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6 months ago
Deadly Ambition (a Dark Urge X Enver Gortash AU)

Deadly Ambition (a Dark Urge x Enver Gortash AU)

U.S. Congressman Enver Gortash has used every tool in his arsenal to climb the political ladder. When he is offered the chance to join Governor Richard Bhaal's presidential campaign as his running-mate, he jumps at the opportunity. But all of Enver's research and machinations failed to prepare him to meet the true mastermind behind the Bhaal campaign: Bhaal's daughter, Elegy.

Read in full on AO3

Rating: Explicit (Eventual Explicit Sexual Content/Smut and Graphic Violence) Relationship Tags: Enver Gortash/The Dark Urge; Enver Gortash/Original Female Character Content Tags: Eventual Smut; Graphic Depictions of Violence; Spoilers for Quest: The Dark Urge; Spoilers for Act 3; Modern Alternate Universe; Romance; Sexual Tension and Flirting; Political Campaigns; Blackmail and Subterfuge; Implied/Referenced Rape/Sexual Assault and Child Abuse (Canon-Typical); Unhealthy Relationships; Villain-focused Story

Chapter 3: On the Road (AO3 Link; Word count: 5.1k)

She pulled out the third chair at the table and sat in one fluid motion. “Gentlemen. I wanted us to have some time to talk because, while we all may have different reasons for it, we share a common goal. And I believe we share the same deep commitment to achieving that goal.”

“Your father in the White House,” Ketheric said, his voice a low rasp. It was the first time he had spoken since their introduction.

“Precisely. And while I'm certainly doing my best to run a brilliant campaign, there's more we can do. And the Absolute will help us.”

When Enver walked into campaign headquarters after a week on the road, he expected a warm welcome: a smile, a comment about how well his speeches went, congratulations for the favorable press coverage he had secured. Instead, Elegy Bhaal barely glanced at him and then turned back to the iPad on the desk in front of her.

“How was Texas?” she said without looking up.

“Hot. Unbearably so.”

“That does happen.” She frowned at something on the screen and traced something with her finger before swiping decisively.

When she still didn't look up, Enver settled into one of the armchairs, stretching his legs out in front of him.

Her finger swiped again, and she nodded to herself. “Are you ready for the Midwest trip?” she said to him.

“My tour of the flyover states? Of course,” he drawled.

Her eyes narrowed, but she was still looking at the screen, not him. Today she wore a sleek black sheath dress and a delicate string of pearls around her neck, her hair smooth and straight. Enver had yet to see Elegy Bhaal look anything less than perfectly composed.

“If you say ‘flyover states’ again anywhere outside of this office, I will flay you alive,” she said coolly. Even then she didn't look at him.

“Do you promise?” he said, his lips curling into a smirk when her gray eyes finally shifted to him.

“I promise. In fact, I'm joining you for this leg so I can keep an eye on you.”

His smirk widened into a full grin. “How lucky I am.”

He caught the briefest hint of a smile on her lips before she looked down at the screen again and swiped. “I didn’t realize I’d have to make sure you don’t offend Midwestern voters along the way, but I will,” she sighed. “Are you up to speed on the itinerary?”

He waved a hand. “Of course. Auto manufacturing tours, photo ops at small businesses, and rallies at every college we could find. We have my remarks ready.”

“The youth vote is important,” she said lightly, almost absentmindedly. “And I think you’ll do well on college campuses. But just a warning, Enver, if there is even a hint of you getting too comfortable with a co-ed, I promise again that will flay you alive, and it won’t be in a fun away.”

She looked at him now, fully focusing on him for the first time. It was easy to see how she used that cold stare to keep people in line. But he smiled back at her.

“You’re worried I’ll be tempted to spend my extremely limited free time with college students? God, why would I?”

Elegy closed the case of her iPad with a decisive snap. “The last thing this campaign needs is a sex scandal.”

He huffed a laugh. “I promise I have no interest in a quick fuck with someone half my age. The risk is immense, and I’d be bored to tears.”

Enver much preferred someone he could match wits with. Someone with spirit. Someone who understood how the world worked.

She kept him fixed in her gaze for a few moments longer, seemingly assessing whether the topic required further discussion. Finally, she raised one eyebrow and shrugged gracefully.

“Good. Then I’ll see you on the plane tomorrow morning. Don’t be late.”

Her words clearly were meant as a dismissal, but Enver remained seated.

“I’m almost insulted that you think I would be late for something as delightful as a flight on a private plane,” he mused.

Elegy picked up her iPad, cell phone, and a few paper files before walking around to the front of the desk. She looked down at Enver with a glimmer of curiosity in her gaze.

“I thought a private plane would be old hat for the protégé of Vincent Bane.”

At that, he laughed outright. “And you think he’s eager to share, even with those he mentors? I’ve enjoyed it a few times, true. But don’t forget, I’m a man of the people.”

“Of course, Cinderella. You’ll feel right at home when we switch to a bus, then,” she said dryly.

“I’m sure I will. It sounds positively humble in comparison.”

She hummed noncommittally, then looked down at him and smiled. “Get out of my office, Enver.”

He stood, and it amused him that her pale eyes now had to travel upwards to meet his gaze. It had no effect on her cool demeanor or her seemingly unshakeable confidence.

It only made her smile sharpen.

“I want to review your remarks for Detroit on the plane,” she said. “Make sure they’re good.”

“They are,” he responded easily. But his eyes lingered on her mouth for half a second too long, and he found himself wondering idly what her wicked lips and teeth would feel like against his neck.

Elegy noticed. She barely moved, but she focused on him with a renewed alertness that reminded Enver of a predator catching the scent of new prey.

“We’ll see if you can meet my standards,” she said, still smiling. “Now get out.”

⋅--------------------------✧--------------------------⋅

A day later, Enver sat in a Detroit hotel suite across a table from decorated war hero and retired general Ketheric Thorm.

Ketheric had campaigned for Bhaal before, and he was scheduled to speak at the biggest Michigan rally scheduled for this trip, so Enver wasn’t surprised to meet him. He had been surprised when Elegy had mentioned that she wanted the three of them to meet privately before they met with the advance team.

But in the few weeks since he had been announced as Bhaal’s VP candidate, Enver had found himself agreeing with Elegy’s decisions at every turn. Thanks to this newfound trust, when Elegy demanded that he and Ketheric both hand her their cell phones, he merely arched an eyebrow instead of telling her to fuck off.

Elegy stood in front of him, holding her hand out expectantly.

Ketheric Thorm decisively placed his phone on the table with a quiet grunt.

Enver glanced at him. Despite his age, the retired general boasted a full head of hair and a robust beard, all steely gray in color and neatly combed. His heavy-lidded eyes watched them carefully, but Enver saw a begrudging respect on his face when the older man looked at Elegy. Ketheric barely disguised his suspicion when he looked at Enver.

With a small sigh, Enver placed his cell phone in Elegy’s waiting hand.

She promptly produced her own phone, picked up Ketheric’s, walked towards the open hotel safe, and shut them inside.

“Is that really necessary?” Enver grumbled.

“This is an important conversation,” she said as she walked back towards them. “I wouldn’t want you to be distracted.”

The lightly mocking tone of her voice never failed to both irritate and amuse him. Based on the half-smile on her face, she was well aware.

She pulled out the third chair at the table and sat in one fluid motion. “Gentlemen. I wanted us to have some time to talk because, while we all may have different reasons for it, we share a common goal. And I believe we share the same deep commitment to achieving that goal.”

“Your father in the White House,” Ketheric said, his voice a low rasp. It was the first time he had spoken since their introduction.

“Precisely. And while I'm certainly doing my best to run a brilliant campaign, there's more we can do. And the Absolute will help us.”

Enver recalled the night after his announcement as Bhaal's running mate, when Elegy leaned forward from her perch on her desk with a gleam in her eye.

“You said Ravengard doesn't take cybersecurity seriously, and the current administration is no better. They've all but ignored it. We can use that to our advantage,” she had said.

He sipped his scotch, savoring the smoky flavor as it burned its way down his throat. “Forgive me, my dear, but I don't see how a group of crackpot conspiracy theorists advances our cause.” Nevertheless, he found himself drawn towards her, curious where her thoughts would lead.

“It will if ‘the Absolute’ becomes a real threat. And we can make the Absolute a real threat.”

“How?” he responded skeptically. “Don't tell me that you have friends among the Absolute.”

“Oh, I have many friends.” She grinned. “But don't worry, dear Enver. I'll come up with a plan. You just need to keep being your handsome, charming self.”

They had said their goodbyes shortly afterwards and Elegy hadn't mentioned it again, until now.

“I've spoken with you both separately, but it was time to bring the three of us together,” she said.

