#rugan x tav

[leopardmuffinxo]

i can make you shut up, but you might moan a little

[nananarc]

YCHs did for @full---ofstarlight and @redbatchedcumbermayned

(Sorry for the weird cut, i don't want tumblr to ban me lol)

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[cloverthebarbearian]

I am here to feed the Rugan community to the very best of my ability 😌❤️ she's a long list fella's so get comfy

Masterlist of Rugan HCs (NSFW under cut)

Rugan on the Road

With the Zhentarim

He's incredibly bossy while never doing much hands on work himself

He's always trying to find shortcuts to getting a job done quick and easy

Constantly pulling 'we're a team here we're family c'mon now' if his crew starts bickering

Empty promises of promotions or good words put in for low ranking recruits if they do extra work for him

But if you ACTUALLY manage to impress him though? He will show favoritism and not even try to hide it

Doesn't care much for following orders if he can get more from a better deal, but has been getting sloppier about hiding his schemes with age (girl why did you offer to split profits on a smuggling job with a complete stranger for real)

Big drinker, heavy sleeper, still somehow the first to wake up every morning

Also the first one to duck during a battle if he finds an opening

First one to act like 'we sure showed them! By working together. As a team.' When the fights been won

As much as he loves to slack off and take shortcuts, you'll never catch him complaining about the 'little' things. Low rations? Not hungry. Long journey? We need the exercise. Small crew? Good for stealth, travel light.

Even though he's a selfish asshole, he has a really charming demeanor and good enough attitude during the shittiest of situations that most people find themselves enjoying the journey with him by the end of the day

With Tav's Party

(Let's say after you've saved him from being near beat to death for finally getting caught scamming the Zhents, you convince him to let you escort him to Baldur's Gate just to make sure he doesn't get jumped again and fucking Die)

The man is SO flirty. He can't stop flirting. Depends on if Tav is into it or not will drastically change how he comes onto them, but note its not JUST Tav hes flirting with. He's got eyes on practically everyone. (Except Laezel. He tried, once. She threatened to kill him) No one knows if hes serious or if its just his personality but the man can't stop flirting.

At first, he puts in some work. Wanting to put in a little effort to carry his own weight and not be a burden, though Tav insists on him resting after the ordeal

But it doesn't take long for him to milk the mothering. His injuries suddenly become too distractingly painful. Even though Shadowheart absolutely mended that broken rib two nights prior. He insists the bruising is still pretty serious. He needs to save his strength for travel.

The entire party gets pretty sick of his BS after a while, but its not enough to kick him out or anything

Phrases like 'shut up rugan' or 'fuck off rugan' become campsite mottos

Once you all get to Baldur's Gate, its a funny, bittersweet dynamic of everyone saying they're releaved he's finally leaving, but reluctant to say goodbye

The first night without him is unusually quiet without his drunken campfire stories and earth shakingly loud snores

Rugan as a Mentor

No ulterior motives in the sense that, he only ever recruits people he also finds attract. A bias he refuses to outright acknowledge ('I have an eye for talent! Not my fault the talents also a looker 😏') so he would recruit Tav with every intention of possibly bedding them. The motives are not ulterior. They are perfectly apparent.

Similar to in game canon, he'd recruit them by trying to come to some sort of sale arrangement. Though lets say instead of selling the chest to split profits for themselves, he convinces Tav that rescuing him would surely warrant a reward back at their base, which would in turn lead to more jobs, which would lead to more money for them

Always insists on training his personal recruitments himself (for the non-ulterior ulterior motives)

Is FULLY the type of coach who has to insist their stance is all wrong so he can stand intimately behind them and guide their limbs to the proper position

He's got his cheek pressed to their's, gruff voice low, talk'm'bout 'You're far too tense, Sweetheart. You really need to relax those shoulders and widen your stance, like this...'

He's entirely aware of what he's doing and makes Zero effort to be subtle about it

General Rugan HCs

SFW

Drinks a lot but holds it well

Getting him truly drunk is VERY funny and usually ends up with him gushing about how much he cares about his friends, his guild mates, stuff he'd never be caught dead saying sober, and will insist he never said drunk either

Has 101 stories of his decades running jobs on the road, most of which you're certain are entirely made up... Until you meet an old business partner of his one day, who can corroborate the tale

For such an experienced merc/trader, surprisingly light on battle scars

Very, VERY ready for retirement. May have even been getting sloppy with his scams on purpose in the hopes of being kicked from the zhents all along...

NSFW

The man fucks. The man FUCKS. Rough and sloppy and hard and like its the last romp he'll ever have every single time.

Will always make sure his partner finishes, typically more than once

Likes to choke his partners

Likes to cum on their face

*Gasp*! Oh noooo, we can't find/afford a room to rent for the night. I guess I'm just gonna have to take you right here in this ally by the bar 🤷🏼‍♂️ but you better be quiet, unless you want to get caught...

Big into dirty talk and will practically narrate his plans for the evening as he acts on them

Has the stamina to last hours and prefers to take his time but still always down for a quickie where he can get it

Sorry everyone, but the idea of aftercare is lost on him. When you're both finally spent he's literally tossing you a damp rag while he steps out to smoke a Fantasy Cigarette

Cuddles in his sleep, and doesn't even know this about himself. But you will wake up in a near-suffocating bearhug if you fall asleep together

[bloodiedrogue]

THANKS, LASS!

SUMMARY: Rugan finally gets to buy you that drink at the Elfsong... and say his proper thanks.

PAIRING: Rugan & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,252

WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, oral sex (female receiving), teasing, a little bit of hair pulling if you squint, CONSENT!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi, I've never written for this man in my life so if it's bad... just uh... move along, please. Also, thanks to everyone who voted for the poll! I promise I'll do more fun things like this when I'm not so sad and sick. :')

MASTERLIST

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The pain that resides in your lower back is intense. A torturous shift of muscle and bone pushing itself in all the wrong spots. So much so that as you take that first step towards the Elfsong’s upstairs quarters you can’t help but groan at the impact. Remembering how awful it felt to fight off that horde of elementals alongside Lorroakan’s particularly brutal set of spells. 

At this rate, the only thing you can feel is the need to rest and drink. Both of which somehow manage to pull your thoughts away from the staircase beneath your feet. Or more specifically how increasingly painful each step becomes. 

“You guys still have that gold from earlier, right?” Karlach asks. She’s about two steps in front of you and barely hanging on herself. With her great axe strapped to her back, it’s a wonder she’s still upright considering she probably took the brunt of the fight. 

“Yes, why?” Beside her, Shadowheart looks over skeptically. Even though she already knows why the tiefling’s asking.

“I ran out.” 

“Of course, you’d conveniently run out of money the second we make it to the most expensive tavern in town.” Leaning against the railing of the staircase, Astarion uses one hand to steady himself and the other to flippantly wave her off. All while rolling his eyes before shooting you an unimpressed look. “I swear, all this woman does is mooch.” 

