#pretty much just enver

[darkenedurge]

Edit / Update : Part 2 is now posted here.

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𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐲.

“ 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐲, 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲. 𝐘𝐞𝐭, 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐥𝐞𝐝𝐠𝐞, 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐲. 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬, 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐬 𝐡𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬 – 𝐄𝐧𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐆𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐚𝐬𝐡. ”

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CONTENT : P in V Sex | Implied Age Difference (Enver refers to Durge as “little one”) | Sloppy Make-Outs, Mark Making, all that good stuff | Referenced Switch! Durge | Dom! Enver Gortash | “Forgive me Father for I have sinned” (that’s.. basically the whole fic/plot) | Rough Sex | Spit as lube, fun !!

` Inspired by this post.

And also, this song;

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˚ ✧.

“But, ma’am, you could have anyone you wanted–”

Your dagger was swiftly swung, landing just a mere fraction before it met the skin of the poor, fragile, meek, little butler. His eyes flit, from each corner of the room, to the door – as it remained open, only by a crack. If he ran, he surely couldn’t make it, and even if he did – that would certainly be the end for him. This was heresy, both you and he knew that equally. Yet, another shared knowledge, was that you would never free your favourite toy. You were bounded in his chains, just as much as he in yours – Enver Gortash.

It wasn’t a faux claim, to say that you could have anyone. Followers, worshippers, dedicants of Bhaal, were far too quick, eager to throw themselves at your feet – be bent at your will, trampled beneath your pretty foot. These were all trivial matters, and ones that you rarely indulged in for such reasons. Perhaps on occasion, for a quick fuck. Though, you were almost always unsatisfied – insatiable.

Always would you delve impatient, frustrated fingers into your begging cunt, bringing yourself to the edge with a flutter of your eyelashes. Pleasure, but not in its truth. No, that’s where Enver came in.

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You weren’t sure how it had even occurred. He and you, had always had a lingering eye for once another – stealing glances and sparing the flick of your tongue across your lip, wetting the plush skin, as you allowed yourself only a second longer to indulge in his stature. Small, fleeting moments of tension had somehow, pinned you beneath him – his teeth assaulting your collarbones, marks of possession and brutality staining your skin. Even the simple, slight swirl of his tongue as his mouth enveloped your nipple, had you gasping – hand flying to his hair, fingers curling and taking a fistful of his shaggy, inky locks. His knee parts your legs, and you rut needily against him. To which, he chuckles – scoffs, and tuts, “Impatient little thing, aren’t you? Someone hasn’t been taking care of my favourite assassin in my absence.. I should’ve claimed you sooner.” Sweet, citrusy words. Words of praise that, pathetically, could’ve made you come right there and then.

“M’sorry..” You murmur, breath audibly hitching as Enver pinched a nipple between his teeth, “You just feel so good.”

He hums, and the sound reverberates through your chest – forcing a shiver to course throughout your body, riding up your spine. “We’ve barely started, little one,” His eyes greet yours, head raised as he speaks, “It’s not good quite yet.”

That’s when your lips connect, for the first time, and the entirety of your stomach coils into tight, pleading knots. Enver grunts, the noise muffled by your intertwined passion – drool seeping from the side of your mouth, sloppy, wet dances shared between your tongues.

You don’t see Enver naked, then. You wouldn’t for a while. For now, and hereafter, he’d simply shrug himself free of the confines that his clothes so needlessly, annoyingly provided. As lazily as he’d enabled himself, Enver only provided the same impatience for you – ushering your panties aside, in favour of wasting precious seconds tugging them down to rest at your ankles. In a strange acknowledgment of admiration, you favoured his methods. His comprehensive need to feel you swallow his cock, take him the way the Gods had so sinfully intended.

Enver wets his fingers, tongue resting upon his lower lip as he swiped the tips until they were adequately coated – lathering your entrance in his saliva, earning a subtle flinch on your behalf. No warning is offered, he pushes into you with force, heavenly in the way that it hurts – in the way he stretches you, as he bottoms out with a wavering groan.

Your walls flutter around him, your hands finding their place upon his shoulders as he begins to piston his hips at a relentless, pace – you squeak, squeal, your nails press into the supple flesh beneath them. Enver is not shy to make noise, in return, his mouth no prison to the grunts, groans and moans that follow – in tandem with his thrusts. Over and over, you feel him assault a spot you hadn’t even known existed – deep, deep inside of you, making you quiver and tighten rhythmically.

“Say my name, little one,” Enver pants out in demand, fucking you evermore, “Say my name.”

You could hardly deny the request of a man who was literally, fucking you senseless. Making your head spin, your cheeks flush and stomach churn. “Enver..” You whine, like a mewling kitten. No, not good enough.

Again, “Enver.” It’s louder this time, and your nails drag down his upper back.

“Enver!” Oh Gods, are you going to cum?

As your heart pounds mercilessly in your ears, you can distantly hear Enver release a small, huff of a laugh. You voice is almost hoarse, as a cry strangles from your throat, “Enver! Enver, I’m-!”

You came. It’s akin to that of a crashing wave, and a roaring fire, in beautiful unison. There’s a hot, swarming pool that follows – Enver, no doubt, laying his claim; cumming almost simultaneously, filling you to the brim. You’re trembling as he holds you, pulls you flush against his chest and peppers kisses to the nape of your neck.

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He wouldn’t be staying long. Slinking off back, toward his duties without so much as a whisper. Still, such ignorance didn’t pain you. You knew he’d be back, this was the very birth of a whirlwind. One that was destructive, perhaps. But, destruction is your birthright. Your solemn purpose.

You sit, thighs sticky and skin glazed in sweat. “Father,” Your hand is clutched to your exposed chest, resting over the thrum of your heart, “Forgive me..please.”

[bhaalsbabe]

This desk has seen everything

Pairing: gn!durge x Enver Gortash

Label: nsfw

MDNI

Summary/warnings: minor spoilers for durge & ending of act 2, durge is a magic user, inappropriate use of magic (tentacles), sub!Gortash (flashback), weird power dynamic, violent thoughts concerning Orin, pining Gortash, there's not that much smut but I might do part 2

Author's note: writing again after a very long time; nice, supportive comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3

When you met Gortash for the first time after losing your memories, you had a feeling he wasn't telling you everything. You remembered the look he kept giving you. You've seen it many times before, often on your companions' faces; the barely hidden desire burning behind the eyes, the longing look that was focused solely on you, the quick glances at the shown parts of your skin. Yes, when you thought back about it, you're actually pretty sure there was more to your past relationship with Gortash than just being partners in crime.

Your curiosity was what led you into his office - alone. You weren't worried about him trying to take advantage of the situation to take Ketheric's netherstone from you. Your magic was more powerful than ever and the powers you gained from the tadpoles you consumed have been awfully useful as well. So you entered the room he resided in with confidence you probably used to have back in the days of your glory.

"Ah, have you taken care of Orin already? You're even faster than I expected." He looked up at you from his paperwork, an easy smile on his face.

"That's not why I'm here," you finished walking all the way to his desk before sitting on it, looking down at him. "You weren't telling me everything back at the coronation, were you?"

He leaned back in his chair, smirking as he eyed your sitting spot.

"Perhaps..." he mused, putting down the quill and focusing his attention purely on you. "I take it you're looking for something specific?"

You nodded, quickly scanning the documents on his table to see if there's anything that would catch your attention. You noticed the name 'Ravengard' on one of the papers but before you could read the rest, Gortash took the entire pile and put it into a drawer.

"Bureaucracy has never been your thing. Why, I can't even count how many times you interrupted me in the middle of something just because you were bored and wanted me for yourself," he laughed with his eyes closed, probably reminiscing of one such time.

"Really? I can't imagine why," you said dryly, glaring at him all unimpressed. Suddenly, he stood up, going around the desk to stand next to you, close enough that you could feel the heat of his skin. As you turned to face him fully, he leaned over you, his arms trapping you in place. When he spoke next, his breath, smelling of expensive wine, hit your face.

"You were a greedy little thing. Always taking, rarely giving anything back." Contrary to the message, he sounded almost nostalgic, a lazy smile plastered on his handsome face.

"You probably just didn't deserve anything in return." You shrugged, noticing how his eyes kept dropping to your lips. He chuckled, tearing his gaze away from your mouth.

