to him. You smile, a shake of your head as your mind wanders of when he could have gathered them. Your imagination runs wild as you fail to realize your fantasy has become reality as he sits beside you silently in the grass.

You open and close your mouth, trying to start multiple conversations. He never continues without simple yes or no answers before the bell rings and you are being called inside once more. A student screams from the basement as your spine coils, shoulders falling forward as you threaten to spill your last meal. The boy shoves you through the doorway as you turn to glare back at him. Merely shrugging he picks a seat behind you, giving your chair a kick for good measure as you go to sit.

You turn around, hands raised as he leans back in his chair, eyes gleaming with joy at your outburst as the teacher orders you to your seat. Sighing and flipping open your journal, you start your recall once more and you both would soon discover your second clash with one another. Seeing who could get their work done the most accurately and quickest.

Pens flying across the page and flipped onto the next with a swish. You both stood up at the same time, chairs screeching against the wood, a speedy walk up towards the teachers desk where you tapped your foot anxiously for a score. A grin arising in the other's defeat, stepping on his foot for good measure he threatened you to rethink your choices and before you knew it, you were racing your way back home as his shouts only encouraged your smiles and laughs all the way back home.

--

By the end of the week, you would come to know more about this fellow thief and classmate of yours as your nightly steals were now hangouts for the two of you- bags heavy with various golds and collectables from wizards to warriors alike.

Your parents praised you, business had never been better as your spoils came with gold and sales. One night, you both were not so lucky- having to escape to the lower city sewers below. Fighting off enemies and gang members to the best of your abilities. Your friend had gotten stabbed in the hand, taking his arm around your shoulder, and as much of his weight you could take- you carried him back home and dressed his hand with what little cloth and fresh water you could find.

You cursed the man that had done this to him- making a mission of finding and dealing the same back. You told him so, as the raven-haired boy shook his head at you. So enraptured in your anger you didn't pay mind to the boy's cries of pain when you gripped his bloody hand so tight. He flung you off him, you landed to the ground with an echoing thud as he heaved up and down.

"Apologies," you spoke out lightly, picking yourself back up. The boy nodded once, accepting your apology before you got back to work. Doing your best from what little you remember from health class. As the sun threatened to wake the city once more, you both leaned against the wall of his parents shoe store, watching as the sun kissed every gleaming tile of the roof.

"My name is Enver," he said softly, as if worried about ruining this moment. You look at him, placing your head on his shoulder- your body tired and yet you both had school to attend in a mere couple of hours. "(name)," you replied, checking on his hand once more before allowing your eyes to close.

--

In the coming months, you and Enver would become inseparable. Taking seats beside one another in class, inviting the other over for dinner by using the money you had both stolen to eat on the rooftops together. You both felt on top of the world in moments like that.

Enver would eventually show you to the basement of his house, albeit with a cold exterior that had you second guessing if you should follow but he insisted nonetheless. Your breath hitched as you looked around the room in awe. Various gadgets and tinkerings were found littered over the shelves alongside the machinery for the store. You looked at Enver with bright eyes, jumping up and down in wonder as he talked you through the designs he had made.

"My parents hate it, but they know it's one of the few things that allows my mind to settle," he explained, taking your hand in his. "Is this why you force me to steal from the factories?" you ask, picking up a small robot that fires to life, its blue eyes staring into your own as its hands twist and turn in circles.

"I never FORCE you to steal, you were already doing that on your own," he teases as you turn to stick your tongue out to him. "Speaking of which- we should get started soon, the streets are starting to empty," Enver comments, looking out the singular small window. You nod your head, putting down the robot that watches as you both leave up the ladder.

--

In the coming years, you and Enver only grew closer to one another. So much so that your parents forced you away from him, sending you away to a better school as your stealing had allowed your family to move up within society. You refused, yelled and kicked to no end yet they were unrelenting on making sure you both were distanced. "We cannot have you ruining yourself when we are better than them," your father explained in the carriage as you pressed your face against the glass, remembering back to your last moments together.

You and Enver were having lunch, taking the afternoon to skip classes to fit amongst his tinkerings. You ruffled through your bag, reading through his diagram while building a smaller piece to an automatic press. In the clashing of metal, and your laughter as a contraption exploded in his face, sending his hair flying upwards. His parents came crashing down, horror gracing their eyes as they practically threw you out of their house.

"It is you!" his mother spat in your face, "you who has corrupted my boy's mind!" You violently shook your head, tears welling in your eyes as you struggled to come up with words to protest. Anger started to surge as Gortash stood their solid and unmoving beside his father. His face set in stone as he blankly stared through you. Was he ever my friend? you question to yourself, unknowing to the inner turmoil that was coursing through his veins.

