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tantalizingtopi · 4 months

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Snow

Gortash x The Dark Urge

NSFW

Word count: 1110

Disclaimer: characters belong to Larian Studios and Baldur’s Gate 3

The Dark Urge discovers an intruder in their private oasis during a blizzard.

I’m longing for my bitter cold winter storms and wanted to pen a little something with two characters that live rent free in my brain. Enjoy!

The white comes in droves, the wind whipping the minuscule crystals into a raging silent blindness. Markings of those who may have ventured out into the abyss vanish almost as quickly as they appear. The streets of the city are devoid of any life as I make my way home, having quickly found my own place away from the temple so that I am not always consumed by my work, worship and surroundings.

Nothing special, a small one room house just barely in the outer city. Sceleritas had a fit when he discovered where I had been spending a fair share of my evenings. He had fretted, “Milady, this shack is so beneath your status, what will the others think of their vile leader if they knew you were staying here?”

I had slid my knife beneath his throat. “Then you will make sure they don’t find out, won’t you? You will stay away from this place, or I will cast you off.”

He had not returned for fear my threat may not be idle, and no one had mentioned my little hideaway. I had secured a more prominent residence in the Upper City as well, for dealings and clout. But my dirty little hole in the outer city is special. My little secret. Well, one of my little secrets.

So when I see the soft glow of the fire through the white, lashing out at the cold through the cracks in the doorframe, I stop short, electric alarm streaking down my spine. Someone unwanted in my space. My sacred space. Fury clamps down around my throat, my hand reaching into the folds of my cloak to pluck my knife from its strap. Flashes of beautiful blood spattering in the white snow, the heat of it melting into the white leaving behind stains that none will find until spring gnaw at my vision.

I fling open the door, intent on murderous happenings, only to freeze my blade centimeters from my partner's neck. He smiles. “I thought you might come here tonight.”

Maim, kill, destroy, murder, your spot your sacred spot your safe place violated, kill him kill him kill him! Do it now do it do it! My urge demands of me. My hand trembles, urging me to dig in, my heart screaming at me to stop. My eyes widen in fear as I fight against my nature, against what I know is best. I shudder out a noise akin to a displacer beast in agony.

His fingers wrap against my shaking wrist, pulling it away from his throat, where I can almost see his pulse thumping. His eyebrow quirks skyward as he watches my expression, his remaining neutral, if not almost pleased. He takes his other hand and pries my little finger from the handle and jerks it backwards, forcing the dagger to fall to the floor, sticking into the wood. He immediately laces his fingers with mine, quelling the shake, and bringing it to its original position, he presses his lips to the back of my hand, a flirtatious grin on his face.

A shuddering breath I didn’t realize I was holding escapes my lips, and I feel my body relax slightly, having been successful at defying the urges within. For now. I let this man lead me further into my own home, closing the door against the white sheets of snow behind us. “How did you find this place?”

“It’s merely good business sense to be aware of any and all assets my partner possesses,” his dark eyes lock onto my pale ones. “And anything that may possess them. I’m trusting you’re feeling… better now?”

“I am,” feeling the heat from the hearth beginning to warm the chill from my bones. “You are incredibly foolish, coming here, surprising me. If I don’t slay you, your dimwittedness will.”

He chuckles as he begins to put more wood into the fire, stirring errant sparks. “You find me just as brilliant as I find you.”

“That is the harshest insult I think I’ve ever received. You wound me, Gortash.”

His laughter booms throughout the small home, warming me more than the fire ever could. He finishes tending the fire and stands up, closer to me than before. He plucks at the hem of my cloak, his voice dropping lower. “Let’s get you out of these wet clothes.”

My tongue is suddenly thick and unmoving in my mouth, and all I can do is nod imperceptibly, dropping my gaze slightly. I move to pull the length of fabric from around my neck, but his fingers beat me to it, his hands skimming over my shoulders as he lets the cloak pool on the floor at my feet. He clucks his tongue. “These are wet too, just how long were you out in this weather dear?”

“I—“ My sentence dies in my mouth as he takes two fingers and pushes an errant strand of hair from my face, then trails them down my neck, running them along the collar of my top, feather light against the top of my breasts. He lets them drift down farther, hooking them into the top of my corset and pulling me forward, closer to him.

My eyes catch his again, deep dark pools of desire reflecting my image back at me. In a flash, our lips find one another, the months of coiled tension releasing. We make quick work of one another’s clothing, and his hands grab at my thighs, hauling me up and around him as he brings me to the small bed tucked in the corner. He drops me onto it, himself following right behind, hands and mouth marauding my skin, setting me aflame.

The unrelenting onslaught of his tongue against me has me shattering to pieces beneath him, and when he finally slots his hips against mine, I dig my nails into his back, earning a groan from him. He moves ruthlessly against me, pinning me between him and the mattress. I sink my teeth into his shoulder, attempting to drown my cry of pleasure with his flesh.