"I see you haven't changed that much," he mumbled under his breath, before finally pressing his lips against yours in a searing kiss. You felt a surge of desire run through you as your brain full of holes supplied you with a brief memory.

The once proud Gortash, naked and bent over the very same desk you were now sitting on. In this memory, you casually lounged in his chair, watching as a variant of Evard's Black Tentacles kept plunging in and out of his ass and mouth, as well as wrapping around his body to keep him from squirming too much. His gurgled moans were music to your ears. His submission to you had always pleased you.

You broke the kiss with a gasp, back to the reality where the same man pushed you onto your back, his hands exploring your body in a starved desperation. His dark eyes bore into yours with an intensity that made you shiver.

"Gort-"

"Enver," he corrected you immediately, not even letting you finish. "Always Enver to you."

You stared at him, the realisation dawning upon you of just how close of a relationship you two had. He pressed his hand to your cheek almost tenderly, and you weren't sure if you were ready for the depth of what exactly he's been keeping away from you.

You pushed him away right then, your head hurting as you tried to remember if you held any feelings for him, hatred and bloodthirst rising in you fast - Orin is going to pay for taking everything from you, you were going to enjoy choking her with her own intestines and bathing in her blood -

Everything was a blur as you ran past him, never noticing his concerned expression as he was left there standing, speechless and way too excited from your little reunion.

[sserpente]

The Mistletoe Tradition

There was only one piece of decoration left in the box now—it was a dew-fresh mistletoe complete with a red ribbon. And you knew just where to put it.

With a smile, you danced over to Astarion and held the green plant above your head. The vampire spawn looked up, confused and flustered both at the same time.

“Wanna know what my favourite Yule tradition is?”

“I’m sure you’re about to tell me,” he purred.

“Whenever two souls are caught under the mistletoe, they have to kiss.”

A/N: I’m not sure if Christmas/Yule is a thing in Faerûn but if it wasn’t… I sure made it a thing now! Worked in some of his actual quotes for it to be even more relatable because we're all simps, lol. Also using Yule and Christmas interchangeably here because I can. Merry Christmas to you all! ♥

Words: 2197

Warnings: fluff

“Jingle Bells, jingle bells, jingle all the way…” Humming to yourself, you rummaged through your bag to take a closer look at the items you had snatched on your journey today. A bag full of peanuts, perfect to still your hunger on the road, a new dagger you had taken from a corpse, for your old one was falling apart at the hilt, a letter from an Iron Fist written to Lord Enver Gortash himself, and—perhaps most importantly—a little snow globe you had found in an abandoned cottage. It wasn’t much but it was better than nothing and had definitely been worth Lae’zel’s eye roll.

You were headed towards Baldur’s Gate and decided to rest in the Elfsong Tavern where Gale, Wyll, and Halsin were currently discussing the price of a room to stay in for the next couple of days. The air smelled like mulled wine and pine cones, and the tables in the tavern were decorated with tree branches, candles and sliced oranges and cinnamon sticks. The atmosphere was lovely—festive. You leaned against Astarion with your cheek against his chest, a sigh escaping your lips.

The pale elf was quite used to your—at least by his standards—unusual behaviour by now. Well… sort of. He’d expected more hostility toward him after the night he tried to bite you, that much you knew. Instead, you’d offered to help and… huh, secretly drooled all over him.

He certainly knew what he was doing and you hated that it worked. You didn’t want to turn into a giggling and blushing mess in his presence and yet… that was exactly what happened. Every. Single. Day. You tried to hide it as best as you could but at this point, you were pretty certain that he knew you were a hopeless case whenever he was near. And once you’d started sleeping with each other… you had become putty in his hands entirely, desperate for his touch even when it wasn’t sexual.

You offered him a cuddling dose daily now and you never let go until he did.

“All right, everyone. We’re settled. The owner has agreed to give us one of the suites upstairs. It has thirteen beds, its own washing area, and a fireplace. I don’t know about you but I am knackered,” Wyll announced as he cracked his bones.

“You go ahead without me. I’d like to take care of something real quick. I won’t be long,” you said, the idea thundering through your head with a start having you beam from the inside out.

Gale lifted a hand as if to raise everyone’s attention before speaking. “I hope so! I have a perfectly hearty rabbit stew planned for supper.”

It had taken the inn owner ten gold pieces and a lot of convincing to get you a Yule Tree. Was it important in midst of everything that was happening? Possibly not. Were you still humming Christmas songs yet again as you carried a small box full of ornaments and decorations up the wooden stairs to your room? Absolutely.

Gale was already cooking. They all knew the very moment you entered the room with it that the tree someone had brought up in the meantime was your doing. And now, while the others were getting ready to rest for the day, you began decorating the room as if you didn’t have a care in the world. And for just a moment, you pretended you didn’t.

You spotted Astarion glancing at you from the corners of your eye. He’d crossed his arms before his chest, looking as handsome as ever and even more so now with his hair still a little damp from getting the dust of the road off of him.

“Need something?” You smiled, noticing how he admired the pine cones dipped in molten silver and the delicious-smelling orange slices on the tree for just a second too long. The straw stars you were specifically proud of as you stood on your tiptoes and stretched to put the biggest one on the tip of the tree, completing your masterwork.

“Oh, don’t mind me… I’m just enjoying the show.”

You blinked at him, gnashing your teeth as you felt a treacherous heat creeping up your cheeks, for his gaze was by no means fixed on the tree anymore but your behind. At times it was still hard to believe this incredible elf was attracted to you of all people.

“Is this really necessary? I mean, really? You’re wasting our time and energy on decorating a tree?”

“Hey… we won’t know yet if that’s our last Christmas. I don’t mean to be pessimistic but you know just as well as I do that there is a good chance we won’t make it out of this alive. I might as well enjoy the little things until… I can’t. You never know. Besides, this is the first time in weeks we’re sleeping with a roof over our heads. We have beds and a fireplace. I would be silly not to decorate a little, especially with a recent murder right next door.”

“Well… I suppose… but don’t expect me to help you.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, oh fangy one! I’m actually done and it looks absolutely amazing, if I may say so.”

Astarion scoffed—playfully so. It was then Halsin joined, admiring your tree up close with a second portion of stew in his hands.

“Well, I think it looks beautiful. There’s no better way to get into the festive spirit than with a little bit of nature in one’s home.”

You fought hard to hide the chuckle bubbling up your throat when Astarion rolled his eyes as soon as the druid turned away again.

“The man really can’t shut up about enjoying the freedom of nature’s gifts.”

You couldn’t help it. You burst out laughing. Needless to say, your companions’ shocked expressions made you cackle even more but perhaps the surprise on Astarion’s face was what brought you even more joy than the way he had mimicked Halsin.

“In the end, it won’t be the mind flayers who kill me. It’ll be you,” you choked out, wiping your eyes with the ball of your thumb. Gods, you were actually crying from laughter.

There was only one piece of decoration left in the box now—it was a dew-fresh mistletoe complete with a red ribbon. And you knew just where to put it.

With a smile, you danced over to Astarion and held the green plant above your head. The vampire spawn looked up, confused and flustered both at the same time.

“Wanna know what my favourite Yule tradition is?”

“I’m sure you’re about to tell me,” he purred.

“Whenever two souls are caught under the mistletoe, they have to kiss.”

“Do they now?”

You grinned.

“Well… in that case, we better not risk the wrath of whatever god came up with it.”

“That would be Frigg, wife of Odin and mother of Baldur who never wanted the mistletoe to be forgotten again after Loki—“ You didn’t manage to finish your sentence for in the next moment, Astarion pulled you close and pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was a promise and a reward, a display of affection… and a small gesture of care warming your heart.

“How do you always do that?” you murmured against his mouth, breaking the kiss just long enough to draw a deep breath. “Leave me wanting for more? Tempting me?”

“Tempting you, hmm? Well… You know what they say… the only way to cure a temptation… is to give in to it.”

A little squeak escaped your lips before you could stop yourself. You pressed your lips together to a thin line, eyes wide as your hand flew up to your mouth to cover it. But of course, Astarion had heard you. Amused, he quirked an eyebrow.

“What was that?”

“N-nothing.”

“Really? Because I think I heard quite the delectable little noise coming from your lips just now.”

“N-no. Oh gods, you have to stop this. I will melt, Astarion. I will literally melt and then you can go get a mop and wipe me up!”

