#BG3 AU

[my-favourite-zhent]

Fortune and Favour

Hello folks, a new AU long fic for you.

Summary:

AU set in Luskan 1480DR. Rugan has assumed leadership over the Coin Spinners gang and taken the name Clearlight. When a Waterdhavian noble comes snooping around for Illuskan Netherese relics under the gang's headquarters Rugan steps up to put them in their place. What he instead finds is the chance at an amazing payday and an unexpected prize.

Notes:

This AU is straight out of the filthy mind of @fistfuloftarenths. She head canoned the idea of Rugan of Clearlight based off the screenshots of @captainsigge. Fistful also came up with a lot of the scene ideas, so I'm bordering on being her ghostwriter at this point. Also thank you to @dustdeepsea for helping me with the title and summary. Big shout out to all three for beta reading for me. These fics are pretty much written for the Zhentil Keep Perverts at this point.

Banner by the lovely @coreene

Chapter One below the cut or here on AO3

Chapter One

1480 15 Uktar

Eden of Clearlight was dead, had been for many months now. While she had rallied many of the other gangs to the Coin Spinners banner, she had lost almost as many men in the ensuing chaos. The Coin Spinners had been left adrift, weakened, directionless and Rugan had seen an opportunity.

He’d only been a lieutenant in a lower ranking gang – so low its name does not bear recounting – when Eden had pulled them all into the fold. But now she and most of her officers were dead. There had been a few others that vied for leadership, and all had found a knife in their back. Either each other’s or Rugan’s.

So it came to be that at barely twenty-four Rugan had become the new head of the Coin Spinners, and with it acquired the title Clearlight. So named for the temple-come-fortress that housed them. He had struck decisively at the other criminal organisations before they had gotten their feet back under them. Most had survived but in weakened states. There were few left who would dare challenge him now. Which was why Amnos’ information came as a surprise.

“Some girl’s been asking about you down in the Cutlass,” the redheaded man had said as the pair stood in front of the altar to Tymora that marked the centre of the fortress.

“That right? Looking to get recruited?” Rugan drawled in his lilting Luskan accent. He tilted his head as he spoke, tied back flaxen hair catching gold in the sunlight that trickled through the stained-glass window overhead. It was said to be the last glass window in Luskan, and for which the temple and now Rugan derived their name.

“Doesn't seem like, looked a bit posh to be joining up.” Amnos scratched his beard pensively.

“A noble?” His eyebrow quirked. That was interesting. Not that he had any love for nobles but he’d never heard of one stooping to joining a street gang, especially not in Luskan of all places.

“Seemed so, dressed nice and spoke real educated-like too. Southern accent it sounded like.”

“Who’s she affiliated with?” The thought of a southerner stirring up trouble did give him pause. Kalen Dren, one of the parties who had been involved in the annihilation of the Luskan gangs, had been from Waterdeep and had since returned there. Any locals would’ve known to stay out of Rugan's way.

Amnos shrugged. “Doesn’t seem like she knows the local gangs, we haven’t seen her make contact with anyone. She’s just been reading books when she’s not harassing the locals.”

“Suppose we should pay this little interloper a visit then. We can’t have just anyone trading on my good name.” He smiled shark-like.

+++++

The Cutlass was one of the busier inns. In the city’s heyday it had been a sight to behold. Still turned a profit as it was, but much like Luskan it’s glory days were long past. The timbers were old and rotted, and its windows were made of thin sheets of animal horn rather than glass.

A nervous silence had fallen over the taproom when Rugan and Amnos entered and he felt a smile play at the corner of his mouth. There was power there, in being feared. Rugan’s exploits against the other guilds had been cutthroat and his reputation well earned. He had little interest in the common folk though. These customers had no reason to fear him as long as they didn’t cross him, but there was no need to tell them that.

He nodded at Amnos to wait for him down here before ascending the stairs to the inn’s rooms. The girl had been under watch for a few days now and his men had informed him of which room was hers. He knocked at the door. Whatever this little noble wanted, he'd be sure to send them packing.

The door swung open and there she stood. Little was right, she barely came up to his chest. But gods, she was beautiful. With soft raven waves cascading past her shoulders, a small but perky bust and a delicate waist that was begging to be grasped.

“Heard you've been asking around about Clearlight, lass.”

It was meant to be intimidating, well, just a touch to start. In her excitement the girl didn't seem to notice. She clasped her hands together under her chin and looked at him with wide eyes.

“You know about the Clearlight temple?” The delight in her voice was unmasked. Her eyes were sparkling, and they were lovely too, framed by thick dark lashes.

The girl’s reaction was the exact opposite of what he had intended, and he felt himself swallow unexpectedly. She grasped his hand in both of hers.

“Oh, do please come in!” She began pulling him into the room without waiting for a reply. Rugan allowed this, but not without some trepidation. Was this a trap set by a rival faction?

“I'd love to hear your opinion on the maps. It took a while to piece them together.” She ushered him towards a table that looked like the victim of a mad cartographer. Several maps were scattered over its surface, weighted down with pebbles. He could see underneath was a larger sheet that had connections between these disparate pieces drawn in.