“Says the bloodsucking vampire!” Karlach retorts, prompting Astarion to scoff. 

“You know, comparing an eternal curse to a lack of financial responsibility is rather poor taste, Karlach.” 

“Yeah, well—“

You’re already turning back towards the bottom of the staircase before you can listen further, grumbling under your breath. Moving your aching hands to your face to scrub them down in annoyance as you make a beeline for the bar.

All day they’d been at each other’s throats. Bickering about the littlest things as a result of too much pressure. Even before arriving within the city limits, you could feel the tension of everyone’s problems reaching their climax. And now it was well past the point of boiling over. 

“What can I—“

“Whatever’s strongest, please.” 

Awkwardly, you shift onto one of the barstools, cringing at the pain that radiates through your spine. Trying your best to ignore the exhaustion that settles once you inevitably trade your drink for a few pieces of gold.

“Rough day, I assume.” 

You give the barkeep an annoyed nod, leaning forward to readjust your position. Attempting to alleviate the discomfort by putting more weight onto your elbows as you begin to anxiously sip. The drink overall isn’t bad for what it’s worth. A bit fiery as it slips through your lips and down your throat but still tolerable. Better than most of the shit you’ve ransacked on the road which leaves you somewhat thankful. 

“You an adventurer?” 

As you take another drink, pausing mid-sip to narrow your eyes at the barkeep you can’t help but wonder how he hasn’t gotten the hint. You’re not here to talk —you’re here to drink. To drown in the silence of your thoughts until you inevitably have to come back up for air and wander helplessly upstairs to bed. To wallow in your own pity as you try and decide whose problems you’ll have to face next in favour of avoiding your own. 

Opening your mouth to respond, you’re quickly interrupted by a familiar voice. One that’s low and Northern —a jumble of words you don’t quite catch on account of the speed at which he scolds the barkeep causing him to scoff. 

“He bothering you?”

Glancing to your left, you’re met with Rugan’s familiar eyes. All tired and blue, looking at you with an odd amount of smugness that has you holding back a smirk as you shake your head. “Not anymore.” 

“Good. Ol’ Darvin’s always been a bit shit at social cues, haven’t you Darv?” As he speaks, his volume rises, catching the attention of the barkeep once again who flips him off. 

“Oh, piss off, Zhent.”

All he does is laugh. Lending you a moment to take another much-needed sip feeling your stomach flip. 

“I see you made it back in one piece.”

“Mostly.”

“Rough trip?”

You snort in response, knowing just how unaware he is of how truly rough it’s been. “You could say that.”

“Hopefully no more gnolls?”

“Only a few.” You shrug, watching him nod his head. Noticing the way he pauses his response to take your appearance in full, his eyes darting from the faded bloodstains coating the roots of your hair to the dishevelled way your armour sits on your frame, already begging to be discarded.

“When did you make it back?”

“A few nights ago.”

“And you’ve just now decided to take up my offer for a drink? Tsk, I’m offended,” he teases, his lips pulling down into a mock frown that has you biting your tongue and shaking your head, trying to appear aloof. 

Because if you're being honest, at this moment you’re feeling anything but. Thanks to the way he continues to stare —practically drinking you in like a man devoid of hydration— it feels as though you’ll cave at any second. Something you know you can’t do because there’s work to be done.

“My sincerest apologies,” you reply dramatically, pausing to take the last few sips of your drink before sighing in relief. “Yesterday I was a bit tied up fighting a cloister of angry Sharran’s and today we had to murder a power-hungry wizard. So, the offer sort of slipped my mind if I’m being honest.” 

Unsurprisingly, that piques his interest, prompting his brows to raise and his frame to sort of shift a bit closer. “Seems a bit excessive, don’t you think?” 

“How do you mean?”

“Aren’t you meant to relax now that you’re back in the city?”

This time you laugh, throwing your head back —watching as he scrunches up his face in confusion until you eventually settle back down, wiping a stray tear from your eye. 

An act you half expect him to question considering how absurd it looks suddenly erupting into madness. How despite always acting like you know exactly what you’re doing you’ve just shown him otherwise. Granting him what little access you’re willing to release in order to pull him in. 

Which sounds ridiculous when you take into account you barely know the man. Having spoken to him on only two occasions, he really shouldn’t be trusted. Not at least until he’s proven himself an ally like others have. Instead, he should be placed at arm’s length like every other soul you’ve managed to save along the way. Looked at with fondness and curiosity but not faith. Never faith.

“Got yourself into some deep shite, have you?”

The way he smiles after he speaks leaves you questioning everything. The way your body shifts in response —the way your lungs give out and your legs move. The way everything feels warm and taut, forcing your mind to travel to places you know they shouldn’t. 

“Course.” 

“Bit of a troublemaker?”

In response, you shrug your shoulders and grin, unsure how to respond because, truthfully, you’re not. At least, not really. Sure, trouble always seems to find you as of late but obviously you don’t want it. Instead, what you want is peace. A night of no consequence or agenda. A night of song and dance and drink. A night of something other than what you’ve been constantly offered time and time again over these last few weeks. 

Which is why you don’t protest when Rugan merely changes the subject, offering to buy you another drink. Or why you fail to stop after the second or the third —pausing around the fourth to debate going to bed before eventually relenting once more, smiling at the way he pokes fun at your lack of tolerance. 

“Figured a fierce warrior like you’d be able to handle their drink.” 

By that point, your mind is exclusively swimming around him. Thinking of all the ways you could further enjoy his company after this is over. Maybe you could ask him out for another drink. Or tag along with whatever trouble he’ll most likely get himself into again. 

“Give me a break, Zhent,” you chastise, swirling the glass that now sits idly in your hand. Trying your best to tear your gaze from his, knowing that you’re drowning. Slipping further and further into those pretty fucking eyes that look and stare and absorb every single little thing you do. Every new glance making you unnecessarily nervous —a bundle of skittish thoughts and movements erupting over time, forcing your guard to quickly lower. Causing the once-severed connection between your mind and mouth to mend itself in the form of drunken rambles that have him practically on the edge of his seat. 

“You know, I kept thinking I’d miss you when we arrived,” you tell him, glancing over your shoulder to hide the stupid grin that sits across your face at just the thought.

“You don’t say.” He grins back. 

“Mhm. I kept having to tell myself not to get my hopes up.” 

“Didn’t realize you viewed me so highly.” 

“I don’t,” you immediately lie, despite knowing he’s already caught you. Thanks to his patience, charm, and heavy pockets he’s managed to earn at least one admittance of vulnerability, and knowing him that’s all he needs. 

“You know, you’re a terrible liar,” he muses, and although you want to fight him on it, you don’t. Knowing that the conversation would just lead to another ill-performed lie tumbling from your already loosened lips. 

“And you’re too smug.” 

“Well, that’s because I have to be.” 

You raise your brow. “Why?”

“Because pride gets you places. Shame doesn’t.” 

Suddenly, you’re scrunching up your face and leaning forward, placing your glass on the counter between you —moving towards the edge of your chair so that you can explore his features the same way he did earlier. 