Astarion laughed, surprise mixing with delight. “Oh, darling, I could go all night… as you well know,” he purred.

Another squeak. He’d caught on to it now, of course—that the reason for those inhumane sounds escaping your body was all his doing. Oh, for fuck’s sake…

“Okay, that’s it.” Arms akimbo, you narrowed your eyes at him. You were all but flustered when you grabbed the collar of his shirt with such vigour, the tiniest hint of surprise and hesitation flittered across his face before his smug smirk returned and you kissed him yet again, longer and more passionately this time.

“You really will be the death of me” you breathed against his lips. “It’s a nice way to go though, I won’t complain.” The urge to rip off his clothes there and then grew stronger with every passing second. You knew he wasn’t ready yet, despite his relentless teasing and you’d be the last person to push him but… judging by how he wrapped his arms around your waist yet again and pressed you closer to his body yet again, a heartfelt kiss was never off limits.

You sighed against his lips, the mistletoe dropping to the ground. Only the gods knew what would have happened if you had not been interrupted despite your fellow companions still in the room but alas, the door burst open with a bang so loud you both flinched.

“This… is… AWESOME!” When Karlach entered the room, she was wearing the ugliest Yule sweater you had ever seen. Tinsel and two baubles were hanging from her horn and in her hands, she held a massive candy cane and a mug of what you assumed was eggnog. “I LOVE Christmas! Oh, you got us a tree! We should go and buy presents for each other to unwrap tomorrow!”

“Karlach, please, it’s late and I’m tired,” Astarion complained.

“Fiiiine, tomorrow morning then. A kid downstairs just told me about this fat guy called Santa who climbs through the chimney and puts gifts under the tree if you leave him cookies and milk. Do we have cookies and milk? We have to get cookies and milk!”

You laughed. In that case… you certainly had a long night ahead of you before you could get a good night’s sleep.

Everyone was fast asleep by the time you got up and tiptoed across the cool floorboards on naked feet in the dark, past the crackling fire in the centre of the warm and cosy room, and toward Astarion’s bed. You could hear the wind blowing outside the tavern in the dead of night as you climbed under the covers and cuddled up to your lover who had, without a doubt, been expecting you. Astarion wrapped you in his arms, his lips grazing your bare neck ever so slightly.

“Hello, darling.”

At peace and content, you both listened to the instruments Gale enchanted to play quiet music to lull you all to sleep.

“Well, aren’t you brave, revealing your lovely neck to a vampire like that?”

You chuckled into his pillow, stretching even more.

“You know… I think we’re past the point now where I have to tell you each night that you can… I mean… if you’re hungry just… feed on me, alright?”

“R-Right.” For a moment, a both vulnerable and surprised expression washed over his handsome face—but it was gone before your memory could properly capture it, not to mention the darkness around you made that very difficult. He was so incredibly good at masking his feelings, that you longed to cuddle the shit out of him and tell him that it was all going to be okay. “Well… I’ve only just learned how wonderful it feels to have a choice and have your boundaries respected, all thanks to you. I’d actually prefer if you asked.”

So instead, you settled for wriggling yourself under the covers until he stirred.

“That’s… that’s good. That’s very good,” you whispered as you cuddled up to him even more.

“So? Can’t you sleep or are you just too excited until morning to see me again, love?”

You chuckled. “Your bed is more comfortable than mine.”

In the dark, it was hard to tell whether Astarion’s confusion was real or feigned. It was amusing nonetheless. “You will find that all the beds in this room are the same, pet.”

“No. No they aren’t. Mine doesn’t have you in it.”

“Oh… my cheeky little pup.”

Your chuckle turned into a childish giggle as a jolt of electricity rippled through you as if Gale had hit you with a lightning blast.

“You know exactly what you’re doing to me, don’t you?” you whispered.

Astarion hummed in response. “Well… yes. Though I have to admit I have never met anyone displaying their excitement as openly as you, darling.”

“I’ll make sure to never stop. Merry Christmas, Astarion.”

The vampire spawn sighed when you shuffled even closer and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek.

“Merry Christmas, love.”

A/N: And Merry Christmas to you all as well! ♥ I had to dedicate this year's Christmas Imagine to Astarion. I fell so hard for him thanks to Neil, it's insane. I hope you'll spend some lovely days with your loved ones! ♥

[inkyquince]

anyway, here's gortash.

characters.... enver gortash. cmon now

content warning. gore mention? kinda? its not detailed. dark urge reader. they're in the middle of a long fuck sesh but its not that nsfw except gortash is fucking hard and it'll take talking about thorm to make him go soft.

The sound of Baldur's Gate's people going about their day always managed to steal through the windows, even with the thick curtains darkening the room. So many individuals walking around, haggling, buying, working, crying, loving, living.

So many beings. So much blood to spill, till the cracks in the cobblestones were stained red, never to be washed away.

Between your thighs, Gortash gives a low hum of contentment, looking up at you with his intensely dark eyes glinting in the low candle light.

"Thought about something you like, did you?" He murmurs, dragging his thumb over his slick covered lips, spit and precum gathering on his finger just to be tucked into his mouth to be sucked clean.

"Maybe," You muse with a smile, adjusting the way your leg lay over his shoulder and along his spine. "Maybe I enjoy you being on your belly for me."

Enver chuckled, low and amused. His reputation meant that he was held in high respect, and to tell him to take a knee to anyone other than maybe the Duke, was absurd. But here he was, on his stomach in his bed, with luxurious sheets, naked as the day he was born, with his face nestled between your thighs. You'd have considered this a victory, if it wasn't that he gave this freely to you. Gortash was the one who greedily hooked your legs over his shoulders, the one who always needed a hand against your back or cupping your elbow, no matter the looks he got from Thorm, or servants around his manor.

It was... Cute.

He licked his lips again, before slowly nosing over your pubic bone, up, over your stomach. Dropping kisses to the naked skin, he didn't stop till you felt his teeth against your throat, beginning to suck and bite away.

Now, this? This was adorable.

The only way for your lover to hurt you, the weapon your father favoured above all other, was to attack you with kisses and bites, till your neck bloomed with love marks and bruises. You had slaughtered so many in your father's name, and there was countless ways to gut Enver as he tended to your throat, but he could never.

What was clear to you, but maybe clouded to him, that he would never be able to bring harm to you. His hands weren't clean of blood, and the sulfur of the hells always stuck to his skin, as one's past often does, but you had no doubt that if the time ever came where he wanted the Brain all to himself, you'd fell him easily.

You gave another low sigh of pleasure and Enver answered with one of his own, finally abandoning his need to mark up the one person who'd never fully give themselves to him, not in the way he craved. But at least the love marks were pretty. Instead he kissed you deeply, his lean forearms caging you in.

His cock was hard again, dragging over your slick thighs as he lost himself in the taste of your mouth, something sweet and something metallic along your tongue giving him a head rush.

"Again?" You murmured against his lips, your tone inquisitive as you felt his heartbeat pick up.

"How could I ever show restraint towards you?" Gortash pulled away, his dark hair falling into his face. Despite spending most of the morning in bed, with the initial meeting he called fully abandoned, he had already spent three rounds with you on his cock, and when you weren't milking him for all he was worth, he was worshipping you. Between your thighs, with his fingers deep inside of you, demanding more orgasms from you than he had. According to the whores around town, he was a selfish lover, so you were surprised when you two first shared a private room. He had you against the desk, demanding you to cum twice before he even thought about pressing into you.

"Hmm," You mulled his words over, dragging your fingers over his chest, enjoying the hammering of his heart. "Might be wise. Thorm looked repulsed at our last meeting when you mentioned that red was definitely my color."

Gortash snorted softly, leaning back so he was on his knees yet still towered over your body.

"Hard to believe he had a wife, given his disgust towards any romantic intent shown."

"I doubt it's romantic intent he hates." You laughed softly as he curled his fingers under your ankle and brought it to his lips to press a kiss to the skin. "I bet he was a big old romantic, given his plans for the future. But coming from you? No doubt he nearly had a heart attack, if he could still have one."

"You wound me." Enver murmured, contiuing to kiss up your shin, till he got to your knee, when he ran his nose over the side of it. "I'm quite the romantic I'll have you know."

"More like a roguish flirt." You smirked at his short, bark of a laugh.