It is better this way, Gortash thinks to himself, watching as you leave and bracing for the punch from his father that sends his head reeling back into the live wires and sharp metals beneath. He twists in pain, holding out a sob before standing himself back up. "You are to leave this evening boy, your mother and I can have you no longer."

--

You find yourself back in the carriage, still a ways to go as your mother reaches forward, you do your best not to flinch away. Her face flashes of Envers' mother for a brief moment. "They were jealous to see your family living a better life," your mother explained, rubbing circles onto the back of your hand as you started to pick at your new clothes.

You knew otherwise, you knew something else had to be happening. Your little active mind searched and wandered endlessly. Combing through every memory and moment with precision yet you always came back empty handed. Why leave so suddenly and with such cruelty? You belittle yourself, and soon those happy memories of you two together as children became tainted in your growing anger for not understanding why he casted you aside.

So, in the upper city you made new friends, found new work and games to play with words instead of knives and fists. Becoming lost in the words of your parents explaining that this was the life you all were deserving of- that you worked so hard towards. You allowed yourself to become lost with the yards of fabric skirts, false smiles and rumours galore.

You kept your grades up, kept your head raised as you walked past the distasteful looks that graced you and into the sights of a boy your age named Wyll. He saw much of himself and his family's history instilled in you as he listened to gossip about you down the halls and city streets. He offered you a chair at his table when coming back home for breaks.

You unloaded your secrets and stories onto one another during your pre-teen years. He allowed you to unload your cooped-up energy from your past fighting life to train with one another. Sword-fighting and forgetting to attend class with each spar. His father, Duke Ravengard even takes you underneath his wing.

--

As you got older, your school-years ending in a few months time you and Wyll had started courting one another formally. Your parents were anxious, watching as you would come home bruised and tired as you explained the training you both were undertaking- your parents worried that you were trying to turn back to your past self. Yet you assured them, holding Wylls hand in your own, "I fight nobelly now- I have no reason why not to," you explain, Wyll nodding along- agreeing with your statement.

Soon you both were dancing at every ball together, once, twice, sneaking a thrice against the judgement of polite society. Your hand on his shoulder, his on your waist pulling you closer. Eyes shining as the music hummed out, partners around you both bowing as you quickly remember to do the same. Wyll laughed, dipping low as your heads knocked against one another, a blush coating your cheeks as you swore underneath your breath.

Wyll now gripped your arm up to a stand, leading you both outside to laugh fully together. Your stomach twisting and hurting from how hard you were laughing before those tingles became a burning passion in seeing his arms flexing in his uniform as he gripped the banister of the balcony to support himself. The way his eyes crinkled in your direction- a toothy smile he reserved only for you.

"I love you," you blurted out, eyes wide as you covered your mouth- surprised that you admitted to such things. You had only been friends for a few years, lovers a few months and were still considered children to some degree- emerging into your young adult years yet when he paused his laughter, caught his breath and took your hand into his own. Leaning down to press his forehead against your own, "I love you too." Your mind cleared of shaggy black hair and sunrises to take in Wyll’s lips against your own.

Your hands gripped his forearms, pulling the man closer to yourself. His hand tipped your head upwards to deepen the kiss, another placed on your waist as you both walked backwards. Your back hitting the banister. He caged you in between his arms, your skin on fire as your nails dug themselves into the material as your lungs burned from air.

Pulling away, Wyll's cheeks are flushed. He appears breathless, his eyes widened in shock for his own actions as he slowly turns his head back to the ballroom. "We shouldn't have done that," Wyll says in a low voice. Your heart burns, mind still foggy as you take in what just happened. Swallowing the growing lump in your throat, you croak out a why?, setting yourself back upright. "Your standings in society-"

"Wyll," you state his name softy, hands moving up his arms to his shoulders and then his head as you pull his gaze back to you, "I am already an outcast- is that not why we found one another in the first place?"

Wyll pulls you into a hug, relaxing into your arms as you rub up and down his back. Looking over his shoulder you see Duke Ravengard looking at you both, he raises a glass and a smile towards you as you nod your head in reply. Watching as he turns to your parents, a few words exchanged as you hold pleading eyes towards them. Your mother mouths a later as you turn back to your lover- he presses a kiss to your cheek.

Pulling away, you both return to the event arm in arm, walking towards your families while grabbing some drinks and food along the way. "You are both to wed after you return from university," your father demands, eyes glaring at the boy on your arm as Ravengard claps a hand on your fathers shoulder. "They will make a brilliant pair, they have fight in them- leaders, no- protectors of this city they will be," he says with such certainty, clinking your glasses together you feel a great sense of anxious as you claim to be feeling tired, Wyll escorting you toward your carriage with one last kiss to your forehead before sending a few words of warning to your driver, demanding to return you home safely.

