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charmandabear · 2 months

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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.

218 notes · View notes

nightmaskart · 24 days

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Shadowheart modern au

#shadowheart #jenevelle hallowleaf #bg3 fanart #bg3 modern au #shadowheart modern au #dressing shadowheart up in my own clothes #goth fashion #midwest emo shart

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liltaireissocute · 18 days

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cherry and lavender

fem modern bloodweave because i really wanted to draw cherry leather jacket and girls kissing :'D

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hylianworrier · 12 days

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Couldn’t help but do a lil illustration for my new Bloodweave fic!

#bg3 #bg3 fic #bloodweave #bg3 gale #fanfic #astarion #lawyer Astarion #professor Gale #bg3 modern au #bg3 astarion #bloodweave fic #bloodweave fanfic #bloodweave fanart

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ratscrap · 5 months

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modern au wyll being into fencing for everyone's consideration thank you

#his stone eye is now just a regular glass eye btw #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #wyll ravengard #wyll bg3 #bg3 wyll #bg3 modern au #sketches #colored #how i drew his hair is also inspired by how @droodle-bug depicts him sometimes :)

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fruk-choosing-a-username · 3 months

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my favorite thing about modern aus is thinking what unhinged reels or tiktoks characters would send each other

last night i saw a reel of someone decorating a cookie that said "breed me", and a modern au durge would ABSOLUTELY send that to gortash at 2 am and itd be the first thing he sees when he wakes up in the morning for whatever horrible political job he has

#baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #enver gortash #dark urge #bg3 durge #bg3 gortash #durgetash #durge x gortash #modern au #bg3 modern au

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littlejuicebox · 26 days

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Plumber’s Crack(fic) / Leaky Pipes

I wrote this for an April Fool’s challenge. You can all thank @vixstarria for influencing me and for this monstrosity coming from that one single tag. AO3 link here.

This is written to be intentionally bad smut. Proceed if you want psychic damage.

Pairing: Astarion x Female Tav

Summary: In a Modern AU, Tav is looking for an expert escort roleplay experience. She gets far more than she expected.

Astarion sighs as he pulls up to a small, ranch style-house with a bunch of flamingo— no, goose… what the fuck?— garden ornaments. He glances at the number over the garage – 401 Pink Clam Street; yes, this is the right address. He pulls down the visor and watches himself in the mirror as he attaches the stupid fucking fake mustache he has to wear on these house calls. Mr. Szarr said no one trusts a plumber without facial hair… what the hell is he on, anyway?

He cannot wait until he is able to quit. This was supposed to be a temporary gig. But now it’s been years, he’s still stuck in this seemingly dead-end job, and truly, everything about it makes his skin crawl. Toilets, clumps of hair in the sink, sticking himself in small, confined spaces… gods, it’s all horrible. He sighs and climbs out of the work van. Time to just… get it over with.

When Tav hears the knock on the door, her eyebrows crinkle. She glances at the clock atop her vanity. It’s eleven in the morning – they’re two hours early. Well, perhaps they’re really in character… don’t plumbers normally come at any other time besides the time they actually say they will? She asked for realistic roleplay this time, unlike what she got from the last crap escort she hired. She’s getting what she’s paying for, at least.

She opens the door and is shocked to see a ridiculously handsome man standing at the entryway. She knew escorts were attractive but– well, she hadn’t exactly expected a greek god in a plumber’s uniform. Turns out, she’s definitely getting what she’s paying for this time around.

“Are you Ms. Tav…” Astarion pauses as he stares down at the word on the clipboard. He lifts an eyebrow. No, that can’t be right.

“Pusey? Yes, that’s me.”

“Can you spell that for me, ma’am?”

Tav blinks. This guy is… really taking the part seriously. “P-U-S-E-Y.”