Enver sighed, drumming his fingers on the table. “Please explain how our campaign will be helped by the people who are convinced that aliens live among us and they've put worms in our brains to control us. And that the government is hiding the proof of all of it.”

“Some of them believe it's devils, not aliens, if I'm not mistaken,” Elegy replied with a smirk. “And I was getting to that. Members of the Absolute frequently threaten to hack into government systems and reveal this so-called ‘Absolute Truth.’ Intelligence and law enforcement haven’t taken them seriously, of course, because they appear to lack… well, any kind of organization, really.”

Ketheric nodded, something Enver noted with surprise.

“They could be a real threat if they had the right information and the right skills… or at least, if people believe that they do,” Elegy continued. “It’s simple enough. General Thorm will graciously provide the national security information we need, and I will ensure the attack happens.”

Enver raised his eyebrows. “What? You will?”

His skepticism failed to ruffle her feathers; her voice remained as cool as ever. “What, a girl can't have hobbies? Don't fret, Enver. There will be intermediaries, and nothing will be traced back to us. I promise.”

He stared at her, struggling to assess whether he had walked into a situation likely to land him in federal prison for the rest of his life or an opportunity that might get him elected President of the United States by the time he turned fifty.

Elegy met his gaze steadily.

“You’re quite serious? You believe that this can be done without anything incriminating us?”

“And while making sure the Absolute gets credit for it, yes. I’m quite confident.”

That much is obvious, he thought to himself. She truly believed she could carry out a conspiracy to lead them to victory. The sheer arrogance of it was astounding.

He also found it incredibly attractive, and he suspected that Elegy was counting on it.

Out loud, he said, “Let's make a wager, then, since you’re so confident. What do I get if you're wrong?”

“What else could you possibly want from me, Enver?” She widened her eyes, the picture of innocence.

“Some kind of compensation for wrecking my political career, but you'll be in no position to give it,” he said with a scowl.

She tilted her head to the side. "Surely there must be something else you have in mind, then, since you suggested a wager.”

He sighed. “Regrettably, most of what comes to mind would be difficult for you to accomplish from prison. Still, I would like some form of reassurance–”

Ketheric loudly cleared his throat.

“There’s no need to concern yourself with the technical details, Congressman,” he said, somehow making the title sound like an insult. “Miss Bhaal and I will see to that. You only need to worry about your role.”

“Which is?” he asked, a little too curtly.

From underneath the table, he felt a sharp nudge against his foot. He glanced at Elegy and she looked back at him serenely.

“You get to show the country that Stelmane and Ravengard – and the damn Portyr administration – are weak,” Ketheric growled.

Enver frowned, about to interject, when he felt Elegy’s foot brush against his and slowly travel higher up his leg.

He glanced at her again, but she was looking at Ketheric, who continued on, oblivious.

“You get to show that they’ve ignored threats to this country over and over again, but you and Governor Bhaal offer an alternative.”

Elegy’s foot pressed against the fabric of his pant leg, sliding up and down his calf with an intentionality that Enver found hard to ignore, even while Ketheric glowered at him.

“I’m sure that most of your political career has been spent selling bullshit, so it shouldn’t be too hard for you to say something true for once,” the general concluded.

“Thank you for that keen assessment, General,” Enver said, not bothering to keep the sneer out of his voice.

Pain suddenly shot through him as Elegy delivered a swift kick to his shin.

“What the General means to say,” Elegy cut in while Enver clenched his jaw, “is that you have the record, the technical knowledge, and the charm to bring this issue to the forefront and embarrass our adversaries. You get to play the hero. You’ll be the young, dashing candidate offering a solution.” She smiled sweetly at him. “How does that sound?”

The surge of anger he felt warred against the simmering lust that had been slowly building within him, and it took Enver a moment to master his emotions. He fixed his gaze on Elegy, blatantly ignoring the general so he could pour all of his energy into assessing this impressive, irritating, astounding woman.

She patiently endured his scrutiny in silence.

There was enormous risk here, but also enormous potential for reward. All of it hinged on whether he could trust the two people seated beside him.

“I want to see specifics before anything goes forward,” Enver said after a long pause. “Including your plan for ensuring the attack will not be traced to us in any way. And you should understand that if some part of this plan goes awry, I won’t hesitate to save myself.”

Ketheric scoffed, ready to interject his opinion, but Elegy simply held up a hand and the old man fell silent.

“It’s a deal,” she said. “And I wouldn’t expect anything less.” She smiled at him, bestowing not the saccharine expression she had given him a few moments ago but the delightfully wicked grin that he much preferred.

She stood, offering Enver her hand. He rose to his feet and clasped her hand with his own, matching her firm grip.

“Gentlemen, I have high hopes for the three of us,” she purred as he shook her hand. She then shook hands with Ketheric. Finally, under her watchful eyes, the two men begrudgingly shook hands.

“Now then.” She looked at her watch. “We have a meeting to get to.”

⋅--------------------------✧--------------------------⋅

Later that week, Elegy sat at the table near the back of the campaign bus, supposedly re-reading the speech open in front of her against the backdrop of the endless cornfields of Illinois. Their drive today had been flat and boring. Usually that didn’t bother her in the slightest; she prided herself on her razor-sharp focus. Today, however, she needed something more interesting to watch.

Because she kept finding herself looking at the back of Enver Gortash’s neck.

It was a silly thing to fixate on, perhaps. But he looked a little too appealing in his black button-down shirt, with the way his tan deepened with every outdoor rally they had and his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. His feet were propped up on the seat in front of him, something that might have seemed insufferably arrogant if he weren’t a vice-presidential candidate. From this perspective, she could see he was looking at his phone. Based on the speed of his scrolling, he was unlikely to be looking at anything important.

She watched him for a minute. Then she swiped open her own phone and typed out, Come read through the edits I’ve made to your speech.

She hit send, and a few seconds later Enver’s thumb paused in its scrolling. Elegy calmly looked down at her laptop right before he turned around to look at her.

Her tone might have seemed insufferably arrogant to any other candidate. Enver seemed to like it.

She scrolled through the speech one more time as he approached, refusing to look up until he slid into the seat across the small table from her. When she finally deigned to acknowledge him, he grinned.

Enver had an uncanny talent for making someone feel like they were the only person in the room. It was a useful skill for any politician to have. Even though this wasn’t the first time Elegy had noticed it, she wasn’t entirely immune; she felt the force of his charisma almost as if it was a physical thing, pulling her ever-so-slightly towards him.

She wondered how many people he had fooled into getting lost in those dark eyes.

“You wanted to see me?” he said cheerfully.

Elegy wordlessly pushed the laptop across the table to him. Enver nodded and made himself comfortable as he started to read, leaning back in the seat and stretching out his legs until they bumped into hers. She resisted the urge to deliver another punishing kick to his shin, as she had the other day. After all, if she made a habit of it, she’d lose the element of surprise.

He jostled her leg again even as he pretended to focus only on the speech. Elegy let out a small sigh, lifted one foot, and pressed her stiletto heel into his leg just above the ankle.

Enver barely flinched, only exhaling a little more forcefully than normal, before glancing at her over the top of the laptop screen. The look he gave her was momentary, but the heat in his eyes was remarkable. She looked back at him wearing a bored expression, even while she enjoyed the delicious buzz running through her body.

Playing these little games with him was an objectively terrible decision, but they entertained her immensely.

“It’s good,” Enver said after a minute of silence. After once last sweep over the screen, he moved the laptop to the side, making a show of giving her his full attention.

“Good.” She hadn’t moved her foot, although she was no longer digging her heel into him.

“The event with Ketheric went well the other day,” he remarked quietly.

She raised her eyebrows, curious where his seemingly innocuous comment would lead. Thankfully, she had enough faith in him to trust that he wouldn’t casually mention the full extent of their time with Ketheric.

He continued on when she remained silent. “I’m curious, Elegy: why didn’t you choose Ketheric as your VP? Decorated war hero, nationwide name recognition, born and raised in a swing state, et cetera.”

“You think I should have run a campaign for two widowed old men? Perish the thought.” She pulled her laptop back towards her. “It’s bad enough that you’re unmarried.”

“And yet you still picked me.” He flashed her another smile, clearly pleased with himself.

“Yes, and I’m working very hard to turn you into America’s most eligible bachelor.” She eyed his chest, noting that he perhaps had unbuttoned a few too many buttons today, not that she minded at the moment. “But it would have been more convenient if you had an airhead wife and a baby that we could bring out for photos,” she added with a sigh.

He huffed a laugh. “Is that what you were?”

While he spoke in a low voice and no one sat close to them, the question still forced her to check their surroundings with a swift glance. She shot him a frosty look for his presumptuousness.