Somehow it hardly phases him. Instead of making him sweat as it had previously done to you, you can sense that pride he’s talking about. All the underlying confidence that peaks through his pores, settling between the lines of age that reside around his mouth and eyes. It practically radiates off of him. Blinding you for a good few moments before it slowly fades behind the backdrop of something new. Something far more vulnerable, showcasing itself in the subtle way his eyes dart down towards the hand that’s suddenly found itself around his knee.

“You know, it’s okay to be vulnerable sometimes,” you say, speaking to both him and yourself. Attempting to boost whatever confidence the two of you once had during the flirtatious parts of your conversation. “In certain circumstances, obviously.” 

“Obviously.” 

Looking away, you then press your lips together and go to move your hand, feeling his quickly slip over top and how it pulls you back in again. 

“This your way of granting me permission to be vulnerable, then?”

All you do is shrug, glancing down to see his fingers maneuvering your hand into his. Each digit lacing between the empty spaces of your own so that he can raise it and place a gentle kiss on your knuckles. An act that leaves you utterly breathless as he snorts and says something else. Something you don’t quite catch due to the fact that you’re already six feet below the surface, desperately trying to come up for air so that you can focus on the sound his mouth makes rather than what it might feel like against your skin. Or how it might taste after a long bout of— 

“Oi, you listening?”

“Sorry?”

All he does is scoff as he kisses your hand again, watching your mouth open and close like a fish out of water. Taking you in with each struggling breath until he can feel your sense of stability returning. 

“I said I’d really like to take you upstairs and fuck you, if that’s alright.” 

At that moment, you’re completely speechless. A silent mess of twisting expressions too scared to respond with anything remotely charming. 

As if you’ve been reduced to nothing but a follower worshipping their holy God, eventually all you do is nod and allow your body to be led up the stairs. Patiently waiting for the moment you step over that final threshold of privacy. All while internally wondering if what you’re doing is the right thing because there’s still so much work to be done. Not to mention the fact that everyone’s relying on you to—

“Aye, they can handle themselves for the night, yeah?” 

Practically reading your mind, it’s as if you’re already one. A pair of bodies so tightly wound that by the time you’ve stepped into the room, he’s already working towards that goal. 

Kicking the door closed, he presses into you almost instantly, moving his hands around your frame; lingering on the plushest parts as he inevitably slots his mouth against yours. Barely giving you a chance to think let alone breathe as he leads you to the bed. All while your hands wildly follow his in tandem, wrapping themselves around his shoulders —feeling them tense with excitement as the edges of your arms roughly knock against them on your way to hold his face. 

Caressing his sturdy cheeks as he sits on the mattress’s edge, you then feel him pull you onto his lap, prompting you to smile against him. Feeling the way he gently bites back through the hazy taste of heated ale and desperation. Suppressing the urge to moan at the impact of his teeth taking hold of the skin before pulling back.

“You’re breathing a bit heavy there, sweetheart. Everything alright?” 

You’re tempted to smack him but instead, you resort to merely tucking a hand behind his head to pull at his hair, watching his jaw shift. Feeling the tone of the room change almost as quickly as he grabs your chin. 

“Careful there. Wouldn’t want to hurt that pretty little face of yours any further.” 

For a moment his fingers feel tight against your face, pressing your lips into a pout until he eventually allows the softer side of his movements to return. Then you’re lost to the waves all over again, feeling him guide you to a standing position beside the bed. Watching intently as he follows behind, moving his fingers to the clasps of your armour. 

“Bit overdressed it seems,” he jokes, instantly making quick work of all the fastenings and ties. Starting with your chest plate before making his way down to the belt of your trousers, painfully lingering on the latter. 

“I see that pride of yours is still intact,” you say, moving in to kiss his lips. Realizing just how truly soft they are in comparison to the rest of him. How unlike the arrogance and greed that resides in his voice and hands respectively, there’s a hidden tenderness there. An Achilles’ heel that you’re more than happy to nurture rather than exploit.

Which is something you’re certain he notices based on the way everything changes after that. How, instead of things progressing solely for the purpose of shared satisfaction, they move with care. With newfound attentiveness in the form of slow, curious hands that coast the edges of your torso.

“You know, I never properly thanked you for saving us that day.”

Narrowing your eyes, you can’t help but smile at the sensation of his breath suddenly wafting against your neck. Or how his palms feel dragging down the fabric of your tunic only to tuck themselves against the bareness of your skin, resting just above your hips. 

“Didn’t you?”

Far gentler than you anticipate, his mouth sucks the skin of your neck. His teeth applying a bit of pressure before his tongue darts out to soothe the small affliction. “Not in the way that I wanted to,” he tells you after, kissing that same spot before moving lower and repeating the process. All while digging his fingers into your hips. “Not in the way you deserve.”

There’s a moment when you go to ask him what he means. Not because you’re unaware but because you need to hear him say it. To listen to him admit that what he’s doing is nothing more than an act of gratitude so that after this is said and done you won’t be distracted anymore.  

But then he proceeds to lower himself to the ground, floorboards creaking under the weight of his knees. Thumbs carefully brushing across the edges of your stomach before moving back to your belt. Looking up at you, his eyes are larger and more desperate than you’ve ever seen them before and it’s as if you're back on the shore, wondering whether or not it’s okay to dive back in. 

“Can I?”

“Yes.”

It comes out like a whisper. As your lungs fail to provide the air you need to breathe, you’re left stranded. Wafting through the waves of his hands peeling away the fabric of your dirtied clothes, the only thing that’s there to stabilize you is him. His hungry mouth and broad shoulders —his calloused hands ghosting the backs of your calves as he tentatively kisses the inside of your thighs. And in order to stop the tremors he inflicts from toppling you over, you have to reach down to grab his hair. 

Wrapping your fingers gently around the knot that sits on top of his head, you hear him hum in response almost instantly. The vibrations of his voice brushing against the edge of your cunt. Every subtle movement of his hands and mouth forcing your body to shift uncomfortably, trying your best to alleviate the pressure. 

An alleviation that doesn’t come easy. Thanks to the teasing of his lips eventually wrapping around your clit but failing to do much else. Knowing that good things like this take time. 

(And that a little bit of teasing never hurt anyone). 

“Rugan, can you— oh fuck—“

His tongue circles the exact spot you need it to. Moving languidly around before darting elsewhere and repeating the process, you can feel your insides tightening. The imaginary band within you being pulled taught as he moves his fingers up to brush your folds. Every motion working together to force a moan from your lips. The kind that makes him grin against you, forcing his fingers inside just as shifts to suck your clit again. 

Immediately, it’s all too much. An overload of sensitivities taking over your mind. Suddenly, you feel your hips blindly rut against his mouth while you tug at his hair. Forcing him to work that much harder. Making it hard for either of you to breathe because he refuses to stop.