As his chuckles died down, he didn't resume his exploration of your body with his lips, which surprised you. He was usually so dogged in his chases. Instead of lust in his eyes, it was clouded with something else, despite the way his cock remained hard, jutting against his stomach with precum still slowly leaking against his skin. Something vulnerable, something scorching.

It was as if you had taken your favourite blade and sliced open his chest to admire the way his heart thumped amongst the gore. You waited, intrigued to see how long he dared to give you such a soft look, as if you weren't brought up with nothing but hard edges and burning brands. You wondered what you'd do, if he bared his heart to you willingly. Would you kiss the ruined organ? Embrace the stench of sulfur and rot and lick over it, or would you dig your nails into it, ripping it asunder and watch him twitch and scream? It worried you a bit that you didn't immediately settle on ruining him if he dared to whisper heartfelt confessions over his murmured lusts and desires.

Maybe he remembered what you were, a foul child of Bhaal. Maybe he saw the way your eyes flickered. Maybe he remembered how hard his cock was and craved to feel your insides around him once more before you killed him for a sickly love confession.

So, while the softness of his eyes didn't leave, a dirty heat clouded them.

"Now, let's abandon all this talk of Ketheric, lest I go soft. Instead, can I recommend we see how much I can make you scream before the servants get worried."

You awoke with a low hiss of pleasure, the luxurious surroundings of your lover disappearing for the chilled wilderness of your camp. It was dark, too dark, so you doubted anyone other than you were up, except maybe for Astarion.

Slowly sitting up, you raised your fingers to your neck, feeling as if the bites still lingered there, fresh and raw. You were unsettled. More unsettled than when your first dream visitor started appearing, more than waking up with Alfira's blood under your nails.

You were privy to what felt like someone else's life, rife with blood and gore and the feeling of someone's hot tongue pressing into you. It was calling to you, as if you were being offered this path again, to come back and take your proper place.

It wouldn't do to wonder about if this past lover dreamed of you like you did of him. You had things to do, memories to recover... Someone to look after.

Little did you know that Nautiloid Ship ride away, Gortash lay in his own bed, idly dragging his fingers over the pillow next to his. He felt foul. Orin's flirations were usually dredged in promises to gut him, to spill his blood till she could bathe in it. It usually left him feeling disgusted, but today it left him feeling nostalgic.

You weren't like Orin, despite having the same Bhaalspawn blood running through your veins. Your flirations were more subtle. Teasing. Flashing the dog a bone only to hide it away, and smirk as it sniffed hopefully at you. She was nothing compared to you.

With a low exhale, Gortash once more began to ruminate on where you were. Why you let Orin take over. What she had done to you.

And what must be done to get you back. No matter how much blood would be spilt, throats slit, lives lost, he knew that none of the dreams he had would cease until you were back at his side.

[mightymizora]

I've put so much love and care into my custom durgetash but every so often I just see The Lads and Enver laid out like a pretty princess and the big white dragon with his big teeth and red patterning and their matching outfits and I'm like. Throw the whole thing out, I just care about the gay scalie and the overdramatic bhaalbaby.

[moralesmilesanhour]

💆🏾🍃here i wanted to request a miles fang fic🌚ive enver done this before so idk but just a short/medium fic or scenarios of miles w fangs nd reader being obsessed w them but not in like a freaky way i. a like “omg theyre so cool/pretty way” if that makes sense😭

You got it! (You didn't specify so I made bro a vampire hope that's ok)

-

"So, to recap: it's a yes on the blood, no on the sparkles, and you can walk into sign-less buildings by yourself," you listed off. You rose to a sitting position on Miles' neatly-made bed. "What about the sun?"

"Y/N, be serious right now. You saw me at the corner store yesterday morning."

"I'm just covering all my bases! You coulda just been wearing really good sunscreen this whole time."

Miles snorted as he lay sprawled out next to you. "Yeah, alright. No on the sunlight. Anything else--Aye, aye, relax!"

He frantically slapped your hand away as you tried to reach for his face. "Fuck is you doin'?"

"I'm tryna see if you got fangs!"

"How I'mma drink niggas' blood without fangs? Let's think, mamas--ow!"

He recoiled when you gave him a good flick on his forehead.

"Lose the attitude," you chastised. "Now, let's see 'em!"

Miles stuck out his lips into a childish pout. "Ask nicely."

"Fine. May I please see your canines?"

"Thank you."

Miles used his pinky to lift his upper lip on the left side, as if showing off a pair of grills. Instead, he revealed a pearly, almost blue-white canine tooth. It was at least a centimeter longer than that of the average human, curving downwards and sharpening to a deadly point. You could see why he mumbled so much; they looked damn near impossible to hide.

"And all four of them are that long?" you marveled.

He removed his finger and nodded, showing them off in an awkward-looking smile.

"They're gorgeous."

His smile dropped almost immediately and he gave you a weird look. "Whatever that means."

"It means what I said," you lightly smacked his arm, "they're very nice-looking."

"Sound like you finna steal 'em while I'm sleeping," Miles laughed.

You grinned and reassured him, "Chill out, I'm just bein' a future dentist. I get excited about nice teeth."

"Oh yeah? Then when you actually become one in a few years, I'm only going to you."

Miles took your hand and squeezed it. His palm was ice-cold.

"Thanks. If you ever need a fang pulled, I'll be sure to keep it for studying."

"You're so weird."

-

Send Halloween Prompts!

[lwiann]

How old do you hc Enver and your Durge as and how tall? Do you have any really random, off the wall hcs you could share? Any soft domestic ones?

Your art is amazing and helped get me into durgetash and into the bg3 fandom on here so thank you for that :]

a little nsfw but here is a thing ive done for them

Gortash is in his 40s to me.

My durge, Vanh, he has no set age but I hc him to be older than Gortash. This is because despite appearing human, as a Bhaalspawn, he just ages very weird. Aging like an elf is the best way I can describe it.

Vanh is 5'10" / 177cm but he's got a pretty intimidating stance due to his build. Gortash is like 1 or 2 inches taller than him and it always surprises him to notice it because it does not seem like that at all. (he kinda hates that he's taller than him lol.)

hcs:

They know each other's bodies well. Gortash always needs to keep his hands occupied so it often lingers on Vanh's back or shoulders or neck. Not necessarily romantic or sexual in nature. It just has to be there.

Vanh finds himself caring for and memorizing Gortash's schedules.

Vanh never talked much until Gortash and Gortash was very surprised slash amused to find out how much of a chatterbox he is. Vanh loves gossiping! He can waste so much of Gortash's time just by gossiping about the people of Baldur's Gate. All they do is talk shit about everyone and act like theyre the greatest creatures in existence. LOL

They love seeing each other work their skill of expertise. (tinkering, murder, surgery, etc.)

There are late nights when Vanh would climb up Gortash's window so silently, like a wind passing through, sneak onto his bed and just hug Gortash from behind when they sleep. They never really know what to describe it nor do they talk about it the next day.

[reikodoesfanstuff]

No one asked, but I feel like Durge and Enver have nearly the exact same ways they show affection. (Is it good that I put the keep reading so high up? IDK anything about Tumblr etiquette lol)

Enver, coming from a poor family, so much so that he was sold, would go out of his way to shower his nearest and dearest with gifts. It would be things like an expensive wine, maybe a few pieces of jewelry, or an intricately made (but still deadly) dagger. He would also slowly buy Durge so many clothes that, eventually, they're dressed fully in things gifted by Enver. And he's so into that.

He's also brilliant and known to have a silver tongue, they have to be writing verbose and seductive letters or poems back and forth. Enver would be writing things like, "Once the world is mine I will gift it to you and we'll rule together", "Watching hardened killers tremble at your feet makes me envious of their position", or "With me, you'll want for nothing but more pleasure than you can handle." And he sends them within the boxes of his gifts, neatly written and topped with a wax seal of Bane's hand.

Durge, as we know from the "Forgive Me Father" letter, is also a bit of a wordsmith. Their letters would be of a similar tone to Enver's but the words are more like, "Every second spent without your voice in my ears is a new layer added to the hells", "I will hunt your every adversary and ensure they know only misery in your name." and even, "The urge to flay you alive and hear your pretty screams cannot be matched by my need to experience your body as you writhe in the deepest carnal pleasures." All of their poems are haphazardly written on whatever paper scrap Durge can find and half illegible due to being delivered in the open mouths of severed skulls or crumpled in palms of corpses hand-delivered to his chambers when no one's around. Sometimes, they would even be a political rival of Enver's, which they both think is very romantic.