“The baby, I mean, not the airhead wife,” he smirked.

“I caught your meaning, thank you.” Her eyes flickered to the window; she still saw endless fields. She could sense him studying her, waiting to dissect her answer, so she drew out the silence until her thoughts had settled.

“I suppose I was that, in a manner of speaking. Not a child but a tool.” She turned back to Enver and smiled sardonically. “Not as a baby, though; I was older when he first dragged me around on the campaign trail. He realized he needed me after he lost his first run for president. He had to resurrect his career, and emphasizing family values helped.”

“Hmmm,” was all he said, although she saw a kind of recognition in his gaze. It was precisely that glimmer of understanding that led her to answer his question in the first place.

He drummed his fingers against the table, and then added, “I’m surprised your father never remarried.”

 “I had a stepmother once, but it didn’t last. He’s not really the romantic sort, my father,” she said dryly. “Not that most politicians are. Regardless… I won’t be the first daughter to take on the duties of a First Lady.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll do a wonderful job as First Lady.” The warm baritone of his voice dipped lower in pitch. “I’m sure that’s not all you’ll be doing, though.”

She smiled. “Enver, if you think you’ll need help learning how to be Vice President, just say it.”

He laughed, tilting his head back, and the movement drew her eyes back to his neck and chest. Then he leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and shifting his legs to slide one knee in between hers.

“My dearest Elegy, I’m certain I’ll need you,” he drawled.

His melodic voice transformed the sentence into a masterpiece; the near growl of her name fed a lazy, rolling heat in her core. 

She liked Enver Gortash; she really did. She liked that he was an effective politician, intelligent and ruthless, and she liked how his dark eyes followed her every movement and how he said her name. She didn’t bother with lying to herself; she already had contemplated the many ways he could be useful to her outside of the campaign.

But right now he wanted a reaction, and she was determined not to give it to him.

“I’ll consider it,” she said blithely. “But that’s all I needed from you. You can go back to your seat now.”

His eyes glittered dangerously, telling her that the game was far from over, but she was satisfied to win this round. Elegy smiled again, this time with a false brightness that she knew he saw through and therefore found most irritating.

“Thank you so much for your help, Congressman,” she simpered, loudly enough for others to hear.

“You’re very welcome,” he bit out. She practically could see his devious mind spinning and strategizing, but finally he stood and turned away from her.

Her eyes followed him as he walked back to his seat. This time, when he glanced over his shoulder to look at her, as she had guessed he would, she didn’t look away.

⋅--------------------------✧--------------------------⋅

In downtown St. Louis, Enver shut the door to his hotel room with a small groan of relief. As good as he was at campaigning – and he was good – he hardly had a moment to himself in the past few days. He tossed his suit jacket on the bed, loosened his tie, and reached for the bottle of whiskey he had left on the dresser. After a meet-and-greet with small business owners, donor calls, tours of two college campuses, three interviews, and a fundraising dinner, he needed a drink.

He had just sat at the edge of the bed, glass in hand, when his phone buzzed.

Turn on the TV. Channel 5, Elegy’s text read.

Enver rolled his eyes, but he reached for the remote. He sipped his whiskey as he hit the power button and the number 5.

He watched for about thirty seconds before texting back, Which room?

What do you mean? she replied.

Don’t play dumb, it doesn’t suit you. Which room are you in? He hit send and downed the rest of his drink.

There was a longer pause before his phone lit up again: 1113.

He could practically feel her icy glare through the phone. He smirked to himself, grabbed his room key and the bottle of whiskey, and stepped into the hallway.

Elegy’s room was at the end of the hall. She opened the door before he could knock and immediately delivered the withering look he had anticipated.

She had also attended the dinner tonight, fulfilling her role as the potential First Daughter, and they both had been busy working the room. They scarcely had time to look at each other. Enver took a moment now to appreciate the image of her, dressed in yet another of her well-tailored dresses, this time dark red and with a deeper neckline than she would have worn in the daytime. It clung to her curves in a way that momentarily stole his focus.

“What are you doing,” she hissed under her breath, and she practically pulled him inside before shutting the door quickly. He grinned in response to her anger, remembering his purpose.

“I thought we could watch the news together, that’s all. And surely we both deserve a nightcap after that interminable dinner.” He looked around the room, noting the dining table and sofa. “Why, pray tell, are your hotel rooms always bigger than mine?”

She scowled at him. “Because I typically host all of our meetings, as you are known to become insufferable when you don’t have time alone to brood, or whatever the hell it is that you do. Now, shut up, we’re missing things.” She stalked towards the TV with a barely concealed frenetic energy.

Enver watched her with amusement, even though he felt the same. He walked towards the bar cabinet – another benefit of her suite – and fished out two rocks glasses while listening for the news. She had changed the channel to CNN, and the anchor’s voice rang out with dispassionate precision.

“…announced that the cyberattack occurred approximately four hours ago, targeting the Federal Aviation Administration’s Notice to Air Missions system and disrupting all air travel within the United States. While the FAA and FBI have announced they are still investigating the origins of the attack, a group known as the Absolute is already claiming responsibility on social media. But the White House has cautioned against jumping to conclusions.”

The screen cut to the White House briefing room, where a bearded man in a blue suit stood behind the podium, speaking in a wheedling tone. Volothamp Geddarm, White House Press Secretary, CNN helpfully annotated.

Enver laughed under his breath and began pouring the whiskey.

“President Portyr urges the public to remain calm while the FAA investigates. At this time there is no evidence, none whatsoever, to suggest a malicious attack–”

“God, Volo is such a buffoon,” Elegy muttered. “I simply cannot believe that they don’t have a better option.” Enver joined her in front of the TV and offered her one of the glasses.

“Cheers, my dear,” he said. She shot him a dark look but accepted the drink nevertheless.

Her eyes lingered on him until a reporter asked a question that was met with sputtering denial.

“Well, I – once again, there is no evidence that the followers of the so-called Absolute have the capability – it is absurd, really – let us not be hasty,” Volo said. “The President remains steadfast against the real threats to our nation, and we will not give into fearmongering!”

Elegy huffed in amusement and sipped her whiskey. The cameras cut back to the newsroom.

“In response to the White House, Governor Bhaal’s presidential campaign has urged that the potential threat of cyberattacks by the Absolute be taken seriously and highlighted the Portyr-Stelmane Administration’s reluctance to address cybersecurity in the past. Let’s take a look,” the anchor said evenly.

The screen changed again, this time displaying footage of Gale speaking into a cluster of microphones, with Gale Dekarios, Bhaal-Gortash Campaign Spokesperson imposed underneath him. Glancing to the side, Enver watched Elegy tense, her eyes bright.

“Governor Bhaal certainly agrees that this is not a time for hasty conclusions and urges the FAA and FBI to thoroughly investigate,” Gale declared, his expression grave. “However, the White House’s response to this apparent attack is just one example of many that illustrates how President Portyr and Vice President Stelmane are woefully unprepared for the security threats of the modern era.”

“Oh, good boy,” Elegy murmured against her glass. She took another sip and then a wicked smirk flickered across her lips as she looked at Enver. “He’s sleeping with Mystra, you know.”

“With Mystra?” he repeated, a touch incredulous but already starting to grin. “Gale is sleeping with the Secretary of State?”

“He’s ambitious, our Gale,” she said, matching his grin.

He eyed her as he drank deeply. “You seem to collect ambitious people,” he mused. “And they all follow you around like lovesick puppies.”

She laughed, and it only added to the feeling that there was a crackling energy between them. He stepped closer.

“Does that bother you, Enver?” Her smile was razor-sharp now, her eyes alight with mischief and arrogance.

“Of course not.” He took another sip and then set his empty glass on the dresser. The alcohol was sending a pleasant warmth coursing through his veins, but it was nowhere near as intoxicating as the buzz he felt when he locked eyes with the scheming creature beside him. “I appreciate ambition. I’d be a terrible politician if I didn’t.”

She shifted towards him, close enough that she had to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact with him. “No, Enver. Does it bother you that they follow me around?”

He looked down at her, thinking that he was ready to wipe the taunting smile off of her face, when the TV caught his attention.

“We have breaking news: the FBI has released a statement stating that their preliminary investigation of the cyberattack on the Federal Aviation Administration shows the attack can be attributed to the anti-government group commonly known as the Absolute. The Director of National Intelligence, Jaheira Harper, is expected in the White House briefing room momentarily…”

Enver looked back at Elegy, almost laughing. She raised her glass.

“To our success,” she said with a teasing edge to her words.

She poured most of the remaining amber liquid into her mouth before tipping the glass towards him to offer him the last swallow.