Even when you can feel him desperately panting against you, he refuses to stop. Running his tongue across every exposed area —embedding the feeling of its efforts throughout every nerve— it doesn’t take long for you to come undone. 

In fact, it’s hardly a minute after you’ve egged him on that he’s pushed you over the edge, remaining completely consistent in his efforts to please you. To show his appreciation in the form of a suckling mouth that continues through the endless waves of pleasure. To graciously thank you over and over until you’re later left limp against his chest after the fourth or fifth round (you’ve lost count) breathing so hard he can’t help but feel smug about it. 

-

TAGLIST:

@oldanimefan @void-singer @gunslingerorchid @littleplasticrat @fistfuloftarenths @kirahlene @killerpancakeburger @charmedslytherin @voloslobotomyservice @cloverthebarbearian @my-favourite-zhent @imgoingtofreakoutnow

[dustdeepsea]

Rugan and Octavia from Trouble Will Find Me, wishing you a happy spooky season 🎃👻✨

[tellmeallaboutit]

CRASH COURSE IN RUGANISM

It's my third day since infiltrating the Rugan collective, and this sub-fandom is something else. While Raphael's mice live in harmony with their various Raphaels, each Raphael sub-group in a different corner, the Rugan collective is a clandestine and united criminal operation. They have their communication channels, workshops and joint projects. It's literally the Zhent underground.

My favourite works so far (read them even if you have no idea who Rugan is. I didn't either. It doesn't matter. The collective has created a complex, funny, amazing character out of scraps and pieces and deleted lines and hivemind headcanons), all Rugan / F!Tav.

aqua vitae by @dustdeepsea Vibe: drunk, realistic, passionate, psychologic, smutty.

lucky fox by @littleplasticrat Rugan / Dammon/Tav threesome. Vibe: friendly, with a hint of debauchery, Rugan being lewd, Rugan / Damon bisexual vibes, perfect chemistry between all three.

worthwhile reward by @my-favourite-zhent Vibe: darker Rugan but still soft!dom Rugan, Tav is happy to submit.

new tricks by @my-favourite-zhent: the only ongoing longfic inn the list. Vibe: a sleazy criminal meets a less sleazy criminal. Chemistry ensues.

Please forgive the authors and fics I have not listed, I am still exploring. I will follow up with Part 2.

[stephschoices]

“You beautiful bastard…”

Calli heals Rugan right before freeing him bc she hates seeing him in pain 😔💔 (and yes she is sitting in his lap 😌)

[my-favourite-zhent]

Happy Valentines day Rugan fuckers.

Thank you @leopardmuffinxo for helping me with the mods for this~~

And thank you everyone in the discord for all your delicious and hilarious posts/msgs today!

[leopardmuffinxo]

just your typical meet cute ♡

[dark-and-kawaii]

Kiwi do you write for RUGAN??? I need him more than I need water.

The Stranger You Just Met

Rugan x f!Tav/Reader

⋆˙⟡♡ Notes: I got you babes!!! A little something something for you!! Plus I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it. He is a very handsome man afterall. Plus the way he talks when you rescue him *fans face* would have me climbing in his lap in heartbeat.

⋆˙⟡♡ NSFW | Spitting | Choking | Creampie

Rugan smacks the side of your cheek lightly, “Open”. The brutal pace of his hips unrelenting, the force of it causing you to slide up and down the dirt ground, the small rocks digging into your back.

You don't know how long it's been since you found him tied in this place, the day has long since passed surely. Your vision is hazy and your body is numb. You don’t even know this man yet you’re letting him use you like a whore… Allowing a stranger to fill you with their cum.

It couldn’t be helped though, he looked so good tied to that chair, his soft voice when he spoke sending a tingle down your body, how could you not climb onto his lap…

Rugan has kept a sturdy grip on your throat for most of the time, his fat cock stretching you out oh so nicely, your legs over his shoulders, with your drool dripping down your chin.

“N-Need T-to rest~” you moan, shaking hands digging at his chest. The feeling of him so deep inside of you as his cock works the previous load of cum inside your pussy much deeper has you seeing stars.

“I said -,” Rugan digs his fingers deeper into the sides of your neck, the grip becoming a bit too tight, his other hand pressing your cheeks together, making you open your mouth, forcing your tongue out, “open. You want to be good for me don’t you?”

Your heart nearly breaks at the thought of Rugan, this stranger, being disappointed in you. For whatever reason you wanted nothing more than to be his good girl.

You nod frantically, opening your mouth wider. He takes the opportunity to spit inside of it, your body tensing at the action, the warmth of it sliding down your throat.

“You're just a bitch in heat, aren't you? No better than those Gnolls.” Rugan pants, his thrusts becoming sloppy, “You wanted me to fuck you so badly back then, didn't you?"

Your eyes flutter closed as you writhe in bliss underneath him, cunny clenching and creaming around him as the wet smacking sound of your thighs together echoes throughout the cave.

You swallow his spit like the good girl you are, "Y-yes..." you whine, nodding quickly, "wanted your cock inside me... w-wanted you to fill me up with your thick se-seed,”

The lewd confession makes Rugan smile, “Gods, you’re beautiful… Look at you, so perfect for me," he whispers, loosening his grip on your neck.

All you can offer is a lazy smile, your eyes glossed over, nodding as you lay on the ground taking what he's giving. You know you won’t be able to walk tomorrow, that's if you're even conscious, but that doesn't matter right now. All that matters is this stranger's cock, Rugan, and the way it hits the very depths of your pussy.

[coreene]

stuffed in her cavern

Pairing: Rugan x Fem!Tav

Rating: Explicit

Word count: 2.1k

Summary: Rugan fucks Tav in the gnoll cave, that's it. That's the plot.

Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Dirty Talk, Wall Sex, Vaginal Sex, Cunnilingus, Vaginal Fingering

Thank you @littleplasticrat for the beta! I fixed some stuff after her notes and any remaining mistakes are my own!

The name is purely @captainsigge and @dustdeepsea 's fault (ily)

I hope it is a worthy offering for Rugan fuckers 🥺👉👈

[cloverthebarbearian]

Happy New Year! It seems requests are still open, so if it isn't a bother I'd like to request a short/one-off Rugan smut fic~ Maybe that back alley you mentioned? 😉. Please and thank you!

Ha Ha Ha Ha Ha oh ANON you rascal!!! This made me go insane :))) but I need to feed the Rugan Fuckers so please. It ended up being much longer than I planned but I guess my ass can't just write 500 words about getting rawed I gotta go into the specifics. ANYways I hope you enjoy what my silly little brainworms came up with for you :)

A Room on Wintershield

Rugan x FemReader, NSFW, 2.3k+ words

"A room for myself - and the lady, if you would, saer," Rugan's voice was husky from the firewine and pipeweed the two of you had been indulging in throughout evening. He slid his coin across the counter without ever breaking his gaze with yours, already undressing you with his eyes. You were pressed against his chest, the feeling of his racing heartbeat betraying his casual drawl. "Ah, terribly sorry, we're already booked full for the evening," the host said with mock disappointment. That cheery, Customer Service inflection implying they weren't very sorry at all. Rugan's eyes finally broke from yours and shot the host a sideways glare, "Then make room. Can't you see we're two wayward souls in… desperate need of lodging?" He pulled you tighter against him. His smile grazing your lips, teasing you with the hopes of a kiss that wouldn't yet come. The host tried to hide rolling their eyes. "Apologies again, sir. We're simply sold out for the night!" they began to mutter to themselves as they turned back to their books, "Good luck finding a room this late on Wintershield." "Oh, piss off," Rugan huffed, flipping the host off before pulling you with him through the doors of the Inn. The fourth one the two of you had tried - and failed - to find a room in for the evening.