Astarion nods as he stares down at the form in his hand. Mr. Szarr spelled it wrong on the form, of course. He’s going to have to fix it before she fills out the bottom half at the end. He glances back up to acknowledge the woman; she looks like she’s about to go pose for Playboy at any moment. She’s gorgeous, he has to admit. “I’m Astarion, the plumber. I’m told you need some assistance with your rim holes?”

Tav giggles. It’s time for her to play along. She puts on her best sultry face as she says, “Oh, yes. My rim holes are… definitely in need of your expertise. Please come inside.”

Astarion steps into the house. It’s small, but well-kept and well-decorated. It seems as if she lives entirely alone. “Where is your bathroom, ma’am?”

“I’ll show you,” Tav responds as she begins to head down the hallway. “I apologize, it’s very, very dirty.”

They walk into the bathroom and Astarion looks around. It isn’t dirty at all. Was she making a joke? He puts down his tools, opens the toilet lid, and begins to examine the commode.

“Is it true that… plumbers are good at laying pipe?”

Astarion glances up at the woman. She’s leaning against the doorframe, the picture of seduction. Her silk robe is slipping off her frame; she’s wearing a thin nightie underneath. She really does look like a Playboy centerfold. He swallows. “Yes, ma’am… it’s definitely an important part of the job. Perhaps the most important part. No one wants a plumber that can’t lay pipe.”

“Are you good at laying pipe, Astarion?”

He swallows again and stands. This was… not usually how these things went. “I would consider myself an expert, yes.”

“Then why don’t you show me how good you are at it?”

She’s got him by the coverall strap before he can protest, and her lips crash into his with reckless abandon. She smells wonderful, she’s gorgeous, and she seems to be very into him so it does not take long for Astarion to reciprocate. They’re caught in an embrace in the middle of the bathroom.

Tav breaks the kiss, and when she pulls away, she cannot help but giggle. Astarion’s fake mustache is dangling half off his face.

“Fuck this,” Astarion growls, and he rips the mustache off before eagerly wrapping his hands around the woman. He lifts her onto the bathroom counter and begins hiking up her nightie; he notices she isn’t wearing anything underneath. She’s unclipping his coveralls; they drop down around his ankles.

“Snake my leaky drain, Astarion,” Tav demands, her hands coming to pull his cock from his tighty whities.

He’s honestly surprised by her forwardness. But he does as she asks and quickly sinks himself inside her. He doesn’t last particularly long; he’s a bit embarrassed, but it’s not like he’s ever going to see this woman again. He isn’t so inconsiderate as to leave her without finishing, of course… it just… takes a while. A long while. His hand starts to cramp toward the end.

When the two of them are finished, Astarion runs a hand through his hair and looks around the bathroom. Tav is still on the counter, her hair a mess of tangled curls; one of her fake lashes is falling off. Well… at least they were both wearing fake body hair.

He glances at his wrist watch. Shit– he needs to complete the job and get out of here; he has another assignment later this afternoon. He coughs and tries his best to return to his professional role. “If you… give me a couple minutes to finish up here, I’ll be out of your way, ma’am.”

“Oh… of course.” Tav says and she slips from the counter and tugs her nightgown back down. “Take all the time you need, I’ll be out there with your payment when you’re ready.”

After a couple minutes, Astarion exits the restroom. It took him a bit longer than usual because he had to fill out a new form with the proper spelling of the client’s name. Tav is waiting for him in the kitchen with a smile. “I need a signature from you here, Ms. Pusey.”

Tav obliges and signs the piece of paper. Then she pulls out her wallet. “How much?”

“Five hundred.” Astarion murmurs as he tears off her receipt and hands it to her.

She nods and pulls out six bills. “There’s an extra hundred, for you, of course.”

“Oh. Thank you, ma’am.”

She pulls him into another kiss. “You’re one of the best plumbers I’ve had so far. I might be… contacting your company for your services again sometime.”

Astarion smiles and nods. He sticks the cash in his pocket. He’s not quite sure if he actually wants to be contacted by her or not after this… somewhat embarrassing situation, but he appreciates the sentiment all the same. “I’ll be on my way.”