Enver accepted her offer, his eyes never leaving her face as he drained the glass and placed it on the dresser with a small thud.

“To our success,” he repeated, letting his voice drop low, full of heat and promise.

As soon as the words left his lips, Elegy grabbed his tie, pulled him towards her, and captured his mouth with hers.

[A/N: Thank you so much to @verbenaa for beta reading!! Stay tuned for more.. :)]


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6 months ago

A House, A Home (The Dark Urge x Enver Gortash)

After returning from the House of Hope, Ta'av, the Dark Urge, seeks out Enver Gortash to tell him what she learned and lets him draw her back into the mystery of their shared past.

series: Part 5 of sex and violence, one is just the other (Chronologically following I Knew You When and Bad Idea)

Rating: Explicit Relationship Tags: Enver Gortash/The Dark Urge; Enver Gortash/Original Female Character Content Tags: Smut / Explicit Sexual Content; Romance; Angst and Feels; Yearning; Spoilers for Quest: The Dark Urge; Spoilers for Act 3; The Dark Urge Resists the Urge; Unhealthy Relationship; Emotional Manipulation; Emotional Rollercoaster; Rough sex; P in V sex; Vaginal Fingering

Click to read on AO3 (Part 2 of 3; Word count: 6.7k)

Ta’av glanced around. The bookshelf carried books, scrolls, and trinkets of all kinds; stacks of papers and writing materials sat on the desk; and the vanity table held a small, gilded chest and containers of what looked to be cosmetics. Clothes, she had to presume, would be in the wardrobe.

An entire room full of personal possessions, none of which appeared to belong to Enver.

She looked back at him warily. “And? Which things are mine?”

He folded his arms and leaned against the doorway. “Oh, you’re a clever girl,” he said, his voice low and resonant. “I’m certain you can figure it out.”

Ta’av stood in the upstairs hallway of Enver Gortash’s townhouse, her arms folded, and waited for him to catch up to her. The dimly lit hall was unremarkable, little more than a series of doors that she was itching to open. She wondered which one would offer her a glimpse of her past life. When another moment passed without the thud of footsteps on the stairs, the tiefling decided that she didn’t need to wait. After all, Enver had promised that he had her belongings, which meant that she was more than entitled to reclaim them.

The first door she tried was locked, as was the second. She silently chided herself for hurrying out of the Elfsong with little more than the clothes on her back; she could have made short work of the lock with the right tools. She hadn’t been thinking. The third door also remained locked no matter how hard she pushed or pulled on the doorknob. After a moment of struggle, Ta’av scowled and kicked it.

“The proud and mighty Bhaalspawn, bested by a door,” Enver drawled from the landing.

She whirled to face him. “Don’t,” she snarled.

But he maintained that irritating gleam in his eye and half-smile that told her he liked seeing her this way. He liked playing his little mind games.

A small, traitorous part of her mind whispered that she could still surrender to the calling of her blood, take her revenge by tearing into his flesh, and end his games once and for all.

Ta’av exhaled in a huff and closed her eyes until she was certain the urge would not overpower her. She settled for glaring sullenly at him.

“Would you prefer to continue attacking the doors, or would you like me to show you?” he said mildly.

She gritted her teeth. “Just show me.”

Enver strode towards a door she hadn’t tried, facing towards the back of the house, and withdrew a set of keys from a pocket. As he placed his hand on the doorknob and turned the key, the air shimmered, and a net woven of light revealed itself on the door before fading into nothing.

Ta’av scowled and shifted her weight. She should have known that Enver would have some kind of arcane protection; perhaps she would have noticed if she hadn’t let her temper get the best of her. It was just as well she didn’t make a fool of herself picking the lock.

Enver opened the door and turned towards her expectantly. He remained in the doorway as she approached, forcing her to choose between flattening herself against the doorframe or brushing against him as she passed. She sighed audibly and let her shoulder graze against his. When his hand closed around her arm, she glared at him, unsurprised.

He lightly ran one metal-tipped finger down the side of her face and along her jaw. “I hope this experience is… illuminating for you.”

Ta’av shivered, and she hated herself for it. She did her best to ignore his smirk while stepping around him into the room beyond.

A canopied bed was the first thing she saw, its linens crisp and unblemished. Windows looked out on what she presumed to be a garden, and a writing desk was positioned to take advantage of the view. On the far side of the room, a wardrobe stood next to a smaller table set underneath a gilded mirror, while a bookshelf was placed on the opposite side, nearest to the door. Each piece of furniture was made of a rich, polished wood and in pristine condition.

Ta’av glanced around. The bookshelf carried books, scrolls, and trinkets of all kinds; stacks of papers and writing materials sat on the desk; and the vanity table held a small, gilded chest and containers of what looked to be cosmetics. Clothes, she had to presume, would be in the wardrobe.

An entire room full of personal possessions, none of which appeared to belong to Enver.

She looked back at him warily. “And? Which things are mine?”

He folded his arms and leaned against the doorway. “Oh, you’re a clever girl,” he said, his voice low and resonant. “I’m certain you can figure it out.”

She glared at the mockery in his voice even as the deep pitch made her stomach somersault. He merely raised his eyebrows in response, so she turned towards the bookshelf and ran her finger over the spines on the books.

Most titles referred to the history of the Sword Coast or Baldur’s Gate specifically, though a few mentioned poetry or anatomy or the arcane arts. The other items crowding the shelf were just as varied: Ta’av touched an intricately crafted golden mask, shaped to resemble a dragon; a small wooden music box; an empty crystal bottle; a detailed map of the city; and a rolled leather case that unfurled to reveal several small, flat knives.

She glanced at Enver once more, but he stared back with a neutral expression, watching and waiting. Reluctantly, she stepped towards the desk.

From the moment she saw the desk, she somehow knew with complete certainty that she would find papers written in her own handwriting. Even so, it was still jarring to see a stack of notes written in the familiar swoops and curls. A few appeared to be written in some kind of code; others contained lists of names, books, tasks, and purchases.

Biting her lip, Ta’av recalled the first note in her handwriting that she had found a few tendays ago: Forgive me, Father, for I cannot help but admire the Chosen of your sworn foe…

The notes here made no mention of gods or Chosen or the end of the world. She yanked open the center drawer to banish the thought from her mind.

Inside, she found a dagger with a jeweled hilt, quills, and folded letters. Each paper she unfolded revealed the same clear script, matching the letter she had received today: Enver’s handwriting. She skimmed over a series of invitations to a patriar’s ball, a public debate, and an appointment at a tailor’s atelier, and then read notes presenting gifts: a silver stiletto dagger, a necklace of sapphire and pearls, fine leather gloves.

Enver hadn’t moved from the doorway, and she could feel his stare digging into her back. She knew without a doubt that he was studying her for any hint of a reaction.

Ta’av reached for the thickest bundle of papers and unfolded it.

A charcoal drawing of her own face stared back at her – a good likeness that depicted her hair as loose and flowing. Her horns arched upwards from her forehead in in precise, clean strokes, and the inlaid metal that decorated her horns was marked in bold lines. Next to them was a note in Enver’s handwriting: Gold, to match your eyes.

And underneath it, in her own handwriting: This one.

Ta’av stared at the drawing and flipped through the next few pages: all were similar sketches with different patterns drawn on her horns. She returned to the first drawing and then turned her head, searching for a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror on the left-hand wall.

Her pale face stared back at her, framed by crimson hair and crowned by horns. The curved lines of gold that wrapped around her horns looked exactly like the sketch she clutched in her hand. She had not considered their origin before; they simply had been a part of her. She hadn’t considered that someone had carved into her horns, someone had poured and shaped the precious metal. Someone had designed it.

And she had agreed, surely, to be adorned in this way, forever.

Black pinpricks crept into the edge of her vision, and she swayed on her feet.

“Careful,” Enver said, suddenly standing behind her and gripping her arms.

It was just a moment of weakness, but he had moved quickly. “I’m fine,” she snapped, dropping the sketches on the desk as if they burned. When he didn’t release her arms, she twisted out of his grasp, spinning to face him.

“It was you who designed and placed the gold on my horns,” Ta’av said, her words teetering between accusation and question.

He remained unfazed. “Yes. At your request, of course.” He reached out to trace the golden inlay with his thumb.

“Why, because we wanted to match?” Her voice caught as she jerked her head back, away from the touch of his gold-adorned hand. “And you said – you told me you had ‘some of’ my things!”

She recalled how casually he had told her, a few days ago: I still have some of your things there… Impractical things, mostly. Gowns that would surely rot away in the Temple of Bhaal…

He gestured around the room and spoke with the air of someone demonstrating great patience. “And I do, clearly.”