--

While you were getting high off of high society life, Enver found himself the servant to a devil, Raphael to be specific. His parents were at their wits ends, trying to keep up with their sons changing behaviour as soon as they casted you away.

They thought their son to be a horrid creature of need and hate, too clever for his own good but all became worse as you were not near. He stopped attending school, he had already known everything they could have taught them and more. So his parents sold him off and that's how he found himself the messenger of hell itself.

He grew up fighting demons and devils-spawn, tussling in flames and charming those to fall from the world above. He stalked and schemed for his masters, served them as his bones were broken, skin bruised in permanent shades of purple and blue.

He struggled to find sleep amongst the pain, often passing out in the hallowed halls in the House of Hope only to be criticized for his lack of appearances when he awoke once more. Yet as he received more and more jobs on the mainlands, he rediscovered the sewers and lower city life he was forced to leave behind. He explored those factories you both used to infiltrate in your youth and the rooftops you would share cheese and what little bread you could find with one another.

Enver wondered often about you, the life you were living- if you had ended up living. Some part of him grew jealous- bitter that you managed to leave, to have a better family than him when you did all the same actions. He regretted sending you away, forcing you to leave him when you could have joined his suffering, maybe eased it in some way. Yet when his imagination fired of you bleeding and begging towards him, your eyes as he stood there cold and silently demanding you away. He felt what little food he received striking its way up his throat, his stomach curling into itself as he gripped at his hair.

Was this another form of torture? Enver asked himself, stumbling back into the House of Hope, his letter bag filled with various contracts as he dropped his bag on the Devils desk, falling to his knees for his hour of punishment. His mind flashes with memories of you, he feels your head on his shoulder, feels his hand in your own before screams cut through his years, settling him solid and falling forwards into the tired floors.

He hears your voice, asking for him to get up, to run with you as his hand bleeds. He can feel the various holes in himself opening up to the blades that continuously crave into his skin, sending his system into a state of shock- his head light by the pool of blood he chokes in. Your voice becomes louder, screaming, your hands reach out in the darkness that threatens to consume his sights. Your feet kick and scrape against the floor, you cough and then silence.

Silence fills Gortash's remaining days in hell, I will get out, he assured himself albeit quietly as he still wondered if the devils could read his every waking thought. He could not stand another moment of being under someone's boot, of someone speaking him into another depth of this world, of his mind, - no he would get his revenge- he would rule his future. 

Re-Write

[gortash-did-nothing-wrong]

Fatherhood

Warnings: mentions of spanking children, mentions of Enver being abused as a child, incredibly brief mentions of a child wandering off and their mother panicking, implied murder but it's barely touched on.

Enver is a bit of a conundrum as a father, you've come to realize by the time your oldest is seven. He is equally strict and lenient. He demands his children have a rigorous study regimen with the best tutors money and blackmail can get, and an active lifestyle. He's less strict about their physical activity, allowing them to simply pick a hobby that requires physical prowess and he arranged for tutors and coaches to help them excel at it. Their oldest takes a fancy to horseback riding and Enver arranges for a purebred warhorse to be delivered to his stables.

"Absolutely not." You say firmly, disappointing your seven year old daughter. "She's not even four feet tall yet, a fall from that beast would kill her!"

"Well my dearest, I believe the point is that she stays in the saddle." He teased.

You threw a handful of hay at his head. The next day there was an age appropriate pony in the stables instead.

Your second child wanders off in town one day, and three panic attacks later, you find him at a blacksmith shop, staring wide eyed as a lovely tiefling man explains to him the process of smelting ore. You grab your five year old boy, holding him in your arms as you apologize. "I am so very sorry, he's a very curious boy, and fast on his feet!"

"No trouble at all." Damon, he introduces himself as, says. "In fact, I'm in the market for some help around the forge?"

Your son spends his weekends at Damon's shop, carrying buckets of coal, writing down orders, and even sometimes swinging a hammer. Enver is beside himself with joy at the sight of his son dirty with soot and his hands blistered.

"And a fine young smith he'll make!" Enver proclaims. "He's got my broad shoulders after all, and look at those hands! They'll only get tougher with every blister, my boy!"

"Isn't he a bit young for so much labor?" You asked, applying some ointment and bandages to your son's hands. "He's not even getting paid."

Damon had offered your son five copper a week, generous for the labor a five year old could provide. Enver had refused, instead sending his son to Damon with one hundred gold a week for the blacksmithing lessons.