Tav walks him to the front door. Then she quickly hops in the shower to clean off the evidence of their tryst. When she returns to the kitchen, she sees a text from her landlord.

Ms. Pusey, I forgot to mention this earlier. A plumber should be by this morning, around 11:00 to fix an issue with your toilet we noticed on our biannual walkthrough. His name is Astarion. Please pay him for his services; we will reimburse you once you provide the receipt. Apologies for any inconvenience.

She blinks at the text message. Wait a second…

The doorbell rings. She leaves her phone on the counter. She rips open the front door to reveal… a large, muscular man, dressed in a plumber's uniform.

The man roams his eyes over Tav and smirks mischievously before leaning his arm against the doorframe and staring down at her. His voice is low and suggestive as he speaks. “Hello, Ms. Pusey. My name is Hal Sin. I’m told you have some leaky pipes in need of immediate attention?”

#smut #astarion smut #crack fic #April fools fic #April fools challenge #what is wrong with me #astarion x tav #astarion x female tav #astarion x female oc #Astarion modern au #bg3 modern au

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darkurgetrash · 2 months

Text

Shadowheart shops at Hot Topic.

#Shadowheart #Shadowheart fanart #bg3 fanart #bg3 Shadowheart #modern Shadowheart #bg3 modern au #fanart #bg3 fan art #baldurs gate 3 fanart #oc

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kylobith · 22 days

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Little Town Tails

Chapter 2: Bear Trap

Summary: A first patient comes to Halsin's veterinary practice. And not the usual kind.

Ship/Pairing: Halsin x Fem!Tav

Trope: Modern AU, Meet-cute, Little countryside town, Cosy

Word count: 3,693

Read it on Ao3 here

Listen to the dedicated playlist on Spotify here

There she stands, in the middle of the street, with messy copper-red hair blown around her pointy ears and into her eyes by the mischievous breeze. Sweat beads upon her pale brow, trickling down her temples and threatening to dampen the bumpy bridge of her freckled nose. Although clouded by nearly palpable concern, her turquoise eyes capture his gaze within a heartbeat, stealing the breath from his lungs.

While her expression displays panicked urgency, the faint lines coursing from the curves of her nostrils down to frame her rosy lips, coated with strong cherry-scented chapstick, bear witness to the numerous times she must have laughed and smiled. Such expressions must have been genuine, he thinks, since they have reached and creased the corners of her almond eyes.

Before his stare lingers upon her, he lowers it to the heavy weight occupying her arms and he nearly steps back in surprise.

An owlbear cub. An actual owlbear cub!

Out of breath and attempting to wipe the sweat stinging her eyes with her shoulder, she approaches him and calls out to him.

‘Good morning,’ she huffs, ‘are you…’

She tilts her head down to read a creased business card she previously tucked below her armpit.

‘...Doctor Silverbough?’

‘I am he, indeed,’ Halsin nods and opens the door wide again. ‘Is something wrong with the cub?’

The lady acquiesces and lets out a whimper as the whining cub’s weight weakens her grip and she tries to adjust it. Without thinking, he shoves the pastry box in his pocket and steps forward to delicately take the ailing animal from her. He invites her inside as he carries the cub to the examination table in his clinical room. Upon seeing the owlbear’s stature, he mentally pats himself on the back for having invested in a larger examination table despite his former mentor’s advice to stick to standard dimensions.

The woman, having followed him and closed the door behind them, comes to stand by her furry and feathery companion to scratch him behind the ears in reassurance.

‘There is something wrong with his front paw,’ she says, showing him which one she means. ‘When I called him for breakfast this morning, he didn’t come up to me. He stayed at the back of our field and he wouldn’t move. So, I went to check up on him, and I saw that he couldn’t stand up and that he couldn’t walk at all.’

Halsin lets the cub smell his hand before petting him on the head and the side of its face, letting it know that his intentions are nothing but friendly. After a moment of hesitation, the owlbear squeaks and sits back on its hind legs, almost in reverence. The veterinarian thanks it with a brief scratch under its beak and proceeds to a preliminary examination.