“Some of–” Her voice broke off into a short, high-pitched laugh as she glanced around the room. “This is not just some of my things, is it? I practically lived here, didn’t I? You’re a fucking liar.”

The venom in her tone made his expression grow colder. “You wouldn’t have believed me, had I told you more than that.”

“You mean that you wouldn’t have gotten what you wanted,” she scoffed. “If I had left. If you had scared me away.”

He clenched his jaw. “And you, my dear, wouldn’t have learned about your past.”

“Don’t pretend that you’re trying to do what’s best for me!”

Enver closed the distance between them and grabbed her arm again, and this time his gauntleted hand closed around it like a vice. His voice dipped so low that it was almost a growl. “Don’t pretend that you don’t want to be here when you have sought me out every time.”

“Let go of me,” Ta’av hissed, even as conflicting desires warred inside of her. They were so close that she could feel the rise and fall of his chest.

Neither of them moved. The silence lingered.

She took a deep breath, trying to smother the flames of her temper, and tried again.

“Let go of me,” she said evenly, “and leave me alone. For now.” His stare bore into her, and she made herself inhale and exhale slowly to keep herself calm. “Give me some time to… look through my things. Or…” She raised her chin and strengthened her stance. “Or I’ll leave, and I won’t come back.”

He remained silent, assessing what she said and whether she was bluffing.

Ta’av was reasonably sure that she could get away from him if she had to, with blades and magic at her disposal. She also knew, without a doubt, that the Chosen of Bane could do more than grab her arm if he truly wanted to keep her here against her will.

She was betting that was not what he wanted. He wanted her to want to stay.

She wanted him to want her to stay, too.

“Why?” he said curtly.

She huffed a laugh and saw his eyes flicker to her mouth. “Because I can’t think like this, Enver.”

They stared at each other, both irritated and yet unwilling to pull away.

“Very well,” he said after a long pause. “If you insist–”

“And I do,” Ta’av interrupted, and his jaw clenched.

“–then I will allow you some time alone, and afterwards you will join me for dinner.”

She rolled her eyes. “Fine. And you will answer my questions while we eat.”

“Fine,” he said through gritted teeth.

Yet he still didn’t move.

“Is it difficult to let go of me?” she taunted, shoving his shoulder for emphasis.

A flash of emotion passed over his face before he shifted, bringing both of his hands up to cradle her head and neck and tilt her face up towards him. “More than you could possibly know,” he said, his voice rumbling like thunder.

Ta’av felt like her heart stopped, and for a moment the world fell away until there was only the two of them, their faces only a breath apart.

And then he abruptly dropped his hands and stormed out of the room.

She had to lean against the corner post of the bed, momentarily stunned. Her mind could barely process the surge of emotions she felt. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to untangle them.

With a quiet sigh, she nudged the door shut and looked around the room once more.

She eyed the desk warily. If anything was likely to contain more heart-wrenching discoveries, it was that; perhaps it was better to save it for last. She walked towards the vanity table instead.

The small chest was locked, but the table’s center drawer was littered with hair pins, and it only took a few moments to twist open the lock. A small fortune in jewels greeted her: jewelry of all kinds, decorative combs and pins, and a few loose gems. Most surely came from Enver, but Ta’av wondered if some were stolen, lifted from bodies dead or alive. The memories remained stubbornly out of reach.

The other side of the table held small pots of cosmetics and brushes. A faceted glass bottle contained perfume; she applied a drop to her wrist and breathed deeply. She was greeted by the fragrance of orange blossoms and some kind of spice that she couldn’t name.

The scent reminded her of laughter, and drinking wine in a rooftop garden, and…

Ta’av set the bottle down with a sigh. Something else that was lost.

The person who kept her things here – who lived here? – didn’t appear to be a Bhaalspawn, favored child of the Lord of Murder. She appeared to be just a woman, a woman who was doted on and kept occupied with life’s little frivolities.

She opened the doors of the wardrobe. No bloody cultist robes or decomposing bodies jumped out at her; there were only beautiful things. Gowns, indeed. Enver hadn’t lied. Her pale hand glided over plum-colored lace, golden silk, and black velvet. In the drawers, she found the most expensive-looking undergarments she had ever seen.

Pulling open more drawers, Ta’av found yet another set of knives and a roll of silken rope. The next one contained manacles, the cuffs made of a thick leather, along with a collar, a length of black silk, a few small bottles, gold-plated chains–

She quickly shut the drawer. She could think of multiple uses for those items, and if she let her thoughts travel in that direction, she feared she would never get them back.

Slowly, she turned her head back towards the desk.

This time, she lowered herself into the chair and ran her hands along the edges of the polished wood.

“Who were you, Ta’avrathim?” she whispered.

Her hands searched for the answer, pulling on metal knobs and rifling through stacks of papers. She found more invitations, rough sketches, and a few folded broadsheets of the Baldur’s Mouth Gazette, but little else of note.

There had to be something more.

She started tapping, pushing, prying, and twisting, searching for anything hidden. Nothing moved or revealed itself, no matter how hard she tried. She had nearly given up when her fingers brushed against a small disk of stone embedded on the underside of the desk. But even that remained stubbornly still. Ta’av groaned and leaned her forehead on the desk, hoping but not quite believing that the scent of the wood would unleash some memory.

All it did was remind her that despite months of apparent emptiness, this entire room was spotless. Not a mote of dust could be found.

She wondered if Enver visited this room after her disappearance. Or had it remained dark and dusty, sealed away like a tomb? Did he have it cleaned only when he learned of her survival? Perhaps when he invited her here tonight?

Was a Bhaalspawn’s room difficult to keep clean? How much blood had she smeared on the carpet, on the bedlinens, on the doorknob?

Something unexpectedly clicked into place at the back of her mind.

That is what she had forgotten: her blood. Even though it was filled with little reminders of extravagance, this wasn’t the desk of a patriar or well-to-do merchant. It belonged to a child of Bhaal, even if his name was nowhere to be found.

Without thinking, Ta’av brought her thumb to her mouth and pressed the flesh of it into her sharp canine until the skin broke. She pressed her bloody thumb against the stone circle on the underside of the desk.

Soundlessly, a small compartment slid open. She reached in and withdrew a thin, leather-bound journal.

Ta’av pulled her knees up to her chest, licked her thumb clean, and began to rifle pages filled with her own handwriting.

I have no expectation that my thoughts will remain my own forever, the first line said. But for now, here, these are mine alone.

Some entries consumed several pages; others consisted of just one or two sentences. Ta’av skimmed over the first several pages and then paused.

Enver delights in gifting me pretty things; he always has. Sometimes I still think he forgets that while I may indulge him, he will never make me into his pet. There is no taming the Urge. There is only containment. Someday it will burst free. He doesn’t believe me. He is a fool. But he is my fool. Mine.

The next page read: I could drown the world in a sea of blood and it still would not be enough.

Near the middle of the journal, she found a passage where the loops of her handwriting morphed into a hurried scrawl.

He told me today of the cause of his time in the Hells, the truth of it. Knowing that those vile worms still live, that they dare to call themselves parents, fills me with unbearable fury. My blood sings for their deaths. They are unworthy of my best work, swift and beautiful. They deserve endless agony. But Enver has forbidden me. He insists they deserve a harsher punishment than death. He underestimates the misery I can inflict, the pain I can design, the number of digits and organs I can remove and still leave them alive and screaming. If he had tried to give me an order as my ally, as the Chosen of Bane, I would have brought back every piece of their corpses except for their hands in order to spite his precious Lord. I am still tempted. But he did not. He asks. I should not listen to his honeyed words, his honeyed tongue. I will need to claim others to appease my Father. Even that may not be enough. It will not be enough to appease me. I would expect him to understand. They hurt what is mine.

Her mind reeled. She read the entry a second time.

The idea that Enver’s parents could still be alive had not crossed her mind. And the likelihood that her past self, Chosen of Bhaal, had let them live…?

After a long pause, Ta’av turned the page. This entry was written in a calmer hand.

We reached an understanding, after much strife. Enver submitted to my blade, accepting my mark on his flesh. Enver’s mark on me will be much more expensive, of course.

She stared at the words, letting their meaning slowly sink into her mind.

Her mark on his flesh. His mark on her.

Eventually, Ta’av reached up to touch her horns. She gently traced the pattern of gold as if she needed reassurance that it existed. She needed something tangible to prove the words and broken memories were real, not a mere fever dream.

She didn’t know how long she had sat there before finally closing the journal and slipping it back inside its compartment. A tap of her fingers sealed it again. She stood, feeling dazed, and let instinct guide her out of the room.

A door was ajar further down the hallway. Her feet carried her towards it without hesitation. When she reached the doorway, she leaned against the frame and looked into the room beyond.