“Now, no one source had all the sections of the undercity of course. What information we have on Netheril and Illusk is fragmented at best. But based on the complete diagrams from various other Netherese ruins we know that the general floorplan of a Netherese vault house follows a distinct pattern…” The girl had taken a seat at the table and continued to chatter on, but she had lost him a while ago. He sat down in the opposite chair, scrutinising her as she spoke. 

A thin braid encircled the crown of her head, adding a touch of order to the chaos that was her hair. Her blouse looked to be of a fine cotton, with ruffled trim along a neckline that dipped deliciously low. He admired how the swell of her breasts peaked out from beneath her top. It was cinched under her bust by a green velvet jacquard corset, laced up the front. Her pants were tan leather, they looked smooth and barely worn. Amnos had been right, entirely too posh to be a recruit. Some noble out of Baldur’s Gate or Waterdeep mayhaps?

“I keep asking about the temple but no one seems to want to talk about it. You'd think it was dedicated to Beshaba rather than Tymora with how skittish the locals have been.”

“People can be a bit superstitious here in Luskan,” he offered, inwardly grinning at his good fortune. 

She was a complete and utter fool. For all her research she had neglected to look into the local criminal organisations before coming to Luskan. Of course she didn't know that the Coin Spinners had taken the temple as their base, and that he had taken its name for his own.

“Ah, forgive my manners. I've forgotten to introduce myself. My name is Isolde.” She held out her hand for him to shake.

“Rugan.” He replied, taking her hand and raising it to place a kiss upon it.

She was taken aback, eyes wide with surprise.

‘Didn't think a guttersnipe like me knew how to address a noble lady, did ya?’ Rugan was both rankled by the thought and smug that he had proved her wrong. 

He noticed a blush creep over her cheeks and how she seemed to be appraising him now as if noticing him for the first time. He felt the beginnings of a smile tug at the corner of his mouth. No, it was more than surprise, she was flattered.

“P-pleased to meet you,” she managed to eke out.

“Indeed.”

Then, just as quickly, it seemed his hold on her was broken by a sudden recollection.

“Ah I almost forgot! The onion skin!”

“Onion skin?” 

But she was already out of her seat and rooting through her pack. She returned with a roll of paper that when unfurled was semi translucent. He supposed it did resemble the skin of an onion.

Carefully she placed it overtop the other maps, pinning it down based on some landmarks only she perceived. There was a map on the onion skin he realised. Tymora’s tits, this was—

“It's the blueprint for Tymora’s temple. The clerics in Waterdeep let me take a look at their copy. Took a bit of maths to get it to scale with the others but luckily the walls are mostly square. Mind you, this is from when it was built in the 1370s, there's no way to tell what it looks like now over a hundred years later. At least not short of going in yourself.”

Now this was something. It galled him to think that a map of the hideout had just been floating around in some Waterdeep temple for any preening noble to come have a little look-see.

“And these markings here?” He gestured to the map, careful to keep his tone neutral.

There were four circles and three crosses marked on the onion skin which lined up with structures on the maps below. He already had a sneaking suspicion what they were based on their locations.

“Passages down to Illusk. The circles are confirmed, cross-referenced with some old journal entries of a priestess I found in Candlekeep library.” 

She was correct, two were caved in, but the remaining pair the Coin Spinners had heavily trapped and kept watch over. Never knew what manner of sneak or beast would come up from the undercity.

“And the crosses are unconfirmed?”

“Right, I couldn't find any historical records that mention them specifically, but based on the fact that the first four correspond with the Netherese designs, I think it's safe to assume there would be a temple counterpart for the remaining three. Two of them are connected to a hidden inner chamber while the third connects to the high priest’s chambers, which would explain why they weren't widely known. I mean, it's just a hunch, but I'm fairly confident.”

She looked proud, and he supposed she had reason to be, having found three unguarded entrances to slip into his lair.

“Why would the temple builders create passages, and not just loot the undercity?”

“They may have already looted it or attempted to. But I suspect the temple's location would be particularly auspicious, sitting on top of a coin house. The number of passages also suggests this—seven was considered lucky in many human cultures.” She mused.

There was a sharp whistle and they both started from their chairs.

“Shit, the kettle.” She hurried over to the opposite table where a ceramic kettle bedecked with runes was steaming. Nobles and their magic toys.

“Would you like some tea?” She called over her shoulder.

“Oh, aye.”

Rugan took the opportunity to consider his next steps. He had come here expecting an upstart wanting to buy their way into the guild, or perhaps some imposter trading on his name. Either one he would've cowed or killed, depending on how much he disliked them. He was certainly prepared to dislike some preening noble.

But, technically she was innocent of any crime outside general nosiness. If anything it was his good luck that he had found her before some rival did. He could just take the map but that left the girl as a loose end. 

Rugan watched as she prepared two cups of tea. Killing her would be easy enough, but it would be simpler to find the entrances with her know-how.

‘Besides,�� he thought, as she tucked her hair behind her ear revealing more of her slender neck, ‘Noble or not, it would be a crime to remove such a pretty thing from the world.’

She returned with the two cups, and he noted she had left two sugar cubes on his saucer. Sugar had been a luxury in Luskan of late, seemed like more and more things were luxuries nowadays.

“My thanks.” He accepted the cup politely and dropped both cubes in before stirring. “You bring all this with you from Waterdeep?”