As he carefully feels around for any spot that might be especially sensitive, Halsin senses warm dents into the flesh of the paw, about three inches above the long and sharp claws. While the owner watches him with fear ablaze in her eyes, he brushes back the feathers and tries to find the holes he felt just a moment ago.

It does not take long before he does. Fresh blood guides him to the puncture wounds, witnesses of the tearing of the cub’s leathery skin. It is a botched work. Either the animal has struggled and caused more damage than necessary, or something — or someone — has pulled at whatever the source of such injuries was. And it must have been something quite solid, if not the teeth of a strong-jawed animal.

‘I feel deep punctures in a curved line,’ he mutters pensively to the owner. ‘Can you think of anything which could have bitten your cub? Or any object that could have torn the skin?’

The woman ponders for a moment, folding her arms as she does, but responds with a shake of her head.

‘I cannot think of anything. The field I let him live in is not one where I cultivate the land, so there is no farming equipment on the spot, not even a pitchfork.’

‘Does it ever leave the field?’

‘I do take it on the occasional forest walk, but I am extremely careful when it happens. Because of his wild animal status, I can’t take him just anywhere, you see.’

‘Of course.’

From the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of her holding her head. When her whole body sways, he reaches out to catch her by the arm, preventing her from hurting herself in an unfortunate fall. He sits her down on a chair against the wall and crouches before her. Funny enough, his large frame is such that even in such a position, he remains taller than her.

‘Are you alright, madam?’ he asks loudly, in case she might need to snap back into consciousness. But she is awake, much to his relief.

‘I am, sorry about that. I am just worried about my cub.’

Judging from her pallor, he can tell that her issues are rooted in something else.

‘Have you eaten today?’

‘No. I usually give him breakfast before I have mine, and it took me so long to carry him across the field, then into the car, then drive here, then…’

She sighs and leans her head back against the wall. Poor thing, Halsin tells himself. In his two decades of experience in this field, fainting owners have been commonplace. After all, animals and pets are companions, family members, even. They are a lonely grandfather’s friend, the confidante of an ill-at-ease child, the partner in crime of an adventurous young woman. They take on many roles and never fail to bring comfort to their owners, although the occasional call to animal protection services has occurred throughout his career, as much for the animal’s wellbeing than for the apathetic owner’s sake. And, to be frank, his own peace of mind, but this is never a useful criterion when dealing with such circumstances.

Halsin gently takes the woman’s wrist to measure her pulse.

‘Would you like me to make you some tea?’ he offers with a warm smile. ‘I have some snacks you can eat. It is not good for you to remain in this state.’

She stares into his eyes, a blush dusting her cheeks and nearly rendering her freckles invisible to the eye.

‘Perhaps it’ll help,’ she answers weakly. ‘Thank you.’

He pats her arm and rushes to the staff room to fill the electric kettle with water before turning it on. As the device starts and a loud hum fills the cramped space, Halsin leans back against the cabinets and conceals a giddy grin behind his hand.

His heart is racing. He cannot explain it, but it is. He nearly grows dizzy from it, in the same manner that she swayed earlier. In twenty-two years of work, this has never happened. If anything, he was known to be the most professional veterinarian in the previous practice for which he worked. From his first day to the last, Halsin impressed his boss on multiple occasions, demonstrating unmatched level-headedness when dealing with heart-wrenching situations.

One day, a young man rushed inside the office, cradling his unresponsive cat whose abdomen was torn open by sharpened iron spikes. The owner was howling in despair, struggling to believe that anybody would do this to his innocent furry companion. While Halsin was busy keeping the animal alive, treating the gash and sewing it up, he could hear the man begging his colleague to save the cat, his only friend left in the world. Uncannily adroit with a needle, he managed to save the feline’s life and he became its regular vet throughout the years. Once the owner had left, his manager had praised Halsin for his unshakeable calm demeanour, but little did he know that he struggled to sleep for a few nights, wondering whether there could have been anything that he could have done better for this poor little creature.