"Experience is more valuable at his age than coin. And come now, my dear wife, money is of no issue to us. Anything he wants I'll just buy him!"

Ah, yes, Enver's leniency. As strict as Enver was about demanding his children perform well in their studies, when it came to other areas of life your children were somewhat spoiled. Your daughter had a new outfit every other week it seemed, and both your children's pockets were often filled with candy. They had new toys monthly, their old ones being donated to the orphanages whenever they piled up. Enver saw no point denying them anything.

Until they required discipline. Something you found out about your husband was that he refused to ever hit your children, not even a light smack on the back of their hand. The idea disgusted him whenever you mentioned it. He forbid you from raising a hand to them, something that you found difficult on days when they tried your patience but ultimately you managed. One of your nursemaids had spanked your oldest lightly when she was caught trying to climb out of a window to see if she could run across the rooftop like a cat. Enver had found out, and despite you trying to save the woman's job, you had never seen her again. You doubt she was simply fired, though. Even after the nether brain was defeated and certain activities of your husband stopped... He always had some kind of experiment or tribute to Bane going on. You suspect the woman was a victim to one of them, despite her spanking being a product of fearing for your daughter's life.

The only punishment Enver ever inflicted on his children were stern lectures, and denial of free time. Or the introduction of chores. Watching your oldest try to wash dishes in the kitchen as a punishment had been mildly amusing. Soap suds had gotten everywhere, and she was causing more issues than helping the staff, but the point was she hated doing it.

Your son was the more well behaved child, his only frequent bit of mischief was wandering off unannounced. And whenever he was found, he was either pouring over books in the library, up to his elbows in dirt outside, or sneaking into his father's workshop to 'borrow' tools.

Still, Enver was strict on both of your children conforming to the rules of the house, of which no running off was one. Your son was frequently punished with chores like sweeping, scrubbing, even laundry. After one particularly boring afternoon, you walked into the back yard of the estate to see your son having rigged up a mechanical washing system powered by a donkey your daughter had helped him lead over by his reins.

"Menaces." You mumbled, before going to fetch Enver. Thirty minutes later, you sat in a chair, drinking lemonade and watching Enver and your son both work on the mechanical washing system. "Men."

Your daughter, sitting next to you with a glass of apple juice, grunted in agreement. "Overgrown boys."

You remark on his odd parenting one evening as you feed your third child, a darling little girl that's only two. "I must say, I've never met a man of your status that doesn't occasionally hit his children. My father was quite strict with his belt, so are all of my brothers with their children."

"Your family hardly ever sees each other." Enver said pointedly, sipping a glass of bourbon as he reads the evening newspaper. "Didn't you go five years without even speaking to your father?"

You pause, weighing his words. "Yes... I'm not saying you're wrong, I'm just curious what caused you to be so different. Is it a Lower City cultural norm to not spank your children?"

Enver snorts, abandoning his newspaper to go find his snuff box. "My father was more fond of his fists than his belt."

You feel your face grow pale. "Oh... I'm-"

"Don't." He says firmly, forgetting his pipe and tobacco in favor of coming to stand beside your chair. His hand, calloused yet gentle, pets your hair. "It's the past. It's over. And all those who have wronged me are either dead or worse." He says lowly.

He bends down, kissing your two year old on her chubby little cheek. "And my children will never fear their parents."

[aladaylessecondblog]

arms of the father (good tav/gortash pt. 10)

Author's Note:

Google "uncombable hair syndrome" for an idea of what Cald's hair looks like/will look like ----------------------

Cald's face was largely his father's, and, Tav joked, his hair was too. Except his hair wasn't simply growing wild, it was as frizzed as could be.

"A side effect of the sparks, I imagine," Gortash said. He was holding the boy with his right arm, determined to avoid another shock. "Look at him, he looks as though he's about to be struck by a bolt."

"It only just started doing that..." she said, leaning in close. "Gale says he'll be by within the week, by the way."

"I still don't see why it's necessary," he replied, "I can pay someone more qualified..."

"The man was putting his cock in the goddess of magic while learning from her, I hardly think there's anyone more qualified to look at this sort of thing... Sure, we could hire some studious old wizards, but as far as theory you could actually understand that they wouldn't then go blabbing all over town..."

"Fine," Gortash replied. He had a strange look in his eye, Tav saw, when Cald sat up with a bit of effort. "A strong lad."

"Following in his father's footsteps already." Perhaps she didn't entirely want that, but at this point, she was just enjoying her son. That struck her with another thought. "Talk to him. The wet nurse says he is beginning to respond to his name."

"I don't know how to--"

"He'll listen to anything at this age...and given he favors me so much already I think it would be good to give him a reason to like you too."