“Yes, that's right. Generally prefer to travel light but the merchants I know in the city were of the consensus that it’s a bit harder to get supplied in Luskan, and in any case it was just the one boat up.” She took the seat beside him and sipped at her tea.

“Not too long of a trip I hope?”

“A little more than half a tenday by galley. Not long at all.”

He nodded and took a deep draught of the tea. Rugan was no deckhand, but you don’t grow up in the city of sails without learning a thing or two about ships. A galley was one of the fastest and most expensive ships to book passage on, just one way may have run her fourty or fifty gold pieces. Definitely moneyed, maybe a merchant family out of Waterdeep? She might fetch a nice ransom. No servants though, at least none that Amnos had observed. This wasn’t entirely unusual with tourists who thought part of the fun was ‘roughing it’ . Especially if they were stingy tourists.

“I’m being rude again, I’ve forgotten to ask about your interest in the temple.” And she really did look sorry.

“Well I live there for one.”

“Live there!” She straightened in her chair. “But the clerics in Waterdeep, they said the clergy has long since abandoned Clearlight temple.”

“We’re not really associated with the Waterdeep branch. None of the large organisations have any interest in Luskan since the Spellplague. You could say we’re a bit esoteric compared to most Tymorans.” Rugan didn’t consider himself a particularly good liar, but the girl hadn’t seemed to have noticed.

She was leaning in close now, barely containing her excitement. “So you’ve been inside? You’ve seen the passageways?” He could smell her hair now, it was like jasmine and orange peels.

“Aye lass, some of them. Most are collapsed but those new ones on your map I haven’t seen before. Could be worth an investigation.” The girl was almost leaping out of her chair, this was too easy.

“Would you permit me to come look?” Her voice had already been high but it seemingly shifted a whole octave up now. “I promise not to disturb anything, and of course there would be a split of anything found down there.”

He let his features fall into a charming smile. “Well, if you're promising.” Of course the split would be highly in his favour, if he let her keep anything at all. Unlikely.

It was his lucky day, Tymora be praised. He was going to secure the fortress, possibly a payday and—he let his gaze linger on her a moment—a bit of company if he played his cards right.

She must have noticed his stare, noticed how close they were because her cheeks were reddening and it seemed like her breath was caught in her throat.

“Are you a treasure hunter, then?” Her cup was no longer steady in her hand and he gently took it from her, placing it on the table.

“N-no, just a student. I've been writing my graduation thesis on Illusk.”

“And the treasures they left behind?” He leaned in closer as well so they were mere inches apart. 

“It's the records I'm interested in.” Her voice was quieter now, it had a breathy quality to it.

“Not the coin?” She merely shook her head and he reached forward to palm her cheek. When she didn't protest, Rugan felt confident in his approach. She was younger than him, not by much, but enough that combined with a sheltered upbringing she was likely inexperienced in these things.

“Seems to me, if we're going to be working together we should get to know one another a little better. Don't you agree?”

[gravedigg]

Mask design doodles for Divine the Blood

[junorsky]

Praise the Absolute

-

I read somewhere that he was supposed to be a traitor. The idea of Zevlor guarding Moonrise Towers haunted me for so long I had to give up

[pidgeydraws]

special agent Baenre and special agent Dekarios commissioned by @coolseabird

[sailorgundam308]

They deserve it ❤️‍🔥

[janearts]

I'm still in a bit of an art funk, but I've also been mulling over what Roisia's non-adventurey life might have looked like in a Faerûn-But-Make-It-Modern-Magic setting. Wanted to get the clothing bit sorted out first.

[narttart]

Next in my arcade series!!

2/(hopefully 6)

[necromosss]

modern au rockstar!mira (tav) & prof!gale?🥹

from this prompt

extras:

i just think theyre neat....,

[gracielikegrapes]

This is really not my comfort zone lol but I love this Au @angiemaniac

Pose ref

[mostwantedpotato404]

Professor Raphael, patreon request (plus nsfw sketch here)

Glassess works in his favor, I need to draw more:3

[pocket-dragon]

This is a Thembo to MILF Karlach truther account now everyone I'm sorry

[saelrum]

Baldur's Gate 3 AU: Rolan makes a deal.

[coyote-ralyn]

Bollywood au

BG3 girls

[istoleyoursk1n]

HI HELLO MAY I REQUEST FOR HEADCANONS HOW WOULD ASTARION AND GALE REACT WHEN TAV IS THER SOULMATE IN SOULMATE AU (SEPARATE) THANK YOUUYUDNDNDBN

•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•

How would Astarion and Gale react to Tav being their soulmate in soulmate AU?

(I’m literally in love with this concept so guess what? No bullet points this time, full on paragraphs to fully immerse you in this universe.)

.

.

: ̗̀➛ ASTARION

The wretched red string had been connected to him for centuries now, a string he had tugged, torn, and sewn back together throughout his decades of torment and loss. There were days when he saw the red string as a small piece of hope that he held onto ever so dearly, holding onto the delicate string with bruised hands from the many “lessons” his master had thrown upon him. Would the person on the other side ever come to his aid? Can this individual feel his pain and suffering? Would they ever hear his call? That tiny string was his one salvation but it was also a source of deep pain.