But having his heart racing for a pet’s owner? Never. Unheard of. Inconceivable!

Before he knows it, steam swirls out of the kettle’s beak and a sudden click resounds from the countertop, a brief interruption amid the bubbling noise of the water. Halsin shakes his head, trying to keep his head clear, and retrieves his teabox from one of the overhead cabinets. He prepares the tea service on a tray, complementing it with a jar of honey and a small, flowery sugar box he inherited from a relative. On a saucer, he sets down three of the miniature pastries that Melly brought him earlier, hoping that they would be enough to keep the lady’s blood sugar up.

Tucking the teabox under his arm, he carries the tray to the examination room and sets it down on the chair beside her, pleased to see that the woman is regaining colours.

‘Here, pick a flavour,’ he says, balancing the teabox on his palm and opening it for her.

‘Thank you,’ she mumbles in embarrassment, picking a red berry infusion. As she notices the honey on the tray, she eyes him curiously. ‘Honey? Isn’t that for sore throats?’

Halsin laughs and washes his hands in the small sink in the corner of the room, drying them thoroughly.

‘It is, but I find honey to be most soothing when I am worried. You are free to try it.’

The woman smiles at last and takes him up on the offer. As Halsin brings his focus back to the injured cub, he hears the clinking of the spoon inside the cup as she twirls the mixture in the same way a witch would stir a potion.

Setting the paw on a sterile cloth, he washes the blood away with saline water, clearing the view so he can identify the problem.

‘I cannot believe this,’ he grumbles through gritted teeth as he recognises the marks.

‘What is it, doctor?’ the woman gasps, her head shooting up as soon as his voice reaches her.

‘Bear trap. Your cub had his paw stuck in one. Are you sure that you have not seen anything suspicious in your field or the forest? Truly nothing at all?’

She hastily drinks a sip and sets the cup aside, jumping onto her feet to see the injuries with her own eyes.

‘A bear trap, you say? I don’t…’

‘Does he ever leave your field? Are there any other places that he might go?’

‘No, only the field and the forest. My permit only allows me to take him there,’ she answers, before furrowing her brow. ‘Although, when I found him this morning, the fence had been broken in from outside. I doubt that he escaped. He has never tried it.’

Her gaze darkens as she ponders about the fence again. It seems that she might have found an explanation for the broken face, and, Halsin hopes, for the trap.

‘This little fucker!’ she hisses.

As she sees his raised eyebrow, she waves a hand before her.

‘Sorry, doctor. I believe I know who might have done it.’

She grabs her cup of tea to sip it, letting it calm her nerves, even just for an instant.

‘My neighbour, Mr Bongle. A bitter man, this one. Always angry about something. He was so adamant about having the cub taken away by the local authorities and euthanised. He tried to oppose my acquisition of a piece of the field behind my house for the owlbear’s development, and it went so far that the dispute needed mediation from the town hall.’

‘I see. How did it end up?’

‘I won the dispute. I proved that I had the right paperwork done and that I had all the permits to keep the owlbear in my care. My family owns a rescue centre in the north. They cure wounded wild animals and release them. I used to work with them when I was a student, so I’m experienced when it comes to that sort of animal.’

‘Do you believe that your neighbour might have disagreed with the verdict?’

‘Oh, very much so. He has threatened to hurt the cub more than once,’ she scoffs, finishing the tea in one last gulp, before petting the owlbear’s head and peppering its feathers with kisses. Even from where he stands, Halsin notices the tears welling up in her eyes. ‘I just never thought he would actually do it.’

While she cuddles her owlbear — the animal being visibly comfortable around her — Halsin begins to clean each wound individually.

‘Have you seen any trap on your land?’ he inquires while hunched over the animal’s claws.

‘None.’