The streets were busy with the rest of Waterdeep indulging in celebration. The air outside was chilled, but your earlier imbibements left you both plenty warm. You stumbled over yourself, tipsy and lightheaded, giggling as Rugan held you steady with his arms firmly wrapped around your waist. The two of you had barely made it a block down the street before he had you spun around to face him, kissing you deeply and pushing you against the closest wall he could find.

"I can't believe how hard it's been just to find a place to bed you," Rugan said as he traced his lips across your jaw. You were a mess of moans and giggles as his fingers glided under the hem of your shirt, sliding his hand beneath the fabric to forcefully grab your breast in his calloused hand. Your mouth hung open as you moaned into him, riding your open legs against his thigh. His free hand gripped into your waist, his thumb pushing into the dips of your hip as he ground himself into you.

"You little Nymph," he whispered gruffly, "I may just have to take you right here…" You moaned again, louder, though barely audible outside of the little bubble of yourselves. The festivities surrounding you seem to have hit their peak. Townsfolk just as heady and busy with their own celebrations paid you virtually no mind. However, even in your stupor, you felt exposed in the crowd.

"We can't -" your breath caught in your throat, trying to be reasonable while your body ached for him, "Not here."

Rugan bit at your bottom lip gently, humming to himself as you were practically melting into him, "Lass, I'd feel safe in assuming you'd let me take you wherever the Hells I wanted you," his deep, rugged voice sending a shiver through your spine, straight to your core, "But if you insist… Who am I to not make my Lady more comfortable."

His hand left from underneath your garments, a slight whimper of disappointment escaping your lips at the loss. He kissed you again before taking your wrist and pulling you alongside him into an alley between the busy streets. After just a few short steps, he quickly had you pressed against a wall once more, kissing your neck as both his hands found their way back under your shirt, caressing your breasts roughly. Your hands gripped against his back as you held onto him, eyes fluttering as you glanced out into the busy streets just a few short yards away.

It was dark here, between these buildings, and the party-goer's were ever so slightly muffled now that you had made a bit of distance. It felt secluded, but still dangerous. That danger doing nothing to help with the building warmth between your legs.

Lost in the trance of Rugan's touch against your chest, his lips against your neck - you yelped in surprise as he suddenly spun you to face the wall he had you pinned against. His hands quickly found your wrists to hold tight against the small of your back, your face and chest now pressed between the wall and the powerful man behind you. You could feel the straining length of him pressing up against your ass, and couldn't help but arch your back into him. He let out a heavy groan as his head fell to rest in the crook of your shoulder, kissing your neck deeply as his free hand slid your pants down just enough to cup the curve of your plump rear.

He grabbed a full cheek in his hand, squeezing you tightly, before pulling his hand back and slapping. You let out a gasp as he grunted in your ear, reaching his hand back to spank you once more. Your gasp came out with a moan of his name, and he pushed his still clothed arousal against your bare skin.

"I want to hear you beg for me, Lass," his voice much more composed than his body gave away. A sense of authority and control that made you submit without a second thought.

"Please, Rugan..." your voice was cracking, as if waiting for him had you on the verge of tears. And perhaps it did. You bit your bottom lip as you road yourself against him, desperate for any stimulation. You felt him pull himself away from your shoulder, now watching your pathetic attempts to pleasure yourself against him. He tutted in response.

"I don't know, Sweetheart. Are you sure you really want me?" His free hand spread your cheeks, your cunt so drenched he could see the clear strings of your desire sticking between your folds as he slowly pulled you open. He watched as you twitched in desperation, your body begging in ways he deemed your words could not.

You sobbed as he teased you, sliding his thumb down against your slick, grazing over your clit, before dragging it back up and gently prodding at the tighter hole between your legs. You moaned and your knees nearly buckled, Rugan holding you up by his grip on your wrists.

"Rugan, please fuck me. Please I - I need you inside of me," warm tears were spilling down your cheeks as you heard him wrestle with the ties of his trousers. Suddenly, you felt the hot, thick length of his cock against your bare ass. He slid himself between your cheeks, rutting himself against the warmth of your body easily with your pooling arousal coating him.

You felt him slide against you once more, before the head of his member was now prodding at the entrance of your aching cunt. He leaned himself back against you, his mouth brushing your ear, warm breath hitting your skin and causing you to shiver.

"Anything for the Lady," he whispered, low and heavy, before pushing himself into you. Your cheeks were squeezed tight, your legs pinned together between the wall and his body.

"Gods, Lass, you're so fucking wet for me," he slid himself into you easily, filling your deepest parts. You clenched around him, your walls fluttering as he held himself there for a moment. He kissed below your ear, onto your neck, "So wet… so fucking tight."

He pulled his length out of you, achingly slowly. You felt yourself desperately clench against nothing as he left you, before slamming himself back into you. Harder, with intent.

"I want to make you scream for me, Love," he said, kissing your neck once more, "When I'm through with you, you'll never be satisfied unless its my cock inside of you," His slow and shallow pumping quickly found a rhythm that left your breath catching on every thrust. Your words were lost, all you could find yourself doing was whimpering and gasping, incoherently begging for more of him. Your pussy clenching desperately, your ass bouncing back against him, matching the rhythm of his thrusts.

His hand snakes up your body, eventually finding your throat. He squeezes, holding you in place while he pounds into you. You try to turn your head just enough to see Rugan's face over your shoulder. He finds your eyes and smiles as he fucks into you harder still, "You love how this feels, don't you, sweetheart?"

Your eyes rolled back as you moan. He kisses against your open mouth, "That's right… I feel the way your desperate cunt grips me," he released your wrists from his hand, still pinning them in place with the weight of his body pressed against you. He slapped and grabbed at your ass again, this time lifting your cheek while shifting his hips, opening you up just enough to let him slide into you even deeper than before.

"Ohhhh, fff -" you help your lip between your teeth as his cock hit a sweet spot inside of you. His movements became slow and deliberate, reveling in the new way your body shuddered against him. He kissed your neck, your ear, your cheek, whispering to you all the while.

"That's it, Love. You take my cock so well," he wrapped his arm around your waist, ducking his hand between the front of your thighs and toying with your clit.

"Oh, Gods, Rugan..." You rocked your hips and felt a new wave of arousal crash over you.