For why haven't you come yet? He had spent centuries waiting, mourning, screaming, and begging for a savior, wishing that one of these days his “soulmate” would finally come to save him from this torturous prison but no... No one came. 200 years and you never showed up. Could you blame him for tearing through the delicate string? Could you blame him for wishing to break ties with you? All this time waiting and he couldn't even feel you coming closer. Was he truly that worthless? Yet still, he always came crawling back to the torn string, despite his resentment he’d stitch the two halves right back up just as he's done time and time again. For as much as he wished to despise you, he couldn't. He’d claim that he’d given up on the concept of soulmates and true love yet he so desperately holds onto this vibrant red string like a lifeline. Perhaps it was because it was the only thing that was truly his at the time.

From the stress of being captured by mind flayers and recently escaping the cold grasp of his master, meeting his soulmate wasn't exactly the next thing he was hoping to experience. The moment his eyes met with yours, he was left stunned and speechless as he watched that battered red string slowly fade. A soulmate found.

You weren't what he had expected at all. He’d always think of what you may look like in his spare time alone in the shadows but never this. Perhaps a bit taller… shorter, it was hard to imagine how that you were here in the flesh. Though, at the same time he truly didn't know what to feel. A mixture of relief, sadness, anger, confusion, and perhaps even a sprinkle of happiness. For centuries he’d been waiting for you and you only decide to show up now? He couldn't quite tell if it was a blessing or a curse. He wanted to lash out at you, to ask what took you so long but at the same time he just… if anything he needed a break. He needed a long well-needed break. He was going to threaten the first damn adventurer he saw but seeing that it was you? Well. Perhaps, it would be better to stay with you as he processes his new-found feelings towards you. Both good and bad.

: ̗̀➛ GALE

The red string was always something that constantly piqued his own nagging curiosity. It was never something that truly left his mind. He’d often spend a few minutes a day staring at the thing, watching as it subtly moved or swayed each time the other end of it was dragged along by you. But who exactly was you? A question that constantly plagued his mind each time he felt a small tug or his eyes fell back down to the string. In truth, he already wished to meet you, he was quite enamored by the fact that he did in fact have someone meant for him. The things you both could do together and the adventures you both could share. He was already imagining how each would play out with this imaginary version of you he’d conjure in his head.

However, it all began to crumble down the day he finally made his mind up to seek you. That was the very day he fell into Mystra’s clutches. To be the very chosen of a goddess! How could he possibly deny such an offer? To be working so closely with his own deity and to be given an abundance of knowledge that he so craved. Soon enough, the goddess had wrapped the ambitious wizard around her finger, giving him a “love” that no mortal could ever deny. She was meant to replace this “soulmate” of his. To have a curious little mage adore to her own blissful amusement. Yet, as Gale indulged, he couldn't help but feel… wronged. As if despite being showered by the musings of a literal goddess, it just wasn't enough. What he had just wasn't enough. He didn't feel enough.

There had been days where he’d stare longingly into his own red string, perhaps even silently apologizing to the individual at the other end knowing that his heart truly never lied with Mystra. And perhaps she knew that too.

When Mystra had finally cut ties with him were the days he was the most devastated. Not just because of the loss he felt from losing the favor of a goddess he so deeply worshipped but because he felt as if he betrayed you. Would you even accept him like this? Would he even be enough for you? He truly didn't know. You could imagine the surprise on his face when he finally did get to meet you though. A firm hand suddenly pulling him out of a broken portal and when he finally looked up, he saw you. His red string finally began to fade and at that moment, he was already smitten.

He didn't have to be convinced or told otherwise. He already knew he was going to adore you.

•❅───────────✧❅✦❅✧───────────❅•

[kleinzarohe]

half dragon svi🤌

[charmandabear]

Office Hours - Chapter Six

Summary:

Astarion surprises you with a night at the theatre that doesn't go quite according to your plan.

Pairing: Astarion/F!Reader Rating: Explicit Word Count: 4.7k Tags/Warnings: rough/angry sex, hair pulling, emotional manipulation, dubcon, bad BDSM practices, angst, daddy kink, reminiscent of Ascended!Astarion, discussions of domestic abuse (in Taming of the Shrew)

Hi. Hello. My sweets. My darlings. This is it. The chapter where you absolutely must mind the tags. Just know that I won't take you anywhere that we won't be able to come back from. Know that I, too, am an absolute baby when it comes to intense subject matter in fics. But I want you to take care of yourselves and your hearts. As always, shoot me a message if you'd like more specifics.

Photo credits: Zaria for Green Pussy Suit Astarion and Nephi Garcia for the incredible dress.

Read on AO3 ~ Masterlist

“In the library? Babes, are you insane?” Shadowheart's voice reaches a pitch you’re fairly sure only dogs can hear. You curl your knees into your chest and cover your face in your hands, feeling the exact appropriate amount of shame.

“I know, I know. All logic goes out the fucking window around him. All I can think is ‘mm, good dick makes brain go brr.’” You let out a frustrated sigh into your hands.

“Do you want to get fired?” She pulls your hand from your face so you can't hide from her pointed stare.

“Oh trust me, I ran about forty different scenarios of that happening through my head on the drive home.”

“Did you, now? And in how many of these did he also get fired?” Shadowheart presses, knowing how your anxiety can get out of hand.

“Like, two,” you groan and drop your head back onto the couch cushions. “I don't know what comes over me. I feel like I can't tell him no.”