That does not help things at all. After all, the woman mentioned owning a field, it is possible that the spot where she found the cub is different from the whereabouts of the trap. What if the creature crawled away after being caught and simply could not go any further?

‘It is not the first time that I see such an attack happening,’ Halsin confesses to the woman. ‘Back in the village where I used to work, neighbours’ quarrels were sometimes aggravated by attacks on the other party’s private property, and pets or farm animals were often the first to suffer from such pettiness.’

‘Any pattern you recognise?’

Halsin offers a simple shrug.

‘It could be anything. If Mr Bongle is indeed behind your cub’s injuries, it is possible that he planted the trap on the edge of your field, but once he saw it caught, he could have panicked and broken into your property to remove the trap. That could explain the broken fence and the tears in the skin. But these are mere suppositions.’

‘I see.’

Once all the wounds are disinfected, Halsin conducts a test to assess the extent of nerve and tissue damage caused by the jaw of the bear trap. Unfortunately, the cub does not respond to stimulation as well as he hoped it would. When he gently pokes the area with a dull needle, the creature merely tilts its head, wondering what he is up to. But there is no response in the limb. No twitch of the claw. Further up the leg, however, everything seems to work as normal.

‘Mh,’ Halsin sighs, ‘I am afraid that there has been some nerve damage, either caused by the trap or the attempts to remove it. That is why he could not stand or walk. He does not seem to feel anything in the paw. Slight tingles at most.’

‘Is there anything we can do?’

‘I can operate this afternoon. All the materials and equipment are here. Since the rest of the leg responds normally, I believe that the damage to the paw is not irreversible. That was simply bad luck.’

‘Will he struggle to walk later on?’

‘That is a risk, indeed, but if he limps for the rest of his life, it should be a painless hindrance. I have seen animals with worse injuries that could still run around until late in life. Sure, their gait appeared a bit silly at times, but they did not experience any discomfort or pain.’

The woman nibbles on her lower lip and nods slowly.

‘Fine. Let’s operate.’

Halsin lets her reassure the trembling owlbear and walks over to the computer on the opposite side of the examination table. He opens his software and types the details of the situation into a new file.

‘I can keep him here already until the surgery. Just in case, I would like to keep him overnight for observation. This will not be at your charge.’

‘Oh, thank you. May I ask how you are going to look after him?’

‘I live right above the practice,’ he responds warmly, pointing at the ceiling. ‘I can check up on him every three hours and make sure that he drinks and eats enough. You should be able to bring him home tomorrow. Would that be suitable for you?’

‘Yes.’

He continues to fill in the form on the software, the clickety-clacks of his old keyboard filling the room.

‘Besides,’ he adds, ‘I have a loyal companion who would be delighted to keep watch over your cub.’

Behind the reception, outside the room, they hear Scratch stretching his paws. His claws clink against the linoleum floor, and his whimpery yawn causes both the veterinarian and the anxious owlbear owner to smile.

‘Sounds like a good boy, alright,’ the woman acquiesces with a chuckle. ‘Well, I suppose that Beaky’s in good hands.’

‘Beaky?’

‘Oh, yes, that’s his name. Beaky. Sorry, I’m not creative when it comes to names.’

‘That is quite alright,’ Halsin laughs, ‘I have heard much worse.’

Once every field has been filled in, he turns around to face the woman.

‘May I ask for your name and address, so I can fill in Beaky’s file?’

‘Of course. My name is Tav Ashguard and my address is 8 Barn Way in Combury.’

‘Thank you.’

Tav. What a peculiar name, but one he likes nonetheless. As soon as compliments fill his head, he ushers them away as if he fears that she can read his mind.

‘There. Everything is ready,’ he speaks over the deafening whirlwind of thoughts inside his brain. ‘If you wish, I can take your phone number and keep you updated if anything happens. This can be done by text or on the phone, whatever suits your preferences.’

‘Texts would be perfect. Call only if it is dire.’

‘Very well.’