And on that note, body parts are Durge's favorite gift, by far. Bloodied hearts, severed hands holding out a single red rose, cold fingers spelling out a simple message like "Love you" or "Stay safe" or sometimes just a heart shape are left in increasingly intimate places in Enver's home. His front door, the living room, bedroom, and even his bathtub had a corpse display one time! How cute. Durge had quite a hand in raising Enver's political status this way, some were by accident.

And you can't tell me those babes don't shower each other in physical affection behind closed doors. Enver was never shown any compassion as a child. Even worse, he was beaten, often. And now, in adulthood, he can't trust those he brings to his bed as they don't know who he really is or just want the power associated with him. Durge never connected to anyone personally or romantically so physical touch was a rare commodity. They have killed every bed partner at some point in the affair, as the urge commanded. But with Enver, they refuse to listen to it. They want Enver alive, against their father's wishes. As a result, both of them are touch-starved and refuse to keep their hands off each other when alone.

[vialae]

So Gortash gifts a lot of gifts to durge yeah. Seemingly a lot of jewellery (I don’t remember how canonical that is. I might just be deluded)

But how is he getting durge’s ring size?

The classic trying to do it while they sleep? Bhaalspawn are pretty light sleepers, so I feel like he’s just get punched in the throat on reflex if he so much as brushed their hand.

Trying to subtly make durge try on his own rings and then just go from there?? Maybe various sizes all in one dish and see which one slides on? But then durge recognises these can’t all fit Enver’s hand. Cue pulling the knife out and asking who else he is seeing for other people’s rings to be in their bedroom.

He could just ask them outright. Maybe they get suspicious and they bicker in an attempt to get a straight answer out of them. Maybe durge freely tells him because they’re a spoilt bhaalspawn used to receiving gifts and praise.

Maybe it’s twisted into a half-truth. Gortash says it’s for his new invention; something that’s to be worn on the hand. Something for durge that will really boost their killing efficiency. That sounds mildly fun, so durge freely holds their hand out and Gortash can get as many measurements as he pleases.

He could just try to take a pre-existing ring, but who the fuck is stupid enough to steal from a Bhaalspawn? Maybe durge trusts him so much they are killing servants, presuming they would be the ones to take it instead.

[cringecannon]

Ok I am living for all of your Gortash content. The power struggles? Testing each other to see where the scale leans on who’s winning over the other? That’s the good stuff 😌

I’m just obsessed with the idea of someone who's so up in his face disrespectful and doing things that would get anyone else killed and yeah you might get punished pretty severely over it, but there's clearly some form of affection for you in his fucked up brain. The misbehavior drives him up the fucking wall, but he refuses to let go of you. It's a Hell of his own making.

You push the boundaries constantly, and all you find is a cold stone wall. The man is in an impenetrable fortress. Well... not entirely. You've gotten good at pushing him to angry outbursts. He never explicitly says he regrets it, but you can tell it irritates him how easily you get under his skin.

The best time to act up is in public settings, in front of people he needs to maintain a good relationship with. If you have a history of misbehavior, it's difficult to get him to trust you enough to even let you be seen in public. If you're dedicated enough, however, he might reward you. After your last outburst, it took months of good behavior to be allowed to attend a party. It's well worth it. Once he's gotten you all dressed up and hanging off his arm, you play up the doting partner role. Maybe a bit too honestly. One of his associates politely asks what you do for work, and there's a bright smile on your face as you explain that Enver doesn't let you work. He's so protective, isn't it cute? Why, just last week he had a servant thrown in the dungeons because he didn't like how they were looking at you. He doesn't like the idea of you having friends in the castle, because you might get some silly ideas about trying to leave. He's so caring, that man of yours.

By the end of your spiel, his associates look thoroughly uncomfortable and Gortash's smile is so tight that it looks like his face might split. You ignore how hard he grips your arm, his knuckles turning white as a silent order to shut your mouth. You just keep smiling politely. The associates try to make light conversation but the mood is significantly more tense. Gortash and you both smile at their backs as they awkwardly move away and only a few moments later you feel his hot breath against your ear before he growls out a command. You are going to excuse yourself, walk that pretty ass all the way up to your room, and you're going to wait patiently for him to come and deal with you.

He lets go of your bruising arm and you storm out, making sure to slam the large doors behind you. Once you're out of his sight the façade drops, and you hum as you walk through the halls. You've planned this for weeks, and you only have a small window of opportunity to get this right. Most of his metal soldiers are stationed around the ballroom, in case of an attempt on his life. There were no weak points in the remaining guard schedules, he'd never be that sloppy. He didn't anticipate that you'd be desperate enough to take out a Flaming Fist. Sneaking out in that uniform is much simpler, exiting through the barracks and out into the city streets. The faster you get out of sight, the better. He's powerful, sure, but he doesn't have scrying eyes everywhere. You might make it out of the city. Hells, you might even manage to get somewhere he doesn't have full power over. However, never underestimate how many resources he's willing to throw into getting back what's his.

Or what he's willing to do to you when you're back in his grasp.

[primedayart]

Okay, so I scroll TikTok a lot like any 27-year-old teenager, and I noticed a little while ago that I kept getting the same creators BG3 videos popping up…and it took me about 30 whole seconds to become OBSESSED with their Tav. Who wouldn’t though, I mean? Look at her. 👀

As I’ve finished all c*mmissi*ns for the year, (I say that, but if anyone DM’s me for one…I’d still say yes lmao, so okay, I’m done ACTIVELY ADVERTISING c*mmissi*ns for the year-) I decided to just really indulge myself in drawing Some Very Pretty People, so I found the creator on Twitter and asked if I could Clip Studio Paint the shit out of her Tav, (you’re so lovely Andrea, thank you so much,) and her/our (comrade) beloved Enver Gortash.

I still can’t believe man’s not romanceable. Give me Gortash and give me Dammon and I won’t look at anyone else in this game I stfg, Dammon my beloved, I think of you always! 🥺

I would love to pick up some BG3 c*mmissi*ns in 2024 if anyone is interested at all…I’ll be making new sheets with the updated prices and everything, as these clothes are so damn detailed that it’s sadly necessary lmao. :’) This will probably/maybe be my last post of the year, so, if I’m not back by then…

Have a wonderful Christmas and New Year!

[darkenedurge]

. Couldn’t stop thinking about the idea that Gortash likely thought Durge was dead, until Orin confirmed otherwise – so, I got in my feelings and decided to write Gortash being heartbroken because I love angst just as much as I love raunchy shit.

.

Enver clung to the last shred of her he had left. A petty thing, it was, a single shirt – worn, torn, and not the most glamorous thing she’d ever owned. Though, it was often she slept in it – he’d given it to her after all. It had once been his. It was saturated in her scent, intermingled with a hint of his own – ink from his desk splattered the sleeve edges, an inevitable result of her being bent over his desk during particularly heated nighttime rituals. They weren’t always dirty, weren’t always spontaneous, but sometimes blood runs hot.

Enver missed her. Her warmth, her voice. Everything, lest he list it all. His chest tightens as he takes another, sharp, deep inhalation of her scent – the fabric pressed firmly to his nose. He chokes, on a sob or two, tears rolling down his cheeks.

Orin, naturally, had ruined everything. She’s good at that, making the world around you collapse with a simple swing of her blade. Though, it hadn’t just been a swing. Orin had butchered her, mutilated her. Years, months, weeks, days, hours of their time together, succumbed to her hand. Yet another sob is strangled from his throat at the thought, and he feels like he’s suffocating. Drowning.

If it weren’t for duty, for his commitment, Enver surely would have joined her by now. Perhaps in a kinder fashion, he’d never shared her creativity, nor passion for the sanguine arts. He was glad for that, he loved that about her. No, he’d likely spike his own wine with poison – or perhaps drive a blade through his chest. Whatever it took.

But no. He’d suffer your absence at his side tonight, and every night thereafter. Enver was assured he could, at the very least, bury himself in work – perhaps work himself into the grave, even. Anything, that minimised her domination of his brain space.