“Fuck,” he snarls, twisting a hand in my hair and jerking my face to his, his lips bruising my own. He bites my lower lip and metallic taste blooms over my tongue, and we come apart together.

Outside, the snow continues to fall, wrapping around the one room home, blanketing our indiscretion. Tomorrow I know we will have to face what we have just done, but tonight, tonight I let Enver Gortash hold me close and whisper sweet nothings into my ear as I drift off, completely relaxed for the first time in recent memory.

#fanfic #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #bg3 dark urge #bg3 durge #dark urge #durgetash #gortash smut #gortash x durge #lord enver gortash #pre tadpole #baldurs gate gortash #baldur’s gate durge #snow #cozy

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nuwisha-laughs-last · 2 months

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SHORT FIC TIME!

It’s quick, it’s angsty, ladies and gentlemen it’s a tragedy!

Ascended Astarion x Female Drow Resisted Durge

Calliope wanted to give Astarion the world, but it has gone horribly wrong. Durge confronts Astarion Ascendant several years post-game, no longer able to make excuses for the change that has occurred in him.

CW: Blood, death

We All Fall Down

“Astarion.”

Calliope stood just in the doorway to what could now only be referred to as the ‘throne room’, unwilling to enter completely.

He ignored her. She thought he might, but had hoped he wouldn’t.

He lounged like a cat on the ornate chair situated centrally upon a dais. Two figures were seated at his feet. Calliope tried not to wince when she saw them. Today it was Mira and Solas.

“Dear Master, you have a rather rude guest,” Mira practically purred over his title, it was enough to make Calliope’s stomach turn.

Astarion’s lips curled and he placed a hand on her head, petting her hair as though to reward her.

“My. It is lovely to see that some pets know how to address their beloved properly.”

Pointedly, he did not meet Calliope’s gaze, keeping his eyes on the two spawn before him.

Calliope felt as though she should be angry, could feel the place in her chest where fury used to spark—it was so, terribly empty now.

Decisive, she reached out her hand and pulled at a thread within her. Mere moments later, Nyrulna, trident of the wind goddess, materialized in her grasp. Solas and Mira hissed as its glow glanced off their pale skin. It wouldn’t hurt them, but it couldn’t have been comfortable, Calliope took some small pleasure in that.

Astarion watched them writhe for a moment before he finally waved them away. They practically dashed for the door, squinting and raising their hands against the light.

Astarion basked in it, his clothing and finery glittering under its radiance.

Slowly he stood, a mask of ease over a predatory intent. Calliope shifted her feet, planted them more firmly as he approached.

She could do this. She would do this.

He stepped up to her, loomed over her head, the shadow of him falling over her face. He smiled and there was something so soft in his eye it nearly broke Calliope’s resolve. His fingers gently grasped her chin and tilted her face up into a chaste kiss, nothing at all like the hard, sometimes painful ones he had been demanding lately. Calliope’s eyebrows furrowed. He must know his manipulation was plain as day, yet still he played the game. Why had it taken her so long to see it?

He released her at his leisure, not bothering to change the distance between them, forcing Calliope to crane her head back to look him in the eye. He stroked her cheek with the backs of his fingers,

“Perfect. As always. Now, what brings you to me today, my love?” he murmured.

Calliope took a breath, then another, willing her heart to calm.

“More spawn, Astarion? How many does that make now, ten? Eleven?”

“All willing,” Astarion interrupted, “All practically begging for my favor.”

“You said you wouldn’t. Promised you wouldn’t. Then you promised it would only be a few, just to fulfill your new, ascendent appetites—“

“Are you concerned for your place among them all, darling? You know there is only one I truly desire. I have always wanted to know how my gift would look on drow skin…” he stroked her jaw with his thumb and Calliope suppressed a shiver.

“I was someone’s spawn already. I’m not keen to repeat the experience.”

“It will be different this time. I love you.”

“Sta—“

She cut off as his face changed quickly. He tried to hide it but still she caught the subtle curl of his upper lip. He had not explicitly forbade her from using her old name for him, but his displeasure had been made known over the past year—their time together shorter, his comments more sharp, his affect demanding more and more deference and respect while returning none of it.

The smile returned swiftly, though slightly more strained.

“This conversation will get us nowhere, my dear—

“I’m leaving.”

Astarion stared at her, as though not comprehending the words.

“What.” His tone was a sibilant hiss. Calliope tightened her grip on Nyrulna.

“I can’t stay any longer and watch whatever you’re becoming—“

“And where, pray tell, would you even go? There is nowhere for you.”

“Halsin is waiting for me. He came for me when I called him. I think he knew this would happen. I think he knew the moment I made you what you are—

“SILENCE”

Calliope flinched back as a snarl twisted grotesquely on Astarion’s beautiful face.