"I don't have breasts if you hadn't noticed. At this age I'm not sure he cares for anything else."

"Nonsense, he cares for plenty of things," she said, "Tell him about your Steel Watchers, even. Get him used to hearing your voice and he'll want to hear more of it."

So he did. As she sat watching, Gortash spoke to Cald about the Steel Watchers. The way they worked, where they were built, how they recognized faces. The boy watched his father's face with rapt attention, and babbled here and there as if in reply.

(Tav's heart swelled watching it, and she could no longer feel any anger for such things directed at Gortash. Evil or not, tyrant or not, he was a good father. He was both at once, she thought, and to remove the latter from consideration would be to ignore the spectrum of gray and the whole she had come to--)

"See, he likes listening to you." She smiled, and tickled at Cald's little cheek. "Don't you, sweetheart?"

"Ababa..."

It was a happy moment, right up until Cald started grunting.

"That's his diaper noise," Tav said. "Here, let me have him."

She called the nursemaid to bring her a new cloth diaper and some wipes, and waited a moment, until she seemed certain the boy was done.

"Perhaps I should learn this too."

"I don't think you'd much like it." Tav joked, "The scent about to assault your nose is bad enough without having to change it yourself."

"How hard can it possibly be?"

With her spell of create water, she filled a bowl on the bedtable, added a bit of scent, and put the cloth wipes in it to soak as she turned to removed Cald's diaper.

Gortash bolted back, cursing and clamping a hand over his mouth. "That is the FOULEST thing I've ever smelled, and I used to keep company with a Bhaalist!"

"Oh, you get used to it," Tav gave a brief smile, and wrung out one of the wipes as she tossed the used diaper into the waiting bin beside the bed. She cleaned up the mess, and then handed Gortash the clean diaper. "Here, you can do the second bit. Be careful, though, little boys are known to wet themselves when they're being changed."

Thankfully, that didn't happen, and Gortash managed to finish the diapering without further incident.

"I am incredibly glad you have a nursemaid to do this," he replied, "I can't imagine it's a chore you much enjoy."

"It's a natural thing that always happens...and you get used to it. But...I am glad I'm not always the one who has to tend to him." Tav leaned against him and once more smiled down at Cald. "I wish we could do something about that hair, though. He must get that from you."

"My hair was never this bad."

In similar gentle arguments did the rest of the morning pass.

And Tav realized, perhaps more surprising than her own changing view of her husband, that he too was beginning to shift...towards her and the little family they had created, anyway.

------------------------------------

It was rather a lengthy if not mentally straining day for Tav. Less of healing and charity, and more of speaking to other noble mothers, most of whom saw their children much more rarely than she saw her own.

"I don't miss the breastfeeding stage," one said, "Though I know my husband is quite taken with the way I've gone up in size."

"It'll pass soon enough," Tav replied, "But it's very good for bonding."

She smiled, thinking of that first time she'd done it. Cald latching, drinking from her--and how right it had felt to hold her little world and nourish him.

Not for the first time did she realize how out of place she was with such sentiments. One or two of the younger ladies agreed, but the older ones did not, favoring instead attempts to get back to pre-baby weight so that they might return to society in the thinner gowns they had favored before. Some whose mothering days were long since past remarked upon the oddity of taking so close an interest in her child.

"Perhaps I'll start a trend," Tav laughed slightly. "It is much easier to mold a child when he spends a lot of time with you, after all, and the Archduke wishes his son to follow in his footsteps."

That conversation had the pleasant effect of a wonderful bit of gossip: that the Archduke was a wonderful, loving father and family man. The amount of women swooning over him only grew, and the amount of them telling her how lucky she was to have him similarly so.

And well she knew it.

-----------------------

"The Lord wishes to see you in his chapel."

She recognized the man before her as a servant in the fortress, but more than that, he was a worshipper of Bane. The tattoos gave hints to that--outwardly he professed to be reformed, but in secret...

"The Archduke, you mean?"

"The Lord." He said no more than that.

Tav felt slightly chilled at the idea, but thanked the man and headed into the secret passage leading from Gortash's room. The passage had been shown to her months ago, but she had never entered it--until now.

There were sparse candles giving dim light, and when the passage opened into a larger room containing only a few things (that she could see, anyway). An altar of pure blackness, obsidian probably, behind which was cut a seat of the same.

In the seat was her husband...or so she thought at first.

"So," a voice issued forth from Gortash's throat, commanding, echoing in the room, "Here she is...the Ilmatari who has made my Chosen take leave of his senses."

Tav took in a sharp breath and immediately dropped to her knees, then after a second thought prostrated herself on the floor as well.