"Yes, Love - say my name," he began pounding into you harder, teasing your clit, squeezing your throat, and slamming his cock into you, "Tell me who this tight cunt belongs to - Fuck! - Tell me who the fuck you belong to!"

You felt yourself chasing the high of your release. Clenching around him, you nearly yelled between his relentless thrusts.

"You, Rugan! My body belongs to you, I belong to you -" you felt his speed pick up, desperate for his own satisfaction.

"That's right, doll. You're all mine," he pinched your clit, biting into your shoulder. You could feel how close he was, you wanted him to make a mess of you. He squeezed your throat tighter as he huffed out his worlds, "Come for me, sweetheart. I want to feel you…"

Your body spasmed at his demand, choking out his name once more with whatever breath you had left under his tight grip. Your ears ringing, your vision growing hazy around the edges, stars twinkling across your eyes as you cum with him rutting inside of you.

You heard Rugan let out a deep, grunting sigh against your skin as his cock slammed into you quickly, roughly. Your walls clenching his twitching member as he shot his seed inside. He continued playing with your clit as you both came, causing your orgasm to ride out even longer. The fluttering convulsions of your pussy gripping his throbbing cock, milking every drop of his spend.

He began to still within you. His chest heaving against your back, kissing your neck and shoulder, and rocking his half hard cock inside you to chase the fleeting shock waves of his orgasm. You felt him push himself off of you, freeing your hands at last, your palms slapping against the wall in exhaustion. He watched hungrily as he slowly pulled himself away, his spend dripping out of you. He ran two fingers between your folds, causing you to clench and whine, your body still sensitive to his touch. He leaned back into you, kissing your cheek as he pushed his fingers inside, forcing his seed back into you.

"Don't want this going to waste, Lass," he whispered, tracing his lips and tongue across your jaw. He slide his fingers deep into you two, three, four times, fucking his spend back into your pussy, before pulling them out & bringing them around to your lips. You opened your mouth, desperate and hungry, as he slid his fingers against your tongue, coated in your combined release. You wrapped your lips around his digits, sucking and lapping at the salty mix of fluids. He slid his fingers back out of your mouth, running them along your lips for good measure, before spanking your ass, hard, and tucking himself back into his garments. You weakly took your shaking hands to your waistband and pulled your pants back up from their shallow resting position above your thighs. You could feel your small clothes sticking to your skin uncomfortably, absolutely drenched in your arousal and Rugan's thick release. His hands found your waist again, spinning you around to kiss him.

"Hells below, woman, you are absolutely filthy," he moaned into your mouth.

"Speak for yourself, Zhent," you retorted, clenching his shirt in your fists to keep him held against you. He cocked an eyebrow and a sly grin crept across his face.

"Watch your tone with me, Lass, lest I have to teach you another lesson," he squeezed your ass again, sparking another rolling fire in your stomach as if you didn't just have the most mind blowing orgasm mere Minutes prior.

Above the ruckus of the busy streets, you both started hearing shouting.

"And stay out! Free-loader!" A tavern keep was busy shoving a young man out of their front doors, tossing some half pack luggage behind him, "Come back when you actually have the coin and not some illusory bull-shite!" You saw him toss a handful of copper right into the mans face before slamming the doors behind him. Embarrassed, the young man quickly gathered his things and rushed off. Rugan glanced down at you, and you smiled wide.

"Sounds like some bloke's out of luck for the evening," he grinned.

"Sounds like someone has a room for rent," you teased, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him back into the streets. You ran into the tavern, breathless and wanting. Finally, a place to bed for the evening.

Though you knew neither of you would be getting much sleep.

[cornflowersisblue]

Does anyone else like Rugan?

He twice called my Tav a handsome, how can one remain indifferent 😏

I can't deny that he looks incredibly attractive when tied up and beaten...😳 I helped him immediately !💗

[dustdeepsea]

Rugan x Tav

Paradise Circus

Done in Infinite Painter, on a Samsung Galaxy Tab

View full NSFW version: Original version | Bonus tattooed version

As cheesy as it sounds, this drawing is a love letter to fan culture -- I haven't written or drawn this much in literally years, and it's all thanks to the wonderful people I've met in the BG3 fandom.

A special thank you to @littleplasticrat for help with the anatomy and constant encouragement <3 <3

If you'd like to see images like this early, or just hang out with chill and lovely folks, swing by the Zhentil Keep Discord. Details on @my-favourite-zhent's post. Thank you all for being the highlight of my sabbatical :)

Detailed shots under the cut

Please view in full screen for best resolution

Bonus process GIF (NSFW!)

@fistfuloftarenths the placement and physics of the snake nearly did my head in, but I hope you enjoy it as much as I do :)

Although I've drawn nude people before, there were a lot of firsts for me in this image. First explicit male and female scene, first tattoo, first fully rendered cock LOL

Overall, I'm really glad that I pushed myself and went for it!

[l4dysadie]

Rugan but make it Full Moon 🌕

[galeorderbride]

A Healer’s Touch

Request from @extraordinarygrrls for a bit of softness with Rugan and her wonderful Tav Mara! Thank you for the request xx

Rugan x Tav (Mara, cleric of Ilmater)

Word count: 3.4K

Tags: T rating, light fluff (characters aren’t romantically involved but lots of flirting), Rugan being a cheeky jokester. Little bit of angst.

Summary: After Rugan is nearly beaten to death by his fellow Zhents when the shipment mission goes awry, Mara takes him to her camp to give him much needed healing.

Fic below the cut:

So it only felt right to take the nearly unconscious Rugan to camp and bless Olly’s soul safe passage. Despite how much arguing her companions gave for letting a Zhent rest in their shelter, Mara wasn’t taking no for an answer. He was still a person, and she couldn’t live with good conscience if she didn’t help him. That was the will of Ilmater, after all. To help all in need, regardless of creed or affiliation.

The condition was that he be kept in her tent, away from the rest of them. Not that they were all that judgemental of criminals (other than Wyll, maybe), but didn’t want the smoke of dealing with the social skills of a Zhent. They weren’t exactly known for their polite nature. Mara didn’t fear much on the words one could say, she’d heard it all in the temple before this journey.

Evening beckoned in the sky, a calming sunset of magenta and orange hues. Nothing illuminated the tent other than the blaze of fire outside, still bright as a few companions continued to talk and sip a second glass of wine. Mara retired about ten minutes ago, setting to work examining Rugan as he lay with hitched breath on a cot she’d made for herself before. Blankets surrounded him, but he was uncovered, sweating under the humid heat of Elient night and the stress of fever. He’d be burning up by morning, if not already.

As he slept, Mara checked his vitals. Feeling and measuring pulse, palpating his stomach and ribs to ensure there was no swelling. Everything seemed in order other than the wide array and bruises and cuts, some of which would need to be cleaned and stitched. Until her eyes hovered up, the stiffness of his right arm became apparent when she noticed the dislodged shoulder joint. She’d given him so much sleep potion that not even the pain of a dislocated bone awakened him. She’d made a mistake, silently scolding herself for missing such a vital injury.