“How dare you! You did not make me — My loathsome wretch of a former master did not make me — I am my own. And I can have anything I want.” His red eyes bored into hers, his hands were grasping painfully at her upper arms. He dropped them when he finally noticed, straightening the cuffs of his jacket in an agitated fashion. “Perhaps…perhaps I should have made you a spawn, just to teach you that,” he bit out bitterly. Hurt splintered Calliope’s expression. She saw something half-forgotten tighten Astarion’s eyes for a brief moment, but maybe it was wishful thinking to look for remorse in him.

“You’re right,” she whispered, Astarion couldn’t hide the shock from his face this time. “You’re right,” she said louder, tears starting to cloud her voice, “And I fucking wish you weren’t. You chose this for yourself, more’s the pity. But you couldn’t have done it without me, so I supposed some of the blame at least is mine to shoulder…”

For once, Astarion had nothing to say. He was breathing harder now, his usual composure cracking down the center with each word she spoke. Calliope looked at him with heavy eyes, she could feel the bags under them from countless, sleepless nights. She was surprised to find that she still had the energy to care, to feel some level of regret as her words drove into him like a chisel into stone. No. No not like that at all. This facade was far more fragile than she had first thought. What had appeared to be an iron bulwark, she could now see for the porcelain that it was.

Calliope took a step back and she watched him mark her movement.

“I should go. Halsin is waiting.”

Astarion’s nose wrinkled as the sneer returned to his lips,

“I thought the druid was just a passing fancy.”

Calliope felt a pang in her chest as a slight tremor in his voice betrayed him. How could he hurt her so often and so carelessly and yet she still couldn’t bear to see his pain—wished even now to give him the world?

“I loved you both.”

Astarion was dangerously still.

“Loved?” he whispered, his tongue landing hard on the past tense.

Calliope couldn’t meet his gaze, choosing instead to stare at the floor, tears beading on her lashes.

“Do you remember…what I asked of you if Bhaal ever took me?”

She could hear Astarion shift uncomfortably.

“Hardly,” he scoffed, though the pause was a little too long and a little too telling.

It took all of her remaining strength, but Calliope finally managed to lift her leaden gaze from the ground and look him in the eye once again.

“I’m sorry.” The tears were falling steadily now, she couldn’t have stopped them even if she wanted to. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help you. I’m sorry it had to end this way—“

“Nothing is ending,” Astarion snarled and a single step took him right up to her, his fist twisting the collar of her tunic up to her chin. She raised Nyrulna reflexively but Astarion chuckled low and horrible,

“You could never harm me my sweet…sweet thing.”

They stood, frozen that way for just a moment before Calliope squeezed her eyes shut and Nyrulna dropped from her hand, clattering to the floor. Astarion grinned over her lazily. His other hand reached up and grasped her jaw, digging into her cheeks meanly. Slowly, inexorably, he twisted her head to the side, exposing the long line of her neck to him. His breaths were quick and shallow and his pupils were blown wide. He bent so his lips rested against the shell of her ear,

“Why don’t we see if the druid still wants you when you are just…like…me.”

“Don’t—“

Calliope’s words turned to scream as fangs sank familiarly into her neck, though deeper and more painful than ever before. Swiftly, as though expecting a fight, he pulled mouthfuls of blood from her, seeking to weaken her before she could respond in kind.

Oh, Starling…

Astarion coughed, but refused to stop. He took another drag of blood, another, then gagged, then retched and he flung himself back from her, stumbling to the floor. One hand clutched at his throat, the other his stomach as blood started to bloom under his fingers, the smell of burning flesh a rank stain in the air.

“What—did—you—“ he coughed, fluid snapping and bubbling in his throat.

Calliope fell to her knees beside him, gathering him into an embrace, cradling his head against her chest as his body spasmed. He gazed numbly at the blood oozing from her neck, it glowed faintly.

“B—blessed?”

“By a high priest of Lathander…” Calliope choked through tears, her breaths heaving in her chest now. “I ho-hoped it wouldn’t work. I prayed it wouldn’t. You can w-walk in the sun after all…but I suppose that’s different from swallowing it wh-whole.” Astarion only nodded, as though it were the most obvious thing. Calliope squeezed him tighter,

“Why c-couldn’t you just let me wa-walk away?” she sobbed into his hair. The hand at his throat twitched, then moved, agonizingly slow, to grasp at her shirt like a child in the night. He breathed in, the sound rattling horribly as his lungs filled with his own blood,

“P-please don’t…leave me.”

Calliope held him close, her lips pressed to his soft curls.

“I won’t.”

His body convulsed again, but he let his head lay against her chest, his shoulders sinking, his arms slowly falling into his lap.

He sighed, the hard lines of his face softening for the first time in years. Then he stilled. And Calliope held him, even as his skin blackened and charred from the inside, even as his smoldering body seared her arms and chest, even as his hair burned away, she held him until he crumbled beneath her fingers and was no more than ashes at her feet.

#bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #baldur’s gate 3 #baldur’s gate fanfiction #fanfiction #astarion ancunin #bg3 durge #durge #astarion x durge #ascended astarion #baldur’s gate durge #tragedy #cw blood #cw: death #cw: blood #cw death #nuwishalaughslast #my writing

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