"I have done no such thing, my lord B--Bane," she said, for clearly that was who the voice was. Her mind worked quickly, as she heard him getting up and walking over. She gulped slightly when she felt a boot on the back of her head. "I have made him stronger. Allow me to--to explain, I beg you."

The boot moved back.

"Now that is a bold claim. Stay on your knees, but sit up so I can hear you."

Tav obeyed, and looked up.

Gortash stood more stiffly than usual. He always moved with authority and power, but this--this posture was so much more so. And his eyes, they weren't the dark of her husband's, but a green that stood out.

"Explain yourself," the voice said, "Explain how acts of compassion and charity strengthen the commitment my Chosen has to his cause."

She took a deep breath as--there being no other way to phrase it--the aura around her husband shifted.

"Bane himself commands you to speak."

[pixie-in-a-moonlantern]

Welcome to Pixie!

My BG3 obsession has birthed several fan stories and inspired the art above. I very much like Durge and their story, my favorite companion is Halsin, and favorite NPCs are Gortash, Raphael and Rugan. Feel free to check out my stuff:

Kill me like a lover

explicit » F/M (m/f/m) » Gortash, custom f!Durge, Halsin » CW: poly, whump, violence, blood, PiV, cunnilingus, rough sex, fluffy sex, graphic threats of violence, light breeding kink, creampie, pain kink, knifeplay, blood, toxic relationship traits, dubious consent, resisting Durge, fluff, angst, trauma on top of trauma on top of trauma

Read on Tumblr / AO3:

(prelude 7k words) * I don't like you * tumblr » / AO3 »

(main 13k words) * Kill me like a lover * tumblr » / AO3 »

Read on Wattpad:

(whole fic) * Kill me like a lover * Wattpad »

Plan: 1) Halsin only fic (fluff, angst, smut), 2) coronation ball (bloody, possibly smutty), 3) Bhaal temple (extra bloody, full-on angst and trauma), 4) Gort fight (diverging from canon)

Can't promise I will fulfill the plan, but that's what I'm thinking of. Will appreciate any love, especially reblogs and comments. Would kill to have someone to discuss this with, too >;)

Lil Halsin one-shots on AO3

What if I just kiss you? - Halsin x reader, teen+, a 'forceful' kiss prompt, a little irrational argument with Halsin resulting in a kiss, flashfic (905 words)

Wildshaped therapist - Halsin x reader, mature (alcohol), cat Halsin, depression, angsty pining, fluff, cat therapy, spooning a large hunk of elf, 2k words

[Interlude] Love, Halsin - Halsin/custom f!Durge, an in-between fic of my Durgetash/Halsin story (above) where I focus solely on Halsin and his Trauma™, mature, angst, hurt/comfort, crying man, fluff, 3k words

(To hug a bear - unfinished Halsin x OC with a spot of Astarion, mature (didn't get to smut), 4.7k words)

[kawareo]

Look, at least he tried

I feel like this would've happened if the situation was just a little bit less urgent lol

[flamemittens]

For the bhaalspawn asks:

OK but how does Durge actually view relationships and romance?

From the 9th Edition DU asks here!

Gortash x F!Durge. 900 words.

A/N: So...this got a little out of hand. I'm not even sure if I've answered the question as I got lost in the sauce™, but have this silly thing anyway :)

The weather could have been better tonight.

Admittedly, the trellis that facilitates the climb up to Gortash’s chambers is more difficult to scale in the heavy rain, but she completes her ascent with relative ease, dropping onto the terrace.

There is no need to pick the locks on the doors—in a touch of perhaps foolish confidence he tends to leave them open these days—thus the only challenge is to enter quietly. She slips inside through half-drawn curtains, and pulls the doors shut behind her.

The light in here is low, but her eyes make the adjustment.

Then she sees him.

Enver is fast asleep on one of the large chaises by the fireplace, head back, feet planted on the floor, chest rising and falling. Free of his usual finery, he is simply dressed in a half-open black shirt and trousers. She pads softly over to him intending to wake him up, but…something stays her hand. She stands there frozen in place, a tightness in her chest, and imagines the lifeblood flowing through his veins. Considers him in his vulnerability. Considers them.

She has no point of reference, no guide for how all this is supposed to go. It was never meant to be like this. It’s been an evolution, a negotiation. Communication shifting from parchment to in-person, from neutral locations to between his sheets. Gifts viewed with suspicion at first, then reluctantly accepted. An unwelcome distraction—and indulgence—morphing into a welcome one. A meeting of minds, a push and pull. It is both delightful, and confusing.

She wonders if this is what it is like for everyone.