The office, or library, somehow soothed her on sight. The small portion of the walls not covered by bookshelves or the large fireplace were painted a dark green, complementing the dark wood of the furniture. The shelves were stuffed to the brim with books and scrolls and odd mechanical or arcane mechanisms, but the desk at the end of the room was nearly bare. Behind the desk, looking out at the garden, was Enver. She watched him lift a thin cigar to his mouth and take a drag. He exhaled, the smoke dancing around him before twisting away through the open window, and he walked to the other side of the room with an agitated energy.

He had just lifted the cigar to his lips for another drag when he noticed her. The tension in his stance remained the same, but he stopped his pacing. He inhaled and exhaled slowly, returning her stare. He cut a striking figure, with his raven-colored hair and black attire.

Ta’av didn’t care for the smell of the tobacco, but she couldn’t deny that the smoke suited him. Its tendrils seemed to caress his face before dissipating.

“Well?” he said brusquely.

Many emotions and questions tangled together in her mind, but there was one that burned most urgently.

“Are your parents still alive?”

He didn’t flinch; his guard was already raised, his expression shuttered. “Yes.”

Bhaal’s former Chosen slowly sucked in a breath as the strangest mix of relief and heartache swelled in her chest. “You asked me not to kill them, and I didn’t?”

He raised an eyebrow, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “Yes, the fact that they remain alive usually does mean you did not kill them.”

She widened her eyes slightly. “I’ve seen what clerics can do. You can never be too sure.”

Enver hummed in amusement as he took another drag of his cigar then leaned over to extinguish it in a small dish. His eyes returned to her, taking in the way she pressed her body against the door frame.

“A curious question. Did you find what you were looking for?”

“For now,” she said warily.

That drew a laugh from him. He walked towards her slowly. “I’m not revoking your access.” He stopped just on the other side of the doorway. “But for now, you promised to join me for dinner.”

Ta’av nodded, trying to appear aloof, even as the nearness of him set her heart racing yet again. She had thought, foolishly, that their tryst in the dining room would have weakened the force that pulled her towards him. But her earlier rage had faded, and her hands had run across gifts of silk and lace and leather, and her mind kept returning to what she had read about making her mark on his skin.

She wanted to know where it was.

Enver reached forward to brush his thumb across her cheek, and her breath caught.

There was the slightest lift of his eyebrows as he noticed, and a new spark lit his dark eyes. His hand immediately cupped her face and then slid further to tangle in her crimson hair.

“Whatever could be on your mind, my dear?” he drawled. The low baritone of his voice sent a rush of heat to her belly, and the palm of his hand was warm against her neck.

This wasn’t why she had come here, she told herself. But what did it matter? She was here. She could die tomorrow, or later this tenday, and depriving herself would make not a whit of difference.

Ta’av leaned into his touch.

“Mm, I’m thinking of what I’ve learned, that’s all,” she said lightly.

“Do share.” He stepped fully into the doorway while curling his fingers to lightly rake his metal claws against her scalp. She shivered, and his lips curled in smug satisfaction. It was yet another irritating yet appealing reminder of how well he knew her body.

And she had once known his.

“I learned many things,” she mused. She let her gaze drift down his neck and chest before returning to his face. She wanted to watch his reaction closely. “I learned about your many gifts… and I learned that you let me mark your skin.”

His eyes narrowed with interest, a smirk lingering around his mouth. “My, my. You have been busy. And how, exactly, did you learn this important information?”

She shifted to lean into him, pressing her body against his at a leisurely pace and bringing her mouth to his ear. His response was immediate, combing his fingers through her hair while bringing his other hand to the small of her back. She grinned and lifted her hand to drag her nails down from his ear to his neck and chest.

“I would tell you,” she murmured, brushing her lips against his ear, “but we’re very late for dinner.”

He exhaled in indignation and grabbed at her, but not quickly enough. Ta’av ducked out of the way, laughing.

“How funny you are,” he said dryly. He lunged for her again, but she jerked backwards into the hallway.

“Yes, I know, I’m quite charming. But you promised me dinner.” She flashed him a wicked grin.

Enver sighed in a way that said he was being very indulgent and stepped into the hallway after her. “Very well. Dinner, and answers to your questions, as you made me promise earlier.” He stepped towards her. “And you will answer my questions, as well.”

Ta’av took a step backwards and immediately realized she had turned the wrong way; Enver stood between her and the stairs. “I didn’t agree to answer your questions.”

“It is considered standard practice in polite conversation, my dear,” he said silkily, “but very well. Make me a proposition. What do you want in exchange?”

Her eyes narrowed when he advanced again. Without realizing it, she sank into a defensive stance as she slid backwards in response. She pursed her lips.

“Take off your coat,” she said finally.

Enver’s eyebrows shot up. “I beg your pardon?”

“You’re going to take off your coat while we eat dinner,” she declared. “I came here to have dinner with you, Enver, not the Archduke of Baldur’s Gate. This is…” She waved her hand dismissively at his ornate ensemble. “Too much.”

He laughed, genuinely amused, and stepped up to her. His smile sharpened as he grabbed her chin.

“Gods, you really are a brat sometimes,” he said in a low voice. She glared, and his grin only widened. “But very well, I accept. We have a deal.”

Ta’av felt like her insides had been replaced by molten metal. She didn’t know – truly, she didn’t know – whether she wanted to cut off his hand for his insolence or move it lower to curl around her throat or her hair, and the insufferable arrogance on his face told her that he knew all of it.

She pushed his arm away, but he simply grabbed her wrist instead. “Come along now,” he taunted, tugging on her arm as he led her down the hallway.

She followed, grasping his wrist in turn and sinking her nails into the section of skin left unprotected by his gods-forsaken gauntlet. He only smirked over his shoulder.

When they returned to the dining room, everything had been straightened and cleaned. Enver released her with a magnanimous proclamation of, “Please, be seated,” which prompted her to cross her arms and scowl while he stepped into the other room.  

The heat within her stuttered as she looked at the precisely aligned silverware. She hardly had spared a thought for the staff he employed. More strangers who knew her, almost certainly, who had seen and heard and cleaned and cooked. Were they Banites – or worse, tadpoled?

Gods, what was she doing?

Enver returned to find her still lost in thought, staring at the engraving on the gilded candlesticks. He stepped behind her and slid his hands up her bare arms.

“Tell me, dearest, are you still standing because I told you to sit down?” he murmured in her ear.

“No,” she lied, too vehemently.

He laughed softly and pulled her back to rest against his chest. His lips brushed against her neck, and she told herself to breathe.

“I’m standing because we made a deal, and you haven’t taken your coat off,” she added.

He responded by kissing her neck, and Ta’av bit her lip to keep from moaning. It was unnerving how quickly he found those certain spots that made her mind blissfully blank, as if he had studied them – no, he definitely had studied them, hadn’t he–

The door opened, and she jumped. The manservant who had greeted her earlier this evening entered carrying a tray of silver-covered dishes. Surprised and self-conscious, she ducked away from Enver, but the man kept his eyes steadily downcast. Enver pulled her back against him. His mouth found her neck again while the manservant swiftly and smoothly placed the dishes on the table. Without once raising his gaze to look at them, he bowed deeply in their direction before leaving the room.

Enver bit down on the side of her neck, scattering her thoughts again, and she gasped and squirmed against him.

“Sit down,” he commanded in her ear.

Ta’av shrugged him off and watched him circle around the table. Only when he had his coat and folded it over the chair beside him did she sink into her seat.

In the shadows and candlelight, his eyes appeared impossibly dark and deep. She watched him sit, her eyes lingering the outline of his shoulders and the planes of his chest before fixating on the elaborate gold sheaths covering his forearms. Perhaps she should have negotiated for the removal of more clothing.

She sighed, and finally looked at the food in front of her.

For months, Ta’av and her traveling companions had camped in the wilderness, and meals were cobbled together using whatever food they could scavenge or purchase and Gale’s culinary skills. They were simple meals in the best of times. Only in the past tenday, when they had reached the city, did they regain the luxury of eating meals prepared in a proper kitchen. Ta’av was still growing accustomed to it.

The dishes laid out before her now were a veritable feast. She recognized oysters and scallops served with risotto, an overwhelming variety of roasted vegetables, a dish of braised pork, soft white bread, a selection of cheeses and cured meats and fruits, some kind of baked fish…

Enver uncorked a bottle of wine with a small pop and poured them each a full glass.

“Eat,” he said, watching her with amusement in his eyes.

Ta’av pressed her lips together, biting back the urge to say no. Enver leaned back in his chair and grinned. He took a long sip of his wine, and Ta’av followed him before remembering that she was ravenously hungry.