“Wait, wait.” Shadowheart grips your knee, suddenly worried. “You can't tell him no as in it feels too good to stop? Or as in it doesn't feel safe to say no?”

“Nine hells, no, the first one!” you respond, horrified. She squints at you and you squirm under her gaze until you’re finally more truthful, both with her and yourself. “Well, I mean, mostly. Like it's not like that. But like also not not like that, you know?”

“I can assure you I do not,” she says in a flat voice, not interested in joking around. You sigh dramatically, trying to find the right words to describe how you feel.

“Like. Okay. Am I fully consenting to everything we do? Yes. 100%. Oh gods, yes.” Your cheeks tinge pink even thinking about it. “But like… am I going against my best judgment? Do I feel like I should say no? Does part of me kinda wish I would say no? Like… maybe?”

“Tav, that's not okay. You need to talk to him about this.” Shadowheart’s voice is soft with genuine worry. Which is ridiculous, because she’s focusing on the wrong thing.

“No, see, that's the thing. It's not actually a him issue, it's a me issue. Like there's something wrong with me, I see his most toxic traits and suddenly I'm like a horny teenager!” Your voice increases in pitch as you grow more hysterical. “How am I supposed to call him out on it when the only words that will come out of my mouth are ‘yes daddy, more please’?”

“Is there anything redeemable about him at all? Besides being good in bed?” She leans back, taking a sip of her wine and fixing you with an incredulous look. 

“I mean… yeah. He’s witty, and bantering back and forth with him is fun. He’s incredibly smart, as loath as I am to admit it, and I like hearing his ideas on things, especially his interpretation of Shakespeare’s text.” You don't even notice the smile growing on your face, but Shadowheart does. “And he’s got this unexpectedly soft side. Like he seems cold and aloof on the outside, but he cares, deeply. About his students, about his cat, about-”

“About you?” she interjects, and your smile falters.

“I don't know, Shade,” you say quietly, almost ashamed to look her in the eye. “I think so. I hope so. But it's not like we've been seeing each other for that long, he’s under no obligation to feel anything.” You practically swallow the last sentence, a truth you're reticent to voice. 

“And you?” she asks softly.

“Man, I don't fucking know. I just want to keep getting laid and not catch feelings, is that so much to ask?” you whine. She laughs, but you can tell that she's only humoring you.

“For you? Probably.”

***

It's been several days and your busy schedules have kept you and Astarion apart for most of it. Save the occasional tension-filled passing in the hall, you've barely interacted at all. You're almost beginning to believe that your whirlwind affair has come to an end when you find a mystery package at your apartment door.

It's made out to you with no discernable return address. You bring the box into your apartment while examining it, trying to ascertain its origin. It doesn't even really look like it was sent through the mail, it looks like it was dropped off.

You take out your phone and call down to the front desk. It rings a few times, then a somber voice answers.

“What dost thou require?” His voice is deep and crackled, like some ancient eternal being.

“Hi Withers, it's Tav in 3C. Do you know anything about this package that was left at my door?”

“I have inspected it, and determined it safe for you to open. It was brought by someone claiming to be a friend.”

“Can you tell me anything about this someone?”

“No.”

And the line goes dead. You laugh and shake your head. If Withers says it's safe, then it probably is. You’d trust that wrinkly old man with your life, honestly. You cut open the tape sealing the box shut and lift off the top.

Inside is something wrapped in tissue paper with a note stuck to it in Astarion's immaculate handwriting. 

Tomorrow evening The Rosewood Seven o’clock Wear nothing underneath

You let out a small involuntary moan when you read the last three words. You carefully unwrap the tissue paper to find a fabric that looks like it's made of starlight. You pull out the midnight black dress and go slightly breathless when you get a good look at it. 

It’s a backless dress with a sweetheart neckline and intricate gold embellishments that almost make it look like armor. It has a lavish gold neck piece attached by several gold chains that drip over the skin. The skirt is made of a weightless black fabric that shimmers with gold as you move it in the light. It almost appears to be cut into two panels with dual hip-high slits.

With a dress cut like this, you wouldn't be able to wear undergarments even if you wanted to.

Your heart hammers in your chest as you think about what he might have in store for you. You're not even sure what's running at the Rosewood right now, but it could be complete trash and you wouldn't even care. You probably won't even be able to pay attention, too distracted by Astarion sitting next to you for two hours.

You feel a pulsing between your legs at the thought. You think of his hand sliding up your knee while you struggle to keep a straight face. Or him reaching an arm around you, gently sliding his fingers into your hair before giving it a sharp tug.

Another moan works its way out of your throat and you follow it up with an annoyed groan. You can really get swept up at the most inconvenient times. It’s not like you don’t have any work you need to do or anything. You roll your eyes as you stalk off to draw a bath.

***

Waiting in the lobby of the theater, you’re feeling surprisingly nervous. The dress, though beautiful, is not particularly comfortable. With all of its various chains and pieces, you needed Shadowheart’s help just to put it on. It helps that she’s also incredibly talented when it comes to hair and makeup, so in truth you feel positively glamorous. 

When you see Astarion, however, everything goes silent. You’re certain that he’s posing for you the way he’s stopped to adjust his cuff. The cut of the suit he’s wearing is exceptionally flattering and you imagine running your hands all over the emerald velvet. His crisp white button down is almost sheer and you desperately want to pull him into you by that forest green silk tie. 