Truthfully, Enver Gortash is the only friend she has ever had. She smiles, thinking of what Sceleritas would say to that statement—the butler is devoted, and not fond of her Banite.

Her reverie is broken however as Enver chooses this moment to wake up; he gives a brief start, then relaxes, as he looks up at her with a level of softness she’s never seen before.

Something twists painfully in her chest as she realizes he is relieved the interloper is her when he should be afraid—it digs in alongside everything else she carries. She is struck once again by the thought that he has not been afraid of her for some time now. If he ever was. He’s not even surprised.

“Good evening, my dear Bhaalist” he says calmly, voice still raspy from sleep. He reaches out a hand and pulls her closer. “Why are you wet? You’re soaked through.”

“It’s raining outside. I was caught in a downpour.”

A resigned sigh signals his acceptance as he runs a hand across his face. “When it comes to you, it could be worse, I suppose.”

He stands up. “I shall call the servants and have a bath drawn for you.”

“There’s no need. Do not bother them.”

“Nonsense, I insist. For the sake of my new rugs, if nothing else. And I do so enjoy you smelling of my soaps.” He leaves the room, returning a moment later.

“Good. They are seeing to it now.”

“Enver?”

“Yes?”

“Why?”

He frowns and then turns to the fireplace, tossing another log into the flames. “Why what? My dear, as much as I enjoy puzzling you out, you’re going to have to give me more to go on.”

“Why do you care for me?” The question is neither simple nor complex, and it slides off her tongue like liquid before she can stop it. He has his back to her, but she catches how he briefly freezes, a sudden and subtle tension in his shoulders that he expertly dismisses before he continues. She has cornered him—not something that she achieves often with this man who is always several steps ahead—and bent their unspoken rules.

“So, you have decided to ask me all the difficult questions tonight, hmm?” He has opted, of course, for deflection.

“Oh, it’s a difficult question, is it? Should I be offended?”

“You know that’s not quite what I meant.”

“But that’s what you said.”

“Gods below. Well, it certainly isn’t because you infuriate me with disconcerting regularity.”

“No.” She grins slyly. “It’s in spite of that.”

He barks a laugh, then regards her for a moment before continuing.

“Now, while we wait, how about I show you what I’ve been working on today. And after we’re all done, perhaps you can give me the pleasure of your company until morning?”

“Lord Gortash, do you say that to all the guests you host in your personal chambers?”

He closes the distance between them, and gently grips her chin in his calloused fingers, tilting her head from side to side. She hopes to pass the inspection. Granted, there are times when she wants him to be the Chosen of Bane, but others where she prefers him to be Enver. Tonight, she finds she wishes for the latter.

“No” he murmurs after a spell, releasing her. “Only the ones who show up at near midnight drenched from head to toe, drip all over my upholstery, force me to call the servants to prepare a bath, and ask me questions.” He smiles down at her.

Enver it is.

She mirrors his expression. “That sounds awfully tiresome. You must suffer so.”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Very well” she replies, leaning closer and patting his chest. “Tell me about your day, if you must.”

[shannaraisles]

Come To Me - for @memaidrawsmaidraw

For the ever patient and lovely @memaidraws, who has waited a long time for this and been an absolute star. Thank you, darling!

Come To Me

The city is quiet today.

Fitting, that it should be. After all, had the people of Baldur’s Gate ever truly elected an Archduke freely and of their own will? Yet here he stood, about to be given that honour and be named Archduke Enver Gortash ... about to take hold of the power just within his grasp and finally set in motion the final act of this narrative. 

A day long in the coming, yet none too soon given the varying spanners being thrown into the ironworks of his plan. No ... their plan. Oh, yes, he knew she was out there - his favourite assassin, his partner-in-all. Orin really shouldn’t have let that slip to him. Until that moment, he had expected to have to wrestle control of the Netherbrain for himself alone once he finally skinned the pathetic braggart who had killed his love. But now ...

A slow smile coaxed the corners of his lips into an upward curve, unnervingly soft for anyone who had not known him when he was at his lowest. With Ketheric dead, Orin was already pushing her luck, and now she had informed him she was not his only option. Such a witless little fool she was, so devoted to the gore and bloodlust of her god that she forgot her own mortality. He would enjoy unlocking the keys to her destruction at the hands of the woman she thought she had defeated. And once that was done ... he would have his love returned to him, his partner-in-all. His Archduchess, dripping in blood. Just as he liked her. 

The dukes and nobles were watching him, both respectful and wary. They all knew of the unrest in the city, unwittingly stirred up by the Prism-bearers as they entered and began to explore a city that remembered most of them. Perhaps the dukes even knew just who the leader of that wayward band of adventuring heroes was. Perhaps they knew how dangerous it might be to cross her now she was returned to the Gate. 