They ate, at first in silence. Every new dish was the best thing she had tasted, rich and sinfully delicious, so much that she briefly wondered whether there was some enchantment at work. But, no, she concluded that the only magic used was the power of wealth, of decadence, of indulgence.

Enver watched her the entire time.

She looked at him in turn, of course. But he closely tracked the movement of her throat, the way her lips closed around her fork, and the way her eyelids fluttered when she groaned.

Finally, she leaned back and licked her lips.

“How often did I stay here?” she asked.

He shrugged, lazily swirling his wine glass in one hand.

“You started as an infrequent visitor, who then became a frequent visitor, who then demanded that I safeguard certain belongings that you were loath to bring back to your temple where they could be ruined, or worse, stolen by some covetous cultist. How could I say no?” The corner of his mouth curled into a wry half-smile while his eyes remained fixed on her. “You became quite creative with the many excuses you found to stay here. Eventually I was just as likely as not to find you here when I arrived home.”

Ta’av chewed on her lip, thinking, and couldn’t resist teasing him. “So I just really liked the house, then,” she said solemnly.

He cocked an eyebrow. “If you say so. My turn to ask a question, then–”

“Wait.” She sighed. “Tell me more. Please,” she added.

It should have been impossible for his eyes to grow even darker, but they seemed to as soon as please fell from her lips. She wasn’t surprised. He lifted his glass to his mouth before speaking, the gold on his hands and arms glinting in the candlelight.

“What else? Hm. It was only natural to give you a room to claim as your own, a place to put all your pretty things, though I can’t say you spent much time there. All together we stayed here less often in recent years, as we spent more time in the Upper City, or the Foundry, or Moonrise.”

The Foundry. Moonrise. The illithid tadpoles, the monstrous Steel Watch, the entire plot that she had helped orchestrate. She shifted uneasily in her seat, frowning.

“I have a question for you, now. Tell me, my dear: how long were you sleeping with the vampire spawn?”

His words immediately and abruptly pulled her out of her thoughts.

“I – what?” she sputtered, her cheeks growing hot. “How – that’s none of your business!”

He let out a low chuckle. “Isn’t it? Don’t be bashful. The night you returned, you bore healed-over puncture marks on your neck, but they’ve faded now. You’ve given him up, haven’t you?”

“Is that really your question?” she exclaimed, certain that she was blushing furiously.

“Of course,” Enver said, smiling darkly. “If you’ve well and truly given him up, I suppose I won’t need to have him killed.”

Ta’av jumped to her feet. “That’s not funny–”

“It’s a simple question.” The wolfish grin remained on his face as he poured them more wine.

She glowered at him, her tail lashing back and forth behind her. “Fine. If you must know, it’s done, and it has been since before we set out for Baldur’s Gate. Are you satisfied?”

“Quite.”

“Well, are you still fucking Lady Jannath?” she snapped before he could say another word.

Enver blinked at her and then threw his head back with laughter.

“Jannath?” he mused. “Please, do share where you picked up that delightful bit of gossip.”

She folded her arms. “I… read about it. In her own words.”

He pushed his chair back and stood.

“Hmm. Then I am forced to conclude that you must have been sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. Terribly naughty of you.” He circled around the table towards her at a leisurely pace.

“You do know, darling, that the Lady Jannath to which you refer is Wisteria Jannath, who retired to her country estate three years ago – not the young and newly-wed Firelia Jannath?” He approached her slowly, cautiously, though his eyes still glittered with amusement. “And our relationship, such as it was, occurred several years past?”

“Fine,” she muttered.

“What was that? I’m afraid I couldn’t hear you.” When he reached her side, he ran a metal-clad hand down her arm.

Ta’av glared at him once more, trying to force her thoughts into some semblance of order before he wrecked them again. She had wanted to ask him other questions, serious questions, before his teasing had raised her hackles, and–

Enver had distracted her intentionally.

The realization shouldn’t have been a shock, she told herself. This was the same man who engineered the cult of the Absolute, who cajoled and threatened his way into becoming a lord and an Archduke, who built the Steel Watch and told the people it was for their protection, even if he didn’t want her to think about any of it.

Manipulation came to him as easily as breathing. The small hoard of jewels and silks upstairs provided ample evidence of that.

She couldn’t believe that was all there was to him, to this. But the question gnawed at her insides, and she, too, could provoke a reaction when needed.

“I seem to have lost your attention.” His smooth voice and his hand pressing into her cheek pulled her back to the present.

“Were there any other affairs I should be aware of?” she said lightly, fixing her eyes on his.

He made a small, dismissive gesture with his free hand. “Nothing that should concern you.”

She took a moment to study his face, and she lifted one hand to smooth her thumb over the small scar on his chin and the stubble on his cheek. Her eyes widened with earnestness to lure him in and lower his guard.

She waited until his expression had softened, just slightly, before she asked her question.

“And what about when you thought I was dead?”

A flurry of emotions passed over his face, each one blurring into the next. Bewilderment morphed into anger, which revealed a glimpse of anguish, then bitterness, before finally settling into the stony, shuttered expression he had donned in his office. With her hand still touching his face, she could feel his jaw and temples tense.

“You are asking me if I took lovers when I believed you had died?” he said, every syllable articulated despite the way he gritted his teeth.

Ta’av resisted the urge to shrug and instead kept herself still and focused on his face. “Yes.”

“Is that what you think–” He broke off, exhaling in a huff. His hand withdrew from her cheek and curled into a fist at his side.

She kept her voice carefully neutral. “You asked me.”

The incredulity in his voice gave way to an almost-frightening intensity. “I wasn’t gallivanting around the countryside without a care. I thought you were dead, that your mad kinswoman had returned you to your accursed Father, possibly for an eternity of brutish torment. And yet I had to continue working alongside Orin towards the goals we had set years ago. Shockingly, I had little time for dalliance.”

Ta’av breathed in slowly, taking in the sting of his words, the rigidness in his stance, and underneath layers of pride and artifice, the deep-seated grief in his eyes.

It might be cruel to push further. But she had no other way to summarize, and no way to recall, the significance of an entanglement spanning ten years.

“I wouldn’t blame you if you had. Perhaps it would have been better if you had,” she said quietly.

He grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away from his face. “What is that supposed to mean?” he snapped.

Her brow furrowed.

“Under Moonrise,” she began slowly, “we found brains… minds, in jars, that spoke of experiments. Experiments in which they were the subjects. A serving girl, convinced she would become a singer. Among others. Those experiments happened after I disappeared, didn’t they?”

She thought that if she had been more fragile, an ordinary mortal and not the child of a god, his grip might have crushed her wrist.

“I did what was needed to fulfill our duties to our gods. I did what was needed to achieve our goals. Alone,” he snarled.

He would never fully admit the agony, or the touch of madness, written in every line of his face: the anguish of a wounded beast, lashing out at anything around which it could close its jaws, not seeking to eat but only to inflict pain. But Ta’av saw it, and whatever resistance she was holding fell away.

“I know, Enver,” she breathed. She lifted her free hand to touch his shoulder. “I know.” Then she lay her head on his chest and listened to his heartbeat while he remained frozen in place.

When he finally released her wrist, she looked up and pulled him into a kiss.


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5 months ago

Sunday Snippet

Hello friends! Thank you to the lovely @verbenaa, @khywren, and @xxnashiraxx for tagging me over the last week in WIP posts. I threw all my energy in to Gortash Week, but now that I've finished those pieces, I'm going to try to catch up on tag games and asks! (There, uh, will still be lots of Gortash, though.)

To repeat what I said a week ago: I am working on the third (and final) part of A House, A Home (tumblr version: Parts One and Two). There will be angst, there will be smut, there will be attempts to piece together fragmented memories of angst and smut. I took a break from it this past week, but I'm excited to dive back in.

So here's a snippet:

The memory surfaced unexpectedly. She was laughing in a sunlit room. This room, and this bed, with the sheets rumpled and well-used. Enver was stretched out across them, naked. Beautiful. He was lounging on pillows, ever the spoiled lord, but his arms stretched above his head, bound by a length of black silk that was tied somewhere near the headboard. His jaw was clenched, but he looked at her with a haze of lust and longing in his eyes. She had a dagger in her hand, one of his many gifts, too delicate to be much use in most of her work. But it was perfect for today. She slowly licked the blade and tasted the salt and iron of his blood while he watched every movement of her mouth. “Darling Enver,” she mocked. “Is this worth it, to be able to call me yours? Do you have the pet Bhaalspawn you’ve always desired?”

I honestly don't know when people last posted, so I am going to re-tag @verbenaa, @khywren, and @xxnashiraxx as well as @preciouslittlebhaalbae and @flamemittens! Share your WIPs with the world (if you'd like)!