But you can’t tear your eyes away from his face. This is the first time you've seen him wear makeup, and the simple smokey eyeliner look makes his red irises pop. He’s decided to forgo his glasses, presumably opting for contacts instead to show off the makeup. He’s also swapped out his standard silver hoops for little daggers with a red rhinestone glimmering at the hilt. 

He looks up at you the moment you lay eyes on him, or more specifically, the moment your heart starts to beat out of your chest. He flashes you a devastating smile before striding up to you and pulling you into a deep kiss. You can’t even be bothered to care that the other patrons are probably staring as he slides his hand onto your bare lower back, his cool touch sending a shiver up your spine.

He pulls away from you just enough to breathlessly ask, “Are you ready to sit down?”

“Huh?” You’re distracted, too busy plotting a mental path to the bathrooms to fuck him. He lets out a winded chuckle.

“The play. House is open, would you care to find our seats?” His palm is still pressed against your back and you can barely form coherent thoughts. You still don’t even know what play you’re here to see. You just want—no, need—to be near him.

“Um, yeah,” you respond, still trying to get your bearings and remind yourself how to be a person. You let him lead you into the theater, and only once you're in your seats do you realize that neither of you grabbed a program. You pull out your phone to see if you can look it up, but service in the Rosewood is notoriously bad. Instead you just need to sit still next to Astarion, who looks like a dream and smells even better. 

He glances at you as your heart quickens again and his lips curl into a smile. He slips his hand behind your neck and lightly runs his finger along the seam between the golden collar of the dress and your flesh, sending goosebumps down your arms. He leans toward you until his lips are almost brushing your ear. 

“You look absolutely ravishing, my dear,” he whispers, his breath tickling your earlobe. You turn your face toward him on instinct, your chest heaving as you try to steady your breathing. Your lips hover inches apart, anticipating the kiss, when suddenly a throng of noisy actors come barreling down the aisles. You snap away from Astarion as the cacophony of their shrieks of laughter, calls across the audience to one another, and drunken banter fill the house.

One of them clambors onto the stage and shouts, “For God’s sake, a pot of small ale!” He’s dressed in rags and appears by far to be the drunkest of them all. Three servingmen swarm him with various shouts of, “Will’t please your honor?” He shoves them all away and proudly takes up space center stage.

“I am Christophero Sly! Call not me ‘Honor’ nor ‘Lordship,’” he bellows as the rest of the players make their way onto the stage.

Christopher Sly… you’re wracking your brain to remember which play he serves as a framing device for. Most productions cut this scene because it’s long and completely irrelevant. You just can’t for the life of you remember which play he appears in.

The scene continues with their drunken antics and slapstick comedy as the players address Sly as “my noble lord,” making him believe he’s a king that they’re about to perform for. Eventually they carry Sly out on a makeshift palanquin as the “play within the play” begins. Two handsome young men in preppy clothes enter, holding a book and wearing glasses that aren’t too dissimilar from Astarion’s round metal ones. The one without the glasses speaks first.

“Tranio, since for the great desire I had to see fair Padua…”

Tranio? Isn’t he one of the characters in Taming of the Shrew?

He knows you don’t like this play.

Well, if it’s all that’s playing at the Rosewood right now…

But if that’s the case why not just, like, see a movie?

You shift uncomfortably in your dress and cast your gaze towards Astarion. He smiles, taking your fingers and placing a gentle kiss on your knuckles before turning back to the stage. He keeps your hand in his, absentmindedly stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. 

You can feel your heart pounding in your ears and you find yourself wondering what’s running through his head. Just when you think you have him figured out, he does something to surprise you. And honestly, not always in a good way.

Maybe it won’t be so bad. You know the creative team at the Rosewood wouldn’t pick this show if they weren’t going to try to do something with it. 

But even still… is this text even redeemable?

You sit through the entirety of the show cringing as the audience around you laughs at flagrant displays of domestic abuse. The actors, several of whom you’ve worked with before, are trying their hardest to make the lines playful, but some things just can’t be recovered. Between the forced starvation, physical intimidation, and gaslighting, you wonder why companies even bother performing this play anymore. No matter how witty the writing is, it’s just too out of date to be a good season choice.

When the time comes for Kate’s final monologue, you watch in pain as the actress tries to wink-wink-nudge-nudge her way through lines like “place your hands below your husband’s foot.” She’s young, and you wonder if this is one of her first professional gigs. You get a little sad knowing that she’s probably just desperate to do anything, even if it’s trash.

Maybe you’re being a little harsh. All of the individual elements of the show—the acting, set, costumes, direction, lighting—were quite good. You just can’t get over how irredeemable this text is. Worth teaching, yes, and maybe even taking Act II out of context just for the fun banter and clever wordplay. But professional theatre companies should really just retire this one.

In the Lyft back to your apartment, you decide to get Astarion’s take on the matter.

“Do you think it’s possible to redeem a text like Taming in a modern age?”

He pauses for a moment, continuing to look away from you and out the window.

“I do, yes,” he finally answers. “I think it takes a skilled hand, but it can be successful when done well.”

You sit on his response, chewing it over. You decide to take a different route.

“I guess a better question is do you think it’s worth trying to? Like, what are we getting out of it anymore?”