Tav recites her phone number and he enters it in his file and into his work phone. Halsin then gives Beaky some mild painkillers just to be sure, before escorting its owner back to the reception. Once they stand at the door, he points towards a nearby street.

‘If you suspect Mr Bongle, I would advise you to seek the local forest ranger, Minsc. His office is up that street, to the right. He is in charge of the woods between Heawick and Combury, so perhaps he can help you find the bear trap. If not, he can refer you to a lawyer from the animal protection services, he often works with them when he finds injured and orphaned animals.’

‘Oh, that’s lovely of you. Thank you.’

She shakes his hand firmly.

‘Thank you for the tea and for taking care of Beaky. I was not sure whether you would take him in, but I’m glad you did.’

‘Of course. All animals deserve to be saved.’

‘I like hearing that.’

If Halsin did not know better, he could swear that he saw her blush just now.

‘Please, keep me updated on Beaky’s state?’

‘I promise you that I will keep a close eye on him.’

‘Perfect. Thanks. Goodbye, Dr Silverbough!’

‘Goodbye, Miss Ashguard.’

He sees her walk back to her car, right when a roaring engine echoes through the street. Karlach appears, perched atop a vintage motorcycle, and parks the vehicle in front of the practice. The tiefling hops off, clad in a short leather jacket adorned with silver buckles and dull spikes. She runs a hand through her dark hair ornamented with red streaks, hoping that it was not flattened too much because of her helmet.

When she notices Halsin at the door, she waves excitedly, her whole face illuminating.

‘Morning, Doc!’ she chimes, watching Tav’s car driving away. ‘Was that our first patient?’

Halsin grins. He has not known the young woman long, but one thing is for certain. Her enthusiasm, even for the littlest things, is unparalleled.

‘Indeed.’

‘What was it? A dog? A cat? A bird?’

‘An owlbear.’

Karlach gasps, her eyes as round as marbles and her jaw dropping at once.

‘No fucking way!’

‘Language,’ Halsin scolds playfully, although he certainly wishes that she could swear less loudly.

‘Sorry. No way!’

Without needing any form of invitation, she rushes inside, slamming her helmet on her chair behind the reception. She bursts into the examination room and finds the docile cub on the table. While Halsin closes the door and quietly makes his way to the two of them, he hears Karlach’s squeals and her cooed words as she pets the creature.

‘I will operate on him this afternoon, so I will need to close the practice earlier. Until we find another vet willing to work here, we do not have much choice.’

‘Understood, Doc.’

‘I will keep him overnight for observation. You can simply go home once I am done with the surgery. Does that sound alright to you?’

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to stay longer?’

‘It should be fine.’

The tiefling continues to pet the cub in the same way she does Scratch, not caring that it is supposed to be a wild animal.

‘Where will the cub sleep, though?’ she asks. ‘Aren’t our cages too cramped for a pet this size?’

‘I will bring down the mattress from my guest room,’ Halsin sighs. ‘I might sleep near him while he recovers.’

‘You know what you should invest in, Doc? A babyphone. Or one of those baby cameras, you know?’

‘Hah. Perhaps I should.’

He watches her as she showers Beaky with love. Despite her inexperience, he has no regrets about employing Karlach. She is most efficient, involved, caring, and willing to learn any new task. These are qualities that he immediately sensed in her when she showed up to the practice one day after reading online that it would soon open. Out of nowhere, while varnishing wooden poles, Halsin found the tiefling scratching at his door, begging him to give her a job. Anything.

At the time, she and her partner Dammon were struggling to pay rent, but with early salary payment, once he allowed her to help with the renovations in the office space and the running of errands before she took on her official role, the issue was solved altogether.

Karlach presses a kiss into Beaky’s feathers and turns to Halsin with a smirk.

‘His owner was cute. Didn’t you think so, Doc?’

Halsin laughs and leans against the doorpost, trying to appear as nonchalant as he can.

‘I suppose.’

Taglist: @emmanuellececchi

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