Nothing could be done until his shoulder was slipped back into joint. An action she wasn’t excited about. Mara had a longer fuse than most, but even she couldn’t deny that putting a Zhentarim through that kind of pain may not end well for her.

But he lay there so peacefully. Deceptively calm as he mumbled quiet words in his sleep. Sweat beading along his sandy hairline and around his neck. Through the swelling of purple welts and dried blood, Mara pictured his face when they met at the gnoll cave. Weathered, scarred—but handsome. A sly look of a man who knew how to worm and charm his way into anything. She’d seen men like him before, ending up in the temple she stayed in after a brawl or shipment raid. None ever were so nice to look at as Rugan, though. Thank the gods he was asleep, lest he see her blushing at her own thoughts.

She dreaded waking him, but he did that for her. Strained groans mixed with tense muscles as his eyes fluttered open. In a moment, his chest rose and fell in panic, the pain of his arm sinking into every nerve of his body. If he were to look a few inches down, Mara worried he might scream bloody murder at the sight of his bone poking out of his skin.

“Ah…fucking gods…” he mumbled, growing in alarm with each profane syllable. His usable hand hovering over his injured arm, ready to clutch.

Mara rushed to his side, “Don’t move, you could break your arm!”

Rugan turned to her, lost in the strangeness of being in a random tent, memory fuzzy other than the wretched agony of being punched repeatedly by Zarys and her goons. Ones he used to call allies, but so that went, when a man betrays his orders. No time to reflect on why he did such a fool thing now, when he felt like his arm might fall off and an odd but familiar woman was lording over him.

“Listen lass, you tell me what the bloody hells is going on before I do somethin’ you may regret,” he threatened, the growl of his accent ever present. A crassness to him that both frightened and interested Mara.

“I feel you’ll be the one to regret it when you have no healer to set your arm back. You may not recall, but you were tortured for trying to sneak that shipment. Recall me from the gnoll cave? I brought you to my camp to heal you,” she explained.

Rugan shifted, their eyes locking with an unbridled intensity. She laid in wait for his reaction, he parched out whether or not to trust her. The image of her face after saving him and Olly from the gnolls snapped back into memory—as did the unfortunate end of the poor boy later. Gods damned that stupid idea to take the shipment for themselves. He couldn’t figure out if the brain fog was because of the beating or too many years on the road. Either way, he wasn’t so much of an idiot as to deny a healer’s touch. Especially the one who dealt with the gnolls.

“Fine,” he grunted, “Fix the damned arm.”

Her cool hand pressed against his back, lifting him into a sitting position. Heat radiated from his skin, hotter than fever. The chill of her fingers against his aching muscles sent a shiver down his spine, almost relaxing if it weren’t for the arm. Mara’s head leaned closer to angle him properly, near enough for him to catch a whiff of her hair, scented with rosemary and river water. The first smell that wasn’t a metallic storm of blood and sand. A far cry from admitting how much peace that brought him, he remained silent.

Mara spoke, a naturally nurturing voice like a bird's song in the morning, “I’m going to move your forearm to line the bone up before I set it. I won’t lie, it’ll hurt, but I’ll be quick.”

He nodded, “Aye, get it over with.”

Every muscle twitched and writhed against itself as Rugan bore through the agony of having his forearm moved into a bent position. He couldn’t take his eyes off Mara’s hands, guiding the bone like the shattered wood of a ship’s wheel. A point of focus to ensure he didn’t bite down until his teeth cracked. Looking somewhere didn’t matter once she moved her palm to his shoulder, turning the bone over into the socket with a terrifying ‘pop’.

He couldn’t contain the guttural sound of immense pain, “Fuck me sideways!” Leaning back against the headboard as he ground his teeth down, a failed attempt to drown out his anguish.

Remorse fled through Mara, but there wasn’t another choice. She was proud of her handiwork, the bone smoothly transitioning back to place with one motion.

“This was the first injury I ever healed, you know? Fourteen years old to a wayward traveller who’d fallen down a steep hill. Feels like another life now,” she said, trying to distract him from the pain. A lot of people back at the temple would enjoy a mindless chat, any interaction to ease their sorrows physical or mental.

Rugan chuckled, “That supposed to make me feel better, lass?”

“A thank you goes a long way, just letting you know,” she said, getting up to grab a sling to wrap around his shoulder. Clean, white fabric smooth against her palms. She hid her face away from him, worried that the heat in her face had grown to a pink blush on her cheeks.

He cleared his throat, “S’pose the pain is a lot less now. Gotta give you that. Not entirely sure why you’re helpin’ me at all.”

“Ilmater requires us to help all in need. Besides, it is sort of my fault that this happened to you in the first place. At least a little,” she said, moving back to his bedside. “I need to put a sling on. Take off your shirt.”

“Aren’t you the demanding one! Usually it’s me saying that to a lass,” he joked, a smirk on his face laced with unearned satisfaction. Beginning to unbutton the remainder of his torn, bloodied shirt until he’d scooped it off his body.

Just as Mara turned, her eyes glued themselves to him. Torso weathered and toned from years of heavy lifting on the road. Scars covered every part, varying in size from shallow cuts to deep stab wounds, a miracle he’d survived much of them. He was in prime shape despite his age of at least early forties, maybe more. She always wondered about the stories of passing adventurers, some with shadier alliances than others. Rugan was no exception, as she assumed he was a lifelong Zhent, he must’ve had eye widening tales to tell. Although, she wasn’t naive enough to expect him to share them.

“My eyes are up here, lass,” he joked.

Mara cleared her throat, seated behind him and quietly wrapping the sling around his back. Unsure how to respond to the whiplash of mistrust and flirting all in one mood. It didn’t help that the sunset had turned to a wistful night, burning candlelight illuminating the two of them in a warm hue against the canvas tent. Creating a soft, serene energy between the two of them, filled with the potential to draw closer and closer.

With his wounds cleaned and the sling wrapped around his shoulder, Mara helped lay him back flat on the mattress. She set to work preparing some tinctures, but he stared at her the whole time. Trying to piece together what kind of woman he was at the mercy of. A soft touch, clean hands without a callous. How had she survived the road at all? Not an ounce of cruelty in her either, maybe to the point of stupidity. Taking in a Zhent and caring for him when most would have let him die tied to that chair.

“Why’d you take me in? Reckon I understand you feeling you owe me, but I could kill you in this tent without a sound to be made. Figured you clever enough to know the Zhentarim don’t make good friends,” he asked.

She began to dab balsam oil around his open cuts, the sting of disinfectant offering a strange, bittersweet relief. Not of pleasure, but the reassurance that he was clean. He’d forgotten what cleanliness felt like.

Mara shrugged, “You could try, but I have the advantage of working limbs. I just wanted to help you, that’s all. I’m a healer, you were in need. Are you always this suspicious of people?”