“Is entertainment not enough?” he says with a laugh. You wrinkle your nose at him.

“Sure, if you’re a basic ass bitch. But I want my art to mean something. And I can’t think of what this play can possibly mean if it’s not ‘shrill women are annoying and should learn their place.’” You cross and uncross your legs, trying to keep yourself decent.

“Last I checked, you enjoy being put in your place,” he says in a low hum and your pussy betrays you with a clench. 

“Shut up,” you grumble, and you’re grateful that the dark car hides your reddening cheeks. “It’s different.”

“Is it, though? Ultimately it is a text about two dysfunctional people finding comfort in one another.” His sincerity catches you off guard, and almost makes you angry that he’s been taken in by the propaganda.

“That’s only a valid interpretation if you ignore half of what happens in the play. They’re not equally dysfunctional, Kate literally gets beaten into submission and pretends to be happy about it. Petruchio is exactly the same from the start to the finish, he has no fucking character arc.” Your hands start to shake as you try to keep your cool. You’ve had this conversation far too many times with men who think they can interpret out the sexism by simply glossing over Kate’s abuse.

The Lyft stops in front of your building and you thank the driver as you get out. Astarion follows you, and you’re not even sure if you want him to accompany you upstairs. But you remain silent as you walk past Withers and into the elevator.

“You’re overreacting,” Astarion says once the elevator doors close. “People are drawn to this play for a reason. The text is excellent, and no one truly thinks of Petruchio as an abuser.”

“Are you joking?” Your voice gets shrill and the similarity to Kate isn’t lost on you. “The whole thing normalizes his abuse. The fact that people don’t think of him as an abuser is the problem.”

“It’s a slapstick comedy,” he snaps, his voice growing stern. “Are you going to tell me that we need to cancel the Three Stooges because it promotes violence?”

“Don’t be fucking condescending,” you spit. “It’s not the same and you know it.”

“How is it not the same? Suddenly because it’s a woman in the role it no longer counts? Are you implying that women should be barred from certain types of performance because of their gender?” He walks past you into your apartment and you throw your keys and bag on the counter, not even bothering to see where they land.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying, now you’re just twisting my words,” you grumble, more frustrated than ever by your inability to match his eloquence.

“So use your own words,” he sneers, whirling around to face you. “How is it not the same?”

“It’s because- well, I- It’s different, just- argh!” Your head is clouded by your attraction to him, which has annoyingly only grown over the past few minutes of shouting. You’re suddenly reminded of the smug arrogant bastard that you first met. He lets out a jeering laugh.

“See? You can’t even defend your own point.” 

His sardonic cruelty sets something off in you and you angrily grab the lapel of his green suit. Your intentions are a complete mystery even to you, because as soon as you’re within inches of one another, instincts take over. You crush his lips into yours and pull him backwards until you thump against the door behind you. He paws hungrily at the dress, sliding his hand under the slit and around to grab your bare ass. You gasp into his touch, feeling equally frustrated and aroused that he even controlled what you wore tonight.

Your fingers make their way into his hair and you pull hard, breaking the kiss and leaving his mouth open, panting. His eyes are sparkling with a fire that you haven’t seen yet and a low growl manifests in your throat. He smirks and buries his teeth into your shoulder, something he usually asks bespoke permission for. You cry out in response, twisting your hands tighter into his silvery locks.

He unlatches from your shoulder and pushes his knee past the front of your skirt and up onto your bare cunt. You grind wantonly against the velvet as he kisses you with bloody lips. He grabs hold of the delicate chains of the dress and yanks, detaching them from the collar and making the entire bodice crumple and pool around your waist. Your nipples immediately harden at the sudden exposure to cold air and he pinches one sharply between his fingers. Your hips roll into his leg as you groan, fully ruining his pants. He continues to bite around your neck and shoulders, placing little puncture wounds in his path, marking you as his.

You grab onto his tie and push him away so you can shimmy out of the rest of the dress. You’re now down to just the gold collar of the dress and your heels, a look you wish you could hate but don’t. You pull him across your living area and toward your bedroom, shoving him down onto the edge of the bed. 

“Thou hast hit it, come, sit on me,” he says, quoting Petruchio with a sinister grin. Kate’s retort falls out of your mouth reflexively.

“Asses are made to bear, and so are you,” you hiss as you straddle his hips, wrapping his tie around your hand until you’ve gripped it up to the knot. Your other hand violently unbuckles his belt, yanking it through the loops with a snap.

“Women are made to bear, and so are you,” he says with a caustic laugh, digging his nails into your ass cheeks. You tug sharply on his tie, bringing his lips close to yours.

“No such jade as you, if me you mean,” you snarl and silence him with an angry kiss. You don’t want to encourage his idiotic behavior, but you’d be lying to yourself if you said this wasn’t a fantasy you’ve had before. You fumble with the buttons of his suit jacket, trying to get him undressed as quickly as possible. You’re not sure if you feel more vulnerable or more powerful being undressed while he’s still fully clothed, but either way you want him naked, now. You get about three buttons into his shirt before you grow impatient, ripping it the rest of the way open and sending buttons flying. 

Good. Let him need to repair his clothes for once.