He knew he’d be lucky if he slept. It’s rare he could, without her. She’d always rake her pretty, slender fingers through his hair – over and over until his eyes fluttered, coming to a close. Still, she wouldn’t stop until she was certain he was taken by the soft, sweet lull of sleep – and even then, her hands remained on him somewhat.

An arm draped over his waist, her head on his chest. Anything, just be touching.

This all felt horrendously cruel. Unreal. In his head, Enver had gutted Orin a thousand times over, and then a thousand times more. Yet, his sick fantasies wouldn’t bring her back. Nothing could.

[animentality]

we talk a lot about how much ketheric hated durgetash, but what about how much orin hated durgetash? either she despised her sibling and hated seeing them happy (and also distracted from bhaal), or she actually got along pretty well with her sibling until gortash came and ruined it. she must have been so jealous, but not jealous in a “i wish it were me fucking durge/gortash” way, jealous in a “im the only one who seems to be taking this group project seriously but you’re the two getting the credit from teacher” way.

See, but here's the more tragic thing to consider...

Yes, the idea of Orin always hating Durge, and then flying off the handle because she can't handle being perpetually single and pretending it's for religious radicalism reasons is funny.

But what if Orin genuinely cared for them, because they were nicer to her than anyone else?

What if they actually had a somewhat decent relationship because deep down, they know they aren't that different?

The Dark Urge killed their parents, and they had to have felt regret...but they pushed down their feelings, and embraced being a Bhaalspawn, because what else could they do, really?

Their father would literally DISSOLVE them if they disobeyed.

But maybe they'd look at this younger fellow Bhaalspawn, and they'd remember having a childhood before that...and they'd feel bad for her. Take her under their wing.

And she, in turn, wouldn't be used to having someone who actually treats her kindly, or at least, with any degree of mercy?

I'm not sure where I read it, but I think it's mentioned somewhere, or was supposed to be in the game or something, that she tried to resist Bhaal once in the past, but was shut down.

And that is really sad to consider, because maybe Orin knew she was trapped, so, like the Dark Urge, she chose to embrace her heritage because she had no other choice.

But she and the Dark Urge have this in common, and that's why they'd get along...

Until. That fucking Chosen of Bane...

Suddenly the Dark Urge isn't spending any time with her...suddenly, they're moody, withdrawn.

Defensively angry.

See, there's a nasty note from the Dark Urge to Orin in her bedroom...

They say that Orin's blood is "impure."

And I can see why that would hurt Orin a lot...but in HER note, she just mentions how she hates how close Durge is with Gortash?

So maybe.

Hear me out...

Orin had NOT been planning on usurping the Dark Urge at all, like Sarevok says, until they met Gortash.

THEN, she felt betrayed.

Like...I thought we were alike. I thought you knew how it felt, to repress your feelings, and to embrace your destiny, instead of your own needs...but here you are.

Embracing a Banite...spending less time in the temple...with me.

So rather than feeling betrayed because she "loves" Bhaal...deep down, on a subconscious level... she's devastated because the only person she felt could understand her...was becoming someone new.

And she hated it.

And anon...

Orin is an artist at heart.

Creating grisly art was her way of expressing her individuality.

The Dark Urge mentions that they admire her art... but also that it's "useless" because Bhaal doesn't care for it...

Maybe they used to encourage her to be artistic as a child?

Because they know better than anyone, how you must suppress any sense of individuality as a Bhaalspawn. That's not what you were made for. But they knew it helped her emotionally.

And before Gortash, they lightly encouraged it, or at least allowed it...but then she starts being abrasive and complaining about Gortash.

She starts saying, do you truly serve Bhaal, or Enver Gortash, and they'd snap back, because they're defensive about it right, that she doesn't really understand what Bhaal wants???

So I think the Dark Urge showing contempt for her artwork was just a coping mechanism.

They had abandoned their individuality a long time ago, but suddenly this Enver Gortash says he likes them for them...he says, I love how smart you are...and they feel like...they're more than a Bhaalspawn...

And Orin is hurt and betrayed, because she thought they were in this together...and they're confused and anxious, over this problem that they can't simply kill...

So in short, anon.

Yes.

I think the Dark Urge and Gortash's relationship DID put a huge strain on the Dark Urge's relationship with Orin.

I think it would've really broken her heart, to know she was alone with just Bhaal for company.

I also think she needn't have worried, because they'd both get what was coming to them anyway in the end.

They were never going to last forever, her own actions be damned.

Alas, anon.

I feel...so sorry for them all.

[crossdressingdeath]

Lord Enver Gortash: You seek Gortash? His soul is already suffering at my hands. That is the fate of all those who fail me. Kyvir: If you're not Gortash, then who are you? Lord Enver Gortash: I am Bane, The Black Lord. I am the Ultimate Tyrant. I am Fear, I am Hate. And you - you are the dagger that bled Myrkul's favoured. You are the thorns that prick at my sides. Yet you are proof that still I will rise, and Bhaal and Myrkul will yield. One question asked. Four still remain. Kyvir: Why did you ally with Myrkul and Bhaal? Lord Enver Gortash: Why do red dragons ally with the githyanki? Why did the Broken God befriend Tyr? [Ah, but you already know the answer. By making one ally, you deny them to another.] And by turning mortals illithid, you deny their souls to their keepers. You do not stoke fear by reaping your own fields, but by burning your foe's. Kyvir: You said I am proof you will rise. What did you mean? Lord Enver Gortash: You live for power. You have proven it with every fallen foe, every chest opened, every skill claimed. As long as mortals and immortals vie for sharper blades and louder voices, I am strengthened. So it is for Bhaal and Myrkul - and so it is for you. You make me eternal. Kyvir: I am no agent of yours. I seek power for proper ends, not for its own sake. Lord Enver Gortash: *Chuckle.* Narrator: *The corpse says nothing more. You did not ask a question.* Kyvir: What can I do to earn your blessing, Lord Bane? Lord Enver Gortash: You have already laid the foundation. You gained my favour when you slayed Gortash. Your need for power exceeds even his. Use the Netherstones to commandeer the brain and unleash your infected army, and I will count you among my chosen. Or do not. Your lust for victory still brings you one step closer to me.

Okay, I think this dialogue glitched somewhat. First off I didn't kill Gortash myself, and also I'm pretty sure Bane is supposed to have unique dialogue with Durge? I know I've heard something about him being awfully impressed with them, I think I somehow got the generic dialogue instead. Also there was no audio for the dialogue, which... boo. Let me hear Bane talk through Gortash's corpse.

It is fascinating how Bane kind of just... claims you as his? Unlike Bhaal with Durge there's no big "serve me or die" and unlike Myrkul there's no attempted punishment for killing his Chosen, he basically just says that no matter what you do you'll be getting closer to him, just because you want to win. Even if you don't take over the world, your lust for victory is something that brings you nearer to Bane; he wins no matter what. It doesn't matter if you insist that you don't want power for its own sake, the fact that you want power serves him. I also love how you can straight up ask him how you can win his favour. You don't have to worship him or anything, you can just. ask that.

Also of course: poor Gortash. He really did do his best to serve his master! It's not his fault that things got so wildly out of hand! Losing Durge really did mess everything up, and he tried his best to handle it from there. Is Bane punishing him just for his failure? Because he was willing to share power once it became clear that was necessary? Hell, maybe even because losing his friend did do so much damage; I feel like Banites aren't supposed to be that reliant on another person. But whatever the reason, he just... gets to be tortured forever even though the plan going tits up wasn't his fault, I guess. Lucky guy. The Dead Three are not particularly understanding masters.

[sanasanakun]

Gortash acting as an enabler for The Dark Urge is so interesting imo. I can easily see redeemed DU feeling extremely betrayed and angry by it given that they now have a chance to contemplate their past self’s situation. They easily could accuse him like “you say you were my ‘nearest and dearest’ but you never saw how much I suffered? Or did you just not care because my misery advanced your (our) goals? You never wanted to help me? You could have stopped me.” At this point in the story, DU’s come to understand friendship in a way his past self never could have and Gortash’s previous inaction is a betrayal of those values. If he never helped them, then Gortash never truly saw the real them nor understood them.