“I’ve had lasses try to honeypot me before. Dress me down and care for me only to empty my pockets while I slept. Too old to trust anyone,” he said, flinching at the sting of the oil, yet never wanting to part from it.

A piece of her dusty, dark hair slipped from her bun. Using his able hand to push the strand behind her ear, slow and steady. A sense of grace she didn’t expect from him, and she froze in place. He wasn’t quite sure why he did it, but he told himself it was to get the upper hand. Make her feel a little silly to get her guard down.

Mara breathed, a thoughtful exhale, full of effort to not shake with nervousness. She said, “You must’ve had a hard life, to think that way.”

Well, what does a man say to that?

Rugan quieted, lost in those words. Unsure over why they impacted him. Letting her play nurse on a man not worth the effort. They called him a lucky bastard, his boys often did. Joked that Tymora took a shine to him like no other. Most didn’t live to be his age in the trade he’d chosen. Not thinking about that was usually easy, until he was lying in a cleric of Ilmater’s cot. Doing his best to pretend like she wasn’t the prettiest thing he’d seen in months, or how the softness of her pity didn’t anger him like it often did.

Her next move was more selfish on her part than she cared to admit. Fixated on the shine of his sandy blonde hair, dried blood and dirt stuck between straight locks. Fair haired men always did get the best of her. She visualized Ilmater, shaking his head at her for using him as an excuse to get closer. To care for him in a proximity not needed from a typical healer. Bridging a gap, so to speak.

“You can sleep here tonight, before you head off for the Gate. But first, you need your hair washed. Let me fetch a pail of water,” she said.

He scoffed, “You’re not about to wash my hair, are you? Like I’m some orphan boy you found in the muck?”

“In a way, that is how I found you. Lay back,” she ordered.

Warm water streamed down Rugan’s hair as he hung his down over the edge of the bed. Viscera pouring into the patch of grass below. Healing magic kept it at perfect temperature, suds of fresh soap against his scalp like a sunny morning. Hints of rosemary again, the same as her hair. Welcoming him into an embrace of calm and comfort, a state so foreign to him he felt his stomach jolt. Was that the touch of Ilmater? Or was she just that good?

Tough, violent, frozen against a time when he was younger, more foolish. But he was still human, and unable to contain the sound of whispering satisfaction as Mara pressed her fingertips into his scalp. Massaging deep into his skin, past the mess of soaked hair and loosening a tension he didn’t know existed. Deep, guttural yet muted to avoid the embarrassment of being caught falling to her touch. Oh, but she heard him, hiding her smile as she kept going. Further motivated to care for him, even if just for tonight. A reprieve from the horrors of the day, for both of them.

Through the washing process down to the drying, Rugan was silent. Taking in the sensation of being cared for as Mara worked away at healing every part of him she could. What was first moral obligation turned to pleasure, finding unique enjoyment in dressing his wounds and readying him for steady sleep. She wasn’t foolish enough to think this tranquil part of him would last forever, knowing in the morning, he’d go right back to the life he’d always had. Like many who had passed through her temple walls. That’s one thing about the world that never changes, but at least, she could rest easy knowing she’d made things right.

“Do you like books?” Mara asked after discarding the dirty water. Preparing a bedroll for her to sleep in while he took the cot.

Laughing hurt, but he couldn’t help himself with her. Silly, gentle like a baby bird on a wire. As if she’d never seen the outside world before. “Haven’t read shite since I was a boy.”

Fishing through an old pack, she held a small book in her hands. The yellow cover old and weathered from years of flipped pages repeated on a loop. Her favourite of all, something she never parted with. The most relieved she’d ever been to find she still had it on her person after the nautiloid crash. She held the cover close to her chest, sitting on the floor beside his bed.

“Poetry, some of my favourites in here. My mentor would read these to me whenever I was ill,” she said. “Helps ease the pain when you’re trying to fall asleep.”

“Not sure you’re gonna give me a choice, lass,” he said. Turning his head away, filling the room with enough sarcasm to soak into the growing guilt. A cracking, rigid remorse as he pictured Olly’s dead face in the back of his mind. He should’ve thanked her for being immune to his attitude, for beginning to read anyway. He needed a distraction.

Her voice was like a lullaby, musing about the shine of the sun against the petals of dreamy daisies. He didn’t catch every word, fading slowly into the comfort of sleep, lulled into a false but addicting sense of peace by her voice. For a moment, he wished he could stay there forever. Never heal, just float in that stasis between awake and asleep, unburden himself from life. Listen to the senseless lines of romantic shite he’d normally mock. She could talk about paint drying, for all he cared. He lasted only a few minutes before he felt the soothing weight of sleep against his chest.

…

Morning dew scarcely dried before Rugan awoke and readied himself to leave the camp. Struggling to manage his light armour against the sling. A strong, swollen ache now invaded the whole top of his arm and up the back of his shoulder. He’d have to deal with that for at least a week, fending for himself. May Tymora still remain at his side despite his betrayal, he hoped.

Mara saw him off, to the chagrin of her companions, none of whom trusted him and kept their belongings close to their person. She’d seen him last night, though, a part of him slipping out plushed in softness and gentility. A side of him she kept close to her heart, in the silence of her mind, as he’d never admit to anything. Nevertheless, she didn’t regret caring for him. Knowing well enough now that he truly needed it.

“You’re sure you want to go? That arm won’t hold up well in a fight. You’d benefit from a couple of day’s more rest,” Mara said.

“The road’s calling, lass. Besides, you’re all damn lucky the camp hasn’t been assaulted by Zhents looking to hunt me down. Best for all of us we part ways. Though um—I thank you, for the help in dressing my wounds and all,” he replied.

They stood across from each other, balancing on the precipice of stepping closer yet never taking the plunge. It was one thing for Mara to be drawn to him, spending an evening caring for him in an intimate setting, feeling an attraction to the elusive, dangerous criminal with a killer smirk. But Rugan felt a flush in his stomach, gulping down a desire he couldn’t address. A pretty lady with a good heart. If there were more time, he’d be more than happy to ruin her a little.

He spoke again, “Catch me at the Elfsong once you’re in Baldur’s Gate. That’s my usual haunt, and I’m in sorry need for a pint. I’ll buy you one, for your trouble.”

She grinned, trying to mask the blush. “So is that a promise you’ll live long enough to get there?”

He chuckled, a lilted growl in his laugh that made her cheeks warm even more. He said, “Can’t give you any promises, love.”

She nodded, “Well, what do I expect from a wretched old Zhent?”

He grinned, tapping the tip of her nose with his index finger as he said, “You really are a sweet sight. Catch you later, lass.”

Mara watched as he walked off, disappearing through the dusty road to nowhere. Crossing her hands to her chest, she worried for him already. Wondering if he really would be at the Elfsong tavern whenever they arrived in the city. Getting a drink with him was probably a huge mistake. Her mentors would tell her men like that were trouble, steer clear of them even when they shone their crooked, charismatic smiles.

But as calm as her healing skills were, she always did have an eye for danger.