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5 months ago

*chefs kiss* Your work is phenomenal as always 🫂

I may do a wip tomorrow... it's hella sad... does anyone want to cry with me????? 🥹💔

Sunday Snippet

Hello friends! Thank you to the lovely @verbenaa, @khywren, and @xxnashiraxx for tagging me over the last week in WIP posts. I threw all my energy in to Gortash Week, but now that I've finished those pieces, I'm going to try to catch up on tag games and asks! (There, uh, will still be lots of Gortash, though.)

To repeat what I said a week ago: I am working on the third (and final) part of A House, A Home (tumblr version: Parts One and Two). There will be angst, there will be smut, there will be attempts to piece together fragmented memories of angst and smut. I took a break from it this past week, but I'm excited to dive back in.

So here's a snippet:

The memory surfaced unexpectedly. She was laughing in a sunlit room. This room, and this bed, with the sheets rumpled and well-used. Enver was stretched out across them, naked. Beautiful. He was lounging on pillows, ever the spoiled lord, but his arms stretched above his head, bound by a length of black silk that was tied somewhere near the headboard. His jaw was clenched, but he looked at her with a haze of lust and longing in his eyes. She had a dagger in her hand, one of his many gifts, too delicate to be much use in most of her work. But it was perfect for today. She slowly licked the blade and tasted the salt and iron of his blood while he watched every movement of her mouth. “Darling Enver,” she mocked. “Is this worth it, to be able to call me yours? Do you have the pet Bhaalspawn you’ve always desired?”

I honestly don't know when people last posted, so I am going to re-tag @verbenaa, @khywren, and @xxnashiraxx as well as @preciouslittlebhaalbae and @flamemittens! Share your WIPs with the world (if you'd like)!


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5 months ago

A House, A Home (The Dark Urge x Enver Gortash)

Part 3 (of 3) is now up on AO3! (Rating: Explicit. Word count: 8.9k)

series: sex and violence, one is just the other

The memory surfaced unexpectedly. She was laughing in a sunlit room. This room, and this bed, with the sheets rumpled and well-used. Enver was stretched out across them, naked. Beautiful. He was lounging on pillows, ever the spoiled lord, but his arms stretched above his head, bound by a length of black silk that was tied somewhere near the headboard. His jaw was clenched, but he looked at her with a haze of lust and longing in his eyes. Her pale hand held a dagger, one of his many gifts, too delicate to be much use in most of her work. But it was perfect for today. She slowly licked the blade and tasted the salt and iron of his blood while he watched every movement of her mouth. “Darling Enver,” she mocked. “Is this worth it, to be able to call me yours? Do you have the pet Bhaalspawn you’ve always desired?”

archiveofourown.org
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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4 months ago

WIP Wednesday!

Thank you to the lovely writers who tagged me last week for WIP Wednesday/Snippet Sunday: @verbenaa, @khywren, and @xxnashiraxx!

Last week I was finishing up the angst, but now I'm shifting my focus back to my Durgetash political AU, Deadly Ambition. Chapter 4, let's go!

I have good news and bad news, and both are that the worst (fictional) people you know in (fictional) American politics are hooking up.

“You’re starting to bore me, Enver,” she said, and his eyes slid back to her face. She moved to sit in the middle of the king-sized bed, stretching her legs out in front of her and tossing her dark hair over her shoulder. “If you take much longer, I might have to call one of my – what did you call them? Lovesick puppies?” He narrowed his eyes and pulled his tie off his neck with a snap before picking up where she left off unbuttoning his shirt. “Most of them are back in D.C., of course, but that’s nothing that a few text messages couldn’t fix,” she continued. “Or maybe Minthara’s free. What do you think?” “How funny you are,” he said darkly, pulling his shirt off of his arms and dropping it on the floor. His undershirt soon joined it. “Or maybe not.” Her eyes swept up and down his chest and stomach as he reached for his belt. He studied her while he shed his socks, shoes, and pants. “How long did it take you to get everyone on this campaign wrapped around your finger, hmm?” She smiled slowly. “We launched the campaign over a year ago.” Enver slid onto the bed and she eyed him with interest. He moved forward until he loomed over her and caged her in with his arms. “For you, Enver, it’s taken… what, four weeks?” She grinned up at him and then placed on hand on the back of his head to pull him towards her.

Forgive me if you've already been tagged or posted, but I'm tagging @verbenaa, @flamemittens, @aliasknives, and @defira85!!


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4 months ago
I Am Absolutely Delighted To Share This Wonderful Art I Commissioned From Walker (also On Twitter)! Walker

I am absolutely delighted to share this wonderful art I commissioned from Walker (also on twitter)! Walker made the process incredibly easy, gave me lots of progress updates, and completed it so quickly.

Look at my semi-feral Durge and her twisted tyrant! LOOK AT THEM. I'm obsessed.

You can read about Ta'av and Gortash in their series on AO3. 🥰


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4 months ago

A House, A Home (f!Dark Urge x Gortash)

After returning from the House of Hope, Ta'av, the Dark Urge, seeks out Enver Gortash to tell him what she learned and lets him draw her back into the mystery of their shared past. (Rating: Explicit. Chapters: 3/3; Total word count: 21k.)

A House, A Home (f!Dark Urge X Gortash)

series: Part 5 of sex and violence, one is just the other | art by Walker

She wondered how many times she had walked there, wherever it was. A house, most likely, and she had thought an important Lord would reside in the Upper City, but her instincts steered her away from those gates. When she entered the Bloomridge neighborhood, she felt the same kind of familiarity that she experienced throughout the city: she knew all of Baldur’s Gate, but only in the way one knows something in a dream. She felt in her heart that the city was home, even while the specifics of streets and buildings and parks always looked different than she expected. But when she finally stood in front of the townhouse, its address matching the note in her hand, she felt it with complete clarity. Home.

archiveofourown.org
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

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4 months ago

Sunday Snippet!

Thank you to the lovely people who have tagged me in snippets/WIPs lately: @verbenaa, @xxnashiraxx, and @ladyduellist. Apologies if anyone else has tagged me and I missed it! I just got back from vacation and may have missed a bunch of things.

So... Bhaal-induced sex pollen/breeding kink, anyone? This concept sunk its claws into me, even though this was not at all what I planned to write next. So here's some Ta'av/Enver (AO3 series here), pre-tadpole (!), circa 1490 DR, Bhaal-induced sex pollen/breeding kink.

She focused on him and inhaled deeply, straightening her spine. His own gaze darkened as he looked at her. She was his ally, his partner, his lover. His fellow Chosen, his Bhaalspawn. His. Still, Enver watched warily as she moved towards him. He took one look at her eyes and clicked his tongue in a scolding manner. Her golden irises were nearly eclipsed by the dark expanse of her pupils. "Ta'av, darling," he began with an edge to his voice, "what could possibly be so urgent as to interrupt my work? If you need to kill, the entire city is at your feet." “I don’t need to kill.” The tiefling stepped up to him, her attention falling to his lips, then his neck, then his chest, and she seized the lapel of his shirt. Finally, her eyes swept upwards to meet his. “I need you.” “As delighted as I am to hear it, I am busy,” he said flatly. He folded the edges of her cloak back and over her shoulders, intent on preventing his clothes from getting wet. She wore a dark purple robe over her typical black leather armor, and he frowned momentarily; she rarely wore her clergy robes outside of the temple. “Now, be a dear, and go kill something,” he added. "No,” Ta’av said vehemently. "I need you, now." She pressed herself against him and rolled her hips into his for emphasis. One of her hands flattened against his chest, and her touch was hot against his skin. Her other hand drifted down to tug impatiently at the top of his trousers. Enver raised his eyebrows, regarding her coolly even as heat rushed to his groin. The way she licked her lips and bucked against him made the prospect tempting. Still, the essential tasks and moving pieces of their great plan were ever multiplying. He needed to maintain an iron grip on each and every variable. No variable was as unpredictable or vexing as the enchanting creature currently writhing against him. "You'll have to wait your turn, my dear. I'm afraid your desires cannot take precedence today." He felt her nimble fingers beginning to undo the laces of his trousers, and he caught her wrist. With a sardonic smile, he maneuvered her hand to rest against the apex of her legs, his larger hand pressing hers into her leather leggings. "I have the utmost faith in your ability to entertain yourself." Ta’av was shaking her head before he finished speaking. "No. No. That's not enough; it has to be you," she insisted. She managed to slip her hand out of his grasp, and Enver inhaled sharply as she grinded down against his hand. 

Throwing it back to @verbenaa, @xxnashiraxx, and @ladyduellist because it's been a while since I was tagged, and also @defira85, @bakuliwrites, and @aliasknives if you want to play! xoxo


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