In my personal headcanon (and somewhat supported by canon imo), I think Gortash tried to helped DU in his own “Gort” way. Aka promising that they’d one day rule as “Gods” which is essentially a promise to DU that they’ll rise above Bhaal or be free of his influence (as others have previously pointed out). However, I don’t believe Gortash has the emotional capacity to help DU in the way they needed. He doesn’t understand it or he might even be afraid to hit that particular nerve. He liked the routine they fell into, so why change it? It is also definitely pragmatic. The Dark Urge’s condition advances their plans. Gortash puts progress and the plan above all else even if it hurts loved ones. He rationalizes his inaction with cold logic, weighing the pros and cons of his intervention. Therefore, I don’t believe it’s necessarily malicious enabling. Gortash acts with the idea of pursuing whatever is more “comfortable” for him personally and their joint plan.

From my personal experience, this type of enabling is pretty common (at least in my irl situations). They don’t know how to act and are afraid to confront their loved one, so they do nothing. It’s “easier” to do nothing. Definitely would like to write something for it at some point because I feel like this would be a key tension point in their post-tadpole relationship (or lack of). Maybe even pre-tadpole where the Dark Urge just quietly endured but desperately hoped Enver would say or do something to save them, but he never did.

[maegalkarven]

Family matters.

m!(trans)Dark Urge x Enver Gortash.

Brainworms finally got to me, I caved in and wrote a oneshot on the topic of "but what if Durge and Gortash had a child prior to all that mess"

Featuring my Dark Urge Levi, pre- and post- memory loss.

There was a living, breathing infant child in his arms; and for the first time in a long while Lord Enver Gortash was in complete loss at what to do.

“What is it?” fell rather flat down, a poor excuse of a question.

Leviathan rolled his eyes.

“A meaty flesh of some newly created life,” he huffed, visibly annoyed. “Also known as a child. I assume you’ve met their kind?”

Enver felt anger rise alongside with deeply rooted annoyance. Whatever spectacle the bhaalspawn decided to partake in, now was not the time for that. Neither it was the time for his witty itty remarks.

“I am well aware it’s a child,” he argued back just as sullenly, the said child held loosely in his arms. In his arms. Why was there a child in his arms? They were not made for holding babies.

“I’m asking why is it a child and why is it here. The questions any sane person in my place would indulge in.”

There was something...off about the bhaalspawn.

Not only Enver hadn’t seen the man for almost the entity of a year, an assassin always claiming some task of utmost importance, but now he decided to pop out of the thin air with a live child in a tow and immediately push said child into his, Enver Gortash’s, not so open arms.

It was alarming, to say the least.

“Oh, that,” Levi waved him off like it was a casual annoyance and not a conversation two adults, so-conspirers - partners - had. Like Gortash imposed himself into his free time and personal space and not the other way around. “It’s yours.”

It’s what?

“Or at least I assume it’s yours,” Leviathan followed as Enver’s thoughts came to a rapid halt. “Since I haven’t touched anyone alive but you in a long time. And look where it led me,” the look of pure disdain was all the child was getting, it seemed. “A freshly made meaty cage for a new soul. Disgusting. You’d think Father would make this shit stop and would not allow a child of banite to be born, but I guess any bhaalspawn is a good little pawn under his merciful gaze. Anyway,” a wild, excusing gesture of a hand. “I don’t have any use for this...thing. Sceleritas suggested to bring it into the fold and let my men do all the work, but well, the bother. So you can take it instead,” a winning smile what would work wonders if not for the whole absurdity of the situation Gortash just found himself in. “Think of it as of a gift. A proof of my loyalty to our cause, hm?”

Sometimes the bastard was more annoying than he was charming and his presence took a toll on the man.

Sometimes Enver wanted nothing more than to break Levi’s pretty slender neck.

That was one of these times.

“And what am I supposed to do with it?”

“Oh, whatever you want,” another wide, generous gesture. This asshole truly thought of that...child as if of a gift to be given away, didn’t he?

Enver shouldn’t have been surprised, not really, he knew Leviathan’s stance on children.

“Taste good, not much of use when alive, it’s funny when they die first” – was as good of a take as one could expect from the leader of the Cult of Murder.

“You can throw it away or feed it to the dogs. You can raise it or give it to a hag or even sell it to the devil,” another smile that’s more malicious than anything else. “I don't really care, if I'm being honest.”

Unfortunately, killing a bhaalspawn when you were holding just another bhaalspawn would prove to be close to impossible.

It would have to wait, and Leviathan Anchev still had his uses, bratty as he was.

And his appeal, as deadly as that ordeal proved to be. Or how complicated.

A child, huh? Well, Enver supposed every ruler needed an heir.

“Bring me the wizard,” was the first order out of his mouth when bhaalspawn left. The child was safely given into the care of the first competent older servant, who looked just as bewildered as Gortash himself felt. “Tell him to scan the...the-“

“The boy, my lord.”

“Right, tell the mage to scan the boy’s heritage. Let’s find who his parents are, shall we?”

Trusting a psycho murderer was an awful idea even at the safest of times, and now were not those. Levi would lie just to fuck with Enver. Levi had to lie, because there was no way this infant boy was actually his, Enver’s, flesh and blood.

***

Leviathan Anchev did not lie.

***

Levi moved away to sprawl his body across the bed, the creature of leisure he was. He sniffed the air and then wrinkled his nose, closer to an animal than any other person Gortash has ever known. More appealing in that, in his beast-like fluid grace.

“You still have this thing around,” the man commented, frowning. “Why? Playing the dollhouse? How...quant.”

“This thing has a name,” Enver couldn’t not parry. “Noah.”

Leviathan groaned.

“Oh, spare me the details; I want nothing to do with that flesh meat. Having to carry it inside my body for almost a year was a bother enough. Almost cut it out myself on multiple occasions, but Sceleritas insisted the internal damage I’d deal would be too great to handle. Idiot.” A moment of a thoughtful pause.

“You know what my destiny is, right?”

A searching gaze, reaching hands, clawed fingers cupping Enver’s cheeks almost gently. Something changed between them some time ago, but what it was Lord Gortash could not pinpoint. 

Yet something...Shifted.

Levi searching his face for some kind of acknowledgement was a sign of this.

Leviathan Anchev Enver first met would not care less about his approval. Leviathan Anchev of now was Enver’s nearest and dearest and it was pretty much a mutual kind of thing.

“I know.”

To kill everyone in the world and then himself. In Bhaal’s name. A gruesome fate, and pointless. Dull, lacking of any grandiose his, Enver’s, path had.

If only he could break off this deadly conviction in his dear ally, if only there was a way to make him stray out of this path...

They could be good for each other. They could rule together as the gods of the new age; glorious, undefeatable, perfect.

The rulers Toriel truly deserved.

“Then you know I’ll have to kill this...thing,” a moment of barely noticeable hesitation. “This... Noah.”

Enver also knew he would rather see his lover bleed on the altar of his dreadful father than let it happen.

“I do.”

“I,” another uncertain pause. “I was planning to leave you for last. To kill you and myself in one final blow; a perfect tribute to Father. But,” and really, those damn pauses were starting to get on Enver’s nerves. Levi was never short of words before, so what in the nine hells had happened? “Would you rather prefer I’d do you and...Noah... together? To kill you two in one blow?”

Ah.

Enver saw it for what it was, in the uncertain, searching gaze of his unlucky lover, in the carefulness with which he produced words.

Something warm flooded out the irritation from before; something warm and soft and entirely fragile.

It was mercy, the only kind of mercy the bhaalspawn could know. Leviathan Anchev, the man fully capable of destroying everyone and everything on his wake, offered him a tiny piece of his own surrender. A confirmation of his affections, almost a confession.

In some ways he did care.

“That would be very considerate of you, yes,” he agreed, bringing bhaalspawn close. His bhaalspawn, his ally, his lover. The father of his son.

If there was a way of bringing Bhaal down without bringing Levi with him, Enver would find and utilize it. Otherwise he’d have to kill the best partner in crime he has ever had.

And that would be...unfortunate.

Levi leaned into the touch, soft and gentle in a way he has never been before; almost fragile.

Trusting.

“Does it...know about me?” came out in a whisper, almost unbidden.

“He knows you exist,” was all the response Enver could give, enveloping his assassin into his arms, holding him closely, firmly, painfully so.

The bhaalspawn squirmed for a moment before finally settling in.

“Oh,” he breathed out. “I didn’t think you would...What you would tell him I do. Exist, I mean. I’d expect you’d spin a tale of some tragically dead wife or-“

“There is no tragically dead wife,” Enver cut off, feeling rather irritated. A mystery of complications, his dear murderer. “Only a lunatic of a murderer for a father. Not what Noah knows that, he knows we’re working together and what you’re a very busy man.”