There she was, right on time. She never could resist an invitation from him, even now. And, gods, but she was a sight to behold. Sharp features unsoftened, unashamed of that deadly jaw and piercing brown gaze, dark hair his fingers itched to tug at pulled taut into the braid he had used in so many interesting ways during those early days of their all-too-brief alliance. Her armour was stained with blood, no doubt horrifying those nobles who never used a knife for more than cutting their meat at table, and her eyes ... her eyes burned. He knew that look; that curiosity, that demand, that need to know that he could use to lure her in once again. All that was missing was the familiar arrogance of her lust as she looked on him, and that, he knew, could be kindled anew. 

“Ah, Viveka,” he declared, moving to greet her. “It has been too long. Welcome home.”

He could have laughed at the outraged surprise in her eyes; clearly, she had not considered that she might be known by the people she was meeting in the city. Orin truly had scrambled her mind, but not so much that she had not come home to him, not so much that she was not still the deadliest sword dancer he had ever known, the bloodiest death-dealer he had ever had the privilege to witness. Reports from across the Coast had shown him all too well how little her talents and skills had abandoned her. 

As they spoke, as he explained the plan she and he had concocted together, the plan that could still become reality, his gaze flickered to her hands, to the long fingers he could almost feel on his skin once again. His mind’s eye drifted over her, removing layers of leather and metal and cloth, remembering the glorious sight of her arrayed before him, lost in lust and perhaps learning something more even as he showed her what it was to truly be worshipped as the goddess he intended to make her. He heard in his mind’s ear her cries of shuddering ecstasy, the surprise, the delight, the crowing need for more. He recalled the heat of her mouth on his, the sharpness of her teeth on his skin, the aching vulnerability he had shown her and finally coaxed her to show to him. The softness hidden beneath the bloody armour of Bhaal’s Chosen that had been her downfall. 

Anger surged in him as he recalled again how Orin had boasted and bragged of the death-dealing she had given to her sister; of the torment and torture that had only been possible because he had drawn from Viveka a feeling she had not known she was capable of. If she had not been so distracted with considering ways to kill him for making her feel that, she would not have been such an easy mark for Orin’s selfish ambitions. He would not allow that to happen again. This time, Viveka would deal with Orin first. 

And just like the dark-haired siren he remembered, words were not enough for her to be convinced of his sincerity in offering this alliance. Her eyes, almost golden-touched in the afternoon sunlight, travelled over him, examining every facet of his face and form, reading him as intuitively as she always had. Some part of her recalled, it had to. Why else would she be giving him the time of day? And if there was a chance, however small, to regain what had been lost, then he had nothing to hide. 

Let her see the loving lust in his eyes, the wetness of his lips, the clench of his hands. Let her note the way he leaned toward her just enough, the way he almost snarled as her male companion reached to get her attention. The possessive desire that flared hot in his gaze as her eyes locked with his ... and let her feel it as an echo of that same yearning need ignited the suppressed sparks within her. 

Let her swallow down that sudden desire to touch and be touched, to feel pain and pleasure combined in the arms of the one man whom she could ever truly trust with her heart, her mind, and her body. Let her burn as he stepped back, bowing to her with seeming indifferent politeness, extending a further invitation to enjoy the party. 

Had she not been removed from him, she would have been at his side at this party. Let her imagine that as he mingled among the great and the good of Baldur’s Gate, careful never to fully lose sight of her. He made a point to catch her eye often enough that she could not take her watchful eyes from him, noting how her interest surged each time he paid a little too much attention to other dark-haired beauties in the room. He had not thought he would be able to kindle her longing so easily, but surely this was what he wanted? Her thoughts to revolve around him until she was mad with longing; Until she would do anything for him, as he would for her. 

Oh, how difficult it was to ignore her, to mingle and charm and be the warm, strong leader these dukes and nobles thought they had elected to his position. To be the centre of attention when all he truly wished was to slip away with her, to the library, to his study, to a closet, and show her once more how good they were together. It seemed an age that he had to make nice with these people, all the while feeling the Netherbrain pushing against his grip, feeling her eyes on him. 

But it was necessary. Even he knew these things could not be rushed. She had to wallow in the feelings he had roused, discover for herself the true treachery of her sister, bathe herself in blood and Bhaal’s favour. She had to walk the streets of the city they had planned to take, reminded of him with every turn she took, every Steel Watch she saw, every toast raised in his honour. She had to learn that the burning within her could only be quenched by one decision alone. Only then would she be ready.

Only then would he send her a missive with three short words, certain that she would not be able to refuse. 

Come to me.