You push him flat onto his back and descend onto his chest, alternating kisses, licks, and bites. Your dull human teeth don’t have nearly the same effect as his fangs, but it just means you get to bite twice as hard in order to leave a mark. He writhes beneath your touch, and you feel a twisted satisfaction at the quiet little grunts and gasps you’re finally pulling from him. He’s rarely this vocal during sex, and it’s only serving to spur you on more.

His groans build until you capture his nipple in your teeth and bite down, causing him to shout and buck his hips up into you. In a flash he flips you around onto your back and he bears down on you, eyes dangerous. 

“Little love, do you think you’re in control?” he asks in a low growl, his hand gripped around your jaw. You sneer and slide your leg against the strained bulge in his pants. He hisses and your smile widens.

“Right now? Yes,” you coo, continuing to press your calf against his velvet-covered cock. You grab the tie still hanging around his neck and pull him close. 

“If you want it back, fucking take it.”

If I put my hands around your wrists, would you fight them?

He kisses you roughly, catching your bottom lip in his teeth biting hard enough to puncture the skin. He pulls back slightly, a drop of your blood running down his chin and a snide grin. He makes like he’s about to kiss you again but shoves your face away before your lips make contact.

This is the worst you’ve ever seen him—the most arrogant, the most condescending, borderline cruel even. And you have never been more turned on.

If I put my fingers in your mouth, would you bite them?

“Is that all you’ve got?” you taunt, licking the blood from your lips. “Go ahead, choke me, daddy.”

The feminist in you is horrified, but the little gremlin controlling your libido is having the time of its life. It squeals with delight when his hand closes around your throat, just barely constricting your breathing. 

“You insolent little brat,” he breathes into your ear, pulling up on your jaw. “I will absolutely ruin you.”

And there will be no tenderness, no tenderness.

“Do it, coward,” you spit, and he lets go just long enough to finish undressing from the waist down. He grabs your still heeled ankle and presses your leg up by your shoulder, stretching you wide enough to take him without any prep. You gasp as he fills you, the stinging pain outweighed by the gratification of finally feeling him inside you.

The only thing that I ask, love me mercilessly.

He sets a punishing rhythm, one knee on the bed and the other foot still firmly planted on the floor. He bottoms out with each long thrust and you grab hold of his hair to brace yourself. He winces with the pain but doesn’t slow down, and your moans grow high and loud as he continues to furiously pound into you. 

“Gods, fuck, Astarion,” you keen, your desire coiling in your belly and threatening to explode. “Keep going, daddy, fuck me please.” He grunts with the effort and your dirty talk seems to be having an effect as his pace falters. You jerk your hips up into him, chasing your orgasm, until finally it barrels through you like a runaway train. You pull on his hair as you come and that sets off his, his pulsing cock pressing against the clenching walls of your cunt. 

He stays deep inside you as the aftershocks reverberate through both of you, until the only sound remaining is your heavy panting. He drops his forehead to touch yours, a pleasantly tender moment after some of the roughest sex you can recall having. He starts to giggle and you follow suit, suddenly giddy. He pulls out of you with a squelch and walks to the bathroom to get a towel to clean up the mess you’ve left behind. He wipes you down gently, a surprising bit of aftercare you’re not accustomed to with him. He plants a tender kiss on your lips and you feel dizzy with affection for him.

You settle up against the headboard of your bed, his arm around you and both of you looking at your phones in a companionable silence. After a moment, he lets out a small chuckle. 

“What?” you ask, turning your head towards him quizzically.

“I’m just shocked that worked, is all,” he laughs, shaking his head. Your confusion grows and you furrow your brow.

“What worked?” you laugh with him, but something doesn’t feel right.

“The whole night, taking you to see Taming, getting into just enough of a fight to result in,” he vaguely waves his hand, gesturing to the edge of the bed, “all of that.”

“Wait, what? What do you mean?” You pull away from him and your stomach drops. Surely he can’t be suggesting what you think he’s suggesting.

“You get riled up so easily, I thought this might be fun.” He still doesn’t seem to have picked up on your heart pounding in your ears, which is frankly unusual for him.

“Are you saying… Wait, are you saying that you planned that fight? So, what, we’d have angry sex?”

“Of course, you don’t think I actually believe anything that I said, do you? Taming of the Shrew might be well-written, but it’s a rubbish play to produce.” He finally turns to you and sees that you’ve gone white as a sheet. “Oh, darling, don’t take it like that, you’re positively adorable when you’re angry, I couldn’t resist.” He tries putting his hand to your cheek but you flinch away like he’s burned you.

“Get out,” you say in a low voice, unable to even look at him.

“What?” He’s still laughing. He doesn’t get it. “My sweet, didn’t you-”

“GET. OUT.” Your voice has a venom in it that even shocks you. He stares at you in horror until you shoot him an icy glare. “Now.”

Without a word he stands and quickly puts his clothes back on. You stay in your bed, naked and curled under a sheet, until you hear the front door of your apartment slam. With shaking hands, you call Shadowheart.

“Moonmaiden’s delight, did you enjoy yourself? It certainly sounded like you did.” The sound of Shadowheart’s bubbly laugh usually makes you smile, but right now it seeps into your skin like poison.

“Shade, please come over,” you whimper, and the second the words leave your mouth, the tears begin to fall. You don’t hear her hang up, but you do hear a muffled, “I’m going to fucking kill him!” through the wall. You pull your knees further into your chest and sob.