“Hmph,” Levi’s breath brushed Enver’s neck. “I guess that is true.”

“Do you want to,” and now it was his time to be a hesitant bother. “Meet him?

At that Leviathan actually laughed.

“Oh, absolutely not, keep him and that strange dollhouse of yours as far away from me as possible. I have things to do, people to kill, empires to rule. I don’t have time for meat-things, of my own creation or not.”

And just like that, it was as if nothing has changed.

***

The alarm goes off the moment Karlach finishes the last of the Hands and flies into a wall by the force of the explosive detonating right into her face.

Enver doesn’t stop to register that, or to look around at the bodies of his faithful, to mourn his perfectly constructed plans – his watch, the Iron Throne, the little fireworks shop – because the alarm in Noah’s private chambers went off and it only means one thing.

Intruders.

He skips one step at the time climbing up the steep steps to the higher, more private level.

Could that be the remaining of Orin’s assassins?

Levi said he dispatched of them all, but surely some had to survive by the sheer luck of not being in the temple at the moment. Are those Ravengard’s forces, Florrick’s?

Is it Leviathan, finally coming to sniff out the life he himself created?

He is vaguely aware of the younger Ravengard and the pale elf taking the chase after him, of Karlach joining in.

They think he is escaping.

Idiots.

Enver tries not to think what he is leading the enemies right to his son; he’ll deal with them later. Right now there’s blazing alarm shrieking what something is wrong – and indeed it is, as he discovers with the first body lying dead on the floor. Then the second. Then the third.

All of them – with their throats ripped open, Leviathan’s favorite style.

Enver turns the corner and reaches for the door handle – the door is unlocked and half open: this is bad, bad, bad-

Then he hears a laughter and pauses.

He opens the door slowly and carefully instead of throwing it open as he intended at first.

And sees...

Levi is sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning slightly forward.

Across of him, sitting in the exact same – ridiculous – pose sits the boy not older than five. He has a dark messy hair, blazing green eyes what betray his nature, and the new game Gortash brought to him just recently. He is trying to explain the rules to the tiefling in front of him, who listens attentively, nodding here and there.

“Wow,” Leviathan Anchev comments with an air of nonchalance he didn’t have before. “I did not understand a thing. But good for you, lil one, good for you.”

“It’s really not that difficult,” Noah insists. “I can teach you! We can play together.”

Enver steps closer, somehow is still not detected neither by his son nor by his...his what?

Karlach almost crashes into the doorframe after him, but somehow manages to steady herself, takes in the view in front of her – and freezes.

So do the other two of Levi’s unruly companions. Gortash especially doesn’t like the pale one; he has a habit of sticking way closer to the bhaalspawn than it is proper.

“I am not that good at these kinds of games,” Levi admits as his tail flips from side to side and nostrils flare; he has detected him. Probably smelled before sensing. “But I have a friend with a real knack for them. He is a wizard and knows a lot of fun things; I think you’d get along.”

Noah looks uncertain.

“Are you sure?” he looks down. “I don’t think...I’m not allowed outside.”

“Really? And why is that?”

“Well,” the boy fidgets with his game. “Father says people who oppose him would try to use me against him, if they knew I existed. So I am kind of...a secret? It’s for my own safety!” he immediately adds, seeing Leviathan’s face blank out. “There’s a murderer on the loose, she really doesn’t like father despite supposedly working with him. Father says she will kill me if she finds out I exist.”

“Oh,” Levi looks taken aback at that. “I don’t think you need to worry about that anymore. If you’re talking about who I think you’re talking about, then she has been dealt with already.”

“Oh!” Noah brightens. “By whom?”

“By me. But say,” the spawn looks quizzically at the child in front of him, frowning slightly. “Is it just your father and you? Where’s your mother?”

“I don’t have one,” and this is definitely the moment then Enver needs to intervene, but he is just...frozen in place, turned to stone.

Leviathan Anchev he knew hated children.

This Leviathan Anchev is talking to a child as it was his best friend.

“I have a dad though!” Noah is a sweet fool, Enver taught him much better than telling complete strangers his entire life’s story. Stop. Talking. “He is...working a lot and is too busy to visit,” the boy looks down gloomily. “But! He and father are very close; they even stole from the devil together!”

Levi blinks. Then blinks once more. Then again.

“The devil, you say?” and is it just Gortash’s imagination, but did the man’s voice just rise up an octave?

“Yes! And not just any devil, the achdevil Mephistopheles!” Noah looks so absurdly proud of that it hurts. “They snuck right into his home, stole a crown from his vault and returned here. Unspotted, unstopped. Victorious.”

“What the fuck?” Karlach lets out and both the boy and the bhaalspawn who created him turn to the door.

Noah’s face immediately brightens.

“Father!” he exclaims, hastily getting to his feet and rushing to him. Behind the boy Levi gives the man the most bewildered stare he has ever seen.

“You have a child!” young Ravengard speaks out with the accusation in his voice. Enver really isn’t sure whom the man is addressing.

Noah is unperturbed.

“Father, I met a really cool guy, his name is Levi and he must be your friend because he came here with no problem at all; and he has children at his camp, two girls named Yenna and Arabella. Arabella is a druid because she stole the idol of Sylvanus and it gave her powers, and Yenna has a cat! But the cat is anxious so I shouldn’t pet it, but I can look at it! Please, can I look at Yenna’s cat? Levi said the evil murderer is dealt with, so it’s probably safe. And Levi can guard me if needed. Also there’s a vampire spawn in his camp and-“

The pale elf coughs.

“Hello there,” he tries, pulling a not entirely convincing smile up his lips. “A vampire spawn speaking. And you would be...”

“I am Noah!” says Noah right away; and did Enver shelter him too much? Damn, he has sheltered him too much. Look at the boy, he wants to befriend a vampire spawn. “I’m the son of the Archduke! Hello.”

“Yes, hi,” the elf looks at Levi uncertainly and back. “So...”

“So,” the bhaalspawn steps forward, the bewildered look stuck to his face. He crouches down to Noah’s level and takes his hands into his calloused and clawed ones. “So Noah...Your dad is the man who helped your father to steal the crown from the devil, is that right?”

Noah nods vigorously and Enver takes his time to observe the scene; the two bhaalspawns in front of each other, Levi’s posture, his relaxed shoulders, his slightly shaking hands. The tail that seems to have a life on its own and moves agitatedly behind its owner.

Three companions of the bhaalspawn, all somewhat stuck in place, with different levels of surprise stitched up their faces. The pale elf – a step closer, almost lingering at Leviathan’s side. Annoying.

Yet somehow, no matter how hard Gortash looks at it, he doesn’t sense any danger. Doesn’t see it, even with Karlach still aflame by the doorframe.

“Yep,” Noah agrees eagerly. “I wish he’d come to meet me soon. He will come, right? Once the work is done and all,” the boy sighs. “I mean, I am his son, surely he would care to come to meet me.”

“Um,” the tiefing looks uncertain. “And what if...something happened to him? What if he, say, lost his memories?”

“How? Did something hit him in the head?”

The vampire spawn chokes on a laugh and Levi rolls his eyes at him.

“Sure,” he agrees. “Let’s call it that. So...what if he doesn’t...exactly remember having you?”

“You mean if he’s lost and doesn’t know he needs to come back?”

“Something like that.”

“Well, I guess I’d come looking for him. He is my other father. It’s important.”

The force of conviction behind these words hits harder than a thunderwave.

Leviathan blinks hard, clears his throat, and then-

“You...don’t have to. I don’t remember much about my life before...certain events, but it was made adamantly clear to me I was the one to break into the Mephistopheles’ vault with your father. And if your dad is who did that, then,” he stops. “Then I guess- Enver, are you really just going to stand here like a fucking statue? Tell me if this is what I think it is or not.”

“You swore!”

“No, the fuck, I did not. Enver-“

“Now you swore twice!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake-“

“So,” Gortash steps forward, a lazy smile dancing on his lips. Gods only know how much this smile costs him. “You have known your son for the entirety of twenty minutes and already taught him a swear word. Really impressive.”

“Father?”

“Oh, listen here, you poignant prick-“

This, Enver thinks, is what family feels like.